Trapped
By: Lucas Pederson
+Taken from a cellular phone voice recording+
(Humming, a small laugh)
"Christmas Eve night and I'm stuck here. Of all the places to get stranded, it had to be at work.
The weather had been bad, heavy blowing snow, severe drifting, coming into work, but I figured it wouldn't last long and by the time my shift ended, the road crews would be outs, clearing a nice path for my way home.
No such luck." (Sighs)
"I look out the square security glass window of the entrance door.
The snow hasn't let up and now a drift as tall as my stomach stretches out across the front of the door, like a dead white tentacle. It's an hour passed the end of my shift, and already i feel the first pangs of cabin fever. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it's true. I have just finished up a twelve hour night. I'm beat, ready for my nice warm bed, the heat of my wife snoozing beside me, the feel of her breast on my arm as she snuggles close. Christ, I need to get home!
I had tried earlier to get out, but the huge drift before the door hindered every attempt. And since it's Christmas Eve, all the other entrances and exits are locked internally by computers. The entire building is shutdown, save for my little section on the north end.
I walk back to my machine, feeling drained, tired as hell. I want to get home to my family. It's Christmas Eve, after all, but I can't. That stupid big ass snow drift is in the way!
Sitting down in a chair, I swivel around to my work bench. I hear the occasional clang or bang. At least I'm not the only one dumb enough to have come in. On a quick stroll around the department just before looking out the window, I spotted four other workers three men, one woman. I'm not sure how long they've been here, nor do I know who they are. I'm still fairly new here, so i don't know-" (Someone is heard screaming far in the background)
"What's that? I think I jutst heard someone scream. hold on a minute, I'll be back . I just hope non one got hurt..."
(Click)
(soft voices in the background, someone coughs quietly)
"Someone did get hurt, bad. Not just hurt but killed. Murdered." (A pause.)
(subtle clacking, a woman whines)
"The killer is a kid named Joe, or so the three with me have told me since we've holed up in the supervisor's office." (Another pause.)
(Clanging noises, a shriek)
"Gotta go."
(Click)
(A man telling someone named Brent to stop with the cell phone shit already)
"Up yours Harold."
"Joe found us in the office, broke through the door. Harold and Kent out manned him and beat him up pretty bad before we fled to the inspection room. We locked up the door. I don't think Joe will come after us now. Last I saw of him he was lying face first on the floor, blood pooling around his head. Maybe Harold and Kent killed the guy, I don't know. "
(Harold's voice shouting: Shut the fuck up!)
(A long pause.)
"I moved away from the group so I could talk about all this without making any of them angrier than they already were.
There have been no sounds since they beat Joe. No sounds, nothing. But it seems almost too quiet out there, as if something lay in wait. I shudder at the thought of it. Maybe you're thinking right now: if he's got a cell phone then why in God's name hasn't called for help yet? Well, you see, with all the steel in this building my phone can't pick up a signal. It's like some sort of anti-cellular shell. I bring my phone to work simply to play games on while my machine is running through cycles. A way to pass the time."
(A loud howl is heard)
"Christ, what was that? I going to go see. It almost sounded like I imagine a person dying of torture. "
(Brent's breathing, the sounds of movement)
"Ah shit! It's Joe! But..."
(Click)
(Screaming)
"Joe is alive! He's alive! No, no, that's not right! He's dead, but he's alive! He's chewing on Harold's neck! Can't get out of the room, they're blocking it! I'm trapped! Eve and Kent are trying to beat Joe with anything they can get their hands on! I can't move, too scared. Too scared. Oh Jesus! The blood! Shit, shit, shit, shit!"
(Click)
"Dead, they're all dead. Harold, Kent, Eve, all dead. I'm hiding in a storage closet across the building. I don't think Joe knows I'm here. I probably shouldn't be talking, giving myself away, but you need to know what happens to me if I die here. How it happened. I'm so scared I can't stop shaking, my heart feels like it could burst through my chest. Joe has become something...not human. A ghost? I don't know. A zombie? That seems more likely, though I wonder.
(Thud-thump, snap!)
"Shit! Shit! He found me! He found me!" (Snap! Crack! Snap! Crash!)
"AHHGGHHH!"
(Click)
(Heavy, wet breathing, a low grunt)
"Got'em all...Yummmm."
(Click)
(Rustling, a soft, shuddering moan, cursing)
"Dying, s-so much blood. Hard to breathe. Joe gone. Don't, don't know where. Dying."
(More rustling, a loud wet cough)
"Amy, sweetie, my wife, my l-love. I'll, I'll always be with you. I love you so much. Tell, tell the girls, tell them I love them and that daddy is in their hearts..."
"Love...you...all..."
(Click)
Amy, eyes wet with tears, flipped her husband's phone closed and set it on the counter. The red bow was still fixed to the top of it. Her eyes wandered to her two daughters eating their breakfast at the kitchen table.
Brent has been missing for three years, assumed dead. Now she knew the truth. He hadn't run out on her, as she had at first thought. He had been murdered by a, oh Jesus, a ghost, or zombie of some kind.
After the disappearances of four workers, her Brent included, the police had shown up at the house to do an investigation, which turned up nothing, of course. They said there was a lot of blood splattered and pooled, mainly in the supervisors office and in, oh yes, the inspection room. Since Brent had been one of the workers missing, they assumed, perhaps, he was the one who went berserk. Oh, how wrong they were. If they listened to the voice recording on the cell phone, Brent's cell phone, they'd know the truth.
Three years to the day. Christmas Eve.
Her eyes found the cell phone again, and she began to sob.
Brent had brought her a present. He had brought it from death, so she would know what happened.
Amy crumpled to the floor, sobbing.
The End
*Hi my Friends!
Well, this one was a bit gruesome for Christmas, but it's based, very loosely, on true events. I was stranded at work the other night. I did hear a scream. Though, I was the only on in the shop. My investigations turned up fruitless. Did I hear a ghost? I don't know, but I tell you this, I was scared. So scared I began a voice recording on my own cell phone, which is part of the beginning of this story.
I managed to get out, however, and drive home. I didn't make it home right away though. The blowing snow swept across the roads, making visibility near nil. I topped a small hill. i didn't see the drift until it was too late and thwunk!, I was stuck just like that. I spent over two hours in my car waiting to be rescued. Someday I just might invest in a truck.... :-)
Thanks for reading and I hope you all have a very Merry, very Happy Holidays!
-Lucas
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Cats and Christmas
My Friends!
How have you all been? Like always, I've been busy. My commitment to post more often has dwindled again and I'm trying the best I can to post more regularly.
There's a plus side to this, though. I've been writing a lot. I'm not sure I've written so many stories in all my life! It's amazing! I write at work, and then bring the notebooks home and rewrite them on the computer. I've come to enjoy this way of writing. I like to flesh out a story long hand, and then rewrite it using my computer. For some reason, not sure if it's more intimate or what, my writing seems to be improving. I'm able to entwine humor more so than ever before. It fun as hell!
Now here's the real reason, besides saying hello, of course, for this post. I have a story published in print now!!!! It's an anthology called "Cats Around the Christmas Tree". You can check it out here Christmas Cats
If nothing else, buy it for a family member for Christmas. The stories inside this small volume is worth every penny, trust me. And you can also see a non-horror piece written by yours truly., not to boast or nothing. :-)
Anyway, I hope you all at least take a gander at the excerpt and cover. I got four copies with me right now, and all of them are going to those family members and friends who love my style, if I have one, and love my stories.
Thanks to all of you!!!! Again, it's you I can't thank enough. I'll be posting a story here before Christmas. Later.
How have you all been? Like always, I've been busy. My commitment to post more often has dwindled again and I'm trying the best I can to post more regularly.
There's a plus side to this, though. I've been writing a lot. I'm not sure I've written so many stories in all my life! It's amazing! I write at work, and then bring the notebooks home and rewrite them on the computer. I've come to enjoy this way of writing. I like to flesh out a story long hand, and then rewrite it using my computer. For some reason, not sure if it's more intimate or what, my writing seems to be improving. I'm able to entwine humor more so than ever before. It fun as hell!
Now here's the real reason, besides saying hello, of course, for this post. I have a story published in print now!!!! It's an anthology called "Cats Around the Christmas Tree". You can check it out here Christmas Cats
If nothing else, buy it for a family member for Christmas. The stories inside this small volume is worth every penny, trust me. And you can also see a non-horror piece written by yours truly., not to boast or nothing. :-)
Anyway, I hope you all at least take a gander at the excerpt and cover. I got four copies with me right now, and all of them are going to those family members and friends who love my style, if I have one, and love my stories.
Thanks to all of you!!!! Again, it's you I can't thank enough. I'll be posting a story here before Christmas. Later.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Gobble-Gobble: The Feast
Hi to all my Friends...and Happy Thanksgiving!
Here's a story just right for the holiday in question. Enjoy!
Gobble-Gobble: The Feast
By Lucas Pederson
A crisp breeze licked at Ty's exposed skin as he knelt down to examine the tracks.
A grin lifted on his smooth face, eyes gleamed. The monster, the one he was looking for.
"Got ya," he growled, stood up straight and reslung the shotgun.
His brown eyes narrowed on the path through the woods. This year they'd have a real feast. No store bought turkey for them this year, hell no, this year it'd be fresh...and wild.
Ty quietly trudged down the path, and old animal trail if there ever was one. Somewhere near by a crow cawed ill temporally at him. Ty ignored it and moved deeper into the woods. Snow crunched under his boots, but that was okay. The monster turkey would be farther up, probably roosting in a thick shrub or feeding on fallen seeds.
His dad had taught him all the tricks about hunting. The older man had shown him how to track, move stealthily through the thickets and brambles and over hazardous dead falls. And most importantly, he'd shown Ty how to shoot.
But his dad was dead now, shot in the face by his own hunting partner up in Canada. They'd been hunting black bear, and Ty's dad had hunkered down in a thick patch of shrubs to wait fro his prey to come bumbling along. His partner saw movement in the shrubs, fired, and killed Ty's dad immediately.
Now it was up to Ty to hunt down and kill the Thanksgiving turkey. It was up to him to make sure the holiday wasn't spoiled by some frozen chunk of flesh with legs.
He paused, listening, opening up his senses to the wilderness about him. And there, a soft rustling of feathers. He didn't know how far up the trail it was, but he knew it'd be close.
Ty crouched slightly, unslung his shotgun, and slowly advanced up the trail, the path.
About thirty yards up, the rustling came again, this time followed by a soft gibbering sound only wild turkeys are known for. That signature sound. Ty stopped. It was very close now.
His eyes lowered to the snow. The tracks there were deep, large. He'd be looking for a hefty male.
Very slowly, Ty moved a few extra feet up the path. And when his eyes caught movement ahead, he halted at once. He followed the movement until it entered a clear spot through the trees. His eyes widened. It was huge! A monster if ever there was one! The giant of all turkeys was strutting right there in front of him. A few females trialed behind him, but Ty wasn't interested in those. He had his eyes fixed on the giant male. It would make a great feast for Thanksgiving dinner.
Ty brought up the shotgun, pointed the muzzle at the male turkey, and held his breath.
A hair before his finger pressed the trigger, the monster turkey spun unexpectedly, and glared directly at Ty. Ty froze, breath still held. And what it did next would haunt Ty's dreams until his death.
"The fuck you think you're doin?!" cried the massive turkey.
Not gibberish, but words, actual words.
Ty let go a shuddery breath. Did he really hear what he thought he heard? Did that turkey just talk?
The turkey waddled forward, lowered it's ugly mangled head and said.
"Get outta hear boy...or I'll eat out your eyes and let my bitches here peck out your teeth one by one."
The gun lowered slightly. Ty shook his head. This couldn't be real, could it?
The turkey eyed Ty.
"You def or dense, boy?"
Ty stared, frozen in terror. The turkey was actually talking.
The the monster reared its head.
"Oh, I see. You were lookin for a meal. Well, not this one, son. Move along, or I'll eat you."
"No," Ty managed.
"No? You are a dumb one aren't you?" spoke the turkey.
It shuffled forward, the female turkeys three in all waddled to either side of it.
"You know," it said. "Now that I think of it, I haven't had human meat in a long time...and it is Thanksgiving after all. What ya girls say? Hungry?"
The females gibbered their agreement. Gibbered, did not not talk. But they studies Ty greedily.
Ty raised the gun again, the freeze holding him thawing slightly.
"Stay there," he said, though his voice was hardly above a whisper.
The monster turkey chuckled.
"Girls, I believe we got ourselves a feast."
Ty pulled the trigger.
One of the females flew backwards in a poof of feathers. The others gasped.
The male turkey's beady black eyes never left Ty.
"How dare you," it growled. "How dare you trample my forest, raping from my land. How dare you kill with out knowing what you kill. Not all of us are mere animals here. How dare you kill my wife."
Now it was shuffling through the trees toward Ty, the other females had begun to growl.
"How dare you kill...without knowing anything!" And as it spoke, long, fangs grew from the edges of its ugly beak.
The large turkey seemed to grow larger with every shuffle. It's beady black eyes burned red.
Ty pulled the trigger again. Another female burst into a rain of feathers.
The monster male turkey let go a shriek and shot forward with a speed so uncanny Ty hardly had time to react before hit reached him, talons out, ready to gouge, slice and tear.
But Ty managed to squeeze off another shot. The slug, he was out of bird shot, struck the huge flaying turkey int the breast, sending it back, end over end in a bloody whirl.
The remaining female gaped at Ty, utter a brief gobble, and shot off into the forest.
The monster lay, its wings twitching in the blood snow.
Ty moved to it, shotgun trained on its head.
The fangs were gone now, the red eyes black once again. It looked up at Ty.
"Hope you fuckin choke," it garbled and then felt limp.
Ty crushed its head with the butt of his shotgun.
Later that day, feathers plucked, head lopped off, guts ripped out, Ty stood looking at the huge turkey on in the cooker. It'd be going in the oven soon. His mom was cutting up vegetables and potatoes to stuff it with.
"Sure is a big one," his mom said, slicing a potato in two.
"Yeah," Ty said, although he'd never tell her how it talked to him, how it tried to kill him. She'd think he'd gone mad.
He sighed, began to turn away, and then the large monster turkey started flopping around in the cooker.
Ty's mom shrieked, dropped the knife and pinwheeled away. Ty spun and was struck across the jaw with one meaty wing. It rose out of the cooker, silent, headless, but somehow still alive.
Then a window burst open somewhere in the house, then another.
His mom was screaming, backing away, shaking her head violently.
Ty ran to the living room. He had to get his shotgun before.
Four female turkeys stood before the gun cabinet like sentry guards. Ty moved toward them,a nd then growled deeply.
Something gibbered behind him.
He turned to see another female standing there, glaring hatefully up at him. Ty's hear thrummed with horror.
He kicked the female as hard as he could, sending it flapping and screaming through the air until it struck a wall and plopped to the floor, twitching.
HE spun to the the other four, they had advanced a few feet toward him. They were still growling.
Ty whirled and ran back to the kitchen. The dead monster turkey was on the floor now, beating at his mom's legs with its awful featherless wings.
Ty took up the knife his mom was using to cut potatoes and plunged into the dead turkey's back. Blood sprayed into his face. The turkey reared, jittered. Ty pulled the knife out and stabbed again, and again, and again. Finally the thing pitched forward and lay still.
Gobbling from behind him.
HE turned and was suddenly festooned with turkey bodies. They growled, slashed at him with their talons, bit with their wicked beaks. Blood began to flow.
Then he heard his mom shrieking. The turkeys were flung off of him one by one.
Ty sat up, hurt, bleeding, but otherwise fine.
His mom was beating the female turkey's to death with a broom, skrieking madly.
The kitchen plumed with feathers.
An hour later, and all the turkeys were dead.
Ty and his mom sent each one through the wood chipper out back.
Standing there, covered with blood, chunks of flesh and speckled with feathers, Ty's mom turned to him.
"Denny's?" she asked.
Ty smiled. He nodded. Denny's never sounded so good.
The End
Here's a story just right for the holiday in question. Enjoy!
Gobble-Gobble: The Feast
By Lucas Pederson
A crisp breeze licked at Ty's exposed skin as he knelt down to examine the tracks.
A grin lifted on his smooth face, eyes gleamed. The monster, the one he was looking for.
"Got ya," he growled, stood up straight and reslung the shotgun.
His brown eyes narrowed on the path through the woods. This year they'd have a real feast. No store bought turkey for them this year, hell no, this year it'd be fresh...and wild.
Ty quietly trudged down the path, and old animal trail if there ever was one. Somewhere near by a crow cawed ill temporally at him. Ty ignored it and moved deeper into the woods. Snow crunched under his boots, but that was okay. The monster turkey would be farther up, probably roosting in a thick shrub or feeding on fallen seeds.
His dad had taught him all the tricks about hunting. The older man had shown him how to track, move stealthily through the thickets and brambles and over hazardous dead falls. And most importantly, he'd shown Ty how to shoot.
But his dad was dead now, shot in the face by his own hunting partner up in Canada. They'd been hunting black bear, and Ty's dad had hunkered down in a thick patch of shrubs to wait fro his prey to come bumbling along. His partner saw movement in the shrubs, fired, and killed Ty's dad immediately.
Now it was up to Ty to hunt down and kill the Thanksgiving turkey. It was up to him to make sure the holiday wasn't spoiled by some frozen chunk of flesh with legs.
He paused, listening, opening up his senses to the wilderness about him. And there, a soft rustling of feathers. He didn't know how far up the trail it was, but he knew it'd be close.
Ty crouched slightly, unslung his shotgun, and slowly advanced up the trail, the path.
About thirty yards up, the rustling came again, this time followed by a soft gibbering sound only wild turkeys are known for. That signature sound. Ty stopped. It was very close now.
His eyes lowered to the snow. The tracks there were deep, large. He'd be looking for a hefty male.
Very slowly, Ty moved a few extra feet up the path. And when his eyes caught movement ahead, he halted at once. He followed the movement until it entered a clear spot through the trees. His eyes widened. It was huge! A monster if ever there was one! The giant of all turkeys was strutting right there in front of him. A few females trialed behind him, but Ty wasn't interested in those. He had his eyes fixed on the giant male. It would make a great feast for Thanksgiving dinner.
Ty brought up the shotgun, pointed the muzzle at the male turkey, and held his breath.
A hair before his finger pressed the trigger, the monster turkey spun unexpectedly, and glared directly at Ty. Ty froze, breath still held. And what it did next would haunt Ty's dreams until his death.
"The fuck you think you're doin?!" cried the massive turkey.
Not gibberish, but words, actual words.
Ty let go a shuddery breath. Did he really hear what he thought he heard? Did that turkey just talk?
The turkey waddled forward, lowered it's ugly mangled head and said.
"Get outta hear boy...or I'll eat out your eyes and let my bitches here peck out your teeth one by one."
The gun lowered slightly. Ty shook his head. This couldn't be real, could it?
The turkey eyed Ty.
"You def or dense, boy?"
Ty stared, frozen in terror. The turkey was actually talking.
The the monster reared its head.
"Oh, I see. You were lookin for a meal. Well, not this one, son. Move along, or I'll eat you."
"No," Ty managed.
"No? You are a dumb one aren't you?" spoke the turkey.
It shuffled forward, the female turkeys three in all waddled to either side of it.
"You know," it said. "Now that I think of it, I haven't had human meat in a long time...and it is Thanksgiving after all. What ya girls say? Hungry?"
The females gibbered their agreement. Gibbered, did not not talk. But they studies Ty greedily.
Ty raised the gun again, the freeze holding him thawing slightly.
"Stay there," he said, though his voice was hardly above a whisper.
The monster turkey chuckled.
"Girls, I believe we got ourselves a feast."
Ty pulled the trigger.
One of the females flew backwards in a poof of feathers. The others gasped.
The male turkey's beady black eyes never left Ty.
"How dare you," it growled. "How dare you trample my forest, raping from my land. How dare you kill with out knowing what you kill. Not all of us are mere animals here. How dare you kill my wife."
Now it was shuffling through the trees toward Ty, the other females had begun to growl.
"How dare you kill...without knowing anything!" And as it spoke, long, fangs grew from the edges of its ugly beak.
The large turkey seemed to grow larger with every shuffle. It's beady black eyes burned red.
Ty pulled the trigger again. Another female burst into a rain of feathers.
The monster male turkey let go a shriek and shot forward with a speed so uncanny Ty hardly had time to react before hit reached him, talons out, ready to gouge, slice and tear.
But Ty managed to squeeze off another shot. The slug, he was out of bird shot, struck the huge flaying turkey int the breast, sending it back, end over end in a bloody whirl.
The remaining female gaped at Ty, utter a brief gobble, and shot off into the forest.
The monster lay, its wings twitching in the blood snow.
Ty moved to it, shotgun trained on its head.
The fangs were gone now, the red eyes black once again. It looked up at Ty.
"Hope you fuckin choke," it garbled and then felt limp.
Ty crushed its head with the butt of his shotgun.
Later that day, feathers plucked, head lopped off, guts ripped out, Ty stood looking at the huge turkey on in the cooker. It'd be going in the oven soon. His mom was cutting up vegetables and potatoes to stuff it with.
"Sure is a big one," his mom said, slicing a potato in two.
"Yeah," Ty said, although he'd never tell her how it talked to him, how it tried to kill him. She'd think he'd gone mad.
He sighed, began to turn away, and then the large monster turkey started flopping around in the cooker.
Ty's mom shrieked, dropped the knife and pinwheeled away. Ty spun and was struck across the jaw with one meaty wing. It rose out of the cooker, silent, headless, but somehow still alive.
Then a window burst open somewhere in the house, then another.
His mom was screaming, backing away, shaking her head violently.
Ty ran to the living room. He had to get his shotgun before.
Four female turkeys stood before the gun cabinet like sentry guards. Ty moved toward them,a nd then growled deeply.
Something gibbered behind him.
He turned to see another female standing there, glaring hatefully up at him. Ty's hear thrummed with horror.
He kicked the female as hard as he could, sending it flapping and screaming through the air until it struck a wall and plopped to the floor, twitching.
HE spun to the the other four, they had advanced a few feet toward him. They were still growling.
Ty whirled and ran back to the kitchen. The dead monster turkey was on the floor now, beating at his mom's legs with its awful featherless wings.
Ty took up the knife his mom was using to cut potatoes and plunged into the dead turkey's back. Blood sprayed into his face. The turkey reared, jittered. Ty pulled the knife out and stabbed again, and again, and again. Finally the thing pitched forward and lay still.
Gobbling from behind him.
HE turned and was suddenly festooned with turkey bodies. They growled, slashed at him with their talons, bit with their wicked beaks. Blood began to flow.
Then he heard his mom shrieking. The turkeys were flung off of him one by one.
Ty sat up, hurt, bleeding, but otherwise fine.
His mom was beating the female turkey's to death with a broom, skrieking madly.
The kitchen plumed with feathers.
An hour later, and all the turkeys were dead.
Ty and his mom sent each one through the wood chipper out back.
Standing there, covered with blood, chunks of flesh and speckled with feathers, Ty's mom turned to him.
"Denny's?" she asked.
Ty smiled. He nodded. Denny's never sounded so good.
The End
Saturday, November 10, 2007
The Hellish Synopsis
Hi to all my Friends!
I finally got a chance to get online today. John Deere is working my tail off! Anyway, how's everyone been? What's been happening? I'll be cruising your blogs here in a little while, so I'll figure it out sooner or later. Still, I miss you guys. Time to play a little catch up.
It's been crazy the past few months. Not only did I publish two stories, but I got another one on its way to publication, or has been accepted, for want of a better word. Yes! And this one is not a horror story at all...it's a Christmas story, all warm and cuddly. It's for an anthology at Whortle Berry Press. Christmas cat stories. It was a fun time writing that one. At Steel Moon Publishing they've got an anthology themed on the Zodiac symbols...I've submitted my story for Libra and we'll see what happens. I've also been submitting to a few horror anthologies. Horror Library being only one. Cutting Block Press has a call for submissions for both their Horror Library and Butcher Shop Quartet anthologies. If you're curious go check these out. Great stories all around!
Anyway, for the Butcher Shops Quartet I've gotta write a story that's novella length(15,000 to 20,000 words). With longer works like these I write them long hand first/ I've got a full one subject notebook full already. It's going great! I just have one problem...they call for a synopsis too. Now, I've written only one synopsis in my day, and I don't think it was very good. Do any of you know how to write a good synopsis? I'm at a loss here. I've googled it, but none of what I read makes much sense.
I get the fact that its supposed to go through and tell a simplified version of the story, but I'm not exactly sure on that. If you can figure out anything, I'd be glad to know. And thanks.
I'll be posting more stories in the next couple weeks, I just need the time to sit down and do so. One is a Thanksgiving story....we'll see what you think about that one, he-he. Anyhoo, I'll talk to you all later! Have a good one!
-Lucas
I finally got a chance to get online today. John Deere is working my tail off! Anyway, how's everyone been? What's been happening? I'll be cruising your blogs here in a little while, so I'll figure it out sooner or later. Still, I miss you guys. Time to play a little catch up.
It's been crazy the past few months. Not only did I publish two stories, but I got another one on its way to publication, or has been accepted, for want of a better word. Yes! And this one is not a horror story at all...it's a Christmas story, all warm and cuddly. It's for an anthology at Whortle Berry Press. Christmas cat stories. It was a fun time writing that one. At Steel Moon Publishing they've got an anthology themed on the Zodiac symbols...I've submitted my story for Libra and we'll see what happens. I've also been submitting to a few horror anthologies. Horror Library being only one. Cutting Block Press has a call for submissions for both their Horror Library and Butcher Shop Quartet anthologies. If you're curious go check these out. Great stories all around!
Anyway, for the Butcher Shops Quartet I've gotta write a story that's novella length(15,000 to 20,000 words). With longer works like these I write them long hand first/ I've got a full one subject notebook full already. It's going great! I just have one problem...they call for a synopsis too. Now, I've written only one synopsis in my day, and I don't think it was very good. Do any of you know how to write a good synopsis? I'm at a loss here. I've googled it, but none of what I read makes much sense.
I get the fact that its supposed to go through and tell a simplified version of the story, but I'm not exactly sure on that. If you can figure out anything, I'd be glad to know. And thanks.
I'll be posting more stories in the next couple weeks, I just need the time to sit down and do so. One is a Thanksgiving story....we'll see what you think about that one, he-he. Anyhoo, I'll talk to you all later! Have a good one!
-Lucas
Thursday, October 25, 2007
The Maze
Okay..so I won't be finishing up Silver Grin here. Although I have nearly completed the second half. This has turned out to be an excellent story, and I want to tweak it a bit more. It's fun to work out the kinks in this one for some reason.
Anyway, back to what this blog is about...stories.
Here's one, a short one, appropriate for us horror writers favorite holiday...Halloween.
Enjoy.
The Maze
By Lucas Pederson
Moving fast through the corn, Gabby glanced over her shoulder.
Was it still following her? She didn't know, nor did she want to know. She had to get out this maze before it found her.
Of all the haunted attractions out there why did David have to pick this one? In a place where folks were supposed to dress up in scary costumes and jump out at you, this was where real monsters stalked. Now those monsters had killed David, her boyfriend, and were chasing her through the maze. They would eat her too if she stopped.
Winding this way and that, trying not to brush any of the yellowed corn stalks and give away her position, Gabby wondered if the maze even had an end. It felt as though she'd been running for hours. Her legs burned, and she could barely breathe.
Behind her, something let loose a deep roar that vibrated her from the inside out.
GAbby began to cry then. There was no way out. No way out of this fucking maze!
Something crashed toward her through the corn stalks from the right and she couldn't help but scream. Terror sent panic through her mind like a wild fire. Gabby could not stop screaming.
Claws reached out at her from between stalks, slashing, wanting to tear her open and splatter her blood all over the corn stalks. Somehow, she managed to dodge these and kept running.
A large mound appeared in the trail ahead of her and she hurdled it like a track star. She couldn't stop. If she stopped, they'd get her.
Still screaming, heart racing as fast as her legs pumped, Gabby emerged into a gloomy swamp.
Here, she stopped, the change had been so drastic that it took her a moment to realize she'd made it out of the maze. But, where was she now?
The ground rolled and groaned under her feet. Stagnant swamp water gave the place a stink she wasn't sure she'd be able to take for long.
Gabby started forward when a pale hand shot up from the moist ground and and latched onto her right ankle. She shrieked and and managed to kick free of the grappling hand.
She staggered forward, gasping, her heart racing. God, oh God, she wasn't out of the maze. This was the part of it. A swamp of horrors hidden within the dry stalks of corn. Any rational person could tell her that wasn't possible, but this whole place wasn't rational, the maze wasn't rational.
The hand slipped back into the earth with a sick squelching sound.
Things groaned and tittered all around her. She turned in a full circle, unsure. Unlike the corn, there was no paths here to follow, just open swamp land that stank like putrefying shit. She gagged, moving deeper into the swamp, tears filled her eyes.
Soon she came to a stop, gaping a large placid pond infested with brown stuff like algae. There appeared to be no way around the pond. Gabby stepped closer, grimacing. She didn't want swim in that muck. But if she had to...
Silver snakes, no, not snakes, tentacles, shot out of the water and lashed out at her.
Gabby shrieked, jumping backwards..but she was too late. Two of the tentacles wrapped themselves around her body, on around her waist, the other her chest, and lifted her into the air.
From out of the filthy water arose a horror so grotesque, one look drove all sanity from her mind. A monster with a huge maw lined with millions of shark-like teeth. Red slanted eyes.
Gabby shrieked.
She was still shrieking as the monstrosity swallowed her whole.
The End
Happy Halloween everyone! I might get one more scary story in before Halloween day...we'll see. Time is difficult to harness now days...
Thanks...Later.
Anyway, back to what this blog is about...stories.
Here's one, a short one, appropriate for us horror writers favorite holiday...Halloween.
Enjoy.
The Maze
By Lucas Pederson
Moving fast through the corn, Gabby glanced over her shoulder.
Was it still following her? She didn't know, nor did she want to know. She had to get out this maze before it found her.
Of all the haunted attractions out there why did David have to pick this one? In a place where folks were supposed to dress up in scary costumes and jump out at you, this was where real monsters stalked. Now those monsters had killed David, her boyfriend, and were chasing her through the maze. They would eat her too if she stopped.
Winding this way and that, trying not to brush any of the yellowed corn stalks and give away her position, Gabby wondered if the maze even had an end. It felt as though she'd been running for hours. Her legs burned, and she could barely breathe.
Behind her, something let loose a deep roar that vibrated her from the inside out.
GAbby began to cry then. There was no way out. No way out of this fucking maze!
Something crashed toward her through the corn stalks from the right and she couldn't help but scream. Terror sent panic through her mind like a wild fire. Gabby could not stop screaming.
Claws reached out at her from between stalks, slashing, wanting to tear her open and splatter her blood all over the corn stalks. Somehow, she managed to dodge these and kept running.
A large mound appeared in the trail ahead of her and she hurdled it like a track star. She couldn't stop. If she stopped, they'd get her.
Still screaming, heart racing as fast as her legs pumped, Gabby emerged into a gloomy swamp.
Here, she stopped, the change had been so drastic that it took her a moment to realize she'd made it out of the maze. But, where was she now?
The ground rolled and groaned under her feet. Stagnant swamp water gave the place a stink she wasn't sure she'd be able to take for long.
Gabby started forward when a pale hand shot up from the moist ground and and latched onto her right ankle. She shrieked and and managed to kick free of the grappling hand.
She staggered forward, gasping, her heart racing. God, oh God, she wasn't out of the maze. This was the part of it. A swamp of horrors hidden within the dry stalks of corn. Any rational person could tell her that wasn't possible, but this whole place wasn't rational, the maze wasn't rational.
The hand slipped back into the earth with a sick squelching sound.
Things groaned and tittered all around her. She turned in a full circle, unsure. Unlike the corn, there was no paths here to follow, just open swamp land that stank like putrefying shit. She gagged, moving deeper into the swamp, tears filled her eyes.
Soon she came to a stop, gaping a large placid pond infested with brown stuff like algae. There appeared to be no way around the pond. Gabby stepped closer, grimacing. She didn't want swim in that muck. But if she had to...
Silver snakes, no, not snakes, tentacles, shot out of the water and lashed out at her.
Gabby shrieked, jumping backwards..but she was too late. Two of the tentacles wrapped themselves around her body, on around her waist, the other her chest, and lifted her into the air.
From out of the filthy water arose a horror so grotesque, one look drove all sanity from her mind. A monster with a huge maw lined with millions of shark-like teeth. Red slanted eyes.
Gabby shrieked.
She was still shrieking as the monstrosity swallowed her whole.
The End
Happy Halloween everyone! I might get one more scary story in before Halloween day...we'll see. Time is difficult to harness now days...
Thanks...Later.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
NEWS!!!
My dear friends!
I know I was supposed to finish out the story Silver Grin couple weeks ago now, but I've been extremely busy. However, this is business of different sort, for change.
Here's my news: I have had acceptances at two online publishers!!! Yes! Me! Finally! I am now officially a published writer! My hands tremble as I write this for I am so excited. I'm so damn happy! One story, called "Snap", can be found here: www.steelmoonpublishing.us Click the Enter Ezine button. I submitted here to enter a contest, and they published my story on their website under "Contest Stories". Soon folks are going to start voting for which story they like. And whoever wins gets ten dollars and placed on the Hall of Flame. Still, even without winning the contest, I feel as though I have won already. I got an acceptance. Someone wanted something I wrote, thought it was good. I'm happy.
The second story was accepted by Whortel Berry Press. I'll post the link as soon as my story is put up. Here, I just sent a story and it was accepted two, maybe three days later! They are going to place it on what they call Stars of Tomorrow. From there it will then eventually, hopefully, make its way into an anthology, if the editor feels it fits the book's theme, whatever that may be. Still, again, it's an acceptance. Now I got two under my belt, and I couldn't be happier!
I want to thank all of you. Without your feeback, and your encouragement, your kindness, I probably would have been stuck as I was before I even knew what a blog was. Stuck, and writing aimlessly. So thank you, my friends, thank you so much for all your help. I'm on my way!!!
I know I was supposed to finish out the story Silver Grin couple weeks ago now, but I've been extremely busy. However, this is business of different sort, for change.
Here's my news: I have had acceptances at two online publishers!!! Yes! Me! Finally! I am now officially a published writer! My hands tremble as I write this for I am so excited. I'm so damn happy! One story, called "Snap", can be found here: www.steelmoonpublishing.us Click the Enter Ezine button. I submitted here to enter a contest, and they published my story on their website under "Contest Stories". Soon folks are going to start voting for which story they like. And whoever wins gets ten dollars and placed on the Hall of Flame. Still, even without winning the contest, I feel as though I have won already. I got an acceptance. Someone wanted something I wrote, thought it was good. I'm happy.
The second story was accepted by Whortel Berry Press. I'll post the link as soon as my story is put up. Here, I just sent a story and it was accepted two, maybe three days later! They are going to place it on what they call Stars of Tomorrow. From there it will then eventually, hopefully, make its way into an anthology, if the editor feels it fits the book's theme, whatever that may be. Still, again, it's an acceptance. Now I got two under my belt, and I couldn't be happier!
I want to thank all of you. Without your feeback, and your encouragement, your kindness, I probably would have been stuck as I was before I even knew what a blog was. Stuck, and writing aimlessly. So thank you, my friends, thank you so much for all your help. I'm on my way!!!
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Silver Grin
Hi, My dear Friends, This story just popped into my head a couple minutes ago and I thought I'd write it down here. This is the first, rough draft, so it's bound to have some major flaws..but I think the story is a fair one. Here it is..enjoy..
Silver Grin
By: Lucas Pederson
Over purple flecked boulders and scraggly trees, the somber green moon casts it unearthly glow over the land.
A black shape, perhaps it is a man, perhaps something far worse, races through the night of this strange, but alluring place. It races for purposes yet unknown to us, and we must follow this dark shape. Yes. We must follow it, for where ever it may lead us, we must see. We must record, and we must listen. It is our duty as spirits to do so.
Now, let us take flight, for we can fly, we are spirits after all, nothing more than vapor. We can not speak , we can only listen, see and record.
So up we go. Up into that somber green glow, up in the stale filthy air of this odd place. Below we can still see the black man-shape racing through the alien nightscape, we can hear his/her heavy breathing.
We look up ahead, following the thing's progress. We are curious, no? Sure we are. We want to know what this mysterious being is up to, don't we? Of course we do. We must.
Ahead, we see a massive bulk in the darkness. We at first mistake it for a mountain, surely there is no castle or mansion of this size in such an awful, wonderful place. But then we realize that it is a building. Not a castle, not a mansion, but something else. A gigantic work of architecture beyond our imaginations. We stop in mid flight, allowing the black shape to race further ahead of us toward that peculiarly enormous building. We have to look at this dark structure a moment longer, record it for what it is. For what we know it to be in our minds and spirit. A place of emptiness. A building that stands between the borders of worlds. A wall against everything it hates.
What does it hate? We do not know. We have to delve deeper into this mystery to find that out.
Shall we go? Good. Now where did--
Ah ha. Down there, just a little to the right, the black shape. See? It's scrambling up a steep hill side. Its speed is uncanny. And we must marvel at this, for it is something strange and oddities are our business right now. It is why we came here from that other world so far away yet so damn close we can taste it. That human world.
We fly on, eyes fixed on the shape we have come to both wonder about, and fear. We fear it because of its strangeness, its unpredictability of what might happen.
Distant, we hear something roar. It shakes us even this high up in the air. Whatever it is, we can not see. We only see the black shape, as it still races up the hill side for that massive building we all ready know is a very bad place.
For now, we ignore the roar and follow the black shape.
Finally, just as our patience begins to grow thin, the black shape reaches the top of the hill and disappears into the massive dark building.
Quick, like a summer gale, we rush at the building...and soon find ourselves inside.
But once here, we do not wish to stay. The interior of the gargantuan is shifty. It's the only way we know how to describe it. Shifty. Nothing seems to stay in place for long. the tables and chairs, made from something other than wood, appear to waltz the floors and corridors we see like lurid ball room dancers. The air in here is humid and fragrant of cinnamon and age. Dizziness washes over us as we advance further into the horrible place. We don't want to be here, we must leave..and soon. But first we have to find that dark shape. We have to find it and discover its secrets. If we do not, if we fail, we are stranded in this world for all eternity. But, of course, you knew all that, didn't you?
Finding our balance both in body and mind, we glance to our left to see a black phantom wisp through an open archway and into whatever vile room lay beyond.
Mustering our courage, we float swiftly over, suck in a nonexistent breath, and waft into the room.
Open your eyes. Look, see. This is not what we expected. There you go, open those pretty eyes, and gaze upon what is here. Mark it well, record.
We see a hooded figure (all black) kneeling before an empty throne of skulls. But save for the skulls and the black kneeling figure, the room is otherwise pleasant in decor. Soft light showers down from holes int he high ceiling. These holes we know do not bring in light from the outside, but rather pierces into another world, robbing true light to give this sinister place a welcoming glow.
Shsh. Listen, the black shape, yes our black shape, is speaking.
"It drains me every night, oh lord. It rapes my flesh as I lay sleeping. A vampyr! No! Something worse! It hurts me, lord. Please give me the strength to fend it away."
There is no answer, and the throne remains empty.
Okay.. I'll stop here for now. This is something different I'm trying. A new form that seemed perfect for this little story I got here. It's fun to write, actually. I love teh way it shows the reader what's happening. And describing it in the best detail the narrator has in his or her own vocabulary. This is not the end of the story, but rather a stopping point for me to refresh myself and breathe easier for a night or two before jumping back in and finishing it, then getting back to my new novel...the one I hate to discuss at the moment. All I can say is that it's a brand new twist on the vampire element. I will complete this story in a couple days from now. Hope you like this half of it. Later.
Silver Grin
By: Lucas Pederson
Over purple flecked boulders and scraggly trees, the somber green moon casts it unearthly glow over the land.
A black shape, perhaps it is a man, perhaps something far worse, races through the night of this strange, but alluring place. It races for purposes yet unknown to us, and we must follow this dark shape. Yes. We must follow it, for where ever it may lead us, we must see. We must record, and we must listen. It is our duty as spirits to do so.
Now, let us take flight, for we can fly, we are spirits after all, nothing more than vapor. We can not speak , we can only listen, see and record.
So up we go. Up into that somber green glow, up in the stale filthy air of this odd place. Below we can still see the black man-shape racing through the alien nightscape, we can hear his/her heavy breathing.
We look up ahead, following the thing's progress. We are curious, no? Sure we are. We want to know what this mysterious being is up to, don't we? Of course we do. We must.
Ahead, we see a massive bulk in the darkness. We at first mistake it for a mountain, surely there is no castle or mansion of this size in such an awful, wonderful place. But then we realize that it is a building. Not a castle, not a mansion, but something else. A gigantic work of architecture beyond our imaginations. We stop in mid flight, allowing the black shape to race further ahead of us toward that peculiarly enormous building. We have to look at this dark structure a moment longer, record it for what it is. For what we know it to be in our minds and spirit. A place of emptiness. A building that stands between the borders of worlds. A wall against everything it hates.
What does it hate? We do not know. We have to delve deeper into this mystery to find that out.
Shall we go? Good. Now where did--
Ah ha. Down there, just a little to the right, the black shape. See? It's scrambling up a steep hill side. Its speed is uncanny. And we must marvel at this, for it is something strange and oddities are our business right now. It is why we came here from that other world so far away yet so damn close we can taste it. That human world.
We fly on, eyes fixed on the shape we have come to both wonder about, and fear. We fear it because of its strangeness, its unpredictability of what might happen.
Distant, we hear something roar. It shakes us even this high up in the air. Whatever it is, we can not see. We only see the black shape, as it still races up the hill side for that massive building we all ready know is a very bad place.
For now, we ignore the roar and follow the black shape.
Finally, just as our patience begins to grow thin, the black shape reaches the top of the hill and disappears into the massive dark building.
Quick, like a summer gale, we rush at the building...and soon find ourselves inside.
But once here, we do not wish to stay. The interior of the gargantuan is shifty. It's the only way we know how to describe it. Shifty. Nothing seems to stay in place for long. the tables and chairs, made from something other than wood, appear to waltz the floors and corridors we see like lurid ball room dancers. The air in here is humid and fragrant of cinnamon and age. Dizziness washes over us as we advance further into the horrible place. We don't want to be here, we must leave..and soon. But first we have to find that dark shape. We have to find it and discover its secrets. If we do not, if we fail, we are stranded in this world for all eternity. But, of course, you knew all that, didn't you?
Finding our balance both in body and mind, we glance to our left to see a black phantom wisp through an open archway and into whatever vile room lay beyond.
Mustering our courage, we float swiftly over, suck in a nonexistent breath, and waft into the room.
Open your eyes. Look, see. This is not what we expected. There you go, open those pretty eyes, and gaze upon what is here. Mark it well, record.
We see a hooded figure (all black) kneeling before an empty throne of skulls. But save for the skulls and the black kneeling figure, the room is otherwise pleasant in decor. Soft light showers down from holes int he high ceiling. These holes we know do not bring in light from the outside, but rather pierces into another world, robbing true light to give this sinister place a welcoming glow.
Shsh. Listen, the black shape, yes our black shape, is speaking.
"It drains me every night, oh lord. It rapes my flesh as I lay sleeping. A vampyr! No! Something worse! It hurts me, lord. Please give me the strength to fend it away."
There is no answer, and the throne remains empty.
Okay.. I'll stop here for now. This is something different I'm trying. A new form that seemed perfect for this little story I got here. It's fun to write, actually. I love teh way it shows the reader what's happening. And describing it in the best detail the narrator has in his or her own vocabulary. This is not the end of the story, but rather a stopping point for me to refresh myself and breathe easier for a night or two before jumping back in and finishing it, then getting back to my new novel...the one I hate to discuss at the moment. All I can say is that it's a brand new twist on the vampire element. I will complete this story in a couple days from now. Hope you like this half of it. Later.
Friday, September 14, 2007
First Sentence: Blood, Hell, and High Water
This is graphic, so please read at your own discretion. It's nothing worse than I've written before, nothing like Chop Shop if you remember that one, but, hey, it's me... Here's my contribution:
Blood, Hell, and High Water
By Lucas Pederson
Black, like charred bacon, I saw what no one should ever see.
My eyes scanned over the thing which lay at my feet on the fishing boats' aluminum floor. I watched as it writhed there, the treble hook I had been using in hopes to catch a northern pike or two, caught deep in its black membranous flesh. My gorge rose, and I swallowed it down quickly.
Soft mewling noises wafted up from the pitiful creature squirming on the floor of my boat.
"Godam," Josh, my good friend, whispered directly behind me. He was staring over my shoulder.
I gave him a sharp nudge, not to move him exactly, but so I could distance myself from the thing on my boat floor.
Josh backed up without a word.
The black blubbery mass mewled, its leathery flesh, like a bat wing, pulsed.
"What the fuck is that?" Josh asked.
I could only shake my head.
It wasn't a fish, nor anything else one might find in a lake. No. This was something...different. Something alien and grotesque. Beyond all words and knowledge. Something perhaps even ancient, or maybe even beyond that. Something evil. Yes. That sounded right. Something evil.
A shudder ran through me, and I took another step back. The boat rocked.
"Shit, man, stop," Josh nearly screamed. "We're runnin out of boat!"
I stopped. My eyes never left the creature lying there amongst the empty beer and soda cans, and vacant cigarette packs.
I only knew one thing.
"Give me the net," I said.
Something jabbed the small of my back.
"Here," Josh said.
I turned just enough to grab the fish net and then checked the small black thing.
I froze.
Now, I saw two green eyes glaring up at me from that awful mess of writhing flesh.
Steeling myself, I reached out with the net, meaning to scoop it up and toss it back in the water, praying never to see something like it again. I would cut me line and set it loose. Better that than letting it lay there in my boat, writhing and mewling up at me, glaring at me with those demonic eyes, just letting lay there as I stood staring dumbly down at it all fucking day.
Before my next so much as touched it, however, the creature reared. A soft smucking noise, like that of a suction cup being pulled from a pane of glass, sounded and the thing rolled to the front of the boat, end over end, as if were a ball instead of living thing.
"Jesus," I gasped and I heard Josh pull in a breath of his own.
Then the small black being started to make loud clicking noises.
I glanced back at Josh. He shrugged where he sat next to the boat motor.
And just as I was about to turn back the thing in my boat, something long and silvery slipped out of the water behind Josh, and wrapped itself around his neck.
I whirled, the boat rocked hard to the right, then the left. I steadied my balance and hurried toward my friend. Josh made a choking sound, and then the tentacle, or whatever the fuck it was, constricted, like a python around a rat, its thin coils cinching tighter, tighter.
Josh's eyes balls popped from their sockets and dangled on their pink stalks against his ashy cheeks.
I screamed. Blood burst from Josh's yawning mouth and sprayed in every direction. I screamed louder. Then the silver appendage whipped hard to the right, tearing Josh's head off with it.
More blood spurted in every direction. A warm mist dotted my face. And I screamed.
Behind me something growled deeply.
I whirled, nearly losing my balance and going over board into the murky lake water. I stood gaping at a creature that resembled a mutant crocodile. Its long triangular jaws snapped at me. It two green eyes one tall red stalks rolled to me and away, as if saying, "Aren't we both just having the shittiest day?"
A long black tail whipped and lashed at the boat's sides.
It was the writhing mass I had caught. the thing which had started everything. I knew it was the membranous monster, but I couldn't believe it. This was some change from what it had been.
It rushed at me from the front of the boat. I instinctively shot the net between us, and its snapping jaws clamped down on hard enough to bite it in half.
I let the net go. The evil croc-like thing roared.
A silvery flash to my left and suddenly I felt a hard thud strike my thigh. I instantly collapsed, screaming in agony now, instead of horror. The pain flood over everything. And when I looked I saw blood jetting from a large gash in my thigh. The femoral artery. The thing from the water, not the demonic crocodile, but the other thing. The one that had decapitated Josh.
Before I had a chance to get up again, the black crocodile like monster leaped on to of me. Its jaws, which were lined with what appeared to be millions of tiny sharp fangs, clamped down on my right shoulder. The pain was exquisite.
I felt the boat rock drastically, and the next I knew, I was subm,erged in cold water...as silvery tentacles swirled about me, and the crc-beast continued to gnaw away my shoulder.
My death had been bad. My life before had been bad. I was not a Christian, nor was I a straight arrow in life. Perhaps that's why I'm here...in Hell, writing this.
This little story is for me, okay? For me. Because, Hell is Hell. And between my daily punishments for a life more int he dark than in the light, I get breaks where I get some alone time. My time is almost up now. Then it will be back to the whips and the razors cutting away mys skin, inch by inch, slowly.
I wrote this for me, so I can cope.
Hell isn't what you'd think it is. There's now fire consuming the place, but it's full of putrid water. Water as yellow as urine and stinks just as bad.
Hell...is Hell.
The End
There, finally I got it out. Finally. Let me know what you think of this one. Be honest. Thanks for reading!!
Blood, Hell, and High Water
By Lucas Pederson
Black, like charred bacon, I saw what no one should ever see.
My eyes scanned over the thing which lay at my feet on the fishing boats' aluminum floor. I watched as it writhed there, the treble hook I had been using in hopes to catch a northern pike or two, caught deep in its black membranous flesh. My gorge rose, and I swallowed it down quickly.
Soft mewling noises wafted up from the pitiful creature squirming on the floor of my boat.
"Godam," Josh, my good friend, whispered directly behind me. He was staring over my shoulder.
I gave him a sharp nudge, not to move him exactly, but so I could distance myself from the thing on my boat floor.
Josh backed up without a word.
The black blubbery mass mewled, its leathery flesh, like a bat wing, pulsed.
"What the fuck is that?" Josh asked.
I could only shake my head.
It wasn't a fish, nor anything else one might find in a lake. No. This was something...different. Something alien and grotesque. Beyond all words and knowledge. Something perhaps even ancient, or maybe even beyond that. Something evil. Yes. That sounded right. Something evil.
A shudder ran through me, and I took another step back. The boat rocked.
"Shit, man, stop," Josh nearly screamed. "We're runnin out of boat!"
I stopped. My eyes never left the creature lying there amongst the empty beer and soda cans, and vacant cigarette packs.
I only knew one thing.
"Give me the net," I said.
Something jabbed the small of my back.
"Here," Josh said.
I turned just enough to grab the fish net and then checked the small black thing.
I froze.
Now, I saw two green eyes glaring up at me from that awful mess of writhing flesh.
Steeling myself, I reached out with the net, meaning to scoop it up and toss it back in the water, praying never to see something like it again. I would cut me line and set it loose. Better that than letting it lay there in my boat, writhing and mewling up at me, glaring at me with those demonic eyes, just letting lay there as I stood staring dumbly down at it all fucking day.
Before my next so much as touched it, however, the creature reared. A soft smucking noise, like that of a suction cup being pulled from a pane of glass, sounded and the thing rolled to the front of the boat, end over end, as if were a ball instead of living thing.
"Jesus," I gasped and I heard Josh pull in a breath of his own.
Then the small black being started to make loud clicking noises.
I glanced back at Josh. He shrugged where he sat next to the boat motor.
And just as I was about to turn back the thing in my boat, something long and silvery slipped out of the water behind Josh, and wrapped itself around his neck.
I whirled, the boat rocked hard to the right, then the left. I steadied my balance and hurried toward my friend. Josh made a choking sound, and then the tentacle, or whatever the fuck it was, constricted, like a python around a rat, its thin coils cinching tighter, tighter.
Josh's eyes balls popped from their sockets and dangled on their pink stalks against his ashy cheeks.
I screamed. Blood burst from Josh's yawning mouth and sprayed in every direction. I screamed louder. Then the silver appendage whipped hard to the right, tearing Josh's head off with it.
More blood spurted in every direction. A warm mist dotted my face. And I screamed.
Behind me something growled deeply.
I whirled, nearly losing my balance and going over board into the murky lake water. I stood gaping at a creature that resembled a mutant crocodile. Its long triangular jaws snapped at me. It two green eyes one tall red stalks rolled to me and away, as if saying, "Aren't we both just having the shittiest day?"
A long black tail whipped and lashed at the boat's sides.
It was the writhing mass I had caught. the thing which had started everything. I knew it was the membranous monster, but I couldn't believe it. This was some change from what it had been.
It rushed at me from the front of the boat. I instinctively shot the net between us, and its snapping jaws clamped down on hard enough to bite it in half.
I let the net go. The evil croc-like thing roared.
A silvery flash to my left and suddenly I felt a hard thud strike my thigh. I instantly collapsed, screaming in agony now, instead of horror. The pain flood over everything. And when I looked I saw blood jetting from a large gash in my thigh. The femoral artery. The thing from the water, not the demonic crocodile, but the other thing. The one that had decapitated Josh.
Before I had a chance to get up again, the black crocodile like monster leaped on to of me. Its jaws, which were lined with what appeared to be millions of tiny sharp fangs, clamped down on my right shoulder. The pain was exquisite.
I felt the boat rock drastically, and the next I knew, I was subm,erged in cold water...as silvery tentacles swirled about me, and the crc-beast continued to gnaw away my shoulder.
My death had been bad. My life before had been bad. I was not a Christian, nor was I a straight arrow in life. Perhaps that's why I'm here...in Hell, writing this.
This little story is for me, okay? For me. Because, Hell is Hell. And between my daily punishments for a life more int he dark than in the light, I get breaks where I get some alone time. My time is almost up now. Then it will be back to the whips and the razors cutting away mys skin, inch by inch, slowly.
I wrote this for me, so I can cope.
Hell isn't what you'd think it is. There's now fire consuming the place, but it's full of putrid water. Water as yellow as urine and stinks just as bad.
Hell...is Hell.
The End
There, finally I got it out. Finally. Let me know what you think of this one. Be honest. Thanks for reading!!
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Hmmm....
Hiddy ho everybody! All my friends that still visit me from time to time.
Well, this first sentence assignment didn't go exactly as planned. So I moved the deadline to the 15th. Hope this helps some of you. I know it will for me because I barely have any time to do anything anymore. This pisses me off. Why won't life just give me a break and let me do what I want to do? Why does it have to be such a stick in the mud? URG!
Ah well, I still write, but it's in quick sips during my breaks and slightly longer sips while at home. These are often interrupted, so I guess they too could be considered quick sips. Thus the reason I have nothing for the assignment. Well, I have something, but it's far from being done. And amongst all this mayhem, I have a novel boiling over on me. I've got this awesome idea for vampires, and I've got the first chapter completed. Now it sits, waiting for me to continue the story. Which I am hoping to do this weekend. But by the way life is now days I probably won't even get a chance to really get going on it again. IT sucks, but I guess I have to deal with it. It's what makes us adaptable, right? we can deal with things, we can move on.
I still miss all the writing I used to do. Perhaps soon I will ahve enough time to really get going again...perhaps.
I really look forward to reading some of your first sentence assignments. Like I said, I hope you give it a shot. Thanks for everything, thanks for letting me rant..
Later.
Well, this first sentence assignment didn't go exactly as planned. So I moved the deadline to the 15th. Hope this helps some of you. I know it will for me because I barely have any time to do anything anymore. This pisses me off. Why won't life just give me a break and let me do what I want to do? Why does it have to be such a stick in the mud? URG!
Ah well, I still write, but it's in quick sips during my breaks and slightly longer sips while at home. These are often interrupted, so I guess they too could be considered quick sips. Thus the reason I have nothing for the assignment. Well, I have something, but it's far from being done. And amongst all this mayhem, I have a novel boiling over on me. I've got this awesome idea for vampires, and I've got the first chapter completed. Now it sits, waiting for me to continue the story. Which I am hoping to do this weekend. But by the way life is now days I probably won't even get a chance to really get going on it again. IT sucks, but I guess I have to deal with it. It's what makes us adaptable, right? we can deal with things, we can move on.
I still miss all the writing I used to do. Perhaps soon I will ahve enough time to really get going again...perhaps.
I really look forward to reading some of your first sentence assignments. Like I said, I hope you give it a shot. Thanks for everything, thanks for letting me rant..
Later.
Monday, September 3, 2007
First Sentence Assigment: Extreme
My Friends,
Thanks for all your comments about my decision to stop writing Ice Mountain. As someone in my life had said: "You can't beat a dead horse." Well...I think you can, but it'll get you nowhere. Trust me...I've tried. :-) Just kidding.
Anyhoo. Here's a long time coming first sentence assignment. For those of you who have not seen or heard of this little fun writing exercise, here's how we roll:
I provide a First Sentence...and you take it from there. Write a story that's 2,000 words or less. This time how ever I want all of you to push the envelope, if you dare. Take risks, let go. That simple. Okay, here goes:
"Black, like charred bacon, I saw what no one should ever see."
Hope you can make something of that. I will. The deadline is September 9th. Ah yes, I could have said the 11th, but I'm not that cold hearted. Send me your links or let me know here when you are done or if you'll participating and I'll post you up on the this blog. I really hope all of you can give it a try. It's been a long time...
Later.
Thanks for all your comments about my decision to stop writing Ice Mountain. As someone in my life had said: "You can't beat a dead horse." Well...I think you can, but it'll get you nowhere. Trust me...I've tried. :-) Just kidding.
Anyhoo. Here's a long time coming first sentence assignment. For those of you who have not seen or heard of this little fun writing exercise, here's how we roll:
I provide a First Sentence...and you take it from there. Write a story that's 2,000 words or less. This time how ever I want all of you to push the envelope, if you dare. Take risks, let go. That simple. Okay, here goes:
"Black, like charred bacon, I saw what no one should ever see."
Hope you can make something of that. I will. The deadline is September 9th. Ah yes, I could have said the 11th, but I'm not that cold hearted. Send me your links or let me know here when you are done or if you'll participating and I'll post you up on the this blog. I really hope all of you can give it a try. It's been a long time...
Later.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
The End of the Whole Mess
My Friends,
How be it, all? The Cold Mountain series has flopped on me. I'm sorry to say it because I was having so much fun with it. But, unfortunately, the story I thought I had in my head, evaporated and a new one took its place. I'm working on a new novel now, and it has taken most of my attention the past couple of days, besides moving to our new house, of course. Ice Mountain, the story of a mother risking her own life to save her son from an evil dragon, has ended at Part 8, and may never be completed. It's sad...but at the present time I can't think of where to go with it. Time to move on.
And moving on, I will be posting a first sentence assignment here in a couple days, after the move. Either Monday or Tuesday will be the best time to come back and see what the first sentence is. I don't want to waste any of your time, and I won't. So, we'll see you either Monday or Tuesday. Until then...keep kicking ass! Keep writing!
Later.
How be it, all? The Cold Mountain series has flopped on me. I'm sorry to say it because I was having so much fun with it. But, unfortunately, the story I thought I had in my head, evaporated and a new one took its place. I'm working on a new novel now, and it has taken most of my attention the past couple of days, besides moving to our new house, of course. Ice Mountain, the story of a mother risking her own life to save her son from an evil dragon, has ended at Part 8, and may never be completed. It's sad...but at the present time I can't think of where to go with it. Time to move on.
And moving on, I will be posting a first sentence assignment here in a couple days, after the move. Either Monday or Tuesday will be the best time to come back and see what the first sentence is. I don't want to waste any of your time, and I won't. So, we'll see you either Monday or Tuesday. Until then...keep kicking ass! Keep writing!
Later.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Ice Mountain: Part 8
My Friends,
This will not be the final Part, as I thought it would be. Sara's story is still unfolding for all of us, and, right now at least, I can't say when it'll end. I had envisioned the series stopping at eight. But while I was writing this I knew that wasn't possible. There's still a bit more we must know about our new hero/mom. There's still more story to be told....
Gentle cool hands fell on her shoulders.
"I will show you, dear Sara," whispered Gilead in her ear.
"I will show you the power in yourself."
Days passed like years as Sara dug into parts of her she never knew existed. Tapping a raw power in herself, and trembling with the quake it made through her veins.
And all the while she thought of Andrew. Had she spent too much time all ready with the wizard? Three days. Sara wondered if the dragon had killed her son yet. The thought provoked hot anger that bubbled up within her very soul, rippling her body into gooseflesh.
"One more thing must be shown, dear Sara," Gilead spoke from the shadows of the private chamber he had given her for this "showing".
She started in her bed and sat up, heart hammering.
"Tis alright, Sara. Tomorrow we shall well out the power that shall destroy the dragon."
Sara sat there, peering in the darkness and finding nothing but, darkness. She sighed. She supposed Gilead really meant her no harm, otherwise he could have beheaded her while she slept on that first weary night. The night he had shown her how to make her hands blaze with blue fire. All the powers Gilead had shown to her were new to her, and she had no true idea where they came from. Inside, she supposed, but that still seemed unimaginable. Even now, after the blue flaming hands, which Gilead promised was hotter than any fire made by man or nature. After the discovering she had the strength of ten men, and finding the wisdom of an ancient hole dup inside her head. All of these powers fascinated her, of course they did. But they also frightened her. They seemed so unnatural.
"Good night, my dear," Gilead spoke softly from the shadows.
Sara felt a light breeze pass her face and then she knew Gilead was gone. Somehow she just felt it, as she felt the various powers coursing through her mortal body. Like pounding blood.
She lay back down and pulled the quilt up to her chin. She shuddered.
As sleep found her then cradled her, as she drifted off into the slumber, she thought of her poor son, and how he was doing.
****
"Hold your hand out to me," Gilead said.
They stood in a great hall adorned by golden walls and a blue domed ceiling. She had never been in this room before, but she loved it. It was beautiful. Gilead, she had a feeling, made the room for just that purpose too. To be beautiful.
Sara held out her hand, palm down.
Gilead smiled, took her hand with his own, and turned it so the palm faced the round ceiling. His multicolored eyes never left hers as he spoke.
"Here is your advantage,"
Sara blinked, looked at her hand and then narrowed her eyes on Gilead.
"My hand?" she asked.
Gilead's smile lengthened slightly.
"No," he said. "Your palm."
"It is your palm where your advantages lie. The touch. A mother's touch."
Head reeling she opened her mouth to ask what he was talking about, but he silenced her with a swish of his free hand.
"Your palm," Gilead said, "is the outlet."
Even more confused, Sara shook her head. Outlet?
Gilead sighed.
"Tis where you advantage power will expel from, dear heart."
Sara nodded, not really understanding, but close enough.
Gilead nodded back.
"Now," he said and let go of her hand.
He placed his other hand on her left breast. He did not cup it or caress it, merely place it there.
"Here is where your power is built. Here is where it is stored."
Gilead stepped away. He snapped his fingers and a goat appeared at the center of the room, six feet or so from Sara.
He pointed at the goat, which stood glancing around as if lost. It was defiantly that.
"See the billy?" He asked.
Sara nodded.
"Turn him into ash," Gilead said.
Shaking her head, Sara backed a way a couple steps.
"Point at him, and say: Ashes, and it will be done."
Sara continued to shake her head. TI wasn't killing a goat that made her do so, it was the fact that if she tried it just might happen.
Gilead chuckled.
"Do not fear. This is for your son," he said.
This ignited both sorrow and anger in her. She thrust a finger at the old billy goat ans said.
"Ashes!"
There came a flash of blue light, and the goat was nothing more now than a heap of gray ash.
Amazed, Sara turned to Gilead. He smiled and nodded.
"That, my dear, is your advantage," he said.
****
The next day she was given a horse. And not just a horse, but a mare. A very familiar mare. White Girl came trotting through the village and Sara nearly dropped to her knees to weep. She thought she'd never see that old horse again. But here she was.
A bony finger tapped her on the shoulder. She turned.
Gilead stood, his face soft and kind.
"Ride well, dear Sara. Ride well and slay the beast. You are the only hope. Not even I can stop that monster. I am too old for battles."
A tear slipped down Sara's face and she embraced the old wizard. She felt his body stiffen at first, and then his arms were around her and holding her firmly.
"You, dear Sara," he whispered in her ear, "are the only hope for this world. Andrew awaits."
He let her go, smiled, and then hurried back into his massive mystical cabin.
Ruog led White Girl to her, bowed.
Sara smiled and mounted her lovely mare. She checked to make sure her father's sword was strapped tightly about her waist, gave Ruog a smiling nod, and then trotted away from the village.
Soon, Sara was at the base of the mountain. Ice Mountain.
(To be Continued)
This will not be the final Part, as I thought it would be. Sara's story is still unfolding for all of us, and, right now at least, I can't say when it'll end. I had envisioned the series stopping at eight. But while I was writing this I knew that wasn't possible. There's still a bit more we must know about our new hero/mom. There's still more story to be told....
Gentle cool hands fell on her shoulders.
"I will show you, dear Sara," whispered Gilead in her ear.
"I will show you the power in yourself."
Days passed like years as Sara dug into parts of her she never knew existed. Tapping a raw power in herself, and trembling with the quake it made through her veins.
And all the while she thought of Andrew. Had she spent too much time all ready with the wizard? Three days. Sara wondered if the dragon had killed her son yet. The thought provoked hot anger that bubbled up within her very soul, rippling her body into gooseflesh.
"One more thing must be shown, dear Sara," Gilead spoke from the shadows of the private chamber he had given her for this "showing".
She started in her bed and sat up, heart hammering.
"Tis alright, Sara. Tomorrow we shall well out the power that shall destroy the dragon."
Sara sat there, peering in the darkness and finding nothing but, darkness. She sighed. She supposed Gilead really meant her no harm, otherwise he could have beheaded her while she slept on that first weary night. The night he had shown her how to make her hands blaze with blue fire. All the powers Gilead had shown to her were new to her, and she had no true idea where they came from. Inside, she supposed, but that still seemed unimaginable. Even now, after the blue flaming hands, which Gilead promised was hotter than any fire made by man or nature. After the discovering she had the strength of ten men, and finding the wisdom of an ancient hole dup inside her head. All of these powers fascinated her, of course they did. But they also frightened her. They seemed so unnatural.
"Good night, my dear," Gilead spoke softly from the shadows.
Sara felt a light breeze pass her face and then she knew Gilead was gone. Somehow she just felt it, as she felt the various powers coursing through her mortal body. Like pounding blood.
She lay back down and pulled the quilt up to her chin. She shuddered.
As sleep found her then cradled her, as she drifted off into the slumber, she thought of her poor son, and how he was doing.
****
"Hold your hand out to me," Gilead said.
They stood in a great hall adorned by golden walls and a blue domed ceiling. She had never been in this room before, but she loved it. It was beautiful. Gilead, she had a feeling, made the room for just that purpose too. To be beautiful.
Sara held out her hand, palm down.
Gilead smiled, took her hand with his own, and turned it so the palm faced the round ceiling. His multicolored eyes never left hers as he spoke.
"Here is your advantage,"
Sara blinked, looked at her hand and then narrowed her eyes on Gilead.
"My hand?" she asked.
Gilead's smile lengthened slightly.
"No," he said. "Your palm."
"It is your palm where your advantages lie. The touch. A mother's touch."
Head reeling she opened her mouth to ask what he was talking about, but he silenced her with a swish of his free hand.
"Your palm," Gilead said, "is the outlet."
Even more confused, Sara shook her head. Outlet?
Gilead sighed.
"Tis where you advantage power will expel from, dear heart."
Sara nodded, not really understanding, but close enough.
Gilead nodded back.
"Now," he said and let go of her hand.
He placed his other hand on her left breast. He did not cup it or caress it, merely place it there.
"Here is where your power is built. Here is where it is stored."
Gilead stepped away. He snapped his fingers and a goat appeared at the center of the room, six feet or so from Sara.
He pointed at the goat, which stood glancing around as if lost. It was defiantly that.
"See the billy?" He asked.
Sara nodded.
"Turn him into ash," Gilead said.
Shaking her head, Sara backed a way a couple steps.
"Point at him, and say: Ashes, and it will be done."
Sara continued to shake her head. TI wasn't killing a goat that made her do so, it was the fact that if she tried it just might happen.
Gilead chuckled.
"Do not fear. This is for your son," he said.
This ignited both sorrow and anger in her. She thrust a finger at the old billy goat ans said.
"Ashes!"
There came a flash of blue light, and the goat was nothing more now than a heap of gray ash.
Amazed, Sara turned to Gilead. He smiled and nodded.
"That, my dear, is your advantage," he said.
****
The next day she was given a horse. And not just a horse, but a mare. A very familiar mare. White Girl came trotting through the village and Sara nearly dropped to her knees to weep. She thought she'd never see that old horse again. But here she was.
A bony finger tapped her on the shoulder. She turned.
Gilead stood, his face soft and kind.
"Ride well, dear Sara. Ride well and slay the beast. You are the only hope. Not even I can stop that monster. I am too old for battles."
A tear slipped down Sara's face and she embraced the old wizard. She felt his body stiffen at first, and then his arms were around her and holding her firmly.
"You, dear Sara," he whispered in her ear, "are the only hope for this world. Andrew awaits."
He let her go, smiled, and then hurried back into his massive mystical cabin.
Ruog led White Girl to her, bowed.
Sara smiled and mounted her lovely mare. She checked to make sure her father's sword was strapped tightly about her waist, gave Ruog a smiling nod, and then trotted away from the village.
Soon, Sara was at the base of the mountain. Ice Mountain.
(To be Continued)
Friday, August 17, 2007
Ice Mountain: Part 7
"H-Help," she managed. Her throat burned with misuse.
Gods, the creature had been brutal to her body.
The bearded man gave her a nod and soon they led her to their village.
These men were tall, broad, and in all likeliness resembled those kind but brutish trolls from the Under Grounds, which were slow, clumsy and calm. But it was just the bodies of these men, if that's what they really were, made Sara think of them as so. They were quick, both in wit and body. And they were warriors. She knew that just by the look in their pale blue eyes. They all had blue eyes. She could also tell by the way the long legged creatures were no longer after her. How those ugly monsters lay in pieces back at the clearing.
They surrounded her, leading her into a small, but teeming village. Woman, men, and yes, even children, some as tall as Sara was, milled about doing chores, talking amongst one another or hammering out, forging, massive battle axes. It seemed their only true trade, those dangerous axes. The children chased each other in between cabins and through what could have been a vegetable garden. This made her think about her own child, her son, Andrew.
She prayed the devilish dragon that had stolen Andrew away from her almost two months ago was gentle with her dear Andrew. Although, in all likeliness, her son was probably in pain. With such a vile creature as, The Outward Dragon, anything was possible, even Andrew's death. She wondered if what the poison had told her was true. Had Andrew fallen victim to a similar poison? Was his body now being controlled by said poison as she walked with these giantish men? Terror capered at the thought. Suddenly she wanted to break away from these men and continue on her journey. That thought, however noble, faded, though. These men had saved her, had brought her to what she assumed would be relative safety. She must follow their lead, and be humble to them. It was only the right thing to do. Still, her belly twisted with the want, need, to find her Andrew and slay that demon dragon where it lay.
As they entered the village the women shot Sara untrustful glances. She supposed she could not blame them. She was, after all, an outsider, and a woman to boot. If she were tossed into their position she would be wary too. Perhaps she would even wonder about her husband's loyalty for a brief second or two.
The bearded men led her through the small streets and to a massive cabin built of various colored stones. The lead man tuned to her.
"My name is Fuog. This is the home of our king, Gilead. Here you will be able to present your troubles. Our king will decide how to help you."
Fuog smiled softly, blue eyes kind, gentle.
"And he shall help you, I promise this will all my heart," Fuog said and gestured her toward the double doors.
Sara, her heart quickening a little, stepped to the doors. When she glanced back, the warriors were gone. She drew a deep breath, and knocked.
The doors opened and a voice, calm, kind, spoke.
"Please, Sara, come in. We have much to palaver, I suspect."
Wide eyed, Sara entered the huge cabin of stones.
The light in here was dim, almost soothing. The doors closed behind her as if by their own accord. Sara stepped further into the house, cautiously.
"Come," Said that kind voice she had heard upon opening the doors.
"Come forward, dear Sara."
She did not see the man standing before the her until she nearly ran into him. With a slight shriek, she halted at once. The man, tall, and thin, smiled down at her. Although, this man was not as tall as the warrior men, Sara's face only reached to his narrow chest.
The man stepped back a little, still smiling.
"I have something for you," he said, and unsheathed a sword that hadn't been there a moment ago. Or had it? She could not remember.
The sword, was her father's.
"H-How-"Sara began.
The man chuckled lightly and said,
"You will need his sword for slaying the dragon, dear Sara. It is the only one in existence that can."
He handed her the sword. Then he pointed to her side.
"That one, will not."
Sara glanced down and her breath caught. Her sword was back in its sheath. She thought she had dropped it back there in the clearing. She had forgotten all about it. Unless, one of the warriors had found it and placed it back where it belonged. She wasn't sure.
"I am Gilead. These kind folks call me their king, I am more widely known as a wizard, however."
"That's how you know my name," Sara said, a shred of light entered her mind.
Gilead nodded. Gilead pointed at her father's sword, the one that had been buried with him so many years ago. It seemed to have aged not at all.
"And it is how I have this to give you," said Gilead.
Sara lifted the old sword to look at the blade, which appeared keen and shiny, not a scratch or a nick in it. It was as if had never been used.
"The sword heals itself, Sara," Gilead said, as if reading her mind.
Then he motioned fro her to follow him. She did, awestruck. He walked lightly across the stone cobbled floor. They soon entered a gargantuan chamber alight with many candles.
"Your father found that sword, you know. It was never made by human hands. It was made by Ricul, the Under Earth God. Ricul forged it himself and hammered its keen blade. He then gave it powers. It is indestructible, and can cut through the heaviest of armor, even dragon scales, the toughest of them all. Do you know where your father found it, Sara?"
Sara remembered.
"On a journey to stop the Great Horde of Slogguth," She said.
"Yes," Gilead said, "but where?"
Sara shook her head, that much she could not remember.
Gilead laughed. He stopped walking and turned to her. In the light of this huge chamber she could see his face more clearly. It was gaunt, but not so to make the wizard seem either vile or mean. Just old aged. His white hair was cropped short to his skull.
"'Tis okay, dear Sara. Your father found the sword in Caves of Boil Rock. It was planted into a dragon's skull. Only one of honor could pull it out, and among those companions with you father, it was he who pulled the sword free."
Sara frowned.
"How did it get in my mind? The poison--"
"Yes," Gilead said. "The poison. Such vile things, to be true. It was I who sent the sword there, my dear. I saw your pain, and I sent forth the sword. It was the least I could do. Your son, Andrew, is of importance you know? And not just because he is you son."
Her frown deepened.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Andrew," Said Gilead, "is destined to be king of All World."
Sara stood, gaping. All World. That meant he was to be king of every kingdom! But--
"In time, you shall see. But you must rescue him from the devil in the devil in the mountain. The Out Ward Dragon. He is waiting for you, I can feel his evil glare even now. His eyes are fixed upon you, Sara. IF Andrew dies, it will mean the end of all kingdoms. One by one they and their kings will fall to the dragon's power. But the dragon also needs you, Sara. IT needs your blood to give it greater power. Your father's blood, Andrew's blood."
She turned away from the wizard, feeling as though she would weep. How was she to stop such a monster? How?
Gentle cool hands fell on her shoulders.
"I will show you, dear Sara," Whispered Gilead in her ear.
"I will show you the power in yourself."
(To be Continued...)
This was much longer the other parts, and if it deterred you any, I apologize. This part was always meant to contain the most information. I felt it as I began to write. Sometimes you just have to follow your feelings. Thanks!
Gods, the creature had been brutal to her body.
The bearded man gave her a nod and soon they led her to their village.
These men were tall, broad, and in all likeliness resembled those kind but brutish trolls from the Under Grounds, which were slow, clumsy and calm. But it was just the bodies of these men, if that's what they really were, made Sara think of them as so. They were quick, both in wit and body. And they were warriors. She knew that just by the look in their pale blue eyes. They all had blue eyes. She could also tell by the way the long legged creatures were no longer after her. How those ugly monsters lay in pieces back at the clearing.
They surrounded her, leading her into a small, but teeming village. Woman, men, and yes, even children, some as tall as Sara was, milled about doing chores, talking amongst one another or hammering out, forging, massive battle axes. It seemed their only true trade, those dangerous axes. The children chased each other in between cabins and through what could have been a vegetable garden. This made her think about her own child, her son, Andrew.
She prayed the devilish dragon that had stolen Andrew away from her almost two months ago was gentle with her dear Andrew. Although, in all likeliness, her son was probably in pain. With such a vile creature as, The Outward Dragon, anything was possible, even Andrew's death. She wondered if what the poison had told her was true. Had Andrew fallen victim to a similar poison? Was his body now being controlled by said poison as she walked with these giantish men? Terror capered at the thought. Suddenly she wanted to break away from these men and continue on her journey. That thought, however noble, faded, though. These men had saved her, had brought her to what she assumed would be relative safety. She must follow their lead, and be humble to them. It was only the right thing to do. Still, her belly twisted with the want, need, to find her Andrew and slay that demon dragon where it lay.
As they entered the village the women shot Sara untrustful glances. She supposed she could not blame them. She was, after all, an outsider, and a woman to boot. If she were tossed into their position she would be wary too. Perhaps she would even wonder about her husband's loyalty for a brief second or two.
The bearded men led her through the small streets and to a massive cabin built of various colored stones. The lead man tuned to her.
"My name is Fuog. This is the home of our king, Gilead. Here you will be able to present your troubles. Our king will decide how to help you."
Fuog smiled softly, blue eyes kind, gentle.
"And he shall help you, I promise this will all my heart," Fuog said and gestured her toward the double doors.
Sara, her heart quickening a little, stepped to the doors. When she glanced back, the warriors were gone. She drew a deep breath, and knocked.
The doors opened and a voice, calm, kind, spoke.
"Please, Sara, come in. We have much to palaver, I suspect."
Wide eyed, Sara entered the huge cabin of stones.
The light in here was dim, almost soothing. The doors closed behind her as if by their own accord. Sara stepped further into the house, cautiously.
"Come," Said that kind voice she had heard upon opening the doors.
"Come forward, dear Sara."
She did not see the man standing before the her until she nearly ran into him. With a slight shriek, she halted at once. The man, tall, and thin, smiled down at her. Although, this man was not as tall as the warrior men, Sara's face only reached to his narrow chest.
The man stepped back a little, still smiling.
"I have something for you," he said, and unsheathed a sword that hadn't been there a moment ago. Or had it? She could not remember.
The sword, was her father's.
"H-How-"Sara began.
The man chuckled lightly and said,
"You will need his sword for slaying the dragon, dear Sara. It is the only one in existence that can."
He handed her the sword. Then he pointed to her side.
"That one, will not."
Sara glanced down and her breath caught. Her sword was back in its sheath. She thought she had dropped it back there in the clearing. She had forgotten all about it. Unless, one of the warriors had found it and placed it back where it belonged. She wasn't sure.
"I am Gilead. These kind folks call me their king, I am more widely known as a wizard, however."
"That's how you know my name," Sara said, a shred of light entered her mind.
Gilead nodded. Gilead pointed at her father's sword, the one that had been buried with him so many years ago. It seemed to have aged not at all.
"And it is how I have this to give you," said Gilead.
Sara lifted the old sword to look at the blade, which appeared keen and shiny, not a scratch or a nick in it. It was as if had never been used.
"The sword heals itself, Sara," Gilead said, as if reading her mind.
Then he motioned fro her to follow him. She did, awestruck. He walked lightly across the stone cobbled floor. They soon entered a gargantuan chamber alight with many candles.
"Your father found that sword, you know. It was never made by human hands. It was made by Ricul, the Under Earth God. Ricul forged it himself and hammered its keen blade. He then gave it powers. It is indestructible, and can cut through the heaviest of armor, even dragon scales, the toughest of them all. Do you know where your father found it, Sara?"
Sara remembered.
"On a journey to stop the Great Horde of Slogguth," She said.
"Yes," Gilead said, "but where?"
Sara shook her head, that much she could not remember.
Gilead laughed. He stopped walking and turned to her. In the light of this huge chamber she could see his face more clearly. It was gaunt, but not so to make the wizard seem either vile or mean. Just old aged. His white hair was cropped short to his skull.
"'Tis okay, dear Sara. Your father found the sword in Caves of Boil Rock. It was planted into a dragon's skull. Only one of honor could pull it out, and among those companions with you father, it was he who pulled the sword free."
Sara frowned.
"How did it get in my mind? The poison--"
"Yes," Gilead said. "The poison. Such vile things, to be true. It was I who sent the sword there, my dear. I saw your pain, and I sent forth the sword. It was the least I could do. Your son, Andrew, is of importance you know? And not just because he is you son."
Her frown deepened.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Andrew," Said Gilead, "is destined to be king of All World."
Sara stood, gaping. All World. That meant he was to be king of every kingdom! But--
"In time, you shall see. But you must rescue him from the devil in the devil in the mountain. The Out Ward Dragon. He is waiting for you, I can feel his evil glare even now. His eyes are fixed upon you, Sara. IF Andrew dies, it will mean the end of all kingdoms. One by one they and their kings will fall to the dragon's power. But the dragon also needs you, Sara. IT needs your blood to give it greater power. Your father's blood, Andrew's blood."
She turned away from the wizard, feeling as though she would weep. How was she to stop such a monster? How?
Gentle cool hands fell on her shoulders.
"I will show you, dear Sara," Whispered Gilead in her ear.
"I will show you the power in yourself."
(To be Continued...)
This was much longer the other parts, and if it deterred you any, I apologize. This part was always meant to contain the most information. I felt it as I began to write. Sometimes you just have to follow your feelings. Thanks!
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Ice Mountain: Part 6
With all her will, she pushed herself into the hole in the darkness. She pushed, growling with both rage and desparation.
And slowly, she began to re-enter her foremind.That's when the thing, the posion, whirled and she saw it face to face. She saw it, and screamed.
It stood like a hunched lizard, black fork tongue lashing the air in her direction. It was truly hideous. Its scaly face regarded her with what could have been rage. Sarah had escaped her prison, somehow, and here she was. The creature, she noted, did not like that at all. She was supposed to die. It was supposed to take over. But Sarah, not been one to give up so easily under pressure, unless so ill her mind could not work properly, had acted on instinct when the hole opened in the darkness. Instinct, sometimes, could be trusted more so than any known fact. Instinct was one of life's many truths.
The creature, the poison, glared at Sarah., its slanted amber eyes narrowing on her. Its red naked body heaved with each and every angry breath. Its large clawed hands clenched, unclenched, clenched.
It lurched forward on feet sporting sharp curled talons.
Sarah held her breath, she didn't have a weapon here, in her own mind. There was no way to--
Her eyes drifted to the beast's ominous feet. There lay not her sword, but her father's. The poison glanced down, spotted the sword, and then looked back up at Sarah. It chuckled.
"Naughty, naughty, little girl. You should not be playing with such dangerous things," it said and stooped to pick up the sword.
Sarah did not know where the sword had come from, nonetheless, she darted forward and kciked the giant liazrd being in the face. The thing squealed, staggered backwards and away from the sword.
Sarah swept it from the floor, and attacked.
The creature proved quicker than she might have expected. It dodged her every attenpt to slice it to bloody strips. IT laughed as it did so, mcking her.
Sarah roared, side stepped, faked to the right, and then whirled left just in time to pull the sharp blade of her father's sword across the viel thing's mid-section. It shrieked and flailed away from her, one claw holding its bleeding middle.
Summoning all her strength, Sarah spun, and lopped off the poison's head. It flew out into darkness, she hoeped never to be seen again. She did not much like the feeling of having some abomination's head floateing around in her mind, but it was too late now. Its body crumbled to the floor, smoldered, and then liquified into bubbling goo.
Her father's sword droppped from her hands. She turned and--
"Woman?" asked the hairy faced man, poised so close to her face she could smell the stench of long ago ale.
"H-Help," she managed. Her throat burned with misuse. Gods, the ctreature had been brutal to her body.
The beared man gave her a nod.
Soon, they led her to their village.
(To be Continued)
In case you haven't had a chance to see the ealier post, do so. Just scroll down. Thanks everyone!!!
And slowly, she began to re-enter her foremind.That's when the thing, the posion, whirled and she saw it face to face. She saw it, and screamed.
It stood like a hunched lizard, black fork tongue lashing the air in her direction. It was truly hideous. Its scaly face regarded her with what could have been rage. Sarah had escaped her prison, somehow, and here she was. The creature, she noted, did not like that at all. She was supposed to die. It was supposed to take over. But Sarah, not been one to give up so easily under pressure, unless so ill her mind could not work properly, had acted on instinct when the hole opened in the darkness. Instinct, sometimes, could be trusted more so than any known fact. Instinct was one of life's many truths.
The creature, the poison, glared at Sarah., its slanted amber eyes narrowing on her. Its red naked body heaved with each and every angry breath. Its large clawed hands clenched, unclenched, clenched.
It lurched forward on feet sporting sharp curled talons.
Sarah held her breath, she didn't have a weapon here, in her own mind. There was no way to--
Her eyes drifted to the beast's ominous feet. There lay not her sword, but her father's. The poison glanced down, spotted the sword, and then looked back up at Sarah. It chuckled.
"Naughty, naughty, little girl. You should not be playing with such dangerous things," it said and stooped to pick up the sword.
Sarah did not know where the sword had come from, nonetheless, she darted forward and kciked the giant liazrd being in the face. The thing squealed, staggered backwards and away from the sword.
Sarah swept it from the floor, and attacked.
The creature proved quicker than she might have expected. It dodged her every attenpt to slice it to bloody strips. IT laughed as it did so, mcking her.
Sarah roared, side stepped, faked to the right, and then whirled left just in time to pull the sharp blade of her father's sword across the viel thing's mid-section. It shrieked and flailed away from her, one claw holding its bleeding middle.
Summoning all her strength, Sarah spun, and lopped off the poison's head. It flew out into darkness, she hoeped never to be seen again. She did not much like the feeling of having some abomination's head floateing around in her mind, but it was too late now. Its body crumbled to the floor, smoldered, and then liquified into bubbling goo.
Her father's sword droppped from her hands. She turned and--
"Woman?" asked the hairy faced man, poised so close to her face she could smell the stench of long ago ale.
"H-Help," she managed. Her throat burned with misuse. Gods, the ctreature had been brutal to her body.
The beared man gave her a nod.
Soon, they led her to their village.
(To be Continued)
In case you haven't had a chance to see the ealier post, do so. Just scroll down. Thanks everyone!!!
Friday, August 10, 2007
Intermission: VBC
My Friends,
I've been lucky enough to have all of you. Let me get that out right now. I'm damn lucky. I enjoy the company and the discussions we have here, and I'm glad at least some of you like reading my work. Oh, don't worry, I'm not quiting blogging. I know that last bit sounded as though I might be saying good bye. Nope. You got me forever...he-he.
No. What I want to tell all of you is to go check out Josh Witte's blog, his link is amongst my feathery friends over there to the right. He's a close buddy of mine and he's currently in college for broadcasting. The radio station he's working for right now is called VBC.
He's a great guy and is working extremely hard to make it in the brutal world of radio. And, I must say, he's very good at what he does. So, if you want to be verbally entertained, go check out his blog. Leave a comment too. Like most all of us struggling to either be published or to be known, he needs all the feedback he can get. Thanks to all of you, and Part 6 of my little series will be posted this weekend.
Later.
I've been lucky enough to have all of you. Let me get that out right now. I'm damn lucky. I enjoy the company and the discussions we have here, and I'm glad at least some of you like reading my work. Oh, don't worry, I'm not quiting blogging. I know that last bit sounded as though I might be saying good bye. Nope. You got me forever...he-he.
No. What I want to tell all of you is to go check out Josh Witte's blog, his link is amongst my feathery friends over there to the right. He's a close buddy of mine and he's currently in college for broadcasting. The radio station he's working for right now is called VBC.
He's a great guy and is working extremely hard to make it in the brutal world of radio. And, I must say, he's very good at what he does. So, if you want to be verbally entertained, go check out his blog. Leave a comment too. Like most all of us struggling to either be published or to be known, he needs all the feedback he can get. Thanks to all of you, and Part 6 of my little series will be posted this weekend.
Later.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Ice Mountain: Part 5
My friends,
There's been a lot going on lately, as always. I'm starting a new job at John Deere the 13th and we're moving into a new house on the 31st. It's a busy time. So, as a consequence, my blog entries may be slackening a bit more here in the near future. I hope not, but it's possible. I enjoying blogging. We'll have to see.
Anyway, here's Part 5. Enjoy.
"I'm going to kill you, Sarah, and then this will be my home, your body.
""No!" Sarah screamed, graping crazily at the air.
Her fingers brushed something, and her breath caught in her chest, both inside and out.
The something was cold, wet, and yeilding, like dead flesh. Sarah pinwheeled away from it. A stench like rotting tomatoes filled her nostrils. Whatever was in this dark space with her wasn't human. She knew that, but it wanted to be. She could feel its need wafting from it. Terror like never before racked her and she swam in the darkness, backstroking away from the thing in here with her.
"Oh, yes," The thing crooned. "I must kill you."
Sarah suddenly realized, perhaps she caught a whiff from the creature's own mind, the thing was poison. The cut on her arm. From the thing that snatche dout and cut her. It was posion, and it had a mind of its own! It wanted her body!
Cool, rancid air puffed in her face and Sarah shrieked, swimming backward frantically. She had no sword with which to defend herself. She was caught defensless for the first time in her life, and it horrified her to know so.
Something roared, the air whooshed, and hot agony bloomed across her stomach. She wonder about Andrew. Was her son all right? Or had the monster, that vile dragon from the depths of the world, killed him already? Gods, she prayed not.
Then the pain roared and she cried out with it.
Another whoosh, another roar, and pain etched itself down the middle of her chest. Screaming in both agony and frustration, Sarah flailed backward, heart hammering, hammering, hammering.
Then-
"Wake woman! Wake now!" A loud, deep voice echoed in the darkness.
Something sighed, and then Sarah was alone.
---------
It opened its milky eyes to gaze upon some brutish bearded face straring intently down at her. The man-thin'g eyes were a bright, clam blue, he looked worried.
"Woman? Are you-"
The thing sat up and said.
"Fine. Now leave me be."
---------
Sarah saw all of this. A hole appeared int he darkness and she saw the huge bearded man. She heard his voice, as well as the thing that wanted to kill her.
She could not allow this retched thing to simply wave off help. For Sarah instinctively knew this large bearded man was indeed help; her rescuer, in a sense.
With all her will, she pushed herself into the hole in the darkness. She pushed, growling with both rage and desparation. And slowly, she began to re-enter her foremind.
That's when the thing, the posion, whirled and she saw it face to face. She saw it, and screamed.
(To be Continued...)
There's been a lot going on lately, as always. I'm starting a new job at John Deere the 13th and we're moving into a new house on the 31st. It's a busy time. So, as a consequence, my blog entries may be slackening a bit more here in the near future. I hope not, but it's possible. I enjoying blogging. We'll have to see.
Anyway, here's Part 5. Enjoy.
"I'm going to kill you, Sarah, and then this will be my home, your body.
""No!" Sarah screamed, graping crazily at the air.
Her fingers brushed something, and her breath caught in her chest, both inside and out.
The something was cold, wet, and yeilding, like dead flesh. Sarah pinwheeled away from it. A stench like rotting tomatoes filled her nostrils. Whatever was in this dark space with her wasn't human. She knew that, but it wanted to be. She could feel its need wafting from it. Terror like never before racked her and she swam in the darkness, backstroking away from the thing in here with her.
"Oh, yes," The thing crooned. "I must kill you."
Sarah suddenly realized, perhaps she caught a whiff from the creature's own mind, the thing was poison. The cut on her arm. From the thing that snatche dout and cut her. It was posion, and it had a mind of its own! It wanted her body!
Cool, rancid air puffed in her face and Sarah shrieked, swimming backward frantically. She had no sword with which to defend herself. She was caught defensless for the first time in her life, and it horrified her to know so.
Something roared, the air whooshed, and hot agony bloomed across her stomach. She wonder about Andrew. Was her son all right? Or had the monster, that vile dragon from the depths of the world, killed him already? Gods, she prayed not.
Then the pain roared and she cried out with it.
Another whoosh, another roar, and pain etched itself down the middle of her chest. Screaming in both agony and frustration, Sarah flailed backward, heart hammering, hammering, hammering.
Then-
"Wake woman! Wake now!" A loud, deep voice echoed in the darkness.
Something sighed, and then Sarah was alone.
---------
It opened its milky eyes to gaze upon some brutish bearded face straring intently down at her. The man-thin'g eyes were a bright, clam blue, he looked worried.
"Woman? Are you-"
The thing sat up and said.
"Fine. Now leave me be."
---------
Sarah saw all of this. A hole appeared int he darkness and she saw the huge bearded man. She heard his voice, as well as the thing that wanted to kill her.
She could not allow this retched thing to simply wave off help. For Sarah instinctively knew this large bearded man was indeed help; her rescuer, in a sense.
With all her will, she pushed herself into the hole in the darkness. She pushed, growling with both rage and desparation. And slowly, she began to re-enter her foremind.
That's when the thing, the posion, whirled and she saw it face to face. She saw it, and screamed.
(To be Continued...)
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Ice Mountain: Part 4
This is it, she thought as the roaring began and the feel of hot rancid breath plumed on her sweaty skin. This is it.
When she heard the screaming, and the shouts, (men?), and the distinct sound of many things dying at once, Sarah felt herself fall into darkness.
On the outside, her milky eyes flutter open.
At that moment, Sarah became two women.
A scared, drowning wraith inside, and a cruel monster on the outside. Her outer self glanced around with eyes too cloudy to be human. They scanned the scene playing out before her as she lay on the ground, her body twitched convulsively.
Her assumption appeared to be right. The shouts were indeed coming from men, although these men looked rather hulkish, primal. They attacked the long legged beasts with such ferocity that the outer Sarah had to wonder if they might only be beasts themselves. A grin played at her cracked lips, nonetheless. Like those milky eyes, it was all too inhuman.
The hulks that might or might not be men, wielded huge curving battle axes, which they swung in great aches at their enemy. None of them carried a sword, she realized. But of course, it didn't appear as though they needed swords for speed. They handled the axes as though they were mere sticks. She realized, if she were to fight one of these hulkish men, them with their slopping brows and deep set fiery eyes, them with their long wild manes of hair, she'd lose quite quickly.
The outer Sarah, though very interested at what was taking place here in this wide clearing, let her mind drift to the inner Sarah. The one trying so desperately to claw her way back to the surface, but to no avail.
-----------
"Die, die, die, die." The word echoed to her from the bleak darkness surrounding her.
Sarah, sobbing, swam in this void of darkness, this place where nothingness was the rule. She cried out for help, but no one would answer her call. Except, of course, that raspy voice repeating that single final word.
"Die, die, die, die, die."
The poison which had entered her body from the cut she received, was now keeping her held here int his dark prison. Sarah pleaded with ti to let her go, but it would not.
Then she heard another voice mingle with that of the "die voice".
"It's right you know. You have to die. It's my turn now."
That voice, it sounded so much like her own. She screamed and swam frantically in the dark. There was no floor, no walls, yet she was restricted here.
"Give up, Sarah. This is my body now. Give up, and be with your boy."
Hot, like bursting fire stones, anger overwhelmed Sarah. She roared, hands grasping for anything they could touch. They found nothing but dark air.
"I'm going to kill you, Sarah, and then this will be my home, your body."
"No!" Sarah screamed, graping crazily at the air.
Her fingers brushed something, and her breath caught in her chest, both inside and out.
(To be continued...)
When she heard the screaming, and the shouts, (men?), and the distinct sound of many things dying at once, Sarah felt herself fall into darkness.
On the outside, her milky eyes flutter open.
At that moment, Sarah became two women.
A scared, drowning wraith inside, and a cruel monster on the outside. Her outer self glanced around with eyes too cloudy to be human. They scanned the scene playing out before her as she lay on the ground, her body twitched convulsively.
Her assumption appeared to be right. The shouts were indeed coming from men, although these men looked rather hulkish, primal. They attacked the long legged beasts with such ferocity that the outer Sarah had to wonder if they might only be beasts themselves. A grin played at her cracked lips, nonetheless. Like those milky eyes, it was all too inhuman.
The hulks that might or might not be men, wielded huge curving battle axes, which they swung in great aches at their enemy. None of them carried a sword, she realized. But of course, it didn't appear as though they needed swords for speed. They handled the axes as though they were mere sticks. She realized, if she were to fight one of these hulkish men, them with their slopping brows and deep set fiery eyes, them with their long wild manes of hair, she'd lose quite quickly.
The outer Sarah, though very interested at what was taking place here in this wide clearing, let her mind drift to the inner Sarah. The one trying so desperately to claw her way back to the surface, but to no avail.
-----------
"Die, die, die, die." The word echoed to her from the bleak darkness surrounding her.
Sarah, sobbing, swam in this void of darkness, this place where nothingness was the rule. She cried out for help, but no one would answer her call. Except, of course, that raspy voice repeating that single final word.
"Die, die, die, die, die."
The poison which had entered her body from the cut she received, was now keeping her held here int his dark prison. Sarah pleaded with ti to let her go, but it would not.
Then she heard another voice mingle with that of the "die voice".
"It's right you know. You have to die. It's my turn now."
That voice, it sounded so much like her own. She screamed and swam frantically in the dark. There was no floor, no walls, yet she was restricted here.
"Give up, Sarah. This is my body now. Give up, and be with your boy."
Hot, like bursting fire stones, anger overwhelmed Sarah. She roared, hands grasping for anything they could touch. They found nothing but dark air.
"I'm going to kill you, Sarah, and then this will be my home, your body."
"No!" Sarah screamed, graping crazily at the air.
Her fingers brushed something, and her breath caught in her chest, both inside and out.
(To be continued...)
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Ice Mountain: Part 3
Screaming, arm throbbing, Sarah emerged into a large clearing.
And then that's when they came for her...dozens of them.
From every direction, hideous things on long bounding legs, things with severely elongated beaks, flooded into the clearing. Sarah stood, frozen in place as she was surrounded by these beings, these monsters.
Sword dripping with mingling colors of various kills, she turned around in a slow circle. Gods, they were everywhere. The cut on her arm announced itself again and she winced at the burn it sent through her body. Just what had cut her? What sort of vile thing had reached out and cut her? She couldn't remember, nor could she rightfully call it something with a brain. Perhaps it had been some venomous plant she unwittingly pushed through. But, of course, plants had been the least of her worries then.
The monsters rushing toward her all let go loud braying screams that hurt Sarah's ears instantly. She lifted the sword, preparing to defend herself, although, that was wrong. She wouldn't get one slash at these things once they pummeled into her, driving her to the ground and then tearing her limb from bloody limb.
Yet, as she lifted her sword, something like pain, but not quite, zinged through her body. The sword tumbled from her hand and she collapsed to her knees. Her vision blurred. Her mouth quivered. Tears spilled from her eyes and tracked courses down her dirty face.
They were very close now. She could see their images through the blur of her vision. They were close, and she sighed, knowing she had failed. She had failed Andrew, her only son, her life. Still, she fought to get back on her feet. If she was to die, she wanted to be on her feet first. It was the honorable way to die. However, the task eluded her and she dropped back to her knees, weeping.
Sarah lay down in the grass, and closed her eyes.
This is it, she thought as the roaring began and the feel of hot rancid breath plumed on her sweaty skin. This is it.
When she heard the screaming, and the shouts, (men?), and the distinct sound of many things dying at once, Sarah felt herself fall into darkness.
On the outside, her milky eyes flutter open.
(To be Continued)
And then that's when they came for her...dozens of them.
From every direction, hideous things on long bounding legs, things with severely elongated beaks, flooded into the clearing. Sarah stood, frozen in place as she was surrounded by these beings, these monsters.
Sword dripping with mingling colors of various kills, she turned around in a slow circle. Gods, they were everywhere. The cut on her arm announced itself again and she winced at the burn it sent through her body. Just what had cut her? What sort of vile thing had reached out and cut her? She couldn't remember, nor could she rightfully call it something with a brain. Perhaps it had been some venomous plant she unwittingly pushed through. But, of course, plants had been the least of her worries then.
The monsters rushing toward her all let go loud braying screams that hurt Sarah's ears instantly. She lifted the sword, preparing to defend herself, although, that was wrong. She wouldn't get one slash at these things once they pummeled into her, driving her to the ground and then tearing her limb from bloody limb.
Yet, as she lifted her sword, something like pain, but not quite, zinged through her body. The sword tumbled from her hand and she collapsed to her knees. Her vision blurred. Her mouth quivered. Tears spilled from her eyes and tracked courses down her dirty face.
They were very close now. She could see their images through the blur of her vision. They were close, and she sighed, knowing she had failed. She had failed Andrew, her only son, her life. Still, she fought to get back on her feet. If she was to die, she wanted to be on her feet first. It was the honorable way to die. However, the task eluded her and she dropped back to her knees, weeping.
Sarah lay down in the grass, and closed her eyes.
This is it, she thought as the roaring began and the feel of hot rancid breath plumed on her sweaty skin. This is it.
When she heard the screaming, and the shouts, (men?), and the distinct sound of many things dying at once, Sarah felt herself fall into darkness.
On the outside, her milky eyes flutter open.
(To be Continued)
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Something new, Something dark..
My Friends!
I submitted a story to an up and coming horror magazine called Noctem Aeternus. It looks very promising. Great stories abound!
So here's the deal. They need subscribers to keep them afloat, which in turn draws advertisers, which in turn creates revenue...something like that. Anyway, the point is that this magazine is free. It's online, as far as I know, but it's free. The more subscribers they get the better their chances are at staying alive in this brutal world.
So help this magazine spread its wings, help it grow. Help it grow and help short horror fiction. I would personally be grateful if you did subscribe. They won't sell or trade you email address either. Good stuff all around, my friends.
Just follow the little blue link: http://www.michaelknost.com/
Thank you everyone. Cold Mountain: Part 3 will be posted late 7/25. Let's say evening, perhaps sooner. Thanks again! :-)
I submitted a story to an up and coming horror magazine called Noctem Aeternus. It looks very promising. Great stories abound!
So here's the deal. They need subscribers to keep them afloat, which in turn draws advertisers, which in turn creates revenue...something like that. Anyway, the point is that this magazine is free. It's online, as far as I know, but it's free. The more subscribers they get the better their chances are at staying alive in this brutal world.
So help this magazine spread its wings, help it grow. Help it grow and help short horror fiction. I would personally be grateful if you did subscribe. They won't sell or trade you email address either. Good stuff all around, my friends.
Just follow the little blue link: http://www.michaelknost.com/
Thank you everyone. Cold Mountain: Part 3 will be posted late 7/25. Let's say evening, perhaps sooner. Thanks again! :-)
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Ice Mountain: Part 2
.....As she set foot into the forest, Sarah unsheathed her sword.
All around her came low methodical thumping. Then something snarled.
She paused her stride, warily scanning the dim woodland surrounding her, almost embracing her. She saw things move in the dimness, through the corners of her eyes. But if she turned to look, nothing would be there. This was a haunted place, a place where demons and beasts of all sizes lurked and stalked. She better get moving.
The snarling came again, this time much closer. Sarah held her breath, listening. Her hand tightened on the handle of her sword. Her heart was like a mad drum in her chest that would not ease. Something crashed through the brush to her left. Gods they were so close!
She felt like running. Yet, even though she felt the urge to just forget everything, forget her son, consider him a terribly tragic loss, Sarah remained where she was. If she ran she would surely die.
A roar exploded to her right and she turned just in time to dodge a massive claw meant to lop off her head. She dropped to one knee, glanced up, saw the beast, saw its grotesque body of loose gray flesh and giant fanged maw, and then she drove her sword into its exposed belly. She sank it as deep as she could get it, which was all the wat to the hilt. The monster gasped, yelped and then she yanked the sword out of its stomach. The thing staggered back, long claws held over its gushing wound.
Sarah jumped to her feet as the the beast started to teeter. It fell backwards, crushing many small trees under its girth and making the earth itself tremble.
Now. Run.
She took off at a dead run through the forest, hurdling rocks and thorn bushes and dead falls. She ran, cutting various creatures in half or simply slicing off their heads as she went. Pain flashed through her right arm, the one holding the sword. She distantly felt warm liquid trickling. Something had reached outof the gloom and cut her. She knew it like she knew how to bake bread. Something like instinct.
Screaming, arm throbbing, Sarah emerged into a large clearing.
And then that's when they came for her...dozens of them.
(To be Continued)
All around her came low methodical thumping. Then something snarled.
She paused her stride, warily scanning the dim woodland surrounding her, almost embracing her. She saw things move in the dimness, through the corners of her eyes. But if she turned to look, nothing would be there. This was a haunted place, a place where demons and beasts of all sizes lurked and stalked. She better get moving.
The snarling came again, this time much closer. Sarah held her breath, listening. Her hand tightened on the handle of her sword. Her heart was like a mad drum in her chest that would not ease. Something crashed through the brush to her left. Gods they were so close!
She felt like running. Yet, even though she felt the urge to just forget everything, forget her son, consider him a terribly tragic loss, Sarah remained where she was. If she ran she would surely die.
A roar exploded to her right and she turned just in time to dodge a massive claw meant to lop off her head. She dropped to one knee, glanced up, saw the beast, saw its grotesque body of loose gray flesh and giant fanged maw, and then she drove her sword into its exposed belly. She sank it as deep as she could get it, which was all the wat to the hilt. The monster gasped, yelped and then she yanked the sword out of its stomach. The thing staggered back, long claws held over its gushing wound.
Sarah jumped to her feet as the the beast started to teeter. It fell backwards, crushing many small trees under its girth and making the earth itself tremble.
Now. Run.
She took off at a dead run through the forest, hurdling rocks and thorn bushes and dead falls. She ran, cutting various creatures in half or simply slicing off their heads as she went. Pain flashed through her right arm, the one holding the sword. She distantly felt warm liquid trickling. Something had reached outof the gloom and cut her. She knew it like she knew how to bake bread. Something like instinct.
Screaming, arm throbbing, Sarah emerged into a large clearing.
And then that's when they came for her...dozens of them.
(To be Continued)
Monday, July 16, 2007
I'm IT!....or am I?
Hmmm. Well I have been tagged to do one of these meme thing-a-ma-jobs. This is sort of interesting and looks to be quite fun. So now I will break from the continuing story "Ice Mountain" and whips something up quick for you. If you have not read the first part to Ice Mountain scroll down, it's directly under this one.
Okay...here goes...
But first, the rules:
1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts. 2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves. 3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules. 4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. 5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
8 Scary Things About Me, however Random:
1) I play guitar, however badly, and sing, let's not talk about that either.
2) As some of you might already know, I draw and paint. I have been complimented time and again for my "talent" as an artist (drawing and painting), but have never chosen to submit my work anywhere. Although I might be painting a mural here in a month or two.
3) I enjoy reading a lot. I'm always reading something.
4) Of course, I love to write. There is no great feeling than that of you creating something out of nothing. It's a grand time.
5) Movies. I like to watch movies. Horror movies, action, thrillers, comedies, I watch'em all friends and neighbors!
6) I have two daughters, Mary (4) and Hannah (2). Their a couple of cuties and I love them with all my heart.
7) I'm married to a wonderful, albeit willful, woman. We've been together for a total of seven years, been married five. It's still working. We were high school sweethearts.
8) Music. If not for music and bands like Metallica, Tool, Nirvana, and The Rolling Stones, I'd be a mess. To some, this music just sounds like noise, but, if you listen, there is always something to be said. It's the type of music that means something. Well, at least to me and those who enjoy hard rock and heavy metal.
So there be the list, my friends. I know, I'm one boring fellow. Sorry.
Now...let me stretch my claws. Here's the tagged 8:
1) Christina Rundle 2) Stewart Sternberg 3) Fab 4) Susan Miller 5) Travis 6) Wayne Sallee 7) Kate Sterling 8) Starrlight
For those of you who didn't get a comment from me, letting you know you are tagged, it's not becasue I don't like iya it's becasue for some reaon I can not get into your comment pages. Sorry.
Okay...here goes...
But first, the rules:
1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts. 2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves. 3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules. 4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. 5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
8 Scary Things About Me, however Random:
1) I play guitar, however badly, and sing, let's not talk about that either.
2) As some of you might already know, I draw and paint. I have been complimented time and again for my "talent" as an artist (drawing and painting), but have never chosen to submit my work anywhere. Although I might be painting a mural here in a month or two.
3) I enjoy reading a lot. I'm always reading something.
4) Of course, I love to write. There is no great feeling than that of you creating something out of nothing. It's a grand time.
5) Movies. I like to watch movies. Horror movies, action, thrillers, comedies, I watch'em all friends and neighbors!
6) I have two daughters, Mary (4) and Hannah (2). Their a couple of cuties and I love them with all my heart.
7) I'm married to a wonderful, albeit willful, woman. We've been together for a total of seven years, been married five. It's still working. We were high school sweethearts.
8) Music. If not for music and bands like Metallica, Tool, Nirvana, and The Rolling Stones, I'd be a mess. To some, this music just sounds like noise, but, if you listen, there is always something to be said. It's the type of music that means something. Well, at least to me and those who enjoy hard rock and heavy metal.
So there be the list, my friends. I know, I'm one boring fellow. Sorry.
Now...let me stretch my claws. Here's the tagged 8:
1) Christina Rundle 2) Stewart Sternberg 3) Fab 4) Susan Miller 5) Travis 6) Wayne Sallee 7) Kate Sterling 8) Starrlight
For those of you who didn't get a comment from me, letting you know you are tagged, it's not becasue I don't like iya it's becasue for some reaon I can not get into your comment pages. Sorry.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Ice Mountain: Part 1 (A Continuing story)
My friends,
Okay, I haven't been very faithful the past two months or so with this blog and visiting everyone elses. Sometimes life likes to snag you, and then hold you like a psychotic lover. I was stuck, and after vaction I made the solomne vow to at least post once a week, be it a story, a poem or just chit chat. So far I haven't lived up to that vow. But I'm working on it, trust me. Here's a short, short story, which will be played out in eight parts. Most of might remember the last time I did this with, "The Fairy". I've really gotten into the fantasy genre lately and I'm trying my hand at it here. Some of you seemed to like the "Dragon's Curse", I hoped it was original, and from what I see it is, thank God. So, in light of the "Curse" here's another dragon tale, this one perhaps a little more frightening. Enjoy, my dear friends. Enjoy...
Ice Mountian: Part 1
Sarah's cool blue eyes lifted slowly as they took in the mountain's massiveness. Such beauty for such a bad place. A place where folk tended to stray far away from. The place where her son had been taken. A place called, Ice Mountain.
Inspite of the name, Ice Mountain was void of ice, snow, even the bitter cold that caped most mountains. Dark smoke billowed from various spots on the mountain's greenish surface. A fire mountain. Still, the heat, the fire, the smoke, made its own kind of chill. One that was not felt on the skin, but felt in the heart, and in the belly. Up there lay death. Up there, where her son was now. Her only son, Andrew. He was up there now, alone, save for the beast that stole him away, and Gods knew what else.
Sarah unsaddled her horse and said.
"Dear White Girl. Be free now." She gave the mare a healthy slap on therear end.
White Girl let go a brief shriek and raced off into the distance.
Tears welled in Sarah's eyes. White Girl had been her second horse. It was a great loss.
She turned back to the mountain and sighed. There would be a climb. A dangerous climb judging by the steepness of the surface. Yet, she thought maybe she saw ledges here and there where she might be able to rest a bit before moving on.
Unstrapping her leather food bag from the saddle, Sarah cinched it to her belt under her furs, near her sword. She was great with a sword. She knew it, and so did all of her slayed men. Those men who tried so hard to steal her cottage, and Andrew. Those men who wanted to kill Andrew and her just for spite. But behold, she knew the art of the sword. Her father taught her well. And her late husband, Jerard, taught her more.
Sarah looked up at the mountain, frowned and then made her way toward the base. It would take a day, she knew, to even reach it, but, she would move fast. She would have to, for the forest surrounding the lonely dark mountain was infested with horrible things. Evil things that protected the mountain from invaders.
As she set foot into the forest, Sarah unsheathed her sword.
All around her came low methodical thumping. Then something snarled.
(To be Continued..)
Okay, I haven't been very faithful the past two months or so with this blog and visiting everyone elses. Sometimes life likes to snag you, and then hold you like a psychotic lover. I was stuck, and after vaction I made the solomne vow to at least post once a week, be it a story, a poem or just chit chat. So far I haven't lived up to that vow. But I'm working on it, trust me. Here's a short, short story, which will be played out in eight parts. Most of might remember the last time I did this with, "The Fairy". I've really gotten into the fantasy genre lately and I'm trying my hand at it here. Some of you seemed to like the "Dragon's Curse", I hoped it was original, and from what I see it is, thank God. So, in light of the "Curse" here's another dragon tale, this one perhaps a little more frightening. Enjoy, my dear friends. Enjoy...
Ice Mountian: Part 1
Sarah's cool blue eyes lifted slowly as they took in the mountain's massiveness. Such beauty for such a bad place. A place where folk tended to stray far away from. The place where her son had been taken. A place called, Ice Mountain.
Inspite of the name, Ice Mountain was void of ice, snow, even the bitter cold that caped most mountains. Dark smoke billowed from various spots on the mountain's greenish surface. A fire mountain. Still, the heat, the fire, the smoke, made its own kind of chill. One that was not felt on the skin, but felt in the heart, and in the belly. Up there lay death. Up there, where her son was now. Her only son, Andrew. He was up there now, alone, save for the beast that stole him away, and Gods knew what else.
Sarah unsaddled her horse and said.
"Dear White Girl. Be free now." She gave the mare a healthy slap on therear end.
White Girl let go a brief shriek and raced off into the distance.
Tears welled in Sarah's eyes. White Girl had been her second horse. It was a great loss.
She turned back to the mountain and sighed. There would be a climb. A dangerous climb judging by the steepness of the surface. Yet, she thought maybe she saw ledges here and there where she might be able to rest a bit before moving on.
Unstrapping her leather food bag from the saddle, Sarah cinched it to her belt under her furs, near her sword. She was great with a sword. She knew it, and so did all of her slayed men. Those men who tried so hard to steal her cottage, and Andrew. Those men who wanted to kill Andrew and her just for spite. But behold, she knew the art of the sword. Her father taught her well. And her late husband, Jerard, taught her more.
Sarah looked up at the mountain, frowned and then made her way toward the base. It would take a day, she knew, to even reach it, but, she would move fast. She would have to, for the forest surrounding the lonely dark mountain was infested with horrible things. Evil things that protected the mountain from invaders.
As she set foot into the forest, Sarah unsheathed her sword.
All around her came low methodical thumping. Then something snarled.
(To be Continued..)
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
The Dragon's Curse
Howdy m'freinds!
Well I'm back, was back tuesday, as a matter of fact. We had a great time on vacation in Minnesota. It's just as I remembered from my childhood. I even got a great story idea becasue of it. I didn't catch any fish, and I got one helluva sunburn, but hey, I'm happy. It was great just going there.
So anyway, I have my contribution to the First Sentence Assignment done. It's not too bad. Have a look see and let me know what you think. Remember, honesty is the best policy. I cna't wait to read your contributions. I hope you all give it a shot. I found this one quite fun, but that's just me.
Anyway, here's the story:
The Dragon’s Curse
By
Lucas Pederson
The dragon swooped down from the sky like a winged demon, its maw yawing open to claim them.
Samuel shoved Will aside, drew his bow, knocked an arrow, and pulled back on the string.
“Nay!” Will protested to the highest degree and picked up his own bow.
As he knocked an arrow from his quiver he heard he heard Samuel’s bow let loose. Will looked up, and froze. The dragon was right above them, diving at them, giant, toothy mouth wide open. It roared, blowing fiercely hot air down and knocking both boys off their feet.
But Samuel’s arrow hit true. Will saw it plunge down the dragon’s throat. He caught the dragon’s mouth snap shut immediately after, just before he met with the ground painfully.
“Run!” Samuel pulled Will back to his feet again and they sprinted away as fast as their legs would allow.
“Run, run, run, run!” Samuel cried and Will gave forth his greatest effort to follow his big brother’s plead.
Then-
BOOM!
The earth exploded to life under their feet and Will lost his footing. He stumbled, and Samuel yanked him up and pulled him along, avoiding a serious folly with a jagged jutting stone.
Hot air jolted at the back of their necks, sending gooseflesh to lump over Will’s body like a sudden illness. He ran. He ran to beat the dragon’s curse. For when one killed a dragon, if one remained near the spot where the dragon fell, one would be forever cursed to become a dragon. A dragon with a human soul.
It was that realization, that horror, which drove Will, forced him to run faster.
Samuel’s hand let go of his and they rounded a giant boulder shaped like an old man’s face. The Face Stone, as they called it. The air grew hotter, humid. The sky blackened and swirled with gray brooding clouds. All at once it was hard for Will to breathe. He coughed and Samuel drew him close to him, embracing him as a protective older brother must do from time to time. Will was grateful for the comfort, especially now.
The earth rumbled under their feet, as if some long hibernating beast had suddenly awakened and now wanted to be free of is dirt chamber to wreak havoc on the land. Will felt like screaming. The entire land was erupting into chaos before his very eyes, all from killing one single dragon. Or at least he thought it was dead. Perhaps its magic was still very much alive and after them. Maybe it wanted to play with them first before devouring their souls. He just prayed they stood far enough away so that the curse would not find them.
Then everything fell still, quite, a bird chirped somewhere near by. The sky lightened.
Samuel let go of Will and they peered around the boulder, Will’s heart racing with the speed of his father’s magnificent horse.
They saw the dragon, lying smoldering in a giant crater, its body unmoving. Thick tendrils of smoke or steam strung upward from the massive body like horrible dream snakes, or tentacles.
“Oh.” Samuel breathed.
Out of nowhere the still dragon reared its head and let loose a roar so deep and so full of rage and sorrow, and agony, Will had to hold his hands on his ears to dull the sound, however unsuccessful. Flames burst forth from the gaping maw, jetting into the morning sky with heat so hot it seemed to scorch the very sky itself. Then the dragon’s head plopped back to the ground, and it lay still once again.
Will nudged his older brother.
“Are we safe?” He asked, knowing Samuel would know what he meant.
“I should think so.” Samuel relied and moved cautiously around the boulder to look fully at the dead dragon.
Will watched his brother shudder, and could not help doing the same. They had somehow killed a dragon and escaped its curse. Now they stood in wonder. Will had never even seen a dragon until just this morning. And he wished he hadn’t now. He wished they had stayed at home, instead of wandering out to hunt for deer today. The deer could have waited. Their father had gotten three large ones just yesterday, which would feed them for a couple months at the most.
Will stepped beside his brother and gaped at the dead creature before them. It was huge, giant beyond all giants who ever lived; a massive killing machine with the wisdom of the greatest wizard or sorcerer, a monster beyond all creation. And Samuel had killed it with but a single arrow. A feet even the greatest of archers would be envious of. For, it was not easy to slay a dragon. Will silently applauded his older brother’s skill. Just wait until the village heard of Sam’s courage and skill with a bow. Why, maybe even the king would invite the family to his majesties castle; an honor that happened rarely in these slow, dark times where monsters stalked the night and blistered the land with their evil.
Will smiled. This was great and horrible at the same time. Horrible because it was a dragon and the curse would be loose in this section of land for a hundred years, awaiting a human body to transform. Great because Samuel had stopped the creature responsible for so many deaths and so much destruction brought upon the land. It had been a bane for centuries, elusive to the slayers, until now. Now it was dead.
Will knew how the dragons at every point of the kingdom had gone mad. How they all at once hated humans and wanted to rid the land of such. From what his father spoke of, the dragons have been cursed by some evil sorcerer by the name of Fiddle of Rac A queer name, but a frightening one if one knew the creature, or knew of it and its black magic.
“Let us leave now.” Sam said and Will noticed his brother shudder again.
They collected their bows and trudged back to their cabin on the outskirts of the village, Shew Mills. A small community made up of logging men for the king and his ever escalating urgency to build more homes and bring more folk to the kingdom; since the village sat nestled amongst the great Bumbus Trees, which was said to have magical attributes when cut down. Expanding his generosity, Will’s mother once said with more than a little pride. The king was a good one, and was loved by all. His armies were the thing of legend and his kindness of the greatest and utmost characteristic about the powerful man. Shew Mills was but only one community surrounded by dozens. To the east lay Sounder Falls, the lake and river folk. To the west stood Walden Hills, a community made up of iron miners who supplies the king with steel to make new swords and arrow heads.
Their mother came out of the cabin in a red furry as they approached.
“Where have ye been? Where so early and with not so much a scribbled note!”
She rushed at them and Will felt the sudden urge to hide behind Sam. Their father was out in the Laughing Forest cutting Bumbus Trees, thanks the God. All ready they both would have blistered rears. Their father always acted first before he spoke. Their mother, on the other hand…
“How dare ye! Get in the house! Now! Wait for yer father!”
Samuel told her they had been hunting for meat, and then led Will around their fuming mother and into the cabin, where the somberly went to their bedroom. Sam sat on his bed, bowed his head and sighed.
“Father is gonna hurt us bad when he hears.” Sam’s voice sounded rough, dry almost.
Will sat down next to him. He wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulders.
“Maybe he will be light on us. If we tell him we were hunting for-“
Sam shrugged Will’s arm off.
“T’won’t be light, Will. Even if we did tell him we were out hunting. He will be angry.”
Will’s eyes lowered to the wooden floor. Sam was right. Yet-
“What ‘bout the dragon, Sam? We tell him ye killed the dragon then he will be happy.”
Sam seemed to consider this for a long time before he said.
“Maybe.”
Later that night, their father came home, sweaty and tired. He plopped down at the eating table, where their mother had fixed him a large plate of chicken quarters and potatoes. She did not tell him what they did until after his dinner.
After she was done speaking, their father stood from the table with a heavy sigh. Will could tell the man did not want to do what had to be done, but it was a matter of principle rather than wanting to or not. The children had done wrong and needed punishment for it, so they may learn to never do such again, unless told to.
Their father turned to Sam first, motioned him over. Sam bowed his head and walked over to father. Then Will was surprised to hear father speak, instead of the sound of leather against bare skin.
“Ye had good intention, I know. Hunting for this family. T’was good smarts to think of it. But ye wandered out and did not leave a note with yer mother. She was worried ill for you two.”
Sam lifted his head to look up and Will saw how their eyes locked on each other’s. He saw the love there and knew their father was not going to beat them tonight.
Then Sam said.
“We killed the dragon Megrog.” To this their father’s bushy dark eye brows rose.
“True?” Their father asked after a moment and looked at Will. Will nodded, as did Sam.
“Where?”
“The Sky Clearing in the eastern forest.” Sam said.
Their father let go a long breath that wasn’t quite a sigh.
“Tomorrow ye will shown me.” Their father said.
Sam nodded and hugged their father. Will hugged the man too and then their mother said.
“You will not!”
Their father turned to her, and her eyes lowered. She nodded. Then he went over to her and embraced her too. He whispered something in her ear. And she nodded and they kissed. Their father turned back to Will and Sam.
“Off to bed. In the morning we shall see thus dragon.”
They went to bed without speaking to each other.
The next morning they led their father through the eastern part of the Laughing Forest and to the large meadow-clearing hidden within. The sword dropped from their father’s hand. And his mouth opened wide. His eyes grew large, like meal plates.
“By the God. Ye were truthful after all.” He said in an awestruck voice.
Then Sam suddenly doubled over, he screamed.
Their father rushed to Sam, put his large heavily worked hands on his shoulders.
“Samuel?” Their father managed before Sam dropped to his knees, wailing, arms wrapped around his gut.
Their father stepped back. Will stood, his eyes flitting from the dead dragon to his screaming brother.
“The curse.” Will said softly.
He felt his father’s eyes on him and he looked over at the man. He saw his father was crying.
“No. No curse. Help me with yer brother. We-“
There was a ripping sound, like a cloth flour bag being torn open, and then two small membranous wings shot out where Sam’s shoulder blades should have been. He yowled his agony.
“God.” Their father said, stepping away, weeping.
Will started forward, but then a long greenish tail burst forth from Sam’s rear and struck Will directly in the chest, knocking him back. The tail whipped about furiously. And even as Will watched, it grew spikes and a sharp talon at the tip. Oh no.
He scrambled away and joined his father, unable to do nothing more but watch. It was the curse, it had found Samuel. Sorrow like cold water filled up inside of Will as he watched thick greenish scales sprouted all up and down his brother’s arms, his legs, smothering his face. He nearly wretched when Samuel’s head morphed, grew, elongated. A dragon’s muzzle replaced Sam’s mouth and nose. His eyes shifted more so to the sides of his head and changed to an amber color.
A hard hand grasped his shoulder. Will looked up and saw his father, still weeping, motion with his other hand to moved farther away. There was nothing that could be done now, and Will saw the stinging fact in his father’s wet brown eyes.
They moved to the nearest edge of the clearing, both trembling with fear and sadness as Samuel turned from an average young man, into a giant dragon. One, perhaps, even larger than the one Sam had killed not so long ago.
And when this newly formed dragon let loose its first roar, Will thought he could hear Samuel screaming within it. Screaming to be let out, screaming for his life. Will then began to cry, for his brother was now a beast, a dragon.
The thing before them roared again, flapped its mighty wings, and then lifted itself into the air. Will and his father stepped into the clearing to watch it go. Will’s father picked up his sword and turned to him.
“Samuel is gone. Forever.” With that his father left Will alone in the clearing as Will dropped to his knees and wept.
Near dusk, when the forest was just beginning to come to life with horrors beyond even his most frightening dreams, Will stood from the ground, wiped away the last of his tears and ran back to the cabin. He knew what needed to be done.
He waited until his parents were heavily in sleep, which took quite a while, and then he grabbed Samuels bow from the corner where the hunting weapons were kept. He slipped on his boots, his deer hide coat, and Sam’s quiver of arrows. He wrapped up a loaf of bread from the pantry in a cloth and, just before walking out the front door, stole his father’s sword.
Somewhere between deepest night and dawn, Will quietly led his father’s horse away from the cabin and to the road. From there he began to ride.
He knew what needed to be done. Samuel must be stopped. His misery must end. And Will knew exactly the direction his brother had gone.
East. He rode with a blank face, his eyes never straying from the road ahead, for, there might be things along the sides that want to eat him.
The End
By
Lucas Pederson
The dragon swooped down from the sky like a winged demon, its maw yawing open to claim them.
Samuel shoved Will aside, drew his bow, knocked an arrow, and pulled back on the string.
“Nay!” Will protested to the highest degree and picked up his own bow.
As he knocked an arrow from his quiver he heard he heard Samuel’s bow let loose. Will looked up, and froze. The dragon was right above them, diving at them, giant, toothy mouth wide open. It roared, blowing fiercely hot air down and knocking both boys off their feet.
But Samuel’s arrow hit true. Will saw it plunge down the dragon’s throat. He caught the dragon’s mouth snap shut immediately after, just before he met with the ground painfully.
“Run!” Samuel pulled Will back to his feet again and they sprinted away as fast as their legs would allow.
“Run, run, run, run!” Samuel cried and Will gave forth his greatest effort to follow his big brother’s plead.
Then-
BOOM!
The earth exploded to life under their feet and Will lost his footing. He stumbled, and Samuel yanked him up and pulled him along, avoiding a serious folly with a jagged jutting stone.
Hot air jolted at the back of their necks, sending gooseflesh to lump over Will’s body like a sudden illness. He ran. He ran to beat the dragon’s curse. For when one killed a dragon, if one remained near the spot where the dragon fell, one would be forever cursed to become a dragon. A dragon with a human soul.
It was that realization, that horror, which drove Will, forced him to run faster.
Samuel’s hand let go of his and they rounded a giant boulder shaped like an old man’s face. The Face Stone, as they called it. The air grew hotter, humid. The sky blackened and swirled with gray brooding clouds. All at once it was hard for Will to breathe. He coughed and Samuel drew him close to him, embracing him as a protective older brother must do from time to time. Will was grateful for the comfort, especially now.
The earth rumbled under their feet, as if some long hibernating beast had suddenly awakened and now wanted to be free of is dirt chamber to wreak havoc on the land. Will felt like screaming. The entire land was erupting into chaos before his very eyes, all from killing one single dragon. Or at least he thought it was dead. Perhaps its magic was still very much alive and after them. Maybe it wanted to play with them first before devouring their souls. He just prayed they stood far enough away so that the curse would not find them.
Then everything fell still, quite, a bird chirped somewhere near by. The sky lightened.
Samuel let go of Will and they peered around the boulder, Will’s heart racing with the speed of his father’s magnificent horse.
They saw the dragon, lying smoldering in a giant crater, its body unmoving. Thick tendrils of smoke or steam strung upward from the massive body like horrible dream snakes, or tentacles.
“Oh.” Samuel breathed.
Out of nowhere the still dragon reared its head and let loose a roar so deep and so full of rage and sorrow, and agony, Will had to hold his hands on his ears to dull the sound, however unsuccessful. Flames burst forth from the gaping maw, jetting into the morning sky with heat so hot it seemed to scorch the very sky itself. Then the dragon’s head plopped back to the ground, and it lay still once again.
Will nudged his older brother.
“Are we safe?” He asked, knowing Samuel would know what he meant.
“I should think so.” Samuel relied and moved cautiously around the boulder to look fully at the dead dragon.
Will watched his brother shudder, and could not help doing the same. They had somehow killed a dragon and escaped its curse. Now they stood in wonder. Will had never even seen a dragon until just this morning. And he wished he hadn’t now. He wished they had stayed at home, instead of wandering out to hunt for deer today. The deer could have waited. Their father had gotten three large ones just yesterday, which would feed them for a couple months at the most.
Will stepped beside his brother and gaped at the dead creature before them. It was huge, giant beyond all giants who ever lived; a massive killing machine with the wisdom of the greatest wizard or sorcerer, a monster beyond all creation. And Samuel had killed it with but a single arrow. A feet even the greatest of archers would be envious of. For, it was not easy to slay a dragon. Will silently applauded his older brother’s skill. Just wait until the village heard of Sam’s courage and skill with a bow. Why, maybe even the king would invite the family to his majesties castle; an honor that happened rarely in these slow, dark times where monsters stalked the night and blistered the land with their evil.
Will smiled. This was great and horrible at the same time. Horrible because it was a dragon and the curse would be loose in this section of land for a hundred years, awaiting a human body to transform. Great because Samuel had stopped the creature responsible for so many deaths and so much destruction brought upon the land. It had been a bane for centuries, elusive to the slayers, until now. Now it was dead.
Will knew how the dragons at every point of the kingdom had gone mad. How they all at once hated humans and wanted to rid the land of such. From what his father spoke of, the dragons have been cursed by some evil sorcerer by the name of Fiddle of Rac A queer name, but a frightening one if one knew the creature, or knew of it and its black magic.
“Let us leave now.” Sam said and Will noticed his brother shudder again.
They collected their bows and trudged back to their cabin on the outskirts of the village, Shew Mills. A small community made up of logging men for the king and his ever escalating urgency to build more homes and bring more folk to the kingdom; since the village sat nestled amongst the great Bumbus Trees, which was said to have magical attributes when cut down. Expanding his generosity, Will’s mother once said with more than a little pride. The king was a good one, and was loved by all. His armies were the thing of legend and his kindness of the greatest and utmost characteristic about the powerful man. Shew Mills was but only one community surrounded by dozens. To the east lay Sounder Falls, the lake and river folk. To the west stood Walden Hills, a community made up of iron miners who supplies the king with steel to make new swords and arrow heads.
Their mother came out of the cabin in a red furry as they approached.
“Where have ye been? Where so early and with not so much a scribbled note!”
She rushed at them and Will felt the sudden urge to hide behind Sam. Their father was out in the Laughing Forest cutting Bumbus Trees, thanks the God. All ready they both would have blistered rears. Their father always acted first before he spoke. Their mother, on the other hand…
“How dare ye! Get in the house! Now! Wait for yer father!”
Samuel told her they had been hunting for meat, and then led Will around their fuming mother and into the cabin, where the somberly went to their bedroom. Sam sat on his bed, bowed his head and sighed.
“Father is gonna hurt us bad when he hears.” Sam’s voice sounded rough, dry almost.
Will sat down next to him. He wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulders.
“Maybe he will be light on us. If we tell him we were hunting for-“
Sam shrugged Will’s arm off.
“T’won’t be light, Will. Even if we did tell him we were out hunting. He will be angry.”
Will’s eyes lowered to the wooden floor. Sam was right. Yet-
“What ‘bout the dragon, Sam? We tell him ye killed the dragon then he will be happy.”
Sam seemed to consider this for a long time before he said.
“Maybe.”
Later that night, their father came home, sweaty and tired. He plopped down at the eating table, where their mother had fixed him a large plate of chicken quarters and potatoes. She did not tell him what they did until after his dinner.
After she was done speaking, their father stood from the table with a heavy sigh. Will could tell the man did not want to do what had to be done, but it was a matter of principle rather than wanting to or not. The children had done wrong and needed punishment for it, so they may learn to never do such again, unless told to.
Their father turned to Sam first, motioned him over. Sam bowed his head and walked over to father. Then Will was surprised to hear father speak, instead of the sound of leather against bare skin.
“Ye had good intention, I know. Hunting for this family. T’was good smarts to think of it. But ye wandered out and did not leave a note with yer mother. She was worried ill for you two.”
Sam lifted his head to look up and Will saw how their eyes locked on each other’s. He saw the love there and knew their father was not going to beat them tonight.
Then Sam said.
“We killed the dragon Megrog.” To this their father’s bushy dark eye brows rose.
“True?” Their father asked after a moment and looked at Will. Will nodded, as did Sam.
“Where?”
“The Sky Clearing in the eastern forest.” Sam said.
Their father let go a long breath that wasn’t quite a sigh.
“Tomorrow ye will shown me.” Their father said.
Sam nodded and hugged their father. Will hugged the man too and then their mother said.
“You will not!”
Their father turned to her, and her eyes lowered. She nodded. Then he went over to her and embraced her too. He whispered something in her ear. And she nodded and they kissed. Their father turned back to Will and Sam.
“Off to bed. In the morning we shall see thus dragon.”
They went to bed without speaking to each other.
The next morning they led their father through the eastern part of the Laughing Forest and to the large meadow-clearing hidden within. The sword dropped from their father’s hand. And his mouth opened wide. His eyes grew large, like meal plates.
“By the God. Ye were truthful after all.” He said in an awestruck voice.
Then Sam suddenly doubled over, he screamed.
Their father rushed to Sam, put his large heavily worked hands on his shoulders.
“Samuel?” Their father managed before Sam dropped to his knees, wailing, arms wrapped around his gut.
Their father stepped back. Will stood, his eyes flitting from the dead dragon to his screaming brother.
“The curse.” Will said softly.
He felt his father’s eyes on him and he looked over at the man. He saw his father was crying.
“No. No curse. Help me with yer brother. We-“
There was a ripping sound, like a cloth flour bag being torn open, and then two small membranous wings shot out where Sam’s shoulder blades should have been. He yowled his agony.
“God.” Their father said, stepping away, weeping.
Will started forward, but then a long greenish tail burst forth from Sam’s rear and struck Will directly in the chest, knocking him back. The tail whipped about furiously. And even as Will watched, it grew spikes and a sharp talon at the tip. Oh no.
He scrambled away and joined his father, unable to do nothing more but watch. It was the curse, it had found Samuel. Sorrow like cold water filled up inside of Will as he watched thick greenish scales sprouted all up and down his brother’s arms, his legs, smothering his face. He nearly wretched when Samuel’s head morphed, grew, elongated. A dragon’s muzzle replaced Sam’s mouth and nose. His eyes shifted more so to the sides of his head and changed to an amber color.
A hard hand grasped his shoulder. Will looked up and saw his father, still weeping, motion with his other hand to moved farther away. There was nothing that could be done now, and Will saw the stinging fact in his father’s wet brown eyes.
They moved to the nearest edge of the clearing, both trembling with fear and sadness as Samuel turned from an average young man, into a giant dragon. One, perhaps, even larger than the one Sam had killed not so long ago.
And when this newly formed dragon let loose its first roar, Will thought he could hear Samuel screaming within it. Screaming to be let out, screaming for his life. Will then began to cry, for his brother was now a beast, a dragon.
The thing before them roared again, flapped its mighty wings, and then lifted itself into the air. Will and his father stepped into the clearing to watch it go. Will’s father picked up his sword and turned to him.
“Samuel is gone. Forever.” With that his father left Will alone in the clearing as Will dropped to his knees and wept.
Near dusk, when the forest was just beginning to come to life with horrors beyond even his most frightening dreams, Will stood from the ground, wiped away the last of his tears and ran back to the cabin. He knew what needed to be done.
He waited until his parents were heavily in sleep, which took quite a while, and then he grabbed Samuels bow from the corner where the hunting weapons were kept. He slipped on his boots, his deer hide coat, and Sam’s quiver of arrows. He wrapped up a loaf of bread from the pantry in a cloth and, just before walking out the front door, stole his father’s sword.
Somewhere between deepest night and dawn, Will quietly led his father’s horse away from the cabin and to the road. From there he began to ride.
He knew what needed to be done. Samuel must be stopped. His misery must end. And Will knew exactly the direction his brother had gone.
East. He rode with a blank face, his eyes never straying from the road ahead, for, there might be things along the sides that want to eat him.
The End
Saturday, June 23, 2007
First Sentence Assignment...and other business
Enough of that old dusty Chop Shop...let's move on, shall we?
Follow me, my friends, let me enchant and then horrify you...
Don't ask what the hell that was all about, I don't know, a sudden rush of wonkiness I suppose.
Anyway, I feel it is due time we had another first sentence assignment. I say enough to all this hacking and slashing and creepy crawlies for a little while (not forever, of course, hee-hee). Let us try something else for a change, something, on a slightly lighter note. You be the judge though for the assignment. Write what you want to write..you'll hear no objections from me.
For those of you who are not familiar with this: I provide a beginning sentence, and from there you take over and write a story somewhere around 2,000 words or less. Simple as pie and the rabid rat that ate it, right? Sure.
Here's your first sentence: The dragon swooped down from the sky like a winged demon, its maw yawning open to claim them.
This can be in any genre, even the obvious, which would be fantasy. But I think it could also be used as a metaphor, if done correctly. I don't know. Try it out, see what happens.
The deadline will be July 8th. I will post my contribution sometime before that.
I'll also be gone from the 28th of this month until the 2nd of July. We're going to a resort up in northern Minnesota for vacation. I'll take pictures fro all of you to see. That is, if I can get me stinking digital camera to work. It won't let me go in and delete picture to free up memory fro some reason. If anyone has any ideas on how to alleviate this problem, I'd be grateful to know...
Anyhoo. So there's your assignment. May it treat you well and inspire a great story. Until next time...Later. Oh, yeah, I'm a big fan of computer painting. Isn't that the best work of art you've ever seen? :-P
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Still, She Loves
My friends, here's the romance mingler I promised. It's nowhere as intense as the last one, and I think it's more of a romance in it's own way. I don't know. Please feel free to let me know what you honestly think. Thanks again for reading!!!!
Still, She Loves
By
Lucas Pederson
When Emily died, James’s entire world crumbled into a vague nothingness, void of love, empty of life and happiness.
Luckily, Susan, Emily’s best friend, came along. If it hadn’t been for Susan, James just might have spiraled out of sanity and, well…
He didn’t want to think of what might have happened. Not with his six year old daughter so close by. James wondered if she remembered her mother. Granted Rachel had only been a year old at the time James came home and discovered his wife’s body in the bath tub, cold water spraying onto her stiff naked body. She had slipped in the tub while taking a shower, cracked her head open like an egg on the edge of the porcelain tub and died nearly instantly, according to the coroner. James liked to think she didn’t suffer. He prayed she had not suffered.
Still, James had to wonder if his dear precious daughter could remember her mother. They’ve never talked about it, he supposed. The subject just never came up. Maybe that was for the best. It happened five years ago now, and that’s a long time for a child. For James, though, it felt just like yesterday, and that was horrible enough.
“Daddy?”
James shook his head, cleaning the thought out of his head. He looked over at Rachel sitting on the floor a few feet from the TV. He smiled. She was a beautiful little girl, all blond curls and bright blue eyes.
“Yes?” He said.
“Why does Harry let Malfoy makes fun of him so much?”
His eyes flicked to the TV screen where a movie, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, was playing and then looked at Rachel.
“Because he knows Malfoy is a jerk. And jerks never win. Good people win, honey, good people like Harry there.”
Rachel smiled and said.
“Oh. That’s what I thought.” She turned back to her movie.
James chuckled and got up from the couch. He walked to the study, where his wife, Susan, sat before her computer, clacking away on her new romance novel. He stood in the doorway, watching her work, and falling in love with her all over again. She would never replace Emily, of course, but he loved her just about as much. And Christ she was beautiful!
Her long black hair, deeply tanned skin, her perfect body, revealed every bit of her Native American heritage. Emily had been blond, fair skinned, and not so lean, but Jesus, how she had made his blood hot just by looking at him! She had been his everything. God he missed her. But Emily was gone, Susan was here. Sometimes he had to remind himself of the fact.
Susan stopped typing abruptly and leaned back in her chair, staring at the computer screen, as if she had no idea what it was. James started toward her, and then stopped himself. Susan was thinking. If he interrupted her process now she’d likely lose her train of thought, derail it in fact. No. It’d be better to interrupt her while she was writing, if he had to. Then, at least, her mind isn’t in struggle mode.
She sighed and rubbed at her temples with the tips of her fingers.
James left the study, closing the door quietly behind him as he went.
Susan had one published novel, a quirky romance thriller that sold roughly a gazillion copies before they started seeing each other, and before Emily’s untimely death. It had remained on the top of the bestseller list for three months before finally dropping. Then she published another book, and that one sold even more. With the money she made, he no longer had to work, which was both a blessing and a burden. Sometimes he got bored just sitting around the house and not doing much of anything. Well, he had his small wood working business. But that wasn’t much of anything. He wished he was a writer too, then maybe he’s be busier.
An hour later Susan emerged from her study and walked into the living room, where James sat reading the morning paper and Rachel began watching another Harry Potter movie from the floor.
James looked up. Susan looked tired, drained.
“Hey sexy.” He said. She smiled.
“Dullard.” She said and plopped down beside him on the couch. She rested her head on his shoulder.
Dullard. She was always using that writer’s vocabulary on him. But he loved it. He loved her.
“Stuck, are we?” He asked and set the paper aside.
“Yeah.” She sighed.
James glanced at Rachel, and then at the TV screen. The movie was still working through the beginning, Harry’s still stuck in his horrible uncles’ house.
James said.
“Care for a refresher, then?”
Her head lifted from his shoulder and he looked at her. They’re eyes fixed. James felt his heart flutter, and his genitals stir in his jeans. Susan smiled. She had such a sexy smile. They kissed deeply. Then she whispered.
“Yes., I think I would.”
They left Rachel to watch her movie and hurried up the stairs to their bedroom. James locked the door behind him, just in case his little girl came investigating. That probably wouldn’t happen, Rachel loved the Harry Potter movies. She’d sit there on the floor until it was over.
Susan giggled as he took her in his arms. Again, they stared into each other’s eyes.
“You’re so beautiful.” He said.
She smiled up at him.
“So are you.” She said and they kissed.
Her tongue slipped into his mouth, his into hers. Joined, they became one in that instant. When their lips parted James wasn’t surprised by the throbbing erection wanting to burst out of his jeans.
Susan helped him out in that regard though. She unbuttoned his pants, unzipped the fly and pulled them down as he lifted off the blue t-shirt she was wearing. They stood, he in his boxers, his penis large and swollen, she in her bra. He could tell how taut her nipples were, even through the bra’s white fabric.
They embraced, kissing. He undid her bra from the back, as she gently gripped his manhood in one caressing hand. James shivered and then she left his lips and pulled down his boxers, her breasts jiggling nicely as she did. She came back up kissed him and then before he knew it they were on the bed. She stripped off her own jeans and her plain cotton panties. He pulled off his t-shirt. Then she was on top of him, and when he slipped inside of her sweetness, he couldn’t suppress the shuddering moan that escaped his mouth. The air about them seemed to thicken with passion. A swirling happiness that consumed them both at sent them into a world where only they existed.
And-
“Whoa.” He said. Susan stopped, looking down at him and smiling.
He needed to stop, needed to let himself settle a little before continuing on. Otherwise he’d blow it, literally. But he only needed to stop once, thank God.
As Susan climaxed, so then did James let himself climax too. He liked the feeling of them both having orgasms at the same time, it made everything else small by comparison. And it just felt so good, so right.
Just as they were finishing up, both very satisfied, there came a loud shriek…from inside the room.
Susan’s eyes widened. James laid there, his heart suddenly quickening in his chest. His first thought was that of Rachel, somehow she had gotten into the bedroom and caught them making love. But then the shriek came again, something so shrill and so menacing that not even a six year old girl could produce it. Susan rolled off and James sat up quickly.
“Wha-“ He began and the words melted from his lips and died in the air.
Beside him, Susan gasped.
Standing in front of the door, was Emily, James’s dead wife. She was crying, he saw. But, but that couldn’t be. Emily was dead; she had gone to whatever after life awaited her. She wasn’t a ghost. And if she was then how come he hasn’t been aware of her until now? It made no sense anyway you looked at it. Ghosts weren’t real either. Yet, here she was. Emily. She wasn’t transparent. She looked solid, not like any ghost he has heard of.
“James,” Emily sobbed and took a step forward.
He shook his head. This couldn’t be happening. But it must be, because Susan was seeing Emily too. Susan spoke, her words slow, trembling.
“Emily?”
Emily’s eyes jerked to where Susan sat naked and gaping.
“You!” Emily cried. “You stole him from me! You stole my husband!”
Both James and Susan sat there, totally abashed. Emily bared her teeth at Susan and hissed like a snake. What the hell was that about?
“Emily? Is it really you?” James asked, and was great pleased to see her face soften a bit. She looked at him, nodded and began to sob again.
“But-“ Emily interrupted him curtly.
“I’m dead, I know. I’m dead.”
“Oh my God, Emily.” Susan said in an awestruck voice.
Emily straightened at the sound of Susan’s voice. Her face contorted into one of malice and rage.
“Shut up you bitch! Shut up!” Emily roared and the entire room shook violently. The windows exploded inward, spraying shards of glass everywhere. Susan screamed, started to get up off the bed and suddenly she was flying through the air, as if tossed by some mighty, giant hand.
Just before she collided with the dresser, her body was jerked away and thrown back onto the bed where she sobbed uncontrollably. Emily began to giggle shrilly.
“Stop!” James shouted, and Emily’s giggling dried up at once. She looked at him, her eyes beginning to weep again.
James stood from the bed, slipped on his jeans and slowly walked toward his dead wife. His heart ached for her, but something was different now. Emily had never in her life been as cruel as she had just to Susan. Something was off here. This couldn’t be Emily.
But as he walked toward her her composure slackened, her eyes turned out tears like waterfalls. She began to trembled and sob before him. Both of the women he loved were sobbing now. James stopped a about five feet from her. Yes. It was Emily, but oh, how angry she was. He could see her anger pulsing just under her skin, could actually see it!
“J-James.” Emily sobbed and dropped to her knees. She looked up at him crying, unable to speak now as the sobs racked her.
From behind him he heard Susan also say his name.
James, now not afraid, but confused, took a few steps forward and knelt down in front of his dead wife. He reached out and touched her tear soaked face. She was cold, but not icy, as he had expected. All the movies and books were wrong about that. Ghosts aren’t always icy cold. Emily gasped at his touch and clasped his hand to her face. She closed her eyes, and James found himself closing his own; images of their past life wafted by in his mind. Images of their wedding, of Rachel being born. All were good images, strong images. Then he opened his eyes. Emily was staring at him, her mouth quivering.
“I still love you, James.” She said.
All his strength, everything, dissolved just then. He broke down, unable to quite the weeping that spewed out of him. They embraced, becoming one with each other once again. They kissed, long and good. Yes. Good.
When they parted, Emily looked over at Susan, who was still sting on the bed naked, still crying. Emily sighed. Her eye drifted back to him.
“I-I had to come back to tell you I love you. I still love you, even though I’m dead.”
James was both horrified and pleased to hear this.
“I love you.” He breathed.
This brought a bright smile to Emily’s weepy face. They hugged again, kissed, more passionately now, and then parted. They stood from the floor, holding each other’s hands.
Emily turned to Susan on the bed. She smiled. Susan, her crying almost completely gone sat, eyes wide, shaking. Emily said.
“I’m so sorry. I-I’m just so sad that this happened. I miss all of you so much.” Emily’s eyes fixed on Susan.
“Thank you for taking care of my family, Suse. Thank you for giving James someone to love.”
Susan started crying again, although not in a terrified way anymore. This, James saw, was pure simple sorrow. They were best friends before Emily died, James never thought about how much Susan must mss Emily too.
Emily nodded at Susan and turned back to James. He saw that she was fading a little, growing transparent before his eyes, losing her solidness.
“I’ve gotta go now.” Emily said.
“Em.” James managed and tried to take her hands in his again. This time he grasped only cool air. Emily smiled.
“Tell our lovely little Rachel I love her. Tell her I will always be with her.” James agreed at once.
“And you James, I will always be with you.”
Emily faded into a fine mist. And just before that mist evaporated into nothing, James swore he heard the voice of his dead wife saying:
“I still love you.”
The End
Still, She Loves
By
Lucas Pederson
When Emily died, James’s entire world crumbled into a vague nothingness, void of love, empty of life and happiness.
Luckily, Susan, Emily’s best friend, came along. If it hadn’t been for Susan, James just might have spiraled out of sanity and, well…
He didn’t want to think of what might have happened. Not with his six year old daughter so close by. James wondered if she remembered her mother. Granted Rachel had only been a year old at the time James came home and discovered his wife’s body in the bath tub, cold water spraying onto her stiff naked body. She had slipped in the tub while taking a shower, cracked her head open like an egg on the edge of the porcelain tub and died nearly instantly, according to the coroner. James liked to think she didn’t suffer. He prayed she had not suffered.
Still, James had to wonder if his dear precious daughter could remember her mother. They’ve never talked about it, he supposed. The subject just never came up. Maybe that was for the best. It happened five years ago now, and that’s a long time for a child. For James, though, it felt just like yesterday, and that was horrible enough.
“Daddy?”
James shook his head, cleaning the thought out of his head. He looked over at Rachel sitting on the floor a few feet from the TV. He smiled. She was a beautiful little girl, all blond curls and bright blue eyes.
“Yes?” He said.
“Why does Harry let Malfoy makes fun of him so much?”
His eyes flicked to the TV screen where a movie, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, was playing and then looked at Rachel.
“Because he knows Malfoy is a jerk. And jerks never win. Good people win, honey, good people like Harry there.”
Rachel smiled and said.
“Oh. That’s what I thought.” She turned back to her movie.
James chuckled and got up from the couch. He walked to the study, where his wife, Susan, sat before her computer, clacking away on her new romance novel. He stood in the doorway, watching her work, and falling in love with her all over again. She would never replace Emily, of course, but he loved her just about as much. And Christ she was beautiful!
Her long black hair, deeply tanned skin, her perfect body, revealed every bit of her Native American heritage. Emily had been blond, fair skinned, and not so lean, but Jesus, how she had made his blood hot just by looking at him! She had been his everything. God he missed her. But Emily was gone, Susan was here. Sometimes he had to remind himself of the fact.
Susan stopped typing abruptly and leaned back in her chair, staring at the computer screen, as if she had no idea what it was. James started toward her, and then stopped himself. Susan was thinking. If he interrupted her process now she’d likely lose her train of thought, derail it in fact. No. It’d be better to interrupt her while she was writing, if he had to. Then, at least, her mind isn’t in struggle mode.
She sighed and rubbed at her temples with the tips of her fingers.
James left the study, closing the door quietly behind him as he went.
Susan had one published novel, a quirky romance thriller that sold roughly a gazillion copies before they started seeing each other, and before Emily’s untimely death. It had remained on the top of the bestseller list for three months before finally dropping. Then she published another book, and that one sold even more. With the money she made, he no longer had to work, which was both a blessing and a burden. Sometimes he got bored just sitting around the house and not doing much of anything. Well, he had his small wood working business. But that wasn’t much of anything. He wished he was a writer too, then maybe he’s be busier.
An hour later Susan emerged from her study and walked into the living room, where James sat reading the morning paper and Rachel began watching another Harry Potter movie from the floor.
James looked up. Susan looked tired, drained.
“Hey sexy.” He said. She smiled.
“Dullard.” She said and plopped down beside him on the couch. She rested her head on his shoulder.
Dullard. She was always using that writer’s vocabulary on him. But he loved it. He loved her.
“Stuck, are we?” He asked and set the paper aside.
“Yeah.” She sighed.
James glanced at Rachel, and then at the TV screen. The movie was still working through the beginning, Harry’s still stuck in his horrible uncles’ house.
James said.
“Care for a refresher, then?”
Her head lifted from his shoulder and he looked at her. They’re eyes fixed. James felt his heart flutter, and his genitals stir in his jeans. Susan smiled. She had such a sexy smile. They kissed deeply. Then she whispered.
“Yes., I think I would.”
They left Rachel to watch her movie and hurried up the stairs to their bedroom. James locked the door behind him, just in case his little girl came investigating. That probably wouldn’t happen, Rachel loved the Harry Potter movies. She’d sit there on the floor until it was over.
Susan giggled as he took her in his arms. Again, they stared into each other’s eyes.
“You’re so beautiful.” He said.
She smiled up at him.
“So are you.” She said and they kissed.
Her tongue slipped into his mouth, his into hers. Joined, they became one in that instant. When their lips parted James wasn’t surprised by the throbbing erection wanting to burst out of his jeans.
Susan helped him out in that regard though. She unbuttoned his pants, unzipped the fly and pulled them down as he lifted off the blue t-shirt she was wearing. They stood, he in his boxers, his penis large and swollen, she in her bra. He could tell how taut her nipples were, even through the bra’s white fabric.
They embraced, kissing. He undid her bra from the back, as she gently gripped his manhood in one caressing hand. James shivered and then she left his lips and pulled down his boxers, her breasts jiggling nicely as she did. She came back up kissed him and then before he knew it they were on the bed. She stripped off her own jeans and her plain cotton panties. He pulled off his t-shirt. Then she was on top of him, and when he slipped inside of her sweetness, he couldn’t suppress the shuddering moan that escaped his mouth. The air about them seemed to thicken with passion. A swirling happiness that consumed them both at sent them into a world where only they existed.
And-
“Whoa.” He said. Susan stopped, looking down at him and smiling.
He needed to stop, needed to let himself settle a little before continuing on. Otherwise he’d blow it, literally. But he only needed to stop once, thank God.
As Susan climaxed, so then did James let himself climax too. He liked the feeling of them both having orgasms at the same time, it made everything else small by comparison. And it just felt so good, so right.
Just as they were finishing up, both very satisfied, there came a loud shriek…from inside the room.
Susan’s eyes widened. James laid there, his heart suddenly quickening in his chest. His first thought was that of Rachel, somehow she had gotten into the bedroom and caught them making love. But then the shriek came again, something so shrill and so menacing that not even a six year old girl could produce it. Susan rolled off and James sat up quickly.
“Wha-“ He began and the words melted from his lips and died in the air.
Beside him, Susan gasped.
Standing in front of the door, was Emily, James’s dead wife. She was crying, he saw. But, but that couldn’t be. Emily was dead; she had gone to whatever after life awaited her. She wasn’t a ghost. And if she was then how come he hasn’t been aware of her until now? It made no sense anyway you looked at it. Ghosts weren’t real either. Yet, here she was. Emily. She wasn’t transparent. She looked solid, not like any ghost he has heard of.
“James,” Emily sobbed and took a step forward.
He shook his head. This couldn’t be happening. But it must be, because Susan was seeing Emily too. Susan spoke, her words slow, trembling.
“Emily?”
Emily’s eyes jerked to where Susan sat naked and gaping.
“You!” Emily cried. “You stole him from me! You stole my husband!”
Both James and Susan sat there, totally abashed. Emily bared her teeth at Susan and hissed like a snake. What the hell was that about?
“Emily? Is it really you?” James asked, and was great pleased to see her face soften a bit. She looked at him, nodded and began to sob again.
“But-“ Emily interrupted him curtly.
“I’m dead, I know. I’m dead.”
“Oh my God, Emily.” Susan said in an awestruck voice.
Emily straightened at the sound of Susan’s voice. Her face contorted into one of malice and rage.
“Shut up you bitch! Shut up!” Emily roared and the entire room shook violently. The windows exploded inward, spraying shards of glass everywhere. Susan screamed, started to get up off the bed and suddenly she was flying through the air, as if tossed by some mighty, giant hand.
Just before she collided with the dresser, her body was jerked away and thrown back onto the bed where she sobbed uncontrollably. Emily began to giggle shrilly.
“Stop!” James shouted, and Emily’s giggling dried up at once. She looked at him, her eyes beginning to weep again.
James stood from the bed, slipped on his jeans and slowly walked toward his dead wife. His heart ached for her, but something was different now. Emily had never in her life been as cruel as she had just to Susan. Something was off here. This couldn’t be Emily.
But as he walked toward her her composure slackened, her eyes turned out tears like waterfalls. She began to trembled and sob before him. Both of the women he loved were sobbing now. James stopped a about five feet from her. Yes. It was Emily, but oh, how angry she was. He could see her anger pulsing just under her skin, could actually see it!
“J-James.” Emily sobbed and dropped to her knees. She looked up at him crying, unable to speak now as the sobs racked her.
From behind him he heard Susan also say his name.
James, now not afraid, but confused, took a few steps forward and knelt down in front of his dead wife. He reached out and touched her tear soaked face. She was cold, but not icy, as he had expected. All the movies and books were wrong about that. Ghosts aren’t always icy cold. Emily gasped at his touch and clasped his hand to her face. She closed her eyes, and James found himself closing his own; images of their past life wafted by in his mind. Images of their wedding, of Rachel being born. All were good images, strong images. Then he opened his eyes. Emily was staring at him, her mouth quivering.
“I still love you, James.” She said.
All his strength, everything, dissolved just then. He broke down, unable to quite the weeping that spewed out of him. They embraced, becoming one with each other once again. They kissed, long and good. Yes. Good.
When they parted, Emily looked over at Susan, who was still sting on the bed naked, still crying. Emily sighed. Her eye drifted back to him.
“I-I had to come back to tell you I love you. I still love you, even though I’m dead.”
James was both horrified and pleased to hear this.
“I love you.” He breathed.
This brought a bright smile to Emily’s weepy face. They hugged again, kissed, more passionately now, and then parted. They stood from the floor, holding each other’s hands.
Emily turned to Susan on the bed. She smiled. Susan, her crying almost completely gone sat, eyes wide, shaking. Emily said.
“I’m so sorry. I-I’m just so sad that this happened. I miss all of you so much.” Emily’s eyes fixed on Susan.
“Thank you for taking care of my family, Suse. Thank you for giving James someone to love.”
Susan started crying again, although not in a terrified way anymore. This, James saw, was pure simple sorrow. They were best friends before Emily died, James never thought about how much Susan must mss Emily too.
Emily nodded at Susan and turned back to James. He saw that she was fading a little, growing transparent before his eyes, losing her solidness.
“I’ve gotta go now.” Emily said.
“Em.” James managed and tried to take her hands in his again. This time he grasped only cool air. Emily smiled.
“Tell our lovely little Rachel I love her. Tell her I will always be with her.” James agreed at once.
“And you James, I will always be with you.”
Emily faded into a fine mist. And just before that mist evaporated into nothing, James swore he heard the voice of his dead wife saying:
“I still love you.”
The End
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