More BTBBN CH3 CONT>>>>

That's right, more Ben Thompson Brooks: Boy Necromancer comin' atcha! After this...

Oh, so, John Carter of Mars is one of my favorite characters in pulp fiction. The books are ridiculous fun reads, over the top, blatantly and delightfully racist at times and just good old fashioned adventure. Also, John Carter is frequently not encumbered with pesky things like modern morality and clothing. The science in the books is brilliant, with big ships flying about, propelled by a martian color that we don't have on Earth, and Mars is lush and full of all sorts of interesting flora, including some kinds that walk around and suck your blood with big hose arm things.

Certainly there was so much fun and you really have to love not being held down by things like science when writing your fiction. The only thing more deleterious to being able to write fun fictional works than understanding science is thinking that you understand morality. Thus we're always stuck writing characters who we know and who we think are believable based upon our social mores (then we label them good or bad, etc.) So I think its a lot of fun to read older works where the characters, good or bad, really have a different way of viewing reality.

Anyway, it is being made into a film...by Disney. Fuck you Disney corp. I hope the children you rear with your movies turn into cannibals and eat you.

But I promised you more story...and here it is! (The continuation of the previous post...so read there first.)

Over the weekend, Jacob lamented his situation while his friend Eric listened.
“I just don’t get it. I know it has to be some kind of joke, but they’re just not letting up. What if they really are going to send me away to some weird camp.”
“What’d the slip of paper actually say?”
“Wild Jim’s Country Necromancy Camp and Boarding School.”
Eric flinched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I dunno.”
“You mean you never looked up what ‘necromancy’ meant?”
“No,” said Jacob with a scowl, feeling a little foolish. “But what I don’t get is why they don’t even call it the same thing.”
“Well, what do they call it?”
“Wild Jim’s Country Fun Camp.”
“Maybe ‘necromancy’ is a funny way of saying ‘fun’.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Yeah, guess not,” said Eric. “Can I see the flier?”
“I don’t want you to.”
“Why not? I want to see if I see it like they do or how it really is.”
Jacob was glad that Eric at least assumed that Jacob wasn’t crazy and that his family was insane instead.
“That’s exactly what I don’t want,” said Jacob. “You’ll look at it and probably see some fantastic brochure too.”
“I know, but I really want to find out. Maybe they aren’t kidding and there’s some sort of spell on the paper. You know, like magic or something. Maybe it’s a magical camp and they’re going to teach you magic! Just like in the movies!”
“If it were like that, then wouldn’t I be the only one who can see the real flier.”
“Maybe you are! Maybe ‘necromancy’ is another word for magic and you’re the only one who can see it!”
Jacob pondered this for a minute. It seemed pretty backward that the real brochure would just be a scrap of paper with the name of the camp on it. He thought maybe he could show it to Eric after all. Wasn’t that why he had swiped it and put it in his pocket? “Here,” he said producing the letter from his pocket and handing it to Eric, who took it.
“What’s this?”
“That’s it; that’s the flier.”
Eric flipped it over in his hands. “But this is just a blank sheet of paper.”
“Don’t you screw with me, too!”
“I’m not!” said Eric, a little taken aback by his friend’s sudden outrage. “Seriously, I can’t see anything on it. Is this really the right thing?”
“Yes it’s the right thing! What do you mean you can’t see it? It says right there!” said Jacob flipping the paper back to its right side and jabbing at it with his finger. “Wild Jim’s Country Necromancy Camp and Boarding School!”
“I can’t see it. Seriously. I’m sorry.”
Jacob scowled and tightened his lips until he couldn’t tighten them any more. “This is stupid. This is impossible! You have to be able to see it! If you can’t see it then—then, maybe I am crazy!”
Eric looked away, just as lost at what to do as Jacob was. Maybe Jacob was crazy, but the letter being magic seemed much more interesting and therefore much more likely. “Wait,” he said, perking up. “I’ve go an idea! Come on, let’s go to my house!”
In the back of Eric’s house there was a gas barbecue pit with an automatic igniter sitting on the patio. It was still sunny out, so most of the mosquitoes that liked to live in their thick saint Augustine grass were still in hiding. Eric’s dad, Mr. Samuelson, loved to grill, and Jacob frequently got invited over. But even though Mr. Samuelson was always spraying the grass with insecticides, the mosquitoes didn’t seem to do anything but thrive. In fact, the more he sprayed, the more mosquitoes there seemed to be. The repellent they used seemed equally ineffective, so Jacob would stand around in the smoke with greasy skin getting eaten alive by mosquitoes at least twice a month. Even now, the tiny vampires, smelling Jacob’s sweet blood, were being coaxed from the damp grass, hovering ever nearer.
“What are we doing here?” asked Jacob, swatting at a mosquito buzzing around his ear. Their incessant whine bothered him, and he thought perhaps it was not the bites but the callous indifference of the mosquitoes that annoyed him more. They would just whine in his ear, ignorant of their own offensiveness.
“We’re going to set the letter on fire!” said Eric with a smile.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” thought Jacob to himself.
“If it’s really magic, then it shouldn’t burn!”
“Wait,” said Jacob, “Just because its magic doesn’t mean it won’t burn.”
“But whoever wanted you to get the flier needs you to keep it around, right? So that your parents can get the information off of it and send you there. They would make it indestructible until it wasn’t needed any more so they could make sure you made it to camp!”
Eric had quite the imagination, but Jacob thought it sounded reasonable. “Okay, well, let’s light it up.”
Eric grabbed the long nosed butane lighter that hung next to the grill; it was stick from being left outside all the time with all the greasy smoke and bug spray and the bugs that stuck to it because it was already sticky. “Okay, here goes.” He tossed the letter on the grill and held out the butane lighter at it.
Nothing happened.
“What’s happening?”
“I don’t know; the triggers stuck.”
“You have to push that thing on the top.”
“Oh, yeah, I knew that.” He pushed and pulled and a tiny little flame popped out and then was gone. Eric tried again, with no more success.
“Here, let me try it,” said Jacob, grabbing the lighter from Eric. He held it close to the paper, but the pathetic flame never lingered for more than a moment or two. The slightest breeze was enough to blow it out. Finally, when it was dead calm, and though he could feel the itch of a mosquito drawing blood from the side of his face and another on his arm, the flame stuck, and he held it steady as can be next to the paper.
“Look, look!” said Eric excitedly. “It’s not lighting on fire!”
But this was premature. The paper did catch fire, and in a few moments had burned to cinders. They both watched and wondered if they should put it out or let it burn; after all, it seemed like if it was magic, it might be a document of some significance. But neither moved in time to save the burning thing which in the space of a few seconds had become charred and black before falling apart altogether.
“Well,” said Eric. “I guess that’s that.”
“Yeah. I guess so.”

“You’re leaving on the 6th,” said his father.
“What?”
“The 6th.”
“Leaving for where? I’m not going.” Jacob didn’t even know why he was still resisting. Hadn’t he decided this was all just a joke anyway?
“For camp. And yes you are.”
“Fine, alright, yes, camp.”
“You’ll only have a couple days after school gets out, so you better be packed and ready to go by then. You’re going to need to bring the tent, and a sleeping bag...”
“Wait, I need a tent?”
“Yes, didn’t your mom show you the checklist that they sent?”
“No.”
“Well, go ask her about it. Go.”
Begrudgingly, Jacob got up to go see his mother. She was busy cooking something strange for lunch.
“What’s that?” asked Jacob.
“Sea cucumber, it was on your list of things to eat before you went to camp. See?” she produced for him a scrap of paper with a list of odd things that he was not sure were all foods, sea cucumber being one of them. He looked suspiciously at the stewing, rubbery chunks.
“I’m not eating that,” he said matter of factly.
“Oh, come now, dear. Try something new every now and then.”
“But you hate trying new things! You’re the one who gets the same thing at Apple Bee’s every week! I’m not eating it! I’m leaving!”
And without further ado Jacob walked right out of the house and down the street. What was wrong with everybody? The gag about the camp brochure was bad enough, but now they were trying to make him eat weird things. It wasn’t like his mom to go to expense to play a practical joke; it wasn’t even like her to joke. In fact, none of his family really had a sense of humor to speak of, including him! “What’s wrong with them?” he thought, trying to make me try new things all of a sudden!
So caught up in his own thoughts was he, that when he suddenly realized that there was a car chuggily idling along with him as he strode down the sidewalk, it had already been with him for over a minute. He just kept walking, hoping that if he ignored him, he would go away.
“Where ya goin’ Jacob? Ya need a ride somewhere?”
Jacob was in no mood for this. Setting his jaw he fixed his gaze straight ahead and marched on. He had no time to worry about the child molester.
“You running away from home?”
Still, Jacob did not respond.
“You ignoring me? That’s not too friendly.”
“Go away.”
“That’s the spirit. So what’s the problem?”
“My mom wants me to eat sea cucumber.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound appetizing. Get in the car and I’ll take you to get a burger.”
This was dumb. Shouldn’t Jacob be running away or something? But it wasn’t like the man was chasing him; as long as he stayed out of the man’s car, Jacob figured he should be safe. “No, thanks.”
“Hey, Jacob.”
“What?”
“Hey, Jacob.”
“What?”
“Hey.”
“Leave me alone!” snapped Jacob, looking over at the man in the Cadillac for the first time. He was holding a gun and pointing it straight at Jacob.
Jacob was amazed at how fast he was able to get to the fence; it took no time at all to climb over. Perverse laughter leaped over the fence after him. “What’s that guy’s deal, anyway?”
After jumping from yard to yard, and not wanting to return home yet, he stopped at a house where he knew the neighbors worked over the weekend. Their little boston terrier barked at him for a long time and wouldn’t get close enough for him to pet it. After awhile it just went back to its little dog house and growled at him.
It was late afternoon when Jacob woke up; he hadn’t even noticed when he fell asleep. He wondered what time it was. He hadn’t brought his phone with him. Begrudgingly, he got up, jumped back over the fence onto the street, and walked home. Judging by the light, he figured it must be somewhere around 4:30. The house was quiet when he went inside; he didn’t think he’d ever heard it that quiet, but maybe that was because usually he was playing video games or watching TV at that time of day. He heard rustling papers.
It was his mom; she was in the kitchen looking at bills. She didn’t look up when he entered. He was about to leave the room and go upstairs when, still not looking at him, she said, “You’re lunch is on the counter.”
He walked to the counter. The plate was gooey with sea cucumber juice. He started to say, “I’m not going to eat that,” but he thought better of it. “I’ll take it upstairs.”
“No, you’re going to sit right here and eat your lunch. There’s no excuse for you to run out like that and let the food I made for you get cold.”
The plate looked excruciatingly unappetizing. He grabbed his fork and scooped up some of the sea cucumber. Slimy ooze trailed off of it and onto the plate. With a force of will he began shoveling it into his mouth; it was revolting! He nearly gagged with every bite!
At last the ordeal was over, and he panted as though he had just been doing some vigorous running. “That was awful!” he said aloud. “How did you guys eat that stuff?”
“We weren’t going to eat that; that was for you. We just had burgers.”