Innocence – The Dread Nosh Cafe

A bumbulum is a concept for a musical instrument that was designed to make fart noises. It also happens to be the name given to a particular panda that lived around an odd village on the outskirts of a remote bamboo forest. This particular naming of this particular panda is highly justified.

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Bumbulum grew up a sad little panda, always teased and prodded, all because he was a bit gassy sometimes. At least that’s how he saw it. His was the only perspective he could glean, so it was all that mattered. He would stay far away from all creatures with olfactory senses, and out of respect for his solitude and privacy, others, in his mind, agreed to stay away from him. It was settled and so it was.

His days were filled with the consumption of delicious leaves and juicy sprouts of the abundant bamboo that grew as far as the eye could see. Just chewing and sitting and farting. It was a good life, content and blissful. For many years this existence proved to be satisfying and gratifying. Until one day it wasn’t.

He would often hum out loud while he chewed. Sometimes the hums elevated to ahh’s or ohh’s, and those eventually begot what he would call songs. He had become a singer, and he loved it. His high-pitched careening could be heard for miles around. Clusters of birds would take to the sky, honoring him and his song. The deer and the wolf would run from his brilliance, adding their own screams to the melody.

His songs were the most beautiful thing any creature could hear. It was his duty to share. He was nearing a crescendo of one of his favorite ballads, one day, when something very odd occurred. His beautiful angelic voice cracked. Like a stone splashing in a pond, sending out ripples of the event, his voice ripped and undulated, his songs became garbled and abstractified. It was all very horrible. Bumbulum was sad again.

He still chewed on his lovely greens, but he no longer lounged. The jealousy of the forest inhabitants was reaching a crisis. His once legendary voice was mutating, but into what, he could not imagine. He still hummed, but only to himself. And of course he was still farting. That never went away. It was his true and constant friend, his voice from down below.

His days were now filled with strolling and exploring, with resonant humming and robust flatulations. It was, perhaps, a season or two wherein his humming seemed to mellow out. His constant vocal vibrations had successfully transformed his unique sound. He was no longer a celestial soprano, or even an alto.

His legs grew strong from the onward pursuit. His back lengthened and straightened. His shoulders widened and bulked. The black spots around his eyes and ears darkened and spread. He had grown into a beautiful beast, with a song to match that resonated on multiple frequencies and harmonics.

Creatures of the forest now cowered before his majesty, beyond mere jealousy. He was a god among the petty peasants. But he had no interest in such things. He had outgrown this forest, so he kept walking, occasionally swinging in the swaying bamboo. This place belonged to a different Bumbulum. The new and improved Bumbulum moved on to find his next solitary adventure.

On the edge of the sea of green he turned and looked back. There was a long twisting tendril of green smoky fog, marking the way he had ventured. It was centered about ass-high, and it seemed reluctant to dissipate. It seemed his farts would miss this place, more than the rest of him. This was cause for a new song.

He hummed his voice from the bottom of his feet to the tops of his ears. Everything in between vibrated with his song. And then a strange creature happened upon his path. It looked much like a bear of similar stature, but it had no fur. What it did have was a voice, and it screamed when it saw him. Perhaps this was a greeting, a new way of communicating. So, Bumbulum screamed back.

The once sad little panda was no more. And now he had a friend. He screamed down at the little hairless bear. The little hairless bear froze, his breath simmered on the edge of something Bum could not decipher. Bum stopped screaming and cocked his head a little to the side. Then he blinked twice. The little hairless bear raised his hairless paws up to his hairless face and pushed on either side of its somewhat hairy head.

They stood like that, for a quarter of an eternity, then the hairless thing seemed to catch its breath. It screamed again, then stopped, then again. It continued this way, becoming a pattern that was influencing a new song in some remote corner of Bum’s mind. He made a note, and then another, sort of a breadcrumb trail, leading back to the brilliant idea. He had lost himself for a moment within the moment at hand. In his stupiferous haze, he neglected to see the hairless thing turn and run, still screaming the chant. It might have been words.

BUMBULUM BUMBULUM BUMBULUM

The thing disappeared beyond sight, taking with it the catchy chanty riff. Bum repeated the screams and patterns in his head, cataloging them with the myriad of other sounds and techniques he had in his mental repertoire. The only thing missing, the only thing that would make the pattern more full and complete, was a fart. But not just any fart. The sub-harmonics had to be just right. The resonance had to vibrate at the perfect velocity.

Bum stopped and realized how out in the open he truly was. The comfortingly thick bamboo forest was behind him, but also surrounding him, and yet so disparagingly far away. He started to panic. He started, or at least continued, to fart, but in a stifled staccato manner. Rapid and deep bropps pulsed out of his bottom voice in a strange yet not entirely unpleasant manner, that coincided with every footstep he made, backwards, into the comfort of green.

He would practice this new language from this new creature. He would be ready the next time he encountered one. The next conversation song would be amazing. This, Bum knew, with all his heart, and all his farts.

It became oddly efficient to walk upright. In the seasons that followed, his legs lengthened and bulked, much like his arms. Climbing and running, dancing and swinging, eating and farting. This is life. This is the best any panda could do. And Bum loved every moment. But, Bum grew sad and lonely. He hadn’t seen another creature, beyond the chittering and chirping insects, in many moons.

But, he did hear them, upon occasion. Sounds came from far and wide, wherever he roamed throughout the great forest. He heard the voices hidden within the cacophony, below the clicks and whirs, that secret word that everyone and everything seemed to know, bumbulum bumbulum bumbulum.

One fine spring morning, Bum, feeling strong and vital, with a growing repertoire of songs and sounds, decided to once again go beyond the forest. He needed to find his hairless friend. Perhaps his friend had more friends. Perhaps his friend would introduce him to his other friends. The possibilities swirled inside Bum’s waking dreams as he wandered the known path that led to the unknown.

The path, even after traveling upon it only once many seasons ago, was very familiar to Bum. Up to a point, that was not in the right place. He felt he needed to travel further before the forest stopped and then openness began. He stood on the edge of the clearing and looked out toward the hairless’s world. Everything was different, and more. Strange nests and caves had been erected all throughout this little world within his world. And there were so many more hairless bear thingies. He stayed on his side of the threshold, hidden behind a thick curtain of green leaves, and watched.

The place where the hairless things lived seemed very odd to Bum. They kept cutting the bamboo. Then they would do things with the bamboo. Lots of things, like making their nest box things. They actually chose to cut themselves off from the real world. All day long they would go in and out of their boxes, doing all kinds of stuff that was weird and unnecessary to much of what Bum held sacred and true.

They also had many other strange animals that lived with them. Great hoofed beasts with long horns. He liked these creatures because all they wanted to do was eat and poop. They understood. Bumbulum would need to talk with these creatures, if he ever decided to leave the forest ever again even though that notion seemed highly unlikely due to all the new things he must learn first. He was content, for now, to watch, and eat, and fart, and compose new songs. Whenever he did decide to go down to the place of nest caves, he would be ready with a proper song that used the words of the mostly hairless things.

The hairless ones also kept not flying creatures, birds that didn’t fly. But they were so beautiful with feathers and patterns, like music for the eyes. Not only did these bird things look intriguing, but they had voices, and they liked to use them, often very early in the morning. Bum took note, breadcrumbs and all, of each and every song by and from each and every creature that called the clearing within the bamboo forest home.

All of them, the hairless, the hoofed, the feathered, and the slithering, needed to know their god, the god of this forest, the god they had named, Bumbulum, the maker of song.

He would first talk with one of the smaller bird things. Introductions needed to follow a hierarchy, and these squawkers seemed the lowest. They roamed and clucked in every part of the clearing. Their numbers seemed to increase everytime Bum blinked. He smiled at the prospect of having so many friends.

In his pacing travels around this weird place of weird creatures, just inside the treeline, Bumbulum had forged a new path that was almost a perfect circle. He felt the circle endowed him with a claim over all within. It made perfect sense, from Bum’s perspective. They were like fish in a pond. His forest, his pond, his fish.

It was still several days and into a new night before he shuffled off all his inhibitions. Without conscious forethought, Bum had chosen a night with no moon. The forest was black, like the aftermath of a fire, but without all the destruction. He grabbed a handful of fresh sprouts, some for snacking, some for sharing. He chewed and he walked. Then he started to hum, accompanying the cadence set by his ever-present flatulence. The green smoke he emitted, seldom visible during the day, came alive at night. Each pulse became a tentacle, shooting out his nether hole, then detaching and morphing into noxious little clouds before settling to the ground where they sort of popped and melted. The little puddles hissed as they burned, killing whatever matter they came in contact with, adding it to the sticky ooze before finally sinking into the dry dirt.

Bum thought of the little puddles of death like small offerings of his songs that lingered and devoured, a gift to the forest, and now a gift for those of the clearing.

There was a pen of the colorful birds just ahead. His long legs made it easy to just step over. Once inside he started walking the perimeter, his farts setting the stage for his first song. With a great rumbling in his tummy he began to chant and belch and caw, corralling his new bird friends toward the center of the pen. He walked and sang a full circuit, then started the next loop of the spiral. Each consecutive concentric circle moved him, and the birds closer together, until there was no more room to move.

Lost in his song, now concluded, Bum looked down at a pile of fuming sizzling feathers. There was an odd energy swimming around the melted bodies, and it smelled sweet. Bum bent down and sniffed the swirling scent, inhaling every delectable morsel.

Bumbulum slurped up the ethereal essence like the noodles he saw the hairless things consume. But, he imagined it to be more like magic bamboo leaves, perfectly palatable to his panda sensibilities. But it didn’t feel like bamboo leaves, or taste like bamboo leaves, but it was green, just like bamboo leaves, and almost like his fart fog.

He had never actually tasted or smelled his fart fog. It never occurred to him to even try. But now, seeing this new type of foggy smoke, he wondered. And then he thought of the bird things he was supposed to befriend. Where had they gone? And then he looked back down at the sizzling pile of fart muck, where still some colorful feathers poked out.

Bumbulum plucked out the best and most amazing feathers from the steaming pile, then gently placed them on his head, behind his ears, and around his stubby tail. Then he heard a scream, and it wasn’t a very pleasant scream. He sought to correct the one who emitted such a tone, so Bum intoned back, but with fragrant vibrato, and practiced gusto. He wanted the thing who screamed to know that the tone was not appreciated, but here and hear, this is how it is done.

He looked up to the round eyes of a hairless, but this one was oddly small, and very skinny, and its mouth was now frozen in the act of screaming, lips wide and taut, but it had stopped screaming. It looked full into Bumbulum’s eyes, and they stared, unblinking, for several breaths. Then its eyes started darting around, looking at all the fine feathers adorning the god-like creature that towered over it. Yes, it was impressed with his obvious grandeur.

Bum smiled, baring his teeth like he saw the hairless do, proving that he was a friend. He motioned to the hairless to look at his mound of treasures as it slowly melted into the ground. He knelt down beside it and started poking and prodding, looking for a gift for his new friend. He spotted something white and gleaming. He thrust two fingers in and yanked while abruptly standing and spinning toward his hairless friend. He held up the gift and smiled even wider, baring every tooth he had. Then he started to sing, from above and below, the song he had been working on, the song to greet the hairless, to show he was a friend.

The hairless thing still hadn’t blinked. Bumbulum shrugged and threw the gift at the feet of the hairless, which made it jump and screech (good tone), and then it grabbed its head, turned and ran, chanting Bumbulum’s name, letting everyone know it had just become friends with a forest god. This made Bum happy. He smiled as he plucked the final feather from the smoldering puddle. He twirled it between his fingers as he started strolling toward the treeline, not realizing his feet were not touching the ground.

He disappeared quietly into the forest, or at least as quietly as a steady stream of aggressive farts would allow. The forest welcomed him into its embrace. The forest was his friend. It was always his friend, just as it would always be. He stopped for a moment as his black ears perked up and twitched toward the clearing. He closed his eyes to concentrate, and then he heard it. The hairless were celebrating him, shouting their song of praise into the night, thanking him for being their friend.

bumbulum death bumbulum kill

Bumbulum smiled as he squished into his night nest, a black crater of dried layers of death muck, writhing and crackling with his god-like presence, a slight green fog misting over its surface. Bumbulum farts a lot when he sleeps.

Little did Bumbulum know, he had been ingesting his magical emissions for quite some time. The result was that he had built up an incredible tolerance, nay, he re-manifested the fog of death into a source of life energy.

The green fog, that which was emitted from various orifices upon the Bumbulum, had several layers of development, each with a possible, and unique, set of attributes. The first, and most obvious, is the initial fart, a product of endless leaf eating; vegan farts, but evolved, and lethal to all living matter.

It should be noted that Bumbulum was not entirely panda, even though he grew up very much as one. His mother was most definitely of the panda persuasion, but his father is yet to be determined. This accounts for much of his change upon reaching manhood, as it were. But we see things from a humanistic perspective, and Bumbulum is most definitely not human, in any way, except for what he mimics.

There have been stories of a drunk necromancer that stumbled upon the bamboo forest in the not so distant past. Those tales involved much flinging of necromantic fluids, upon and within many of the suitably sized creatures that were unfortunate to have wandered across his path. Most of the begotten were not viable as living creatures, but there was one that did survive. This one thrived, and recently inherited some insane powers.

Bumbulum slept in his nest, playing upon the shores of the Dreamscape. He slept for a very long time, although know one knows for how long, because know one was keeping records, at that time.

Legends of the village blossomed and mutated, making for bedtime stories filled with fear and terror in the hopes of keeping young minds on a righteous path. Bumbulum became a dark deity. The pen where he spiraled his destructive power became a monument, a place of worship, a place of sacrifice. Effigies of his horrific form begot a finely-crafted statue that now stood reverently at the center of the dead earth altar. This small spot was sacred to all except one.

On that fateful night, so many nights ago, there was one, a child at the time, who encountered the Dark One, the Bumbulum. That child was the only one to witness the ritual that had taken place. That child had imbibed of the green fog, much like it saw its master do. There wasn’t much left of the etheric residue, not enough to take its life. That tainted child grew into insanity, with a unique proclivity. It was a shaman to the people, one who was touched by power. It seemed a waste of his gift, from the perspective of those untainted, to only run around the village farting into everyone’s threshold and shitting in their chicken coops, all while mumbling bumbulumbumbulumbumbulum endlessly. Perhaps the title of ‘shaman’ stretches things a bit too far. It was tolerated, and even pitied, until one day when the chanting suddenly stopped. Those near the idiot shaman took note and informed the others. The shaman was watched very carefully from then on.

Deep in a dark corner of a dark forest there was a dark crater filled with a dark creature. Bubbulum stretched, squealing a yawn into the beginning of a beautiful song that greeted the beautiful morning. He stopped singing and let out a thunderous fart that echoed into eternity. It was about then that he realized his hands and feet were protruding well past the comfy confines of his nest of death. He stayed stretched out, wiggling his fingers and toes, which were decidedly not the fingers and toes he went to bed with.

He relaxed his entire body and fell back down into the cradle of the crater. Then he rolled to the side and in a remarkably fluid motion pushed himself up to stand. He held this graceful pose for several breaths, admiring his own magnificence. And then he heard something, like a chant from far away, but in his head, bumbulumbumbulumbumbulum…

He recognized the voice, as if from a distant dream. But it was different, deeper, aged. This confused Bumbulum for a moment, and then he grabbed a handful of leaves as he stepped up out of his nest and began to munch.

The leaves tasted funny. Bumbulum made a face as he looked down at the beautiful greens in his hand. His hand. Not a paw. A hand. Then he held up his other hand so he could do a proper comparison. Yup. Both hands.

He needed water. He needed to see himself. Bumbulum was getting scared. He began to shake with nervous tremors, which helped to wiggle out a beautiful stream of tweeting farts. The joyful sound set Bumbulum’s mind at ease. He breathed out and smiled as he looked around. Then he stopped breathing.

This was not the bamboo forest he remembered. It was still a forest, his forest, but it was changed, aged. Nothing was where he left it before going to sleep. Bumbulum tried to remember sleeping. Did he dream? He shrugged, which, like everything else, felt weird. He found his way to where deep puddles often collected, but there were no puddles, that is to say, the puddles were no more. His beloved puddles had become a swamp.

The water was thick like snot, and it stank most wonderfully. Swarms of insects buzzed in the air. The bamboo that grew here was not a bamboo he had ever seen before. The leaves were smaller and darker. The stalks were thick and tapered with a brown skin that did not taste good and left a paste in his mouth. The weird bamboo grew thick all over and reached high into the heavens. Bumbulum looked up, but could not see the sky. This made him sad, so he hung his head and farted. His eyes were now staring at the surface of the mucky water, at his reflection.

He took several more steps toward deeper waters, lowering himself, his face, closer to the surface of the shiny goo. He stopped, with his eyes closed, and waited for the ripples to die out so he would have a clear vision of his visage. He breathed in deeply, his bottom lip quivering. Then he opened his eyes.

The thing in the water stared at him, blinked, then smiled. He was beautiful, more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. Much of his fur was gone, but the skin beneath held his colors. He was smooth and white. His black spots popped with brilliance around his eyes and ears, and they pulsed. The black spots were breathing, and growing, seeking. The blackness was hungry. Bumbulum gave out a snort of acceptance, from above and below, nodding his head once. He needed to find something new to eat.

He allowed himself to fall back into the murk, his hands clasped behind his head. He floated, quite effortlessly, on the surface of the putrid liquid. It cradled him in a most soothing way. He floated and thought, listening to the unique music of his farts as they mixed and bubbled with the goopy soup.

His body had become long and lean, his skin smooth and slick. He began to glide, propelled by an endless stream of rumbling Bumbulum bubbles. He rode and he contemplated, watching the kaleidoscope of light and shadow as it danced in the trees high overhead. He smiled and remembered a time, somewhere in the Dreamscape, of playing on the shore of an endless white sea, churning with storms and screams.

Screams were fun. It felt good to let loose, to fill the air with song. He listened hard to the distant dream, picking up on the melody that was so familiar. Bumbulum began to hum. The humming became guttural ooh’s and aah’s, harmonizing perfectly with his nether voice that continued to push him into unknown waters.

He squinted as he clenched, filling his gut with singing gas, building it up for a climax. His belly button popped out with a twang, then his sphincter quivered. He breathed in deep, then, all at once, opened all his orifices and let the coming night be blessed with the amazement of his composition.

In the far corner of the village, amid the growing shadows and the songs of nocturnal insects tuning up, the idiot shaman quivered, then he screamed one word.

BUMBULUUUMMM!!!

And then he died, a small wisp of green smoke crawling from his nostril.

Bumbulum stopped singing and listened. A voice was scratching behind his left eye. He wiggled his fleshy ears then dug a long fleshy finger into his left ear. It felt really good to be able to scratch so deeply. His left eye started to twitch. He kept scratching until he realized the voice was gone. And then he did the same thing in his right ear, accompanied by an impromptu song about scratching and satisfaction. It was a really good song, very blissful.

The goop upon which he rode thickened over time and distance, but the Bum kept farting so the Bum kept moving. And then he startled a shiver, which made him begin to spin. It was a very smooth spin, unlike any he had experienced before. As he spun, looking at the thinning trees high above, he shivered again, then noticed something falling.

And then another. Tiny little white magic rain. It was so beautiful that Bumbulum farted himself up to a sitting, still spinning, position. Another rumpus thunder from his nethers brought him to his feet, which immediately started to slip and slide. These new feet did not have the beautiful claws like his old paws. And they didn’t have any fur. His feet were getting cold, freezing, turning blue. Bumbulum stared at the transformation taking place where he touched the ground that was no longer any kind of water he had ever seen. It’s like the water just stopped being water. And because it no longer moved it got cold. This kind of made Bumbulum sad. It was all so confusing.

At some point he had stopped spinning and moving. Now he was just standing, this thing that was no longer a panda, with very little fur and no claws. And he was getting really hungry. Bumbulum put his blue hands on his blue hips and brought his eyes up from his blue feet. He decided the blue was beautiful. He wiggled his fingers and toes, then he wiggled his blue bum. This made Bumbulum laugh. Soon, this new forest that was not a forest rang out with the newest song of the Bumbulum, God of the Forest, or wherever he was.

This new song was very different from any of his previous songs that he could remember because they seemed so far away. New songs were good, and this one was great. His throaty voice had changed, becoming more resonant. He tried a few notes, watching green smoke come from of his mouth as he breathed out. This was different, and fun. Bumbulum began to blow more vibrating notes from his face that no longer had a snout. His lips were big and puffy, and he could make them into many different shapes which changed the look of the smoke he blew.

He pushed himself off into a curving spin, gliding like a god across the solid water. Then he noticed an amazing trail of frozen green curving around to his lower mouth. His farts, as he moved and tooted, solidified and hovered in the cold air. These were his bass line notes made real by smoke and mirrors. And then Bumbulum looked down, through the solid water, past his reflection. There were fish, but they were not moving. He looked more, in different spots, fish everywhere, frozen like his farts. Although, after looking back up at his amazing musical clouds, he noticed they were slowly settling down to the hard water. And then they started to sizzle. This was so exciting that Bumbulum started smacking his hands together while slamming down with each foot really fast. He decided he liked this new form. He felt more like a god. This made him smile with pride.

Bumbulum breathed in the beauty and wonder of the here and now, then he heard a crack, then he fell, straight down into and past the solid water that had broken up from all the farts and dancing. Bumbulum didn’t know how to feel.

Bumbulum fell. And he kept falling. And then the falling became more of a hovering, but in a decidedly downward direction, toward an endless nothing. There wasn’t anything to see, or hear, or eat, which bothered Bumbulum, a little. The Bum got quickly bored, so he decided to create a new song.

He laid himself back into the arms of the torrential falling and just floated, like he did with the solid water. Floating felt nice. It made him happy, inducing a giggly sputter of green gas clouds from his dark mouth. The clouds seemed to fall with him, like they decided to stick around and see where they were going. It didn’t take long for the little green fart clouds to become not so little clouds. Endless farts in a bubble, filling the void with cheerful songs. This made Bum smile.

In another moment or two, all Bumbulum could see was green. It encased him in its musical depths. He floated in a bubble of smoky bubbles, constantly popping, constantly being renewed. The green reminded him of his coveted bamboo forest, the delicious leaves that grew everywhere. He missed his forest, where he was god, where everyone showed him love and respect. He decided it was time to head back, so he fell asleep.

The popping of the infinite bubbles began to sound like crackling. It filled his Dreamscape with what looked like every insect in the world stampeding toward the river of nightmares. Bumbulum stared at the strange dream, chewing and farting. Just as the army of bugs was about to run him over, they began to pop, like seeds being thrown into a fire. Bumbulum watched all around him as his little dream world lit up with the extinction of life. The tiny explosions joined each other in a spectacular shell of burning energy. And then it stopped, slowly fading away with each blink. The show was over.

Bumbulum sat in his old nest. The forest surrounding him was in flames. His world was being destroyed, and all he could do was watch. He couldn’t feel the heat. He couldn’t get close to any of it. He would reach out to a branch, and then it would incinerate and become ash, falling to the ground, becoming one with the black muck.

He growled out a song of frustration, bellowing to the winds, lamenting the death of his home. He took to wandering, as the fires dwindled, having no more fuel to consume. Bumbulum’s beloved forest was gone. His growls turned to sobs, tears streaming down his furry cheeks. He wiped at the little rivers of wetness, with something between the hand he was trying to get used to, and the paw that he knew so well. It seemed like a strange and beautiful thing to behold, but the Bum was too sad to care about himself.

He wandered somewhere toward morning, tangenting from a dream turned dark. All he ever wanted was to love and be loved, to make songs with the instruments he possessed, to make everything around him happy. What more could any other creature desire? Through the lingering black smoke, and the final crackles of his forest’s death tolls, Bumbulum could see little blossoms of light.

He ventured a little closer, trying to be as stealthy as possible. He clenched his nether mouth so the stream of farts became a staccato whistling, sort of. It was the best he could do, so it would do. Soft breezes began to clear patches of smoke, and then he could see more clearly, far off in the distance, friends.

The people of the clearing had assembled on the edge of their god’s forest, holding sticks with little pieces of fire on the end, making them look like excited flowers. So many people carried the flowers. It was all so beautiful. It gave Bumbulum hope. It made him happy. His friends had come to help. They loved their forest god, and they brought these beautiful flowers to honor him.

Bumbulum danced and sang and twirled around in the remains of his black forest, only now noticing more of the beautiful fire flowers that his friends had planted all over the place. No one had ever given him a gift before. And now, there were so many. It made Bumbulum cry with joy.

He sang extra loud, from both mouths, so all his friends could hear. He wanted to show them they were loved. He needed to get closer, so they could listen and know the god of the forest was pleased. He started to walk toward the tree line, where just beyond, all his friends were cheering and screaming. Bumbulum picked up his pace with a small crescendo of farts. He stomped on feet that wanted to be paws that were still frozen and blue and tingly. He ran to his friends with his arms raised high, singing his love and gratitude.

Many of the people could not handle his magnificence and ran off to tell others that their god was coming to sing for them. These runners screamed his name, and it was beautiful. He fell to all fours and ran like a panda. He jumped to the last of the green bamboo, swinginging and catapulting closer to his people. He whooped and howled, he growled and farted, he grew with an overabundance of passion and compassion. And then he reached the edge of his world. He stopped, and he watched, and he farted.

Many of his friends had dropped their flowers before running off to prepare his party. But many of the pretty flowers were dying, their petals just shrinking until they were gone. But then he found another, and this one had a big beautiful flower. Bum picked it up by its stem and stared into its magic. There was no other way to describe it, it was magic made real, and his friends had given him bouquets of them.

From somewhere behind him, Bumbulum heard a piffing poof, and then kind of a pop. And then a couple more. He turned to see what the newness was, but all he saw was a few of his fart clouds. They hovered, like they like to do, but some were settling, and some were close to the magic flowers. When the cloud got close enough to the flower, they kissed, at least that’s how Bum saw it. They greeted each other, kissed, and then bursted with joy. Bumbulum truly lived in a magically beautiful world where fire flowers mated with fart clouds. It made him laugh with absurd comprehension.

While he had been watching the mating rituals of the gassy and the sparky, a large cloud of green magic had been building up behind him. By the time he realized what was going on, the cloud was as big as him, and it tapped him on the shoulder. Bum spun and greeted a new version of himself, like a green smoky aura twin. But, it had no face, it was more like a shadow, but a beautiful green. It started to walk away from the Bum, toward the treeline and the clearing beyond. His phantom twin knew about the party that was going to be happening. He could hear the people screaming their name. Bumbulum jumped and farted, producing two more brothers, both of which followed the first. Now all three shadows were in the clearting and making their greetings to people along the way.

So many people were so overjoyed by the magic that they simply collapsed on the ground. But, there were more people to see, and more of the colorful bird things, and just now coming down the main road was one of the big hoofy things attached to a box thing made from bamboo that rolled behind the beast. Inside the box behind the beast was heaping piles of his once beloved bamboo leaves, dried and crispy. On top of the golden leaves was the biggest magic flower Bumbulum had ever seen. The hoofy creature was bringing the forest god a gift, a tribute from his people. Bumbulum clutched his hands together over his heart and fell to his knees, sobbing with a joy so profound that he just had to sing, every song, all at once, in one big roar.

The Bumbulum Brothers stood their ground against the rampaging beast hauling the great offering. By the will of the god of the forest, the gift was accepted. The hoof creature stopped, breathing heavily and foaming at the mouth. The nearest brother approached, gently, with a vaporous hand extended in love and friendship.

The beast seemed to calm, taking a step forward. It sniffed at the ghostly hand, then it snorted. Brother Bum reached out and embraced the beast, easing him to the ground with the greatest of care. The beast breathed its last with a gentle sigh. It’s dark essence leaked out and was siphoned up by the green specter that vaguely resembled a panda. The ghost bear’s embrace took up the aura, wearing it like a soothing blanket.

The newly enshrouded necro-bear stood and faced his brothers, sobbing a little through a prideful smile. Then the three danced around the cart that was blazing and crackling, singing and farting and jumping. Bumbulum clapped from behind a newly grown curtain of green. His forest was resurrecting all around him, but he gave little notice. His attention was on his children and the joy they were spreading to the creatures of the clearing. He stared as the three twirled, and exploded, like three big lightning strikes, BOOM BOOM… BOOM.

They became one with the great flower. A song needed to be composed, immediately, before the Bum could mourn the children he barely knew, and the hoof thing that became bubbling muck, and the screams of his name from the hairless things that were gathering. The great flower had spread its seeds like a splash of love. Bumbulum jumped and laughed at the beauty and the possibilities and all the new fart sounds that he was creating. The party had officially begun.

From behind his green curtain, the Bum breathed and sang and changed. The magic of the forest god transformed him into the god of the forest. He parted the curtains, and took a step out. The hairless went silent. The Bum stomped with his left foot, blue skin hard as ice, claws as sharp as diamonds. He swirled his other leg in a great arc to the side, implying a dance, coaxing a reaction. A gasp from the left field, a squeak from the right. He smiled as he continued, stepping and arcing, winding his way toward the wreckage of the explosions.

Bumbulum circled in pure amazement as the great flower consumed the last bits of bamboo that was the cart. In a series of poofs, the fire was no more, but what remained was showing signs of life. A beautiful green mist clung to the scene, like an echo, or a dream. As he got closer, the mist awoke from its circuitous slumber, seeming to recognize its master, their father. His children were here, in the mist and smoke, waiting for him. This made Bum very happy, so he jumped, and farted, and sent a fireball, ejected from his ass, out across the clearing, letting everyone know that their god had arrived and the party was started.

It took an agonizing minute, his furry black ears perked and twitching, but then he heard it: Bumbulum Bumbulum. His friends were gathering from all five points of the clearing, singing his name and carrying more fire flowers. The energy was elevating, the Bum was getting very excited. He had never been to a party, and these hairless things had never seen a true god. He jumped and swung his elongated arms, beating the ground while singing and farting, the people singing and screaming and collapsing. Dancing was almost as fun as singing. He jumped and whooped and darted toward the creatures, tagging one, then another. It was a fun game that made Bumbulum feel alive and loved. He wanted to touch everyone, to lay a special blessing upon every soul, every living thing that was here at the party. It made him so happy to be able to share his songs and his dance and his blessings.

He stopped and closed all his eyes. He breathed in deeply, as only a forest god could do. He breathed in and sucked up all the green mist and the black ash and the sizzling bits of flesh and the feathers that seemed to burst from thin air. He breathed it all in, and then he held it.

Bumbulum’s mystical offspring swirled around him in layers of thick green mist. Of the hairless still conscious, they took a shaky step back with mouths agape. And yet, many did not move. Those that had been blessed, touched by the forest god, had been instantly frozen in a state of cryomantic stasis. They did not breathe or move in any way. They were no longer alive, but they were not dead. They just stood and watched as the necromantic side of the forest god known as Bumbulum was about to explode like a piñata filled with chaos.

What once had been three ghostly pandas now succumbed to the dark energy that breathed them to life. And the Bum, the one still holding his breath, was turning from blue to purple, which made several people ohh and ahh. But the farts continued, as the farts are wont to do. In fact, their voracity had increased in direct proportion to the Bum’s inhalations. In one end, out the other, with a crazy magical process in between.

The Bum was in a fabulous mood because his fondest wish was finally coming true. After an eternity of breathing in the magic of the life of the forest, Bumbulum exhaled and sang and farted. He was his own chorus of harmonic sound and intent. The god of the forest rang out with celestial stink, apexing a melody both sincere and grotesque.

The Bumbulum was spent, having expelled every ounce of gas, every note of song, his spirit drained and euphoric. He collapsed back into the arms of the ancient magic. The Dreamscape was just a breath away, so welcoming in its promise of ultimate chaos. He floated, for just a moment, and felt nothing but love for all things. And then he opened his eyes.

Everywhere was black and smoldering. The ground of the clearing was a dark muck, a soup of life extinguished. But it all looked so old, ancient, even. The entire clearing was a wasteland, a focused circle, with five distinct points, all joined together with an innocent and joyous intent.

The Bumbulum never asked to be a necromancer, or a cryomancer, or a dancer. But, this is who he was. His powers were wild and dangerous, but governed with benevolence. He became a perfect balance of chaos and order, as long as he kept singing, and farting. Farts are always funny, and to have a constant supply meant that the Bum was always happy.

He looked around, from the center of a huge symbol etched into the earth by layers of magic, and the Bumbulum smiled. He accepted his godliness, once and for all. He saw the statue the hairless things had made for him. It was an image of his past, a thing he once was, but never again. He could be whatever he wanted to be, panda, hairless panda, blue panda, black panda, but the farts always remained green.

The green was everywhere, coating the landscape in lethal tendrils of arcane mist. He kept turning, at the center of it all. His beloved bamboo framed his vast nest in the most beautiful of greens. It made Bum happy to know it would always be. He smiled and whined out an exhaustively long fart, which became a sort of dragon thing, swimming through the magic, skimming the muck, tracing the symbol, emboldening it with a new intent.

The great symbol breathed and pulsed with a bright green energy. The land was now properly consecrated, claimed, for all time, by the god of the forest. And then it began, barely a whisper, building to a chant: bumbulum bumbulum bumbulum. Over the expanse of the clearing that once flourished with humanish life, now covered in a deathly crust, a cracking and a snapping, pops and snaps, and then arms and heads. The creatures of the clearing, all of them, rose from the darkness, bathed in a green glow, all chanting and shuffling toward their lord and god, Bumbulum.

Innocence?

by Amy Hodges-Laurenzo

Striplings Department Store…

The Department Store came into the black this night. They had a huge sale for Valentine’s Day.

Who could have anticipated that taking the lady shopping had become a new trend?

Meredith Morgan had pulled a triple shift. She had worked morning, the day, and until closing. Man, did she feel tired. It had been a very long day.

The retail associate had turned twenty-five a month earlier. She stood at five feet and five and a half inches. Her shoulder length mess of brown hair had both red and blonde highlights. This would cause her hair to either darken or lighten, depending on the light available. She also had the golden brown Hazel eye color, though hers ran the color gambit if her mood changed drastically. With a small nose and cupid’s bow lips, her face also seemed heart shaped. Her uniform consisted of a black polo and black slacks with black non slick shoes.

With the store closed, she stepped out to fold a display when the manager walked up.

The store manager, Tela Ortiz, happened to be a tough old bird of forty-two. She happened to show some wrinkles and some gray in her light brown hair. She wore the same uniform but with a fancier badge. “NO! Knock it off, work pony.” She stepped in front of Meredith. “You have been here since the store opened. You are done now. You go clock out and grab your gear. The rest of us will clean up and close the store down.”

“Are you sure?” Meredith followed her statement with a yawn.

“Positive. I also listed you to have two days off.”

Surrendering to the idea and nodding, Meredith headed toward the office, the time clock, and her locker.

By the time that she clocked out and had her stuff, Tela had sent Loss Prevention to escort her out of the building and to her car.

Meredith drove a 2003 Windchill Pearl Toyota Prius.

As soon as she had pulled off the parking lot,the two Loss Prevention members went back inside.

Before long, Meredith drove onto the freeway. From there, she would have ten minutes until she got home.

She couldn’t react fast enough…

Her headlights landed on two dark figures in the lane.

Then she struck them.

Meredith lost control.

She tensed and couldn’t see.

Then the Prius came to a halt.

When her senses came back, Meredith found herself in the median ditch. In the shock of the moment, she managed to get out.

Her car looked like it struck two poles. A dent on the left and the right of the front and as far in as her engine.

She climbed out of the ditch to the East Bound lane of the Freeway, her direction, to see them fighting…as if Meredith never hit them with her car.

These…beings looked to be seven feet tall easily. Covered in fur, one looked more black and the other appeared more reddish.

They kept at each other, the red one threw down the black one and pounced on him.

That’s the moment she saw the muzzle.

She gasped. Are they Werewolves?

Finally, the Cherries came into view, along with the sirens.

The Werewolves turned too. They noticed Meredith as well.

Three cruisers pulled up and stopped. Six men got out.

At first they headed for the…two men?

They suddenly had become men?

After a brief conversation with the cops, the two men pointed at Meredith.

Two cops quickly came at her.

One flipped her around, “You are under arrest.”

“Me”, she yelled, “They were Werewolves and in the road! They were fighting!”

The other cop spoke up, “You have obviously been drinking too.”

“Reckless driving and D.W.I.” The one who took hold of Meredith, cuffed her and walked her to the Police Cruiser.

They stuck her in the car roughly, as if Meredith resisted.

As soon as she was in custody, they spoke to the two men again. The two who were Werewolves simply walked away.

The other two units stayed behind to clean up the mess
Meredith got taken to Jail.

About five hours later…

Meredith Morgan had been booked and her blood drawn.

She sat in the intake when a high ranked guard whispered something to two guards.

Again she found herself snatched up.

In a side room, she got strip searched and placed in an orange jumpsuit.

An isolation cell ended up where they put her.

Meredith laid down on the bench.

Her brain still sat in a sense of shock. Her memory on the events of the last few hours have left her a hot mess internally, but she didn’t understand why she still remained so calm.

Outside her door, a woman in blue scrubs walked two men in black to that cell door.

“This is the girl. An examination of her blood said that she is a dormant incomplete.”

The two men wore black and full head covered Stag Masks.

Both of these shared the same height.

One of the men nodded, “She is a dormant shifter then. The committee had found a couple like her already. A loud mouth twit of a girl and some nervous punk. This will make three like that.”

The woman spoke again, “This one, all she has been through tonight is really calm.”

The other nodded, “We will take her.” He handed a syringe, with a sedative in it, to the nurse type. “Will you assist us?”

“Of course”, she took the needle.

The door opened and the two men moved quickly.

They caught hold of Meredith and pinned her down on the bench.

The nurse walked up and injected her with the needle.

Almost immediately, Meredith lost consciousness.

They simply picked her up and walked out with her.

No one tried to stop them.

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Abandoned by KA Stefana

The mist rose off the pavement and hovered before a speeding car sped through the ghostly illusion. It was as if time had forgotten the old town with its Spanish moss trees outlining the perimeter like sentries warning strangers to stay away.

Fia wondered if she should turn the car around and forget about this godforsaken place. What was once a beautiful southern town appeared to be an abandoned village. The painted slats, weathered by time, fell into disrepair. Peeling paint and broken windows stirred the unease she felt.

She pulled her truck to the side of the road, opened the door, and listened as the rusty hinges sang their haunted lullaby, sending shivers down her spine. Thoughts of fleeing bombarded her memories, but she refused to give in to the fear strangling her heart.

Sliding down, her feet landed in the muddy earth. She forced herself to place one foot in front of the other as she walked toward number 43.

The house had an air of superiority about it, compared to the surrounding dilapidated structures, but it wasn’t far behind its neighbors.

The pink paint faded into a grayish color, bleached by a thousand summer days. Flowers, once manicured and adored, turned to wild weeds that terrorized the remnants of the sidewalk and driveway.

Green grass faded to brown blades adorned with plastic toys, now brittle from their abandoned stations.

Memories of sweet tea and laughter floated past as Fia stood in the middle of the yard, unable to continue her journey forward. Her courage faded; she wouldn’t cross the threshold today, unwilling to face the monsters hiding within those old walls.

Tender moments couldn’t erase the night the town was driven to madness over a lie. A fib meant to protect one, pitted family against family, father against son, and friends became foes.

Closing her eyes, she remembered the screams, the voices begging for mercy, as she hid under the floorboards. She stuffed her sleeve in her mouth to keep from screaming as she listened to the gunshots throughout the night.

When morning came, she awoke to footsteps above her. Voices called her name, but she was safe, hidden in her secret place, where she stayed until hunger overtook her fears.

Emerging from safety, she grabbed food and hid again. Days turned to weeks, but she remained hidden from the monsters lurking outside for months, fearing what might happen if they found her.

Wiping away her tears, Fia was startled by a rustling sound, a few yards away. A rabbit hopped from the bushes, unaware of the ghosts that haunt this place.

If only life hadn’t scarred her, perhaps she would have kept her innocence, but the violence of the night stole everything from her.

Based on her clammy hands and pounding heart, time hadn’t healed her wounds.

The night the police found her, they took her to the hospital and asked her questions, but she refused to speak.

Binding herself to a silent prison, she was a shell of the happy child.

Years passed before she found her voice again, as healing slowly began.

The events of that remained a mystery until she was old enough to research the archives at her local library.

A lie sparked a war between families.

It destroyed a village when two boys committed a crime and lied to protect themselves.

When the truth came out, accusations flew, guns rang out, and innocent blood flowed.

She was the sole survivor, but her innocence died that day.

Walking back to her truck, she hopped in and sat with her head against the steering wheel. She’d try again next year.

Perhaps then she’ll be able to enter the house and slay her demons.

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