Bad Moon E-Zine #1 - New Moon

one swearing to put him away for good, and each failing miserably. But it was Dr Gloom himself who was always the most miserable at the end of it, whether he succeeded or not. He had spent some time in a correctional facility, where they had tried to cheer him up, which was more like torture than anything he could have imagined or embarked upon. It had broken him down even further. He didn’t see much hope left in the future of being a criminal mastermind, or anything apart from simple dentistry. You knew where you were with people’s teeth. Still, there was this, his new invention, perhaps it would help perk him up a bit?

  The Gloomsday Device was an intriguing development. It had come to him whilst he was tinkering around in his workshop. He had inadvertently dropped a hammer on his foot, then bent over to pick it up and injured himself. This made him think that the universe was an inherently malicious place that was out to get him and everyone else within it. What Dr Gloom had considered was a way to magnify this into a wave beam that intensified the instances of calamities and cataclysms taking place, in a way that would hopefully destroy the entire world, and with any luck take Dr Gloom down with it.

  “Shall we try it then?” asked Dr Gloom.

  “Why not?” replied Flaubert. “It’s as good a time as any.”

  “NOT SO FAST!” came a call from across the hanger hallway. It was Captain Saccharine himself, and he had his assistant Candy Rock with him.

  “I wasn’t doing anything particularly fast,” replied Dr Gloom, bluntly and gloomily.

  “I didn’t mean it like that!” exclaimed Captain Saccharine. “I just want you to stop and reconsider what you’re doing!”

  Captain Saccharine’s attempts to reason calmly with the super villains was what drove many of them to insanity. His repeated attempts to ‘understand the other guy’ and ‘see it from their point of view’ were incredibly infuriating, and Dr Gloom was almost certain that he only did it to enrage his opponents. It was a highly successful technique, whatever the case.

  “I have considered it and reconsidered it at length, Saccharine. It seems like the only sensible course of action to take. At least, the only course of action to help this horrific, insipid planet.”

  “How can you say that, Gloom? You’re just down in the dumps and mopey! C’mon, cheer up mate! It might never happen!”

  Gloom looked over at Saccharine and then at the Gloomsday Device. With enemies like that, who needed friends, or anyone for that matter? Time to end the whole sorry escapade. He reached forwards.

  “Wait!” cried Saccharine’s assistant, Candy Rock. “I know why you’re doing this!”

  “Why?” said Gloom. “Because I’m sick of it all, that’s why!”

  “Yes, but why did this all start, hey? Because of your dental assistant leaving you, that’s why!”

  “What? B-b-but... how did you know?!”

  Candy Rock stepped forwards and unveiled herself.

  “Because that dental nurse... WAS ME!”

  “Shirley! It was you all this time!”

  “Yes, Norman. I’m sorry. I should’ve said. I thought that you would’ve realised. I mean, it was fairly obvious, wasn’t it?”

  “Now you come to mention it, it was something of an oversight.”

  “Anyway, I’m sick of this droning goiter! He’s so optimistic all of the time, it’s really annoying. I’ve had enough of it all! I want to join you!”

  “Really?”

  Dr Gloom had not foreseen this turn of events. He had to be careful though. Perhaps it was a trap. After all, he’d been stung before, all those many years ago.

  Captain Saccharine stepped forwards too, visibly hobbling and having trouble with his movements.

  “I’m sorry, Norman. It was my fault, really. You just weren’t quick enough off the mark, as usual, so I had to step in and take a chance where and when I saw it.”

  “What do you mean... oh, you’re the confectionary salesman from Chichester, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, that’s the one. Shortly after Shirley and I eloped, I fell into a vat of hazardous confectionary products, and they changed me into Captain Saccharine, causing me to always utter syrupy, sugar sweet sentimental twaddle. It’s driven me to distraction, but super heroing is all I can really do under such conditions.”

  “Ah.”

  “I’m tired of all this, aren’t you?”

  “Completely.”

  “Do you want to test the Gloomsday Device then?”

  “It could result in the end of humanity as we know it...”

  “Hmm, sounds like a laugh...”

  Dr Gloom looked again at the device on the tressle table in front of him. If you looked closely, you could almost see the ends of his mouth twitch and turn up slightly. Then he began to emit a low, croaking sound. It was a laugh. He began laughing steadily, then let it take over, his tone rising, his body convulsing. Then he abruptly stopped, reached forwards and pressed the button. Nothing changed.

  - - -

  Change

  by Tricia Cicatrix

  At quarter past eight, the man gets up from the bench where he has slept. A train has just arrived, and people are coming up the stairs from the platforms. They walk past him, some giving him quick looks, some not noticing him at all.

  He shakes his head and rubs his eyes. He picks up the plastic bag with his belongings. He goes and washes his face; then he starts doing what he does every day.

  'Have you got some spare change please?' he asks people. Most of them just don't react. Some shake their heads or say no. A few hand him pennies. Whatever they do, he says thank you each time.

  'Have you got some spare change please?'

  'Clear off.'

  'Thank you.'

  Those who look rich rarely give anything, and those who are in a hurry don't stop for the likes of him. He asks people who walk about slowly, people who are ambling around waiting for a train to arrive.

  The man from the hot drinks stand comes over and gives him a free cup of tea, as he often does. It is sweet and strong, scalds the man's tongue and wakes him up. Today the hot drinks man brings a cheese roll as well. It might be a good day.

  Chewing, the man walks along the track and stops to check the timetables, as he does every day. There is no point because his train (no, not his train, the train that he wanted to catch all those years ago…) is not on there anymore and even if it was, he wouldn't be able to afford the ticket. The money he makes is never enough.

  'Have you got some spare change please?'

  'Hang on… yeah, there you go.'

  'Thank you.'

  Many years ago, he meant to take the 22.14 train. He was on his way to a new city; he was about to start a new job and live a different life, but he lost the bag with his ticket and money. He was stranded here. Without the ticket, he couldn't get out through the turnstile. He couldn't afford a new ticket, and he couldn't make the officials listen to him. He didn't know anyone to turn to, and in the end he gave up and stayed here.

  Now he just tries to get by. The days are blurry and uncertain. He still dreams of buying a new ticket, catching that train, that train he was destined for, but he can't afford it and doesn't have the energy to do much. He goes around asking people for money every day, but it never seems to be enough. He loses it, or it is stolen, or he has to buy food and drink. It is never enough.

  Most people don't notice him, and he suspects that sometimes he is invisible. Yes, there are also those who give him tea, buy him meals or say they might be able to help him, but he is too tired to talk or to do anything other than what he has become used to. He stays out of people's way, doesn't complain, avoids the cold and tries not to get shouted at. At night he fades into the background and sleeps wherever there are no officials driving him away.

  'Have you got some spare change please?'

  'Sorry, mate. Can't help you there.'

  'Thank you.'

  By lunchtime he has made £4.25. He drinks a cup of coffee that someone has abandoned on the bench next to the supermarket
.

  A young woman has begun to ask passers-by for money as well. She can't have been here for long, as she still looks quite real and normal. She wears jeans and a huge jumper.

  'Have you got any money please?' she asks, and some of them hand her a few coins.

  He has seen a few of them: people who are like him, people who are lost. Some get away somehow, but most just disappear. He is the only one who has stayed here for so long.

  He watches the woman. She is pretty, and he wonders if he might be with a pretty young woman if he was outside.

  In the afternoon he makes another £6 and a bit. Trains arrive and leave; announcements boom from the PA; the displays flash; people travel from cities that he has never seen to others that he will never see either. He is so tired.

  Every now and again he thinks about going to the city centre to try to find help, to get out of here. He thinks about it today. After seven people in a row have blanked him completely, he walks to the turnstile and looks out towards the station entrance (or exit). The machine won't let him out without a ticket. He thinks of jumping the turnstile or slipping through, but he doesn't dare because a train official is close by. He swears, and the official says something reproachful. The man doesn't understand it, but he nods and says sorry all the same.

  He walks away from the noise and anger.

  Anyway, he thinks, what use would it be if he got out? This station is where he was supposed to change trains, nothing more than that. He has no connection to it. No-one in this city knows him, and those he knew before he came here won't remember him now. He could have