Hidden Villains: Arise

Hidden Villains: Arise

Robyn Huss

Inkd Publishing LLC

Copyright © 2023

All rights reserved.

ISBN - 979-8-9868180-3-0

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

The Fiber of Being: Copyright © 2002 Jody Lynn Nye

Ashes to Ashes: Copyright © 2023 Sherry Rossman

Cinnamon Girl: Copyright © 2023 Mark Beard

Hiding in Plain Sight: Copyright © 2023 L.N. Hunter

Into the Fire: Copyright © 2023 j.e. pittman

Loupers: Copyright © 2023 Tim Lewis

Midnight Rendezvous: Copyright © 2023 Gerri Leen

Mighty Bear: Copyright © 2023 B.D. Prince

The Passion of Saint Sebastian: Copyright © 2023 Evan J. Peterson

The Raiders of IF: Copyright © 2023 Mike Jack Stoumbos

Ring and Bone: Copyright © 2023 Kevin A. Davis

The Squeal of Gulls: Copyright © 2023 Michele Stuart

Time's Ravages: Copyright © 2023 Rebecca E. Treasure

The Tree Beings: Copyright © 2023 Michele Townsend

Upward Mobility: Copyright © 2023 Rosemary Williams

The Vagrant: Copyright © 2023 A.R.R. Ash

Vintage Fur: Copyright © 2023 JL George

Cover art © Vivid Covers | www.VividCovers.com

Signatures / Bookplates

In Memory of David Farland

The inspiration for Hidden Villains anthologies.

A loved and irreplaceable mentor to a generation.

Contents

Introduction

The Fiber of Being

Jody Lynn Nye

Ashes to Ashes

Sherry Rossman

Cinnamon Girl

Mark Beard

Hiding in Plain Sight

L.N. Hunter

Into the Fire

j.e. pittman

Loupers

Tim Lewis

Midnight Rendezvous

Gerri Leen

Mighty Bear

B.D. Prince

The Passion of Saint Sebastian

Evan J. Peterson

The Raiders of IF

Mike Jack Stoumbos

Ring and Bone

Kevin A. Davis

The Squeal of Gulls

Michele Stuart

Time’s Ravages

Rebecca E. Treasure

The Tree Beings

Michele Townsend

Upward Mobility

Rosemary Williams

The Vagrant

A.R.R. Ash

Vintage Fur

JL George

Tuckerizations

Acknowledgments

Multiverse 2023

Also by Inkd Publishing

Upcoming from Inkd Publishing

Notes

Introduction

Dear Reader,

Welcome to this collection of stories where villains arise – and who doesn’t like hidden surprises? We’ve all given the handle of a Jack-in-the-Box a turn! Each of these stories likewise has a twist – it could be quirky, it could be fun, it may be horrifying, but it’s definitely not what you’d expect. Some of these stories have villains who arise from conspiracy theories, some from urban legends, others from the realms of spirits, and a few from the depths of your very soul. Wherever these villains may be hiding, I hope you enjoy discovering them – and as you turn each page in anticipation of the villain arising, that aha! moment just might make you jump.

Many of the authors showcased in this anthology have been published and may be names you recognize; others had a story selected as their first publication. I have enjoyed reading, editing, and compiling all of them for you.

Robyn Huss, Editor

Robyn Huss is a freelance editor who specializes in heavy developmental and copy editing; she is a thorough grammarian and has a good eye for inconsistencies. She is able to focus on character development, dialogue, paragraphing, sequencing of events and details, theme, and symbolism, in addition to providing a thorough review of grammar, usage, style, and word choice.

Robyn has spent a lifetime analyzing fiction and writing. Her bachelor’s degree is in English with teaching certification; she has taught literature and writing for more than thirty years to grades six through college, and she has been editing professionally since 2013. She currently balances editing with teaching at the college level.

To learn more about Robyn and see samples of her work, visit www.HussEditing.com

The Fiber of Being

Jody Lynn Nye

Acluster of men in layers of sweaters stood warming their hands over the fire roaring in the garbage can. Newspaper pages rolled across the empty parking lot near the elevated train tracks as if they were wondering where their readers had gone. Two or three groups of forlorn humanity huddled nearby. The gangs might or might not come to pester them this evening. They had nothing to steal, not even dignity. None of the people there showed much sign of animation, except for three sitting on the bottom stair of the now-shuttered commuter train station. The muscular man with a yellow wool cap pulled down over his long black hair was flicking a knife open, closed, open, closed. The slightly more feminine-looking red-haired man clutched a saxophone that looked too shiny for the dismal scene. Between them sat a scruffy man in his late fifties with café au lait skin and ruddy-bronze fuzz on his head. He was smaller in stature than both of his companions, but where they looked casual, his eyes took in everything.

So let me get this straight, the scruffy man said, in a low voice that didn’t carry beyond the stairs. He looked dazed. "I’m dead."

Yes, said the man with the knife.

How could I have died? Nothing hurt. I didn’t feel a thing.

Do you feel anything now? asked the redhead, curiously.

Jasper palpated his chest with his thin fingers. His spare flesh covered his thin ribs just enough so the doctor at the clinic didn’t call him emaciated. Not all the time, anyhow. It came from existing on a rotten junk food diet plus the occasional bowl of peanuts and pretzels the bartenders put in front of him to help soak up the booze. He’d been too busy all his life to do anything but work. Liquor he used to dull the pain from not being able to do everything he wanted for people.

Yeah, of course. I feel me.

You were stabbed in the chest, Mick said, twirling the knife in his fingers around until the point aimed directly at Jasper’s sternum.

Jasper’s fingers fluttered, but they encountered no hole, no gore. He relaxed. You dudes are putting me on. I told you that in the bar. G’wan, who put you up to it? My boss? Ella’s always trying to get me to knock off the booze, but I’m not hurting anyone but me.

Very true, Gabe said solemnly. In this case, you died in the cause of helping others, in this case a frightened young woman. Do you remember that?

Jasper sighed. No. It’s all fuzzy. There must have been something in my drink. He shook his head. There’d been too many drinks lately; that he remembered. Working for Children and Family Services was a hole with no bottom. You got called in to take care of things for kids that no one ought to have to tell parents to do, like feed your kids, clothe your kids, and see that they went to school.

Human beings should be more careful of drink, Mick said. It can bring pleasure or allow inspiration to surpass inhibition, but more often it causes trouble.

Jasper nodded, suddenly enlightened. That’s why you’re slumming around here, pretty boy. You two are Jehovah’s Witnesses!

Of a sort, Mick admitted.

You’re evangelists!

Archangels, Gabe corrected him.

Uh-huh, whatever. I’ve had plenty of your kind come to the door. Jasper crossed his arms again. He could tell they were used to better than the shabby clothes they wore. He could always tell by attitude. Both guys must normally sport two thousand dollar suits and five hundred dollar shoes. Why else would they be slumming in a neighborhood bar? Rich people liked to pretend to be poor because they didn’t have to do it all the time.

He remembered the faces of the two men surrounded by blurry light as they helped him up off the barroom floor and hustled him out of the bar. Much less traumatic, was how they’d put it. They helped him to a place with a lot of light, but his eyes wouldn’t focus. He could tell from a quick check of his pockets that his wallet was missing. In fact, his pockets were empty to the seams. Whoever had rolled him had taken everything, including his apartment key. The guys had assured him that everything would be fine. They told him to call them Mick and Gabe, short versions of the names he botched when he tried to pronounce them.

Your glass contained cheap beer: not the brand you paid for, but nothing more harmful than ethanol usually is to your kind. In your case, you have worked up a tolerance threshold to its effects, and you had not yet crossed that. Your forgetfulness is normal. It takes time to remember so soon after death.

You keep saying that! Jasper cried. Stop saying that I’m dead. I’m right here.

Wait, Gabe said, shushing them both with eager hands. Here they come again.

Into the silence of the night broke a scream like a whirlwind advancing. Jasper cringed. He knew the sound of motorcycles. Had to be the Colombian Pharaohs. This was their turf. He’d counseled a lot of hurtin’ kids who’d wandered into the wrong place by accident wearing the wrong colors and been rolled on by the Pharaohs.

Sure enough, five oversized, overstroked, overchromed bikes zoomed into the midst of swirling paper. Two of them came to a screeching halt close enough to the burning trash barrel to bowl over the men standing by it. Jasper stared in disbelief. He’d seen this before, all of it, more than once. He knew what was going to happen next, every single thing.

The gangbangers swung off their bikes, in no hurry. Their leader, a big Hispanic kid with wiry black whiskers growing down the sides of his pudgy face and hair stuck up with mousse, walked up to the nearest geezer who was trying to get up, a faded black man of seventy or more. He waited until the man was on his feet, then knocked him over with a backhand slap. The other bangers followed suit, swatting the old dudes down like flies. As their victims tried to rise, they pushed them down again. And again. He wanted to jump off the step, but Mick held his arm. Finally, one old brother, a little taller than the rest, managed to get to his feet out of range of his tormentor. By the flare of his nostrils Jasper could tell he was blazing mad.

Now, you folks hold on there! he roared. His voice was hoarse with age and a million cigarettes, but there was power behind it. You’ve got no business coming here harassing people who ain’t never done nothin’ to you. Get on your bikes and ride away! He punctuated his words with a firm finger in the direction of the shining bikes.

Shut up, old man, the leader said easily, striding over to confront him, standing several inches taller than his victim. He backhanded him into a pile of boxes and turned away, laughing. Jasper was furious. He didn’t think it could happen the same way it had before.

But it did. The old guy rose from the boxes with a discarded fence post in his hand. With two strides which must have surprised him as much as it did the gangbangers, he took a two-handed swing. It connected with the skull of the gang leader, who dropped like a rock. Screaming like the devil possessed him, the old man flew at the other bangers, whapping them with the length of wood. They were so surprised they just stood there for a while, until one of them felt blood dripping down into his eyes. The punk’s brows drew down and he snicked a knife out of his pocket. Jasper was sure the old guy would miss it and shouted a warning. The old guy whirled, batting the knife far away, out of the pool of light. He advanced on the punk, who backed away.

Now, you get out of here! he bellowed. He straddled the gang leader, pointed the fence post at him. You move it out of here before I beat this dumb sucker’s brains out!

If he had any, Jasper thought, derisively. What mama ever raised her boy to become a thug who drove a $35,000 motorcycle to harass old folks who didn’t have a dime? To his amazement, and to the old man’s as well, the gangbangers slunk over to their bikes. Keeping an eye on him they putt-putt-roared off into the darkness. The old man waited a moment, then flung his weapon away from him. He went back to standing with his friends at the fire. They were so far downtrodden that none of them did much more than give him an appreciative, embarrassed look, to which he paid little attention. Jasper was proud of the old man’s accomplishment, too, but his admiration was nothing to compare with Mick and Gabe, who were whooping with delight.

Marvelous! Mick chortled.

So beautiful in his rage, was he not? Gabe demanded, pounding Mick on the back. He could be you!

I’d be honored to wear his aspect, Mick said. Jasper thought the two of them must have learned to talk out of some high-class book. Do you see there, Jasper, my friend? Behold a future angel. On the day he is called to the Most High we shall sing him into the ranks with joy.

Jasper shook off Mick’s hand, disgusted. They insisted on ruining the old guy’s beautiful moment of triumph with the crap they talked. When he’d met them . . . a little while ago, he wasn’t sure how long . . . almost the first thing out of their mouths was that they were angels. He knew better. Angels had fancy nightshirts, wings and haloes, and magical powers, not patched blue jeans and saxophones. Okay, he thought he’d watched the same scene, moment for moment, just a little while ago. He was having a hallucination, that was it. He’d heard of déjà vu.

Let’s see it one more time, Gabe urged. Jasper relaxed. All right, the joke was over. They couldn’t induce déjà vu. Gabe raised a hand. Suddenly the night was still once more, the homeless men clustered around their fire, the gangbanger was gone from where he had fallen. The same piece of newspaper rolled close to Jasper’s feet . . .

No! Jasper cried. Stop it!

The two angels looked at him. Why?

Jasper sprang to his feet, getting between them and the scene, stopping himself from seeing it. He couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it, but he had to. It was all happening again. Again! "You can’t do this to these people. Jacking them around, making them get up and . . . and perform for you!"

Mick’s beautiful eyes were gentle. Time is not linear, Jasper. I have told you this before. Gabe has told you the same. You must get away from that mindset. It will no longer serve you.

Jasper was adamant. All I know is what I see, he said furiously. He had no choice now but to accept everything his companions had told him. He couldn’t deny that they seemed to know things without anyone telling them. And they had replayed time. But why would God bother with a poor, lowdown mixed-up man like him? They must be angels, as they claimed, or aliens or super-powerful magicians, but no one had ever taught them morals. "What’s the matter with you?"

Gabe looked up at Jasper. Why would you feel sorry for these people? he asked. I distinctly remember you calling them ‘scumbags’ before.

Well . . . that doesn’t mean I want ’em to dance around like puppets! What about human dignity?

Both men looked at Jasper without comprehension. What? asked Mick, blankly.

It’s wrong! Jasper exploded.

Oh! Gabe nodded. He patted the stair next to him, but Jasper folded his arms, refusing to move. "Jasper, we are not ‘jacking’ these humans. We are reliving the moment over and over again, not they. It only happened once, but it happens forever. We merely move to the beginning of the sequence. We can see it as many times as we like. He gestured toward the circle of lamplight. Involuntarily, Jasper looked around. The big black man was rubbing his hands together over the licking flames. Any moment now the gangbangers would come back, he knew it. They’re not aware of us. They’re occupied in their own thoughts, now, here. And then, because their perception is not eternal, they will move on to the next tick of time."

Jasper didn’t get the fancy jargon. Well, it looks like you’re yo-yoing them.

Gabe smiled. Another interesting term. You have a most colorful manner of speaking, my friend. We only wish to enjoy this action over again, as you have seen reruns of movies. The actors have only performed once, haven’t they? It is the same.

But why this? Jasper asked. You have a bunch of poor dudes being harassed by a street gang. That’s not funny, but you laugh every time. He looked at them accusingly. How come you didn’t get up off your pretty behinds and help him?

Mick raised his fingers and made a tweaking motion in the air. The sound of the action now taking place under the street lamps stopped abruptly. Orrin Danvers does not need us. This is a matter for his conscience, for the strength of his conviction. He had to do something, and he did it, effectively. Those men had been provoked many, many times by the gang. Among them only Orrin Danvers can still be roused. He was moved to action because he felt the wrongness of that final attack in the very fiber of his being.

Jasper nodded. I felt it, too. He eyed them with suspicion, sure he’d caught them out now. If I’m dead how come I’m still feeling things?

It’s part of being human, said Gabe, a dimple appearing in his cheek. The very fiber of your being – did you ever wonder where the phrase came from?

Well, I know fiber is important, Jasper said, dubiously. Ella’s always after me because I don’t eat enough. She says it’s in vegetables. I eat potato chips and corn chips!

Not that kind of fiber, Mick said, with a grin that crinkled his eyes. Jasper wasn’t queer, but he could see where women and a bunch of guys he knew would fall into those long-lashed, dark-blue orbs and keep sinking even if Mick used that switchblade of his on ’em. He’d seen plenty of pretty-faced abusers who traded their looks for absolute obedience from their victims, but his instincts told him Mick was good through and through – strong goodness, like a laser beam. Jasper had never been led astray by his instincts, through all the years he’d worked for DCFS.

It’s what makes living beings different than celestials, Gabriel said. You are born into an existence rich with texture, filaments reaching out in every direction. Even after you die, you still retain memory of having had it.

But I’ve watched you! You touch everything.

It’s not the same. We touch it. We know it. We are unconnected to it, and always have been. It’s how we serve God with our observation, not merely our bodies as humans do.

You make being corporeal sound so low, Jasper growled.

Far from it, Mick assured him. "It’s Earthly, true, but that does not lessen its importance. Why else would God have given it to you, his most precious creation?

Those who know understand that the body is not an excuse but a teacher. Listen within yourself. Your body is a memory. Every time you cut yourself you relive what happened each time the same thing occurred, and when it will in times to come.

"That sucks," Jasper said. Mick laughed.

You do not retain only pain, but the thoughts and feelings of those times, too. You learn from them, or you don’t. That’s your source of wisdom, greater than that we possess.

And yours?

We were never corporeal. We are as the Most High made us.

Well, so are we, uh, humans, Jasper said.

He gave you free will. Because you’re mortal, because you’re base, doesn’t give you permission to commit sins. Free will makes you capable of committing them, but your higher nature should step in.

What if people don’t . . . um . . . use their wisdom?

Michael smiled, lending his face a terrible, dangerous beauty. If they are only foolish and not evil they remain blessed souls, and are blessed with the peace of the Most High, allowed to rest. If they are both good and wise they may gain the greater responsibility of angels. One requires awareness to make a difference to others.

Uh-huh, Jasper said, sitting down beside Gabe. Are there marginal souls, ones who made a little bit of difference, but not enough?

Gabriel smiled. Those are our favorites, he said. They are the ones who get a second chance, under our personal scrutiny, to prove themselves. Like you.

Jasper felt a chill. He glanced over at the beefy Hispanic kid, now stretched out on the pavement. Could I end up going to hell?

Absolutely not, Mick said. Your options are not between good and evil, but between rest and action. You will either spend eternity at peace, in the light of God’s love, or assisting other souls. It is a more exacting mission.

Would I be able to visit Earth? Jasper asked hopefully.

No, Gabe said. Your work there would be done. You would attain your reward in heaven.

Never to see Chicago again? To sit on his behind for all eternity, what, playing harps? Number one sounded like eternal boredom. That wouldn’t be heaven to him. It’d be hell. I like number two, he said firmly to the beaming angels. What do I have to do to sign up?

Mick’s smile increased in brilliance until Jasper was surrounded by whiteness.

When his vision cleared they were no longer sitting under the El tracks. He spun around, trying to see landmarks.

There were no landmarks, unless you counted clouds. Above him stretched a high ceiling of heartbreakingly beautiful blue, but the rolling, floating, heaving waves of white lay around him in a sculptural, monochrome landscape. Here and there he spotted variations in color: a patch of green trees, a brown horse, a flock of blue birds, but they were overwhelmed by the predominance of pearlescent white.

At first Jasper thought his companions had abandoned him. Then, he realized the blinding, multicolored pillars of light beside him were talking.

. . . made the transition well, for the first time, said the taller beacon. Welcome home, Jasper. When his vision adapted, he recognized Mick’s high-cheekboned face amongst all the glory. The tattered clothes were a memory. In their place Mick wore white draperies from neck to feet. White was too feeble a name for the gleaming hue, but it was all the vocabulary Jasper had. Sprouting from his back were feathered wings ten feet wide. In his hand the switchblade was now a blue-white sword with a golden hilt. Light split when it touched the edge. Gabe, too, was utterly transformed. His red hair swirled around his head like fire, and the saxophone had become a long, skinny trumpet.

Wow, was all Jasper could say. Mick grasped his arm and lifted him right off his feet. The two of them floated along with Gabe flying ahead, his huge wings spread, his trumpet to his lips. The sound was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

There was so much to absorb. Figures on the cloud-surface glanced up to see them as they passed. Jasper had never seen so many happy, content, good-looking people of every race and age all clad in pastel with wings sprouting out of their backs. Jasper felt totally out of place. His bronze, freckly skin, the product of a mixed-race background, and dark clothing seemed too stark against all the muted colors.

Cloud piled on cloud like whipped cream mountains. They flew upward toward the peak from which rays of light whiter than the clouds issued.

Where are we going? Jasper asked, staring at them. Are we going to see . . . You Know Who?