Jeff Strand - The Sinister Mr. Corpse

"Well, I'm the one out there making the world safe for democracy, so I get to pick the name. You can pick your own sidekick name."

"I'm not your sidekick. I'm your handler."

"How about this? The Sinister Mr. Corpse and his trusty sidekick Alive Boy?"

"Bite me."

Stanley chuckled. "I did save a woman tonight, though. It felt good. I think I was destined to be a crime fighter. I've already got the action figures."

"What do you think Veronica and Mr. Brant are thinking right now?"

"I'm sure they're pleased."

"Uh-huh. Because Mr. Brant wouldn't happen to be a control freak or anything like that."

"Brant is welcome to smooch my superhuman buttocks."

"Until you run out of injections."

"Yeah, until then." Stanley stuffed three pretzels into his mouth. "He's not gonna withhold them from me. You don't let your meal ticket ooze away. Anyway, I'm actually making myself more marketable for him."

The idea that Brant might withhold his injections out of spite had certainly crossed Stanley's mind, but he chose not to dwell on it. He had to do this. He had to justify his existence.

He hadn't told Martin that he was a supernatural abomination. Martin would probably understand (he was pretty liberal) but still, it wasn't something he was ready to admit. Hell, Martin might not even believe him. Black magic? Witchcraft? That stuff was all supposed to be a load of crap. And being kept alive by virgin blood…that was just plain creepy.

He wondered who the virgins were.

The following evening, the criminal underworld let out a collective shudder as The Sinister Mr. Corpse prowled the streets. His rage was infinite, his mercy non-existent.

At least that's what Stanley hoped people were thinking. To tell the truth, hanging out in the shadows was pretty tedious. He had Martin researching the availability of police scanners, so that maybe they could get news about crimes in progress, but for now he was relying on his crime-seeking instincts, which apparently sucked.

Maybe he needed a Corpse Signal. A shining beacon that the mayor could use when evil was afoot. It could say "SMC" or, as Brant would no doubt suggest, "%$@* amp;!" because of his love for foul language.

He was actually sort of looking forward to calling Brant. He probably should've done it by now, but he wanted the bastard to sweat some more. Stanley could picture him now. Shirt drenched with sweat. Grey hair hanging down into his face in perspiration-soaked strands. Nervously twitching and saying "Oh dear…oh my…oh goodness…"

Heh heh.

He desperately wanted to get in touch with Veronica, but she was a good employee and would no doubt share everything with Brant. So if Brant had to sweat, Veronica had to sweat. It could be a festival of perspiration.

He perked up as he saw activity a block ahead. Two criminals in the act. Vandals.

Yes, there were two unfortunate high school students who would learn that spray paint belonged only on authorized surfaces. A lesson brought to them by The Sinister Mr. Corpse.

He removed his facemask and strode toward them. He was getting used to the contacts and the fangs, and knew that he was truly an image of terror.

The kids, who were apparently not the most perceptive humans ever birthed, didn't notice him until he was about a hundred feet away. "Freeze!" he shouted in his scariest voice. "Drop those cans or face my wrath!"

The kids turned and ran.

Shit. Exercise time.

Stanley took off after them. He hated running. It had nothing to do with his zombie-state, but rather that he'd become something of a lazy-ass over the past couple of months. Hopefully one of the kids would trip.

One of the kids tripped. His buddy stopped and quickly looked back and forth between his fallen comrade and the fearsome predator headed his way, and then selected the "shameful cowardice" option. He ran, turned a corner, and vanished from sight.

The kid who tripped scrambled to get back up, but Stanley was upon him before he could escape. Stanley grabbed him by the collar, pulled him to his feet, and stared into his eyes, grinning with malicious intent.

"What were you doing with that spray paint?" he asked.

"Answer the question, felon!"

"Painting the wall!"

"Is that your wall?"

The kid shook his head. "I wasn't hurting anything. But, dude, I can't believe I finally get to meet you! I'm a big fan! I've got a Mr. Corpse t-shirt and everything!"

"Really?"

"Yeah! And my little brother, his name's Tyler, he's got posters, bed sheets, dolls…"

"They're not dolls, they're action figures."

"Sorry, dude. He's got action figures and everything. You're his hero!"

Stanley beamed as well as he could in fangs and eye makeup. "Thanks!"

"Dude, you've gotta sign an autograph for him. He'll wet himself when he finds out that I met you!"

"Sure thing. Do you have a pen?"

The kid patted his pockets. "No. Do you?"

"No."

"I've got the spray paint."

"I don't think that will work."

The kid gestured to the brick wall. "You could help me out, dude! C'mon, a collaboration with Mr. Corpse! That'd be sweet!"

Stanley looked at the artwork. It was a bizarre symbol. "What is that?"

"It's the Wheel of Dharma. It represents Buddha teachings and the way they move from country to country in accordance with changing conditions and people's karmic inclinations."

"Ah. Nice work."

"Thanks. We practice every night." The kid handed Stanley his own can of spray paint and picked up the one his partner had dropped.

"I can't help you vandalize this property," Stanley said. "I'm here to stop crime."

"But this is art! Are you trying to censor art? My history teacher says that art shouldn't be censored."

"Do you get good grades?"

"Sometimes."

"Let's do it."

Stanley walked away from the crime scene, feeling most ashamed indeed. The final product was pretty damn impressive (the kid knew how to use a can of spray paint) but Stanley wondered if he should mug an old lady to make the night complete.

He wandered around the city for the rest of the night, searching for dastardly deeds in the process of being committed, but found none. But he cleaned up some litter, which made him feel better.

"Hello?"

"Howdy."

"Stanley!" Brant actually sounded happy to hear him. "Where have you been?"

"Oh, you know, making the world a better place to live. It's my new hobby. Did you miss me?"

"Where are you now?"

"Right behind you."

"Seriously, where are you?"

"Did you look when I said right behind you? You looked, didn't you? It's okay if you did."

"Stanley…"

"What do you think of my new name? The Sinister Mr. Corpse sounds pretty spooky, doesn't it? I bet you'd be a little worried if I really were right behind you, huh?"

"Did you just call to annoy me?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"You'll run out of injections soon. Have you thought about that?"

"Yep. I don't suppose you'd FedEx me a few, would you?"

"No, I don't suppose so."

"Figured."

"Stanley, we need to talk. This type of behavior is irresponsible even for you. It's dangerous. You could get hurt."

"My pain is temporary. The lives I save are forever. Well, until they die of natural causes or something else, but you know what I mean."

"This isn't a joke."

"And yet I treat it as one. How odd."

"Do you think you have the upper hand, Stanley? Is that what this call is about? You believe that pulling a disappearing act and then behaving like a lunatic means that you have the power in our relationship?"

"Yep. You're the bottom now. Get used to it."