The Alarm Clock at the End of the World

Part 27

The Next Morning.

“So you’ll do the interview?” Simon asks.

I think about it a minute. “Did you have breakfast?”

“What?” He hesitates before saying, “No, sir.”

“Most important meal of the day.” I bang some dishes in frustration. “You watch ‘The Unnatural?’” I ask.

“Every episode! I love your show!” Simon lowers his voice. “Did that shit all really happen to you?”

“Did I get hunted by the last of the dinosaurs through a South American jungle? You bet your ass I did.” I pour a bowl of Cheery-O’s. “I didn’t dissect a body, but I’m pretty sure it was some sort of Sasquatch that knocked down my motel door in Boonville, so I’m convinced something beyond the normal is at play. Are you recording this? You have to tell me if you are. That’s a crime if you don’t.”

“May I?”

“Sure, I talk fast. I can’t expect you to write it all.”

“I’m recording now. Can you state your name?”

“Dr. Filth, host of ‘The Unnatural.’”

“Great show. Superhero too, correct?” Simon asks.

“It’s never been confirmed that Dr. Filth the superhero and Dr. Filth the cryptozoologist are in fact the same person,” I say. “Rumors on the Internet seem to point in that direction.”

“Thank you for agreeing to this interview,” Simon says. “Tell me about your show?”

I’m sitting on the couch eating cereal. I turn on the speakerphone. “The goal of ‘The Unnatural’ is to shed light on all things paranormal and beyond reason. ‘Knowledge without milage is bullshit,’ said a famous philosopher.”

“And who was that?”

“I don’t know, one of the punk singers. You can’t be a good cryptozoologist if you spend your life in a library, so I take the fight to the paranormal. I go to the furthest reaches of the Earth to prove and disprove any rumor I can get my hands on.”

“Your last episode mentioned the Pisceans, who are they?”

“Nothing more than a social club, really. The Poor Knights of the Temple of Lapesc D’Malize. They hold pancake breakfasts and carwashes for upkeep.”

“You believe the Pisceans want you killed? Strange they don’t mind you divulging all this on a popular series of webisodes.”

I shrug and sip the milk. “I expected a backlash, but there has been nothing.”

“They don’t return my calls.” Simon pauses, flipping through his notes. “Why did you quit being a superhero?”

“That’s not con...”

“Not confirmed sorry. Do you have any idea why the superhero Dr. Filth was fired from the Superhero Gang?”

“As I understand, he accidentally founded a terrorist organization that began a riot. The death toll was staggering.”

“Accidentally?” Simon asked apprehensively.

The Doom City Riot was an effort to drive the Party Mayor to abdicate. Lapis Exilis said he was a villain and wanted him replaced. Unless proof of villainy could be established, the Superhero Gang was obliged to defend the legally-elected office-holder. The sentiment of Lapis Exilis was widely held among the superheros, who despised the Mayor for his loose morals and his brutal crackdowns on homeless and opposition groups. “All that shit’s online, dude. Let’s not tie up a lot of time with that.”

“Very cool. That’s some good stuff, I’ve got just one more question. How do the Scrubbers connect to the Alarm Clock at the End of the World?”

I feel my face drain of blood. It’s cold in here. “What did you say? Who is this? Nepotism?”

“Simon Magus, from Regular Crazy fanzine. Are you a real doctor?”

I hang up the phone and run to my office. On my desktop, I rifle through notebooks, pens, stray sheets, paperbacks, paper clips, hard covers, staplers, empty cigarette packs, dry rocks glasses, empty beer cans, 40oz bottles with cigarette butts extinguished in the bottom, empty baggies, roaches, pencils, fast-food bags, flyers, handbills, cigarette butts that fell out of jam-packed ashtrays, envelopes, fan-mail, bills, subpoenas, magazines, business cards, stress-reliever toys, a ragged stuffed cat from an ex-girlfriend, compact discs, disc cases, rolls of tape, shreds of yellowed paper with phone numbers on them, photographs, instruction manuals, half-filled disposable cameras, video cassettes, and the ashtray with little regard to any of their importance as I scour madly, but do not find what I’m looking for.

Go to Part 28