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Board James A Fanfiction by Aaron Dennis

board james

Board James, the character and web series, is owned by James Rolfe and Cinemassacre Productions, but I’m writing this story anyway, because I think James will like it.

Board James by Aaron Dennis is a work of fanfiction, and it was not created for profit. It is illegal to sell Board James by Aaron Dennis for profit as it is illegal for anyone apart from the owners of the rights to Board James and his likeness to earn a profit.

Do not sell this work of fanfiction for monetary gain of any kind.

Please visit Cinemassacre.com and watch the Board James web series. If you believe this story will make a great movie, let James know by reviewing this after you finish reading.

Allen and Sharon buy a new house. It turns out to be the former home of Board James. Strange occurrences frighten the newly weds. When Allen wakes up, he finds himself sitting before James, Mike, and Bootsy. They must play James’s newest, made-up game, Board James, to completion, lest they be forever trapped within the living game.
Board James is fanfiction based upon the Board James web series owned by James Rolfe and Cinemassacre Productions.

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Chapter One

“Okay,” James started. “Here we are again; it’s the night before Halloween, and time to review a classic board game. What do we have? One Night, Ultimate Werewolf…okay.” Indifferently, he tossed the box aside to reach for another one. “Level Seven, Escape.” He turned the box over a few times, shook his head while wincing, and tossed it aside as well. “What’s this?”

Amidst other, colorful boxes was a small, square box. A picture of a goofy ghost was on the front.

“Ghost Blitz, and look, there’s a green bottle on the ground next to him. Is that beer? Is he drunk? Is that why it’s Ghost Blitz? ‘Cause he’s blitzed? He sure as fuck looks tweaked.” James started to crack open the box, but paused. “Major fun award? What the Hell is that? Well, whatever. Let’s get started.”

After dropping the top, James pulled out a deck of cards and a baggy with game pieces. “Let’s see; we got cards with pictures of the ghost. This one has a chair. This one a mouse, and what’re these? Oh, this is the chair, but it’s red. Why’s the chair on the card blue? And what’s this piece? A butt plug? Oh, that’s the ghost.”

Once he finished rifling through the game pieces, he scratched his head in confusion, picked up the tiny manual, and read through it. “A reaction game as fast as lightning for two to eight bright minds. Yeah, no dumbasses allowed. Story and object of the game– Object? Do they mean objective? Anyway….

“Balduin, the house ghost,” he stopped speaking to laugh. “House ghost? Is that like house…? Never mind, we won’t go there. So, Balduin found an old camera in the castle cellar. I like where this is goin’; a ghost director. Kind of reminds me of something, but I can’t put my finger on it….” Trailing off, the reviewer readjusted his ball cap then returned his gaze to the manual. “Immediately, he photographed everything that he loves to make disappear. So, it’s like a camera for pictures not filming; too bad. I wonder if he takes a picture of his ghost shit, ‘cause ghost dookie vanishes, get it?” James smiled.

There wasn’t anyone else there besides James. To whom he was speaking was as much a mystery as to where his friends had gone. Word was, Board James was a serial killer, a madman cutting the balls off his mates whenever they got tired of his shitty games.

“Unfortunately, the enchanted camera takes many photos in the wrong color. What? Sometimes, the green bottle is white; other times, it’s blue. Looking at the photos, Balduin doesn’t really remember what he wanted to make disappear next. Yeah, and I don’t remember the last time I took a shit or what color it was. Guess I should’ve taken a picture…now that’s a shitty picture.”

Frowning so hard his lips curled down, James’s eyes went wide as he nodded. “Can you help him with his haunting and quickly name the right piece, or even make it disappear by yourself?” He threw the red, chair, game piece into the corner. “It’s gone, vanished, banished to the black hole of Uranus,” he asserted.

The game reviewer shook his head in consternation. Then, cracking the manual open, he perused the actual game rules.

Raising Dead by Aaron Dennis

Raising Dead By Aaron Dennis
Raising Dead By Aaron Dennis

An ancient necromancer seeks but one dream, the power of perfection, the power of immortality. What he finds leaves him speechless. Is he but chasing the wind?

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I heard a story, once…it was about a powerful magician of sorts. He had obtained the power of creation, and as such, decided to craft creatures in his likeness, but because his was a power born of Earth, those creatures, which looked human enough, were impervious to fires.

Truth, it was an odd story, but there is more, you see…. Those creatures often found themselves in the midst of flames for one reason or another. This led to them to the discovery that they were unnatural. Inevitably, they returned to their master asking why it was that such an oddity was prevalent.

“Because I have created you. You are not human.” Such were his responses, and more often than not, those creatures went mad from learning the truth…hmph, truth.

It is has always been about truth, and perhaps it is why I like this story so. Now, here’s my favorite part. One day, that powerful magician found himself chased from his home, due to awful practices no doubt, and so he set up a camp. While sitting at the campfire, a creature, we’ll say it was a wolf. I am partial to wolves…but that is another story for another time.

Anyhow, this wolf attacked, and the magician fell into the fire. To his dismay, it did not burn. You see…he, too, had been created, but by whom? He had no way to learn such.

Why do I like this story? I like truth. It never plays out the way we expect. It is not a pure light. It is not epiphany. No, my, no.

Often, truth is a dark and murky thing; a veil of sorts, which we must learn to wield in ways proper to the culmination of our very own and personal life experiences.

What is my truth? Well, let’s say…death is not the end, and leave it at that.

He calls himself a necromancer

Gaulder ran across the valley of ash enroute to Cormaire’s lair. T’was valley was rife with death. Ancient bones, or cinders thereof, remained strewn about the gnarled and blackened trees. Puffs of ash kicked up behind the man’s wake.

Cormaire, the necromancer—as he called himself due to his practices involving unlife—hid away deep in the valley of ash. His lair, a cave beneath the putrid land, was denoted by a wicked entrance. The cave mouth was carved from a lone stone, which stood near the center of the valley; a stone chiseled to resemble a disfigured and pear-shaped head. Rows of teeth lined the maws of the head—the actual entry.

Ducking his head to enter, Gaulder clutched a bundle of gray cloths; an item master Cormaire required to create a revenant was ensconced within. Being an apprentice meant being a liaison of sorts, and because Cormaire was unable to travel into town—it was an unworthy risk to his life—Gaulder ran errands in exchange for knowledge.

The young man in tattered, dark clothing worked his way through the labyrinth of stone corridors. Each hallway was alighted by torches perched in sconces. Eternally, they burned. Finally spilling into the sepulcher, the apprentice spotted the bent, aging necromancer pulling entrails from a recently deceased.

“Master,” Gaulder called.

“Mm?” Cormaire mumbled without giving his attention.

Instead he dumped the viscera into a bronze bucket.

“It was no mean feat, but…I have it,” Gaulder announced with a smile.

“Yes. Bring it into the light.”

Gaulder swallowed hard. The master was neither pleasant to work with, nor look upon. Mostly, the man was covered in dark robes. Even with the hood pulled low over his face, the wizard exuded power, and a foul odor. Gaulder approached the stone worktable where the dead subject lay with chest cavity open.

“Here,” Gaulder whispered, placing the bundle adjacent the body.

Cormaire waved his apprentice off before unwrapping the bundle. Amidst the gray cloths was a polished piece of amber the size of a child’s fist. Encased within was a dried, angel trumpet flower.

“It was not easy to obtain.”

“Powerful items seldom are.”

“How, how does it work?”

The old man walked around the worktable. A plethora of ancient tomes sat on rotting shelves behind him. Candlelight flickered. Cormaire drew back his hood revealing deep wrinkles. He smiled like a Cheshire cat; his teeth surprisingly clean. The apprentice shuddered.

“Revenants, my boy, are particularly difficult to raise,” Cormaire explained. “Firstly, the body must have perished from unnatural causes, and the bloodier the better. Next, as you just saw, the entrails, gallbladder, and bladder must be removed. Then, the cavity is stuffed with chaff bound in burlap…this is to keep the body dry.

“Now, we prefer as little trauma to the brain as possible, lest our raised be a simpleton. Furthermore, I prefer to add multiple adrenal glands. These can be obtained from any dead person, so long as they are not overly decayed. Splicing the glands into the body is a rather simple task, and it provides our revenant with boundless strength and endurance.

“Finally, the dried flower encased in amber is used to tie the deceased’s spiritual nature to the aether; the…between, if you will. If this is not done, a revenant will be unable to follow the orders of the necromancer–”

Gaulder made the mistake of interrupting by saying, “But, master, the others didn’t require–”

The master’s eyes turned fierce. A furrow creased his brow, and his jowls sank at the corners. The dread immediately filled Gaulder’s heart. He looked away.

“Are you finished trying to tell your master what you think is correct?” Cormaire hissed.

Gaulder nodded emphatically. The necromancer’s demeanor relaxed, and he continued his lesson.

“Revenants are refined creatures. They are unlike the boorish zombies, or ghouls, which any inexperienced Necromancer can raise. Revenants need a connecting link between the world of the living, and the world of the dead.”

“What purpose do they serve?”

“Ah,” Cormaire nodded, approvingly. “A most intelligent question. Revenants nearly pass for the living. With the proper series of incantations, this…young thief, here, can certainly be mistaken for a drunken ne’er-do-well.”

“And what will you have him do for you?”

Cormaire grinned again.

Apollo by Aaron Dennis

Cover art for Apollo

John Lay is recruiting a new member for Phoenix crew. In order to educate her, he recounts the story regarding his first mission with The Bureau. It was then that he met with an exceptional group of people, and it was then that he first learned of aliens, and closed door political ties to piracy.
In joining The Bureau, Lay and crew infiltrate the Illuminati’s base of operations, witness the destructive properties of alien tech, and uncover the truth about Montrose’s involvement in alien pacts.

The mission takes a bad turn when the undercover crew is discovered, and worse, pirates start overtaking Apollo.

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Chapter 1- When we got there

“This was quite a few years ago,” Admiral Lay said. “I was just a Lieutenant then. No one turns down commissions, so when I got the green light, I didn’t waste any time. When we got there, everything was in disarray. A band of space pirates, who called themselves The Illuminati, had some nasty weaponry. It was something we’d never seen before…then things got out of hand.”

Sergeant Cheng sat across from the admiral. With the new coalition of united races only a year away, several service members had applied for Earth forces’ new position, Phoenix Crew, a special operations team no longer under the direct command of Earth, but under the command of a council of aliens. The new base was erected on planet Eon, the planet surveyed by Lay’s former protégé’, Riley O’Hara, and Cheng had been lucky enough, tough enough, smart enough, to have earned herself a position among Phoenix Crew.

“I can’t believe aliens have been involved in Human affairs for so long. I thought we’d just made first contact like a few years ago or something,” she said, fidgeting in her seat.

Lay shook his head; a frown worked over his aged and scarred face. “Not at all. I won’t lie to you, Cheng, there’s a great deal even I don’t know, but your record of service is impeccable, and your prowess on Earth during the invasion stands on its own,” Lay took a long inhalation before continuing. “At any rate, the people you really need to know about are members of a secret organization referred to as The Bureau. They specialize in this sort of thing—extraterrestrials—and you’ll be dealing with them quite a bit. I’m telling you this story because you have to understand how things work, not in the real world, mind you, but in the real galaxy.”

Cheng nodded enthusiastically. Though a bit nervous from sitting across a war hero, who was an extremely decorated individual, she was all ears, eager to listen, and even more eager to learn.

“You must have felt like I do now, when you first received the commission. I mean, I’m bursting out of my skin here,” Cheng grinned.

Lay gave a subtle smile. Remembering what life was like before knowledge of aliens was surreal.