Pumpking

Issue 1

Issue 1

71 days without incident

My weekly PAP, People Afflicted by Powers, meeting started on a sombre note. Tony Macgregor was dead. I don't know what I was feeling about his death; I'd been his sponsor but we hadn't been in the sort of close relationship that some PAP members developed.

I didn't know exactly what had happened to him; his girlfriend had delivered the news over the phone and much of the conversation had been her sobbing incoherently. Tony had been a good guy, the sort who didn't cause much trouble and held down a steady accounting job. Personality wise, I guess he was very straight and narrow; meat and three veggies for dinner, British extended family, still had all his grandparents; never been outside of the country. Boring.

The moment I thought boring, I felt a little guilty; he hadn't been very old, thirty-five, too young to die. Recently having come into very impressive, but bothersome, Powers. Like everyone at the PAP meetings.

The meetings were held in an old scout-hall. The scouts had long since abandoned the facility for somewhere with more room, chairs, and closer to the new city centre. The place didn't see much use; a knitting club and a community outreach graffiti group. As the city council representatives said, its days were numbered. The high ceiling was braced with thick wooden beams, stained with water damage and the scuffed lime-green linoleum floors smelled faintly of gym socks and pee. We had an old outdoor table that held the heavy burden of coffee and cheap store-bought biscuits in one corner and little cut-price paper cups. It wasn't cold enough yet for the group to be huddled closer together and instead we sat in a wide misshapen circle.

I was sitting next to two regulars and quietly listening as some seasonal visitors who had the look of people that wouldn't be around for very long, introduced themselves. We didn't have much to say at these meetings, mostly we just chatted, drank coffee and read out motivational words to encourage anyone struggling because of their affliction. No prayers, no radical pep-talks or shouting matches; no psycho leaders trying to get us to express our inner feelings. We all knew why we were here. I had spent a few minutes looking up my good quote for today, 'Life goes on, with or without you.' Although... maybe it was morbid.

"Alright guys and girls, let's get started. Normally I know we don't bore everyone with the speeches, but as some of you already know, Tony recently passed away. He was thirty-five, and as of yet the authorities haven't released the details of his death, but I'm sure you'll all agree he was a good guy; so a moment of silence would be appreciated," Kurt Brown had a good voice. He was a twelve-foot tall red monkey with the enunciation of a radio presenter; probably because he was, both.

I liked him; he was to-the-point, polite and carried good conversation. He had a sort of charisma, once you got past the initial shock of his red-furred face and saw the man underneath. He'd started PAP in Capita city almost twelve years ago and I had been coming to him for advice and support for the last six. He was funny, gentle and didn't judge people. At least he'd travelled a little and had stories to tell of his interests.

The woman on my right was wrapped head-to-toe in sandalwood smelling yellowed bandages. She was, for all intents and purposes, totally mummified. She inclined her head respectfully. She didn't speak much, but her name was Sylvia Trevors, and she was a dried, desiccated corpse under the bandages. Sylvia liked yoga and worked in the nearby K-mart. She had been showing up at PAP meetings for as long as I could remember, and that all I knew about her. She didn't talk much.

Across from me, in the little blue plastic chairs provided were the newcomers; Dave, Jules, Ash, Heath, Simon and Simone. Simone was one of those people who had peered too long into a crystal ball and wound up with mystical powers; she couldn't touch anything at the moment because she had demonic energy and it was hurting people—or something. Dave was an obvious case of reptilian hybrid; apparently his dad had been in REX and Dave had been in the two-precent of the population whom the cure for the mutagenic virus had not worked. The other four weren't an easy guess.

Our minute of respectful silence ended and Kurt cleared his throat. It was more like a rumbling growl than a clear of throat, but I knew the difference for when Kurt actually growled, "Thanks for that guys. Okay, to business. You all know Halloween is in a few days; this is an awkward time of year for all of us, but especially you, Dion. Normally Tony would be there to support you through this but given the circumstances, we may need to consider..."

I nodded solemnly, I would have to make it through on my own. Normally I would call Tony on the day just so he knew I was holed up under the couch and nothing was wrong. This year I hadn't been able to afford taking the time off my two jobs, but I was under control. I hadn't had an incident in months.

"I'll do it," Ash, the first-timer pipped up.

I frowned slightly; aside from new-comers rarely volunteering; he didn't look reliable. He was too well dressed to be struggling with whatever his power was. His loafers were at least three hundred dollars and the rest of his clothing was plain, but designer. A two hundred dollar t-shirt never looks like it came from the bargain bins at Target.

He had wild, dark brown hair swept back only marred by a thick chunk of white that nudged his age by a good ten years but I suspected was not of natural origins. Washed and soft and he was, I'll admit, handsome enough to get away with murder around a lesser woman. I figured he probably lived in Capita city's heart; probably in a high-rise bachelor pad with a swimming pool. His appearance should have put me at ease, but his eyes didn't.

He was wearing contacts, any idiot could tell that much; and maybe it was just the unusual contacts that gave me pause; but he had cold eyes. His eyes bored into me and made me uncomfortable. There was something strict about his posture; he had put on a façade of 'relaxed' but it was not natural; he had picked the chair so he could see all the exits and entrances. Definitely a suspicious individual.

Kurt said, "Well that's wonderful of you to volunteer. Dion, what do you say?"