Eerie, Indiana/Johannes Cabal fanfiction: Slyboots
Written for the Slyboots challenge at smallfandomflsh
From "Johannes Cabal the Necromancer" by Jonathan L Howard:
"BE IT KNOWN IN THESE PRECINCTS OF HELL THAT THE ARCH-DEMON RATUTH SLABUTH, GENERAL OF THE INFERNAL HORDES, WOULD HENCEFORTH LIKE TO BE KNOWN BY HIS PREVIOUSLY PREFERRED NOMENCLATURE, TO WIT RAGTAG SLYBOOTS, DESPOILER OF MILK AND TANGLER OF SHOELACES, INTERFERER OF LIGHT MUSICAL PROGRAMMES UPON THE WIRELESS, AND PROPAGATOR OF UNSOLICITED POST.”
It started with the radio. At first, Marshall had assumed Simon had been fiddling with its inner workings again, and was simply grateful that the latest manifestation of weirdness took on the comparatively benign form of static crackling and the random dropping out of the wireless signal. As long as he wasn’t trying to alphabetize his files to the accompaniment of Chris de Burgh, he’d be okay.
When the interference began to form itself into something like words, and those words began to sound something like his name, Marshall checked the calendar and signed up to be a Junior Picnic Captain at next year’s Tornado Day. He also pledged to buy an entire roll of tombola tickets, which the event planners were happy enough with although, as they stressed repeatedly, they didn’t actually have the prizes or the ticket books yet. Still, they hand-wrote him a receipt for a hundred tickets and Marshall pasted it carefully in the window of the Secret Spot, facing outwards, where it would be easily visible to any passing cyclones.
The first time he tripped over the trailing laces of his Original Sky Monsters (Vintage Retro Re-Release Limited Edition, Now With Mad Air Maximization!) he didn’t think much of it. When it happened three times in the course of a single afternoon, after he had apologised to Mr. Radford for the mutilated remains of a Black Cow smeared across the World o’ Stuff’s newly-washed floor and helped clean up the mess, he went home, changed into a thick pair of socks, and spent the rest of the weekend researching cursed footwear in books Simon fetched from the library.
He was in the kitchen when he heard the refrigerator die with a loud screech of grinding metal and the sudden cessation of its usual low hum. A moment later, there was the pop of released air as the Foreverware seal on the milk jug failed.
Mars slipped on a pair of wool-and-cold-iron mittens which his grandma had insisted he take home after his last visit and, silent in navy-blue bed socks, crossed to the murdered fridge. He wrenched the door open, setting condiment jars a-jangling, and without pausing to think about what he was doing, seized hold of the small green figure that crouched frozen in the automatic light.
It screeched and smoked at the touch of the iron, but Marshall gripped it tightly. The inside of the fridge already stank of spoiled milk, and the smell slowly spread to the rest of the kitchen. Marshall held his breath, wrapped his other hand over the struggling figure held in his clenched fist, and deposited it in the lidded plastic box that usually served to house Godzilla and Mothra on their trips to the vet.
Ragtag Slyboots, despoiler of milk and tangler of shoelaces, interferer of light musical programmes upon the wireless, and propagator of unsolicited post, glared up at him. Marshall glared back.
There was a knock at the front door. Still clutching the carry-case tight to his chest, lest Slyboots escape to wreck further havoc on the Teller household (in particular it’s eldest son) Mars walked to answer it.
An Eerie Dairy delivery truck sat in the driveway. The interior was filled with an oily black smoke, obscuring any occupants from view. A milkman in a crisp white uniform, his face hidden in the shadows cast by his peaked milkman’s hat, stood on the doorstep. He held a wire cage containing six bottles of premium gold-top milk in one hand. A small, glossy pamphlet was tucked between the glass bottles.
Without a word, the milkman held out his hand, palm up, fingers spread. Marshall placed the box containing the enraged imp carefully in the outstretched grip. The milkman passed him the milk. The pamphlet was a thick wedge of coupons, redeemable against anything from cottage cheese to ice-cream.
The milkman nodded once, then turned and walked back to his truck. The blue and white cow on the side of the van seemed to wink in the afternoon sunlight. The milkman opened the driver-side door and the hand carrying the small pet-transport box disappeared into the murk within. Marshall thought he detected movement in the swirling darkness, just before the milkman pulled himself fully inside and shut the door.
The milk truck pulled away. Children playing in the road scattered to the safety of their own front lawns as it rolled slowly down the street.
Behind Marshall, the refrigerator shuddered into life again.
Trusted Associates, Inc.
Surprise by froodle, in which Mars tries to make sure Simon's birthday goes a little better this year
The Glade by froodle, in which Simon and Mars visit a place that only exists on February 29th
Boardwalk by froodle, in which Simon and Mars are swayed by radio advertising
Lady in Red by froodle, in which Simon experiments on the old-fashioned radio in the Secret Spot, and horror ensues
Seafoam by froodle, in which Simon and Marshall go to the seaside
A Night at the Circus by froodle, in which a carnivale comes to town, and Marshall and Simon do not enjoy themselves
Taking a Break by froodle, in which Simon and Marshall enjoy some much-needed R&R
Shoreline by froodle, in which Simon and Marshall investigate strange happenings on the shores of Lake Eerie
Parade by froodle, in which Mars takes issue with the Eerie Beekeepers Association's choice of mascot
Homestead by froodle, in which Marshall finally gets something useful out of shop class
Hound by froodle, in which Simon makes a friend
Errands by froodle, in which Simon has a to-do list
Milkman Series
Reanimator by froodle, in which the Milkman returns
Multiplicity by froodle, in which Marshall must once again confront parallel realities, diverging timelines and public speaking
Hound by froodle, in which Simon makes a friend
From "Johannes Cabal the Necromancer" by Jonathan L Howard:
"BE IT KNOWN IN THESE PRECINCTS OF HELL THAT THE ARCH-DEMON RATUTH SLABUTH, GENERAL OF THE INFERNAL HORDES, WOULD HENCEFORTH LIKE TO BE KNOWN BY HIS PREVIOUSLY PREFERRED NOMENCLATURE, TO WIT RAGTAG SLYBOOTS, DESPOILER OF MILK AND TANGLER OF SHOELACES, INTERFERER OF LIGHT MUSICAL PROGRAMMES UPON THE WIRELESS, AND PROPAGATOR OF UNSOLICITED POST.”
It started with the radio. At first, Marshall had assumed Simon had been fiddling with its inner workings again, and was simply grateful that the latest manifestation of weirdness took on the comparatively benign form of static crackling and the random dropping out of the wireless signal. As long as he wasn’t trying to alphabetize his files to the accompaniment of Chris de Burgh, he’d be okay.
When the interference began to form itself into something like words, and those words began to sound something like his name, Marshall checked the calendar and signed up to be a Junior Picnic Captain at next year’s Tornado Day. He also pledged to buy an entire roll of tombola tickets, which the event planners were happy enough with although, as they stressed repeatedly, they didn’t actually have the prizes or the ticket books yet. Still, they hand-wrote him a receipt for a hundred tickets and Marshall pasted it carefully in the window of the Secret Spot, facing outwards, where it would be easily visible to any passing cyclones.
The first time he tripped over the trailing laces of his Original Sky Monsters (Vintage Retro Re-Release Limited Edition, Now With Mad Air Maximization!) he didn’t think much of it. When it happened three times in the course of a single afternoon, after he had apologised to Mr. Radford for the mutilated remains of a Black Cow smeared across the World o’ Stuff’s newly-washed floor and helped clean up the mess, he went home, changed into a thick pair of socks, and spent the rest of the weekend researching cursed footwear in books Simon fetched from the library.
He was in the kitchen when he heard the refrigerator die with a loud screech of grinding metal and the sudden cessation of its usual low hum. A moment later, there was the pop of released air as the Foreverware seal on the milk jug failed.
Mars slipped on a pair of wool-and-cold-iron mittens which his grandma had insisted he take home after his last visit and, silent in navy-blue bed socks, crossed to the murdered fridge. He wrenched the door open, setting condiment jars a-jangling, and without pausing to think about what he was doing, seized hold of the small green figure that crouched frozen in the automatic light.
It screeched and smoked at the touch of the iron, but Marshall gripped it tightly. The inside of the fridge already stank of spoiled milk, and the smell slowly spread to the rest of the kitchen. Marshall held his breath, wrapped his other hand over the struggling figure held in his clenched fist, and deposited it in the lidded plastic box that usually served to house Godzilla and Mothra on their trips to the vet.
Ragtag Slyboots, despoiler of milk and tangler of shoelaces, interferer of light musical programmes upon the wireless, and propagator of unsolicited post, glared up at him. Marshall glared back.
There was a knock at the front door. Still clutching the carry-case tight to his chest, lest Slyboots escape to wreck further havoc on the Teller household (in particular it’s eldest son) Mars walked to answer it.
An Eerie Dairy delivery truck sat in the driveway. The interior was filled with an oily black smoke, obscuring any occupants from view. A milkman in a crisp white uniform, his face hidden in the shadows cast by his peaked milkman’s hat, stood on the doorstep. He held a wire cage containing six bottles of premium gold-top milk in one hand. A small, glossy pamphlet was tucked between the glass bottles.
Without a word, the milkman held out his hand, palm up, fingers spread. Marshall placed the box containing the enraged imp carefully in the outstretched grip. The milkman passed him the milk. The pamphlet was a thick wedge of coupons, redeemable against anything from cottage cheese to ice-cream.
The milkman nodded once, then turned and walked back to his truck. The blue and white cow on the side of the van seemed to wink in the afternoon sunlight. The milkman opened the driver-side door and the hand carrying the small pet-transport box disappeared into the murk within. Marshall thought he detected movement in the swirling darkness, just before the milkman pulled himself fully inside and shut the door.
The milk truck pulled away. Children playing in the road scattered to the safety of their own front lawns as it rolled slowly down the street.
Behind Marshall, the refrigerator shuddered into life again.
Trusted Associates, Inc.
Surprise by froodle, in which Mars tries to make sure Simon's birthday goes a little better this year
The Glade by froodle, in which Simon and Mars visit a place that only exists on February 29th
Boardwalk by froodle, in which Simon and Mars are swayed by radio advertising
Lady in Red by froodle, in which Simon experiments on the old-fashioned radio in the Secret Spot, and horror ensues
Seafoam by froodle, in which Simon and Marshall go to the seaside
A Night at the Circus by froodle, in which a carnivale comes to town, and Marshall and Simon do not enjoy themselves
Taking a Break by froodle, in which Simon and Marshall enjoy some much-needed R&R
Shoreline by froodle, in which Simon and Marshall investigate strange happenings on the shores of Lake Eerie
Parade by froodle, in which Mars takes issue with the Eerie Beekeepers Association's choice of mascot
Homestead by froodle, in which Marshall finally gets something useful out of shop class
Hound by froodle, in which Simon makes a friend
Errands by froodle, in which Simon has a to-do list
Milkman Series
Reanimator by froodle, in which the Milkman returns
Multiplicity by froodle, in which Marshall must once again confront parallel realities, diverging timelines and public speaking
Hound by froodle, in which Simon makes a friend