Chapter One: 
The Shadow-maker

He had already broken 3 of Annie Logue's Cardinal Rules of Acid. First, he dropped alone. Annie says, "Keep it social. What's the point?" Then, he left his motel room to wander aimlessly through the streets. Annie says, "Stay indoors with a room full of toys and fractal videos, where you know it's safe." Finally, he put his hand through the plastic face of a Coke machine. Annie says, "Don't be a jerk." Annie was the Sage. She wrote the book on Acid.


10 hours after digesting confetti, he found the slow-down symptoms arriving right on schedule. His mouth started to taste like aluminum, so he entered the laundry room of the motel he was staying in and mugged the vending machine for a Sprite. Nobody seemed to hear the explosive crack of Plexiglas, not even him. All he heard was the hiss of the pop top as he pulled it open. His hand might have been broken, but he wasn't sure. Sometimes when he came down he felt all sorts of phantom injuries. The blood across his knuckles was real enough, though. It kept his hand as cool as the one holding the drink.

Seventeen blades of grass shot up from a crack in the sidewalk just outside the laundry room door. He knew there were seventeen with just one glance. He didn't have to bother counting. They rocked back and forth in the hurricane gale of a dryer vent, hypnotizing him, haunting him, twisting in the middle like Sarah used to do.


As he sat there amidst shards of red and white plastic, he heard her unmistakable laugh ring from around the corner. He knew what it was. Annie called it an "Ear-lusion", but the technical term was audible hallucination. It seemed funny to him how he only heard laughter while coming down, never any words or music. Maybe that was a good sign that he had a happy mind.

Someone shuffled towards the doorway, spreading excellent shadows and breathing heavily. He wasn't afraid, nor did he try to hide. He was too fubar to do anything but listen to the scratchy footsteps come to a stop.

"Holy shit, boy! What'd you do?" chuckled a smarmy voice from the Shadow-maker in the doorway. He was thin and sweaty and his clothes looked slept in. A tie hung loosely from his collar.

"Wouldn't take a check." he yawned. Leaning on his greasy red hand, he lifted himself to his feet completely unaware of the pain shooting through his arm.

"Guess I'm outa luck, then." said the Shadow-maker.

"Help yourself. I don't mind."

"Why, thank you, young man." He made his shadow crouch as he reached into the machine and pulled out a can of tea. "Crap, I hate this shit."

"Here." Wiping the blood onto his Spider Baby T-shirt, he reached under the ribcage of the machine until his entire forearm disappeared. Four seconds later, he emerged with another Sprite.

"Thanks." The Shadow-maker opened the can and wiped it across his forehead, like he had just finished some heavy lifting. "That's a lot of blood." he said, pointing towards Spider Baby. His lips didn't move much when he spoke.

"Relax. It ain't mine." The Shadow-maker smiled for a second, then drew a length from the Sprite.

"What'd you do? Kill someone?" An empty glare was his only response. "Girl or guy?" Still nothing. Just an involuntary look of gravity. The Shadow-maker laughed and threw up his hands in self-defense. "Hey. I could care less. It's just that, for me, ain't no bigger thrill than killin' a chick."

Annie says, "When your back starts aching and your stomach twists at a thought, find a preoccupying activity." His back didn't hurt yet, but he definitely felt sick all of a sudden.

"You ever kill a chick?" asked the Shadow-maker.

"Couple times. Why?" He felt safe behind his lies. The more lies he surrounded himself with, the less exposed he felt.

"Ever do it in front of a camera?" The Shadow-maker gasped into the tin can as he drank from it.

"No." he said.

"What's your name, kid?" Suddenly, the butt of a pistol peeked around the waist of the man.

"Jim Disney." Annie kept him calm.

"Well, Jim," as a roll of cash flew from a pocket, "I got two thousand dollars for you if you wanna try it. Perfectly safe. I've been doing' it f'years."

Jim stared at the dull green wad, frozen by the proposal. "Who?"

"Shit, I dunno. Some hooker. Got her in my room upstairs right now." His pointy mouth grew a frightening smile and he held out the money. "She's a doll, too. Whaddaya say?"

Annie says, "Those black and white cartoon sliders behind your eyes may seem scary at the time, but remember, it's just brain-TV. Mental fodder. Some of the most influential creative experiences are merely hallucination, dreams, so don't be afraid to explore."

"OK." said Jim.

The Shadow-maker led him up the cast metal stairway to a room four doors down from his own. The lights were on but Jim detected no movement through the curtains. Sliding the key into the lock, the Shadow-maker stopped and looked at Jim. "There's a lot of money in snuff. If you like this, I could probably use you in the future." A sharp tooth cut his wiry grin. "I dunno. I got a feeling you got hidden talent." He almost laughed, like he knew a secret Jim should know.

A few bubbly chips of orange paint fell from the door as it opened. Inside, spread out naked on the bed, was the hooker. She slept, but not peacefully. Beneath her, a large sheet of dark red plastic had been unfolded, completely covering the bed and most of the floor. The door closed firmly behind them. "Go ahead. Check her out."

As his host stepped past a video camera and into the bathroom, Jim took a seat on the bed beside the girl and watched her brow furrow in her sleep. She moaned from somewhere distant and twisted slightly, crinkling the tarp like a plastic diaper. He touched the side of her face. She was beautiful.

"She's sweet, huh?" said the Shadow-maker as he doused Jim and his prey in solid white light. The flood devoured every shadow except the man's. Quietly, casually, Jim pinched the girls soft, healthy bottom lip. She slowly woke up.

He stood and stepped over to the sink, trying to recall where he had seen that face in the mirror before. Behind him, the girl started squirming. Realization hit her like a slow-motion bullet.

"Hey, baby. Settle down. You'll get your money." Her movements were slow and ineffective, like she was already dead, trying to return from the grave. Whatever it was she had been given must have been strong stuff. "Jim, c'mere. Before she starts screamin'."

The gun was drawn, and Jim could see it had a silencer. The Shadow-maker set it down on the dresser and took position behind the camera. "Stand over there, behind the lamp. Don't worry. You're off camera."

Pulling a towel from the rack, he scooped up the gun. It was difficult to squeeze his finger behind the trigger while wrapped in terry cloth, but he wasn't going to be stupid. The girl's moaning became a percolation of sobs as she fought her own weakness. Jim took his mark.

"Tag her in the neck. That's good for blood and it'll keep her quiet. Think you can do that?" The Shadow-maker was apparently getting quite aroused as his breath started shaking. "Whenever you're ready."

Jim looked into the girl's eyes, through the narcotic fog, and saw the fears of the world screaming at him. He was in complete control of everything. He held her life in his hand, wrapped in a towel.

"We're rolling." and Jim pulled the trigger.

The pistol chirped and the Shadow-maker fell like a puppet with his strings cut. The girl found her voice and gurgled a cry as Jim dropped to his knees beside her. Firmly he pressed the gun into her hand.

"I think you got him in the cheek." he said, brushing her eyebrow quickly. She stared at the heavy object in her hand, unsure of what it was. He then moved behind the camera and pulled the roll of money from the deadman's pocket. He looked at it, at the corpse, at the girl, and sighed. Removing one hundred and eighty dollars for himself, he tossed the rest on the bed.

A flashing red light told him the camera was still running. Examining the camera, he ejected the tiny tape and slipped it in his back pocket. A shiver rocked him sideways as he reached for the door. It was tremendous, like God had taken him by the shoulder and snapped him open like a beach towel.

"Don't worry." Annie says. "Just means you're waking up."

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