The Haunted Traveler Vol. 2 Issue 1

threw it away, exposing his adobe-pink skin and the missing
segment of his abdomen—the area where, instead of a belly
button, he had a fleshy parabolic chamber housing hungry
orange flames. His abs gave off a strong, fluttering heat. He
accepted a cigarette from Clown Hat and poked the tip into
the burning chamber, then brought it up and sucked in a
crackling drag. I had to admit, Brick was a pretty cool fucking
dude.
“So Arty,” Mort said, sidling beside me and putting
his arm over my shoulder. His gleaming metal jaw hung
down and emitted a sour stink. I held my breath. He raised
his cup and we toasted. I fought the urge to gag as the cloying
green liquid worked its way down my gullet. The first
time I drank mutant brew I thought I’d die, had even pleaded
with my mom to take me to the hospital. But the jovial buttfaced
doctor, chuckling, had assured me it wasn’t lethal, just
that my constitution was a bit weak. Still, I tried to avoid it
whenever I could.
“Word has it you’re interested in mumpball,” Mort
said after chugging his cup and tossing it to the side, where
it hit some indignant kid with eight crowding, consecutive
large eyeballs.
“Well, I…it’s more that my dad wants me to try it—”
“Cell! You’re here!”
Instantly, I was talking to empty space as Mort wandered
off to greet a giant of a mutant I didn’t recognize from
school. The guy was easily seven feet tall, broad-shouldered,
ripped, with olive brown skin and a bald iridescent skull. His
face was frozen in a perpetual frown, which looked kind of
funny, I thought. He moved in an awkward, lurching motion
as if he were being hampered somehow; and his gait wasn’t
helped by the long black overcoat that nearly reached his
ankles. When Mort got to him, the two exchanged whispers
for a moment, then the mutant removed his coat. Everyone
began gathering around.
129