Among other things, I am a Vampire hunter

Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Maximillian A. Bear, father to Maximillian A. Bear Jr., with whom you may be familiar: He was the little polar bear chap. Originally from London, my family and I are temporarily living in Allentown in the year 1868.

Among other things, I am a vampire hunter. Unfortunately, vampires are somewhat scarce and I have never actually encountered one. In fact, I am no longer convinced there are any left. However, there is a vast assortment of demonic creatures walking the earth and in lieu of there being any vampires to hunt, I have begun to hunt those creatures as well. One of those demons may be familiar to you: Marge.

From what my son and his fellow time travelers have told me -- and I shall take for granted that you know of the time portal by now, as well as the sixth-dimensional rift and Parallel Time --Marge is no stranger to the people of 2008.

(I have recently learned that you are frozen in time at the moment and I wish to convey my sincere condolences at this unfortunate occurrence. It is my sincere hope that I can help end your predicament, which I shall explain later.)

Marge, you see, has had an exceptionally long life span. Longer, in fact, than I ever would have imagined, or indeed hoped for. My life's work has been dedicated to ending that lifespan, but apparently I was unable to accomplish this in my own lifetime, according to my son, who is familiar with the future. In fact, my son, who I am proud to learn will follow in my footsteps, will likewise be unable to kill Marge in his lifetime. Actually, according to young Maximillian, he and I are each fated to perish during our failed attempts to bring the demon Marge to justice.

I find irony in this knowledge, even if Maximillian's friend Karl insists it is but coincidence. And if I hear his ramblings about how those polar bear rug eyeballs are actually marbles I may go in search of my own Keyser blade to settle the issue once and for all.

Excuse me. My Victorian temper sometimes gets the better of me. (I have only recently learned that my temper is Victorian!)

Where was I? Oh yes. Marge. Marge has enjoyed an exceptionally long lifespan. You see, she is the progeny of a long line of demons and represents a sort of melting pot of evil beings, inheriting their various methods of holding death at bay. Some day when I have more time I shall outline her family tree. I'm sure you will agree that some lumbering is in order.

As for Marge's immediate family, her father -- Tad the Impaler -- was actually half vampire, which accounts for my initial interest in her. Her mother was a common cambion, the byproduct of a union between an incubus and a succubus and the humans that served as their vessels.

Marge also had a brother named Ronan. The boy was adopted and had a less potent demonic pedigree, descending from Celtic demons as well as the legendary warrior Cúchulainn. Ronan was killed in a rock slide when he and Marge were children. Well, he actually survived the rock slide, along with Marge, but they were trapped in a cave and Marge was forced to eat her brother to survive. Or, so she apparently imagined. You see, after about an hour in the cave, she was rescued.

With the insight we have gained from my son's experiences in the future, including his dramatic tête-à-tête with his own ghost, and with the help of young Maximillian's time-traveling friends, I believe we will be able to avoid our previous (actually, future) missteps. I have carefully studied the demons in her bloodline and devised the most effective method of killing her. (Karl insists a few whacks to the neck with his Keyser blade would be sufficient but I am convinced her head would simply grow back.)

Our successful execution of Marge will save the life of my son, as well as my own, and will prevent any evil act committed by Marge from this time on, including her wreaking havoc on Allentown in 2008. It would also, one imagines, prevent the seance which caused the sixth-dimensional rift leading to the predicament you find yourselves in now. Needless to say young Maximillian will be sternly ordered to refrain from entering any time portals from this point forward.

In order to set our plans in motion, we must first travel to Japan.

A title would be nice

I am unable to write a long communique, as I am still somewhat disoriented from my trip back through time. As you may recall, just before before the sea monster broke through the front door of Team Marge Headquarters and attacked Marge, who had grown to over nine feet tall, Marge was about to kill Karl and Miss Emily with Karl's sling blade, which he calls a Keyser blade. Truman and I -- as spirits -- reanimated the corpses of two of Marge's polar bear rugs and gnawed at her ankles, allowing Karl and Miss Emily to seek the safety of the secret room and escape into the year 1868. Because we had become corporeal beings (in the form of reanimated polar bear hides), Truman and I were also able to escape into the past through the secret room, a place which spirits cannot enter. The Player poofed away and did not join us.

Upon returning to my rightful time, I was immediately transformed from a polar bear hide into my previous form -- a normal boy. Karl and Miss Emily were transported safely to 1868 and are currently asleep. Truman, however, remains as a living polar bear rug and is quite unhappy about it.

Shortly before Marge set upon us just as Labor Day weekend 2008 was dawning, our companion the Green Guy vanished at the conclusion of the seance we had conducted to speak with the adult spirit of myself. Karl theorized that the proximity of two spirits connected to the same person created a sixth-dimensional rift that pulled the Green Guy into into Parallel Time.

I hope that is not the case.

It is unclear to us what is happening in the city of Allentown in 2008. Has the sea monster vanquished Marge? We may never know. It is our aim to change the course of history to ensure that Marge never comes to Allentown.

Godspeed.

Maximillian A. Bear Jr.

I died while killing Marge

Where to begin? Four years ago I was a 10-year-old boy romping with my sisters in the playroom of our home in Allentown. The year was 1868. A tan cat ran past the doorway and I ran out of the room into the hall to follow it. Suddenly I found myself in the Arctic in the form of a polar bear cub. Trapped thousands of miles away from Allentown and my family, I lived out my life as a polar bear until I was killed by a poacher 11 months ago. I now reside in the spirit world.

And now I am home again, in a way, but no less trapped than when I was while living in the Arctic circle. The room that I played in as a boy still exists in the attic of this home. My sisters still play in that room in 1868, under the impression that I have been gone for mere moments. The very cat that led me to my life of torment still roams these quarters -- my sisters are playing with it as we speak. There, my own corpse lies yonder on the floor, a lifeless hide serving as a rug, its eyeballs torn from its head, ironically, by the very cat that led me astray....

Hmmmm. I reckon I oughter say somethin. I don't reckon it's ironic per se that there cat tore out yer eyeballs. Hmmmm. I reckon it's a coincidence. Hmmm.

Excuse me, Karl, but I certainly do believe it is ironic. Listen here. The very same cat that I followed 140 years ago, which led me into the future and into my exile to the Arctic and to my life as an unwilling polar bear, has plucked the eyes out of my corpse, which serves as a rug in Team Marge Headquarters. A rug, I might add, that the cat also vomited on, if it were possible to add any further insult to my injury.

Hmmmm. You spun around on me there. Hmmm. Well, I still reckon it's a coincidence. ... Fer instance, let's say you was a blind boy back in them olden times and one a them doctors fixed it that you could see again cause he found some kinda medicine in that cat's throwup. Hmmmmm. Then you come a back here as a dead polar bear and whatnot and find out that there cat tore out yer eyes, that'd be ironic. I reckon, tho, some people might call it false irony, account of them eyeballs not really bein eyeballs but marbles is all. Hmmmm. I believe I'd call that irony. Right now, tho, I call it coincidence. Hmmmm.

Call it what you wish, Karl. But while my family lives in this house in the past, I am trapped here in the present. And because spirits cannot exist in the same time in which they lived, I am unable to enter the room to reunite with my family.

How come you's a polar bear anyway? I remember you was a boy up there in that room.

Ah! The ultimate irony -- don't interrupt! -- because in my timeline I grew up to be a man and eventually died, my spirit already exists in this time. Because my body could not exist in the same time with my unearthly spirit, I was transformed into a polar bear. When I died, I died as a polar bear and now I appear as a cub -- the form I took when I was first transported to your time.

Hmmmm. How come you ended up a polar bear and not some other kind a animal like one a them porkypines anyways?

I wish I knew ....

Hmmmm. Arite then. ... How you end up dyin back in y'own time anways.

I died while killing Marge. ...