The Green Lama: Crimson Circle Read Online Free Page A

with more scribble.
    “How do you like living at the Boarding House?” Jean heard herself ask Erin after they were clear of the crowd.
    “’S’all right,” Erin said with a shrug. “Thanks again for setting it up for me. Rent’s cheap as heck, but Ma Smith’s a little off her rocker, y’know? She sometimes acts like she’s two different people.”
    “Heh. You have no idea,” Jean said with a cryptic smile. “I remember when I first moved in, there was this whole to-do with the Murder Corp—” She cut herself short, her ears pricking up to the sound of a high pitch warble coming from the nearby alleyway. “Did you hear that? Sounded like screaming…”
    Erin shook her head. “I didn’t hear—”
    “Help me!” a woman’s scream echoed out. There was no question this time. Jean’s hand instinctually fell to her side as she began to rush forward.
    “Wait, Jean,” Erin whispered, tugging at Jean’s sleeve. “Come on. It’s not our problem.”
    Jean gave Erin a silent look of reproach as she pulled her arm free and sprinted down the alleyway, drawing her pistol out of her purse.
    “Crap,” Erin groaned, chasing after her.
    • • •
    The creature tightened its hands around Ken’s neck, watching Ken struggle with genuine interest, as if witnessing a form of death he had never seen before. Ken’s blood screamed for oxygen and somewhere in the distance, Ken could hear singing and the clang-clang-clang of a dancing man in a metal suit. Or maybe it was just his gun falling down in the darkness beneath the rafters.
    “Your blood is not worth the taste,” the creature whispered. “I will watch you die and I will enjoy it, yes. And afterwards, after I’ve placed the trail of death to your feet, they will all say it was you, all of my tastes, all of my deaths. Ken Clayton, the Hollywood Horror.”
    Ken grunted something through his teeth.
    The creature leaned forward. “What was that, my lovely?”
    “You talk too much,” Ken growled as he grabbed the monster by the head and pressed his thumbs into its eye sockets.
    The monster screamed, releasing Ken’s throat as it fell back. A snarl touched the top of Ken’s lips as he dragged the creature by its tiny head toward the bright glow of Fresnel lamps. He dug his thumbs deeper into its eyes. Blood trickled down his hands. “All I ever wanted was a normal life. Sure, acting isn’t the most traditional of lifestyles, but I never said I was traditional. I just wanted to come out here, close my eyes and pretend the last few years never happened. But no, you had to come into my town and mess everything up.”
    The singing was louder now, a woman and two men singing about a “Whiz of Wiz.” That was supposed to be him out there, Ken thought bitterly, dancing and crooning in chorus, but here he was, in the dark, fighting monsters. He reached behind his back and unsheathed a wooden stick, the end shaved down to a point.
    “Release me!” the creature warbled.
    “Will you… please… shut up ?” Ken barked as he drove the stake through the creature’s heart.
    The creature fell backwards off the rafters, one of the hanging wires twisting around its neck, swinging it through the fake trees. Its small feet just brushed the tips of the faux grass as it erupted into flames.
    • • •
    “Fifth Columnists” was never their official name—despite theories to the contrary, most underground terrorist organizations rarely ever give themselves formal titles—but even so, Fifth Columnists is what they were called, a group of American and German saboteurs intent on aiding the Nazi cause of world domination. Their efforts had been mildly successful, at least up until they had faced the Green Lama, and since then, they had become a shadow of what they once were, a smattering of fanatics struggling to regain some aspect of their former glory. Their headquarters—or at least the cramped basement wallpapered with maps and diagrams—stood as a testament to