The Adventures of Norman Oklahoma Volume One Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  A Note on Location

  1. I Am the Walrus

  2. Liner Notes?

  3. Vampire Plumber

  4. The Tree Rat Cometh

  5. How to Take Out a Walrus

  6. Murder Most Casual

  7. The Vampire Meet and Greet

  8. My Kingdom For a Cup of Coffee

  9. Alien Abduction

  10. Abner Hatches a Plan

  11. Into the Basement

  12. The Thing in the Dark

  13. Food for a Troglodyte

  14. Lost and Found

  15. Getter Dunn

  16. From the Pan to the Fire

  17. Cult of Bovinity

  18. I Feel Fine

  19.The Fool on the Hill

  20. The Tree Rat's Revenge

  21. They Came From the Earth

  22. Man in a Box

  23. The Little Green Men Conundrum

  24. Creatures of the Night

  25. My Name is Mud

  26. The Stench of Battle

  27. Grut the Brain

  28. Jenner Takes the Cake

  29. Grandma Pat

  30. The Brotherhood of Minos

  31. Sometimes She Cries

  32. The Great and Powerful Frank

  33. Goblin Riot

  34. August 21, 1863

  35. The Comic Bank

  36. Fire and Blood

  37. The Taste of Feet

  38. The Sound of Silence

  39. Into The Labyrinth

  40. The Arena

  41. The Bull God

  42. The Ballad of Jack Dunn

  43. Back in Black

  44. Anger is a Gift

  45. Standoff

  46. Chocolate Milk

  47. Shattered Glass

  What's Next?

  Preview: Bump in the Night

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  Join My Mailing List

  Thanks From Steeven

  About the Author

  THE ADVENTURES OF NORMAN OKLAHOMA

  VOLUME ONE

  STEEVEN R. ORR

  Walrus and Doctors Cover Art by Andrew Charipar

  Creased Paper look by enginemonkey

  Copyright © 2018 by Steeven R. Orr. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental. Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

  Click or visit:

  steevenorrelse.com

  Join My Mailing List:

  http://eepurl.com/UPD2T

  To Karen. My life, my love, my lobster

  A NOTE ON LOCATION

  To the good people of Eudora, Kansas:

  I have taken some liberties with the geography of my hometown. Not everything in this book is as it is in real life.

  I mean, apart from the monsters and such.

  You will also notice that I’ve changed the name of many of the businesses in Eudora and have even created a few of my own.

  But hey, that’s what us writer-types do, right?

  At least, that’s what I’ve been told.

  Enjoy.

  Thanks.

  1

  I AM THE WALRUS

  I WOKE THIS MORNING to find a walrus sitting at my kitchen table.

  He was wearing an impeccably clean, custom-tailored black suit with matching tie and handkerchief, and was smoking a cigarette.

  I’d just finished my morning ablutions and felt a little under dressed as I stepped into the kitchen wearing my bathrobe, boxers, and t-shirt.

  The walrus smiled, took a long drag off his cigarette, inhaled slowly, exhaled even more slowly, and then spoke.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  His voice was low, yet clear and piercing. His accent was surprisingly English; not because it ain’t that often that you hear an English accent here in rural Kansas, but surprising in that it’s even less often that you hear an English accent coming out of a walrus. His eyes took me in and a tiny smile played upon lips that were more than a little unsettling as he took another drag, waiting for my response.

  My name is Norman Oklahoma. I’m a private investigator who specializes in the supernatural, the unexplained, and the just plain weird.

  In other words, I kick the monsters out of your closet and drag them out from under your bed. I hunt the things that go bump in the night and crack them upside the head with the stock of an antique Winchester. I’ve been doing such out of Eudora, Kansas for a number of decades now. I’m on the corner of 7th and Main, just above the coffee shop. Stop on in if you got yourself a pest problem of the monster variety. I’m your man.

  Most folks, those who ain’t from around here, have never heard of Eudora, Kansas. Doesn’t surprise me. We’re just one of them small towns no one has any reason to visit. Sleepy, quiet, boring. But that’s all on the outside.

  There are a few of us who know the truth. We special few who know Eudora for what it is. A hotbed of supernatural and paranormal activity, and has been for as far back as my memory can stretch, which is further than you might be prepared to believe.

  I can’t really explain why, what it is about this place that draws all the monsters and such to our sleepy little corner of America’s heartland, but it does, and that’s why I’m here.

  See, I hunt monsters. Vampires, werewolves, and zombies, along with a passel of other nasty beasts; they’re all fair game.

  Now don’t get me wrong, they ain’t all bad. Some of these creatures just want to live as normal a life as possible. They want to raise families, earn their keep, and pay taxes just like any other American citizen. It’s the bad ones you gotta watch out for.

  They want to be out there doing evil and killing innocent folk? Well, that’s where I step in. And I figured, why drag myself all over the country looking for them, when I can stay pretty busy where I am?

  So I set out my shingle and got to work.

  But sometimes, it’s the monsters that hunt me.

  “I hope you slept well,” the walrus said.

  “Better than most,” I said, stepping into the kitchen.

  Truth be told, I hadn’t slept well at all. Regardless of all that hotbed of supernatural activity nonsense, I hadn’t had a job in a few months. Which, to be fair, is a good thing. It means that the monsters ain’t out there killing the good folks of my community. And while I’d like to think that the reason they ain’t is because I’d had them all whipped, there’s this small nagging part of me that knows that that ain’t true. Something was going on and it made me downright nervous. On top of that, I had bills to pay and no money coming in.

  Stress brings the nightmare. A reoccurring dream I’ve had for as far back as I can remember. I don’t really like talking about, but it certainly made for a restless night. Quite a few, actually. But I wasn’t about to let this duded up monstrosity know that.

  “Can we make this quick,” I said, stepping over to the coffee maker. “Nobody told me you were coming and I’m afraid I’m in no state to entertain.”

  I made preparations to run a pot of coffee; adding the water, the filter, and the grounds before setting it to brew.

  “You know who I am?” the thing said, then took another long drag off the cigarette.

  “Yeah, I know who you are.”

  I wouldn’t be much of a private investigator if I didn’t.

  In the criminal underworld he is known simply as the Walrus. He’s three hundred and fifty pounds of muscle packed into a seven foot frame. He�
�s a genetic mistake, created in a lab by a group of scientists with an off-the-wall idea, unlimited funding, and a little too much time on their hands. The Walrus is literally a man in every sense of the word, but with the head and skin of a walrus. He’s a heavy hitter. A freelancer who rents himself out to the highest bidder, and there’s not much he won’t do if’n the price is right, and there he sat at the very same table in which I’d been hoping to eat a bowl of Fruity Rings.

  “Good,” he said. “That will save some time. I know who you are too, Norman Oklahoma.”

  “I’m honored,” I said. “It’s every little boy’s dream to catch the eye of a tall drink of water such as yourself.”

  The Walrus let out a deep laugh that rattled the dishes in the cabinets.

  “I’d been told you were funny,” he said. “Now I see for myself that it’s true.”

  I only sighed. I needed a cup of coffee. I shouldn’t have to be expected to deal with something like this before my first cup of coffee. I hunted around inside the cabinets for a mug. There wasn’t a clean one anywhere; they were all in the sink waiting for me to wash them. I sighed again, grabbed one up, and rinsed it out.

  “You and I must talk, Mr. Oklahoma,” he said.

  “Please, call me Norman,” I said. “And talk already, I’m all a-quiver in anticipation.”

  “Surely you know why I’m here.”

  “I think I do, but I don’t know what to tell you, big guy. I’m afraid I already have all the cookies I need.”

  “Mr. Lemonzeo sent me.”

  Abner ‘Bud’ Lemonzeo. A local thug who had used a combination of violence and an Associates Degree in Business Management from a local junior college to make himself into the Midwest’s largest dealer of black market goods since... well, the Midwest has never really had a dealer of black market goods. Lemonzeo discovered a niche, and filled it.

  “Bud’s out, then,” I said.

  “Time off for good behavior.”

  “What’s that got to do with me?”

  “Mr. Lemonzeo sent me to kill you.”

  “Just like that?” I said, taking hold of the coffee pot. It was only about half full as the machine gurgled and spat.

  “Just like that,” the Walrus said, smiling as he stubbed his cigarette out on my kitchen table.

  “Well,” I said. “That’s not very nice.”

  “Nice doesn’t even enter into it,” he said. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Is the witty back and forth part of what Bud’s paying for?”

  “Not at all,” he said. “I’m throwing that in for free.”

  “Are you stupid?” I said.

  “I’m sorry?” That threw him.

  “Are you stupid?”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “You break in here and tell me that you’re gonna kill me. Wouldn’t it have been smarter to come at me when I wasn’t expecting it? Like, grab me up while I was sleeping and throttle me or something? I don’t know, I’m starting to think that Bud might have been better off if he’d hired a ninja or something.”

  “A ninja,” he said in a matter of fact tone.

  “A ninja wouldn’t have tried to intimidate me, as you’re clearly attempting to do. I mean, why warn me? Sounds like a waste of time and the element of surprise to me. Does Bud know what he’s paying for? Maybe you have one of them feedback cards I could fill out?”

  “Fine,” the Walrus said. “I tried to have my fun, but I see I can’t play games with you.” The table creaked and the floor groaned as the Walrus pulled himself to his feet.

  Now, I ain’t known for being one of the world’s great thinkers. I have no patience for studying a situation, for looking at the problem from every angle to arrive at a viable solution. I prefer instead to just start shooting and then figure it all out once the smoke clears. To tell the truth, I tend to make it all up as I go along.

  “Well then,” I said, my hand still clutching the handle on the coffee pot. It was about three quarters of the way full now. “Koo-koo-katchoo, Fatboy.”

  I threw the pot with all of my might, chucking it across the table like a big league pitcher throwing a fast ball. I could only hope that my aim was true and that a pot of coffee was enough to stop a walrus.

  2

  LINER NOTES?

  THE GLASS POT struck the Walrus in the face and exploded, showering both the Walrus and the surrounding area with glass and coffee. Any normal person would’a been screaming by that point, but not the Walrus.

  No sir. The Walrus didn’t scream, he fumed. He looked so dern mad that I wasn’t sure if the steam coming off him was from coffee or rage.

  Regardless, my plan hadn’t quite worked. It looked like I was in for a scrape after all. I just hoped I could get to my guns before the big fella broke me in half.

  That meant turning around and sprinting down the hall to the bedroom. I’d already set out my clothes for the day along with the tools of my trade: One Winchester Model 1866 Lever-Action Repeating Rifle and a pair of antique custom-built Colt Peacemakers.

  The Walrus was big, bulky. That usually meant slow. I should be armed and ready to roll before he rounded the table.

  Of course, I was wrong.

  As the thought of running was still formulating in my brain, the Walrus roared, picked up my oak dining table in one hand, and with the casual manner of throwing aside a sheet of unneeded paper, tossed it into the adjoining living room.

  Now, believe it or not, there’s no standard procedure for a fella to follow when a murderous, rampaging, mutant walrus-man breaks into your home. They don’t air public service announcements that deal with such situations. No one has put the forethought into printing up a pamphlet detailing exactly how one should act or what one should say. They don’t drill for it in schools. And there certainly ain’t never been an after school special in which someone happened to find themselves in a similar predicament. So the average Joe, that would be me, when faced with such danger, would just have to trust his most basic of instincts.

  It’s the whole fight or flight thing. There are some of us who would stand and fight while others would flee. Heck, most sane individuals would run screaming like a little girl. Standard operating procedure for me was to stand my ground and fight, and savage walrus or not, I wasn’t one to stray from protocol. Once I actually gave it some serious thought however, I landed on the conclusion that running and screaming might be my best option.

  But before I could even shift my stance, the Walrus, moving with a speed and grace that defied his bulk, had my neck in a fist the size of a Christmas ham. He lifted me off the ground and slammed me back against the fridge.

  “What did you say?” The Walrus hissed, his rank breath blowing into my face.

  “What?” I gasped. “When?”

  “Just then, when you threw the coffee?”

  “‘Fatboy?’” The sausage-like fingers at my throat were seriously starting to restrict my breathing.

  “No,” he said. “Before that.”

  “‘Koo-koo-katchoo?’”

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes, ‘Koo-koo-katchoo.’ Was that supposed to mean something?”

  “I Am...” I choked “...The Walrus.”

  “What?”

  “The...” spots appeared before my eyes “...Beatles.”

  “Yes, I know it was the Beatles, but I’m failing to understand the correlation between this ‘koo-koo-katchoo’ nonsense and I Am the Walrus.” Then he chuckled. “Unless of course, you think that ‘koo-koo-katchoo’ is what he’s singing during the chorus?” He was laughing now, the fingers tightening on my throat. “Is that it? Is that what you were trying to say?”

  I tried to speak.

  “Well, is it?” The Walrus was laughing louder. “Is it?”

  “Can’t... breathe!” I had to spit out the words.

  “Right.” The Walrus relaxed his grip enough to allow me to breathe and talk. “Sorry.”

  I’ll admit. I played it for all
it was worth; I coughed a lot, I took more than the necessary amount of gasping breaths, and generally just played for time while I tried to figure my next move. I mean, the Walrus had hurt me, but not as much as one might think.

  The fact of the matter is, I ain’t an easy man to hurt, and I’m almost impossible to kill. I don’t get sick, and I heal faster than what most experts agree is “humanly possible.” That might be why I’m over a hundred years old but don’t look a day over forty. Granted, I’ve never let a hulking walrus-man choke the life out of me to see if I’d actually die, but I sure as heck bounce back mighty quick.

  I recited the first line of the chorus to I am the Walrus as soon as I’d got some of my breath back.

  I paused to gauge the monster’s reaction.

  The Walrus just stared at me.

  I recited the second line and then paused once again.

  Again, the Walrus did nothing.

  I recited the third line, the title of the song in fact. Once again, I paused for reaction.

  Once again, I got nothing.

  “Koo-koo-katchoo?” I finished.

  “Ah yes, I see your confusion, I really do, but that’s not what the lyric is. It’s ‘Goo goo g’joob.’”

  “‘Goo goo g’joob?’”

  “‘Goo goo g’joob,’” he returned.

  “Are you drunk?”

  “No,” he glowered at me and sighed. “‘Goo goo g’joob.’ That’s what John Lennon sang on I Am the Walrus.”

  “No ain’t.”

  “Yes it is.”

  “No, it ain’t.” My nose began to itch.

  “Look,” The Walrus said. “Don’t get me wrong. It happens all the time. I can see where you might think that the lyric is ‘koo-koo-katchoo.’ But it’s just not true. Most folks get that wrong. They think it comes from the Simon and Garfunkel song, Mrs. Robinson, which in turn came from the movie, The Graduate, and that this was John Lennon’s nod to the movie.”

  “Well,” I said, feigning interest. “Yeah.”

  “But it just isn’t possible. The movie wasn't released until December of 1967, almost a full month after the release of I Am the Walrus,” he smiled. “So, there it is.”