Through The Never

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!...and a Thank You!

2008-12-31T17:39:00.003-05:00

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!

Greetings to all my Friends!

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.

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?

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.

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!

I will try to make my rounds and visit each of you. You are all the best.

Contest of Horrors

2008-12-10T19:26:00.002-05:00

Hey Friends!

Long time no write! How are all of you? Hope you are all doing very well.

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 http://horrorlibrary.blogspot.com/2008/12/horror-library-vol-3-and-drp-10-holiday.html. 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 http://horrorlibrary.blogspot.com/2008/12/horror-library-vol-3-and-drp-10-holiday.html out and good luck!

Bad Days...

2008-11-22T07:26:00.003-05:00

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The next ten minutes I was lost. Writing, writing, writing...

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.

I came to, blinked, and looked up at my buddy. He smiled, shook his head and walked away.

My eyes found my notebook. It was then I discovered I had written a ten page short story that I vaguely remember writing.

It's gruesome, perhaps the goriest piece I've ever wrote. But there it was, a complete story.

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.

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...

Day of the Dead: The Creeper

2008-10-31T09:11:00.003-05:00

HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERY ONE!

Here's a little something to bring out the chills in you...

The Creeper

By Lucas Pederson

A sound, something under the floor.

Listen...

There! Did you hear it? No? Listen again, closely this time. It's right under your feet.

Thud-thump.

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. Bumps 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?

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.

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.

Tonight it can have more. Tonight is Halloween, after all. Tonight...all the monsters come out of hiding.

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.

If you don't, thud-thump, it just might creep under your blankets...and find you.

The End...

Hope you all have a safe, fun Halloween!

Hell Plate ----Flash #2

2008-10-26T00:26:00.003-04:00

Hey, hey! Here's a bit of flash for Charles' freaky flash thing going on. Enjoy!

Hell Plate

Here it spewed from the cankerous maw of the earth and into the sky. The pillar of orange, the light of Hell.

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 plateau was an empty plate. His eyes water from the sulfur stench that huffed into his sweaty face.

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.

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. God give me strength, he thought.

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.

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.

"Beelzebub," Marcus growled.

The creature straightened, red eyes fixed on Marcus, shocked.

Marcus roared and sprinted at the monster.

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.

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.

Shrieking, Beelzebub attacked.

But Marcus, being faster, ran his sword into the monster's sternum, twisted it, sliced upward.

He yanked the blade out and stepped away.

Beelzebub crumbled to the ground, wheezing, black blood poured out onto the rock of the plate.

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.

"Celebus," he gasped.

Marcus turned, and was greeted by three sets of long silvery fangs.

Then he knew no more.

The Lesson

2008-10-16T20:12:00.002-04:00

My Friends,

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!

The Lesson
By Lucas Pederson

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.
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.
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.
Still, I stray from my point.
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.
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.
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.
Regretfully yours,
The United

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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Ghosts and ghouls, Spider-men, and yes, even witches zipped and zoomed from door to door. All bellowing cheerily:
“Trick or Treeet!” I could not help the smile that lifted on my unreal face. Cute.
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.
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.
I chuckled and continued down the first street on the north side of town.
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.
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.
More screams erupted; some were adults I might add. And so it had begun…
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.
Panic blew through the town like a deadly wind.
“The world is at an end! Repent! Repent your sins brothers and sisters!” A short chubby preacher bawled.
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.
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.
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.
“Now.” I whispered to myself.
“Let them see a real witch.”
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.
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.
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.
Something painful struck my back and I whirled to see a stout man with short gray hair throwing stones.
“Go back to hell, Devil!” He cried and hurled another rock at me.
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.
Greg toppled to the pavement and laid still, blood pooling around his head and ruined face.
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.
A car, red, sporty, skidded around a corner up ahead, slued and aimed itself right at us.
“No harm.” Spoke Velim, one of our Druid specialists.
“No harm.” I repeated. And I meant it. Greg had been a spur of the moment mistake.
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.
“No harm.” I said yet again.
I felt more than saw my companions nodding in approval.
And so the night went on, without further casualties I might add. We terrified, horrified, and taught them the lesson of their lives.
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.
“Last night all over the world something happened.” This frightened man said, his face grim, but very alert, watchful.
“Something unexplainable and frightening for all of us.” The newsman continued.
“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.”
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.

The End

The Dark

2008-07-23T20:42:00.002-04:00

Friends! How are ya? Well, here's a poem I just wrote up about an hour ago and decided to share it with you. Enjoy.

The Dark

Are you afraid of the dark?
You should be...
Things that gibber in the night under your bed
what devilish things under our beds
Things that smack liver colored lips in
The Dark
In the Darkness of our closests
Our minds
They unravel to the knowledge
Are we blind to the signs?
I wonder...
Think about the dark
Think hard about what lurks beyond the foot of
your bed
It is not all in your head...
Careful of the slumping beast in the corner
It is not a bundle of blankets
Can you not see the eyes?
They glare yellow from the shadows...
In The Dark...
So, be afraid
be wary,
bite your lower lip
to quell its trembling...
Be afriad of The Dark....

Coming Soon to the Blog Near YOU!

2008-07-11T20:35:00.003-04:00

My Friends!

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.

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.

Heads Will Roll

2008-04-06T21:16:00.002-04:00

Hi to all my Friends!

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.

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.

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.

Well, I'll leave you to it...writing and life as you know it. Be happy, all of you. Always be happy...

Excerpt of group novel! Lookit!

2008-02-06T14:46:00.000-05:00

Hey all my Friends!
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!

Chapter 1: Blake Olson

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.

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.

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.

“Well, Pepp,” he said and lit a cigarette. “Here we are again. Two bachelors just kickin back and watching the moon. Feels good, huh?”

Pepper let loose a bubbly fart in response and went on snoring.

Blake glanced down at the dog, then threw back his head and brayed laughter into the night air.

Across the street, the bedroom window of his friend and neighbor, Ralph Ramsey, flickered alight.

“Uh-oh,” Blake managed when he saw and continued to donkey laugh himself into heavy wheezing.

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.

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.

My lungs, he thought. My fucking weak ass lungs.

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.

“Hey Ralph,” Blake breathed.

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?”

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?”

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.

“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.

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.

“Christ, kid,” Ralph said.Blake leaned forward, vomited again. And then the spinning world faded away. He hung in darkness.

2
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.

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.

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.

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.

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…

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.

Sweat oiled his face and body, soaked the sheet covering him.

HA!!

2008-01-12T23:14:00.000-05:00

Hi to all my Friends!!

Well, I've got some more news! Here goes:

#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!

#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!

#3: Stop over at www.steelmoonpublishing.us 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!

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!

Trapped: A Christmas Tale

2007-12-23T17:18:00.000-05:00

Trapped

By: Lucas Pederson

+Taken from a cellular phone voice recording+

(Humming, a small laugh)
"Christmas Eve night and I'm stuck here. Of all the places to get stranded, it had to be at work.
The weather had been bad, heavy blowing snow, severe drifting, coming into work, but I figured it wouldn't last long and by the time my shift ended, the road crews would be outs, clearing a nice path for my way home.
No such luck." (Sighs)
"I look out the square security glass window of the entrance door.
The snow hasn't let up and now a drift as tall as my stomach stretches out across the front of the door, like a dead white tentacle. It's an hour passed the end of my shift, and already i feel the first pangs of cabin fever. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it's true. I have just finished up a twelve hour night. I'm beat, ready for my nice warm bed, the heat of my wife snoozing beside me, the feel of her breast on my arm as she snuggles close. Christ, I need to get home!
I had tried earlier to get out, but the huge drift before the door hindered every attempt. And since it's Christmas Eve, all the other entrances and exits are locked internally by computers. The entire building is shutdown, save for my little section on the north end.
I walk back to my machine, feeling drained, tired as hell. I want to get home to my family. It's Christmas Eve, after all, but I can't. That stupid big ass snow drift is in the way!
Sitting down in a chair, I swivel around to my work bench. I hear the occasional clang or bang. At least I'm not the only one dumb enough to have come in. On a quick stroll around the department just before looking out the window, I spotted four other workers three men, one woman. I'm not sure how long they've been here, nor do I know who they are. I'm still fairly new here, so i don't know-" (Someone is heard screaming far in the background)
"What's that? I think I jutst heard someone scream. hold on a minute, I'll be back . I just hope non one got hurt..."
(Click)

(soft voices in the background, someone coughs quietly)
"Someone did get hurt, bad. Not just hurt but killed. Murdered." (A pause.)
(subtle clacking, a woman whines)
"The killer is a kid named Joe, or so the three with me have told me since we've holed up in the supervisor's office." (Another pause.)
(Clanging noises, a shriek)
"Gotta go."
(Click)

(A man telling someone named Brent to stop with the cell phone shit already)
"Up yours Harold."
"Joe found us in the office, broke through the door. Harold and Kent out manned him and beat him up pretty bad before we fled to the inspection room. We locked up the door. I don't think Joe will come after us now. Last I saw of him he was lying face first on the floor, blood pooling around his head. Maybe Harold and Kent killed the guy, I don't know. "
(Harold's voice shouting: Shut the fuck up!)
(A long pause.)
"I moved away from the group so I could talk about all this without making any of them angrier than they already were.
There have been no sounds since they beat Joe. No sounds, nothing. But it seems almost too quiet out there, as if something lay in wait. I shudder at the thought of it. Maybe you're thinking right now: if he's got a cell phone then why in God's name hasn't called for help yet? Well, you see, with all the steel in this building my phone can't pick up a signal. It's like some sort of anti-cellular shell. I bring my phone to work simply to play games on while my machine is running through cycles. A way to pass the time."
(A loud howl is heard)
"Christ, what was that? I going to go see. It almost sounded like I imagine a person dying of torture. "
(Brent's breathing, the sounds of movement)
"Ah shit! It's Joe! But..."
(Click)

(Screaming)
"Joe is alive! He's alive! No, no, that's not right! He's dead, but he's alive! He's chewing on Harold's neck! Can't get out of the room, they're blocking it! I'm trapped! Eve and Kent are trying to beat Joe with anything they can get their hands on! I can't move, too scared. Too scared. Oh Jesus! The blood! Shit, shit, shit, shit!"
(Click)

"Dead, they're all dead. Harold, Kent, Eve, all dead. I'm hiding in a storage closet across the building. I don't think Joe knows I'm here. I probably shouldn't be talking, giving myself away, but you need to know what happens to me if I die here. How it happened. I'm so scared I can't stop shaking, my heart feels like it could burst through my chest. Joe has become something...not human. A ghost? I don't know. A zombie? That seems more likely, though I wonder.
(Thud-thump, snap!)
"Shit! Shit! He found me! He found me!" (Snap! Crack! Snap! Crash!)
"AHHGGHHH!"
(Click)

(Heavy, wet breathing, a low grunt)
"Got'em all...Yummmm."
(Click)

(Rustling, a soft, shuddering moan, cursing)
"Dying, s-so much blood. Hard to breathe. Joe gone. Don't, don't know where. Dying."
(More rustling, a loud wet cough)
"Amy, sweetie, my wife, my l-love. I'll, I'll always be with you. I love you so much. Tell, tell the girls, tell them I love them and that daddy is in their hearts..."
"Love...you...all..."
(Click)

Amy, eyes wet with tears, flipped her husband's phone closed and set it on the counter. The red bow was still fixed to the top of it. Her eyes wandered to her two daughters eating their breakfast at the kitchen table.
Brent has been missing for three years, assumed dead. Now she knew the truth. He hadn't run out on her, as she had at first thought. He had been murdered by a, oh Jesus, a ghost, or zombie of some kind.
After the disappearances of four workers, her Brent included, the police had shown up at the house to do an investigation, which turned up nothing, of course. They said there was a lot of blood splattered and pooled, mainly in the supervisors office and in, oh yes, the inspection room. Since Brent had been one of the workers missing, they assumed, perhaps, he was the one who went berserk. Oh, how wrong they were. If they listened to the voice recording on the cell phone, Brent's cell phone, they'd know the truth.
Three years to the day. Christmas Eve.
Her eyes found the cell phone again, and she began to sob.
Brent had brought her a present. He had brought it from death, so she would know what happened.
Amy crumpled to the floor, sobbing.

The End

*Hi my Friends!
Well, this one was a bit gruesome for Christmas, but it's based, very loosely, on true events. I was stranded at work the other night. I did hear a scream. Though, I was the only on in the shop. My investigations turned up fruitless. Did I hear a ghost? I don't know, but I tell you this, I was scared. So scared I began a voice recording on my own cell phone, which is part of the beginning of this story.
I managed to get out, however, and drive home. I didn't make it home right away though. The blowing snow swept across the roads, making visibility near nil. I topped a small hill. i didn't see the drift until it was too late and thwunk!, I was stuck just like that. I spent over two hours in my car waiting to be rescued. Someday I just might invest in a truck.... :-)

Thanks for reading and I hope you all have a very Merry, very Happy Holidays!

-Lucas

Cats and Christmas

2007-12-01T16:07:00.000-05:00

My Friends!

How have you all been? Like always, I've been busy. My commitment to post more often has dwindled again and I'm trying the best I can to post more regularly.

There's a plus side to this, though. I've been writing a lot. I'm not sure I've written so many stories in all my life! It's amazing! I write at work, and then bring the notebooks home and rewrite them on the computer. I've come to enjoy this way of writing. I like to flesh out a story long hand, and then rewrite it using my computer. For some reason, not sure if it's more intimate or what, my writing seems to be improving. I'm able to entwine humor more so than ever before. It fun as hell!

Now here's the real reason, besides saying hello, of course, for this post. I have a story published in print now!!!! It's an anthology called "Cats Around the Christmas Tree". You can check it out here Christmas Cats
If nothing else, buy it for a family member for Christmas. The stories inside this small volume is worth every penny, trust me. And you can also see a non-horror piece written by yours truly., not to boast or nothing. :-)

Anyway, I hope you all at least take a gander at the excerpt and cover. I got four copies with me right now, and all of them are going to those family members and friends who love my style, if I have one, and love my stories.

Thanks to all of you!!!! Again, it's you I can't thank enough. I'll be posting a story here before Christmas. Later.

Gobble-Gobble: The Feast

2007-11-22T19:11:00.000-05:00

Hi to all my Friends...and Happy Thanksgiving!
Here's a story just right for the holiday in question. Enjoy!

Gobble-Gobble: The Feast
By Lucas Pederson

A crisp breeze licked at Ty's exposed skin as he knelt down to examine the tracks.
A grin lifted on his smooth face, eyes gleamed. The monster, the one he was looking for.
"Got ya," he growled, stood up straight and reslung the shotgun.
His brown eyes narrowed on the path through the woods. This year they'd have a real feast. No store bought turkey for them this year, hell no, this year it'd be fresh...and wild.
Ty quietly trudged down the path, and old animal trail if there ever was one. Somewhere near by a crow cawed ill temporally at him. Ty ignored it and moved deeper into the woods. Snow crunched under his boots, but that was okay. The monster turkey would be farther up, probably roosting in a thick shrub or feeding on fallen seeds.
His dad had taught him all the tricks about hunting. The older man had shown him how to track, move stealthily through the thickets and brambles and over hazardous dead falls. And most importantly, he'd shown Ty how to shoot.
But his dad was dead now, shot in the face by his own hunting partner up in Canada. They'd been hunting black bear, and Ty's dad had hunkered down in a thick patch of shrubs to wait fro his prey to come bumbling along. His partner saw movement in the shrubs, fired, and killed Ty's dad immediately.
Now it was up to Ty to hunt down and kill the Thanksgiving turkey. It was up to him to make sure the holiday wasn't spoiled by some frozen chunk of flesh with legs.
He paused, listening, opening up his senses to the wilderness about him. And there, a soft rustling of feathers. He didn't know how far up the trail it was, but he knew it'd be close.
Ty crouched slightly, unslung his shotgun, and slowly advanced up the trail, the path.
About thirty yards up, the rustling came again, this time followed by a soft gibbering sound only wild turkeys are known for. That signature sound. Ty stopped. It was very close now.
His eyes lowered to the snow. The tracks there were deep, large. He'd be looking for a hefty male.
Very slowly, Ty moved a few extra feet up the path. And when his eyes caught movement ahead, he halted at once. He followed the movement until it entered a clear spot through the trees. His eyes widened. It was huge! A monster if ever there was one! The giant of all turkeys was strutting right there in front of him. A few females trialed behind him, but Ty wasn't interested in those. He had his eyes fixed on the giant male. It would make a great feast for Thanksgiving dinner.
Ty brought up the shotgun, pointed the muzzle at the male turkey, and held his breath.
A hair before his finger pressed the trigger, the monster turkey spun unexpectedly, and glared directly at Ty. Ty froze, breath still held. And what it did next would haunt Ty's dreams until his death.
"The fuck you think you're doin?!" cried the massive turkey.
Not gibberish, but words, actual words.
Ty let go a shuddery breath. Did he really hear what he thought he heard? Did that turkey just talk?
The turkey waddled forward, lowered it's ugly mangled head and said.
"Get outta hear boy...or I'll eat out your eyes and let my bitches here peck out your teeth one by one."
The gun lowered slightly. Ty shook his head. This couldn't be real, could it?
The turkey eyed Ty.
"You def or dense, boy?"
Ty stared, frozen in terror. The turkey was actually talking.
The the monster reared its head.
"Oh, I see. You were lookin for a meal. Well, not this one, son. Move along, or I'll eat you."
"No," Ty managed.
"No? You are a dumb one aren't you?" spoke the turkey.
It shuffled forward, the female turkeys three in all waddled to either side of it.
"You know," it said. "Now that I think of it, I haven't had human meat in a long time...and it is Thanksgiving after all. What ya girls say? Hungry?"
The females gibbered their agreement. Gibbered, did not not talk. But they studies Ty greedily.
Ty raised the gun again, the freeze holding him thawing slightly.
"Stay there," he said, though his voice was hardly above a whisper.
The monster turkey chuckled.
"Girls, I believe we got ourselves a feast."
Ty pulled the trigger.
One of the females flew backwards in a poof of feathers. The others gasped.
The male turkey's beady black eyes never left Ty.
"How dare you," it growled. "How dare you trample my forest, raping from my land. How dare you kill with out knowing what you kill. Not all of us are mere animals here. How dare you kill my wife."
Now it was shuffling through the trees toward Ty, the other females had begun to growl.
"How dare you kill...without knowing anything!" And as it spoke, long, fangs grew from the edges of its ugly beak.
The large turkey seemed to grow larger with every shuffle. It's beady black eyes burned red.
Ty pulled the trigger again. Another female burst into a rain of feathers.
The monster male turkey let go a shriek and shot forward with a speed so uncanny Ty hardly had time to react before hit reached him, talons out, ready to gouge, slice and tear.
But Ty managed to squeeze off another shot. The slug, he was out of bird shot, struck the huge flaying turkey int the breast, sending it back, end over end in a bloody whirl.
The remaining female gaped at Ty, utter a brief gobble, and shot off into the forest.
The monster lay, its wings twitching in the blood snow.
Ty moved to it, shotgun trained on its head.
The fangs were gone now, the red eyes black once again. It looked up at Ty.
"Hope you fuckin choke," it garbled and then felt limp.
Ty crushed its head with the butt of his shotgun.

Later that day, feathers plucked, head lopped off, guts ripped out, Ty stood looking at the huge turkey on in the cooker. It'd be going in the oven soon. His mom was cutting up vegetables and potatoes to stuff it with.
"Sure is a big one," his mom said, slicing a potato in two.
"Yeah," Ty said, although he'd never tell her how it talked to him, how it tried to kill him. She'd think he'd gone mad.
He sighed, began to turn away, and then the large monster turkey started flopping around in the cooker.
Ty's mom shrieked, dropped the knife and pinwheeled away. Ty spun and was struck across the jaw with one meaty wing. It rose out of the cooker, silent, headless, but somehow still alive.
Then a window burst open somewhere in the house, then another.
His mom was screaming, backing away, shaking her head violently.
Ty ran to the living room. He had to get his shotgun before.
Four female turkeys stood before the gun cabinet like sentry guards. Ty moved toward them,a nd then growled deeply.
Something gibbered behind him.
He turned to see another female standing there, glaring hatefully up at him. Ty's hear thrummed with horror.
He kicked the female as hard as he could, sending it flapping and screaming through the air until it struck a wall and plopped to the floor, twitching.
HE spun to the the other four, they had advanced a few feet toward him. They were still growling.
Ty whirled and ran back to the kitchen. The dead monster turkey was on the floor now, beating at his mom's legs with its awful featherless wings.
Ty took up the knife his mom was using to cut potatoes and plunged into the dead turkey's back. Blood sprayed into his face. The turkey reared, jittered. Ty pulled the knife out and stabbed again, and again, and again. Finally the thing pitched forward and lay still.
Gobbling from behind him.
HE turned and was suddenly festooned with turkey bodies. They growled, slashed at him with their talons, bit with their wicked beaks. Blood began to flow.
Then he heard his mom shrieking. The turkeys were flung off of him one by one.
Ty sat up, hurt, bleeding, but otherwise fine.
His mom was beating the female turkey's to death with a broom, skrieking madly.
The kitchen plumed with feathers.
An hour later, and all the turkeys were dead.
Ty and his mom sent each one through the wood chipper out back.
Standing there, covered with blood, chunks of flesh and speckled with feathers, Ty's mom turned to him.
"Denny's?" she asked.
Ty smiled. He nodded. Denny's never sounded so good.

The End

The Hellish Synopsis

2007-11-10T15:39:00.000-05:00

Hi to all my Friends!

I finally got a chance to get online today. John Deere is working my tail off! Anyway, how's everyone been? What's been happening? I'll be cruising your blogs here in a little while, so I'll figure it out sooner or later. Still, I miss you guys. Time to play a little catch up.

It's been crazy the past few months. Not only did I publish two stories, but I got another one on its way to publication, or has been accepted, for want of a better word. Yes! And this one is not a horror story at all...it's a Christmas story, all warm and cuddly. It's for an anthology at Whortle Berry Press. Christmas cat stories. It was a fun time writing that one. At Steel Moon Publishing they've got an anthology themed on the Zodiac symbols...I've submitted my story for Libra and we'll see what happens. I've also been submitting to a few horror anthologies. Horror Library being only one. Cutting Block Press has a call for submissions for both their Horror Library and Butcher Shop Quartet anthologies. If you're curious go check these out. Great stories all around!
Anyway, for the Butcher Shops Quartet I've gotta write a story that's novella length(15,000 to 20,000 words). With longer works like these I write them long hand first/ I've got a full one subject notebook full already. It's going great! I just have one problem...they call for a synopsis too. Now, I've written only one synopsis in my day, and I don't think it was very good. Do any of you know how to write a good synopsis? I'm at a loss here. I've googled it, but none of what I read makes much sense.

I get the fact that its supposed to go through and tell a simplified version of the story, but I'm not exactly sure on that. If you can figure out anything, I'd be glad to know. And thanks.

I'll be posting more stories in the next couple weeks, I just need the time to sit down and do so. One is a Thanksgiving story....we'll see what you think about that one, he-he. Anyhoo, I'll talk to you all later! Have a good one!

-Lucas

The Maze

2007-10-25T09:57:00.000-04:00

Okay..so I won't be finishing up Silver Grin here. Although I have nearly completed the second half. This has turned out to be an excellent story, and I want to tweak it a bit more. It's fun to work out the kinks in this one for some reason.
Anyway, back to what this blog is about...stories.
Here's one, a short one, appropriate for us horror writers favorite holiday...Halloween.
Enjoy.

The Maze
By Lucas Pederson

Moving fast through the corn, Gabby glanced over her shoulder.
Was it still following her? She didn't know, nor did she want to know. She had to get out this maze before it found her.

Of all the haunted attractions out there why did David have to pick this one? In a place where folks were supposed to dress up in scary costumes and jump out at you, this was where real monsters stalked. Now those monsters had killed David, her boyfriend, and were chasing her through the maze. They would eat her too if she stopped.

Winding this way and that, trying not to brush any of the yellowed corn stalks and give away her position, Gabby wondered if the maze even had an end. It felt as though she'd been running for hours. Her legs burned, and she could barely breathe.

Behind her, something let loose a deep roar that vibrated her from the inside out.

GAbby began to cry then. There was no way out. No way out of this fucking maze!

Something crashed toward her through the corn stalks from the right and she couldn't help but scream. Terror sent panic through her mind like a wild fire. Gabby could not stop screaming.

Claws reached out at her from between stalks, slashing, wanting to tear her open and splatter her blood all over the corn stalks. Somehow, she managed to dodge these and kept running.

A large mound appeared in the trail ahead of her and she hurdled it like a track star. She couldn't stop. If she stopped, they'd get her.

Still screaming, heart racing as fast as her legs pumped, Gabby emerged into a gloomy swamp.

Here, she stopped, the change had been so drastic that it took her a moment to realize she'd made it out of the maze. But, where was she now?

The ground rolled and groaned under her feet. Stagnant swamp water gave the place a stink she wasn't sure she'd be able to take for long.

Gabby started forward when a pale hand shot up from the moist ground and and latched onto her right ankle. She shrieked and and managed to kick free of the grappling hand.

She staggered forward, gasping, her heart racing. God, oh God, she wasn't out of the maze. This was the part of it. A swamp of horrors hidden within the dry stalks of corn. Any rational person could tell her that wasn't possible, but this whole place wasn't rational, the maze wasn't rational.

The hand slipped back into the earth with a sick squelching sound.

Things groaned and tittered all around her. She turned in a full circle, unsure. Unlike the corn, there was no paths here to follow, just open swamp land that stank like putrefying shit. She gagged, moving deeper into the swamp, tears filled her eyes.

Soon she came to a stop, gaping a large placid pond infested with brown stuff like algae. There appeared to be no way around the pond. Gabby stepped closer, grimacing. She didn't want swim in that muck. But if she had to...

Silver snakes, no, not snakes, tentacles, shot out of the water and lashed out at her.

Gabby shrieked, jumping backwards..but she was too late. Two of the tentacles wrapped themselves around her body, on around her waist, the other her chest, and lifted her into the air.

From out of the filthy water arose a horror so grotesque, one look drove all sanity from her mind. A monster with a huge maw lined with millions of shark-like teeth. Red slanted eyes.

Gabby shrieked.

She was still shrieking as the monstrosity swallowed her whole.

The End

Happy Halloween everyone! I might get one more scary story in before Halloween day...we'll see. Time is difficult to harness now days...
Thanks...Later.

NEWS!!!

2007-10-10T20:23:00.000-04:00

My dear friends!

I know I was supposed to finish out the story Silver Grin couple weeks ago now, but I've been extremely busy. However, this is business of different sort, for change.

Here's my news: I have had acceptances at two online publishers!!! Yes! Me! Finally! I am now officially a published writer! My hands tremble as I write this for I am so excited. I'm so damn happy! One story, called "Snap", can be found here: www.steelmoonpublishing.us Click the Enter Ezine button. I submitted here to enter a contest, and they published my story on their website under "Contest Stories". Soon folks are going to start voting for which story they like. And whoever wins gets ten dollars and placed on the Hall of Flame. Still, even without winning the contest, I feel as though I have won already. I got an acceptance. Someone wanted something I wrote, thought it was good. I'm happy.

The second story was accepted by Whortel Berry Press. I'll post the link as soon as my story is put up. Here, I just sent a story and it was accepted two, maybe three days later! They are going to place it on what they call Stars of Tomorrow. From there it will then eventually, hopefully, make its way into an anthology, if the editor feels it fits the book's theme, whatever that may be. Still, again, it's an acceptance. Now I got two under my belt, and I couldn't be happier!

I want to thank all of you. Without your feeback, and your encouragement, your kindness, I probably would have been stuck as I was before I even knew what a blog was. Stuck, and writing aimlessly. So thank you, my friends, thank you so much for all your help. I'm on my way!!!

Silver Grin

2007-09-23T20:32:00.000-04:00

Hi, My dear Friends, This story just popped into my head a couple minutes ago and I thought I'd write it down here. This is the first, rough draft, so it's bound to have some major flaws..but I think the story is a fair one. Here it is..enjoy..

Silver Grin

By: Lucas Pederson

Over purple flecked boulders and scraggly trees, the somber green moon casts it unearthly glow over the land.

A black shape, perhaps it is a man, perhaps something far worse, races through the night of this strange, but alluring place. It races for purposes yet unknown to us, and we must follow this dark shape. Yes. We must follow it, for where ever it may lead us, we must see. We must record, and we must listen. It is our duty as spirits to do so.

Now, let us take flight, for we can fly, we are spirits after all, nothing more than vapor. We can not speak , we can only listen, see and record.

So up we go. Up into that somber green glow, up in the stale filthy air of this odd place. Below we can still see the black man-shape racing through the alien nightscape, we can hear his/her heavy breathing.

We look up ahead, following the thing's progress. We are curious, no? Sure we are. We want to know what this mysterious being is up to, don't we? Of course we do. We must.

Ahead, we see a massive bulk in the darkness. We at first mistake it for a mountain, surely there is no castle or mansion of this size in such an awful, wonderful place. But then we realize that it is a building. Not a castle, not a mansion, but something else. A gigantic work of architecture beyond our imaginations. We stop in mid flight, allowing the black shape to race further ahead of us toward that peculiarly enormous building. We have to look at this dark structure a moment longer, record it for what it is. For what we know it to be in our minds and spirit. A place of emptiness. A building that stands between the borders of worlds. A wall against everything it hates.

What does it hate? We do not know. We have to delve deeper into this mystery to find that out.

Shall we go? Good. Now where did--

Ah ha. Down there, just a little to the right, the black shape. See? It's scrambling up a steep hill side. Its speed is uncanny. And we must marvel at this, for it is something strange and oddities are our business right now. It is why we came here from that other world so far away yet so damn close we can taste it. That human world.

We fly on, eyes fixed on the shape we have come to both wonder about, and fear. We fear it because of its strangeness, its unpredictability of what might happen.

Distant, we hear something roar. It shakes us even this high up in the air. Whatever it is, we can not see. We only see the black shape, as it still races up the hill side for that massive building we all ready know is a very bad place.

For now, we ignore the roar and follow the black shape.

Finally, just as our patience begins to grow thin, the black shape reaches the top of the hill and disappears into the massive dark building.

Quick, like a summer gale, we rush at the building...and soon find ourselves inside.

But once here, we do not wish to stay. The interior of the gargantuan is shifty. It's the only way we know how to describe it. Shifty. Nothing seems to stay in place for long. the tables and chairs, made from something other than wood, appear to waltz the floors and corridors we see like lurid ball room dancers. The air in here is humid and fragrant of cinnamon and age. Dizziness washes over us as we advance further into the horrible place. We don't want to be here, we must leave..and soon. But first we have to find that dark shape. We have to find it and discover its secrets. If we do not, if we fail, we are stranded in this world for all eternity. But, of course, you knew all that, didn't you?

Finding our balance both in body and mind, we glance to our left to see a black phantom wisp through an open archway and into whatever vile room lay beyond.

Mustering our courage, we float swiftly over, suck in a nonexistent breath, and waft into the room.

Open your eyes. Look, see. This is not what we expected. There you go, open those pretty eyes, and gaze upon what is here. Mark it well, record.

We see a hooded figure (all black) kneeling before an empty throne of skulls. But save for the skulls and the black kneeling figure, the room is otherwise pleasant in decor. Soft light showers down from holes int he high ceiling. These holes we know do not bring in light from the outside, but rather pierces into another world, robbing true light to give this sinister place a welcoming glow.

Shsh. Listen, the black shape, yes our black shape, is speaking.

"It drains me every night, oh lord. It rapes my flesh as I lay sleeping. A vampyr! No! Something worse! It hurts me, lord. Please give me the strength to fend it away."

There is no answer, and the throne remains empty.

Okay.. I'll stop here for now. This is something different I'm trying. A new form that seemed perfect for this little story I got here. It's fun to write, actually. I love teh way it shows the reader what's happening. And describing it in the best detail the narrator has in his or her own vocabulary. This is not the end of the story, but rather a stopping point for me to refresh myself and breathe easier for a night or two before jumping back in and finishing it, then getting back to my new novel...the one I hate to discuss at the moment. All I can say is that it's a brand new twist on the vampire element. I will complete this story in a couple days from now. Hope you like this half of it. Later.

First Sentence: Blood, Hell, and High Water

2007-09-14T20:37:00.000-04:00

This is graphic, so please read at your own discretion. It's nothing worse than I've written before, nothing like Chop Shop if you remember that one, but, hey, it's me... Here's my contribution:

Blood, Hell, and High Water

By Lucas Pederson

Black, like charred bacon, I saw what no one should ever see.

My eyes scanned over the thing which lay at my feet on the fishing boats' aluminum floor. I watched as it writhed there, the treble hook I had been using in hopes to catch a northern pike or two, caught deep in its black membranous flesh. My gorge rose, and I swallowed it down quickly.

Soft mewling noises wafted up from the pitiful creature squirming on the floor of my boat.

"Godam," Josh, my good friend, whispered directly behind me. He was staring over my shoulder.

I gave him a sharp nudge, not to move him exactly, but so I could distance myself from the thing on my boat floor.

Josh backed up without a word.

The black blubbery mass mewled, its leathery flesh, like a bat wing, pulsed.

"What the fuck is that?" Josh asked.

I could only shake my head.

It wasn't a fish, nor anything else one might find in a lake. No. This was something...different. Something alien and grotesque. Beyond all words and knowledge. Something perhaps even ancient, or maybe even beyond that. Something evil. Yes. That sounded right. Something evil.

A shudder ran through me, and I took another step back. The boat rocked.

"Shit, man, stop," Josh nearly screamed. "We're runnin out of boat!"

I stopped. My eyes never left the creature lying there amongst the empty beer and soda cans, and vacant cigarette packs.

I only knew one thing.

"Give me the net," I said.

Something jabbed the small of my back.

"Here," Josh said.

I turned just enough to grab the fish net and then checked the small black thing.

I froze.

Now, I saw two green eyes glaring up at me from that awful mess of writhing flesh.

Steeling myself, I reached out with the net, meaning to scoop it up and toss it back in the water, praying never to see something like it again. I would cut me line and set it loose. Better that than letting it lay there in my boat, writhing and mewling up at me, glaring at me with those demonic eyes, just letting lay there as I stood staring dumbly down at it all fucking day.

Before my next so much as touched it, however, the creature reared. A soft smucking noise, like that of a suction cup being pulled from a pane of glass, sounded and the thing rolled to the front of the boat, end over end, as if were a ball instead of living thing.

"Jesus," I gasped and I heard Josh pull in a breath of his own.

Then the small black being started to make loud clicking noises.

I glanced back at Josh. He shrugged where he sat next to the boat motor.

And just as I was about to turn back the thing in my boat, something long and silvery slipped out of the water behind Josh, and wrapped itself around his neck.

I whirled, the boat rocked hard to the right, then the left. I steadied my balance and hurried toward my friend. Josh made a choking sound, and then the tentacle, or whatever the fuck it was, constricted, like a python around a rat, its thin coils cinching tighter, tighter.

Josh's eyes balls popped from their sockets and dangled on their pink stalks against his ashy cheeks.

I screamed. Blood burst from Josh's yawning mouth and sprayed in every direction. I screamed louder. Then the silver appendage whipped hard to the right, tearing Josh's head off with it.

More blood spurted in every direction. A warm mist dotted my face. And I screamed.

Behind me something growled deeply.

I whirled, nearly losing my balance and going over board into the murky lake water. I stood gaping at a creature that resembled a mutant crocodile. Its long triangular jaws snapped at me. It two green eyes one tall red stalks rolled to me and away, as if saying, "Aren't we both just having the shittiest day?"

A long black tail whipped and lashed at the boat's sides.

It was the writhing mass I had caught. the thing which had started everything. I knew it was the membranous monster, but I couldn't believe it. This was some change from what it had been.

It rushed at me from the front of the boat. I instinctively shot the net between us, and its snapping jaws clamped down on hard enough to bite it in half.

I let the net go. The evil croc-like thing roared.

A silvery flash to my left and suddenly I felt a hard thud strike my thigh. I instantly collapsed, screaming in agony now, instead of horror. The pain flood over everything. And when I looked I saw blood jetting from a large gash in my thigh. The femoral artery. The thing from the water, not the demonic crocodile, but the other thing. The one that had decapitated Josh.

Before I had a chance to get up again, the black crocodile like monster leaped on to of me. Its jaws, which were lined with what appeared to be millions of tiny sharp fangs, clamped down on my right shoulder. The pain was exquisite.

I felt the boat rock drastically, and the next I knew, I was subm,erged in cold water...as silvery tentacles swirled about me, and the crc-beast continued to gnaw away my shoulder.

My death had been bad. My life before had been bad. I was not a Christian, nor was I a straight arrow in life. Perhaps that's why I'm here...in Hell, writing this.

This little story is for me, okay? For me. Because, Hell is Hell. And between my daily punishments for a life more int he dark than in the light, I get breaks where I get some alone time. My time is almost up now. Then it will be back to the whips and the razors cutting away mys skin, inch by inch, slowly.

I wrote this for me, so I can cope.

Hell isn't what you'd think it is. There's now fire consuming the place, but it's full of putrid water. Water as yellow as urine and stinks just as bad.

Hell...is Hell.

The End

There, finally I got it out. Finally. Let me know what you think of this one. Be honest. Thanks for reading!!

Hmmm....

2007-09-11T21:47:00.000-04:00

Hiddy ho everybody! All my friends that still visit me from time to time.
Well, this first sentence assignment didn't go exactly as planned. So I moved the deadline to the 15th. Hope this helps some of you. I know it will for me because I barely have any time to do anything anymore. This pisses me off. Why won't life just give me a break and let me do what I want to do? Why does it have to be such a stick in the mud? URG!

Ah well, I still write, but it's in quick sips during my breaks and slightly longer sips while at home. These are often interrupted, so I guess they too could be considered quick sips. Thus the reason I have nothing for the assignment. Well, I have something, but it's far from being done. And amongst all this mayhem, I have a novel boiling over on me. I've got this awesome idea for vampires, and I've got the first chapter completed. Now it sits, waiting for me to continue the story. Which I am hoping to do this weekend. But by the way life is now days I probably won't even get a chance to really get going on it again. IT sucks, but I guess I have to deal with it. It's what makes us adaptable, right? we can deal with things, we can move on.

I still miss all the writing I used to do. Perhaps soon I will ahve enough time to really get going again...perhaps.

I really look forward to reading some of your first sentence assignments. Like I said, I hope you give it a shot. Thanks for everything, thanks for letting me rant..

Later.

First Sentence Assigment: Extreme

2007-09-03T19:23:00.000-04:00

My Friends,

Thanks for all your comments about my decision to stop writing Ice Mountain. As someone in my life had said: "You can't beat a dead horse." Well...I think you can, but it'll get you nowhere. Trust me...I've tried. :-) Just kidding.
Anyhoo. Here's a long time coming first sentence assignment. For those of you who have not seen or heard of this little fun writing exercise, here's how we roll:
I provide a First Sentence...and you take it from there. Write a story that's 2,000 words or less. This time how ever I want all of you to push the envelope, if you dare. Take risks, let go. That simple. Okay, here goes:

"Black, like charred bacon, I saw what no one should ever see."

Hope you can make something of that. I will. The deadline is September 9th. Ah yes, I could have said the 11th, but I'm not that cold hearted. Send me your links or let me know here when you are done or if you'll participating and I'll post you up on the this blog. I really hope all of you can give it a try. It's been a long time...

Later.

The End of the Whole Mess

2007-08-30T20:45:00.000-04:00

My Friends,

How be it, all? The Cold Mountain series has flopped on me. I'm sorry to say it because I was having so much fun with it. But, unfortunately, the story I thought I had in my head, evaporated and a new one took its place. I'm working on a new novel now, and it has taken most of my attention the past couple of days, besides moving to our new house, of course. Ice Mountain, the story of a mother risking her own life to save her son from an evil dragon, has ended at Part 8, and may never be completed. It's sad...but at the present time I can't think of where to go with it. Time to move on.

And moving on, I will be posting a first sentence assignment here in a couple days, after the move. Either Monday or Tuesday will be the best time to come back and see what the first sentence is. I don't want to waste any of your time, and I won't. So, we'll see you either Monday or Tuesday. Until then...keep kicking ass! Keep writing!

Later.

Ice Mountain: Part 8

2007-08-23T20:34:00.000-04:00

My Friends,

This will not be the final Part, as I thought it would be. Sara's story is still unfolding for all of us, and, right now at least, I can't say when it'll end. I had envisioned the series stopping at eight. But while I was writing this I knew that wasn't possible. There's still a bit more we must know about our new hero/mom. There's still more story to be told....

Gentle cool hands fell on her shoulders.

"I will show you, dear Sara," whispered Gilead in her ear.

"I will show you the power in yourself."

Days passed like years as Sara dug into parts of her she never knew existed. Tapping a raw power in herself, and trembling with the quake it made through her veins.

And all the while she thought of Andrew. Had she spent too much time all ready with the wizard? Three days. Sara wondered if the dragon had killed her son yet. The thought provoked hot anger that bubbled up within her very soul, rippling her body into gooseflesh.

"One more thing must be shown, dear Sara," Gilead spoke from the shadows of the private chamber he had given her for this "showing".

She started in her bed and sat up, heart hammering.

"Tis alright, Sara. Tomorrow we shall well out the power that shall destroy the dragon."

Sara sat there, peering in the darkness and finding nothing but, darkness. She sighed. She supposed Gilead really meant her no harm, otherwise he could have beheaded her while she slept on that first weary night. The night he had shown her how to make her hands blaze with blue fire. All the powers Gilead had shown to her were new to her, and she had no true idea where they came from. Inside, she supposed, but that still seemed unimaginable. Even now, after the blue flaming hands, which Gilead promised was hotter than any fire made by man or nature. After the discovering she had the strength of ten men, and finding the wisdom of an ancient hole dup inside her head. All of these powers fascinated her, of course they did. But they also frightened her. They seemed so unnatural.

"Good night, my dear," Gilead spoke softly from the shadows.

Sara felt a light breeze pass her face and then she knew Gilead was gone. Somehow she just felt it, as she felt the various powers coursing through her mortal body. Like pounding blood.

She lay back down and pulled the quilt up to her chin. She shuddered.

As sleep found her then cradled her, as she drifted off into the slumber, she thought of her poor son, and how he was doing.

****

"Hold your hand out to me," Gilead said.

They stood in a great hall adorned by golden walls and a blue domed ceiling. She had never been in this room before, but she loved it. It was beautiful. Gilead, she had a feeling, made the room for just that purpose too. To be beautiful.

Sara held out her hand, palm down.

Gilead smiled, took her hand with his own, and turned it so the palm faced the round ceiling. His multicolored eyes never left hers as he spoke.

"Here is your advantage,"

Sara blinked, looked at her hand and then narrowed her eyes on Gilead.

"My hand?" she asked.

Gilead's smile lengthened slightly.

"No," he said. "Your palm."

"It is your palm where your advantages lie. The touch. A mother's touch."

Head reeling she opened her mouth to ask what he was talking about, but he silenced her with a swish of his free hand.

"Your palm," Gilead said, "is the outlet."

Even more confused, Sara shook her head. Outlet?

Gilead sighed.

"Tis where you advantage power will expel from, dear heart."

Sara nodded, not really understanding, but close enough.

Gilead nodded back.

"Now," he said and let go of her hand.

He placed his other hand on her left breast. He did not cup it or caress it, merely place it there.

"Here is where your power is built. Here is where it is stored."

Gilead stepped away. He snapped his fingers and a goat appeared at the center of the room, six feet or so from Sara.

He pointed at the goat, which stood glancing around as if lost. It was defiantly that.

"See the billy?" He asked.

Sara nodded.

"Turn him into ash," Gilead said.

Shaking her head, Sara backed a way a couple steps.

"Point at him, and say: Ashes, and it will be done."

Sara continued to shake her head. TI wasn't killing a goat that made her do so, it was the fact that if she tried it just might happen.

Gilead chuckled.

"Do not fear. This is for your son," he said.

This ignited both sorrow and anger in her. She thrust a finger at the old billy goat ans said.

"Ashes!"

There came a flash of blue light, and the goat was nothing more now than a heap of gray ash.

Amazed, Sara turned to Gilead. He smiled and nodded.

"That, my dear, is your advantage," he said.

****

The next day she was given a horse. And not just a horse, but a mare. A very familiar mare. White Girl came trotting through the village and Sara nearly dropped to her knees to weep. She thought she'd never see that old horse again. But here she was.

A bony finger tapped her on the shoulder. She turned.

Gilead stood, his face soft and kind.

"Ride well, dear Sara. Ride well and slay the beast. You are the only hope. Not even I can stop that monster. I am too old for battles."

A tear slipped down Sara's face and she embraced the old wizard. She felt his body stiffen at first, and then his arms were around her and holding her firmly.

"You, dear Sara," he whispered in her ear, "are the only hope for this world. Andrew awaits."

He let her go, smiled, and then hurried back into his massive mystical cabin.

Ruog led White Girl to her, bowed.

Sara smiled and mounted her lovely mare. She checked to make sure her father's sword was strapped tightly about her waist, gave Ruog a smiling nod, and then trotted away from the village.

Soon, Sara was at the base of the mountain. Ice Mountain.

(To be Continued)

Ice Mountain: Part 7

2007-08-17T17:55:00.000-04:00

"H-Help," she managed. Her throat burned with misuse.

Gods, the creature had been brutal to her body.

The bearded man gave her a nod and soon they led her to their village.

These men were tall, broad, and in all likeliness resembled those kind but brutish trolls from the Under Grounds, which were slow, clumsy and calm. But it was just the bodies of these men, if that's what they really were, made Sara think of them as so. They were quick, both in wit and body. And they were warriors. She knew that just by the look in their pale blue eyes. They all had blue eyes. She could also tell by the way the long legged creatures were no longer after her. How those ugly monsters lay in pieces back at the clearing.

They surrounded her, leading her into a small, but teeming village. Woman, men, and yes, even children, some as tall as Sara was, milled about doing chores, talking amongst one another or hammering out, forging, massive battle axes. It seemed their only true trade, those dangerous axes. The children chased each other in between cabins and through what could have been a vegetable garden. This made her think about her own child, her son, Andrew.

She prayed the devilish dragon that had stolen Andrew away from her almost two months ago was gentle with her dear Andrew. Although, in all likeliness, her son was probably in pain. With such a vile creature as, The Outward Dragon, anything was possible, even Andrew's death. She wondered if what the poison had told her was true. Had Andrew fallen victim to a similar poison? Was his body now being controlled by said poison as she walked with these giantish men? Terror capered at the thought. Suddenly she wanted to break away from these men and continue on her journey. That thought, however noble, faded, though. These men had saved her, had brought her to what she assumed would be relative safety. She must follow their lead, and be humble to them. It was only the right thing to do. Still, her belly twisted with the want, need, to find her Andrew and slay that demon dragon where it lay.

As they entered the village the women shot Sara untrustful glances. She supposed she could not blame them. She was, after all, an outsider, and a woman to boot. If she were tossed into their position she would be wary too. Perhaps she would even wonder about her husband's loyalty for a brief second or two.

The bearded men led her through the small streets and to a massive cabin built of various colored stones. The lead man tuned to her.

"My name is Fuog. This is the home of our king, Gilead. Here you will be able to present your troubles. Our king will decide how to help you."

Fuog smiled softly, blue eyes kind, gentle.

"And he shall help you, I promise this will all my heart," Fuog said and gestured her toward the double doors.

Sara, her heart quickening a little, stepped to the doors. When she glanced back, the warriors were gone. She drew a deep breath, and knocked.

The doors opened and a voice, calm, kind, spoke.

"Please, Sara, come in. We have much to palaver, I suspect."

Wide eyed, Sara entered the huge cabin of stones.

The light in here was dim, almost soothing. The doors closed behind her as if by their own accord. Sara stepped further into the house, cautiously.

"Come," Said that kind voice she had heard upon opening the doors.

"Come forward, dear Sara."

She did not see the man standing before the her until she nearly ran into him. With a slight shriek, she halted at once. The man, tall, and thin, smiled down at her. Although, this man was not as tall as the warrior men, Sara's face only reached to his narrow chest.

The man stepped back a little, still smiling.

"I have something for you," he said, and unsheathed a sword that hadn't been there a moment ago. Or had it? She could not remember.

The sword, was her father's.

"H-How-"Sara began.

The man chuckled lightly and said,

"You will need his sword for slaying the dragon, dear Sara. It is the only one in existence that can."

He handed her the sword. Then he pointed to her side.

"That one, will not."

Sara glanced down and her breath caught. Her sword was back in its sheath. She thought she had dropped it back there in the clearing. She had forgotten all about it. Unless, one of the warriors had found it and placed it back where it belonged. She wasn't sure.

"I am Gilead. These kind folks call me their king, I am more widely known as a wizard, however."

"That's how you know my name," Sara said, a shred of light entered her mind.

Gilead nodded. Gilead pointed at her father's sword, the one that had been buried with him so many years ago. It seemed to have aged not at all.

"And it is how I have this to give you," said Gilead.

Sara lifted the old sword to look at the blade, which appeared keen and shiny, not a scratch or a nick in it. It was as if had never been used.

"The sword heals itself, Sara," Gilead said, as if reading her mind.

Then he motioned fro her to follow him. She did, awestruck. He walked lightly across the stone cobbled floor. They soon entered a gargantuan chamber alight with many candles.

"Your father found that sword, you know. It was never made by human hands. It was made by Ricul, the Under Earth God. Ricul forged it himself and hammered its keen blade. He then gave it powers. It is indestructible, and can cut through the heaviest of armor, even dragon scales, the toughest of them all. Do you know where your father found it, Sara?"

Sara remembered.

"On a journey to stop the Great Horde of Slogguth," She said.

"Yes," Gilead said, "but where?"

Sara shook her head, that much she could not remember.

Gilead laughed. He stopped walking and turned to her. In the light of this huge chamber she could see his face more clearly. It was gaunt, but not so to make the wizard seem either vile or mean. Just old aged. His white hair was cropped short to his skull.

"'Tis okay, dear Sara. Your father found the sword in Caves of Boil Rock. It was planted into a dragon's skull. Only one of honor could pull it out, and among those companions with you father, it was he who pulled the sword free."

Sara frowned.

"How did it get in my mind? The poison--"

"Yes," Gilead said. "The poison. Such vile things, to be true. It was I who sent the sword there, my dear. I saw your pain, and I sent forth the sword. It was the least I could do. Your son, Andrew, is of importance you know? And not just because he is you son."

Her frown deepened.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Andrew," Said Gilead, "is destined to be king of All World."

Sara stood, gaping. All World. That meant he was to be king of every kingdom! But--

"In time, you shall see. But you must rescue him from the devil in the devil in the mountain. The Out Ward Dragon. He is waiting for you, I can feel his evil glare even now. His eyes are fixed upon you, Sara. IF Andrew dies, it will mean the end of all kingdoms. One by one they and their kings will fall to the dragon's power. But the dragon also needs you, Sara. IT needs your blood to give it greater power. Your father's blood, Andrew's blood."

She turned away from the wizard, feeling as though she would weep. How was she to stop such a monster? How?

Gentle cool hands fell on her shoulders.

"I will show you, dear Sara," Whispered Gilead in her ear.

"I will show you the power in yourself."

(To be Continued...)

This was much longer the other parts, and if it deterred you any, I apologize. This part was always meant to contain the most information. I felt it as I began to write. Sometimes you just have to follow your feelings. Thanks!

Ice Mountain: Part 6

2007-08-12T20:16:00.000-04:00

With all her will, she pushed herself into the hole in the darkness. She pushed, growling with both rage and desparation.

And slowly, she began to re-enter her foremind.That's when the thing, the posion, whirled and she saw it face to face. She saw it, and screamed.

It stood like a hunched lizard, black fork tongue lashing the air in her direction. It was truly hideous. Its scaly face regarded her with what could have been rage. Sarah had escaped her prison, somehow, and here she was. The creature, she noted, did not like that at all. She was supposed to die. It was supposed to take over. But Sarah, not been one to give up so easily under pressure, unless so ill her mind could not work properly, had acted on instinct when the hole opened in the darkness. Instinct, sometimes, could be trusted more so than any known fact. Instinct was one of life's many truths.

The creature, the poison, glared at Sarah., its slanted amber eyes narrowing on her. Its red naked body heaved with each and every angry breath. Its large clawed hands clenched, unclenched, clenched.

It lurched forward on feet sporting sharp curled talons.

Sarah held her breath, she didn't have a weapon here, in her own mind. There was no way to--

Her eyes drifted to the beast's ominous feet. There lay not her sword, but her father's. The poison glanced down, spotted the sword, and then looked back up at Sarah. It chuckled.

"Naughty, naughty, little girl. You should not be playing with such dangerous things," it said and stooped to pick up the sword.

Sarah did not know where the sword had come from, nonetheless, she darted forward and kciked the giant liazrd being in the face. The thing squealed, staggered backwards and away from the sword.

Sarah swept it from the floor, and attacked.

The creature proved quicker than she might have expected. It dodged her every attenpt to slice it to bloody strips. IT laughed as it did so, mcking her.

Sarah roared, side stepped, faked to the right, and then whirled left just in time to pull the sharp blade of her father's sword across the viel thing's mid-section. It shrieked and flailed away from her, one claw holding its bleeding middle.

Summoning all her strength, Sarah spun, and lopped off the poison's head. It flew out into darkness, she hoeped never to be seen again. She did not much like the feeling of having some abomination's head floateing around in her mind, but it was too late now. Its body crumbled to the floor, smoldered, and then liquified into bubbling goo.

Her father's sword droppped from her hands. She turned and--

"Woman?" asked the hairy faced man, poised so close to her face she could smell the stench of long ago ale.

"H-Help," she managed. Her throat burned with misuse. Gods, the ctreature had been brutal to her body.

The beared man gave her a nod.

Soon, they led her to their village.

(To be Continued)

In case you haven't had a chance to see the ealier post, do so. Just scroll down. Thanks everyone!!!

Intermission: VBC

2007-08-10T14:23:00.000-04:00

My Friends,

I've been lucky enough to have all of you. Let me get that out right now. I'm damn lucky. I enjoy the company and the discussions we have here, and I'm glad at least some of you like reading my work. Oh, don't worry, I'm not quiting blogging. I know that last bit sounded as though I might be saying good bye. Nope. You got me forever...he-he.

No. What I want to tell all of you is to go check out Josh Witte's blog, his link is amongst my feathery friends over there to the right. He's a close buddy of mine and he's currently in college for broadcasting. The radio station he's working for right now is called VBC.

He's a great guy and is working extremely hard to make it in the brutal world of radio. And, I must say, he's very good at what he does. So, if you want to be verbally entertained, go check out his blog. Leave a comment too. Like most all of us struggling to either be published or to be known, he needs all the feedback he can get. Thanks to all of you, and Part 6 of my little series will be posted this weekend.

Later.

Ice Mountain: Part 5

2007-08-07T16:02:00.000-04:00

My friends,

There's been a lot going on lately, as always. I'm starting a new job at John Deere the 13th and we're moving into a new house on the 31st. It's a busy time. So, as a consequence, my blog entries may be slackening a bit more here in the near future. I hope not, but it's possible. I enjoying blogging. We'll have to see.
Anyway, here's Part 5. Enjoy.

"I'm going to kill you, Sarah, and then this will be my home, your body.

""No!" Sarah screamed, graping crazily at the air.

Her fingers brushed something, and her breath caught in her chest, both inside and out.

The something was cold, wet, and yeilding, like dead flesh. Sarah pinwheeled away from it. A stench like rotting tomatoes filled her nostrils. Whatever was in this dark space with her wasn't human. She knew that, but it wanted to be. She could feel its need wafting from it. Terror like never before racked her and she swam in the darkness, backstroking away from the thing in here with her.

"Oh, yes," The thing crooned. "I must kill you."

Sarah suddenly realized, perhaps she caught a whiff from the creature's own mind, the thing was poison. The cut on her arm. From the thing that snatche dout and cut her. It was posion, and it had a mind of its own! It wanted her body!

Cool, rancid air puffed in her face and Sarah shrieked, swimming backward frantically. She had no sword with which to defend herself. She was caught defensless for the first time in her life, and it horrified her to know so.

Something roared, the air whooshed, and hot agony bloomed across her stomach. She wonder about Andrew. Was her son all right? Or had the monster, that vile dragon from the depths of the world, killed him already? Gods, she prayed not.

Then the pain roared and she cried out with it.

Another whoosh, another roar, and pain etched itself down the middle of her chest. Screaming in both agony and frustration, Sarah flailed backward, heart hammering, hammering, hammering.

Then-

"Wake woman! Wake now!" A loud, deep voice echoed in the darkness.

Something sighed, and then Sarah was alone.

---------

It opened its milky eyes to gaze upon some brutish bearded face straring intently down at her. The man-thin'g eyes were a bright, clam blue, he looked worried.

"Woman? Are you-"

The thing sat up and said.

"Fine. Now leave me be."

---------

Sarah saw all of this. A hole appeared int he darkness and she saw the huge bearded man. She heard his voice, as well as the thing that wanted to kill her.

She could not allow this retched thing to simply wave off help. For Sarah instinctively knew this large bearded man was indeed help; her rescuer, in a sense.

With all her will, she pushed herself into the hole in the darkness. She pushed, growling with both rage and desparation. And slowly, she began to re-enter her foremind.

That's when the thing, the posion, whirled and she saw it face to face. She saw it, and screamed.

(To be Continued...)

Ice Mountain: Part 4

2007-07-31T08:21:00.000-04:00

This is it, she thought as the roaring began and the feel of hot rancid breath plumed on her sweaty skin. This is it.

When she heard the screaming, and the shouts, (men?), and the distinct sound of many things dying at once, Sarah felt herself fall into darkness.

On the outside, her milky eyes flutter open.

At that moment, Sarah became two women.

A scared, drowning wraith inside, and a cruel monster on the outside. Her outer self glanced around with eyes too cloudy to be human. They scanned the scene playing out before her as she lay on the ground, her body twitched convulsively.

Her assumption appeared to be right. The shouts were indeed coming from men, although these men looked rather hulkish, primal. They attacked the long legged beasts with such ferocity that the outer Sarah had to wonder if they might only be beasts themselves. A grin played at her cracked lips, nonetheless. Like those milky eyes, it was all too inhuman.

The hulks that might or might not be men, wielded huge curving battle axes, which they swung in great aches at their enemy. None of them carried a sword, she realized. But of course, it didn't appear as though they needed swords for speed. They handled the axes as though they were mere sticks. She realized, if she were to fight one of these hulkish men, them with their slopping brows and deep set fiery eyes, them with their long wild manes of hair, she'd lose quite quickly.

The outer Sarah, though very interested at what was taking place here in this wide clearing, let her mind drift to the inner Sarah. The one trying so desperately to claw her way back to the surface, but to no avail.

-----------

"Die, die, die, die." The word echoed to her from the bleak darkness surrounding her.

Sarah, sobbing, swam in this void of darkness, this place where nothingness was the rule. She cried out for help, but no one would answer her call. Except, of course, that raspy voice repeating that single final word.

"Die, die, die, die, die."

The poison which had entered her body from the cut she received, was now keeping her held here int his dark prison. Sarah pleaded with ti to let her go, but it would not.

Then she heard another voice mingle with that of the "die voice".

"It's right you know. You have to die. It's my turn now."

That voice, it sounded so much like her own. She screamed and swam frantically in the dark. There was no floor, no walls, yet she was restricted here.

"Give up, Sarah. This is my body now. Give up, and be with your boy."

Hot, like bursting fire stones, anger overwhelmed Sarah. She roared, hands grasping for anything they could touch. They found nothing but dark air.

"I'm going to kill you, Sarah, and then this will be my home, your body."

"No!" Sarah screamed, graping crazily at the air.

Her fingers brushed something, and her breath caught in her chest, both inside and out.

(To be continued...)

Ice Mountain: Part 3

2007-07-25T22:50:00.000-04:00

Screaming, arm throbbing, Sarah emerged into a large clearing.

And then that's when they came for her...dozens of them.

From every direction, hideous things on long bounding legs, things with severely elongated beaks, flooded into the clearing. Sarah stood, frozen in place as she was surrounded by these beings, these monsters.

Sword dripping with mingling colors of various kills, she turned around in a slow circle. Gods, they were everywhere. The cut on her arm announced itself again and she winced at the burn it sent through her body. Just what had cut her? What sort of vile thing had reached out and cut her? She couldn't remember, nor could she rightfully call it something with a brain. Perhaps it had been some venomous plant she unwittingly pushed through. But, of course, plants had been the least of her worries then.

The monsters rushing toward her all let go loud braying screams that hurt Sarah's ears instantly. She lifted the sword, preparing to defend herself, although, that was wrong. She wouldn't get one slash at these things once they pummeled into her, driving her to the ground and then tearing her limb from bloody limb.

Yet, as she lifted her sword, something like pain, but not quite, zinged through her body. The sword tumbled from her hand and she collapsed to her knees. Her vision blurred. Her mouth quivered. Tears spilled from her eyes and tracked courses down her dirty face.

They were very close now. She could see their images through the blur of her vision. They were close, and she sighed, knowing she had failed. She had failed Andrew, her only son, her life. Still, she fought to get back on her feet. If she was to die, she wanted to be on her feet first. It was the honorable way to die. However, the task eluded her and she dropped back to her knees, weeping.

Sarah lay down in the grass, and closed her eyes.

This is it, she thought as the roaring began and the feel of hot rancid breath plumed on her sweaty skin. This is it.

When she heard the screaming, and the shouts, (men?), and the distinct sound of many things dying at once, Sarah felt herself fall into darkness.

On the outside, her milky eyes flutter open.

(To be Continued)

Something new, Something dark..

2007-07-24T23:24:00.000-04:00

My Friends!

I submitted a story to an up and coming horror magazine called Noctem Aeternus. It looks very promising. Great stories abound!

So here's the deal. They need subscribers to keep them afloat, which in turn draws advertisers, which in turn creates revenue...something like that. Anyway, the point is that this magazine is free. It's online, as far as I know, but it's free. The more subscribers they get the better their chances are at staying alive in this brutal world.

So help this magazine spread its wings, help it grow. Help it grow and help short horror fiction. I would personally be grateful if you did subscribe. They won't sell or trade you email address either. Good stuff all around, my friends.

Just follow the little blue link: http://www.michaelknost.com/

Thank you everyone. Cold Mountain: Part 3 will be posted late 7/25. Let's say evening, perhaps sooner. Thanks again! :-)

Ice Mountain: Part 2

2007-07-17T08:33:00.000-04:00

.....As she set foot into the forest, Sarah unsheathed her sword.

All around her came low methodical thumping. Then something snarled.

She paused her stride, warily scanning the dim woodland surrounding her, almost embracing her. She saw things move in the dimness, through the corners of her eyes. But if she turned to look, nothing would be there. This was a haunted place, a place where demons and beasts of all sizes lurked and stalked. She better get moving.

The snarling came again, this time much closer. Sarah held her breath, listening. Her hand tightened on the handle of her sword. Her heart was like a mad drum in her chest that would not ease. Something crashed through the brush to her left. Gods they were so close!

She felt like running. Yet, even though she felt the urge to just forget everything, forget her son, consider him a terribly tragic loss, Sarah remained where she was. If she ran she would surely die.

A roar exploded to her right and she turned just in time to dodge a massive claw meant to lop off her head. She dropped to one knee, glanced up, saw the beast, saw its grotesque body of loose gray flesh and giant fanged maw, and then she drove her sword into its exposed belly. She sank it as deep as she could get it, which was all the wat to the hilt. The monster gasped, yelped and then she yanked the sword out of its stomach. The thing staggered back, long claws held over its gushing wound.

Sarah jumped to her feet as the the beast started to teeter. It fell backwards, crushing many small trees under its girth and making the earth itself tremble.

Now. Run.

She took off at a dead run through the forest, hurdling rocks and thorn bushes and dead falls. She ran, cutting various creatures in half or simply slicing off their heads as she went. Pain flashed through her right arm, the one holding the sword. She distantly felt warm liquid trickling. Something had reached outof the gloom and cut her. She knew it like she knew how to bake bread. Something like instinct.

Screaming, arm throbbing, Sarah emerged into a large clearing.

And then that's when they came for her...dozens of them.

(To be Continued)

I'm IT!....or am I?

2007-07-16T00:23:00.000-04:00

Hmmm. Well I have been tagged to do one of these meme thing-a-ma-jobs. This is sort of interesting and looks to be quite fun. So now I will break from the continuing story "Ice Mountain" and whips something up quick for you. If you have not read the first part to Ice Mountain scroll down, it's directly under this one.

Okay...here goes...

But first, the rules:

1. We have to post these rules before we give you the facts. 2. Players start with eight random facts/habits about themselves. 3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules. 4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. 5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

8 Scary Things About Me, however Random:

1) I play guitar, however badly, and sing, let's not talk about that either.

2) As some of you might already know, I draw and paint. I have been complimented time and again for my "talent" as an artist (drawing and painting), but have never chosen to submit my work anywhere. Although I might be painting a mural here in a month or two.

3) I enjoy reading a lot. I'm always reading something.

4) Of course, I love to write. There is no great feeling than that of you creating something out of nothing. It's a grand time.

5) Movies. I like to watch movies. Horror movies, action, thrillers, comedies, I watch'em all friends and neighbors!

6) I have two daughters, Mary (4) and Hannah (2). Their a couple of cuties and I love them with all my heart.

7) I'm married to a wonderful, albeit willful, woman. We've been together for a total of seven years, been married five. It's still working. We were high school sweethearts.

8) Music. If not for music and bands like Metallica, Tool, Nirvana, and The Rolling Stones, I'd be a mess. To some, this music just sounds like noise, but, if you listen, there is always something to be said. It's the type of music that means something. Well, at least to me and those who enjoy hard rock and heavy metal.

So there be the list, my friends. I know, I'm one boring fellow. Sorry.

Now...let me stretch my claws. Here's the tagged 8:

1) Christina Rundle 2) Stewart Sternberg 3) Fab 4) Susan Miller 5) Travis 6) Wayne Sallee 7) Kate Sterling 8) Starrlight

For those of you who didn't get a comment from me, letting you know you are tagged, it's not becasue I don't like iya it's becasue for some reaon I can not get into your comment pages. Sorry.

Ice Mountain: Part 1 (A Continuing story)

2007-07-12T14:08:00.000-04:00

My friends,

Okay, I haven't been very faithful the past two months or so with this blog and visiting everyone elses. Sometimes life likes to snag you, and then hold you like a psychotic lover. I was stuck, and after vaction I made the solomne vow to at least post once a week, be it a story, a poem or just chit chat. So far I haven't lived up to that vow. But I'm working on it, trust me. Here's a short, short story, which will be played out in eight parts. Most of might remember the last time I did this with, "The Fairy". I've really gotten into the fantasy genre lately and I'm trying my hand at it here. Some of you seemed to like the "Dragon's Curse", I hoped it was original, and from what I see it is, thank God. So, in light of the "Curse" here's another dragon tale, this one perhaps a little more frightening. Enjoy, my dear friends. Enjoy...

Ice Mountian: Part 1

Sarah's cool blue eyes lifted slowly as they took in the mountain's massiveness. Such beauty for such a bad place. A place where folk tended to stray far away from. The place where her son had been taken. A place called, Ice Mountain.

Inspite of the name, Ice Mountain was void of ice, snow, even the bitter cold that caped most mountains. Dark smoke billowed from various spots on the mountain's greenish surface. A fire mountain. Still, the heat, the fire, the smoke, made its own kind of chill. One that was not felt on the skin, but felt in the heart, and in the belly. Up there lay death. Up there, where her son was now. Her only son, Andrew. He was up there now, alone, save for the beast that stole him away, and Gods knew what else.

Sarah unsaddled her horse and said.

"Dear White Girl. Be free now." She gave the mare a healthy slap on therear end.
White Girl let go a brief shriek and raced off into the distance.

Tears welled in Sarah's eyes. White Girl had been her second horse. It was a great loss.

She turned back to the mountain and sighed. There would be a climb. A dangerous climb judging by the steepness of the surface. Yet, she thought maybe she saw ledges here and there where she might be able to rest a bit before moving on.

Unstrapping her leather food bag from the saddle, Sarah cinched it to her belt under her furs, near her sword. She was great with a sword. She knew it, and so did all of her slayed men. Those men who tried so hard to steal her cottage, and Andrew. Those men who wanted to kill Andrew and her just for spite. But behold, she knew the art of the sword. Her father taught her well. And her late husband, Jerard, taught her more.

Sarah looked up at the mountain, frowned and then made her way toward the base. It would take a day, she knew, to even reach it, but, she would move fast. She would have to, for the forest surrounding the lonely dark mountain was infested with horrible things. Evil things that protected the mountain from invaders.

As she set foot into the forest, Sarah unsheathed her sword.

All around her came low methodical thumping. Then something snarled.

(To be Continued..)

The Dragon's Curse

2007-07-04T14:53:00.000-04:00

Howdy m'freinds!

Well I'm back, was back tuesday, as a matter of fact. We had a great time on vacation in Minnesota. It's just as I remembered from my childhood. I even got a great story idea becasue of it. I didn't catch any fish, and I got one helluva sunburn, but hey, I'm happy. It was great just going there.

So anyway, I have my contribution to the First Sentence Assignment done. It's not too bad. Have a look see and let me know what you think. Remember, honesty is the best policy. I cna't wait to read your contributions. I hope you all give it a shot. I found this one quite fun, but that's just me.

Anyway, here's the story:

The Dragon’s Curse

By

Lucas Pederson

The dragon swooped down from the sky like a winged demon, its maw yawing open to claim them.

Samuel shoved Will aside, drew his bow, knocked an arrow, and pulled back on the string.

“Nay!” Will protested to the highest degree and picked up his own bow.

As he knocked an arrow from his quiver he heard he heard Samuel’s bow let loose. Will looked up, and froze. The dragon was right above them, diving at them, giant, toothy mouth wide open. It roared, blowing fiercely hot air down and knocking both boys off their feet.

But Samuel’s arrow hit true. Will saw it plunge down the dragon’s throat. He caught the dragon’s mouth snap shut immediately after, just before he met with the ground painfully.

“Run!” Samuel pulled Will back to his feet again and they sprinted away as fast as their legs would allow.

“Run, run, run, run!” Samuel cried and Will gave forth his greatest effort to follow his big brother’s plead.

Then-

BOOM!

The earth exploded to life under their feet and Will lost his footing. He stumbled, and Samuel yanked him up and pulled him along, avoiding a serious folly with a jagged jutting stone.

Hot air jolted at the back of their necks, sending gooseflesh to lump over Will’s body like a sudden illness. He ran. He ran to beat the dragon’s curse. For when one killed a dragon, if one remained near the spot where the dragon fell, one would be forever cursed to become a dragon. A dragon with a human soul.

It was that realization, that horror, which drove Will, forced him to run faster.

Samuel’s hand let go of his and they rounded a giant boulder shaped like an old man’s face. The Face Stone, as they called it. The air grew hotter, humid. The sky blackened and swirled with gray brooding clouds. All at once it was hard for Will to breathe. He coughed and Samuel drew him close to him, embracing him as a protective older brother must do from time to time. Will was grateful for the comfort, especially now.

The earth rumbled under their feet, as if some long hibernating beast had suddenly awakened and now wanted to be free of is dirt chamber to wreak havoc on the land. Will felt like screaming. The entire land was erupting into chaos before his very eyes, all from killing one single dragon. Or at least he thought it was dead. Perhaps its magic was still very much alive and after them. Maybe it wanted to play with them first before devouring their souls. He just prayed they stood far enough away so that the curse would not find them.

Then everything fell still, quite, a bird chirped somewhere near by. The sky lightened.

Samuel let go of Will and they peered around the boulder, Will’s heart racing with the speed of his father’s magnificent horse.

They saw the dragon, lying smoldering in a giant crater, its body unmoving. Thick tendrils of smoke or steam strung upward from the massive body like horrible dream snakes, or tentacles.

“Oh.” Samuel breathed.

Out of nowhere the still dragon reared its head and let loose a roar so deep and so full of rage and sorrow, and agony, Will had to hold his hands on his ears to dull the sound, however unsuccessful. Flames burst forth from the gaping maw, jetting into the morning sky with heat so hot it seemed to scorch the very sky itself. Then the dragon’s head plopped back to the ground, and it lay still once again.

Will nudged his older brother.

“Are we safe?” He asked, knowing Samuel would know what he meant.

“I should think so.” Samuel relied and moved cautiously around the boulder to look fully at the dead dragon.

Will watched his brother shudder, and could not help doing the same. They had somehow killed a dragon and escaped its curse. Now they stood in wonder. Will had never even seen a dragon until just this morning. And he wished he hadn’t now. He wished they had stayed at home, instead of wandering out to hunt for deer today. The deer could have waited. Their father had gotten three large ones just yesterday, which would feed them for a couple months at the most.

Will stepped beside his brother and gaped at the dead creature before them. It was huge, giant beyond all giants who ever lived; a massive killing machine with the wisdom of the greatest wizard or sorcerer, a monster beyond all creation. And Samuel had killed it with but a single arrow. A feet even the greatest of archers would be envious of. For, it was not easy to slay a dragon. Will silently applauded his older brother’s skill. Just wait until the village heard of Sam’s courage and skill with a bow. Why, maybe even the king would invite the family to his majesties castle; an honor that happened rarely in these slow, dark times where monsters stalked the night and blistered the land with their evil.

Will smiled. This was great and horrible at the same time. Horrible because it was a dragon and the curse would be loose in this section of land for a hundred years, awaiting a human body to transform. Great because Samuel had stopped the creature responsible for so many deaths and so much destruction brought upon the land. It had been a bane for centuries, elusive to the slayers, until now. Now it was dead.

Will knew how the dragons at every point of the kingdom had gone mad. How they all at once hated humans and wanted to rid the land of such. From what his father spoke of, the dragons have been cursed by some evil sorcerer by the name of Fiddle of Rac A queer name, but a frightening one if one knew the creature, or knew of it and its black magic.

“Let us leave now.” Sam said and Will noticed his brother shudder again.

They collected their bows and trudged back to their cabin on the outskirts of the village, Shew Mills. A small community made up of logging men for the king and his ever escalating urgency to build more homes and bring more folk to the kingdom; since the village sat nestled amongst the great Bumbus Trees, which was said to have magical attributes when cut down. Expanding his generosity, Will’s mother once said with more than a little pride. The king was a good one, and was loved by all. His armies were the thing of legend and his kindness of the greatest and utmost characteristic about the powerful man. Shew Mills was but only one community surrounded by dozens. To the east lay Sounder Falls, the lake and river folk. To the west stood Walden Hills, a community made up of iron miners who supplies the king with steel to make new swords and arrow heads.

Their mother came out of the cabin in a red furry as they approached.

“Where have ye been? Where so early and with not so much a scribbled note!”

She rushed at them and Will felt the sudden urge to hide behind Sam. Their father was out in the Laughing Forest cutting Bumbus Trees, thanks the God. All ready they both would have blistered rears. Their father always acted first before he spoke. Their mother, on the other hand…

“How dare ye! Get in the house! Now! Wait for yer father!”

Samuel told her they had been hunting for meat, and then led Will around their fuming mother and into the cabin, where the somberly went to their bedroom. Sam sat on his bed, bowed his head and sighed.

“Father is gonna hurt us bad when he hears.” Sam’s voice sounded rough, dry almost.

Will sat down next to him. He wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulders.

“Maybe he will be light on us. If we tell him we were hunting for-“

Sam shrugged Will’s arm off.

“T’won’t be light, Will. Even if we did tell him we were out hunting. He will be angry.”

Will’s eyes lowered to the wooden floor. Sam was right. Yet-

“What ‘bout the dragon, Sam? We tell him ye killed the dragon then he will be happy.”

Sam seemed to consider this for a long time before he said.

“Maybe.”

Later that night, their father came home, sweaty and tired. He plopped down at the eating table, where their mother had fixed him a large plate of chicken quarters and potatoes. She did not tell him what they did until after his dinner.

After she was done speaking, their father stood from the table with a heavy sigh. Will could tell the man did not want to do what had to be done, but it was a matter of principle rather than wanting to or not. The children had done wrong and needed punishment for it, so they may learn to never do such again, unless told to.

Their father turned to Sam first, motioned him over. Sam bowed his head and walked over to father. Then Will was surprised to hear father speak, instead of the sound of leather against bare skin.

“Ye had good intention, I know. Hunting for this family. T’was good smarts to think of it. But ye wandered out and did not leave a note with yer mother. She was worried ill for you two.”

Sam lifted his head to look up and Will saw how their eyes locked on each other’s. He saw the love there and knew their father was not going to beat them tonight.

Then Sam said.

“We killed the dragon Megrog.” To this their father’s bushy dark eye brows rose.

“True?” Their father asked after a moment and looked at Will. Will nodded, as did Sam.

“Where?”

“The Sky Clearing in the eastern forest.” Sam said.

Their father let go a long breath that wasn’t quite a sigh.

“Tomorrow ye will shown me.” Their father said.

Sam nodded and hugged their father. Will hugged the man too and then their mother said.

“You will not!”

Their father turned to her, and her eyes lowered. She nodded. Then he went over to her and embraced her too. He whispered something in her ear. And she nodded and they kissed. Their father turned back to Will and Sam.

“Off to bed. In the morning we shall see thus dragon.”

They went to bed without speaking to each other.

The next morning they led their father through the eastern part of the Laughing Forest and to the large meadow-clearing hidden within. The sword dropped from their father’s hand. And his mouth opened wide. His eyes grew large, like meal plates.

“By the God. Ye were truthful after all.” He said in an awestruck voice.

Then Sam suddenly doubled over, he screamed.

Their father rushed to Sam, put his large heavily worked hands on his shoulders.

“Samuel?” Their father managed before Sam dropped to his knees, wailing, arms wrapped around his gut.

Their father stepped back. Will stood, his eyes flitting from the dead dragon to his screaming brother.

“The curse.” Will said softly.

He felt his father’s eyes on him and he looked over at the man. He saw his father was crying.

“No. No curse. Help me with yer brother. We-“

There was a ripping sound, like a cloth flour bag being torn open, and then two small membranous wings shot out where Sam’s shoulder blades should have been. He yowled his agony.

“God.” Their father said, stepping away, weeping.

Will started forward, but then a long greenish tail burst forth from Sam’s rear and struck Will directly in the chest, knocking him back. The tail whipped about furiously. And even as Will watched, it grew spikes and a sharp talon at the tip. Oh no.

He scrambled away and joined his father, unable to do nothing more but watch. It was the curse, it had found Samuel. Sorrow like cold water filled up inside of Will as he watched thick greenish scales sprouted all up and down his brother’s arms, his legs, smothering his face. He nearly wretched when Samuel’s head morphed, grew, elongated. A dragon’s muzzle replaced Sam’s mouth and nose. His eyes shifted more so to the sides of his head and changed to an amber color.

A hard hand grasped his shoulder. Will looked up and saw his father, still weeping, motion with his other hand to moved farther away. There was nothing that could be done now, and Will saw the stinging fact in his father’s wet brown eyes.

They moved to the nearest edge of the clearing, both trembling with fear and sadness as Samuel turned from an average young man, into a giant dragon. One, perhaps, even larger than the one Sam had killed not so long ago.

And when this newly formed dragon let loose its first roar, Will thought he could hear Samuel screaming within it. Screaming to be let out, screaming for his life. Will then began to cry, for his brother was now a beast, a dragon.

The thing before them roared again, flapped its mighty wings, and then lifted itself into the air. Will and his father stepped into the clearing to watch it go. Will’s father picked up his sword and turned to him.

“Samuel is gone. Forever.” With that his father left Will alone in the clearing as Will dropped to his knees and wept.

Near dusk, when the forest was just beginning to come to life with horrors beyond even his most frightening dreams, Will stood from the ground, wiped away the last of his tears and ran back to the cabin. He knew what needed to be done.

He waited until his parents were heavily in sleep, which took quite a while, and then he grabbed Samuels bow from the corner where the hunting weapons were kept. He slipped on his boots, his deer hide coat, and Sam’s quiver of arrows. He wrapped up a loaf of bread from the pantry in a cloth and, just before walking out the front door, stole his father’s sword.

Somewhere between deepest night and dawn, Will quietly led his father’s horse away from the cabin and to the road. From there he began to ride.

He knew what needed to be done. Samuel must be stopped. His misery must end. And Will knew exactly the direction his brother had gone.

East. He rode with a blank face, his eyes never straying from the road ahead, for, there might be things along the sides that want to eat him.

The End

First Sentence Assignment...and other business

2007-06-23T08:54:00.000-04:00

Enough of that old dusty Chop Shop...let's move on, shall we?

Follow me, my friends, let me enchant and then horrify you...

Don't ask what the hell that was all about, I don't know, a sudden rush of wonkiness I suppose.

Anyway, I feel it is due time we had another first sentence assignment. I say enough to all this hacking and slashing and creepy crawlies for a little while (not forever, of course, hee-hee). Let us try something else for a change, something, on a slightly lighter note. You be the judge though for the assignment. Write what you want to write..you'll hear no objections from me.

For those of you who are not familiar with this: I provide a beginning sentence, and from there you take over and write a story somewhere around 2,000 words or less. Simple as pie and the rabid rat that ate it, right? Sure.

Here's your first sentence: The dragon swooped down from the sky like a winged demon, its maw yawning open to claim them.

This can be in any genre, even the obvious, which would be fantasy. But I think it could also be used as a metaphor, if done correctly. I don't know. Try it out, see what happens.

The deadline will be July 8th. I will post my contribution sometime before that.

I'll also be gone from the 28th of this month until the 2nd of July. We're going to a resort up in northern Minnesota for vacation. I'll take pictures fro all of you to see. That is, if I can get me stinking digital camera to work. It won't let me go in and delete picture to free up memory fro some reason. If anyone has any ideas on how to alleviate this problem, I'd be grateful to know...

Anyhoo. So there's your assignment. May it treat you well and inspire a great story. Until next time...Later. Oh, yeah, I'm a big fan of computer painting. Isn't that the best work of art you've ever seen? :-P

Still, She Loves

2007-05-24T21:37:00.000-04:00

My friends, here's the romance mingler I promised. It's nowhere as intense as the last one, and I think it's more of a romance in it's own way. I don't know. Please feel free to let me know what you honestly think. Thanks again for reading!!!!

Still, She Loves

By
Lucas Pederson

When Emily died, James’s entire world crumbled into a vague nothingness, void of love, empty of life and happiness.

Luckily, Susan, Emily’s best friend, came along. If it hadn’t been for Susan, James just might have spiraled out of sanity and, well…

He didn’t want to think of what might have happened. Not with his six year old daughter so close by. James wondered if she remembered her mother. Granted Rachel had only been a year old at the time James came home and discovered his wife’s body in the bath tub, cold water spraying onto her stiff naked body. She had slipped in the tub while taking a shower, cracked her head open like an egg on the edge of the porcelain tub and died nearly instantly, according to the coroner. James liked to think she didn’t suffer. He prayed she had not suffered.

Still, James had to wonder if his dear precious daughter could remember her mother. They’ve never talked about it, he supposed. The subject just never came up. Maybe that was for the best. It happened five years ago now, and that’s a long time for a child. For James, though, it felt just like yesterday, and that was horrible enough.

“Daddy?”

James shook his head, cleaning the thought out of his head. He looked over at Rachel sitting on the floor a few feet from the TV. He smiled. She was a beautiful little girl, all blond curls and bright blue eyes.

“Yes?” He said.

“Why does Harry let Malfoy makes fun of him so much?”

His eyes flicked to the TV screen where a movie, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, was playing and then looked at Rachel.

“Because he knows Malfoy is a jerk. And jerks never win. Good people win, honey, good people like Harry there.”

Rachel smiled and said.

“Oh. That’s what I thought.” She turned back to her movie.

James chuckled and got up from the couch. He walked to the study, where his wife, Susan, sat before her computer, clacking away on her new romance novel. He stood in the doorway, watching her work, and falling in love with her all over again. She would never replace Emily, of course, but he loved her just about as much. And Christ she was beautiful!

Her long black hair, deeply tanned skin, her perfect body, revealed every bit of her Native American heritage. Emily had been blond, fair skinned, and not so lean, but Jesus, how she had made his blood hot just by looking at him! She had been his everything. God he missed her. But Emily was gone, Susan was here. Sometimes he had to remind himself of the fact.

Susan stopped typing abruptly and leaned back in her chair, staring at the computer screen, as if she had no idea what it was. James started toward her, and then stopped himself. Susan was thinking. If he interrupted her process now she’d likely lose her train of thought, derail it in fact. No. It’d be better to interrupt her while she was writing, if he had to. Then, at least, her mind isn’t in struggle mode.

She sighed and rubbed at her temples with the tips of her fingers.

James left the study, closing the door quietly behind him as he went.

Susan had one published novel, a quirky romance thriller that sold roughly a gazillion copies before they started seeing each other, and before Emily’s untimely death. It had remained on the top of the bestseller list for three months before finally dropping. Then she published another book, and that one sold even more. With the money she made, he no longer had to work, which was both a blessing and a burden. Sometimes he got bored just sitting around the house and not doing much of anything. Well, he had his small wood working business. But that wasn’t much of anything. He wished he was a writer too, then maybe he’s be busier.

An hour later Susan emerged from her study and walked into the living room, where James sat reading the morning paper and Rachel began watching another Harry Potter movie from the floor.

James looked up. Susan looked tired, drained.

“Hey sexy.” He said. She smiled.

“Dullard.” She said and plopped down beside him on the couch. She rested her head on his shoulder.
Dullard. She was always using that writer’s vocabulary on him. But he loved it. He loved her.

“Stuck, are we?” He asked and set the paper aside.

“Yeah.” She sighed.

James glanced at Rachel, and then at the TV screen. The movie was still working through the beginning, Harry’s still stuck in his horrible uncles’ house.

James said.

“Care for a refresher, then?”

Her head lifted from his shoulder and he looked at her. They’re eyes fixed. James felt his heart flutter, and his genitals stir in his jeans. Susan smiled. She had such a sexy smile. They kissed deeply. Then she whispered.

“Yes., I think I would.”

They left Rachel to watch her movie and hurried up the stairs to their bedroom. James locked the door behind him, just in case his little girl came investigating. That probably wouldn’t happen, Rachel loved the Harry Potter movies. She’d sit there on the floor until it was over.

Susan giggled as he took her in his arms. Again, they stared into each other’s eyes.

“You’re so beautiful.” He said.

She smiled up at him.

“So are you.” She said and they kissed.

Her tongue slipped into his mouth, his into hers. Joined, they became one in that instant. When their lips parted James wasn’t surprised by the throbbing erection wanting to burst out of his jeans.

Susan helped him out in that regard though. She unbuttoned his pants, unzipped the fly and pulled them down as he lifted off the blue t-shirt she was wearing. They stood, he in his boxers, his penis large and swollen, she in her bra. He could tell how taut her nipples were, even through the bra’s white fabric.

They embraced, kissing. He undid her bra from the back, as she gently gripped his manhood in one caressing hand. James shivered and then she left his lips and pulled down his boxers, her breasts jiggling nicely as she did. She came back up kissed him and then before he knew it they were on the bed. She stripped off her own jeans and her plain cotton panties. He pulled off his t-shirt. Then she was on top of him, and when he slipped inside of her sweetness, he couldn’t suppress the shuddering moan that escaped his mouth. The air about them seemed to thicken with passion. A swirling happiness that consumed them both at sent them into a world where only they existed.

And-

“Whoa.” He said. Susan stopped, looking down at him and smiling.

He needed to stop, needed to let himself settle a little before continuing on. Otherwise he’d blow it, literally. But he only needed to stop once, thank God.

As Susan climaxed, so then did James let himself climax too. He liked the feeling of them both having orgasms at the same time, it made everything else small by comparison. And it just felt so good, so right.

Just as they were finishing up, both very satisfied, there came a loud shriek…from inside the room.

Susan’s eyes widened. James laid there, his heart suddenly quickening in his chest. His first thought was that of Rachel, somehow she had gotten into the bedroom and caught them making love. But then the shriek came again, something so shrill and so menacing that not even a six year old girl could produce it. Susan rolled off and James sat up quickly.

“Wha-“ He began and the words melted from his lips and died in the air.

Beside him, Susan gasped.

Standing in front of the door, was Emily, James’s dead wife. She was crying, he saw. But, but that couldn’t be. Emily was dead; she had gone to whatever after life awaited her. She wasn’t a ghost. And if she was then how come he hasn’t been aware of her until now? It made no sense anyway you looked at it. Ghosts weren’t real either. Yet, here she was. Emily. She wasn’t transparent. She looked solid, not like any ghost he has heard of.

“James,” Emily sobbed and took a step forward.

He shook his head. This couldn’t be happening. But it must be, because Susan was seeing Emily too. Susan spoke, her words slow, trembling.

“Emily?”

Emily’s eyes jerked to where Susan sat naked and gaping.

“You!” Emily cried. “You stole him from me! You stole my husband!”

Both James and Susan sat there, totally abashed. Emily bared her teeth at Susan and hissed like a snake. What the hell was that about?

“Emily? Is it really you?” James asked, and was great pleased to see her face soften a bit. She looked at him, nodded and began to sob again.
“But-“ Emily interrupted him curtly.

“I’m dead, I know. I’m dead.”

“Oh my God, Emily.” Susan said in an awestruck voice.

Emily straightened at the sound of Susan’s voice. Her face contorted into one of malice and rage.

“Shut up you bitch! Shut up!” Emily roared and the entire room shook violently. The windows exploded inward, spraying shards of glass everywhere. Susan screamed, started to get up off the bed and suddenly she was flying through the air, as if tossed by some mighty, giant hand.

Just before she collided with the dresser, her body was jerked away and thrown back onto the bed where she sobbed uncontrollably. Emily began to giggle shrilly.

“Stop!” James shouted, and Emily’s giggling dried up at once. She looked at him, her eyes beginning to weep again.

James stood from the bed, slipped on his jeans and slowly walked toward his dead wife. His heart ached for her, but something was different now. Emily had never in her life been as cruel as she had just to Susan. Something was off here. This couldn’t be Emily.

But as he walked toward her her composure slackened, her eyes turned out tears like waterfalls. She began to trembled and sob before him. Both of the women he loved were sobbing now. James stopped a about five feet from her. Yes. It was Emily, but oh, how angry she was. He could see her anger pulsing just under her skin, could actually see it!

“J-James.” Emily sobbed and dropped to her knees. She looked up at him crying, unable to speak now as the sobs racked her.

From behind him he heard Susan also say his name.

James, now not afraid, but confused, took a few steps forward and knelt down in front of his dead wife. He reached out and touched her tear soaked face. She was cold, but not icy, as he had expected. All the movies and books were wrong about that. Ghosts aren’t always icy cold. Emily gasped at his touch and clasped his hand to her face. She closed her eyes, and James found himself closing his own; images of their past life wafted by in his mind. Images of their wedding, of Rachel being born. All were good images, strong images. Then he opened his eyes. Emily was staring at him, her mouth quivering.

“I still love you, James.” She said.

All his strength, everything, dissolved just then. He broke down, unable to quite the weeping that spewed out of him. They embraced, becoming one with each other once again. They kissed, long and good. Yes. Good.

When they parted, Emily looked over at Susan, who was still sting on the bed naked, still crying. Emily sighed. Her eye drifted back to him.

“I-I had to come back to tell you I love you. I still love you, even though I’m dead.”

James was both horrified and pleased to hear this.

“I love you.” He breathed.

This brought a bright smile to Emily’s weepy face. They hugged again, kissed, more passionately now, and then parted. They stood from the floor, holding each other’s hands.

Emily turned to Susan on the bed. She smiled. Susan, her crying almost completely gone sat, eyes wide, shaking. Emily said.

“I’m so sorry. I-I’m just so sad that this happened. I miss all of you so much.” Emily’s eyes fixed on Susan.

“Thank you for taking care of my family, Suse. Thank you for giving James someone to love.”

Susan started crying again, although not in a terrified way anymore. This, James saw, was pure simple sorrow. They were best friends before Emily died, James never thought about how much Susan must mss Emily too.

Emily nodded at Susan and turned back to James. He saw that she was fading a little, growing transparent before his eyes, losing her solidness.

“I’ve gotta go now.” Emily said.

“Em.” James managed and tried to take her hands in his again. This time he grasped only cool air. Emily smiled.

“Tell our lovely little Rachel I love her. Tell her I will always be with her.” James agreed at once.

“And you James, I will always be with you.”

Emily faded into a fine mist. And just before that mist evaporated into nothing, James swore he heard the voice of his dead wife saying:

“I still love you.”

The End

Another mingle with Romance

2007-05-20T14:46:00.000-04:00

My friends,

I think I will be posting a new romance mingler either Thursday or Friday, since my last rather awkward experiment below turned out not to have enough romance. Romance isn't sex, I know that, although it does play a key, that I know as well. This next attempt will have more romance in it, but it will also mingle with another genre, and since I love horror, it will have a horror aspect to it.

The story itself is nearly finished, but I have my day job to contend with this week more so than last week. This week is my long week, so since I have Thursday and Friday off, the story will appear either of those two days. So keep a look out for it.

I want to thank everyone again for their very helpful and very honest feedback. It's helping me along, you see. You are all special to me and it's a joy to have you all reading! Thanks for being my friends, thanks for wanting to read. Later.

Haunted Romance

2007-05-14T21:35:00.000-04:00

Here's the romance story I promised, sorry it's a little late. But be warned, it's no regular romance story. Even though it might seem that way at first....Enjoy, my friends. And remember, I want honesty. Thanks again!

Haunted Romance

By

Lucas Pederson

They kissed and a zing of pleasure passed through him. Her hands went to the buckle of his belt, undid it, and then her fingers were on the button. He moaned deep in his throat, he couldn’t help it. Its been a long time since he’s had a woman and he wasn’t quite sure how to act, or what to say.

Their lips parted and she had his pants down before he even fully realized it. Then, yep, there went his boxers. He stood before her naked.

“Oh.” She gasped.

Then she had him in her mouth, and oh, how wonderfully exquisite! This time the moan slipped out of his mouth and lingered in the warm air of the night. He tilted his head back, smiling, giving into the feeling, the love, the passion, the-

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Kevin jerked awake, breathing heavily in the cool darkness of his bedroom.

“Turn that fuckin thing off.” His wife, Helen, mumbled beside him and rolled away. Nothing new there.

He shifted his position and felt a hot, sticky warmth in his boxers. Uh-oh. Kevin glanced over at Helen, swallowed and quickly slipped out of bed. I had a wet dream, he thought dazedly as he shuffled for the bathroom, his penis erect, protruding out before him like a large hitchhiker’s thumb. A wet dream. And it wasn’t the first.

Kevin cleaned himself up, threw the boxers in the wash machine along with various other clothes, and turned the thing on. When it whirred to life he turned and hurried into the kitchen to eat a quick breakfast. Helen would give him grief if she knew about his wet dreams. She always gave him grief about everything, as a matter of fact.

As he ate, the dream resurfaced in his mind. Floating there like a fine steamy mist. Every night for the past year the woman in the dream would come, but every time it would be different. Different sex positions, sometimes oral sex. Helen has never given Kevin oral sex. She claimed it degrading to woman, absolutely disgusting! Mostly, though, the dreams would consist of her, the dream woman, and him sitting down and talking. Even then he’d awaken with hot spunk filling his boxers. She always told him she’d like to get to know him better. She wanted to be more than just lovers. Hell, he didn’t even know her name so how could he go any deeper than lengthy conversations and sex? Ah, but she knew his, didn’t she? Oh yes. She spoke it more than once in many different dreams of the past. Still, how come he didn’t know her name? After a moment he chuckled to himself.

“Just a dream.” He told the empty kitchen. A dream.

“She’s not real.” Yet, she felt very real. Perhaps it was only him wanting her to be real that made it feel so real.

Kevin finished his cereal and left for work. And at various times of the day, his mind would drift to the most recent dream, and then the woman. The sexy, deliciously loving woman in his dreams. On the car ride home, after making a little pit-stop, he didn’t much listen to the radio, but heard her voice, saying:

“Oh.” Over and over again.

Once he was home, however, the dream and the woman faded back into his mind. That was okay, though, because now he needed to think of Helen. Today was their tenth anniversary, after all. And besides, he truly did love Helen. There were times, of course, he wished he hadn’t married her. Times that grow more frequent with each passing year. It was during these times he actually loathed her completely.

Kevin entered the house, smiling, because, loath or not, this was a special day, and he really did love her still. He loved her more than she knew. Gripping the box in his dirty jeans pocket, which he had picked up while at the pit-stop, Kevin started forward.

His heart sank a moment later when he heard the vacuum cleaner whir to life. She was cleaning…again. The woman seemed to always be cleaning. Perhaps she did it to avoid him, he didn’t know, but it drove him fucking nuts every time. Because every time she started to clean, she ignored him.

He let go of the small velvety box in his pocket and sighed. He’d have to wait now. Helen hated to be interrupted while she was cleaning, God knew why. Well, they were supposed to go out for dinner at nice restaurant tonight. Maybe then he’d give her her gift.

Instead of going to her and saying hello, he went upstairs and took a long hot shower.

Five o’clock that evening, Kevin dressed in a pair of tan kakis and a white dress shirt. They got into her car with out a word to one another. This was the way Helen liked it. Kevin’s car wasn’t good enough for a night out. His was a work vehicle, too trashy in Helen’s eyes to be out and about with her in it.

He turned the ignition and the engine started. He looked over at Helen then, sitting there frowning out the windshield. She was forever frowning. She was gorgeous, as always, but tonight she looked brilliant in her blue summer dress. His eyes floated to her breast, back up to her face. It took him a moment to realize she was looking at him now, glaring.

“Well?” She said. “We going, or are you gonna stare at my tits all day?”

Without a word, Kevin put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway.

Half an hour later they pulled into the restaurants’ parking lot. A nice little Italian job by the name of Biolli’s They’ve never eaten here, but Kevin heard the food was excellent.

They got a booth and sat down.

“May I get you two something to drink while you look over the menus?” Their waitress asked, pleasantly smiling at him.

Kevin smiled brightly back and began to say: “The finest wine you carry.”, when Helen piped up.

“I’ll have a Diet Coke.”

At a sudden loss for words, Kevin gapped at her. Helen impatiently gestured fro him to order his drink. He sighed and looked up at the waitress.

“I’ll have a Bud Lite, if you got it.”

The waitress smiled, nodded and jotted down his order on her pad. Guess they do, he thought absently. The waitress left, and Kevin turned to his lovely, but sour wife. She sat there, scowling down at the menu. He knew what she was going to say before it even spewed out of her mouth.

“This place is so expensive.”

To Helen, everything was expensive. Kevin frowned and said.

“It’s a nice restaurant, honey, not Hardee’s You’re paying for good food.” He honestly didn’t want to rouse another fight, God knew there has been plenty, but he couldn’t just sit here and let her ruin their anniversary like she was ruining their marriage.

She looked up and the glare returned to stare him down. In some ways he was terrified of her. He just didn’t know what to expect sometimes. He wondered what ever happened to the Helen he had married ten years ago. That happy, care free young woman, who always opted fro a great time. Did he do this to her? Did he make her this sour woman who’d rather clean and bitch at him than have a good time with the man she married? God, he hoped not. Yet, he wondered. Was it his fault?

“You’re nothing but an alcoholic.” Helen snapped.
“It’s one beer, Helen. First in three months. Relax. Besides,” He smiled. “It’s a special day.”

Helen looked at him for a long time before she shrugged, looked down at her menu and said.

“Just another day.”

Kevin gaped at her. He wanted to reach across the table and slap her has hard as he could. How could she be so damn cold?

Their drinks came and the conversation died. Kevin ordered another Bud Lite after his first, and then another, and another, one more. He didn’t eat anything, and instead of pulling out the velvet box to show Helen what he bought for her, something he couldn’t afford when they got married, but could now, Kevin settled back and thought about the woman in his dream, and how he wished she was sitting there in Helen’s place right now. Why, wouldn’t that be wonderful. Yes, it would.

They got home at around eight o’clock, Kevin a bit tipsy from too much beer and not enough to eat. Helen marched up the stairs, mumbling to herself about what a wretched night this had been. Kevin watched after her as she went, thinking all the while how much he hated her just now.

“I’ll be up in a minute.” He called after her.

Helen paused a couple steps from the top, spun, began to tell him something, probably for him to stay the fuck downstairs until she’s asleep, and then she lost her balance. She went tumbling down the stairs. Kevin screamed. He started up the stairs to catch her when he heard the thick sickening snap of her neck break. Helen rolled into him and he gathered her up quickly. She was limp in his arms as he moved her from the stairs to the bottom landing.

Kevin laid her on the landing, sobbing. Her head was craned in an impossible angle.

“Oh Jesus.” He gasped and felt for a pulse. Nothing. He listened for breathing. Again, there was nothing.

He stood, and backed quickly away from her. Dead. His Helen. His Helen was dead. Kevin, feeling hot tears prickle his eyes, went for the phone to call for an ambulance. Half way there, he stopped. What was he thinking? If he called anyone they might think he did this to her. It was absurd, sure, but still, people especially ones of authority, wouldn’t see it as absurd and would dub him a murderer in a day. He turned to look at Helen’s twisted body there on the bottom landing, and shivered. What the hell was he supposed to do with her then?

Kevin plopped down on the couch and cupped his hands over his face.
An hour later, he fell asleep sobbing on the couch.

“She’s dead.” He told the woman standing before him naked, the warm night air lifting her raven dark hair.

“Who? You’re wife?” She asked.

“Yeah. She fell down the stairs.”

The woman smiled a little, but said nothing. That was okay, Kevin knew what she was thinking. Helen, in a way, deserved what she got. Then suddenly the dream woman’s face brightened.

“Kevin.” She said after a moment. He looked at her. They were standing in his living room now, and looking at the body of his dead wife. How they had gotten here was beyond him. But suddenly he thought hew wasn’t dreaming anymore.

“Yes?” He said.

“I can be real again.” She said and turned to him. She was still naked and he thought about how he’d love to ravage that flawless body, even in the presence of his dead wife.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

She smiled and nodded toward Helen.

“I can live in her body. Her own spirit has moved on. She’s truly gone. But I can have her body as my own, if you want that.”

“So you’re a ghost then?” He asked. “That’s how you got into my dreams?”

“I’m a spirit.” She said. “A ghost is lost. I was never lost, I love this world better is all. Besides, I fell in love with you the first moment I saw you when you and that woman bought this house.”

“Two years ago.” He said, remembering the day.

A tornado had taken their old home in Manchester. Not long after, they came here, to Ryan, and bought this beautiful two story house.

“Yes.” The woman spirit said. She looked at Helen. “I never did like her, even then. She was so mean to you.”

“She wasn’t always that way.” Kevin said, then added. “I’m not sleeping anymore, am I?”

“No.” She said. She went to him and they embraced. They kissed for a long time. Kevin felt his groin stir with excitement and pushed her gently away.

He looked at Helen and sighed.

“Okay.” He said.

“What?” She asked.

“Take her body. But can you live? Her neck’s broke.”

“When I enter everything will be restored.” The spirit woman said and started for the body.

She stopped and gave him a happy smile. Yes. He was in love her all right. And he believed she truly loved him too. The spirit woman turned away and walked to Helen’s corpse.

They sat at the very same booth at the very same restaurant. They smiled at each other, unable to keep their eyes off of each other. When the waitress came around, he ordered for them a finest bottle of wine.

After they had ate and most of the wine was gone, Kevin brought out the velvet box meant for his one true love. He opened the box and reveal the contents to the pretty dark haired woman sitting across from him. She gasped. Kevin smiled. Before coming home from work, he had stopped at the jewelry store and bought Helen a four carrot diamond anniversary ring.

The woman took the ring and slid it onto her ring finger, now void of any other rings. This was to be a start for them

“Will you marry me?” He asked quietly.

She giggled happily.

“Yes. I will, I will. I love you so much!”

They leaned over the table and kissed. Once seated again they stared at each other. A few minutes passed and Kevin asked.

“By they way, what’s your name?”

She giggled again. Her green eyes fixed on his.

“Just call me Helen.” She said softly and took a sip of wine, her eyes never leaving his.

Kevin nodded.

Helen, he could live with Helen.

The End

Mr. Romantic

2007-05-11T20:35:00.000-04:00

My friends,

I've been dabbling in the romantic genre for a few months now. I am under the impression that there are very few male romance writers out there. Kate has told me of a couple and I just bought an interesting one by Nicholas Sparks today.

I think there are less male romance writers out there than woman because men have a harder time with the subject of intimacy and sex. Perhaps we are embarrassed to write about something so deeply passionate and difficult as the romance genre. Perhaps (should I say it? sure why not.) we men are scared of romance in an odd subconscious way. For some of us it's very much conscious. A lot of men have trouble either being romantic with their partner, or have no clue how to go about it, which I think are one in the same.

As for myself, I don't do too bad int hat department, I don't think. My wife does brag from time to time about the day I had spread rose peddles on the floor, forming a path upstairs, which had been twinkling with various candles I place here and there. She had gotten home from work, walked in and followed the path upstairs, where I was waiting, massage oil read, the bed sprinkled with more rose peddles. Okay, so it's not that original, but hey, I think it turned out pretty good. And for the four years we've been married I've done quite a few romantic things up until this date.

But writing a romance? Nope. I've never even tried. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I'm such a fan of horror I can't bring myself to read any romance at all.

For my next post I will posting a short romance story. This is a first, so please, don't laugh...well, at least not before you read it. There will be one difference, however. I am going to mingle the romance genre with another, as an experiment.

I will post the story either Sunday or Monday. Let me know if you want to read it. It's always great having all of you take a gander and throwing out your feedback. I'm so grateful to have such caring friends. So grateful...

First Sentence Contribution: Lights Out

2007-05-06T18:01:00.000-04:00

This, my friends, is something different from what I normally write. Take a look see and let me know what you think. Thanks!

Lights Out

By

Lucas Pederson

Beyond all I’ve seen before, this was the worst.
Kevin covered the little girl’s body up with the white sheet and stood up straight. He looked at me, his eyes red and puffy from crying. Murder was horrible, as was rape, but both combined upon a nine year old girl was horrifying, sickening. Even I had a hard time keeping back the tears and the sobs, and the vomit that wanted to spew out of me in gouts.

My partner sighed and walked away, hands stuffed in the pockets of his tan slacks. I watched him go through the front door, and then turned back to the small shape under the white sheet, now so blood soaked it was nearly scarlet in most places. I swallowed down a hard lump in my throat and squatted down beside the body. I didn’t want to lift the sheet again, I didn’t want to see that poor little mangled body lying there. I didn’t want to see the blood, or her battered face.

But I had to. If I was to look for clues, I’d have to lifted off that bloody sheet and look, damn it. No matter how much I didn’t want to. I started lifting it off the girl’s head, her blond hair now the color of puréed strawberries, clung to the sheet as I pulled, when someone spoke next to me.

“Leave it alone, Curt. Just leave it alone.”

I started and stood. Standing beside me was John Harding, my captain. I frowned at him. It wasn’t like the cap to stop an investigation like this.

“What do you mean stop?” I asked, genuinely bewildered.

He looked at me, and I suppose I knew the answer all ready. It was there, in his sincere hazel eyes. I sighed and waved a hand down at the shape under the sheet.

“I’ve gotta do it, John. I gotta look for clues.”

“Let forensics do it.” John said, his voice rough. Then-

“C’mon. Lets go outside.”

I stood taken aback. It wasn’t like the cap to put a halt on an investigation to let forensics do the dirty work right away. Usually we called forensics in for homicides anyway, hell most every time, but they mainly dusted for prints and looked around with UV lights until we needed them to take samples form a body. At least, that’s how we worked. I know other departments in different states and counties let the forensics people do the searching for clues bit. It probably didn’t matter either way, but I liked to look for the clues. That way I knew I didn’t miss anything vital to the case.

“She was raped.” I said and saw John flinch at that.

“How do you-“

“How else do you explain her being naked, John?” I asked curtly.

“Easy Curt.” John said. He put a hand on my shoulder.

“Let’s go outside, let the For’s handle the searching.” The cap liked to call forensic folk For’s. Ah well, whatever tripped his trigger.

I didn’t want to go outside, but I let myself be led that way without a fuss. Maybe it would do me some good to take in some fresh air. Maybe.

I spotted Kevin sitting on the hood of my car, a Toyota Camry. His head was down and I could tell from the stoop the man was crying again. Kevin had two daughters of his own at home and I imagined he couldn’t believe someone would do this sort thing to a little nine year old girl. What kind of twisted fuck could be so evil? I knew of a few, now behind bars because of me, but I knew a few all right.

I walked over to my partner as the cap spoke to some of the forensic fellows. Probably telling them to do the searching this time. It still baffled me though; John never stopped me from doing my job. But of course, we have only had one child murder in this county since I’ve been here, thirteen years now. But that one hadn’t been as bad as this. I don’t think anything could be. Still, I had to wonder why he would stop me like that.

Kevin looked up as I approached. He quickly wiped his eyes and slid off of my hood.

“Sorry.” He said, still wiping his eyes with backs of his hands.

“Don’t be.” I said. “Things like that, they’re hard to look at.”

“Yeah. But I shoulda toughed it out.” Kevin said.

“Doesn’t matter anyway. The cap’s getting forensics to do the dirty work. All we gotta do is wait.”

“Forensics?” Kevin said, frowning, his tears subsiding.

I nodded.

“But we-“
“The cap wants them to do it this time. We’ll act as back-up, I guess.”

“Back-up.” Kevin said, his face twisting in a grimace. I knew what he felt. We were supposed to be the ones up front. We were supposed to do the job. Forensic was supposed to be the back-up.

“Yep.” I said and turned to look at the nice suburban ranch style house.

The girl hadn’t been apart of the family that lived here. Which was odd, because the girl was killed here. IT made no sense, plus, we didn’t have a name to go by. Someone had kidnapped the poor thing, brought her to this house while the real family was off on vacation, Disney Land, and raped and killed her. I hope for the little girl’s sake she had been dead before the sonofbitch did the raping. Actually, I hoped for all of our sakes.

I wasn’t married and I didn’t have any children, but it still sickened and frightened me when it was a kid that was forced to suffer. Even an adult is sad to see, however not as emotionally frightening.

“So what do we do now?” Kevin asked me.

“Don’t know yet. I’ll go talk to the cap and-“

Crack! Crack! Gunshots, from inside the house.

I froze, for a moment unsure if I really heard those two identical cracks. Then-

Crack!

“What the fuck?” Kevin breathed next to me.

“Ah shit.” I said and drew my piece. I started for the house.

Uniform officers were doing the same. Not far behind me I heard Kevin saying something about the little girl’s murderer. Could that be? Could the guy have been hiding in the house the entire time? No way. We did a thorough check of the place before settling in, it was standard procedure, but maybe-

Screaming from inside the house. A man, screaming for people to stay back. There was something about that voice that sounded familiar. A uniform mounted the stoop, got just inside the doorway, then-

Crack! Half of his head exploded into a reddish cloud. Bits of bone and flesh and brain matter sprayed into my face. I shrieked, I couldn’t help it, and moved away, wiping the crud off of me frantically.

“Jesus.” Kevin said, somewhere close.
Men were shouting, some were screaming. I felt more than saw all the commotion about me. Officers running back and forth, some to their cruisers to radio in the situation. We didn’t need back up, there was more than enough here, but when a shooter went berserk, we had to radio it in.

I got as much of the brains and blood off my face and turned to Kevin.

“The back door. C’mon!”

He nodded. I was happy to see all the sadness was gone now. What replaced it was a coldness we police often get when faced with a difficult task. His side arm was drawn.

We ran around to the back of the house and to the back door. I tried the knob. Locked.

“Shit.” Kevin said. “What now?”

I shrugged. There was only one thing to do.

I took a couple steps back, and kicked the door in. I went in first, Kevin covering me. I entered the kitchen. No one there. Outside I could here people shouting. It was like a damned circus out there.

Crouching low, I made my way to the archway and peered around the corner, into the living room.

There, I saw the shooter, the murderer I had no doubt. Three forensic people lay sprawled and dead as could be around the like wise dead little girl. The man with the gun had his back to us, so he must not have heard me kick in the door. That was good. I moved slowly into the room, straightened. I might have been safer behind the corner of the archway, but I had a better shot right here, in the open.

I didn’t have to look behind me to know Kevin had my back.

“Freeze asshole.” I said.

The man, dressed in a familiar grey sport coat and grey slacks, jumped. In his right hand he held what appeared to be a police issued Berretta. What the hell?

The man turned around slowly, and even before he did, I knew who it was. Captain John Harding.

I squinted, not sure I believed what I was seeing.

“Cap?” I said.

He brought the gun up quickly, but not quick enough. I shot him twice in the chest before he could pull the trigger. His face switched from one of lunacy to one of surprise, and he crumbled to the floor.

I ran over to him and kicked the gun out of his hand.

“Curt.” The captain said and spewed up a gout of blood.

“Mother fucker.” Kevin said, awestruck.

“Curt. I had to, I had to do it. She made me.”

“What? Who?” I asked.

“The…the girl. She wanted me to rape her and kill her here, and shoot everybody.”

The cap shuddered, hitched in a ragged breath, and then blew it out as his body fell limp. He was dead.

“Shit.” I said, shivering.

“The cap.” Kevin said. “He-“

“Don’t say it.” I said. “Not right now.”

It was true though, two days later the semen samples revealed the DNA of one John Q. Harding. We never knew why the cap had raped and killed the little girl, who’s name we found out later was Victoria Flemming, or why he had started shooting his own people. Perhaps some details are better left in the dark. Better to leave the lights off, than to flip the switch and uncover something too vile to look at without going insane first. Much better.

The End

I'll be posting the links to great stories, as they come in, below. The new one by Kate Sterling has been added under Susan Miller's wonderful contribution. If you haven't done so all ready I suggest you go do it now. You won't regret it.

Results are In! First Sentence Assignment

2007-05-04T20:58:00.000-04:00

Hopefully more will contribute to this little assignment, but so far we have one who wrote a pretty neat little story. Go check it out and leave you feedback. It's really good! I've decided to drop the deadline on this assignment. So, if you still want to contribute you can at any time. Thanks to all! Oh, and I will be contributing to this in due time, if you are wondering. Later!

http://www.buckatunnaqueen.blogspot.com/ An original Susan Miller masterpiece! Go now, and let your senses tingle.

www.sterlingwriting.blogspot.com Yum. Go see for yourself.

www.bondsbigleathercouch.blogspot.com Those green eyes! Prepare to be frightened.

First Sentence Assignment!!

2007-04-29T21:37:00.000-04:00

Dear Friends,
All right, now since we got Stewart's brutal, but very fun assignment out of the way (I'm still improving that last awful attempt by the way) it's time for a new first sentence assignment.
For those of you who missed the last one, this is how we roll:
I post a beginning sentence and it is your job to come up with the rest of the story. It can be in any genre, and must be in your own style. The word limit is 2,000 words, give or take. If it runs a little over, don't worry about it, just show us the story. Always story. This is fun, trust me.
There were a few who participated the last time. Kate Sterling came up with a wonderful fantasy yarn that I'm still waiting to see how it turns out. She has it posted under Stewart's Assignments if your curious. Etain also came up with a great story, also fantasy. And Charles Gramlich wrote a creepy little tale that made me both smile, and shiver as I read it. All are very good and I recommend reading them if you haven't already.
All right, so you know the basics, you know past stories started with a single sentence. Why not give it a try? What's there to lose? I promise you, it'll be fun...

Here's the first sentence: Beyond all I've seen before, this was the worst.

The deadline is Friday, May 4th.

Okay now, shoo! Git! Write something grand, and remember...have fun.

Later.

Dangerous Lines: A Search for a Beloved Heart

2007-04-24T21:42:00.000-04:00

Well, here we. Again, I decided to participate in another Stewart Sternberg assignment. This story came out so smooth it was scary. I've had it happen before with a few stories I've written in the past, but this was a first in a while. It was great to feel that ease as I saw what my story was trying to lead me to. To feel so free!Thanks Stewart! Thanks everyone for taking the time to look. And remember, this goes for all my work, be honest about this. I like honesty.

Dangerous Lines: A Search for a Beloved Heart

Is there a set time for a person’s death? Could it be that there is some force, some being out there that knows every person’s life span, and what they will die from? And is it this being, this force, which decides our fates? Well…

Yes, and no.

I turned to Val, my half brother, and scowled at him. He knew nothing of what it was to be human. And yet he insisted on tormenting me about all its faults. Humans die, humans get ill easily, humans can’t fly, and so on.

I was able to fly once upon a time, before my choice; I had wings. The choice to remain as I was, a creature that flew the night skies and feasted upon terror and anarchy. What was I, you ask? Well, not a vampire, if that’s what you thought. No. I…was a demon; one in a million that skimmed through this world’s shadows to literally fuck up human existence. I used to love it. Until I fell in love. Yes. I hear you scoffing right now. Demons don’t know how to love. True, but we can learn. Once I met Angela, I began to learn. We’ve been together for six years.

Val scowled back, his leathery wings folding up to hide behind his back. I needed no words of his anger. I saw his trembling fists, his cold red eyes on my new blue ones.

“You betrayed us all!” Val burst out as he stalked toward me. I held up a hand.

“Far enough, brother.” I said.

Val growled. His eyes like fiery orbs in the night. My own eyes had turned blue my second year with my dearest Angela. My dark gray skin was now a dark tan. Even my fangs have gone. I’m more human than I ever hoped to be. And I’m still changing.

Val stopped. All he’d have to do was swipe out with one claw and that would be the end of me. Yet, he remained a goodish distance away. Who said demons were all action and no talk?

He thrust one long talon capped finger at me.

“You left us for one of them! The very creatures we’re trying to kill! How could you be so fucking stupid?”

“I love her.” I said, as if that explained everything.

Val roared and rushed at me. I held up a hand again, not afraid. And he stopped. This surprised me as much as I was surprised when I found demons could learn to love. But, in the end, Val would surely kill me. He has displayed a great deal of self control, but it was fading fast.

Val sighed.

“Let her go. Come with me and the Lord might give you back your wings.”

“No.” I said and shook my head. “I can’t. If you were to love, you’d understand.”

I could tell by the way Val’s red eyes glowed hotter that that little piece of advice, or whatever it was, enraged him greatly. He stood nearly a foot away from me now, face to face. I could feel the cold radiating off him and shivered. HE must have seen this because he grinned.

“Come back and you’ll never have to feel again.”

“No!” Shouted into his face.

Val recoiled a little and then his flat, ape-like nose was pressed against mine. He was so cold that I could feel my new skin blistering. His fangs were bared. Not good. I backed away just enough to relieve my burning nose.

“Then you’ll die as you are, weak.” Val said.

“Rather that than die as you are. A monster.” I said, wanting to rub my hurt nose, but not daring to with Val so close. I didn’t want to show him just how weak I had become. But humans do have their strengths, oh yes, and I knew of one Val didn’t.

I gave him the kindest smile I could muster. He cringed back, frowning at me.

“What-“ He began, and then I said.

“I love you too, Val, my brother.”

To this, Val looked sick, he backed away from me, gagging. I stepped forward, meaning to say just how much I love him, which was false, of course, when he straightened and charged toward me, claws out, fangs snapping. He was going to kill me now.

Yet, he stopped a couple feet away from me, snarling like a rabid dog.

“Don’t you ever say that to me again! I’ll kill you if you do!” Val said.

“Go away, Val.” I said. “Go away, I’m happy now.”

“You’re fucking brain washed! How do you know if you’re happy or not? Huh? How do you know how to love?”
I smiled.

“I learned.” I said.

“Fuck you!” Val screamed into my face. His breath was like a dangerous gas. Mustard, perhaps.

Val was so angry he couldn’t stop from trembling all over. I knew what he wanted to do, so why didn’t he do it? Why not just end it all? What was holding him back?

“You’re a disgrace to what we are!” Val boomed. He pushed me, hard, but I managed to keep my balance.

The old rage bloomed in me just then. I glared at him and roared.

“You have no right to touch me! Go away!”

The creature that was my half brother, growled and we began to move in a slow circle eyes fixed on one another. Then-

“Will what’s-“

The sound of the back screen door slapping shut an her words made me freeze where I stood. Val’s eyes, those wretched eyes, flickered passed me. HE looked at me again, and grinned.

“No.” I told him, but his grin lengthened.

“Don’t you touch her.” I said.

Val leaned closer to me, his grin like a dark cut sliced ear to ear.

“You will come back to us, Will.” He said to me.

He flashed passed me so fast I didn’t have time to realize it until after it had happened. Then I heard her scream, my wife, my life. Angela. I whirled on legs that felt like stacked water balloons. My heart clenched.

Val held her in the air above our back deck. He laughed.

Then, they vanished. Just like that…gone.

“Aaannnggelaaaa!” I cried. I raced to the porch.

Gone, gone. They were gone. Suddenly I knew why my half brother did not attack me, why he restrained himself from killing me.

“Because there are other ways to kill.” I murmured.

I sent my sight to the sky. My Lords have changed since I met Angela. I now worshiped the one from the Heavens. The other, that bowel sucking serpent, was mostly to blame for taking my dear Angela.

A few minutes later I went into the house, packed some clothes into a duffel bag, grabbed all the money from Angela’s purse and the small safe we kept in our office, and left the place I have called home for six years.

The night was warm, somber. As my shoes made soft scuffing clacks on the pavement, I brought up a fresh image of my Angela. Sweet, caring, loving, perfect.

I would find them, Val and my beloved wife, even if it took me eternities to do so. I would find them.

The End

Anarchy!!

2007-04-17T14:46:00.000-04:00

For the final ingredient, Anarchy, I have only a few words to say: Virginia Tech, Columbine, 9/11.

Need I say more? Need I write a story about it? There's too much right now to even go into. It's sad, and appauling. Scary, and horrifying. To get the perfect horror stories, simply watch the news. Horror is all around us. It's monsters wear our faces. We are the true monsters. We are Blood, Madness, and Anarchy. I say we in general, of course. Not all of us are monsters. But there are quite a few out there. Quite a few. I mourn all of those lost in a scatter of bullets, a madman's torture, and fire. Need I say more?

Virginia Tech Massacre:

BLACKSBURG, Va. - The gunman suspected of carrying out the Virginia Tech massacre that left 33 people dead was described Tuesday as a sullen loner whose creative writing in English class was so disturbing that he was referred to the school's counseling service.

"He was a loner, and we're having difficulty finding information about him," school spokesman Larry Hincker said.

Professor Carolyn Rude, chairwoman of the university's English department, said she did not know Cho. But she said she spoke with Lucinda Roy, the department's director of creative writing, who had Cho in one of her classes and described him as "troubled."

"There was some concern about him," Rude said. "Sometimes, in creative writing, people reveal things and you never know if it's creative or if they're describing things, if they're imagining things or just how real it might be. But we're all alert to not ignore things like this."

I write horror fiction, but notice the word "fiction". This guy lost contact of that word somewhere along the line. Somewhere...

Inside the outside

2007-04-14T20:05:00.000-04:00

Here's a story for the second ingredient. Madness. Enjoy, my fine feathered friends...enjoy.

Inside the Outside

"I told you," Ted said and walked over to the coffee table.

"I'm perfectly sane."

Bill stepped into the living room. Ted had been his best friend since the first grade. But Ted hasn't quite been on the mark lately.

"I know people who'd say different, buddy." Bill said. He took a seat in Ted's recliner.

Ted whirled around.

"Who?" He asked.

Bill shrugged.

"Your wife. She's worried about you."

Ted let go a breath and rolled his eyes.

"What do I care what she thinks. Stupid woman. You know I had to take over cleaning the house because she's too lazy to do it?"

"I heard." Bill said and stood from the recliner. All at once he was scared. The room felt as though the walls themselves were alive, and wanting crush him, needing to. And yeah, he heard. Ted had taken over cleaning the house because ehe barely realized he was married anymore.

He shuddered and moved toward his friend. Ted's wife, Ellen, had asked him to come and talk with Ted; to have a sit down, as it were. Well, by the looks they won't be sitting down anytime soon. Well, save for that brief touch and go on the recliner, of course. The problem with Ted now days, was that he had become compulsive, when earlier in his life he was quite satisfied with things. There were other things too. Ted had begun to scratch wildly at the back of his right ear a lot, like he was doing now. He also talked to himself, even in company. So far the old boy hasn't done that yet. There were more tics and peculiar behavior, of course, but nothing of consequence.

Bill sighed and said.

"Ted, man, let's take a walk or something. Get some fresh air. What do ya say?"

"No." ted said immediately and then-

"Kiddies heads on stakes where devils leave their rakes."

Bill stood, his breath suddenly dying in hias throat. Here was Ted talking to himself. Bill decided to let it go. Christ he needed to get out of this house. HE felt like he couldn't bretahe at all.

"Blood drippin, drippin, down the slippin hill." Ted said, his eyes wide and fixed on Bill.

Ted took a step closer to Bill. Bill retreated a step. Ted caught up. Shit.

"Hey, Ted. Give me some air huh?" Bill said nervously.

"Yellowed fork tongues in the mouths of infants and rogues." Ted said and suddenly rushed at Bill.

Bill, shocked to see this sort of behavior, even from Ted, who has been losing his mind ever since his daughter drowned in the bathtub under his watch, side stepped and saw his old friend stumble passed.

Ted stopped, turned, his eyes wider. Terror leaped up and bit into Bill's gut. He winced.

"Kill the interloper that wields the water of logic!" Ted shrieked and lunged for Bill again.

Bill dodged his friend easily. Ted had never been very good on his feet. Ted collided with the coffee table, flew over top and landed on the floor. He made a giggling sound and shot to his feet. HE scratched frantically at the back of his right ear. Then he roared and came at Bill again.

"Ted for Christ sake!" Bill shouted and dodged Ted again. But this time Ted wheeled around unexpectidly and caught Bill on the jaw with a hard hook.

Bill saw stars for a moment and then Ted rammed into him. They both went to the floor, Ted screaming something about cookies in the dark will make all the dogs fart. Bill shoved Ted off him, sat up, and punched his friend hard in the chin. Ted's eyes rolled up to reveal only the whites, and then he collapsed to the floor. Out cold.

Bill got to his feet, shuddered and went to the cordless phone hung in its cradle on the wall. He dialed 911. He told the dispatcher what the problem was and she said there would be a unit there in ten minutes. Must be a slow day.

As Bill waited for the police to arrive to haul his friend away, he sat int eh relciner, watching Ted as he slept. He shook his head. Such good person. Why is it always the good ones? Bill didn't know. And soon he heard a car pull into Ted's driveway. The police. And from the police station, poor Ted will go to the mental hospital over in Independence.

Bill got up from the recliner, took one last look at his best friend, and went to the front door to let the police officer in.

The End

Blood, Madness and Anarchy!

2007-04-09T21:56:00.000-04:00

BLOOD:

What is the significance of blood in a horror story? Why does the very thought of it churn our stomachs and make our hearts beat a little faster? What is it that makes us all think about our own mortality? Is it mortality itself? Could it be that every splash of blood brings us that much closer to realizing we are destructible, that we too are like the victims on the page and on the screen? Why am I answering questions with more questions?

For me blood is one key to unlocking a horror story. Of course you really don't need blood to make a good horror story, but where's that sense of mortality? Where's the real fear? I need at least a dribble of blood in a story to keep me reading. I need that feeling that the character isn't a rock but real living flesh, destructible. I need to know the character is like myself, able to bleed, and to hurt. Blood is what makes us....

MADNESS:

There he is. Yes, over there in the far corner of your house. He's gibbering to himself as he stares at you. His eyes are fixed, haunting, mad. In his right hand he's gripping the handle of a steak knife so tightly he begins to tremble. He titters, and...well, I think you should be moving your ass right about now, wouldn't you say?

Madness creates suspense, which in turn creates a terrific mood for a great horror story. Not a slasher flick. There must be more to this person's madness than just wild killing sprees. They have feelings of their own you know. We must delve deeper into them, find what really makes them tick, huh? Yeah. I love both read and write what a ma person thinks and feels. It's really a grand time and if you haven't, I'd say give it a try. But I'm warning you...madness is infectious...

ANARCHY:

And so the world is in chaos...need I go further into the realm of anarchy? We all know what it means and how terrifying it can be. Perhaps I will leave this for someone else to show us. Howe about you? What do you think?

HAPPY EASTER TO ALL!! If you're into that...

2007-04-07T22:51:00.000-04:00

To you Devoted Readers and writers who celebrate it...HAPPY EASTER!!! To those who do not, hey, HAPPY SUNDAY!!!

Okay, okay, if you're reading this and it's still Saturday, please forget you even saw it. Close the window or jump to another blog. But on Sunday, be sure to stop by again and take a look. It's nothing much, but i hope it at least brings a twitch of smile to your face.

For those of you who happen on this blog and it's Sunday, well then, come along, let me show you something silly, for today is not a horror day. Today is a day of peace, of love, and of brightness. Of family and friends. This is a day to celebrate, no matter if you celebrate Easter or not. It's Sunday damn it! Enjoy it. Relax. Okay, are you ready?

Tommorws forecast tells me it's supposed to be cold and windy, not very good weather for Easter egg hunting let me tell you. That's a stinker. Now let me tell you a brief story that popped into my head just when I turned on the computer this evening. Here goes...

Sunday's Eggs

"Found one!" Pam cried and stuffed the colored plastic egg in the plastic Wal-Mart bag.

Her brother Drew shot a glare her way and then opened his bag to look at the contents. There were only four eggs in there. Not anything to be proud of. He turned and started looking harder for the remaining eggs. He knew there were more. There had to be. Pam had eight and he had four. There had to be more out ther in the yard somewhere.

Ignoring the cold wind that threatened to pick him up and carry him away, Drew re-started his search. Behind him he heard a voice shout.

"Got another one! Drew walked right passed it!"

He didn't trun around, and instead kept up his search. So what if he walked by an egg? There were more out here...somewhere.

He walked around to the back yeard and paused, eyes scanning the patch of land before him. And there! Something that didn't go well with the bark of a small maple tree. Something purple. He ran toward it, smiling in triumph, the plastic bag with his four plastic eggs clattered and crackled, and swung in his right hand.

But as he came closer, Drew's speed slowed, slowed, until he fell to a stop about eight feet from the tree. His brow creased. What the hell was that? It was purple sure, but that , that thing wasn't a plastic egg left behind by that fabled bunny, but what appeared to be a fat little man.

The man looked at him, hand on his meaty sides, tiny head cocked to the left,as if ponderin Drew's exsistance. Drew, eyes large, mouth gaping, took a step forward. The fat little man flinched and his hands came up in a warding guesture.

"Go away, go away! Don't eat me!" Cried the little man. Drew could barely hear him even at this distance.

"I won't eat you." Drew heard himself say, though he was curious to exactly what this little man really was. HE started forward again.

"No, no! Stay back! Bunny'll be back!"

Bunny? No. This little man dressed in what appeared to be a purple sweat suit didn't actually say that. Hell, the fellow didn't exsist in the first palce. Drew had to be imagining all this.

Drew went to the tiny man standing in the elbow two joining branches. The man shook his head vigorously.

"He'll be back! When he gets back he won't be happy to see you here. You're supposed to be out front!"

Drew frowned. Could this be for real? He reached out to touch the little man then-

"Hey! Hey you! Get your paws off my assistant!"

Drew whirled and spotted a large brown rabbit bounding toward him from the his dad's wood pile. And, was that a cigar hanging from the rabbit's mouth? Yes. Instead of a carrot it was chomping on a fat cigar. Wierd.

The large rabbit came to a halt at Drew's feet, and then stood up on its hind legs. Its face looked hotly up at his.

"You're supposed to be out front kid." Said the rabitt.

"I-I-" Drew began but the rabbit interupted.

"You're interfering with my job. I can't afford interference."

"Are you the Easter Bunny?" Drew managed.

Teh bunny blinked up at him for a moment, glanced over at the little man in the tree and then looked at Drew again.

"Perhaps." It said and smiled. Yes! IT smiled! Its mout lengthed around its cigar.

Then it sighed, glanced around and then motioned with one paw back the way Drew had come.

"Get back out front, kid. I'm not ready for you back here yet. Go out front and count to twenty, then come back here. I'll leave you soemthing speacial." The rabbit smield again.

Drew looked at the man in teh tree, at the rabbitt and then hurried off.

The rabbit glanced up at the little man once the kid was gone.

"That was a close one." Said the man.

"I know." Bunny said and sighed. "I'm getting slow with my age."

"Let's get to it. He'll be back here real soon and we got more to hide yet." The little man said.

Bunny nodded, and then hopped off to finish the job.

Drew counted to twenty. Pam had all ready gone back inside. Good.

He hurried to the back yard, and came to a sudden halt. His eyes grew as large as coffe cup saucers. A smile curled his lips.

Drew saw them all! Colorful plastic eggs, everywhere! And he went to collect them; and collect them he did. Later that day he opened his eggs one by one as his parents stood by, baffled. They hadn't hidden that many eggs. Not enough to fill three shopping bags! But they did not tell Drew this, he was just so happy. Besides, what's wrong with a little magic from time to to time anyway? Nothing at all.

The End

And if you haven't noticed my blog is supposed to represent an Easter egg. Colorful and so forth. Just incase you think I've fallen off my rocker or something.

First Sentence Links!

2007-04-02T16:49:00.000-04:00

Wow! Here are the links to a few folks who have given my little First Sentence assignment a try. Thanks!

http://etainlavena.blogspot.com Look for "Lila: Heart of the Beast Part2"

http://sterlingwriting.blogspot.com A great novel beginning

http://charlesgramlich.blogspot.com A story with a wonderful twist

The Fairy (Part 6) The Conclusion

2007-03-24T21:34:00.000-04:00

This will be the end of my Fairy story. I hope it does not anger any of you. I will continue on with this story however, and make it an outline for a novel. Enjoy Part 6.

A deep, earthly growling that made the soil under her tremble. The vampyrs were on her at once. She eliminated perhaps four of them, that left eight more. Eight was still too many, though.

They piled on top of her, snarling and clawing.

Meanwhile, the trees continued to growl.

Nini screamed as on of the vampyrs tore into her should with its sharp fangs. She cried out as another broke her left wing. Ravenous creatures!

She tried throwing them off her, but they had her pinned to the vibrating ground, face down. With all the powers Zim had forced upon her, Nini could not even thrust one of them off. This stirred panic in her like liquid fire. They would kill her now, like they did to Zim, her people, everything they touched. They would drink of her life liquid without a care. Such vile beasts! What God could have created such horrible monsters and allow them to rape the world in which they inhabit? If there was such a God she would relish in the though of spitting the thing in its warty eyes and then lopping of its filthy head!

Then the ground under her started to rise.

The vampyrs paused their attack.

Something was happening. The trees? Could it be the trees? But the trees haven't moved in ages, why now? As if in answer, a roar like thunder shook the air.

The vampyrs slid off her and moved away.

Nini, realizing she was free, groaned in pain, and rolled onto her back so she could see what was going on. She wished she hadn't, for what stood looming over her she had never in her life wanted to meet; the Tree Keeper, glared down at her with its vicious red eyes. Its tall, thin body gave the impression that it owned the very world. Its pointed shoulders hunched, as if stuck in an eternal scowl, poised for attack. The Keeper never came out of hiding unless seriously provoked.

"A fairy?" It asked, puzzled.

Nini sat up. She nodded.

The Keeper stepped forward, glanced at the small group of vampyrs and then looked back down at Nini. It swept a giant claw in the direction of the wood.

"My trees tell me of unharnessed powers, evil powers, being cast about foolishly." It leaned down to face her. It head nearly as large as half her new body.

To my knowledge, fairies only carry earthly powers. To heal, love, and the like. My trees also speak of evil creatures not from this world." Its eyes flicked back at the vampyrs again, and then fell back to Nini.

"They are right to speak of such." Nini managed, and noted how her new voice seemed to boom out of her larger mouth.

The Keeper appeared to smile.

"And the last I knew, fairies are supposed to be small folk, not as large as you are."

"Zim the wizard gave me the power to grow before his end." Nini said.

At this the creature straightened.

"A wizard, you say? Impossible. Wizards are no more in the world."

"He was a wizard." Nini said, not mentioning her thoughts about Zim being a sorcerer.

"Odd." The Keeper said after a brief pause.

Its eyes moved passed her to the vampyrs once more.

"And as for you!" The Keeper's voice so loud and deep it shook Nini's insides.

She turned enough to see the vampyrs cower under that thunderous voice. She relished in the sight of it.

"You are not part of this world! You are not creatures, but demons, a plague! I know what you are! Vampyrs! And you are not welcome here!" The last word nearly defend Nini.

The trees started to howl, as if in pain. The ground shook violently. Nini dared not get to her feet. If she tried she'd be thrown back to the ground. The Vampyrs hissed, shrieked and clawed at the air int he direction of The Keeper.

Out of the darkness shot forth sharp wooden spears. Before Nini could grasp what had happened, all eight vampyrs had been impaled. They thrashed and screamed their agony into the night air. Deep holes appeared under each monster int eh ground.

"You are to be imprisoned here! Dead or not, you will never leave this village of ghosts. Nor will you wonder along side the residents here!" The Keeper announced.

Then all eight were tossed into their individual holes, shrieking. A couple all ready appeared dead, Nini noted. Roots from the trees then slithered into the holes, detached from the trees themselves for the singular purpose of binding. Then the holes were filled in, silencing the screams.

Nini turned to The Keeper, fearing it would be her turn to be impaled and buried. But the Keeper surprised her with its soft tone.

"Dear fairy, what is your name?" It asked. This so astounded Nini, she could not find words to speak.

When she finally did, she said.

"Nini."

"Ah yes. The lone survivor. I have heard of you Nini, from the trees. They have been speaking of you often since the destruction. Tell me, Nini, where is this Zim?"

Nini looked around, but Zim's body had vanished. She looked back at the creature and shrugged. It nodded.

"He is not a wizard, you know."

"A sorcerer." She said and then sighed.

"No." The Keeper said.

"He is something else. And he is not of this world. Is he dead?"

"Yes." Then after a moment. "No."

"Which is it, Nini?"

"He spoke of returning to claim back his powers. And to kill me."

At this The Keeper reared in surprise.

"To kill you? Why ever would he want to?"

"A prophecy. I'm to his sacrifice."

"No you will not." The Keeper growled. Then.

"I believe fair Zim has gone mad with power. He was once a very brave warrior, and a Keeper of and entire world. He was once fair, and kind, selfless to a point. Oh yes, I knew him. All us Keepers must know the others, even in separate worlds."

Nini once again could not speak, she was too shocked to even move her lips. She gaped up at the tall creature, lost again.

It chuckled lightly. It motioned fro her to stand. She stood.

"Come, Nini. We have much to talk about. Did Zim speak of when he might return?"

"After a season." Nini said, not really remembering all of what Zim had told her.

"That gives us time."

"For what?" Nini asked.

"To prepare for him. He'll come in a different form, but we will be ready, and we shall fight him. He has gone mad with his powers, his need for more, he must be stopped. Come, I will prepare you for his coming. But for tonight, you shall rest that bumbling new body of yours. Has he told how to return to your natural size?"

"No." Nini said as they began walking away from the ghost village.

"This, we will learn together. It shalt not be hard, I should hope."

And together they moved into the forest. The trees around them waved their passing. The night fell silent once again, and the ghosts of the village came out to caper on the graves of the vampyrs.

--------

On the season of the Crying Moon, Zim returned to the world. And when he found Nini, their battle would become legend.

Okay. I know I ended this with a huge cliffhanger. I'm sorry. Perhaps sometime in the future I will return to Nini's world and show you what a grand time she had with The Keeper of the Trees. What she learned and what she discovered about her self. Perhaps I will show you the great battle between her and Zim. But for now, I will let you come up with your own conclusions. And how Nini grew during her time with The Keeper. Let your imagination soar! No need to write it down, just open your mind...and see. Thank you.

The Fairy (Part 5)

2007-03-20T15:20:00.000-04:00

Okay, so I lied about the time frame. Here's part 5.

A quick flash of silver and the lead vampyer's head flew off its grotesque body. Nini closed her eyes. She didn't want to see what horrible life liquid pumped out of the stump of its neck. No. That would not do at all.

"Stay down!" Zim shouted in her head.

But she wouldn't, she couldn't. She had to see. Then the other monsters rushed at Zim. Silvery streaks whisper through the night air, and body parts of all types began to fly away from their host bodies. The injured creatures shrieked with both agony and rage.

And what was that? Nini frowned. Just under the shrieks, why, she heard alughter. Not humorous laughter, but mad laughter; frightening laughter. She soon realized the orgin of that awful laughter came forth from Zim! No wizard Nini ever heard of in a story, laughed like that. Wizards are supposed to be kind, caring, peaceful creatures; not ruthless and mad demons. If one wanted ruthless and mad, they should seek out a sorcerer. Was Zim a sorcerer? Nini prayed to teh Earthen God that he was not.

Then there was a low thud! sound, and Zim tottered, swayed,a nd dropped to the ground heavily. Something had struck his back, hard. Nini spilled out of the pocket and flipped on to the cold ground of the ghost village, completely exposed. She flitted to her feet, glancing around, heart hammering mightily in her small chest. At first she saw nothing. Then, upon turning around to where Zim had fallen, she saw them. Twelve, she counted twelve.

But all twelve of the vmapyers were not interested in her at all. It was Zim they attacked. Huddling over the man-creature, they clawed at him, growling like the beasts they were, they bit him. Flesh flung in ribbons into the dark. Nini, near tears made her wings work and lifted from the ground and to the peak of a near by ghost hut. Perched, she watched in horror as the monsters tore Zim apart, and ate him.

No. No, this mustn't happen! Zim was protecting her. He was-

"Be still, be quiet, little Nini. They only feast on my body, not me." Zim's voice in her mind spoke. Her blue eyes widened.

"Now listen well. My powers are yours. In time I will return to claim them back. Seek vengeance, little Nini. Seek your vengeance now, as they feed."

Nini stared at the horrid abominations down there, she heard the thick smacking noises as they feasted, and her stomach slowly churned. She did not believe the Zim voice in her head. There was no way she had somehow absorbed his powers. No possible way-

"Imagine yourself a warrior, Nini. Hurry."

"No." She told the voice.

"Shsh! Quiet your tongue! Now, imagine yourself the greatest warrior ever to exist. Imagine you are of human form, as I my body was. Do it now."

Nini closed her eyes, in spite of her disbelief. She thought of Zim's humanish form. She thought of the sword skill he had exhibited. She sent her mind to imagine a feminine form with a warrior's body. She imagined that form fearless, stronger and swifter than any known creature.

Something under her feet made a low creak. Sh ignored it. There was no time to-

The creak exploded into a crash, and then she was falling. Falling, but not far. Debris from the hut's roof pummeled the top of her head ans sifted heavy dust through the air. Something screamed. Something else began to weep.

Nini stood on the floor of the hut, instead of the roof. Coughing, fanning her hands before her to clear away the dust, she saw a small child ghost weeping at the far end of the hut. He stood there, staring at her, caught in an eternity of sorrow.

A whitish figure swiped passed Nini and she gasped. Ghosts were horrible things, but harmless for the most part. Still, they sacred her sometimes. She stepped forward, stopped. She felt different. Her entire visual plain was much great than it had been. She felt pulses of energy passing through her. She was taller. She was big, like Zim had been.

"Hurry, dear one, and claim your vengeance while the power lasts. You do not have long since you do not know how to use it. A sword lay ont eh hut floor, at your feet. But hear me well, Nini. I will return to claim back my powers, and when I do, you must die. You are my chosen one, and you must be sacrificed to bring forth greater powers for me to hold and learn. Now...kill the vampyer's that destroyed your people!" She felt Zim's presence leave her in a single gust.

Nini, confused, and frightened, looked down at her feet to see the very same sword Zim had plucked from the air not to long ago. She bent, picked it up and straightened. Instantly she felt power course through her new body.

Nini left the hut. Yes. vengeance would be hers. Yet, she wondered about Zim's threat, his promise to return and kill her. Why must he kill her? What did she do to him? Nothing, but the word sacrifice kept ringing in her head.

They still fed upon Zim's body, none of them aware that Nini was approaching them, fearless for the first time. Zim's sword held poised for slicing. Images flashed through her head in random flickers. Her mother embracing her after her first failed flight lesson that resulted in an injured wing, her people pulling together to defeat a troublesome colossis, her mother, her father, mother, father, sisters, all being butched, all being eaten alive by hideous monsters from the dark, evil devils from pits unknown.

Nini let go a loud roar of rage, and sprinted at the corwd of vampyres, sword slashing in fast, hard arcs. And oh, how the life liquid sprayed and splattered. Then, like Zim, something hard and rough, like bark, struck her back. Bark? The trees! She heard them growling.

So now Nini has Zim's powers, but for a price. When will Zim be back to claim them back? I don't know. All I know is that Zim will return and that Nini's danger is not yet at an end. There are worse things than vampyers out there. Part 6 will be done by Saturday. I hope you enjoyed this part in the sprawling story of our now large fairy hero. Let me know. Thanks.

The Fairy (Part 4)

2007-03-16T15:31:00.000-04:00

First off, I want to humbly thank everyone for reading what I write. It means so much to me to see that I have such good people willing to look at my work, and give feedback! Without you, dear devoted readers, I wouldn't even be here. Thank you, with all my heart. Here's Part 4..enjoy.

Quiet. All fell to silence. Nini slept blissfully, snuggled down deep in Zim's large breast pocket. Her weary body and tired mind drifted into a dark nothingness. A nothingness of peace, timeless...

...Or perhaps not...

"Time to wake, dear Nini. Zim's voice boomed.

Nini snapped awake. She lay on a tiny thatch of cloth that stunk of something foul. She didn't know what. So they had landed. But where? Nini sat up, groggy and bewildered. She soon took in that it was night.

Zim sat before a small crackling fire, leaned casually up against the thick trunk of an old oak. Nini ignored its pleas to get the wizard away from it. Sometimes trees could be so damn whiny.

"Where are we?" She asked, and got to her feet.

Zim smiled, his eyes drifted to her. She gasped. For just a second she thought Zim's face had shifted, become some other face entirely.

"Boarders." Zim said after a moment. "They will be here soon. This will be the battle to end all battles, my dear. They come for you, though. They love you people's blood."

"Life liquid." Nini corrected absently.

"Whatever you like." Zim said.

"Boarders? Of what?" She asked.

"The Northern Wrights." Nini had never heard of such a place.

His eyes moved back to the fire. They glowed a deep purple, flecked with dancing red flames.

Zim seemed different now, not so kind, not so gentle.

He jumped to his feet.

"They approach." He whispered.

Kicking dirt over the fire to, yes, extinguish it, Zim also motioned for her to return to his pocket. This time she shook her head. His eyes suddenly flared rage.

"NOW!" Roared his voice in her mind.

She could help but scream and gasp her ears with shaking hands.

But before she could fly away, Zim took hold of her and jammed her in his pocket.

"Stay out of sight." His voice whispered in her mind.

Nini slipped deeper into the large pocket, just enough to look over its frayed edge. Was it frayed before? She couldn't remember. Only the top of her head and eyes were revealed. Moving with a speed she could not comprehend, Zim sprinted to another tree, this one an elderly fir. He climbed to the very center of it as agile as a squirrel.

He parted a couple boughs, and they gazed down upon a small village. A ghost village, by what Nini saw. Her heart quickened. She detested ghosts, the vile beings. Even now she spotted one gliding across the badly wheel rutted main road that separated the villae into two halves. She shuddered.

Then she saw them. Hunched, long arms swaying at their sides, open claws swiping the air, palesfaces bobbing up and downm what Zim called vampyers, trotted into the village directly in front of the large fir where Zima dn Nini hid. Terror leaped up inside Nini and dug its claws own claws in. Oh, they were such ugly monsters!

Eyes like yellow fire-orbs flashed every which way. Even from here she could spot their elongated mouths and jaws snapping at the dense air about the ghost village. Their long fangs gleamed silver in the moonlight.

The ravenous creatures that eliminated her entire species stopped at the centre of the main village road. Sorrow panged Nini's heart. Images of these horrible things massacring everyone she held dear in her life, wafted by in seconds.

"Be still. Be silent. They know something other than the ghosts are here. They just don't know where." Zim spoke in her mind.

So little Nini held still, and tried to clear her mind. No such luck, however. Sorrow soon blossomed into white hot rage. She wanted vengeance now more than ever. She rose part way out of the pocket. He immediately push her back down with one calloused finger. She was tempted to bite him. Zim lightly patted his pocket, shushing her thought at once. The vampyres were heading int he direction of the fir searching, pugged noses sniffing. Even now she could smell their acrid stench.

They moved through the village, hunched low, narrow heads jittering and jerking in all directions, their large pointed ears tilted, moving to catch the slightest of sounds.

Zim remained motionless. A slight breeze wafted through the tree,and the tree moaned. Its boughs creaked with age. Worry slipped into the fairy like a sliver of steel. She gasped, unable to help herself as sheer fright cut her deep and quick.

The monsters stopped,and in unison, they tilted their ugly head up to look at the fir tree before them. Nini froze. One of them stepped forward, head tilted, listening. The others crowded in close to it.

Nini felt the flump-bump of Zim's steady heart beat. He did not move.

Then the vampyers started to scream.

In no more than a blink, Zim leaped from th fir tree to the ground in front of the creatures, Nini still hugged inside his breast pocket. She peered over the frayed edge,and shuddered again. She didn't know if they saw her or not, but she saw them. Oh yes. Sh saw them and bared her teeth at them. She even let go an unlikely hiss of rage. Niether Zim nor the creatures seemed to notice.

Zim drew a sword the likes she has never seen from the air before him. The sword wasn't long, and unlike the heavy swords of this world, it was thin, ever so slightly curved. In a way, it was beautiful.

"You all know who I am, thus you know why I am here." Zim shouted.

Ghosted of all shapes and sizes hurried off into their dark homes.

The vampyers growled. One of them stepped forward.

"Zim. You really are a wonder! I never thought you'd follow us here. Where's the fairy?" It spoke as if it had a mouth full of tree bark, but Nini understood it perfectly.

"I know of no fairy, monster. I've come for you and your fellowship."

The vampyer barked laughter. When it was finished it said.

"Fellowship? Is that what you think my companions are? A fellowship? No Zim. We are a legion, a will of our own. We are the hurricanes of the human world...and now this one." It shrugged, sighed.

"No where's the fairy? We know you got her, so where did you put her?"

"I know of no fairy demon! I know of no fairy!" Zim screamed...and then Nini was holding on for her life.

Silver flashed through the air.

Part 5 will be done either Sunday or Monday. Sorry it takes so long between posts but my work schedule has doubled on me. So please forgive me if a post goes up a little late. Thanks to all. Later.

Renewal: A Baby's Cry

2007-03-13T20:55:00.000-04:00

I want to take time out right now from the Fairy story to reveal a Stewart Sternberg assignment. Part 4 of The Fairy will be posted either Thursday or Friday. Enjoy!

She killed her baby without realizing it. By the time she looked down, saw the pillow crushed over her infant's face, and lifted it off with a horrified shriek, little Becky was dead.

"No." She gasped.
"No, no, no."

She picked the baby up in her arms. She gave her mouth to mouth. The baby didn't so much as twitch or whimper. Little Becky was dead. Tears cascaded down Holly's face.

"No." Holly repeated. She placed her daughter's body back in the crib.

"Oh Jesus." She looked around the nursery as if seeing it for the first time. The walls capered with Looney Tunes characters. Here Bugs Bunny leaning against a mail box, chomping ona carrot. There Tasmanian Devil whirling, nothing visible but a foot here and a hand there, and his devilish eyes.

Holly didn't even remember walking in the nursery in the first place. Last she knew she had been sitting on the couch, watching Days of Our Lives, and crying for no God damn reason. So how the hell did she get up here without being aware of it?

Holly shuddered. Her right eye twitched. Her mouth opened, closed, opened, like a fish finding itself stranded on shore, struggling to breathe. A low moan escaped that fishy mouth. Her heart throbbed monotonously in her chest.

She turned away from her dead baby and left the nursery, eyes vacant, tears streamed her haggard face.

A few minutes later she sat on the living room couch, her husband's 12 gauge shotgun between her legs, muzzle pointed straight up at the ceiling. She wept.

Holly wept for her baby, the one she brought into this world, the same she had taken out. She wept for her husband, Rick. Oh what a good man he was. She wept for herself.

Normally St. Patrick's Day was a fun holiday. And with her being part Irish, she celebrated it full heartedly. This was the first time she ever hated the national holiday.

Holly lowered the barrel, and tilted the gun so the barrels' maw aimed at her head. She sighed, and opened her mouth.

When her teeth clacked against the steel barrel, she began to sob even harder. The taste of gun oil and cold metal filled her mouth. Her tongue quivered. Her eyes floated to the photograph on the wall just to the right of their newly bought plasma TV. Becky, fresh, and still flushed from birth. Her eyes were closed, mouth slightly agape. Her little red lips glistened. Oh God, she had been so beautiful.

Holly slipped off her slipper and brought her foot up to the shotguns' trigger guard, paused, and then slid her big toe through the trigger guard. Her eyes fixed on Becky there on the wall. Tears spilled down her cheeks in mini rivers. Then-

Just before her big toe moved to pull the trigger, a baby began to cry.

Holly froze, holding her breath. Could it be? Was Becky really alive?

Holly wasted no time, she removed the shotgun barrel from her mouth. Her toe slipped away from the trigger and she set her foot down on the coosh carpet. Heart thrumming wildly, she put the gun down on the couch and stood up.

The crying lifted in volume just then. Oh Jesus, please, she thought as she stumbled out of the living room and to the stairs. There she paused to listen. A smile lengthened on her tear-wet face, because the crying came from upstairs.

She scrambled up the stairs, sobbing with joy.

"I'm coming! I'm coming sweet heart!"

Holly tripped, stumbled down a few steps, got up and raced to the top/ She turned left and stopped. Listening, she knew exactly where the crying was coming from. The nursery. Holly sprinted to the doorway, hesitated, and then ran into the small room. She trotted over to the crib.

"Mommy's here, sweetie. Mommy's-"

Becky still lay as Holly had left her. Lifeless, and still purple, mouth gaping , as if still trying to suck in air. It was from there, that sweet tiny mouth, where the crying came from. Holly backed away, shaking her head.

"No." Oh God. Nooo!"

She backed away until her butt struck the changing table. Holly screamed. She screamed, screamed, her baby was dead, dead, dead, still crying but dead, screamed-

Hon? Hol? Hey!"

She snapped awake, screaming. She sat up.

"Whoa, whoa! Hey! Holly, Holly! Easy!"

Hands groped her, then drew her into a warm, familiar body. The screaming stopped and she glanced around, suddenly lost.

"Shshsh." It was just a nightmare." Her husband, Rick's, voice, soothing, loving.

"Wha-wh-"

"It's okay. you're all righ-"

"Becky! Becky! Oh God!"

Holly burst out of bed. Yes. She was in her bedroom now. It was dark..night. But how? It was around noon when-

"A dream! She cried as she raced down the hall.

From behind her-

"Holly? Quiet you'll-"

"It was a DREAM!" She declared to the gloomy hallway. Tears bulleted down her face, but she didn't care.

She burst into the nursery, flipped on the light. Almost instantly after, a baby began to cry. She stood, watching a small bundled figure as it squirmed. Holly went to the crib, and looked down at the writhing baby. It was Becky, her, Becky, alive; alive and screaming her pretty, sweet head off! What a beautiful baby.

A firm, but very gentle hand, swung her around. Rick stood, frowning, but his eyes revealed only concern, not anger.

"She's alive! She's all right!" Holly shouted over Becky's bawling.

Rick's eyes drifted to their baby in the crib and then back to her.

"Of course she is." He said. Then asked-

"What was your dream about?"

Holly turned to look at her daughter, still crying, and smiled.

"Nothing important." She said.

"What?"

"Nothing!" She shouted, giggling.

Holly went to her baby, and lifted her out of the crib.

-----

Rick stood back, dumbfounded. He watched her cradle Becky and wondered just what that dream had been about. Because Holly hadn't so much as looked at Becky, until tonight. The doctor said she's need a close watching, and time to really see her baby, to love her baby. Now, however...now she pulled out a breast from her nightgown for their baby girl to suck on. And so everything was just fine. Everything was renewed.

Postpartum's a bitch, he thought absently...yes it is.

The End

The Fairy (Part3)

2007-03-11T01:42:00.000-04:00

The colossis gave the sun one last look before moving it great body and titling its broad head up at her. The giant beast was ugly, but not so much that Nini felt an urge to look away, like with the rest of those massive nasty creatures. Its eyes narrowed on her.

“Nini.” The colossis said, thoughtfully.

It was all she could do to simply nod. The beast then did a surprising thing, it smiled. As far as she knew these creatures were incapable of smiling. She watched as its eyes softened.

“No need to fear me, little one. I’m not the beast I appear to be.” It brutish face suddenly rippled, and changed. Nini gasped as it narrowed and shrunk and grew a smooth blade of a nose and, why yes, human eyes. Could that be? A human? But how? Human were no more, like all the fairy tribes, they were eradicated. So how-

The colossis chuckled.

“I am not a human, Nini. My name is Zim, I’m a wizard, of sorts, you might say.”

“A wizard?” Nini asked, astonished, her eyebrows rose. Wizards were said to be extinct over a million years ago, long before even the humans were gone.

“Yes.” Zim the wizard said. “They’re all gone. I’m the last of what you might call, wizard. But I’m not the sort you think I am, little Nini. I am a different species than you have been told about.”

Nini looked down at Zim both in wonder and puzzlement.

“Different? How?” She asked.

“Details are useless.” Zim said, frowning a little.
He shook his head and his face changed back to that of a colossis. The change shot fear into Nini again, although she knew there was no threat here. Not when the creature down there was so kind. Oh, and how wise Zim was! It could even listen to her mind, like all the tales her mother told her about wizards! This was so grand, so wondrous. To actually be in the company of a real wizard, why, that must be the grandest of all honors!

“Yes.” Zim said and his ugly face curled into a smile. “ I can hear your thoughts, though, I am not a wizard of lore. I hear your thoughts, as I know your tribe was extinguished, as you want to think of it, just last night. You are the last, as I am.”

Nini sighed and allowed her wings to lower her down. She lit on a stiff blade of brown grass, looked at Zim, and nodded. Tears prickled at her eyes and threatened to spill.

“Hey, now, hey now. Tis all right, little Nini. There may be hope yet.” Zim said softly.

“H-Hope?” Nini asked, unbelieving.

“Yes.” Zim assured her. “Sometimes it’s all we have left.”
Nini smiled for the first time since the evil beings extinguished her people.

Zim leaned closer to her. His breath was like that of bee honey.

“And I know what destroyed your people, Nini. I know by what I see in your mind.”

She gasped. But of course he knew, he was a wizard after all, and wizards know everything. He gave her bright smile. She worked up her courage and asked.

“What are they?”

“Vampyres.” Zim said simply. “Horrid, suckers of life and vile cretins of the damned.”

“Vamp-“ No matter how hard she tried, she could not say the word.
But Zim nodded, he knew what she meant, of course.

“They are seeping into this world now. Soon it will be theirs, unless they are halted now, before their numbers spread like a plague. And it has all ready begun.”

Nini stood, taken aback by what the wizard spoke of. This couldn't be happening, not this. Oh Earthen God, this can’t be real!

“Ah,” Said Zim. “But it is real. You see, I am a hunter. I’ve come from afar to slay those whom escaped to this world. I am hear to kill them all.” He sighed, his eyes drifted away from her.

“But I have failed you, Nini. I failed you and your people. I am so sorry.” Now Zim’s colossis face darkened, drooped in sorrow.

Nini didn’t know if she should feel hatred or pity toward this creature. Knowing he could read her thoughts, she directed her mind elsewhere, her mother. She wished she hadn’t.

“Hate me if you must,” Zim said. “But never pity me.”

Nini couldn’t help pitying him though. And why was he in the form of a colossis if it wasn’t what he really was? Of all the creatures, why this massive form?

Zim chuckled.

“A colossis is not as conspicuous as, say, a creature that looks human by dimension. I chose it to hide from the vampyres. I could sneak up on them without suspicion. Unfortunately, I fell asleep here.”
Zim sighed.
“Hating me would be just fine.”

Zim moved away, stood on his hind legs and magically transformed into a tall, slender man with long raven dark hair. The skin of his face resembled that of white stone, his eyes glowed a somber purple color. Nini gazed up at him, amazed, and a little frightened. He looked down at her, smiling softly. He knelt down before her.

“This is my true form, little-“

A sound, like an insectile scream, for Nini has heard many, cut through the air, severing Zim’s words. He immediately straightened, standing high to see across the meadow. His all black clothing fluttered in the slight breeze; all black, save for the bright white shirt, revealed through an opening toward his neck. He looked elegant, even in a moment of panic.

“They come. Hurry! In this pocket you go!”

Zim turned to her and held open a pocket at his right breast, Nini hesitated. Zim’s eyes darkened slightly.

“Come! They approach now. The vampyers, your people’s doom! The doom of this world if we do not act! In my pocket, now!”

She gaped at the pocket, and finally lifted off the blade of grass and into Zim’s wardrobe. Once there, she felt only the slightest of breaths. Why, he seemed not to be breathing at all!

“Hold on, dear Nini. We are retreating for now. We must, for we are not ready. We go, right-now!”

Nini wondered what he meant by we, then slowly they began to rise into the air. Faintly she heard the flap-whoosh of working wings, large working wings. The grass around them trembled and crackled and hissed.

“Just be still.” Zim’s voice, not out loud, but in her head.

They rose high, far before the ravenous monsters set foot on the small spot of land Zim and Nini had occupied no more than a few seconds ago. She looked down at them, and grimaced. Then they were gliding away from the horrors on the ground. Gliding, free…Nini closed her eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

I was a little late posting this part because of reasons beyond my control. Busy, busy, busy! But I hope you enjoyed Part 3, nonetheless. Things are forming up now, solidifying, we learn that it's not a colossis (my own made up word) but a wizard, of sorts, little Nini has befriended. But I'm not so sure If I trust this guy or not. He seems a little off to me. I don't know, what do you think?

The Fairy (Part 2)

2007-03-07T12:57:00.000-05:00

Time stretched out like days. The night seemed to last an eternity, and she still didn't know where she was.

Somehow she managed not to run into anything, or be gobbled up by some unseen night creature. Somehow she still lived, even though she didn't deserve to. She should be extinguished like her entire species. She dared not think of them as dead, that would make it harder for her to except their passing. Extinguished felt better and didn't drive guilt and sorrow into her gut as bad as thinking they were all dead.

The fairy flitted slowly through the dark night, her side burning where one of the vile monsters that helped extinguish her people caught her with one grappling talon, burned ever deeper, but her life liquid had stopped running. Perhaps that was a good sign she might live through all this. Perhaps. But to what purpose? She couldn't continue her species, for there were no more left in this rotten world filled with hungry worms and sinister beings. All fairies, even the great Horned Fairies, were gone. Time has brought forth Death, and Death has taken them all with it to the bowls of Its chamber.

The night was blackness submerged in darkness, where the gloom was alive, and evil things capered.

She had encountered no more creatures yet, which she took as an omen of great luck. She knew there were many out there hungry for fairy flesh. Those that loved to suckle on fairy life liquid and bathe in horror.

The fairy continued onward, unable to weep anymore. And so continued her sorrow.

------

Just when she thought this night was forever, the sky first lightened to a dull gray and then colors, pinks, yellows, oranges, and reds, blossomed. To the far horizon, the sun, oh the glory, arose. She looked about her and despite the lightening, the fairy still didn't know where she was. From what she saw she hovered over tall brown grass. She was in a meadow of some sort.

She fluttered here, letting the warm sun bathe her in its radiance.

After a long time, the fairy continued on. She didn't know where she was going, nor did she care much. Those monsters that...that extinguished her people, might still be after her.

When the sun had reached above the tree line to what she assumed was the west, the fairy lit on a single boulder, the only one in this meadow. She checked her side. Her purple life liquid had dried into a scab, which was good, but it still burned. Her whitish skin glowed red around the horrid wound. It hurt to the touch. She knew what she needed to do. She must find some Womf Weed, reopen her wound and spread the weed juice over the gash. If she failed to do so, in a short time, she would join her species to wherever they had gone.

Suddenly the boulder on which she stood trembled. The fairy gasped and lifted off. A low groan sounded from the tall brown grass surrounding it. Her heart flitted like her beautiful wings. The boulder moved, another groan sounded. She found she was both too frightened and amazed to move. She could only float there, staring down at the living boulder.

Then the massive boulder unfurled slowly, giving way what she had feared since childhood. A colossis. It stretched, its giant maw opened and let go a long yawn. Its green slanted eyes squinted up at the sky, but not at her. It got onto all fours and before her eyes its skin turned from boulder gray to a light blue. She has never seen a colossis with such beautiful skin. Usually they're ugly giants with scaly reddish skin. This one however...

"Do tell me your name, fairy, if you must hover there above me." Spoke a voice void of contempt or malice. Why, it sounded kind, gentle. The colossis remained on all fours, looking off in the direction of the risen sun.

Unable to get a hold on herself, the fairy spoke without realizing it.

"Nini." She said. "My name is Nini."

And this concludes Part 2. Hope it was as good as the first. Let me know. And thanks to everyone who wanted me to continue with this three part story. Now you know the fairy's name, and she has met a peculiar creature, which might or might not be as kind and gentle as we would like. Let me know what you think. Part 3 is in the works.

The Fairy

2007-03-05T13:10:00.000-05:00

Here's something I wrote just for the blog. Enjoy.

The Fairy

Through the tall, wicked razor grass and across the spoiled pond of dead things, the fairy flew in the dusky air. She sobbed as she zipped through the air. Ruination had come to her home under the Elm tree. Death had come for all of them. Her right side, just under the flitting wing, hurt badly. She felt her life's liquid oozing out. She was the last...the last fairy.

Scared and lost, the fairy slowed her progress to a flutter and glanced around. Where was she anyway. She hadn't been paying much attention. She was trying to get away. Those evil things were after her. She had watched one such creature bite the head off her own mother. The image, still fresh in her mind made her sob even heavier. She looked around, but it was full night now, and since she wasn't happy, her natural glow was gone. She couldn't see, she couldn't do anything now. If she went on she might run into something. If she did that, they would get her.

When she heard a low grunting noise only a few feet under her, the fairy froze. Her wings instinctively held her afloat, but her body went rigged with fear. The grunting continued on passed her and she let go a long breath. She had no idea of what creatures roamed the night and so her terror was absolute and continuous.

The air about her felt thicker, hungrier than it did during the day. The fairy decided to keep moving. It she kept moving then maybe she might live through this night. And so she continued on, head lowered, heart aching, side burning. She wept in silence.

This will be a three part story, so please don't yell at me for leaving it hang that that. But I'm curious, do you think I should continue on with this? Do you really want to know what happens to our poor little fairy friend? Leave a comment, and let me know. Thanks.

Dark Lumps (Variation/Rewrite)

2007-02-26T21:35:00.000-05:00

Sarah spotted the first of the pimples on her forearm and frowned. She has never gotten one here before. Still frowning she pinched the pimple. Sharp pain immediately burst up and down her arm, but the lump did not pop. She wiped the tears from her eyes and tried again, this time gritting her teeth against the pain. This didn't last long, however. The pain was just too intense to keep trying. She plopped down at the end of her bed and couldn't stop herself from weeping.

She absently scratched the top of her head, and more pain erupted through her. Sarah gasped and shot off her bed. She ran to the bathroom down the hall and looked in the mirror. She had to wipe tears out of her eyes before she could see anything...she wished she hadn't. Like the one on her forearm three more pimples stood on her brow, just above her left eye, one on her chin, and another on the lower lobe of her right ear, like a grotesque earring. She gaged at the sight of these and turned away from the mirror, she didn't dare inspect the top of her head. She didn't really need to anyway. She knew what she'd find up there.

Reluctantly she turned back to the mirror. Tears trickled down her cheeks. What's happening to me, she wondered. It was then she realized that the pimples didn't look like ordinary pimples. They lifted out of her skin like round, dark, decaying teeth. She stepped closer to the mirror. God, this was gross. But the more she looked the more she knew these were not pimples at all, but something else. Something worse, if that's even possible.

The skin on the tip of her nose began to ripple and wriggle, as if many tiny worms had somehow gotten inside that little nub. Absolute horror froze her where she stood. And, before her eyes, a dark lump the size of kernel of corn rose from the skin on the tip of her nose. Sarah began to tremble. Oh God, oh Jesus, she thought She found she couldn't even speak.

Here's an easy one. Just rewrite the story and add an ending. Easy as that. This is just a blueprint for an even greater story...and I can't wait to see what some of you can come up with.

ICE 2/24/07

2007-02-24T21:25:00.000-05:00

As I sit here in my living room, listening to the sleet and rain mix snick and patter on the windows, my toes are already growing numb, even under two heavy blankets. The power has been out for three hours now, and there's no heat. The temperature outside is twenty-one degrees, but that's not counting the wind chill. My estimate would be that the temp. is actually somewhere in the teens, with the wind chill added in. The wind outside , according to this mornings' weather forecast, which I saw before the power took a crap on us, is roughly forty to fifty miles an hour. The rain hits, freezes, hits, freezes. There are downed power lines everywhere and in some places the power line poles themselves have snapped.

It's cold. I want to get my family somewhere warm before it gets any colder, the thermostat inside reads 45 degrees, but I can't. All we own for vehicles are two Chevy Cavaliers...I'm not sure even a four wheel drive could make it. The roads are treacherous out there, nothing but glare ice at least a quarter of an inch thick. It would be madness to drive the ten miles to my parents place where they got a wood burning furnace. So here we stay. No heat, no way to warm up but huddling next to each other under a few heavy blankets.

I tried calling the power company for this area using my cell phone, but according to the automated woman on the other end, they are "experiencing a high volume of calls due to power outages", and can't take my call at this time. I want to reach through the phone, grab that mechanical woman by her non-existent throat and-

No. I must calm myself. There are a lot of folks out there in the same hollow boat as I am. They're cold too. They need help too.

I can't help but wonder if this might be some sort of prelude to what it would be like a year or so before we kill each other with all those nuclear missiles aimed every which way? I wonder how cold it will get then, before death finds us all? I shiver at the thought, instead of the growing cold in my house.

It's an old house and has little insulation because of the fact. So I imagine it's colder here than say a newer home. A new home we're planning on building come this spring. A month or so too late.

I write horror stories, and this power outage would be something I'd throw in as an added scare factor. It's scary to know how much we take for granted. It's scary not knowing how long the power we rely so heavily on will be out. It's scary to know you just might freeze to death.

This is not a horror story, however, but it's scary enough for me.

My family and I are fine now, I might add. My dad managed to make his way to our house in his Ford Explorer and save us. The power is still out in my town and now it's just a waiting game. Weather forecast predicts a foot of snow or more to cover the sheets of ice for tonight and tomorrow. They say the power will be out for a couple more days. I wrote the above while sitting in my cold house. I wrote it in my note book. I wrote it to cope.

A Walk

2007-02-19T12:57:00.000-05:00

Here's a poem I wrote just the other day in my quite place. The woods beyond my home.
A Walk

Trees sway in the cool air
As I walk this path here
In the woods beyond my home
I'm afraid of the garden gnome
The little guy with his jolly grin
Terrifies me, and I know he's alive
Yes. He roams now, just beyond sight
In the thick brush to my right
I can hear him panting as he keeps pace with my stride
He walks with me often, in these woods
He wants me to help him
But what he wants, I can not give
He wants my life for his
He wants me to die
I don't know why he chose me
I don't know why he bothers me so
All I know is that I must keep walking this path
I mustn't let him trick me
For evil gnomes are tricksters you see
So I walk here, in these woods with my strife
I walk...to save my life....

Wings and Horns

2007-02-15T21:30:00.000-05:00

Here's something a little different. Enjoy.

Wings and Horns

"Tell me you love me." Kristen says into his ear.

"Tell me."

Her breath is hot on his ear lobe and he can't help the shiver that passes through him like ice water through his veins.

The room swirls with various aromas uncommon for a bachelor pad. Instead of lingering body odor, stale incense, and spoiled milk, what mingled in the air and danced before his nose that of cinnamon, honeysuckle, a hint of vanilla, and something else he just can't put his finger on.

James smiles and breathes deep, taking it all in. He doesn't open his eyes. If he does, he fears, everything will disappear, even dear Kristen. Kristen his lover. Kristen, the angel. She isn't really an angel, of course, but he's unable to think of her as anything else at the moment. At the moment, if at any other, he truly does love her.

"I love you." He whispers int he gloom of his bedroom.

She giggles. It's a sound like, yes, angels singing to his ears.

"Say it again." She says.

"I love you." He repeats.

He hears her sigh, hot air blows into his ear and neck and he shivers again.

"Good." She says. Then-

"I'm gonna rip your fuckin throat out!"

James's eyes pop open in the darkness.

"What-"

"I said good." Kristen says.

Frowning, James turns int he bed to face his girlfriend. He waits a moment before speaking.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine, why?" She says, sounding bewildered.

"You said you were gonna rip out my throat." He says.

"What? No I didn't. I said good."

Silence drew out into the dark room. James ends it with a question.

"You sure?"

"Jesus James! I was just about ready to jump your bones, and now this? I never said that!"

More silence. James thinks about what he heard and decides to give it a rest. Besides, why would his angel say such a thing int he first place? Ridiculous. He wraps his arms around her naked body.

"You were saying something about jumping my-"

A hand shoots out of the darkness and claws his face. He shrieks and rolls away. Soon he feels warm liquid running from his cheek to his chin and patter on the sheets.

"Bastard! I'm gonna kill you! Kill you! I'm gonna eat your fuckin tongue out right now!" Kristen screams.

James rolls out of bed, breathing heavily and scrambling to his feet. One hand cups his injured cheek.

"James?" Kristen says. James pauses on his way to the door. He turns. What the hell is going on here?

"Where you going?"

"Um.." But he can't think of anything else to say.

He takes a step toward the bed. With the street light filtering in through the drape on the window he can see a dark, raised shape in his bed. Kristen is propped up on her elbow, looking at him. Trembling, he takes another step forward.

"You scratched me." He manages.

"What are you talking about? I haven't touched you? And where are you going naked?" Kristen says, her voice sounding both weary and puzzled.

James, utterly lost, steps backward to the door again. Something isn't right here. Some thing's wrong with Kristen, some thing's wrong with his angel. His angel has grown horns out of nowhere....

This is a start for a novella I'm working on. It began as a romance piece, my first, and then suddenly developed into something else. Just thought I'd share a glimpse of it here. Feel free to leave a comment on this. Thanks.

Kill'em All!

2007-02-12T08:14:00.000-05:00

Well, I somehow found time to write this story for a Stewart Sternberg assignment. I didn't think I'd get one done this time around, but I did. It was a quickie but I think it turned out all right. Oh and the drawing goes with the story. There's a scene simlar to it in the work that follows. Thanks. And do remember, I have to take pictures of the drawings with my digital camera so the quality of the drawings aren't always going to be so swell. Sorry.

KILL’EM ALL: 1982

Max popped the new cassette tape into his boom box and pressed down the PLAY button. There came a moment where nothing happened, and then, oh, and then, the fastest, most radical music lashed out of the speakers at him.
He sat there on the floor of his bed room, rapt, absolutely absorbed in what hammered out of those speakers. He couldn’t move and his temples pulsed with blood to the beat of frantic drums. His breathing paused as the heavy, gritty and insanely fast guitar riffs licked and screamed at the air and into his teen ears. The air around him felt thick in itself, sweaty almost. A ghostly smile lengthened on his pimply face.
If he’d known the music was going to be this intense, this intoxicating, then maybe he should’ve bought the tape when all his friends did. Man this was totally kickin shit! This-

“Max!” At first he didn’t even really hear his father scream. Then-

“Max! Turn that shit off! Open this door! Now!”

But Max found he still couldn’t move. He was digging the music, oh yeah, digging it baby. His head throbbed wondrously. Christ it was like being high or something, even though he had no idea what that felt like yet. But if had gotten high he imagined this was what it felt like. Beautiful. Absolutely-

“Max!”

Max came back to himself with a start. The door to his bedroom trembled on its hinges. He reached over. Hit the STOP button, and sighed. He already longed to hear that thunderous music again. He reached out to hit the PLAY button again, but-

“Max, you open this door right now so help me, or I’ll bust it in.” His dad’s voice was low, and ominous.

He got up off the floor and unlocked his door.
His dad, a tall, thin man with a bushy mustache, stormed in.

“What in Christ’s name was that crap I heard?”

Max cleared his throat, opened his mouth and-

“Tell me! What the fuck was that crap I heard?”

“I-uh-“

Max’s dad strode to the boom box without warning, and ejected the new cassette tape. He held it in his hands and scowled down at it as if was some rotten slab of meat. His broad forehead furrowed.

“Met-all-ica? Who’s that supposed to be? Metallica? Sounds like a bunch a coke heads makin a bunch a noise to me. Why the hell you go’n get something like this for, huh? Why waste your money?”

He brandished the tape at Max as he spoke.

“This is crap, Maxi. Why can’t you listen to some good ole Johnny Cash, or, I don’t know, Bruce Springsteen? Why this shit?”

Max could only shrug. All he knew was that he liked the music he heard from that defenseless tape in his dad’s large hands. He loathed Johnny Cash and hated The Boss. All that country and pop music made him want to gag. But this, this, why, this music was different. It was revitalizing, energizing.
His dad rolled his eyes, pulled up a loop of tape from the cassette, slipped one callused finger through the loop, and yanked. Foot upon foot spun out and on to the floor.

“Dad no!” Max rushed forward.

His dad gave him a rough shove backward.

“Get back max! This is for your own good!”

His dad snapped the plastic cassette in two. Shards of plastic rained to the carpet. Max froze in a state bordering horror. His dad gave Max a somber look, sighed and dropped the ruined cassette on the floor amongst the rest of the ruin. HE then left the room without speaking.
Once his father was gone, Max hurried over and knelt before the mess that used to be his brand new cassette tape by a new band called Metallica. Ten bucks down the drain. He mowed all those lawns, for what? This? To sit here looking at a broken tape?

“Shouldn’t have played it so loud.” He murmured to himself without being aware of it.

This probably wouldn’t have mattered anyway. His dad had ears like a dog and could possibly even hear if Max let loose a fart.
Max gathered up the remains of the cassette tape and tossed it in the small trash can by his night stand. As he stood there looking down at the mess rage bubbled up inside of him. Who was his dad to tell him what he could and could not listen too? IT wasn’t like the old man had bought the tape for him.
He looked in his wallet. All he found was a five dollar bill. Not enough to by another copy. It was enough, though, to buy a used David Bowie tape. But Max didn’t much care for David Bowie. The guy was good, sure, but just not something he liked to listen too all the time. Might as well just save the five and mow a few more lawns to make another five dollars and then re-buy the new cassette from the music store down town; a new band called Metallica. What a cool name too: Metallica. And the title of the tape he liked too: Kill’em All. Good stuff.
So, Max went out to mow some lawns.
By six that evening he came home, sweaty, hot and with two extra dollars to his name. His dad had gone off somewhere. His mom was finishing up dinner. No one had really needed their lawns to be mowed today. He went straight his room, turned on the fan and sat in front of it. As the sweat cooled on his skin, giving him goose bumps, he heard a faint click! sound. He ignored it and let the fan continue to cool him down. That’s when the strangest thing happened.
Music began to rumble out of his boom box on the night stand. Startled, Max whirled on the end of his bed. The boom box continued to hammer out music. Heavy music. Metal music. But…
No, that couldn’t be. The cassette was broken, the tape ruined, how-

“Scanning the scene in the city tonight! Lookin for you to start up a fight! There’s an evil feeling in our brains, it’s nothing new, you know it drives us insane!” Screamed the vocalist for that new band Metallica.

Max’s heart trip-hammered in his chest. He moved off the end of his bed and looked in the trash can. The ruined tape was gone. His eyes fixed on the boom box.
Five minutes later Max sat, one ear tilted to the closest speaker of the boom box. Silvery saliva drooled out from one corner of his mouth. His eyes stared off into nothingness, wide and vacant. His mouth stood agape and what looked like blood spattered the side of his face nearest the boom box. This reddish liquid also poured and sprayed out in pulses to the heavy metal music still pounding the air. The claret dripped from the edge of the night stand to the floor. Most of what used to be Max was nothing more than a husk now.
An hour later his mother was calling him down for dinner. He heard his father screaming for him to shut the shit off, damn it, shut it off right now! Ah, but he couldn’t shut it off. He loved the music. The music was the world. The music gave him true life!
After a few minutes, Max finally stood from the floor and shuffled toward the door of his bedroom. He knew what to do. The music told him what to do. The music was God, and he must always obey God.
He paused. Some of the real Max tried to push itself back in. He realized that he was carrying a mini sledge hammer in his right hand. He noted the blood all over the night stand. Then he was pushed back again and the music took over for good.
Max opened the door, and went to join his family for supper. He knew what to do. The music told him. He’d Kill’em All!

The End

Just a little Note

2007-02-11T01:01:00.000-05:00

Since my latest variation assignment flopped on me I guess I'm reduced to sitting here and looking stupid. I blame myself. Perhaps I started everything out too hard. Maybe I should've just had folks write my stories in their own words. Think that would be okay? I write something and you rewrite it to fit your own style? That's how the whole idea started in my mind and then I thought I'd make a little bit more. Take my latest failed attempt for example. Perhaps I should have just asked you to write the entire story in your own words and add a middle to the story. Sometimes I get ahead of myself and I need to slow down. I get into trouble when I try to push the envelope on something. It always backfires on me. This note isn't to rant about how you should be at least trying my assignments, so please don't misunderstand. I'm just feeling low because I got my first rejection for the year. Everything backfires. Maybe that's what I should have titled this post. Everything backfires. Or how about treadmill? That's what I feel like I'm doing right now, walking on a treadmill, going nowhere. Stewart wrote about doubt in an earlier post. Maybe this is my doubt post. I love to write and I do believe it's worth it, but it still seems so damn hard to get anywhere. I'll keep plugging away at it, of course, but some of my heart isn't there as it had been from the beginning. It scares me to think about it.
I'm lost here. Lost in my own head. And being lost is scary enough....

The Thing Under the Bed

2007-02-07T13:44:00.000-05:00

Yes, I draw too. This drawing goes with the variation assignment in the post below. It's the thing under the Bed. Sorry it's so fuzzy. My scanner is on the blitz and I had to take a picture of it with my digital camera. Oh, and since you probably can't see it very well, there's a hand crawling out from under the rolled back blankets.

Of Past and Present

2007-02-01T15:17:00.000-05:00

Well, it's a new month and I've got another variation assignment for you. God please you still remember the last one. For this one I'd like to delve into the past and present tense forms of writing. I've had a lot of problems with this in the past, somehow merging the two forms in a single sentence. I still have the problem, but now I know what to look for and and so I catch most of them before they fester there in the story.
Okay. For this variation I will write a couple paragraphs in the past tense, and the last two in the present tense. The first two will be the beginning of the story and the last two are the end of the story. Now, here's what I would like you to try. The middle of the story is missing, so I'd like you to come up with a middle. It can be in either past of present tense. OR you can do your own variation of the story; beginning, middle and end. The catch with this latter though is that you must begin the story with the present tense, switch to past for the middle and end it in the present form again. Does this seem hard? I tried to think of something fairly easy with this one, I hope you all can at least give it a try. Thanks.

Hands Under the Blankets

Past Tense Beginning:
Mary felt them as they groped and slid over the skin of her bare legs. Oh God, she thought, terrified. Oh God let them stop. Either God wasn't listening or He didn't care, because those rough hands under the blankets kept on groping and feeling. Tonight It felt like there were three of them down there, just feeling her up in silence. The problem was she couldn't move. She couldn't jump out of bed and run, because the thing under the bed would come out. And if that happened she might as well inject herself with Drain-O because surely that thing would rip her apart. The hands, although frightening and uncomfortable she could deal with. They'd be gone in an hour and then she'd go to sleep...or at least try.

If she hadn't bought this stupid bed, none of this would be happening in the first place. But it had been so beautiful sitting there in the woman's storage shed. So uniquely beautiful! The lady she bought it from said it used to be her great grandmother's, but the woman had only slept on it herself once before she stored it away in the shed. Now Mary knew why. She felt why. The reasons were cupping her calves and stroking her knees. They never went passed the knees, thank God and all his Glory. If they ever did that she just might go insane.

Present Tense Ending:
The tentacle wraps around her waist and begin dragging her back to the bed. She struggles, crying out in both pain and horror. The tentacle cinches tighter. Mary gasps and takes hold of the door jam.

"No." She pleads, crying. "No."

Tears spill down her cheeks as her fingers begin to slip on the jam. It will kill her, she knows. It'll kill her and those hands will pull her back under the blankets to continue their aimless groping. Mary begins to scream, licking her legs at the sickly thing around her waist. It's no use. And her fingers slip away from the jam.

There is a slobbery growl. Something chitters at her. The tentacle drags Mary across the floor of her bedroom, back to the bed, back to the monster under it. Her fingers dig into the carpet and her nails peel away and stick in the fabric. Mary lets out a shriek. It's going to eat her now. She knows it will. But then, as her feet are sucked under the bed, she spots something on the night stand by her bed. (The pair of scissors she used the other night to trim off a frayed thread on one of her blankets.). She grabs them, squirms and risks a glance back. Two very large green eyes peer at her from under the bed. Under the bed where her feet are. She feels something hot and wet run across their soles. Mary screams out and uses the scissors to cut the tentacle away from her waist. The creature yelps like a an injured puppy, and then begins to shriek. The tentacle slips back under the bed and Mary is free. She gets to her feet, and runs for her life.

Before she realizes it, she runs a full mile away from her house. There, along the three mile stretch of road leading to town, Mary collapses, barely able to breathe, let alone cry.

The End

I added and extra paragraph here just to make the ending more of an ending. I really hope you have fun with this.

Goreless Me

2007-01-29T21:50:00.000-05:00

I have been asked a lot why I write such gruesome stories. Why must I always show the guts plopping out of a man who just got disemboweled by his insane mother? Why must I always splatter everything I write with gore? Is it a shock factor I'm looking for? Perhaps, but that's not all. Horror has to have blood, it's just the way it works in my mind. Granted, I show a bit more than is necessary, but not all my work is blood and guts and monsters. There are quite a few, actually, that contain no blood at all within their chilling pages. Like the very short story that follows. Which isn't a horror story at all but something I can't put my finger on. Is it genre less? I don't know, you be the judge. You decide for yourself just what I wrote here, and lets see what we come up with.

Heal Me

Afraid of losing her again, Dan reached out to grab her. She backed away from him, eyes sad and weary. She shook her head and Dan burst into tears. Christ, he loved her so much! He got out of bed and stumbled toward her as she backed away toward the open closet.

"Emily." He croaked and reached out for her again.

Emily dodged his groping hands and shook her head again. She would not speak and this in itself drove Dan to the point of rage. Although he couldn't be mad at her. What did she do anyway to deserve malice? Nothing. She was the innocent one here, not he. If he should be mad at someone it should be himself.

"Em, oh Em. I love you." He whispered.

A smile bloomed on her pale face just then and he couldn't help the warmth spreading through his body. She loved him as well. He knew she did, but once, just once he'd like to hear it spoken. He knew that was impossible, of course, but he could wish could he? Yes. Yes, he could wish for it. He could hope. But Emily remained silent, her smile fading.

Dan coughed, turned and took up the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels from the nightstand beside his bed. He spun back around, swaying on his feet. She was still there, looking at him with those large lovely eyes of her. He noted both pity and sorrow swimming in them, but ignored it. Dan wrapped his lips around the mouth of the bottle and upturned it. He chugged down a couple gulps and set the bottle back down on the nightstand.

"Em." He murmured and turned back to look at her.

She was frowning now.

"Em...I. Em I can't stop. I want to. But I can't." For being drunk his words flowed out of him without much slurring.

Emily's frown deepened.

"Em." Dan said and stepped closer to her. "Em, I need...you need to help me. The kids, they see this. They see this and know their daddy's a drunk. Heal me, Em. Please."

He dropped to his knees before her, tears building in his eyes. She looked down at him and for a moment he couldn't tell what she might be thinking or feeling. After a moment, she shook her head. Then she turned to leave.

"No! No Em! Don't go! Don't leave me! Please.."

She turned then. A smile like a billion diamonds lengthened on her face and then her lips puckered as she blew him a kiss.

"No, no, no. Don't go."

But she was gone even before he finished. She simply walked out.

Dan awoke the next morning on the floor of his bedroom. His head thrummed and his stomach felt tired and weak. Had last night even happened? He didn't know, and was afraid to even think about it. He sat up and looked at the digital alarm clock on his night stand. 12:00 PM, it read. Holy Christ, he thought, I over slept! He'd have to call work. But first he needed to see if the kids had gotten up for school today. God he hoped so. Another lecture by their princable just might drive him Loony Tunes.

Then his eyes drift to the bottle of Jack Daniels beside the alarm clock. There they stay. He got up off the floor with a groan and picked the bottle up. He looked at the amber liquid sloshing around inside and grimaced. All of a sudden just the sight of it made him sick to his stomach.

Dan dumped the bottle down the kitchen sink after checking if the kids went to school or not, they did thank God. That done, he went to the refrigerator and took out the six pack of Old Milwaukee he kept in the bottom drawer. HE cracked each open and dumped them too down the drain.

"Back to hell with you." He said and actually laughed at that.

A while later he saton the edge of his bed looking down at a newspaper clipping. The headline read: Wife and Mother of Two Killed in Blizzard

Dan sighed.

"Thank you Em." He said. "You healed me even though you couldn't. I love you." In his other hand he held their wedding photo. He kissed her and began to weep.

The End

Kill Your Darlings!!

2007-01-26T22:54:00.000-05:00

"You must kill your darlings."

I read that line somewhere, I think Hemingway wrote it once upon a time. I think it's a great line. Here we got a majority of your editing worries pretty much summed up. You must kill your darlings. For me, this is really hard to do since I can't really see which darlings I need to kill. We're talking about writing by the way, just in case you were flailing in the wind there for a second or two.

I guess you could say I'm too much in love with what I wrote down that I don't see anything wrong with the story except for the glaring spelling errors. Tunnel vision. I see only what I want to see and move on. Since I started my blog and thanks to friends like Stewart Sternberg and Chuck Zaglanis, Susan Miller and Christina Rundle (and of course everyone else out there who leave comments)my sight has been growing wider and wider. Sooner or later I'll see the whole picture, and wouldn't that be grand? Yes. It would be totally kickin!! Okay that was dumb. Moving on...

Proof readers come in real handy here. Chances are one of them are most likely going to find the errors you missed. But even with proof readers one must be wary of grammar and structure and making sure you've got the right word where it belongs.

So you've found something that really doesn't contribute to the story you're trying to write. A word, a sentence, even an entire paragraph, whatever, it's just not working. If it doesn't and you or your proof readers see it, then toss it. Rework it. Kill you darlings...and gain control of your writing.

Nothing

2007-01-19T22:36:00.000-05:00

I wrote this poem when I was a freshman in high school. I just found it today while I was digging through some stuff. Thought I'd post it here.

Nothing

Somewhere passed the old oak tree
passed the thick fog
It hides…
But from what? You may ask and I answer with only a shrug.
As we gaze in to the distance of this foggy night
Nothing is certain…
No, nothing at all.
A bitter breeze blows from our right…
Ruffling our hair and sending our skin to lump with goose flesh.
It hides…It waits…
A low growl from behind
We turn…
But nothing is there
Sick laughter to our left…We turn…
But again…Nothing is there.
That bitter breeze lifts again and our hearts skip a beat.
This is the haunted place…
This is where dead things speak
This is in our head.
This is nothing…

Everybody in the Pool

2007-01-18T13:00:00.000-05:00

In Stephen King's latest novel, "Lisey's Story", he writes about a certain pool. In fact the entire story is pretty much centered around this pool. It's often mentioned as the Pool of Life, the cup of imagination...more importantly, The Word Pool. Perhaps you folks have heard of it, perhaps not. For me, it isn't a pool, but a deep swift river with its even deeper, more bountiful, lazy spots along its winding path. It is in these "lazy spots" where the big ones live. I fish there often, and sometimes work up enough courage to go swimming in one or two of those deeper lazy spots down river.
Pool or river, both come down to about the same, we all know where this place is.

"It's the pool where we all go down to drink, to swim, to catch a little fish from the edge of shore; also the pool where some hardy souls (Faulkner is only one example) go out in their flimsy wooden boats after the big ones. "

For a writer, words are eternal, and Stewart Sternberg has touched on this subject more than once I think. Words are a writer's way of expression. Some words are beautiful and stunning, some are most definitely grim and nasty. But words are words and to write, one must know what words work, and what don't. Even if you are not a fiction writer, the Pool, or river, is still very much active. Speeches, lectures, the folks who can do these the best have been wading and dunking themselves in the Pool for quite sometime. So, yes, the Pool is where we all go down to drink. And drink we must, if we want to speak and write our best. It is there, all one has to do is close their eyes, and look.

If you haven't read "Lisey's Story", I strongly recommend it. It's a beautiful novel, with plenty of horrific events that will leave you in shuddering awe. I loved the book. And I believe in the Pool. Do you?

On a Lighter Note

2007-01-15T12:25:00.000-05:00

I write a lot about the dark and what crawls and lurches within it, but for this post I'm going to stray from that stuff for a moment to talk about something brighter. Indulge me will you?
We got our first real snow last night, and it's still snowing today, in Iowa. I called into work because of how bad it was out there. It's nothing, really compared to the winters I spent in Minnesota and Michigan, but it's bad enough. All you Minnesotans and Michiganites know what I'm talking about. Snow up to your hips and so forth. It can be a pain in the as for most adults who need to commute for work.
But for children, why...for children that much snow means play time. It means sledding, building snowmen/women, snow forts, snowball fights. It means they can finally get out the house and have some fun already. As kids should. My oldest daughter woke up this morning, she's three years old and almost smarter than me I think, cute as hell, looked out her window and cried:

"Daddy is snowing!" (We're working with her to pronounce words better, just in case you thought that was a typo. Is is for it more often than not.)

She got so excited she started putting on her boots and coat before she realized she still had her night gown pajamas on. We remedied that problem, got my youngest daughter up, ate some breakfast, and before you knew it we were all outside tromping and slipping around in the fresh, powdery snow. Too powdery to make a snowman or snowballs, but we had plenty of fun nonetheless. When they laugh and smile it always brightens up what ever moment we share together. Like their mother, they're beautiful. And I adore them all.
So we played in the snow, and for just that moment, I felt like I was seven years old again, having the time of my life as most children can accomplish without much urging at all at or around that age. And as I rolled around with them, pulled them in the sled and laughed, I couldn't help but wonder if they too will remember this? Maybe not so much my youngest, but what about the oldest? Will she remember what fun we had today? Will it be forever etched in her mind? Probably not...but she might. One day when she's all grown up with children of her own, perhaps one day she'll remember today. And maybe, just maybe, a soft smile will spread across her face at the memory. There will be plenty of fun days for us ahead, but today will always be one of my favorites.
Remember your own childhood...and see if one fine memory doesn't make you smile, at least a little.

Is There a Hell?

2007-01-14T14:36:00.000-05:00

There are some who say the only Hell that exists is the one we're living in. Life is Hell in other words. And although I presume some of these folks need to up the dosages on their medications, I think their partly right. As I think they are partly wrong. Life is more of a testing place, I think, than anything. Part Hell and part humanity. See, I believe there is a God Almighty, as I believe there is a Devil capering in the bowels of Hell. I favor God over the Devil though, despite what I write. And even though I practice no organized religion.
Life is a testing place for all of us. A kind of, let-me-see-if-your-worthy-to-be-in-my-Heaven, from God's point of view. So what we do, how we treat others and what are beliefs are, determine whether we go down screaming to the very pits of Hell or float to the wondrous Heaven above. Although I mean down and above metaphorically, of course. Obviously Heaven isn't above us literally, we would have found it by now. Perhaps both Heaven and Hell reside in different dimensions, I don't know. But all we need to do is believe to get there, I think.
So, I wonder, is there really a Hell? Is there really a Devil? I say yes, there is. It's what I believe, but what do you say? Do you think there's a Hell? A Devil? Do you think there will be an End of Days, as the Bible foresees? I guess what I'm asking here is, what do you believe to be true?

Head Rush

2007-01-10T17:22:00.000-05:00

Head Rush

I sent her roses by the dozens and poems by the thousands. Yet still she doesn’t acknowledge my existence. I know she knows who I am. But I don’t think she realizes what a swell guy can be; that I can treat her better than any of the other more attractive men can; those filthy swine that are only after one thing. Well, tonight I’ll show her Max Quinton isn’t just some crazy man. I’ll show her what those men really want from her. Then maybe she’ll see why I am the best of them all.
Despite even my blasted dislocated eyeball.
It dangles there on its stalk now, the heavy wetness of my eyeball resting on my cheek. I hate it when it does this. And oh how it hurts when I’ve got to shove it back into its socket. I do so now, as I sit in my car across the street from her apartment. I do it in one quick gesture so it won’t hurt as bad. The eyeball goes in with an audible wet popping sound. I roll my eyes, adjusting it better in the socket and then I get out of the car. I’ve got a job to do tonight.
I look up and spot her current lover and her in the single window of her apartment. They appear to be dancing. Well, they won’t be for long. I climb the short thatch of stairs to the apartment building’s front doors. I enter.
Her apartment is on the second floor, third door on the right. Number 10C. I stop here, staring at the closed door and praying I don’t find them doing anything nasty when I come in. That just might drive me over the edge.
I take out the straight razor I bought at the old drug store south of town, from my jacket pocket. I open it. The blade gleams in the soft light of the corridor. I take a deep breath, turn to the door mark 10C and kick it open.
Rushing in and find them on the floor, her hair in disarray and his jeans unbuttoned. I scream and rush at them, swinging the straight razor in long quick slashes. The girl I love scrambles off the man, the sickening swine and runs to her bedroom and closes the door. The man, the swine, only has time to sit up before I slit his forehead in two. He screams in pain as blood flows out of the gash and into his eyes. The lower part of the gash flaps down to his eyebrows.
Oh, but what’s this? He’s getting up now. His screams are gone. Now I see rage in his bloody eyes. This doesn’t frighten me a bit. I sucker punch him with my free hand directly in the nose. Blood splatters everywhere. I giggle as he crumbles to the floor. Now I must show my love what a swine he really is.
I grab onto the collar of his shirt and drag him to the closed door. I can hear her sobbing. I knock on the door.
“Leave me alone! I called the cops on you! They’re-“
“Open the door my love.” I say. “This swine has something to tell you.”
Said swine is moaning and moving. She doesn’t open the door so I kick it in. She’s standing near her tiny closet, weeping like a lost child.
I set the swine on the bed and slap him to wake him up. He screams and I slap him again. He calms down enough for me to speak.
“Now,” I say. “Tell her why you’re here tonight.”
He glances at the woman and then back at me.
“I don’t-“ I slap him again.
“You do know. Why are you here tonight? What did you plan to do?”
“Nothing! I-“
This time I run the razor down his cheek. He shrieks and yells.
“To screw her! Just to screw her and leave!”
“That’s what I thought.” I say and turn to her.
“See? He only wants you for one thing.”
She looks at the man on the bed, then at me. Her crying has tapered off a little. I nod, turn to the swine and slit his throat.
That done I turn to her. She’s screaming now. But that’s okay. I saw in her eyes how diluted she really is. My love is a slut. She knew why the swine was here.
I advance toward her, straight razor lifting. I think I’ll cut off her face. My eyeball has popped out again, but I ignore it, for now.

The End

This was my take on Stewart Sternberg's assignment. And I might add I had a lot of fun with it.

Pssst! Look Here...

2007-01-09T23:34:00.000-05:00

Here we are, you and I, alone. Alone in the dark...at least that's what we hope. There is no telling what sort of mangled horror creeps and lurks within these shadows. Why, it could be right behind you now as we sit here. It could be grinning its silvery grin, raising one claw toward your neck. Or it could be in your closet and when you open the door to lay out next mornings' wardrobe, BLAH!, it pops out from behind your best suit or dress (or ugly Hawaiian shirt), all teeth and ragged claws. Why, it could be anywhere.
But listen, I assure you we are alone at this very moment. We are alone, and for now at least, let us palaver. Let us talk about fear. While the horrid beast has yet to find us here in the dark.
Now, now, there's nothing to be scared of here. Look around you. Empty darkness as far as the eye can see. Listen, you hear nothing but a slight rustling. So slight it's barely heard at all. But fear not that rustling, my friend, it's nothing but a few stray leaves that followed us here. Soon the sound will be gone, and the breeze here will die. So relax, move in closer...and let us speak of terrors, let us talk about what scares us, and what fear is exactly. Why are we afraid of what we're afraid of?

I see you're a bit shy, so I'll start, okay? Good. Okey-Dokey. When I think of fear, I think of humanity. Sure, dogs, cats, everything can feel fear, but it is us humans who are able to articulate that fear. We're the only things on this vast planet that can bring our fear into focus, if not a little fuzzy at times, and learn to deal with them. But let's face it. Some fears are just there to stay. Some fears, no matter how much will you think you have, still cling nastily on. Haunting us till our dying day. Mine will always be heights. To this day I still can't get up on the roof of a house to help shingle it, or clean out the gutters. The worst part for me is the ladder. If I had an elevator to the roof I'd be one happy critter...as long as said elevator is enclosed. And as for water parks? You know, the ones with all those giant water slides and tubes looping and twisting every which way like giant petrified serpents? No dice. There's no smucking way your getting me up there just to slide down a tube. Nope, not gonna do it. And I don't care how hot it is. I'm smucking scared of heights okay? Okay.
That is my biggest fear, heights. I can all to imagine a bolt coming loose as I ascend to the water slide, or the step I'm standing on, because the mother smucking lines are always so long, gives way under me and I plunge sixty or so feet straight into solid concrete. I blame my fear on an over active imagination. But I digress.
Now, tell me...what is your greatest fear?

Variations

2007-01-06T14:04:00.000-05:00

I've got an idea here. What if we were all to collaborate on a very short story, what would it turn out like, I wonder? Stewart Sternburg has his assignments, which are fun and enlightening. So I wonder what it would be like for all of us to collaborate and or variate for want of a better word, on this little story I came up with? I think it might be really neat to see what each person comes up with.
Okay. How this works is I provide a very small story, say no more than eight hundred words, and you can either write your own variation of the story, or you can add to mine, create an alternate ending. This is different, I know, but why not give it a try and see what comes of it? Post your variation on your blogs and let me know when your ready for me to stop by and take a gander. Here we go:

Chomper and Donkey

The dog emerged from the shadows, its muzzle wet and dripping with a dark liquid Donkey cared not to look at. Chomper had killed again, the mangy mutt. But Donkey knew if he said anything Chomper would definitely be angry. And what then? Would Chomper eat Donkey too? Donkey shuddered at the thought. Chomper could be a real prick when he wanted to be, Donkey had the bite marks to prove it. Not to mention his missing tail too. Chomper trotted over, grinning, blood spattering the sidewalk.

"Got'em, Donk. Good eats all aroun'." Said Chomper as he came to a stop before Donkey.

"Good fa you Chompa." Donkey said, hoping his smile was at least partially convincing.

It must have been because Chomper nodded and turned to look back at the small house he had just finished dinning in.

"Damn good eats, Donk. The man tried to trick me but I gotts him b'for he could so much as wiggle that steak at me. Dumb human."

"We betta get a move along, Chompa. Don' wanna be 'round when more humans show up." Donk said, his voice soft.

"Yeah." Chomper said and began padding down the sidewalk.

Donk followed behind Chomper, his heart trip-hammering in his furry chest. He should've never gotten hooked up with Chomper to begin with. Chomper was mean, evil almost. The mutt loved to kill people, something whick Donk didn't much like at all. Donk was a simple, usually kind hearted animal, if not a little odd looking. He knew he was ugly, but that didn't mean he was a bad a guy, did it? No. Of course it didn't. Donk just had no other friends anymore. Chomper was the only friend left, and Chomper had made damn sure of it too. Donk was a prisoner here. Chomper was the warden, and executioner. If Donk tried to leave, Chomper would kill him sure as shit out of a cows' bum.

So Donk kept his mouth shut, and followed his insane dog friend. He followed, knowing he was a prisoner, and nothing he could do, besides die, would release him from it. Chomper held him at bay with horror and terror. Tomorrow night they will come back to town. Tomorrow night Chomper will eat his meal of human flesh and so continued Donk's miserable life. How many were there in store, he wondered? Just how many could he take? The answer was simple: Not many at all.

The End

The Chronicles

2007-01-02T20:47:00.000-05:00

HERE'S THE EXCLUSIVE GLIMPSE!!! This excerpt will be a story of perhaps novella length. These chronicles began frothing in my head Christmas night and so I decided to write them down. I'm trying my first ever outline on this one and it's turning out great. Please feel free to comment too. If you like you may email me, and if I trust you, for the rest of part 1. Here's an "exclusive" glimpse of what I'm talking about.

Introduction:

What realm is this? Beyond human grasps, a world upon worlds, stitched within the very fabrics of life? What blasted magic could conjure such and abomination of time and space? What creature so vile, so grotesque, could account for this realm, this other world, without a grimace or a bout of nausea?
Could there be a such a monster?
Answer: Yes. Yes, there is.
I am that creature. I am that monster. Although, I was human once, a long, long, time ago. I was so before even Christ was born on that fabled night. But humanity change for me when I discovered a different world other than my own. One that changed me forever and sent me to damnation.
I have no logical complaints, though. This is a life, if one wanted to call it that, I thrive on. It has taught me more than my human world ever had. And it is here where I write this, my dark world. Here is where I write my fall from humanity and my rise into the realm of darkness.
May name is Zim, short for Ziminious. This, my ill fated friends, is my story.

(1007 B.C.) Part 1:

The moon shown nothing of the horrors that slipped and slithered, scurried and lumbered, stalked and prowled the night. The silver glow thrown down could not reveal such, for those horrors even moonlight can not touch.
I stood there, staring up at this luminous coin in the bruised sky of night, my heart thrumming with anticipation. A terrified giddiness I could not control had swept over me and then ate me alive.
The stones at my filthy bare feet, those which vibrated and glittered in the light of the waxing moon. The stones the creature left on my door step without word or warning six days ago; the very same creature now standing before me, grinning its razor grin at me as I fought with a decision that would likely either save my soul or damn it in a single stroke.

"What say you Ziminious. Do you choose the stones, or your pretty family?" The abomination asked, its voice
cold, evil.

My eyes lowered to the hideous thing hunched before me. A wretched murderer of children and a bringer of death and disease. I had to choose.....

Most words here have been altered from the original version...but I think it worked out all right...thank you...

The Laser Blues

2006-12-30T16:25:00.000-05:00

This is not the "Glimpse" of the 5 part story I mentioned in the former post, that will be available soon though. For now, however, I feel I need to vent a little. And what better place to do it than on a blog right? Sure. Good. Okay.
Now, don't be scared, I'm not going to go off on a ranting spree here...I've just got a few things to get off my chest, and share with you. Will you indulge me? I hope so.
You might and might not know that I run and program a laser for my day job. I cut out steel parts for companies like Case/New Holland, Clipper, Alstom and various other big name jumbos. Said steel parts are then either cut with saws or bent with press-brakes and then finally welded together and painted, so on and so forth. I have no problem with the work. No matter how dirty and rough it can get. I don't even mind having to re-program parts because the flucking engineers are lazy fluckers. What I do mind and what I do have a problem with is the pay, of course, the six twelve hour days in a row and management's absurdly stupid ideas for the future of the company.
So, as my title proclaims, I have the Laser Blues. I feel like I'm going nowhere, and fast. I write to alleviate this feeling, among others, which is the reason for this post. Writing, for me at least, is an escape hatch from this world and all its stresses, all its fluckery, one might say. And I find I have to write a lot while I'm at work, on breaks of course, which I only get three ten minutes breaks during my 12 hour days. I write at work to still the frustration, to sort of heal myself as I blunder on through another long day. Writing is healing, in my opinion. Granted most that comes out of me while at work is very grim indeed, but what of that? At least I'm not roaming the place with a loaded 12 gauge shot gun or something, a thing I'd never do in the first place, and blasting my troubles away. Instead I blast my characters in these grim stories away. I take out all my pain on them, in other words. Okay, the place I work really isn't as bad as I make it out to be here, but it helps to prove a point. Writing is healing, writing is a tool for the mind to cope with everything else in this scary world. And besides, if done right, it can be an awakening. Something to make you want to get up in the morning, and want to finish that short story, or novel or whatever it is that you write. For me it helps me to stick it out at work for another loathsome day.
Writing can help you live, by God. Not every one is a writer, but everyone can write if they try, that is my belief. Anyone can write. Some have more talent at it than others, but anyone can jot down how they feel or what's pissing them off that certain day or just go on a ranting splurge. Whatever you choose, writing it down, or in my case, writing a story down that pertains to what's happening but never really stated, can help you.
Writing is healing...and healing is always good. Always...

Bare with me

2006-12-27T22:10:00.000-05:00

Please bare with me. I am currently writing a glimpse of a story I'm working on. It will be a possible 5 part horror/dark fantasy story when complete. This glimpse will be out sometime in the next week. Again bare with me. It's pretty good so far, I think and if you like the dark, you might think so too. I am trying my first outline with this one, so it's taking me a little longer to get a grasp on it. Please tell me what you think about the breif glimpse of a darker world I'm about to show you. Until then I'll leave you with a poem pertaining to the story.

Monsters

Lucas Pederson

Flesh and blood, blood and flesh

Monsters everywhere in a realm where death reins a vile stench

Beyond all worlds lies this place of ruin

Of decay and of horror

Beyond all human imagination this world holds domination

Afraid we must be of the creatures that dwell here

Terrified we all fear here

The man with an empty heart shall find his way here

What say you m'dear?...

Do you fear?

Wicker

2006-12-23T15:54:00.000-05:00

Sun spots upon ruined lenses that can not see
Where the empty souls inhabit...a wicker seed
Along a path of cannibalism sought to rot the decayed..
And here stands a man alone...his wicker face slack
Dead...worse over the way his eyes glisten.
Souls must leap to the heavens...but his remains chained...
The seed within...that wicker seed, that sick seed from nowhere,
Germinates a colony of horror...He is dead, but yet not quiet...
Cordwood, perhaps, resembles his body...its continuous stiffness.
He feels as if he were wicker...he feels life out of reach...
In a world full of hate and ruin and death he knows life is not
Possible
Life, that slippery carnivore, cares not of this man whom lay as
Wicker
A seed...a single seed...and the entire world collapse…

Dashing Through the Mud

2006-12-23T00:25:00.000-05:00

It rained, it rained and just when I thought it was done, it rained some more. It rained for five full days before finally giving up and moving on. Eighteen inches of rain flooded the ditches and sent the dry runs, creeks and rivers to swell and over flow the streets of many towns.
Never in my life have I seen such an unusual sight. One so close to Christmas the very thought of rain was ludicrous, at least to the northern half of the Untied States. A region where snow had dominated during this time of year, water now pooled and streamed. The water was bad all right. Bad, but by far not the worst. But I'll get to that later.
For now let me introduce myself. My name is Tyler Logan and I am lucky to be here writing this today. You see...I almost died two days ago. Yes! That's right, I said I almost died, and now I am here to write down my tale. I'm not afraid anymore. I'm not afraid of what happened, or am I afraid of what might still happen again. I pray to God this is the end of it, though.
December 18th was the day the rain began. It was the day everyone saw as odd and a bit frightening, that with global warming and all that happy-do-DA. The first day, though, wasn't so bad. It rained, okay fine. That sort of thing happens in the winter sometimes. But then came the second day, then the third and fourth. My basement flooded and it didn't matter how hard I worked at pumping the water out it just kept seeping in, like a cruise ship with a couple pin holes punched in the bottom. It just kept coming, so I gave up trying and let it flood. My hot water heater drowned, but otherwise the main house remained dry. I considered this a blessing then.
My wife, Liz, spent most of her days looking out the window and watching the rain fall. She was a believer of white Christmases. And the more it rained the more her spirits shriveled. By the fourth day she went mad, something I saw coming, but never really noticed. I had been too caught up in the oddity of what was happening and of course my job. I'm a machinist for a local metal fabrication company, and, rain or no rain, I needed to work.
On the fourth day I came home from work drenched from head to toe just running from the car in the driveway to the house. Mud caked my boots all the way up to my shins. My gravel driveway had become a bog. The car, a 2003 Cavalier, still sat out there near the end, looking like a forlorn, dying animal, doomed to sink further and further into the mud until it was swallowed whole.
The house was quite when I entered. And after the few minutes it took me to slip out of my muddy boots and wet overalls, it remained quiet. Something was wrong here. I felt it like a chilly fall breeze against the back of my neck. My stomach felt as though it wanted to twist and writhe within its confides. My heart thrummed faster and faster as I strode through the house.
"Liz!" I called. A coppery taste filled my mouth, but I ignored it.
Liz didn't answer...and the house remained silent.
I found her out on the back porch of our house, face down. Mud, dark and slimy slathered her from her feet to her waist. At first I only stood there, gaping down at her as rain cascaded from the sky. All her hair was gone and something black was smeared across the back of her head. I stepped outside to see what it was and recoiled so fast I stumbled backwards, nearly lost my balance and then righted myself. But it wasn't the black smear that made me do this, it was the mud. The mud was moving, shifting, around her as if in an intimate embrace. What the fuck is this, I wondered, terrified. I stared down at it, dumbfounded for a moment and then skirted around Liz's lower half to get a better look at that black smear. The mud made an ominous hissing sound and I glanced in its direction. It was now sliding up her body toward me. That's when I saw Liz's feet, or what was left of them. The bloody clumps lying there on the wooden planks of our porch were no longer recognizable as feet.
I moved away quickly. As I did my eyes happened to lower to Liz's bald pate, then to her neck. Here I saw what killed her. She had somehow mustered the courage to cut her own throat. There was no blood, but I supposed the mud had something to do with that.
It glopped toward me, moving over Liz and leaving raw meat behind. The black smear remained a mystery to me, as it will forever I suppose. I remember screaming at this point, loud terrified screaming coming directly out of my mouth.
I hopped off the porch. My feet hit the ground but slipped out from under me on the wet grass. I landed flat on my back. The wind in my lungs whooshed out in one giant gush. Pain spread across my left leg. I desperately tried sucking in air but for one Godless second I thought that perhaps I never would again. Then it came, in constricted sips at first and then in hearty gulps that only lasted a moment before the pain in my leg drove everything else out of my mind and I wailed in agony. The pain crept up my leg toward my crotch. Screaming I managed to get to my feet. Mud clung to my left leg in an oozing mass. I swiped it off with my hands the best I could, trying to ignore the searing ache it sent through my fingers and palms to do so, and lurched around the house.
I didn't want to look down at my leg, but found I had too. I had to see what the mud had down to me. It wasn't as bad as I had thought, but bad enough to send my gut fluttering and my gorge to rise. What was there flapped and squished. It was amazing I was walking at all.
The rain pelted down on me as I made my way around to the front of the house. If I could only get to my car. If I could get to that-
The car was now longer at the end of the driveway. In fact there appeared to be no sign of it anyway.
"The mud swallowed it." I muttered to himself. This sounded fun, even to myself and I broke into a bitter sort of laughter. A helpless, lost laughter.
The mud that was my driveway rippled, and then began to wave as if it were a lake caught in a gale. Waves splashed at me and I jumped away, startled. There was no way out. This mud, this strange evil mud, had me trapped.
But then I realized something. A flicker in my mind, an image I understood at once. I glared at the living mud. Now the road itself was a wavy mud slick. I turned and entered my garage, panting, trying to hold on to what sanity I still had. My eyes instantly found what my mind had pictured only a moment before. In the rafters, dangling by bailing twine, hung our canoe. Something slammed into the big automatic door at the front of the garage and I screamed. Sweat streamed down my face in a flood. Was I really going to try this? Yes. Yes I was, by God. Liz appeared before my mind's eyes and I had to stifle a horrified moan. I saw her body, stripped of its skin all the way up to her waist. Tears filled my eyes.
Thud! The mud was trying to get in. The door began to buckle inward.
Wasting no more time I drug a ladder over, unhooked the canoe and hauled it down. The paddle was already in the canoe's' body. I carried the canoe over to the automatic door.
Thud! Thud! Soon the door would give and I'd be swallowed up like my car.
I sucked in a breath, stepped to the right of the big door, and pushed the UP button.
The door shuddered and then began to ascend. I hopped in the canoe as the first of the evil mud slithered under the crack toward me. With the paddle held poised and ready, I watched the door lift up and the mud pour in. I just hoped this would work. If not...well...
It did work, though. The mud came in and as it flooded the garage it also sent me afloat on my old canoe. The one Liz and I used so many times when we were much younger, but once into our thirties forgot about. The mud was like thick, gritty water under me, scratching at the bottom of the canoe. It was only a couple feet deep by what I judged against the automatic door jam, but that was more than enough to eat me alive.
I pushed with the paddle, propelling myself slowly toward the maw of the large doorway. It was easy at first. Then something in the mud took hold of my paddle and tried to yank it out of my hands. I managed to pull it free with all my strength. Tentacles of hungry mud shot out at me from the writhing mass under me. I hit them away easily with the paddle.
After a few minutes of this I finally started pushing myself out of the garage. Nothing grabbed my paddle. Once outside I had to pause for a minute to take in what I was seeing. Mud. Mud everywhere. Somewhere close I heard someone screaming. A shiver pulsed through my spine and I got moving again. The mud tentacles appeared not to care anymore. Perhaps, if they had a mind at all, they thought of me as an acceptable loss. At least that's what I hoped.
Soon I was in the road, pushing myself along at a gruelingly slow pace. It wasn't like moving through water, but through a muddy shallow marsh. But at least I was moving, I had that to be thankful for.
About three hours later I paddled into the small city of Cedar Rapids. Here the mud tapered off to nothing. I only had one problem after I'd landed on blacktop. As I was getting out of the canoe, one of those tentacles of mud burst out of the mass and wrapped itself around my right arm. Instantly it felt as though my arm was on fire. I shrieked and tried yanking myself free. It yanked back, hard enough to drag me just five inches from the writhing mass of mud.
"Gotcha!" Someone shouted and I caught a glimpse of silver before the hold on my arm released.
"C'mon! Get to the turnpike!" The person who saved my life was an older man, perhaps in his late sixties. His white hair a spiky disarray on his head. He was holding a machete caked with mud.
I followed him to the turnpike, which stood only forty feet away. From here we looked down. The mud, from what I saw, was only where I came in at. Otherwise, the city was safe. And the older man, whose name was Ed White, told me so.

Now, as I write this, the mud that killed my wife and damn near killed me too, has receded and sunken back into the ground from which it came. I just pray that summer, with all its glory, doesn't bring too much rain. But...nothing is certain in this life, is it?

The End