U.S. Supreme Court

United States v. Paul Baker, 542 U.S. 325 (2846)

Argued February 3, 2455

Decided February 3, 2455

542 U.S. 325




Violation of the thirteenth section of the Suppression of Anomalously Formed Emergencies act of March 6, 2398, is seditious under the eighth section of the Internal Agency Impunity act of September 10, 2130. Anomalous humanoid entities are subject to all just persecution, even if he would otherwise be protected under the Internal Agency Impunity act.

Nightmares who Dwell in Mountain Tops

I can see them in the sky at night, congregating near the tips of the mountains. Their sleek heads and many smoke tales. If there where only a few, I might think they were antique engines, the kinds that now ruined cities before the floods and plagues.

I can’t speak, or write, about them, hell I can’t even think about them. No one I know can. But we all see them. Congregating at dusk. Sporadically throughout the night. Sometimes during the day. Sometimes in times we can’t describe. Sometimes in times we can’t remember.

But they’re there. We all know they’re there.

We see the notes they make us leave behind. We see the holes and the mourning. We see them.

But we can’t name them. We call them many things. Shadows, nightmares, spirits, demons, nuckelavee, Legion, fear, regret, insanity, insomnia, flash backs, epidemics, regimes, reins, the invisible hand, nature, progress, sin, cowardice. None of those are it. We can’t speak those things in hushed euphemism.

What happened to Author? He didn’t…?

Yeah… the demons… they- they got to him.

No one can remember not seeing them. Some can remember being told to not discuss, remember places with pills, remember places where their existence didn’t make sense, places where people would cover them up, places where the names we us were made.

They always look the same. How we describe them doesn’t matter. Weather its a bird or an orb or a person or something else, whether it has tails, or just smoke, whether it has form or is just a point of light, whether it’s cold or hot or fast or slow, whether it can be seen at all, we always know when we see one, like I do now.

I hope you do better.

My best, and final, regards to the rest of you lingering around the village.

End of message. Transcript of note found with Witch 7300-2. Witch 7300-2 testifies it to be of deceased witch. Other evidence suggests this to be true. This which has been classified as Witch 0C-0953.

A Demon’s Voice

I watch them as they come and go, the black statures. That’s what I call them. No one else I know has spoken to me after seeing them. If I disappear someday, it will probably be because of them.

But I don’t think they could catch me if they tried. I’m not like the humans, I don’t think. I am a demon, one of the few that are still around.

I haven’t seen much, I remember even less. I’ve been trapped in this cave for as long as I can recall. Yellow mold covers the uneven floor and walls. Fallen rocks have covered all the exits. All except one: the window, out through the shear cliff, overlooking a huge forest. Humans live in the forest.

I assume there’s a lot of them. They get brought up a lot. Or maybe it’s just memorable. I cant see when the sun sets from the window.

I wish I could reach out to the mortals, but they never get close enough for out minds to touch. I would offer them the power to escape the terrible claws of the statues. I would offer them easy terms, I pity them.

I’ve never made a pact before. I’ve been told about it, or at least I can’t remember hearing, I can’t remember who. I hear lots of things, all the time. The cave is full of wise voices.

It sounded easy.

I can see a black statue coming now, but I can’t who it’s carrying. I always look at the people. Some are wearing animal hides, some wear strange cloth, some are injured, some are fine, some are dead, actually, a lot are dead.

But this one is coming closer, much closer, so close to the wall of the mountain that it’s wide dome head completely blocks the window.

It’s so close to cave I can see all of it’s details up close, its big red eye, its dozens of smaller eyes, its many arms and claws, its two skinny horns sticking straight up. I don’t think it has a mortal yet.

It came right up next to the cave. It spun its owl-like head toward me. Its single red eye glowed bright, brighter than the stars. It got very hot. I felt my leathery skin blister and burst and peel, my bones crack and char, my infernal body eventually burning out.

End of psyco-chip® cache. Cache is abnormally small and may indicate malfunction or defect. See NuroNano Corporate Licensee Manual chapter 7: Troubleshooting, and 8: Insurance and Warranty, for more information. Additional info may be available with the error code 246852

The Last Mountain (Short Story)

“Is climbing as easy as you thought it was?” Nexus said.

“It’s, it’s not that bad” I choked, struggling up a mound of steel and glass embedded in the granite mountain.

“I told you it be harder;” Nexus chimed, crawling on the frame of my backpack, his blue lizardly tale coiling around rusted bar. His crystalline wings glittered in the mountain sun “But you’re the one carrying the weight.”

“Aren’t faery dragons supposed to be quiet?” I reached the top of the steel mass. “Warn the little Hansel and Gretel to speak ‘only in a whisper’, or the fae’ll drag you off to Baba Yaga.”

“Ah the good ole’ days of luring kids into the Sylvanwald”

“The Sylvanwald” I began, pausing to start climbing the floating concrete rubbles. “doesn’t fucking exist.”

“o-o-o-of course it does! You’re a witch, Kathryn! A witch! You have a piece of the Sylvanwald within you.”

“Are all fae this annoying?”

“You should watch your tongue around fae, o-or else a cat might steal your tongue!”

“All the mutants in the world and I’m stuck with you.”

“W-well I wouldn’t say stuck. I’m your familiar. You’re a witch after all”

“Yeah right. And how about you un-familiar?”

“Why would you want to dispel your familiar?”

“How about you get your satyr and pixie friends to come and sing a song and bull shit?”

“No! don’t listen to the siren’s song. Man is best not to meddle with the fae”

“Says the biohack reject. All the DNA programmers are the same. Make some impossible pipe dream shit that’s barely functional, fill it with lies, and throw it out to go fuck up the local ecosystem… What? You can’t take the heat? Then take your mundane ass and scram. I’m climbing this damn mountain to get the hell away from scum like you. I thought you might be fucking different. But no, you’re the same pothead trash that the rest of the mutants are.”

Nexus was still there. I could feel his scrawny body weighing on top of my backpack. He never made so much as a whimper.

We… I climbed in silence for a long time. The Last Mountain was hard to climb. The remnants of an old city were there. Vines pressed at the cracks in the faded gray blocks and dripped from the remittance of buildings scattered through the sky by tectonic bombs. A colossal patina statue float gently in the sky. Her torch and book now home to the gigarachnid who’s web hold them to the mountain wall. Other parts are adrift in the gaps between peaks of cliffs.

The once homes of the shattered city was silenced by plague long before the first mutants were made. Now the empty halls moaned like wales in the cliff top winds.

I made camp in the shell of a parking garage. All of the building had been blasted to dust, or thrown elsewhere, leaving a crown of rebar thorns around its bowed head. I cobbled together a fire by the base of a concrete column. I studied an outdated guide book as I picked through my rehydrated dinner.

“Young girl” Nexus whispered “A crumb for a spell?.”

“Fuck off you repressed rat.”

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to anger the fae?”

“Damn it. There are no fae, no Sylvanwald, no magic. You are the worst elements of a rat, a 7 year old, and the typical romantic ‘scientists’. You are a mistake, you are unnatural, you have no place on the mountain.” I tried to strangle the faded blue creature. Chased it up the rebar, reaching and grasping for its stupid slippery tale. When I ran out of rebar to climb I through rocks, hoping to shatter his iridescent wings. I pulled a loose chunk of concrete out and threw it with all the might I could muster. The sandy stone broke Nexus’s wings. He fell, barreling towards the ground. The centuries old column beneath me wained and crumbled.

end of psyco-chip® cache


  • Objective: Assassination
  • Status: Successful (08/14/54)
  • Cause of Death: Gravity assisted head trauma


Congratulations Task Force Omega. Witch 4306 (A.K.A. Kathryn “□□□□□” Baker) has been terminated. The Last Mountain program has been proven useful in containment of Witches, among other anomalous threats. Your request for additional funding is granted, in addition to further funds to expand the research of delivery and manipulation of psychoactive compounds.

– Commander Paul Baker

end of message