tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33975362815853570542024-03-07T00:13:08.422-05:00Through The NeverLucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.comBlogger77125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-8995476052542054692008-12-31T17:39:00.003-05:002008-12-31T18:02:14.596-05:00HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!...and a Thank You!<span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="color:#ff0000;">H</span><span style="color:#ffff00;">A</span><span style="color:#66cccc;">P</span><span style="color:#009900;">P</span><span style="color:#ff9966;">Y</span> <span style="color:#ff6666;">N</span><span style="color:#ff99ff;">E</span><span style="color:#ff0000;">W</span> <span style="color:#00cccc;">Y<span style="color:#ff0000;">E</span><span style="color:#33cc00;">A</span></span><span style="color:#000000;">R</span><span style="color:#ff0000;">!!!!!</span></span><br /><br />Greetings to all my Friends!<br /><br />How have you all been? Been busy as usual, so I haven't been posting as regualrly as I wanted to. To tell you the truth, I have no idea what to write about. I can post flash fitcion up every so often, but shouldn't a blog be about more than just stories? Maybe that's my problem, why I don't post much anymore. I have no clue what to post.<br /><br />I suppose I could post a bunch of writing tips, throw out some advice. But what do I know? I mean honestly? What do I know about writing, what advice could I possible give that would really inspire?<br /><br />I am published, I have learned many great things in the past couple years or so. But does that qualify me to give out advice? Maybe it does...I don't know. I try my best when approached with questions, and I think I help in some small way, but I think I should leave it to the pros. Folks such as: Charles Gramlich, Stewart Sternberg, Wayne Allen Salle, most everyone on my friends list, as a matter of fact. These are the people who know what they are talking about, and one must give them all a healthy ear. I have learn much from them all.<br /><br />So now...I want to thank ALL my friends, everyone on that list to the right. Thank you ALL for guiding me, and giving me much needed adivce and support in the past. Thank you so much!<br /><br />I will try to make my rounds and visit each of you. You are all the best.Lucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-52779899680928587162008-12-10T19:26:00.002-05:002008-12-10T19:32:52.103-05:00Contest of HorrorsHey Friends!<br /><br />Long time no write! How are all of you? Hope you are all doing very well.<br /><br />My friends over at Horror Library and Dark Recesses Press have a very cool contest going. If you'd like to participate, follow this link <a href="http://horrorlibrary.blogspot.com/2008/12/horror-library-vol-3-and-drp-10-holiday.html">http://horrorlibrary.blogspot.com/2008/12/horror-library-vol-3-and-drp-10-holiday.html</a>. In these pages you will find stories from such writers as: Clive Barker, Bentley Little, among other great, great writers. These publications are the best in everything horror. So if you're a horror fan, please check this link <a href="http://horrorlibrary.blogspot.com/2008/12/horror-library-vol-3-and-drp-10-holiday.html">http://horrorlibrary.blogspot.com/2008/12/horror-library-vol-3-and-drp-10-holiday.html</a> out and good luck!Lucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-23974494662784874212008-11-22T07:26:00.003-05:002008-11-22T07:46:28.604-05:00Bad Days...Hey Friends, you ever have a day at work when you wanted to literally kill someone, or at least maim horribly? I'm sure you have. Well, last night I had thee worst day at work. I'm a machinist by trade and the job entails one to be both crafty with their hands as well as their minds...kind of like a surgeon.<br /><br />Anyway, it was that type of night when everything and anything went wrong. Sizes on the parts were off, robot was acting up, on and on with out end. One thing after another until it came to a point where I'd had enough.<br /><br />I stepped away, angry, frustrated, wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Why can't I figure this out? I glared at the machine I run, and then turned away, disgusted with the job and the work.<br /><br />My eyes strayed to my note book, where, I have begun a new novel. I stared at it for a long time before looking away. But found myself staring back at the notebook again, mystified by it.<br /><br />Frowning, forgetting about my job, I sat down at the desk and opened the notebook to a clean page. I pressed the clicker on my pen, producing a ball point, and lowered the pen to paper.<br /><br />The next ten minutes I was lost. Writing, writing, writing...<br /><br />It wasn't until a buddy saw me there and tapped me on the shoulder did I realize how entranced I was with what I was writing. How deeply absorbed I'd become to allow everything else to fade away.<br /><br />I came to, blinked, and looked up at my buddy. He smiled, shook his head and walked away.<br /><br />My eyes found my notebook. It was then I discovered I had written a ten page short story that I vaguely remember writing.<br /><br />It's gruesome, perhaps the goriest piece I've ever wrote. But there it was, a complete story.<br /><br />After that, i felt better, I stood up, walked over to my machines (I run nine of them), and soon figured out my problem and got everything running smoothly again.<br /><br />Sometimes writing can be like a trance, or a rest from the everyday pains of work and so on. A venting tool, per say. Perhaps, I suppose, that's how some writers stay sane...perhaps...Lucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-58558474496562789812008-10-31T09:11:00.003-05:002008-10-31T09:34:28.763-05:00Day of the Dead: The Creeper<span style="font-size:180%;color:#cc0000;">HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERY ONE!</span><br /><span style="color:#000000;"></span><br /><em>Here's a little something to bring out the chills in you</em>...<br /><br /><br />The Creeper<br /><br />By Lucas Pederson<br /><br /><br />A sound, something under the floor.<br /><br />Listen...<br /><br />There! Did you hear it? No? Listen again, closely this time. It's right under your feet.<br /><br /><em>Thud-thump</em>.<br /><br />See? I'm not crazy after all. At least I don't think I am. I'm sure you've heard a sound similar to that one, right? A strange sound in your house or apartment that you just couldn't explain. A noise in the dark. <em>Bumps</em> in the night. Sure you have. And...what if I was to tell you that it's not your water heater, or your furnace, or your central air unit? What if was to tell you that it's not an appliance of any kind?<br /><br />What if I told you there's a monster under your floor? Right there under your feet as you read this. Yes. What if I told you that it's hungry? Would that unsettle you a bit? And if it doesn't, then what if I said it likes to creep out at night? Just wriggle that old floor board up and slip out into the gloom and creep around the place you live.<br /><br />And...what if I say that tonight, Halloween, it plans to creep right up to your bed while you're sleeping? Its narrow red eyes will watch you as you dream. Maybe even its black tongue will slip from its serrated maw and lap at the drool seeping from the corner of your mouth. Perhaps it'll sigh in ecstasy at the taste of you. Perhaps it'll want more.<br /><br />Tonight it can have more. Tonight is Halloween, after all. Tonight...all the monsters come out of hiding.<br /><br />So, I suggest, if you don't want this thing near your bed tonight, licking up your drool and perhaps seriously thinking of sinking its fangs into the soft flesh under your chin, then don't go home. Just stay clear of it, at least until Halloween is over.<br /><br />If you don't, <em>thud-thump</em>, it just might creep under your blankets...and find you.<br /><br />The End...<br /><br /><br /><em>Hope you all have a safe, fun Halloween</em>!Lucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-19236168665532950342008-10-26T00:26:00.003-04:002008-10-26T00:52:06.803-05:00Hell Plate ----Flash #2Hey, hey! Here's a bit of flash for Charles' freaky flash thing going on. Enjoy!<br /><br /><br />Hell Plate<br /><br />Here it spewed from the cankerous maw of the earth and into the sky. The pillar of orange, the light of Hell.<br /><br />Marcus shifted on his feet. They felt numb. His heart was beating too fast and his skin prickled with goose flesh. Save for himself, the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">plateau</span> was an empty plate. His eyes water from the sulfur stench that huffed into his sweaty face.<br /><br />He knew this night would come. He knew it would be Halloween. All things bad happen on Halloween. This year, however, would be the worst. This year was the rise of Beelzebub. Satan's second in command. The creature was too be loosed and begin it's awful plagues.<br /><br />Marcus sighed, cleared his throat and slid his sword from its scabbard at his left hip. He hefted it and then glanced at the pillar. <em>God give me strength</em>, he thought.<br /><br />The pillar split open. The odor or rot and sickness wafted to Marcus and he held his breath against it. Marcus wondered if God was watching, and decided that yes, He was watching. All Earthly Archangels were watched closely.<br /><br />Then Beelzebub lurched from the orange pillar. A hunched, diseased thing, face festooned with warts that obscured its dark face. Long claws scraped the ground as it moved out of the pillar and into the night air. It lifted its misshapen head and howled at the moon.<br /><br />"Beelzebub," Marcus growled.<br /><br />The creature straightened, red eyes fixed on Marcus, shocked.<br /><br />Marcus roared and sprinted at the monster.<br /><br />In spite of its lurching and sickness, the thing moved with the speed of hummingbird. Swift and flit. It side stepped away from Marcus and swept a claw at him. It missed.<br /><br />Marcus whirled, slashed his sword in a blinding arc. The beast yelped. Half of its warty face sloughed off and plopped wetly to the dirt and rock.<br /><br />Shrieking, Beelzebub attacked.<br /><br />But Marcus, being faster, ran his sword into the monster's sternum, twisted it, sliced upward.<br /><br />He yanked the blade out and stepped away.<br /><br />Beelzebub crumbled to the ground, wheezing, black blood poured out onto the rock of the plate.<br /><br />Then the creature's movements stilled. Marcus lifted his sword, ready to decapitate, when a low growl sounded behind him. He knew that growl well.<br /><br />"<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Celebus</span>," he gasped.<br /><br />Marcus turned, and was greeted by three sets of long silvery fangs.<br /><br />Then he knew no more.Lucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-11800961723036394612008-10-16T20:12:00.002-04:002008-10-16T20:15:28.485-04:00The Lesson<em>My Friends,</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Well, I finally made it back again. I saw Charles has a Halloween flash fiction thing going aroudn and thought I'd post something to contribute. Not sure if I'll make anymore since I'm so busy with everything right now, but I'll try. And, as always, thank you for reading!</em><br /><br /><br />The Lesson<br />By Lucas Pederson<br /><br />Humans say they see flying saucers, lights in the sky. They claim they have been abducted and probed. Most of these people are mad, some only confused. It is true we have ships, but they are nothing but machines designed for research and observation. And we have yet to abduct anyone, although we do need a sacrifice from time to time.<br /> We travel to Earth, of course, but not in spaceships, for there is no need. Not when we can teleport by our will alone. Not when we hold magic, as it were, within us.<br /> Witches. This is a word used by so many of you. And in their minds this is the truest of words, but not what we are exactly. We are…we are above mortal understanding let me say. Beyond what you are able to except and allow growing in your brain. But that is okay. There’s no need for you to understand or ponder.<br /> Still, I stray from my point.<br /> Through the centuries we have tried to co-exist with you. But you hanged us up on Gallows Hill. You hunted us down, you burned us alive. You beat us, tortured us, raped us, and we took it and moved on. We moved on, turning a blind eye to your demented actions.<br /> Well…no more. Not after how we see your planet destroying itself. And no matter how much we sometimes consider you as our brothers and sisters we will not allow this to go on.<br /> We would rather see you all turned to toads than continue on as you are. So we regretfully inform you that we have decided to take immediate action. And so we must. <br />Regretfully yours,<br />The United<br /><br /> I wrote the letter on regular notebook paper and transported it myself, with my power, to the President of the United States. There’s a joke. They call themselves united. Funny. Now I could feel the President’s shock at finding a document suddenly appear on his desk. Now I felt his eyes warily gliding over my superior script. I felt him shudder. Oh this should be great fun, indeed.<br /> What I wrote had been true for the most part. Although it is not really The United’s plan to destroy humanity. It is not even my plan. But a few others and I are tired of this war begotten planet. The people have forgotten themselves and their true place in the universe. Which is small and actually unimportant, to be blunt. Save for a few individuals, earth is virtually worthless. Well, I have chosen to change that.<br /> My own planet, Terrace, has yet to have a war. A duel here and there springs up from time to time, sure, but never a war. Wars accomplish nothing. And it is not a war I hope to inflict on humanity but fear. Their forgotten fears. I want to make them realize that they are not alone here, and are being watched carefully by forces they can not fathom. If a few die along the way, well, call it regrettable losses.<br /> I slipped into my black duster, conjured an identity spell to hide my true appearance and left my little house in the Iowa country to begin our plan.<br /> Humans are smart creatures, and perhaps they would get this message loud and clear. If not, well then it won’t end for them. Trick…or treat? We shall see. Yes we shall.<br /> The air this Halloween night chilled me to the bone, yet it gave me a sense of refreshment. A wondrous, lovely feeling. The streets were alive and jumping madly.<br /> Ghosts and ghouls, Spider-men, and yes, even witches zipped and zoomed from door to door. All bellowing cheerily:<br /> “Trick or Treeet!” I could not help the smile that lifted on my unreal face. Cute.<br />But it’s the young ones we must drill the fear into before their parents, unfortunately. The children always get the message, and if caught at the right moment they will remember it forever.<br /> A little boy dressed in a Superman costume, Shane his name was, sprinted passed me, giggling. I giggled back and with a twitch of my right finger his plastic pumpkin, nearly brimming with candy and sweets, jerked out of his hand and flew off as if it were alive. It swooshed passed me and then rocketed into the glittering night sky. I turned to look at the boy with his red cape and blue spandex and saw him standing there, gaping, eyes wide, mouth open in a perfect “O” of surprise.<br /> I chuckled and continued down the first street on the north side of town.<br /> I was soon joined by two others, my closest companions no less. Together we conjured a real spirit, or ghost for want of a better word, and sent it floating and bellowing to every child on the street. Shrill screams exploded through the air, and my companions and I laughed.<br /> Mickili, the voodoo specialist of the three of us, reanimated two dead bodies from their graves. Not bodies buried in a graveyard, but two teenagers who had been murdered some ten years ago and thrown in shallow graves in a slightly wooded area near the town’s park. Mickili sent them to wander and groan up and down this street.<br /> More screams erupted; some were adults I might add. And so it had begun…<br /> The dead walked, spirits drifted and haunted, boogiemen hid under porches, in trash cans, mail boxes, the shadows. Reaching out for whatever wandered into their territory. Reaching out and grabbing with charred black claws.<br /> Panic blew through the town like a deadly wind. <br /> “The world is at an end! Repent! Repent your sins brothers and sisters!” A short chubby preacher bawled.<br />Sick of his loud screechy voice, I turned him into a bat and sent him to flutter over hysterical humans, those still out on the streets. Most had already sought shelter in their homes. Little did they know what grotesque horrors awaited them in their own houses.<br /> Sparks sputtered from my lips as I ran my tongue out and licked them. Yes. This was delicious. Simply yummy. Human fear, it is unbeatable, a constant.<br /> A little girl, Mary was her name, seven years old, ran into me, screaming for help. I grinned down at her, blinked and suddenly she was cart-wheeling in the air above my head. Then I set her to rest at the top of the town’s courthouse. There, no harm done. No harm. And as far as I could tell there was no harm being done to anybody. A few scrapes and bruises so far, and that was their own doing. Panic is a madness, you see, one that consumes all rational thought. But, oh, they were learning now weren’t they? Yes, yep, sure. All over the world they were learning.<br /> “Now.” I whispered to myself.<br /> “Let them see a real witch.”<br /> I spoke a single word in my native tongue…and my human disguise melted away. I have never known what I look like, for if I gaze into a mirror I become trapped inside, where magic will not free me. A draw back to being what we are. But according to the people in the street, I must be absolutely hideous indeed. They saw me, each and every one, and oh how the shrieked in horror.<br /> I thrust an index finger at a man on his stoop and pointing a shotgun at me. The gun immediately slithered to life like a serpent and then twisted itself around the man’s wrist. He bellowed. I laughed and continued on.<br /> Candy littered every street I visited. Here a fun size Snickers bar, there a packet of Skittles. Everywhere! Humans darted every which way. Some simply gaping at the freakishness of me and my fellowship, most being chased by either zombies or ghosts or being dive bombed by large bats. All the Halloween tricks, by the stars.<br /> Something painful struck my back and I whirled to see a stout man with short gray hair throwing stones.<br /> “Go back to hell, Devil!” He cried and hurled another rock at me.<br />I held up one hand or claw as humans see it, and the stone froze in mid air about a foot from my face. My eyes moved from it to the man named Greg. I grinned and he flinched. I blinked and the stone reversed itself back to Greg…and smashed in his face with such a force I heard the collision, a flat thock! sound, clearly through all the mayhem and screaming and gunshots.<br /> Greg toppled to the pavement and laid still, blood pooling around his head and ruined face.<br /> I glanced at my fellowship and they glared back in stark disapproval. I could only shrug. The man had meant to kill me with those crude stones. And besides, he called me the Devil of all things. Of course I had never thought that they might conceive me as their devil, for what I was doing and what I looked like, until much later.<br /> A car, red, sporty, skidded around a corner up ahead, slued and aimed itself right at us.<br /> “No harm.” Spoke Velim, one of our Druid specialists.<br /> “No harm.” I repeated. And I meant it. Greg had been a spur of the moment mistake.<br />I clapped my hands together once and all four tires exploded. The speeding car skidded, lost control and before it made oatmeal out of five children clustered and terrified near a shrub, I snapped my fingers. The car stalled and sparked to a sideways halt only a couple feet from the cowering children. Leaving them untouched.<br /> “No harm.” I said yet again.<br />I felt more than saw my companions nodding in approval.<br /> And so the night went on, without further casualties I might add. We terrified, horrified, and taught them the lesson of their lives.<br /> The next day I sat in my house in the country, watching the morning news. The man on the television looked frazzled, eyes wary and blood shot, his hair a disarray. His face stood tainted by grime before the cameras.<br /> “Last night all over the world something happened.” This frightened man said, his face grim, but very alert, watchful.<br /> “Something unexplainable and frightening for all of us.” The newsman continued.<br /> “This brings a new meaning to Halloween here in the United States…as well as the entire world. We all know now that ghosts exist, that the dead can walk, that monsters are real…that we are not alone here.”<br /> And there it was. I smiled and let go a long sigh of relief. It was a start. Now they all know they are not alone in this world. Now they know what true fear is, now they are awake to things that go bump in the night. We are here and here we will stay…forever.<br /><br /><br />The EndLucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-7658597781096069632008-07-23T20:42:00.002-04:002008-07-23T20:50:54.673-04:00The DarkFriends! How are ya? Well, here's a poem I just wrote up about an hour ago and decided to share it with you. Enjoy.<br /><br /><br />The Dark<br /><br />Are you afraid of the dark?<br />You should be...<br />Things that gibber in the night under your bed<br />what devilish things under our beds<br />Things that smack liver colored lips in<br />The Dark<br />In the Darkness of our closests<br />Our minds<br />They unravel to the knowledge<br />Are we blind to the signs?<br />I wonder...<br />Think about the dark<br />Think hard about what lurks beyond the foot of<br />your bed<br />It is not all in your head...<br />Careful of the slumping beast in the corner<br />It is not a bundle of blankets<br />Can you not see the eyes?<br />They glare yellow from the shadows...<br />In The Dark...<br />So, be afraid<br />be wary,<br />bite your lower lip<br />to quell its trembling...<br />Be afriad of The Dark....Lucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-82520612298128999412008-07-11T20:35:00.003-04:002008-07-11T20:40:10.291-04:00Coming Soon to the Blog Near YOU!My Friends!<br /><br />How have you all been? Lol. I've been busy as hell for the past few months. I'm a reader for Dark Recesses Press (if you are a horror writer I'd definitly check this magazine out if I were you), a horror/ dark fiction magazine and PDF. So I'm reading, writing crazily...having fun.<br /><br />I think I'll be having some time to cacth up with everyone here...of course I've said that before...lol. Seriously, I will be around more often now. So, if I haven't lost any of you yet...please say hello.Lucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-16295205838184078182008-04-06T21:16:00.002-04:002008-04-06T21:41:36.028-04:00Heads Will RollHi to all my Friends!<br /><br />Well, here I am. It's been a while, yet again. All I can do is say I'm sorry. I'm not neglecting all of you, just caught up in a world of craziness. I just got accepted into another anthology. It's called Vault X. Pays 2 cents per word plus split royalties. But that doesn't matter much to me. It's another writing credit. Someone wanted my work, and it's a great feeling when someone wants to publish your work.<br /><br />So, lets see...that would make it number eleven on my pub list. The fourth acceptance this year so far. The fourth to pay and the sixth to be in print. Heads will ROLL by God! Lol. I'm still in awe that it's finally happening. I'm finally published, finding it easier and eaiser to write better. To be fresh and crisp and alive...like a red apple still on the tree. All I can say is that I'm having the time of my life.<br /><br />As for what I'm up to right now, well, the group novel is out of hiatus and back in progess again. This is a really fun project and I can't wait to see what its like altogether. My novel is moving along, sometimes in long bounds...most in short spurts and coughs. But its moving, there's that. Lol.<br /><br />Well, I'll leave you to it...writing and life as you know it. Be happy, all of you. Always be happy...Lucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-53245754767746107472008-02-06T14:46:00.000-05:002008-02-06T14:56:51.760-05:00Excerpt of group novel! Lookit!Hey all my Friends!<br />Here's a little taste of what I've been working on lately. I decided to let each writer create their own character for the novel and write a complete chapter of him/or her. What follows is some of mine. Your thoughts woould be good. Thanks!<br /><br />Chapter 1: Blake Olson<br /><br />Tilting his head to the night sky, eyes fixing for a moment on the fat, bright moon and then shifting away, Blake brought the bottle of Wild Turkey Bourbon to his lips and knocked back a couple heavy swigs. When done, he hissed out a long, hot sigh, and rested the bottle on his right knee.<br /><br />Beside his lawn chair, lying lifelessly on the dewy grass, his dog, Pepper, a mutt if ever there was one, began to snore. Back in the house, Rowdy would already be in bed, fast asleep and dreaming whatever kids dreamed about these days. But then again, Rowdy wasn’t your average kid. Blake had never known a person with so much imagination. And talent! Christ! The kid had the talent of Da Vinci, with a dash of Todd McFarland thrown in for good measure.<br /><br />Rowdy also had Downs Syndrome. And that was too bad. To Blake it seemed like such a waste, because, folks with Downs, or any other mental challenges, would never be accepted in today’s world of low carb diets, glamour shots and Deal or No Deal. Blake sighed, eyes returning to the moon.<br /><br />“Well, Pepp,” he said and lit a cigarette. “Here we are again. Two bachelors just kickin back and watching the moon. Feels good, huh?”<br /><br />Pepper let loose a bubbly fart in response and went on snoring.<br /><br />Blake glanced down at the dog, then threw back his head and brayed laughter into the night air.<br /><br />Across the street, the bedroom window of his friend and neighbor, Ralph Ramsey, flickered alight.<br /><br /> “Uh-oh,” Blake managed when he saw and continued to donkey laugh himself into heavy wheezing.<br /><br />Something that felt like steel bands clamped around his chest and the wheezing thickened. Phlegm built up in his windpipe, threatening to drown him alive. The cigarette dropped from his hand, landed on Pepper, bounced off. Pepper didn’t notice. The bottle of Wild Turkey spilled from Blake’s lap and toppled to the ground, gurgling out its brownish contents. Blake doubled over, breath shallow, filled with phlegm. He groped for the right pocket of his jeans. Reddish blobs burst before his watery eyes.<br /><br />He shoved his trembling hand into the pocket, and yanked out an albuterol inhaler. He felt a firm hand grasp his shoulder. Someone was telling him to just take it easy, and breathe damn it, breathe…He pulled off the cap of the inhaler, his vision blurring, fading, stuck the mouth piece between his lips, pushed down the cylinder as he sucked in what little air he could. He did it again, and again. Finally, the medicine took hold, and his wheezing softened, the steel bands around his chest loosened slowly, the phlegm trickled down his throat. The hand on his shoulder eased, dropped away, and Blake fell back in his hair, taking long, slow breaths, eyes closed. As always, after a bout like that, he felt drained and embarrassed, weak and inferior.<br /><br />My lungs, he thought. My fucking weak ass lungs.<br /><br />Then—“You stupid sonofabitch,” a man’s voice, old but strong, quaked him from the inside out. He knew that voice right away, as he had known whose hand it had been on his shoulder. Ralph. Ralph Ramsey. When he opened his eyes, Ralph was standing in front of him, frowning in the gloom.<br /><br />“Hey Ralph,” Blake breathed.<br /><br />The old man’s face contorted into what appeared to be frustration. “Don’t ‘Hey Ralph’ me, you nit-wit. What are you doing smoking when you know you’re not supposed to?”<br /><br />Blake shrugged.“Seemed like a good thing to do at the time,” he said. Ralph rolled his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was like thunder. “You’re killing yourself, kid! Can’t you see that?”<br /><br />Blake chuckled; the bourbon was really kicking in now. Ralph appeared to be wavering where he stood.“Monkey see, monkey do,” Blake said, and laughed.<br /><br />“Yeah, well, you’re gonna be one dead monkey if you don’t watch it. And what about Rowdy? What’s gonna happen to him if you go? Ever think of that?” Ralph said.<br /><br />Now the old man seemed to be dancing, bopping and jiving in front of Blake. The world around them began to spin like one of those old record players. Slow at first, but gaining speed.Blake opened his mouth to respond, but instead of speaking, vomited into his lap.<br /><br />“Christ, kid,” Ralph said.Blake leaned forward, vomited again. And then the spinning world faded away. He hung in darkness.<br /><br />2<br />He floated in the darkness. But it was the darkness of his nightmares now. He jostled, floated, like a human bobber on a wavy lake. Floated, jostled, floated, bobbed. Blake knew he was in his nightmares again. He knew it, but had no power to wake his outer-self up. Besides, his nightmares wouldn’t allow such an easy escape so early in the game. His nightmares were real pricks, to be honest. Real fuck-a-roos.<br /><br />Blake swam, bobbed, glanced around. He knew they’d be coming, yet he felt calm about it. He always felt calm until they actually came. Was that madness? To feel calm in an unstill darkness, knowing evil things were about to emerge, claws outstretched, fangs gnashing? Maybe, but what else could he do? How else should he feel? Sure, okay, he could be scared shitless, but this wasn’t the first time his nightmares have stolen the real world from under him. Or was this the real world? Jesus, he didn’t know anymore. Since Rowdy’s and his parents died, run over by a semi crossing the street downtown, he wasn’t sure how to feel about anything. He was twenty-five, and had his own apartment over in what Masonites called “The Old Town”, had a great job writing for the local paper.<br /><br />Then his parents were killed, and there was no one to take care of Rowdy.Now, twenty-seven, working two jobs, one still at the paper, the other working the night shift at a steel fabrication company just outside of town, and living in his parents house again, he wondered if this was his punishment for letting them die? Of course it was. Hadn’t been he who wanted them to check out a new apartment downtown because he was too busy to do it himself? Yep. Check mate. Do not pass Go. And what was the real truth why he couldn’t look at the apartment? Why, the ghost, of course; the ghost that haunted his apartment building. The one that liked to yank the blankets off him every time he was about to doze off. So he had been tired. Blake had slept through his parents’ death. He didn’t know anything, except how to work, get drunk, smoke, and take care of his kid brother.<br /><br />In other words, he knew how to kill himself. In the dark, Blake shivered.The first one slipped out of the wavy dark, shrieking his name, red eyes slanted downward in an ominous glare, long fangs bared. IT moved swiftly to him. And here was Blake’s cue to start screaming. The second emerged, crocodile maw snapping, ragged talons lashing the oily air. Blake’s scream never wavered and real horror burst through his dream self, freezing him in the dark waves of his nightmares.<br /><br />The third swept in, and he was consumed by their brutality. His skin was ripped from his body, slashed off with every sweep of a claw. His muscles were torn from the bones, his eyes poked out by sharp talons. The pain, the sheer agony, the horror, blasted through him as he was torn apart like shucked corn. He screamed…<br /><br />Blake snapped awake, bringing the scream back with him to the real world, the outside world. He sat bolt upright in his bed. Yes. He was in his bed now, in his room. Sunlight shined in through the drapes over his bedroom window, bathing him in a dull yellowish color like a nicotine stain.<br /><br />Sweat oiled his face and body, soaked the sheet covering him.Lucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-13442713464198178482008-01-12T23:14:00.000-05:002008-01-12T23:31:07.105-05:00HA!!Hi to all my Friends!!<br /><br />Well, I've got some more news! Here goes:<br /><br />#1: I've been asked to write a novel for a the micropublisher Steel Moon Publishing! It all began from a small paragraph I posted on the forum from a novella I had just completed. I'm still shocked! traditonal publishing, micropublishing, it's all the same to me. As long as I get a novel into print...I'm happy. It's about seeing my name on a book I knew I wrote. Sure, money is a good a thing, don't get me wrong, but money isn't everything. I'm so happy!<br /><br />#2: I'm also heading a small group of writers in another novel. It's going to be collaborative, and so far, we're in the planning stage as of yet, piece. I can't wait to get started on the thing, but I want to finish my first novel before I delve too deep into the collaborative one. It's fun!<br /><br />#3: Stop over at <a href="http://www.steelmoonpublishing.us/">www.steelmoonpublishing.us</a> go to the ezine and then click on the Stories button. A new stroy called "Shrouded" is published there! Plus there's some other great stories there, so if not for me, just check it out anyway. The stories are worth it. Enjoy!<br /><br />Okay, that's all for now. I'll post a story here in the near future, though now I'm doubly busy, so there's no telling when that might be. I hope soon! I also hope you are doing well, my good friends. I wish you all the best, and thank from the bottom of my heart. As always, you're wonderful!Lucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-58030170835888503262007-12-23T17:18:00.000-05:002007-12-23T23:09:43.055-05:00Trapped: A Christmas TaleTrapped<br /><br />By: Lucas Pederson<br /><br />+Taken from a cellular phone voice recording+<br /><br />(Humming, a small laugh)<br />"Christmas Eve night and I'm stuck here. Of all the places to get stranded, it had to be at work.<br />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.<br />No such luck." (Sighs)<br />"I look out the square security glass window of the entrance door.<br />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!<br />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.<br />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!<br />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)<br />"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..."<br />(Click)<br /><br />(soft voices in the background, someone coughs quietly)<br />"Someone did get hurt, bad. Not just hurt but <span style="font-style: italic;">killed.</span> Murdered." (A pause.)<br />(subtle clacking, a woman whines)<br />"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.)<br />(Clanging noises, a shriek)<br />"Gotta go."<br />(Click)<br /><br />(A man telling someone named Brent to stop with the cell phone shit already)<br />"Up yours Harold."<br />"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. "<br />(Harold's voice shouting: Shut the fuck up!)<br />(A long pause.)<br />"I moved away from the group so I could talk about all this without making any of them angrier than they already were.<br />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."<br />(A loud howl is heard)<br />"Christ, what was that? I going to go see. It almost sounded like I imagine a person dying of torture. "<br />(Brent's breathing, the sounds of movement)<br />"Ah shit! It's Joe! But..."<br />(Click)<br /><br />(Screaming)<br />"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!"<br />(Click)<br /><br />"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.<br />(Thud-thump, snap!)<br />"Shit! Shit! He found me! He found me!" (Snap! Crack! Snap! <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Crash</span>!)<br />"AHHGGHHH!"<br />(Click)<br /><br />(Heavy, wet breathing, a low grunt)<br />"Got'em all...Yummmm."<br />(Click)<br /><br />(Rustling, a soft, shuddering moan, cursing)<br />"Dying, s-so much blood. Hard to breathe. Joe gone. Don't, don't know where. Dying."<br />(More rustling, a loud wet cough)<br />"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..."<br />"Love...you...all..."<br />(Click)<br /><br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />Three years to the day. Christmas Eve.<br />Her eyes found the cell phone again, and she began to sob.<br />Brent had brought her a present. He had brought it from death, so she would know what happened.<br />Amy crumpled to the floor, sobbing.<br /><br />The End<br /><br /><br />*Hi my Friends!<br />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.<br />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.... :-)<br /><br />Thanks for reading and I hope you all have a <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">very</span></span> <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">Merry</span>, very <span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">Happy</span> Holidays!</span></span><br /><br />-LucasLucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-74400401780950236422007-12-01T16:07:00.000-05:002007-12-01T16:21:21.013-05:00Cats and ChristmasMy Friends!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!<br /><br />Now here's the real reason, besides saying hello, of course, for this post. I have a story <span style="font-weight: bold;">published in print now!!!!</span> It's an anthology called "Cats Around the Christmas Tree". You can check it out here <a href="http://www.lulu.com/content/1464354">Christmas Cats</a><br />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. :-)<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Thanks to all of you!!!! Again, it's you I can't thank enough. I'll be posting a story here before Christmas. Later.Lucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-8882190445930313242007-11-22T19:11:00.000-05:002007-11-22T20:54:31.093-05:00Gobble-Gobble: The Feast<em>Hi to all my Friends...and Happy Thanksgiving!</em><br /><em>Here's a story just right for the holiday in question. Enjoy!</em><br /><br />Gobble-Gobble: The Feast<br />By Lucas Pederson<br /><br />A crisp breeze licked at Ty's exposed skin as he knelt down to examine the tracks.<br />A grin lifted on his smooth face, eyes gleamed. The monster, the one he was looking for.<br />"Got ya," he growled, stood up straight and reslung the shotgun.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />Ty crouched slightly, unslung his shotgun, and slowly advanced up the trail, the path.<br />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.<br />His eyes lowered to the snow. The tracks there were deep, large. He'd be looking for a hefty male.<br />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.<br />Ty brought up the shotgun, pointed the muzzle at the male turkey, and held his breath.<br />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.<br />"The fuck you think you're doin?!" cried the massive turkey.<br />Not gibberish, but words, actual words.<br />Ty let go a shuddery breath. Did he really hear what he thought he heard? Did that turkey just talk?<br />The turkey waddled forward, lowered it's ugly mangled head and said.<br />"Get outta hear boy...or I'll eat out your eyes and let my bitches here peck out your teeth one by one."<br />The gun lowered slightly. Ty shook his head. This couldn't be real, could it?<br />The turkey eyed Ty.<br />"You def or dense, boy?"<br />Ty stared, frozen in terror. The turkey was actually talking.<br />The the monster reared its head.<br />"Oh, I see. You were lookin for a meal. Well, not this one, son. Move along, or <em>I'll </em>eat <em>you</em>."<br />"No," Ty managed.<br />"No? You are a dumb one aren't you?" spoke the turkey.<br />It shuffled forward, the female turkeys three in all waddled to either side of it.<br />"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?"<br />The females gibbered their agreement. Gibbered, did not not talk. But they studies Ty greedily.<br />Ty raised the gun again, the freeze holding him thawing slightly.<br />"Stay there," he said, though his voice was hardly above a whisper.<br />The monster turkey chuckled.<br />"Girls, I believe we got ourselves a feast."<br />Ty pulled the trigger.<br />One of the females flew backwards in a poof of feathers. The others gasped.<br />The male turkey's beady black eyes never left Ty.<br />"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."<br />Now it was shuffling through the trees toward Ty, the other females had begun to growl.<br />"How dare you kill...without knowing anything!" And as it spoke, long, fangs grew from the edges of its ugly beak.<br />The large turkey seemed to grow larger with every shuffle. It's beady black eyes burned red.<br />Ty pulled the trigger again. Another female burst into a rain of feathers.<br />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.<br />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.<br />The remaining female gaped at Ty, utter a brief gobble, and shot off into the forest.<br />The monster lay, its wings twitching in the blood snow.<br />Ty moved to it, shotgun trained on its head.<br />The fangs were gone now, the red eyes black once again. It looked up at Ty.<br />"Hope you fuckin choke," it garbled and then felt limp.<br />Ty crushed its head with the butt of his shotgun.<br /><br />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.<br />"Sure is a big one," his mom said, slicing a potato in two.<br />"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.<br />He sighed, began to turn away, and then the large monster turkey started flopping around in the cooker.<br />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.<br />Then a window burst open somewhere in the house, then another.<br />His mom was screaming, backing away, shaking her head violently.<br />Ty ran to the living room. He had to get his shotgun before.<br />Four female turkeys stood before the gun cabinet like sentry guards. Ty moved toward them,a nd then growled deeply.<br />Something gibbered behind him.<br />He turned to see another female standing there, glaring hatefully up at him. Ty's hear thrummed with horror.<br />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.<br />HE spun to the the other four, they had advanced a few feet toward him. They were still growling.<br />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.<br />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.<br />Gobbling from behind him.<br />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.<br />Then he heard his mom shrieking. The turkeys were flung off of him one by one.<br />Ty sat up, hurt, bleeding, but otherwise fine.<br />His mom was beating the female turkey's to death with a broom, skrieking madly.<br />The kitchen plumed with feathers.<br />An hour later, and all the turkeys were dead.<br />Ty and his mom sent each one through the wood chipper out back.<br />Standing there, covered with blood, chunks of flesh and speckled with feathers, Ty's mom turned to him.<br />"Denny's?" she asked.<br />Ty smiled. He nodded. Denny's never sounded so good.<br /><br />The EndLucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-10442237370579433862007-11-10T15:39:00.000-05:002007-11-10T16:01:58.735-05:00The Hellish SynopsisHi to all my Friends!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!<br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!<br /><br />-LucasLucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-4821342119541283252007-10-25T09:57:00.000-04:002007-10-26T10:04:39.290-04:00The Maze<span style="font-style: italic;">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.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Anyway, back to what this blog is about...stories.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Here's one, a short one, appropriate for us horror writers favorite holiday...Halloween.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Enjoy.</span><br /><br />The Maze<br />By Lucas Pederson<br /><br />Moving fast through the corn, Gabby glanced over her shoulder.<br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Behind her, something let loose a deep roar that vibrated her from the inside out.<br /><br />GAbby began to cry then. There was no way out. No way out of this fucking maze!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Still screaming, heart racing as fast as her legs pumped, Gabby emerged into a gloomy swamp.<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />The hand slipped back into the earth with a sick squelching sound.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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...<br /><br />Silver snakes, no, not snakes, tentacles, shot out of the water and lashed out at her.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Gabby shrieked.<br /><br />She was still shrieking as the monstrosity swallowed her whole.<br /><br />The End<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Happy Halloween everyone! I might get one more scary story in before Halloween day...we'll see. Time is difficult to harness now days...</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Thanks...Later.</span>Lucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-7237199265921542142007-10-10T20:23:00.000-04:002007-10-10T20:40:13.339-04:00NEWS!!!My dear friends!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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: <a href="http://www.steelmoonpublishing.us">www.steelmoonpublishing.us</a> 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.<br /><br />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!<br /><br />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!!!Lucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-76999695842519021952007-09-23T20:32:00.000-04:002007-09-24T21:40:00.021-04:00Silver Grin<span style="font-style: italic;">Hi, My dear Friends,</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">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..</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Silver Grin<br /><br /></span>By: Lucas Pederson<br /><br />Over purple flecked boulders and scraggly trees, the somber green moon casts it unearthly glow over the land.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />What does it hate? We do not know. We have to delve deeper into this mystery to find that out.<br /><br />Shall we go? Good. Now where did--<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />For now, we ignore the roar and follow the black shape.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Quick, like a summer gale, we rush at the building...and soon find ourselves inside.<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Mustering our courage, we float swiftly over, suck in a nonexistent breath, and waft into the room.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Shsh. Listen, the black shape, yes our black shape, is speaking.<br /><br />"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."<br /><br />There is no answer, and the throne remains empty.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">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.</span>Lucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-86938527572463693182007-09-14T20:37:00.000-04:002007-09-15T23:20:06.789-04:00First Sentence: Blood, Hell, and High Water<span style="font-style: italic;">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:</span><br /><br />Blood, Hell, and High Water<br /><br />By Lucas Pederson<br /><br />Black, like charred bacon, I saw what no one should ever see.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Soft mewling noises wafted up from the pitiful creature squirming on the floor of my boat.<br /><br />"Godam," Josh, my good friend, whispered directly behind me. He was staring over my shoulder.<br /><br />I gave him a sharp nudge, not to move him exactly, but so I could distance myself from the thing on my boat floor.<br /><br />Josh backed up without a word.<br /><br />The black blubbery mass mewled, its leathery flesh, like a bat wing, pulsed.<br /><br />"What the fuck is that?" Josh asked.<br /><br />I could only shake my head.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />A shudder ran through me, and I took another step back. The boat rocked.<br /><br />"Shit, man, stop," Josh nearly screamed. "We're runnin out of boat!"<br /><br />I stopped. My eyes never left the creature lying there amongst the empty beer and soda cans, and vacant cigarette packs.<br /><br />I only knew one thing.<br /><br />"Give me the net," I said.<br /><br />Something jabbed the small of my back.<br /><br />"Here," Josh said.<br /><br />I turned just enough to grab the fish net and then checked the small black thing.<br /><br />I froze.<br /><br />Now, I saw two green eyes glaring up at me from that awful mess of writhing flesh.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"Jesus," I gasped and I heard Josh pull in a breath of his own.<br /><br />Then the small black being started to make loud clicking noises.<br /><br />I glanced back at Josh. He shrugged where he sat next to the boat motor.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Josh's eyes balls popped from their sockets and dangled on their pink stalks against his ashy cheeks.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />More blood spurted in every direction. A warm mist dotted my face. And I screamed.<br /><br />Behind me something growled deeply.<br /><br />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?"<br /><br />A long black tail whipped and lashed at the boat's sides.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />I let the net go. The evil croc-like thing roared.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />I wrote this for me, so I can cope.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Hell...is Hell.<br /><br />The End<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">There, finally I got it out. Finally. Let me know what you think of this one. Be honest. Thanks for reading!!</span>Lucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-81268220693292330272007-09-11T21:47:00.000-04:002007-09-11T22:00:11.033-04:00Hmmm....Hiddy ho everybody! All my friends that still visit me from time to time.<br />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!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />I still miss all the writing I used to do. Perhaps soon I will ahve enough time to really get going again...perhaps.<br /><br />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..<br /><br />Later.Lucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-75863571514813926732007-09-03T19:23:00.000-04:002007-09-03T19:36:04.854-04:00First Sentence Assigment: ExtremeMy Friends,<br /><br />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.<br />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:<br />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:<br /><br />"<em>Black, like charred bacon, I saw what no one should ever see</em>."<br /><br />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...<br /><br />Later.Lucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-30656907973211902482007-08-30T20:45:00.000-04:002007-08-30T21:26:49.447-04:00The End of the Whole MessMy Friends,<br /><br />How be it, all? The Cold Mountain series has flopped on me. I'm sorry to say it <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">because</span> I was having so much fun with it. But, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">unfortunately</span>, 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.<br /><br />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 <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">the</span> 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!<br /><br />Later.Lucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-9842865835570015392007-08-23T20:34:00.000-04:002007-08-23T21:31:37.858-04:00Ice Mountain: Part 8My Friends,<br /><br />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....<br /><br /><br /><em>Gentle cool hands fell on her shoulders.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>"I will show you, dear Sara," whispered Gilead in her ear.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>"I will show you the power in yourself</em>." <br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"One more thing must be shown, dear Sara," Gilead spoke from the shadows of the private chamber he had given her for this "showing".<br /><br />She started in her bed and sat up, heart hammering.<br /><br />"Tis alright, Sara. Tomorrow we shall well out the power that shall destroy the dragon."<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"Good night, my dear," Gilead spoke softly from the shadows.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />She lay back down and pulled the quilt up to her chin. She shuddered.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />****<br /><br />"Hold your hand out to me," Gilead said.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Sara held out her hand, palm down.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"Here is your advantage,"<br /><br />Sara blinked, looked at her hand and then narrowed her eyes on Gilead.<br /><br />"My hand?" she asked.<br /><br />Gilead's smile lengthened slightly.<br /><br />"No," he said. "Your palm."<br /><br />"It is your palm where <em>your</em> advantages lie. The touch. A mother's touch."<br /><br />Head reeling she opened her mouth to ask what he was talking about, but he silenced her with a swish of his free hand.<br /><br />"Your palm," Gilead said, "is the outlet."<br /><br />Even more confused, Sara shook her head. Outlet?<br /><br />Gilead sighed.<br /><br />"Tis where you advantage power will expel from, dear heart."<br /><br />Sara nodded, not really understanding, but close enough.<br /><br />Gilead nodded back.<br /><br />"Now," he said and let go of her hand.<br /><br />He placed his other hand on her left breast. He did not cup it or caress it, merely place it there.<br /><br />"Here is where your power is built. Here is where it is stored."<br /><br />Gilead stepped away. He snapped his fingers and a goat appeared at the center of the room, six feet or so from Sara.<br /><br />He pointed at the goat, which stood glancing around as if lost. It was defiantly that.<br /><br />"See the billy?" He asked.<br /><br />Sara nodded.<br /><br />"Turn him into ash," Gilead said.<br /><br />Shaking her head, Sara backed a way a couple steps.<br /><br />"Point at him, and say: Ashes, and it will be done."<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Gilead chuckled.<br /><br />"Do not fear. This is for your son," he said.<br /><br />This ignited both sorrow and anger in her. She thrust a finger at the old billy goat ans said.<br /><br />"Ashes!"<br /><br />There came a flash of blue light, and the goat was nothing more now than a heap of gray ash.<br /><br />Amazed, Sara turned to Gilead. He smiled and nodded.<br /><br />"That, my dear, is your advantage," he said.<br /><br />****<br /><br />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.<br /><br />A bony finger tapped her on the shoulder. She turned.<br /><br />Gilead stood, his face soft and kind.<br /><br />"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."<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"You, dear Sara," he whispered in her ear, "are the only hope for this world. Andrew awaits."<br /><br />He let her go, smiled, and then hurried back into his massive mystical cabin.<br /><br />Ruog led White Girl to her, bowed.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Soon, Sara was at the base of the mountain. Ice Mountain.<br /><br />(To be Continued)Lucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-75882591914482197452007-08-17T17:55:00.000-04:002007-08-18T15:46:54.525-04:00Ice Mountain: Part 7<em>"H-Help," she managed. Her throat burned with misuse. </em><br /><br /><br /><em>Gods, the creature had been brutal to her body.</em><br /><br /><em>The bearded man gave her a nod and soon they led her to their village</em>.<br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"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."<br /><br />Fuog smiled softly, blue eyes kind, gentle.<br /><br />"And he shall help you, I promise this will all my heart," Fuog said and gestured her toward the double doors.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />The doors opened and a voice, calm, kind, spoke.<br /><br />"Please, Sara, come in. We have much to palaver, I suspect."<br /><br />Wide eyed, Sara entered the huge cabin of stones.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"Come," Said that kind voice she had heard upon opening the doors.<br /><br />"Come forward, dear Sara."<br /><br />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.<br /><br />The man stepped back a little, still smiling.<br /><br />"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.<br /><br />The sword, was her father's.<br /><br />"H-How-"Sara began.<br /><br />The man chuckled lightly and said,<br /><br />"You will need his sword for slaying the dragon, dear Sara. It is the only one in existence that can."<br /><br />He handed her the sword. Then he pointed to her side.<br /><br />"That one, will not."<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"I am Gilead. These kind folks call me their king, I am more widely known as a wizard, however."<br /><br />"That's how you know my name," Sara said, a shred of light entered her mind.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"And it is how I have this to give you," said Gilead.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"The sword heals itself, Sara," Gilead said, as if reading her mind.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"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?"<br /><br />Sara remembered.<br /><br />"On a journey to stop the Great Horde of Slogguth," She said.<br /><br />"Yes," Gilead said, "but where?"<br /><br />Sara shook her head, that much she could not remember.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"'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."<br /><br />Sara frowned.<br /><br />"How did it get in my mind? The poison--"<br /><br />"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."<br /><br />Her frown deepened.<br /><br />"What do you mean?" she asked.<br /><br />"Andrew," Said Gilead, "is destined to be king of All World."<br /><br />Sara stood, gaping. All World. That meant he was to be king of every kingdom! But--<br /><br />"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."<br /><br />She turned away from the wizard, feeling as though she would weep. How was she to stop such a monster? How?<br /><br />Gentle cool hands fell on her shoulders.<br /><br />"I will show you, dear Sara," Whispered Gilead in her ear.<br /><br />"I will show you the power in yourself."<br /><br />(To be Continued...)<br /><br />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!Lucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3397536281585357054.post-5828953139249052752007-08-12T20:16:00.000-04:002007-08-12T20:47:27.030-04:00Ice Mountain: Part 6<em>With all her will, she pushed herself into the hole in the darkness. She pushed, growling with both rage and desparation. </em><br /><em></em><br /><em>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.</em><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />It lurched forward on feet sporting sharp curled talons.<br /><br />Sarah held her breath, she didn't have a weapon here, in her own mind. There was no way to--<br /><br />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.<br /><br />"Naughty, naughty, little girl. You should not be playing with such dangerous things," it said and stooped to pick up the sword.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Sarah swept it from the floor, and attacked.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Her father's sword droppped from her hands. She turned and--<br /><br />"Woman?" asked the hairy faced man, poised so close to her face she could smell the stench of long ago ale.<br /><br />"H-Help," she managed. Her throat burned with misuse. Gods, the ctreature had been brutal to her body.<br /><br />The beared man gave her a nod.<br /><br />Soon, they led her to their village.<br /><br />(To be Continued)<br /><br />In case you haven't had a chance to see the ealier post, do so. Just scroll down. Thanks everyone!!!Lucas Pedersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13072101177732602824noreply@blogger.com7