A Touch of Strange

By Jay Greenstein

Inside, you’ll meet Artemis, the goddess whose uncle misplaced her; Glor, who wishes, desperately, to join those at the frolic. You’ll meet Nacky, Chaz and the dead babies; Stephanie who seeks that special tingle of true love; James Bond and Coldfinger; The Oozing Horror, and a dozen more.

What do they all have in common? A touch of strange.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jay Greenstein
• Release date: Apr 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005974855

Jay Greenstein

I'm a storyteller. My skills at writing are subject to opinion, my punctuation has been called interesting, at best—but I am a storyteller. I am, of course, many other things. In seven decades of living, there are great numbers of things that have attracted my attention. I am, for example, an electrician. I can also design, build, and install a range of things from stairs and railings to flooring, and tile backsplashes. I can even giftwrap a box from the inside, so to speak, by wallpapering the house. I'm an engineer, one who has designed computers and computer systems; one of which—during the bad old days of the cold war—flew in the plane designated as the American President's Airborne Command Post: The Doomsday Jet. I've spent seven years as the chief-engineer of a company that built bar-code readers. I spent thirteen of the most enjoyable years of my life as a scoutmaster, and three, nearly as good, as a cubmaster. I joined the Air Force to learn jet engine mechanics, but ended up working in broadcast and closed circuit television, serving in such unlikely locations as the War Room of the Strategic Air Command, and a television station on the island of Okinawa. I have been involved in sports car racing, scuba diving, sailing, and anything else that sounded like fun. I can fix most things that break, sew a fairly neat seam, and have raised three pretty nice kids, all of who are smarter and prettier than I am—more talented, too, thanks to the genes my wife kindly provided. Once, while camping with a group of cubs and their families, one of the dads announced, "You guys better make up crosses to keep the Purple Bishop away." When I asked for more information, the man shrugged and said, "I don't really know much about the story. It's some kind of a local thing that was mentioned on my last camping trip." Intrigued, I wondered if I could come up with something to go with his comment about the crosses; something to provide a gentle terror-of-the-night to entertain the boys. The result was a virtual forest of crosses outside the boys' tents. That was the event that switched on something within me that, now, more than twenty-five years later, I can't seem to switch off. Stories came and came… so easily it was sometimes frightening. Stories so frightening that one boy swore he watched my eyes begin to glow with a dim red light as I told them (it was the campfire reflecting from my ...

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Jay Greenstein

Jay Greenstein

All rights reserved

Copyright 2021

Published by Continuation Services at SmashWords

Other Titles by Jay Greenstein:

Science Fiction

As Falls an Angel

Samantha and the Bear

Foreign Embassy

Hero

Monkey Feet

Starlight Dancing

Wizards

Trilogy of the Talos

(Sci-fi)

To Sing the Calu

Portal to Sygano

Ghost Girl

Sisterhood of the Ring

(Sci-fi)

Water Dance

Jennie’s Song

A Change of Heart

A Surfeit of Dreams

Kyesha

Abode Of The Gods

Living Vampire

An Abiding Evil

Ties of Blood

Blood Lust

Modern Western

Posse

Romantic Suspense

A Chance Encounter

Kiss of Death

Intrigue/Crime

Necessity

Betrayal

Hostage

Young Adult

My Father My Friend

Romance

Zoe

Breaking the Pattern

Short Story

A Touch of Strange

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This novel is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious and created by the author for entertainment purposes. Any similarities between living and non-living persons are purely coincidental.

° ° ° °

Goddess

Baby Talk

Echo

Good Works & Fairy Tales

Interlude

Tingle

Sea Quest

The Gift

Ghost Whispering

Time Frame

Beauty

Addiction

Breaking Point

Starting Over

Can You Ear Me?*

The Oozing Horror*

The Purple Bishop*

The Soul Eater*

* A campfire tale

° ° ° °

The earthquake was small as such things go, measuring less than two on the Richter scale. It did almost no damage to the Greek countryside, or the settlements scattered there. Here and there the animals of the forest stopped their night’s activities for a moment and wondered, as the ground trembled beneath them.

The tremor lasted for only a moment, but the hillside had been weakened by more than a thousand years of rainwater, slowly and patiently eroding the limestone that formed its bones.

As the quake subsided, a tiny stone crumbled, giving up the job it held for centuries, allowing a boulder to settle by just a tiny bit. Small though it was, that event began a chain-reaction of crumbling and snapping stone that slowly but surely accelerated. For nearly a month after the quake, a series of almost undetectable but linked events occurred. The final event in that chain took place at 7:34, on a cool but pleasant September evening when the hillside below the boulder abruptly collapsed, launching it on a mad leaping race down to the creek, below. There, with a mighty splash, it found a new place from which to contemplate eternity.

On the hillside, where the boulder once rested so comfortably, was a shadowed opening and new silence.

An hour passed with no further developments, until a lady mouse in search of a home began to explore the opening. She froze as the sound of a small yawn emerged from the newly exposed cave. A soft light began to grow, and the mouse decided to search somewhere else for her home.

° ° °

She was lovely, if your tastes ran to that sort of thing. Her hair was auburn, and though mussed now, framed her face in stubborn curls, of the kind hated by those women who have them and envied by those who do not. Slim and athletic, young in appearance, still the breast of a woman pressed against the purple and white linen of her peplos, draped from shoulder to ankle, and was of the type to inspire poetry in the aesthetic, and lust in the bold. She stood with the carriage of royalty, and her feet rested on the fragile protection of delicately made leather sandals, which themselves rested firmly on the air, two inches above the broken ground in front of the cave. In the growing dusk, her nimbus showed as a pale blue aura surrounding her forehead.

She drifted to the smooth grass of the hillside and her feet sank gently to the ground, while she looked up to study the stars, just showing in the east, searching for a sign. Then, getting no comfort from the skies, she began to study the ghostly countryside, barely visible in the gathering skirts of night.

Finally, she frowned and began drifting toward the single lane track, poorly paved and badly in need of repair—a service road, used by park attendants. Puzzled, she squatted to study the black asphalt of the road, brightening her nimbus to its maximum.

Finding nothing there to enlighten her, her face a study in puzzlement, she stood and searched the road in either direction, trying to make up her mind as to which direction to take. With a shrug, she chose south. Far too exhausted by her ordeal to properly lift, she set off lightly on foot in the brightening moonlight, with the hope that it led toward the nearest settlement rather than away.

Nearly a half-hour and three crossroad choices later, she came to one of the entrances to the park, and stared, dumbfounded, at the trickle of traffic on the public road. Things had certainly changed. Finally, since the majority of the traffic headed to her left, she joined the flow.

Several hundred feet later she stopped to investigate a sign, mounted on its angular metal pole, studying the strange symbols, while repeatedly tapping a fingernail on the flat surface, her brow furrowed at the metallic pinging that produced.

Distracted, and lost in thought, she walked nearly a mile through the gently rolling hills, oblivious to the consternation she was causing in the passing cars.

Almost invisible in the moonlight, an access road dipped away from the highway, a dark slope leading toward the woods. But the sound of plucked strings in the near distance, and the joining of voices raised in song brought her to a stop. Smiling in anticipation, she turned to follow the road past the parking lot and toward the source of happy noises.

The trail meandered a short distance through the trees on its way to a picnic grove, where a fire pushed back the cooling night. Still hidden by the trees she stopped to study the people gathered there, as they were as unusual a group as she’d ever seen. They were most strangely dressed, and of both sexes, though at first which was which seemed uncertain. Most wore lower body coverings made of a tight-woven cloth, dyed a deep blue and constructed to individually wrap each leg. They wore tightly fitted clothing over the upper body, without a male or female breast in sight, though the weather wasn’t cool enough to require heavy robes. Their feet were fitted into uncomfortable looking casings, mostly white, that appeared to be tightly secured in place. Their hair, too, was unusual, ranging from very short to more than shoulder length, with length not a function of gender—though the women had stylings that brought a frown and a narrowing of her eyes. How they were able to achieve such interesting effects with their hair was a puzzle she was very interested in solving. That they were clean and neatly dressed said they weren’t members of the common people, but likely, a party of nobility on a frolic.

They appeared to be at their ease, certainly not a war party. Some leaned against what she guessed were supply packs, talking. Others were sprawled companionably with their ladies, resting on blankets spread on the ground by the fire. A man with a large stringed instrument sat with them, lazily strumming chords she found pleasant to the ear. Her first thought was to exercise caution and observe them from hiding for a time. But a goddess does not hide in fear from her subjects. And if by chance they were her equals, no need for caution. She drew herself up and lifted, both to protect her feet from the stones of the trail and to help identify her to the people there. Wrapping her dignity about her like a cloak, she floated toward the group gathered around the campfire.

Artemis! That shocked exclamation came from a stocky young man, rising now from his place at the fire. A whistle of surprise and admiration came from another man, frozen with a cup almost to his lips. That one stared at her breasts, unconsciously licking his lips.

They were on their feet now, the men interested, the women seeming reserved, or even hostile, but such behavior was expected when dealing with humans. The man who’d spoken, quickly recovered, a wide smile on his face. Welcome, Artemis, goddess of the hunt. You are even more beautiful than your portraits depict. He bowed, adding, Your loyal subjects await your bidding. His words, aside from his having spoken her name, were spoken in what appeared to be a language related to Greek. His attention, though, was on her body.

What language do you speak, Human? I know not the dialect if it be Greek.

His smile widened as he straightened from the bow. Ah, of course, he said in more understandable words. The goddess of the hunt speaks the Classic Greek we learned in grade school, not our modern profanity of the mother tongue. Isn’t that right, Your Greatness?

His words were polite, but his voice bold and mocking. His accent, too, was difficult to follow.

She ignored the tone. I too, am called by that name, but I am not the one known to humans as the huntress. It was time to clear up an important point.

Are you gods or Humankind?

The young man’s face fell into lines of confusion, which made her fairly certain they were human, but the question as to who they were, and where they were from, remained.

Several of the others made what sounded like questioning comments, in a harsh and meaningless language, but the man ignored them, waving a shushing hand in their direction. He studied her for a moment, lips pursed and obviously enjoying the view, and had opened his mouth to answer when one of the women shouted, and pointed to her feet. The excitement that followed said they were human, and had only rare contact with the gods. The man’s next question, though, was unexpected.

Do you…. Did you come here from another world?

Events were arriving at a rate too fast to follow this night. As she tried to formulate a reply, another man stepped forward to stand almost protectively by her. His Greek was poor, and spoken with an accent that made it almost unintelligible. Another world? he said, in a tone that dismissed such a thing as not worth consideration. Ladies and Gentlemen, we are honored tonight by the presence of the goddess Artemis, known to the Romans as Diana, and we should make her welcome. He switched to another language for a moment and spoke again. This time she identified it as a corrupt dialect of Greek, and picked up what seemed a suggestion to Be cold. He might have identified her as The Huntress again, but his accent was so hard to follow that she couldn’t be sure, so she let it go for the time being. Whoever they were, they knew little about the gods.

Stooping to collect a stick from the ground, the man turned again to her, gesturing toward her feet. With your permission? He obviously hoped to verify that her levitation wasn’t an illusion.

No need, Man, she told him, taking control of the situation herself. Pushing aside her exhaustion for the moment, she lifted higher, until her feet were nearly level with his head, amid their gasps of disbelief and shocked comments. She held herself there for a moment, fighting to keep the strain from showing on her face, then settled to the ground, head throbbing. Silence followed for a time, while they absorbed what they’d seen and tried unsuccessfully to explain it in terms of previous experience. Several made mystic signs in the air before them.

The man nodded.

Truly, she is a goddess, he mused, his voice sounding distracted. Pulling himself together with an obvious effort, he too bowed, but with the proper respect, asking, Would you care to join us, Goddess, for refreshment and conversation?

She was beginning to regret her actions in not observing the group from concealment until she could decide on a proper course of action. Unfortunately, it was too late for regret. She looked him over, trying to decide as to whether to accept their hospitality and the demands that would make on her, or to refuse the offer and leave.

Aside from his strange manner of dress, the human was comely, almost in the style of the gods. He appeared somewhat older than the rest of the group—probably in his late twenties. Taller than she by a hand, he appeared to be well built beneath the concealment of strange clothing.

You are?

He bowed a second time, saying, I am called Nick Cristopo. Nicky to my friends and also to the gods and goddesses. His smile was friendly and infectious, not mocking, and he had impossibly white, even teeth.

Relaxing a bit, she acknowledged his smile with a nod.

Thank you, Man Nicky, this has been a passing strange night for me, and I would welcome a bit of wine and a moment’s rest.

He chattered rapidly in the other language for a moment, arguing with those of the men whose expression, and tone said they feared her. Apparently, he won the argument, for they dragged a large wooden table, with attached benches, a bit closer to the fire. Nicky presented her with wine, poured into an impossibly thin and strangely flexible cup. But the wine was as fine as any she’d tasted, and slid pleasantly down her parched throat. The women still regarded her with barely concealed hostility.

Accepting her as a guest, they plied her with strange but pleasing tidbits of food, ending with an ambrosial something called a chocolate bar, delighting in her exclamations of enjoyment at each new offering. Even the women slowly warmed, accepting her as a sister, as she examined the paints with which they enhanced their beauty, enraptured by the tiny but perfect mirrors they carried to aid in its application.

Sated with food, she sipped her wine, relaxing and unwinding from the shock of finding herself thrust an unknown distance into the future. Since the death of her parents, and with only her uncle as a living relative, she’d been a stranger in her own world. So, the shock of displacement by what must surely be several decades didn’t dismay her as much as it might have a few years before, when she lived in the bosom of her family. Rather, it intrigued.

As her mood mellowed, she remembered the singing that had first attracted her to the picnic grove and turned to the man who’d been playing.

Would you do me the honor of continuing your song?

He frowned, and she repeated her request, more slowly this time. After a moment, in which he obviously struggled to translate her words, he smiled and nodded, then picked up the device and began to tune it.

The request pleased the group, for he, and others, contested to present the best music for her pleasure, singing and playing while the moon moved through a tenth of the sky. Nothing in their singing rang familiar, and most of the music was strange in style. Still, there was much she liked, none in a language she spoke, though Nicky and others told her of what they sang.

When the singers tired, one of the young men produced a small box that sang of itself in the most amazing manner. At his touch, it provided the music of a company of musicians, and the voices of many singers. Much of the music was harsh with discord, but well-liked by the group, as they began to pair off and dance in an almost frenzied manner that both surprised and shocked. They asked her to join them, and she was sorely tempted, but in such an unusual situation, knowing nothing of the customs of these people, best to preserve the dignity of the gods, so she reluctantly declined.

Finally, sated with both song and food, she sat on the edge of the picnic table, resting her feet on the bench, much restored. They gathered before her, as curious as children. Not yet fully believing, but suspending disbelief, they were willing to go along with her portion of the night’s entertainment.

Nicky, his face flushed with the effort of dancing, said, We’ve entertained you, Goddess, will you now entertain us with the answers to our questions?

Relaxed now, with several cups of wine smiling in her stomach, humoring the human’s curiosity as payment for their hospitality seemed reasonable, so she nodded, saying, Ask away, though there are things about the gods that I may not answer.

Do you really know the goddess of the hunt? came from a woman, in tones of envy.

She frowned, not wanting to speak against another god, especially to humans, but the woman had touched a sore point, and the wine argued in favor of speech. She’d have to simplify her answers for their limited understanding of Greek, but simple answers were all she planned to give in any case.

I know the one the humans call, The Huntress, she said, reluctantly, We share the same name, but I’m afraid I don’t like her very much, and we’re very unlike in other ways. She’s a bloodthirsty showoff who cares little for proper behavior. She is always and always trying to prove she’s the best at everything. The look on the woman’s face, in response, argued for further explanation. Her understanding was better than was her ability to speak Greek.

It’s no great feat to out-shoot a human archer when you can guide the arrow from bow to target. She happens to have a strong talent in that direction, and makes a big show of it. I think she’s really trying to prove to herself that a goddess, though only a female, is far better than a human male. She also happens to like killing things for the pleasure of bringing death, something I find…. She groped for words, finally settling on: Hateful.

The woman’s face reflected her shock, and she seemed about to retort, when one of the men, the first to speak when she entered the clearing, broke in with, How about Aphrodite, the goddess of love. He wore a smirk. Based on his behavior with the other women, this one appeared to have the mind and manners of a pig.

She turned on him and pointed a finger, waving it at the man. You for one, would not be pleased if you spent a night with her, she said, unable to keep the disgust from her voice. Goddess of lust is more like what she is. A hundred men in a night would not satisfy that one. Her body smolders with an unquenchable heat, one that brings no glory to the gods, and I think, little real pleasure to her.

They were silent for a moment, then a woman threw out a name: Hermes.

She nodded. A nice man, with a great sense of humor, but he has a penchant for practical jokes. He loves to trick an unsuspecting human into a foot race, and then win by adding bounce to his steps as he runs.

Dionysus, another called out.

Ah, Dionysus, my favorite old uncle. She smiled as his image rose in her mind. A wonderful, wonderful man. Oh, he’s fat and sloppy, and he loves wine and pretty women far too much, but an adorable and loving person despite that. When I was a girl, I spent part of the summer with him, and how I loved him, and how he made me laugh. She smiled in remembrance, then came back to the present, the warmth in her voice still reflecting her feelings for him. He throws great parties, she told them. "Some of which, I wager, will go down