Hugo Makewar: The Psychiatrizing, Part Two

Man with Nice Mustache

Dr. Gerald Patsy, one of the most respected living Pyschiatrizers in the world, lives in Fatal, Arizona with his wife (Prue) and their child, [Name Withheld]

It is with a combination of scientific excitement and mortal terror that I announce that I, Dr. Gerald Patsy, one of the most respected practitioners of Psychiat now living (and if you think I haven’t made damn sure of that, you don’t know Dr. Patsy), have been given the job of Pyschiatrizing Hugo Makewar, who, as regular readers of this publication will know, is Atherton’s Magic Vapour’s Time-Travelling Reporter (aka, their ace-in-the-hole, market-wise; no one else has one; in fact, no one knows how Hugo Makewar does it, and many experts say that it is impossible).

I came in to my office an hour earlier than usual, to prepare, meditate, and fire-proof the building.

My first Clew that something was wrong was the noise of glass breaking that I heard just as I was turning the key in the outside lock.

It came, I fancied, from my office.  I raced up the stairs, eschewing the teleporter.  I do not, as some foolish persons apparently do, believe that the teleporter is cursed, soul-stealing, or inherently evil; nor do I subscribe to the Theory of the Gate, which posits a connection between Hugo Makewar’s first trip through time and the invention/inexplicable appearance of teleporting technology, and further hypothesizes that someday Things would come screaming through the Teleporters, howling for the blood of Man.

I did feel, however, that our Teleporter was in Poor Repair, and the stairs were faster and more reliable.

Further disturbing noises lent wings to my feet, and I arrived, winded but Not Dead, at my office door.

It was as I had expected: Hugo Makewar was already there.  He held a pistol in one hand and a sword, the strange sigils in the blade shining red, in the other.  He was standing in the center of the room, watching with satisfaction as something sank, dissolving, into my carpet.

The whole room was Decidedly Sticky, and Hugo himself was covered in blood.

“Don’t worry Doc!” said Hugo, turning and (inadvertently, I choose to believe) pointing his arsenal at me.  “It isn’t my blood.” 

I knew then, as I had not, perhaps, fully realized before, that Hugo was going to be a challenging patient.


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  1. I found this is an entertaining read!
    Let’s have MORE, Please?

  2. Oh, we will, Brian; we will. I am, I think, slightly obsessed with Hugo Makewar.

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