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    Intersections
    Intersections
    Intersections
    Ebook80 pages1 hour

    Intersections

    By C. C. Blake

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    About this ebook

    The first volume of a brand new quarterly series of storytelling excellence, Pulptastic Adventures Quarterly will tackle a new theme each month from a variety of stories. This premier issue examines Intersections between the fantastic and the mundane, between the real world and the cinematic one, between cosmic reaching science fiction and mind-blasting cosmic horror. These stories introduce characters caught in the midst of a transition and delivers pulse pounding plots.

    In C. C. Blake's "The Nubile Nymphs of Venus," man of action Chuck Cave finds himself on a poverty row movie set in the 1970s, watching a sleazy science fiction picture getting made. He's not a fan, however. He's guarding the girls playing the spicy aliens. Some directed accidents have been targeting members of the cast and crew, and Chuck is on the case trying to find out who is responsible. Can he solve this mystery before someone gets killed?

    Daniel R. Robichaud's "In My Father's House There Are Many Doors" blasts off to the distant reaches of space to find an interstellar trader getting the short end of a double cross deal only to wind up trapped in a doomed domicile. There are doors in the universe, which serve as the transition between one chamber and another, and there are doors that open up to sanity-blasting cosmic truths best left uncovered.

    Finally, Kaysee Renee Robichaud brings us a glimpse of the alien spheres and what music can be made, what passions can be unlocked, and what sexual thrills can be explored. These are all tied to the Rocking Rule performance from a mysterious alien being "Born Under a Wand'ring Star."

    Each volume of the Pulptastic Adventures Quarterly anthology series will deliver pulpy fun and thrilling stories. This inaugural issue features over 20,000 words of fiction for a low, low price.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTwice Told Tales II
    Release dateJan 27, 2019
    ISBN9780463567111
    Intersections
    Author

    C. C. Blake

    C.C. Blake has lived across the United States, starting in the suburbs of Detroit, to Massachusetts’ second largest city (Worcester) to the country’s seventh largest city (San Antonio, Texas, that is). He’s has a variety of jobs, working as a substitute teacher, the graveyard shift dishwasher at a haunted Denny’s, lab research monkey and teaching assistant at a second tier college. Currently, he works as an automation consultant for a chemical company on the Northeast side of SAtown (which isn’t as Hellish as it sounds). Blake’s most popular character, irrepressible adventurer Chuck Cave, has appeared in over two dozen stories, including the 2005 Man’s Story 2 Story of the Year Award winner “Chuck Cave and the Vanishing Vixen.” The character’s supernatural thriller stories (which began with the seminal “Cave and the Vamp”) are all being released as a part of Vampires2.com’s initial foray into e-books. These new versions are presented in expanded and revised versions, all are the author’s preferred texts. Be sure to collect them all! In addition to his pulp stories for the 2-Empire (Man’s Story 2, Vampires 2, Androids 2 and Paranormal Romance 2), Blake’s fiction has appeared in several anthologies, including Unparalleled Journeys II (from Journey Books Publishing) and Fearology: Terrifying Tales of Phobias (from Library of Horror Press).

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      Book preview

      Intersections - C. C. Blake

      Intersections

      Pulptastic Adventures Quarterly

      Volume 1

      Edited by C. C. Blake

      Table of Contents

      The Nubile Nymphs of Neptune by C. C. Blake

      In My Father's House, There Are Many Doors by Daniel R. Robichaud

      Born Under a Wand'ring Star by Kaysee Renee Robichaud

      Note From the Editor

      The Nubile Nymphs of Neptune

      A Chuck Cave Mystery

      C. C. Blake

      I had to stop what I was doing on the catwalks when the four green-skinned, voluptuous, alien beauties slithered into the Jacuzzi far below and started making out. Hands and mouths traveled all over the place, going places no red-blooded heterosexual male wouldn't appreciate. It was a thing of beauty. My breath caught in my throat, I caught a fevered fascination. Too bad the scene got cut from the picture. Even if you saw the hack job that was The Nubile Nymphs of Neptune or whatever it got called, you never saw that clip. The scene was cursed. The girls gave the scene their all while someone else dedicated his attention to malfeasance, and I was too stupid to watch out until it was almost too late.

      Not five minutes after the director called Action, and the cameras rolled, a metallic whang sounded from the rigging where I was. It was the sound of a support cable snapping under too much load. A long, thin, and metallic cable whizzed through the air, slicing my cheek and nipping the tip of my left earlobe. One of the heavy duty lights plummeted toward the pool, twenty feet below. What sweet, green painted flesh it didn't crush faced electrocution.

      I hollered a warning even as I dove off the catwalk and caught the lamp's electrical line. There was no hope that my momentum could pull the line aside or drag the damned light off its trajectory. However, I landed on the opposite catwalk and rolled over, clutching the cable and then there was a momentary jerk as the light stopped its downward rush, and we both swung through pendulum motions for almost three seconds before the cable slithered through my palm like a razor-hided serpent.

      The girls stopped what they were doing, and four sets of wide eyes and o-shaped mouths turned up my way, green tinged bubbles fizzing up around their vulnerable parts. My interference was enough to throw that sucker off its trajectory. The light touched down on the stage not two feet from the Jacuzzi, landing with a crash, fracturing into a hundred bits of glass, steel, and electrical wiring.

      I hit the stage near the light, catching solid stage with my tailbone and then slamming backwards into the glass and steel fragments. The plug end of the line went into the tub and the director, McCracken, made a squawking terrified sound for fear that the girls were going to get cooked by the part of the cable that gets plugged into the wall. Needless to say, he was not operating with a full head of functional brain cells. As I had learned when I got the job as a concrete consultant and then as bodyguard, artistic vision is all that was required to helm a poverty row shoot like Nymphs. Everything else was numbers crunched by a bean-counting producer, cameras pointed by an overworked DP, as well as hackneyed lines first scribbled by an impassioned scenarist and then recited with as much heart as possible by the hired talent.

      One of the girls stepped up out of the Jacuzzi and asked, Are you okay, Mr. Cave? Carlotta had no thought or fears about her state of undress.

      I'll survive, I said. What I saw got me on the road to recovery, all right. Not quite twenty and solid gold gorgeous. Her name was Carlotta, and she was half dark-skinned Spanish when she wasn't wearing pea soup green water-resistant makeup. She had lovely, long hair that fell almost to her rump, and a body with more curves than a drafter's stencil. A disco queen type who was making some scratch by making bubbles in a z-grade scifi skin flick. The 1960s might be over, and the 1970s were almost likewise, but she remained strong in her sexual identity.

      Pushing fifty, I was old enough to be her father's older brother. I could still appreciate the beauty before me. Some roses, you have to appreciate them even if they are destined to be plucked by someone else.

      McCracken was on stage, then hustling over along with some of the other dozen odd crew members allowed onto the closed set and all their attention focused on the girls though in a less lecherous way than maybe I was. They showed up with blankets and concern, while I just sat up.

      What did you do up there? McCracken asked when he finally realized I was on the stage as well. Why make the light fall?

      I didn't do anything, I said. Your mystery man did that.

      You mean—

      Someone just tried to cook your talent, I said and immediately felt terrible. The girls were in earshot and two of them stiffened. I try not to be an asshole like that, but this McCracken guy did not count his day as a success unless he could get on my last nerve. Look, McCracken. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: You need to suspend your movie until—

      I can't do that, he said, eyes bugging out with terror at the very idea. "We can't. We're paying you to keep everyone safe. So, do the job we're paying you to do."

      Paying me, he said. He didn't crack a grin and he didn't smirk. I studied his face as he said these words, and wondered who he thought would be content with a hundred a week as well as a room at the local No Tell Motel with bonus continental breakfast and three mostly lettuce tacos for dinner. Nobody. Not even in a swinging year like 1979.

      Sure thing, boss, I said, brushing at the glass on my shoulders.

      A hundred was maybe better than nothing, of course.

      I was a bum back then, moving around the country and

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