Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

The first sighting of Jesus in Vitruvian County happened in 1848, during the Great Awakening, when an image of Christ reportedly appeared in a melting snowdrift outside of Mule Butte. Thousands made a pilgrimage before the effigy melted, though no photographs were taken due to the landowner’s insistence that it would be “unholy.” The second such sighting occurred in 2024, at Randall’s Bodega in Brass Hoop.

A patron found a “mangled” bag of Doritos on a store shelf there, likely the result of a factory error, and convinced Randall to let them have it for half price. Inside, though, they found a malformed Dorito with what the anonymous customer asserted was a perfect and diving image of Jesus in the medium of corn and nacho powder. A video and stills of the incident soon went viral, and Randall immediately purchased the bag from the customer on the spot for $100 plus a second, pristine, bag of Doritos.

The fervor soon escalated as Randall put it on display in his bodega, using it to drive business while also listing it on eBay for $10,000. The situation soon became complicated, though, as Frito-Lay, the manufacturer, claimed that any such sale was a violation of their rights and that they could and would reclaim the chip by refunding its full purchase price of $1.75. A spokesperson said that the image “proves beyond a doubt that divine providence smiles upon Frito-Lay LLC GmbH and its affiliates and subsidiaries” with the chip slated for a “place of honor in the Frito-Lay Snack Museum.” A spokeperson for the state attorney general immediately countersued, claiming that a law from 1853 gave the state “right of first refusal to acquire any and all religious artifacts and icons;” claiming eminent domain, they attempted to seize the chip themselves.

Events culminated in a standoff between Randall and a private security firm he had hired, Frito-Lay lawyers and members of the same security firm that they had hired, and a detachment of state police. Through a chain of happenstance that is not entirely clear to this day, Randall’s Bodega was burned to the ground, three people died, and the chip was lost.

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“Welcome to the SPOGGY NOODLE!” the waitstaff cried as Sir Bellamy walked in.

“Uh, hi,” said Bellamy. “Thanks. Never been to a Spoggy Noodle before. Uh, table for four.”

“It’s SPOGGY NOODLE,” a waiter said. “You have to say it in all caps. Seat yourself and someone will be right with you.”

“Ooookay,” Bellamy said. He took the corner booth, his full plate armor rattling, as Squigs the gobbling roguelet, Harrier the helf cantripist, and Grug the horc heavy metal bard filed into the booth, each taking a menu.

“So…is this a chain?” Bellamy said. “I feel like this is a taven chain, but I’ve never seen a SPOGGY NOODLE before.”

“They used to have a Sproggy Poodle in The Slouch,” said Squig. “But it was more of a dive bar.”

Harrier shrugged. “Lots of taverns want you to think they’re a chain. If they manifest it in their level of service, they think it’ll become real.”

“Grug?” said Bellamy, noticing the horc studying the menu carefully. “What do you think?”

“I think I’ll try the groi fas, whatever that is,” said Grug. “Never heard of any of the things they serve before. It’s like someone who once saw a picture of a fast food tavern trying to draw it from memory.”

Bellamy paused, thoughtful. “Hm.”

“Mimics?” Squig said.

“Yea, I’m thinking mimics,” sighed Harrier. “All right, get ready for the booth to try eating us. I’ll get a fireball ready.”

“Shame,” Grug said. “I was looking forward to a meal where we weren’t on the menu.”

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We pumped the water underground
Sipped at oil with freckle spoons
Ignored the rumbling earthquake sounds
And called our bounty a boon
Frackle spoon in other hands
Now we watch the planet roil
Fragmenting precedented times
Pumping storms instead of oil

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Citing photographic evidence of a ghostly brick from a destroyed wall hanging in midair promoted by Sir Arthur Chesney in 1922, his contemporary in the Transubstantiation Club, retired Admiral Reginald-Nigel “Ren” Bruce, posited a theory of spiritual transubstantiation which he published in 1924. According to Admiral Bruce, death or destruction were like a “phase transition” from water to ice or water to vapor, and that destruction brought all things into a so-called “phantom state” that could be at times measured and quantified, even photographed.

Only 60 copies of the book were ever produced in a private run, mostly for Club members. In it, according to the diary of Sir Chesney, Admiral Bruce put forward a design for a “phantom engine” which be and an unnamed co-author had designed. According to what notes survive, it was supposed to allow transit of matter to and from the so-called “phantom state” in much the same way that a vacuum chamber could be used to force water into ice or steam by controlling its temperature and pressure.

After what Chesney’s diary called “several wholly convincing tests,” a further trial—this time with an unnamed human subject—was planned. Given that nearly all Club members had lost one or more close family members in the war, it is suspected that they intended to contact a deceased son or nephew, either by drawing their “spirit” through the machine or sending a living person through it.

While Admiral Bruce’s theories are entirely discredited and unworkable, in as much as they are known, what is not in dispute is what happened next. The Club was destroyed in a thunderous detonation, killing all 27 members and employees on the premises and four passersby besides.

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The Sanctuary of the Elders was the place where the most knowledgeable and respected of the Council were taken after death. Immersed in the mana pools that naturally occurred in the caves, their bodies were naturally mummified while their minds remained free to wander. Initiates who wore a properly attuned crystal could hear the elders, even speak to them, and many had emerged from the caves during times of great travail with the solution that had ultimately saved the people.

Ulf, of course, was no initiate. But with the Council dead or missing in the wake of the Skyl attacks, it was the only option open to him. With Grol and Sheena at his side, they brushed past the single guard and into the sanctuary, where under threat of violence the initiate gave up their crystal.

Upon donning it, though, Ulf grimaced and immediately swept it from his brows. “What is this?” he said. “It’s just screaming. They didn’t even hear my question.”

“Yes,” sighed the initiate. “That’s all it has ever been. Screaming, endless screaming, from beyond the grave.”

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Some think that they are evil canines who mad a pact with dark forces to assume human shape as they please, and accuse them of having a penchant for murder and mayhem. Others hold that they are humans bearing some ancient curse which condemns them to the level of beasts.

Somewhat surprisingly, few have actually asked a jackalwere what they think. Those who have are, admittedly, usually blown off, as jackalweres are known to be skittish and slow to trust at the best of times–and not without reason, given their long history of persecution. The most anyone has learned is that jackalweres consider themselves a new verse of an eternal song, sung in harmony.

Jackalweres resemble large canines–jackals, coyotes, wolves, or even domestic dogs–but take a considerably longer time to mature. Most wild canines are adults after roughly one year, but jackalweres take 13-17 years to mature. At any time, a jackalwere can choose to assume the shape of a canine or a human, and older jackalweres are able to assume a hybrid form combining features of each. The transformation is quite rapid and involves magical means, with many jackalweres able to conjure illusory clothing or collars as well.

Another skill that a jackalwere possesses that sets it apart from other creatures such as blink dogs and werewolves is that they possess a limited form of telepathy and psychic suggestion. This allows jackalweres to make themselves easily understood in any language, if they wish, and to implant transient false memories to allow them to blend in.

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“We’ve delayed this meeting several times, and been able to provisionally enroll Haven, but the Right To Sapience Act requires a full interview by the end of the semester and the clock is ticking, Mrs. Powell.”

“Is it really that big of a deal?” Eileen said.

“Mrs. Powell,” said Principal Shasa. “My predecessor resigned rather than enforce the Right To Sapience Act. We have some leeway, but if Haven has not been interviewed by the end of the semester, we will be uable to enroll her for the spring.”

“Can we do it over the phone?” sighed Eileen.

Shasa shuffled some papers on her hand. “We can get some basic questions out of the way, I suppose, but part of the interview will have to be done in person. Number One: is Haven now, or has she ever been, possessed by a demonic spirit that has altered her appearance or behavior?”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Eileen said.

“I am reading the questions verbatim from the statute.”

“No, she has not.”

“Number Two: is Haven now, or has she ever been, an otherworldly creature, in whole or in part?”

“No.”

“Okay.” More papers rustling. “Does Haven now, or has she ever, associated with anyone known to the state to be an otherworldly creature, or one possessed by a demon?”

“No.”

“Very good. We’ll have to speak to Haven for the rest, but that is something I can give the DoE at least. Oh, and the examination.”

“Examination?” Eileen said, hesitantly.

“Naturally, the state can’t simply take your word for it. The Department of Health offers a minimally invasive examination to confirm that your daughter is neither otherworldly nor possessed.”

Eileen abruptly hung up the call before Shasa could proceed.

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With the repeal of Sonox v. Charleston by Graves v. Sapient Services, the rights afforded to non-human sapients immediately became an open question. The previous case law, Griffith v. Eldryth from 1915, stated that only male human citizens were subject to constitutional protections as envisaged by the Framers, and while precedent since then had gradually extended further protections and rights to female human citizens and children, the Graves decision essentially kicked the ball back into the individual states.

South Carolina, Mississippi, Montana, and Florida had all passed “trigger laws” which went into effect as soon as Sonox was overturned, broadly restricting the rights of non-human sapients–and, indeed, refusing to acknowledge any other sapients at all. The “theoretical” basis for these laws, the Florida statute written by the Liberty 4 All Foundation, was that human beings were the only sapient beings in the world, and that anything else that appeared to be sapient was either “otherworldly” or “possessed.”

Sapients deemed “otherworldly”–the Florida Right To Sapience Act refers to them as “demons”–were stripped of all rights and could not own property, engage in employment, vote, or possess currency. All such property and currency passed to whomever had previously held it, or the state government if no such person could be identified. For instance, a satyr named Owpun, declared “otherworldly,” saw his property revert to the ancestors of the family he had purchased it from. Another, involving a centaur known as Oates, saw a network of stables and animal husbandry education programs seized by the state–Oates had created them, therefore there was no prior owner.

On the other hand, Sapients deemed “possessed” were deemed to have rights and could own property and engage in employment once the state had “exorcised” them to its satisfaction. For instance, a number of elves were allowed to keep their homes and businesses in Billings once they submitted to an exorcism ritual and clipped their ears with the assistance of a local cosmetic surgeon. The existence of short-statured humans made it unenforceable to require Dwarves were required to undergo an exorcism, shave their beards, clip their ears, and even then it was generally accepted that only those above 4’8″ in height would ever be accepted.

Burt Vespin, billionaire playboy, stalked the Vespertillius Cavern, looking for information on The Twiddler and his confederates in the Puppeteer Gang. Their last caper, with the Very Large Bat, had failed, but he knew it was only a matter of time before they struck again.
“Perhaps, Master Burt, the answer is to think like they do,” said his loyal manservant, Frederick.

“Think like a mentally ill freak in a costume?” scoffed Burt. “That’ll be the day.”

Frederick cleared his throat. “Yes, well, the stockholders for VespinTech are here with the quarterly financial statements. Perhaps it’s time to place the bat hobby on hold and see to pressing matters?”

“VespinTech is the hobby,” Burt muttered. “This is what really matters.”

“Yes, well, it also generates no income, as you refuse to license your likeness and allow bootleggers free reign,” said Frederick. “Perhaps just a little bit of business, at least until the bills are paid?”

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If we continue to fragment our wilderness
Our cryptids will lack places to hide
They might then evolve into smallness
And begin letting themselves inside

A compact sasquatch lurks in the kitchen
Flatbrush pixies are on the lanai
Mothmen orbit floorlamps in the den
Chubacaprae in the garage wave goodbye

If we don’t want them in our spaces
If we wish to bid them goodbye
Perhaps it’s our turn to downsize
Before the very last forests will die

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