Chapter 1967: My Man Wrote a Short Story



Chapter 1967

By The Mechanical Cat

Norma Jeane leaned back in the wooden chair and gently let her hand drift down her leg to feel the comfort of the snub-nosed .38, snugly holstered against her earthly thigh. A wisp of smoke left her mouth and danced toward the ceiling of the cabin. “Well, since every fucking agency and commission on the planet knows what’s going on in this cabin, what’s the plan now kitty-boy?” Norma’s voice was raspy.

“We’ve got an entire social revolution underway,” I said. “It’s a good diversion for now.”

“Obviously not fucking good enough. Do you even know who is outside?” Norma asked.

Across the room the glowing red eyes of the Mothman could be felt like the aurora borealis. He stood and walked toward the table where I was sitting with Norma. A murky hypnosis spread around us as the  Mothman tried to communicate.

“This is shit,” said Norma. “No fucking way. I am not doing it.” Bigfoot looked at the platinum blond wig and rhinestone dress lying in a heap on the table and raised a hairy eyebrow. Click. Flame. Cigarette. Norma inhaled and out blew a cloud of smoke. “Right now there are twelve agents out there. Watching our every move. Listening to every cigarette I light. Every word we speak.”

“Listen Norma-”

“No, you listen, Cat. Marilyn Monroe is dead. DEAD.” And she raised her eyebrows, expecting a response. She tilted her glass of whiskey back to her mouth and finished what was left. “I’m going out there.”

“Norma, it’s too dangerous” said Bigfoot through a face of fur.

“Nice,” said Norma. “Fuckin awesome. I thought you were-”

“You can’t leave yet,” I said, leaning forward through the shadows and smoke of the cabin. “We’re going with you.”

“I don’t need the help. I can take care of myself.”

“Not this time Norma, those aren’t CIA agents, those are inter dimensional beings called flyggian pony scouts.”

Norma looked at me with a suspicious smile. “Don’t act like I’m some naive school girl. I know what a pony scout is.”

And with that, Norma was out the door. Gun shots exploded in the darkness like camera bulbs flashing on her wooded stage. A red carpet spilled beneath her feet. Her attack was silent – violence at an efficiency matched by few others.

The quiet that filled the forest after she was done was complete. You could hear pine needles hit the dirt. Her heavy steps across the floor of the porch and then through the door – you could tell she was pissed. Norma sat down where she was, almost unchanged except for the freckles of blood she had attained in combat.

“How the fuck did you kill twelve pony scouts with six bullets?” I asked.

“Magic bullets,” Norma said with a twinkle in her eye. “How do you think we pulled off JFK?” A growl erupted from Bigfoot, which Norma silenced with a glance.

“I thought there was more than one gunman?”

“Well that’s just it,” said Norma. “There were no gunmen. There was a gunwoman, and a gun Bigfoot… and I don’t know what the fuck Mothman was doing. Mothman was the umbrella on the grassy knoll. I still don’t know where he’s coming from most of the time. Bigfoot was a terrible shot so I had to finish him off.”

“Where was Bigfoot?”

Mothman communicated telepathically to everyone in the room:

***bigfoot cannot be seen in direct sunlight***

“Where were you?” I inquired in complete shock.

“Dressed as Jackie. Had to make a getaway. Jumped out of the back of the car, but the Secret Service pulled me back in…” her voice trailed off. “Back and to the left. Back and to the left.”

“Oh…my…God. Why did you kill him?” The stare and silence between us could have stopped galaxies.

“Love and revenge. As simple as that.”