Welcome to my revamped blog.
I'm still in the process of changing things around, so be careful where you step, we don't want any accidents. I haven't updated my liability insurance.
I've updated the name to better represent the intent. Shadows to Stardust will feature new release announcements of horror and sci-fi books and movies, guest posts from authors and filmmakers, as well as the occasional review of books and films released in the genres that interest me.
At this time I am not open to reviews personally but I am looking for any number of people that would be interested in sharing their reviews on this site. At this time I cannot offer compensation for these reviews, it is something I hope to be able to change in the future, we'll see what happens.
I will be bringing back Free Read Friday, and expanding it to other writers in the genres I focus on. If you have a book that falls under horror or sci-fi, and it's going to be free on a particular Friday, I'd like to know about it.
I've been a fan of science fiction and horror my entire life in both the written word and in movies. I remember Saturday night creature features with Count Gore Devaul, Featuring movies starring Lon Chaney, Boris Karloff, and Vincent Price. Weird Tales, Creepy, and Eerie comics. I can remember marveling at the stories from the likes of Asimov, Clarke, and Bradbury.
That is what I want to bring to this page. My nostalgic love of the heroes I grew up with, and those who dare to stand upon the shoulders of giants to bring us the latest in horror, sci-fi and dark fantasy.
So strap yourself in for what I hope will be a wild ride.
Some changes are afoot.
I've been busy these last few weeks on some changes that are long overdue.
I've set up a static website for me and my published work as a better means of getting the word out about my released books. It can be found here. http://rschiver.wixsite.com/richardschiver it's still a work in progress but it's a start in the right direction.
As for my blog I've decided to keep it going for the time being, but instead of being focused entirely on me I will be opening it up to other writers in the speculative fiction field with new release announcement, interviews, and every so often I'll post a review of one of the books I've read. It was my original intent with the blog when I first started it, and somewhere along the way I got a little lost.
I will also be sharing some of my short stories in their entirety, for free, on this site. I've been working with caliber and I've read and re-read Guido Henkel's Zen of eBook Formatting. My plan is to give away my short stories to my visitors via insta-freebie and Book Funnel, they have apps available that allow you to download the stories directly onto your favorite reading device. No more reading on a computer screen.
With the exception of my post apocalyptic coming of age series, The Dreadland Chronicles, all of my longer work will now be submitted to publishers who I feel can do a better job than I at the various little tasks that must be completed prior to a book's release. I want to keep my finger in the self publishing pie with my series.
Of course if a book fails to find a publisher in a reasonable amount of time I will reconsider my stance on a book by book basis. I feel I've grown as a writer and I'm now ready to tackle several of my ideas that I didn't feel confident enough to write when I originally thought of them. I have several ideas that have simmered on the back burner while I worked to strengthen that writer's muscle.
While I've never been very big at social media, I'm a face to face kind of guy who even hates using a phone, I'll be even less visible in those mediums moving forward. I'll post about new updates and releases, but beyond that I'll be more focused on my work. I've wasted entirely too much time on Facebook just reading my feed, I need to stop doing that.
I hope everyone is well, and I look forward to interacting with you in the near future.
I've set up a static website for me and my published work as a better means of getting the word out about my released books. It can be found here. http://rschiver.wixsite.com/richardschiver it's still a work in progress but it's a start in the right direction.
As for my blog I've decided to keep it going for the time being, but instead of being focused entirely on me I will be opening it up to other writers in the speculative fiction field with new release announcement, interviews, and every so often I'll post a review of one of the books I've read. It was my original intent with the blog when I first started it, and somewhere along the way I got a little lost.
I will also be sharing some of my short stories in their entirety, for free, on this site. I've been working with caliber and I've read and re-read Guido Henkel's Zen of eBook Formatting. My plan is to give away my short stories to my visitors via insta-freebie and Book Funnel, they have apps available that allow you to download the stories directly onto your favorite reading device. No more reading on a computer screen.
With the exception of my post apocalyptic coming of age series, The Dreadland Chronicles, all of my longer work will now be submitted to publishers who I feel can do a better job than I at the various little tasks that must be completed prior to a book's release. I want to keep my finger in the self publishing pie with my series.
Of course if a book fails to find a publisher in a reasonable amount of time I will reconsider my stance on a book by book basis. I feel I've grown as a writer and I'm now ready to tackle several of my ideas that I didn't feel confident enough to write when I originally thought of them. I have several ideas that have simmered on the back burner while I worked to strengthen that writer's muscle.
While I've never been very big at social media, I'm a face to face kind of guy who even hates using a phone, I'll be even less visible in those mediums moving forward. I'll post about new updates and releases, but beyond that I'll be more focused on my work. I've wasted entirely too much time on Facebook just reading my feed, I need to stop doing that.
I hope everyone is well, and I look forward to interacting with you in the near future.
My Apologies!
To those of you who have been following the short story G is for God is Dead, I'm sorry but I've hit a wall with the story and will not be continuing it. One of the hardest parts of writing is learning to recognize when something isn't working. With God is Dead, I've come to the conclusion that the story as it stands is not working for me. I've been forcing myself to keep writing, hoping I'd hit a part that inspired me, and helped to drive me forward.
It never happened.
I'm not giving up writing, no, I'm just throwing in the towel on this story.
I've signed with Severed Press for my WWII horror novella to be titled NOT OF US. And I'm in the process of working to secure an agent for my paranormal mystery CURSED.
I am still working on A CALL TO ARMS, book four of my post apocalyptic series, Dreadland Chronicles, that I want to get out before summer ends.
My short term goals for this year are to complete ASSIMILATION, book three of my Shadows of the Past trilogy, that I've been putting on the back burner for far too long now.
And THIS WAY TO HEAVEN, a special edition for the Dreadland Chronicles, that focuses on the cult of boys from ALL ROADS LEAD TO TERROR. The story will open on the eve of the awakening and proceed from that point to shortly before Meat, Window, and Billie-Bob confront them. I'm viewing it as a LORD OF THE FLIES with Zombies.
I will revisit G is for God is Dead, but there will be some major changes. Most notably will be the absence of the four boys from my post apocalyptic series. It'll be a good story once I settle on the proper location.
Nor am I giving up on my alphabet series of short stories. I'm just taking a step back and reassessing where I'm gong with my writing.
I'll keep you posted here, so check back from time to time, or better yet just follow my blog so you'll be notified when I update.
It never happened.
I'm not giving up writing, no, I'm just throwing in the towel on this story.
I've signed with Severed Press for my WWII horror novella to be titled NOT OF US. And I'm in the process of working to secure an agent for my paranormal mystery CURSED.
I am still working on A CALL TO ARMS, book four of my post apocalyptic series, Dreadland Chronicles, that I want to get out before summer ends.
My short term goals for this year are to complete ASSIMILATION, book three of my Shadows of the Past trilogy, that I've been putting on the back burner for far too long now.
And THIS WAY TO HEAVEN, a special edition for the Dreadland Chronicles, that focuses on the cult of boys from ALL ROADS LEAD TO TERROR. The story will open on the eve of the awakening and proceed from that point to shortly before Meat, Window, and Billie-Bob confront them. I'm viewing it as a LORD OF THE FLIES with Zombies.
I will revisit G is for God is Dead, but there will be some major changes. Most notably will be the absence of the four boys from my post apocalyptic series. It'll be a good story once I settle on the proper location.
Nor am I giving up on my alphabet series of short stories. I'm just taking a step back and reassessing where I'm gong with my writing.
I'll keep you posted here, so check back from time to time, or better yet just follow my blog so you'll be notified when I update.
G is for God is Dead Part VI
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| © Can Stock Photo / Zeferli |
What follows is a brief foray into the world the four boys from my post apocalyptic series inhabit. A world of unrestrained brutality where death lurks at every turn, where the only law was the firepower one carried, and the only hope was for a swift death followed by a dreamless sleep.
Click here to be notified when the story updates.
Read the story from the beginning. Click HERE!
G is for God is Dead!
Part VI
On a lonely country road four boys reach the edge of reality.
“Are they hiding in the shadows”
“They’re here,” the priest answered, “they’re all around in fact, don’t you see? It’s the second coming. As it said in revelations twenty, twelve, and thirteen.
The priests voice rose as he quoted the passage, “And I saw the dead, the great and the small, standing before the throne, and books were opened; and another book was opened, which is the book of life; and the dead were judged from the things which were written in the books, according to their deeds. And the sea gave up the dead which were in it, and death and Hades gave up the dead which were in them; and they were judged, every one of them according to their deeds.” As the echo of his voice faded into the shadows the priests turned to the windows at the front of the church.
“They have come to be judged,” he whispered as he crossed to the window and gazed out at the growing crowd of the undead who waited yards from the front door.
“This guy’s off his rocker,” Einstein said as he twirled his finger around his ear.
“You’ll get no argument from me," Meat said as he watched the deep shadows around the statue. They had to get out of there, fast, the sanctuary they sought would not be found here.
“You need to leave,” the priest said as he turned from the window and stepped to the door, “the time of their judgment has arrived.” The snap of the lock being drawn back was loud in the church and the priest was opening both front doors, allowing the light of the setting sun to push back the shadows as briefly glimpsed objects scurried about frantically to escape the encroaching light.
He stepped through the door, his arm spread wide as he approached the undead who stood waiting.
“Welcome my children,” he said, “you have found your salvation, your journey has come to an end.”
The undead remained rooted in place, watching the priest with cataract coated eyes, those that were lucky to still have them. If this was salvation Meat didn’t want any parts of it.
“Let’s get out of here,” Meat said before turning to the deeper shadows crowding the back of the church.
“Where are we gonna go?” Einstein said, turning to watch meat as he vanished into the gloom. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said.
“What choice do we have,” Meat shot back, his word punctuated by the sound of a door opening.
Window and Billie-Bob remained rooted in place, watching the priest as first one, then another of the undead approached him with staggering steps. The priest stepped back, keeping his distance as more of the undead followed him into the church.
“That’s right my children, come to me, you have been abandoned by the one you followed, left to wander aimlessly, lost in the wilderness of ignorance. I have found the one true god, here in this little church, he has spoken to me as he will speak to if you will only open your hearts to him.”
The priest stepped through the door backwards, his arms upraised, palms out as he spoke in a fevered voice and the undead followed him in an orderly manner.
“Dammit, come on, let’s get out of here,” Meat said, breaking the trance Window and Billie-bob had fallen under as they watched the priest leading the undead into the church.
“Let’s go,” Window said, pulling at Billie-Bob’s arm as he turned to follow the others. Billie-Bob followed reluctantly, struggling to pull his gaze from the spectacle that was playing out in the church behind them. The crowd of the undead was growing as the priest continued to cajole them to follow him into the church. Spreading out to fill the emptiness.
The shadows enveloped them, slithering across their bodies as it wrapped them in ebony embraces.
“That’s right my children, accept the eternal life the one true god has to offer you. Embrace his essence for the god you once followed is dead, and another has risen to take his place.”
To be continued!
The four boys featured in this story appear in my post apocalyptic coming of age series available from Amazon.
Book one
ALL ROADS LEAD TO TERROR
Now only $0.99
Click the link below to grab your copy today.
Free Read Friday: G is for God is Dead Pt V
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| © Can Stock Photo / Zeferli |
Click here to be notified when the story updates.
Read the story from the beginning. Click HERE!
G is for God is Dead!
Part V
On a lonely country road four boys reach the edge of reality.
It was nothing really, just plaster of paris, and paint put together to represent the embodiment of a religious belief. It couldn’t hurt him. Could it? The thought whispered through his mind, but there was no comfort in it. Something had inhabited the statues, creating a semblance of life for purposes that were a mystery.
Rough hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him away as the smile on that immobile face turned down into a frown.
“What’s wrong with you?” Window said as he turned the younger boy to face him. Billie-Bob’s eyes strayed to that shadowy face, seeking the comfort they all sought.
The slap sounded like a gunshot that echoed in the shadowy corners of the church and Billie-Bob blinked several times as awareness blossomed. The tenuous link he’d established with that which inhabited the statue was severed by Window’s act and he looked around at the others as if he were seeing them for the first time.
“Are you okay?” Meat asked and Billie-Bob numbly nodded his head. He was okay now, but there was no telling what might have happened had he reached the statue. Looking around the abandoned church he felt it again, reaching out from those dank corners, caressing his thoughts with a chilled touch that sent icy fingers dancing the length of his spine. They were not safe here.
“I don’t know what it was,” he said, searching for the right words to convey what he’d felt, “but it was trying to get me to come to it.” He finished with a shudder, his eyes drawn once more to the immobile shape of the stature dressed in a shadowy cloak.
“We can’t stay here,” Einstein said as he spun his head around trying to look into all of the shadowy corners at one time.
“What is wrong with you two?” Window said, “we’ve got shelter, and in case you hadn’t noticed there’s a shit load of the dead waiting for us outside.
“They’re right,” Meat said, “I can feel it too, there’s something here that doesn’t belong, something we don’t understand.” Meat turned to the window and glanced out at the immobile crowd of the undead who stood around the church in a dense crowd, all eyes focused on the building they were hiding in.
“Then what are we gonna do? We can’t just walk out now.” Window turned back to stare at the statue.
“No, not now, but maybe tonight.”
“How will we get through them.”
“I haven’t figured that out yet, we need to create a disturbance that will draw them away, give us a chance to escape.”
“You have to leave, now!” The priest shouted from the shadows, he stepped into view, no longer the submissive, diminutive, type. Now he was assertive, his voice confident, full of the conviction of his belief.
“He doesn’t want you here any longer.”
“Who doesn’t want us here?” Window said, turning on the priest who refused to be intimidated.
The priest pointed at the statue, “he lives. He is the embodiment of Christ and he only allows those who believe to be in his presence.”
“That’s not how I was taught,” Meat said.
“And you see where it got him,” the priest shot back, “this is the dawn of a new age, his second coming, and only those willing to submit to him will be forgiven.”
To be continued!
The four boys featured in this story appear in my post apocalyptic coming of age series available from Amazon.
Book one
ALL ROADS LEAD TO TERROR
Now only $0.99
Click the link below to grab your copy today.
Free Read Friday: G is for God Is Dead Part IV
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| © Can Stock Photo / Zeferli |
Author Note: What follows is a brief foray into the world the four boys from my post apocalyptic series inhabit. A world of unrestrained brutality where death lurked at every turn, where the only law was the firepower one carried, and the only hope was for a swift death followed by a dreamless sleep. Inspired by Stephen King's Dark Tower series. Roland Deschain was the last gunslinger, one of these boys is destined to become the first.
Click here to be notified when the story updates.
Read the story from the beginning. Click HERE!
G is for God is Dead!
Part IV
On a winding country road four boys reach the edge of reality.
“He’s crazy,” Window said, dismissing the old priest as he vanished into the thick gloom.
“Shhh,” Einstein said, “not so loud, he might hear you.”
“So, who cares?”
As the other three were dealing with the priest Billie-Bob had been watching the statue behind the altar. There was something about it that touched him in a darkly primitive place where old fears roamed unfettered through narrow corridors. Something that wasn’t quite right, aside from its size.
Window’s shout drew his attention, and when he looked away, just at the very edge of his peripheral vision, he spotted movement. The statue had moved, and he took several steps back as fear washed over him. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. It had to be his imagination. It wasn’t possible for the statue to move. He focused his attention on it, watching for even the slightest sign of movement but the shadows were thick, and details were scarce.
He could move closer, but no, it was safer to remain where he was. He looked away, this time focusing on the statue and was rewarded with a slight nodding of the head. It had to be the shadows playing tricks on him.
Retrieving a flashlight from his pack he turned it on and played the narrow beam across the statue’s face, those clear blue eyes sparkled in the soft light. First one eyelid, then the other, closed and he took several steps back.
“Guys,” he whispered as he struggled to come to terms with what he had just seen. They were still arguing among themselves after the priest vanished into the deeper shadows along the side of the church.
Then he felt it on an emotional level, something reaching out to him, caressing his thoughts as it sought what? What was it searching for?
Do you believe? The question formed and he looked from the statue to his friends. They were the only thing he had ever believed in. The only thing he found he could trust. You couldn’t even trust adults in this new reality, it was every man for himself, and as the youngest member of this quartet he had experienced that disregard first hand. Most of the adults he’d met in his short life were focused solely on their own needs and wants.
You can trust me, a sweetly sinister voice whispered in his mind and he found himself drawn to the statue like a moth to a flame. He was aware the others had stopped arguing, their focus shifting from the priest to him, as they each in turn, spun around to watch as he slowly approached that living statue.
“Billie-Bob, what are you doing?” Window shouted.
The young boy failed to answer as he slowly approached the statue, one hand outstretched, reaching for those clear blue eyes locked with his as that inner voice soothed his terror. Quelling his fear, blanketing it with a spreading numbness that slowly washed through him.
With its numbing embrace came understanding as Billie-Bob shed his well earned doubts about humanities purpose and its future. They had come to witness the dawn of a new era. Those who had gathered beyond the walls of the church, drawn by that which inhabited the statue, the undead were to be the chosen ones.
When he and his brother first arrived at Bremo Bluffs, they had been taken in by a husband and wife who had lost their children to the awakening. Their presence helped soften the blow of that loss, but the couple had found more solace in the bible, in particular the teachings of revelations and the passages that dealt with the rising of the dead. For them the awakening was not the end of society, but the beginning of a new age.
Did that mean they were doomed to an eternity of damnation?
“Come to me,” that sinister voice whispered in his mind, and he did, against his own will, unable to stop himself.
To be continued!
The four boys featured in this story appear in my post apocalyptic coming of age series available from Amazon.
Book one
ALL ROADS LEAD TO TERROR
Now only $0.99
Click the link below to grab your copy today.
Free Read Friday: G is for God Is Dead Pt III
|
| © Can Stock Photo / Zeferli |
Author Note: What
follows is a brief foray into the world the four boys from my post
apocalyptic series inhabit. A world of unrestrained brutality where
death lurked at every turn, where the only law was the firepower one
carried, and the only hope was for a swift death followed by a dreamless
sleep.
Click here to be notified when the story updates.
Read the story from the beginning. Click HERE!
Click here to be notified when the story updates.
Read the story from the beginning. Click HERE!
G is for God is Dead!
On a winding country road four boys reach the edge of reality.
It took all four of them to do it, but they managed to move one of the heavy pews at the back the church, sliding it across the wood floor with a loud screech, shoving it tight against the double doors, effectively blocking them before they stepped back to admire their handiwork.
No sounds came from beyond the closed doors, there were no listless slaps of dead flesh against the barrier, no moaning, no crushing weight as hundreds of the undead tried to get into the church where fresh meat was hiding.
“What’s going on? Why aren’t they trying to get in?” Billie-Bob said, crossing to one of the windows where he took a quick peek outside. The undead stood in an immobile crowd more than fifty feet away. Watching the church silently as the sun shimmered on their cataract clouded eyes. It was like looking at a group of people who were wearing mirrored sunglasses, and the image left Billie-Bob more than a little unnerved.
“They’re just standing there,” he said, glancing back at the other three who stood shrouded in the deep shadows of the church. Behind them he saw a shadowy figure hanging from the wall.
“What the hell is that,” he said as he pushed past the others, the undead momentarily forgotten, as he walked down the center aisle towards the statue of Christ on the Cross that dominated the wall behind the pulpit. The statue was more than double the size of an average person. Painted with immaculate detail, the eyes were full of sorrow and seemed to follow them as they trooped down the center aisle towards it.
“God is not dead,” Window said in an obvious attempt to inject some humor into the situation, “he’s right here.” He approached the statue, staring up into the haunted eyes, noting the crown of thorns and how each one appeared to pierce the flesh, each drawing a line of blood that followed the creases of the forehead like a network of rivers flowing among the mountains.
He was reaching up to touch the face when a booming voice shouted. “Don’t touch it,” stopping his hand several inches from the carved cheek.
All four of them whirled around, weapons drawn as they searched the shadows for the owner of the voice. Sunlight streamed through several skylights in the vaulted ceiling, creating shafts of light that spawned even more shadows for any would be attackers to hide within.
“Come out where we can see you,” Window shouted, scanning the shadows for any sign of movement.
“If I do will you shoot me?”
“Only if you mean to harm us.”
“I’m not here to hurt you.”
“Then you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“That’s easy for you to say, after all, you’re the one who came into this church armed.”
Window looked from one to the other and with a shrug slipped the forty four that was his birthright into its holster, yet his hand never strayed very far from the sandalwood grip as he turned back to address the disembodied voice.
“I’ve put my gun away, it’s safe to come out.”
“Do I have your word?”
“Of course, you’ve nothing to fear from us.”
There was a moment of silence as the unseen interloper considered what Window said.
“I’ll take you at your word.
A man appeared from the deep shadows gathered along the left wall, small of stature with a bald head, he wore the garb of a priest as he stepped into the light shining down from above.
Meat approached him with his hand out, “we’re not here to cause any harm,” he said as he got closer enough to the man to spot the white collar at his throat. “We were just running from the undead and picked what looked like the safest spot.”
The man laughed nervously at that, his head on a swivel as he searched the shadows all around him.
“It’s far from safe here,” the man said, finishing with a laugh that bordered on the cackle of insanity.
Window shot him a knowing look and Meat understood he would never fully trust the man who appeared from the shadowy depths of the church.
“Are you the priest for this church?” Einstein said as he stepped forward, following the man’s gaze that was constantly searching the shadows all around them. “Are you all right? Can we help you find what it is you’re looking for?”
“Who says I’m looking for anything?” The man shot back, pinning Einstein to his spot with a penetrating stare.
“I was just saying…” Einstein’s words faded under the priest’s withering stare.
From the shadows came the sound of movement and the man spun around to confront whatever lived in that deepening gloom. It sounded like something being dragged across a coarse surface. Soft, almost imperceptible, the sound multiplied as it grew to surround them.
“I told you, not now,” the priest shouted into the shadows and the sound faded to silence.
“What is it?” Window said as he stepped forward, moving Einstein aside, “what are you hiding from us?” He pulled his revolver as he searched the shadows for the source of the sound.
To be continued!
The four boys featured in this story appear in my post apocalyptic coming of age series available from Amazon.
Book one
ALL ROADS LEAD TO TERROR
Now only $0.99
Click the link below to grab your copy today.
Free Read Friday: G is for God is Dead Pt II
|
| © Can Stock Photo / Zeferli |
Author Note: What
follows is a brief foray into the world the four boys from my post
apocalyptic series inhabit. A world of unrestrained brutality where
death lurked at every turn, where the only law was the firepower one
carried, and the only hope was for a swift death followed by a dreamless
sleep. Inspired by Stephen King's Dark Tower series. Roland Deschain
was the last gunslinger, one of these boys is destined to become the
first.
Click here to be notified when the story updates.
Read the story from the beginning. Click HERE!
Click here to be notified when the story updates.
Read the story from the beginning. Click HERE!
G is for God is Dead!
On a winding country road four boys reach the edge of reality.
Going around was a preferable option that would add another day to their trek. While it was not a real inconvenience as they were well stocked for an extended trip, and were quite capable of living off the land, there was something about the whole situation that tickled his curiosity.
Why? The question begged to be answered, why would they hang their priest?
He didn’t appear to have suffered any other wounds, his clothes though dirty, looked to ve well maintained.
“What do you suppose happened?” Window said on his right as Meat watched the clearing ahead for any signs of life.
“Hard to say,” he answered with a shrug, his gaze never straying from that clearing.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Window said as he started down the road ahead of them.
“Maybe we should just go around,” Meat said, stopping the younger boy in his tracks.
“I agree,” Einstein offered, “I think it would be better if we just went around.”
“What do you think?” Window said, shifting his gaze to Billie-Bob who was whispering to himself, his voice soft, indistinct, the words running together like a chant.
“Who me?” Billie-Bob looked up startled, shrugging as he shook his head and lifted his hands, palms up. “Doesn’t matter to me which way we go.”
“It’s settled then, we’ll go through,” Window said before turning on his heel and striking out.
“Wait,” Meat said, “I don’t think it’s safe.”
“Where is it safe?” Window shot back, turning to face the other three boys, “tell me that, where in this world is it really safe, because you know what, I want to go there. I’m tired of always being afraid, always having to be cautious so we don’t disrupt the others, or draw their attention.” Window’s voice rose as he continued, closing with a shout of frustration. “Where is it safe?”
Several birds took to flight from the trees above them squawking in protest with raucous cries. Window stood before them, like them, nothing more than a kid lost in a world that no longer cared. Sure they were armed, and they certainly knew how to use the weapons they carried, but beneath their grimy exteriors, they were nothing more than children shouldering a burden that had been forced on them.
As the echo of Window’s voice faded into the distance, and the startled birds had settled elsewhere, from the forest on their right came the steady sound of someone’s approach though the dense blanket of leaves that covered the forest floor.
All eyes turned to the forest, hands dropping instinctively to the butts of their weapons. In this new age, when a stranger approached, it was best to be ready for anything.
A spot of white materialized from the gloomy forest depths as those steady footsteps drew closer. A person emerged from the shadows, staggering towards them, more details becoming obvious with every passing moment. She might have been beautiful once, but not anymore. Long blonde hair, that which remained, hung in filthy strands around a face marbled in shades of gray and black. Her mouth hung open, exposing blackened teeth that had probably once been perfectly straight and white. Her eyes burned with a preternatural light, shimmering in the shadowy depths as he mouth worked in hungry anticipation of sinking those neglected incisors into warm, living, flesh.
She was one of the undead and they slipped well worn pistols from leather holsters as she reached the edge of the road. Window fired, the sound of his forty four shattering the stillness, sending a flock of birds into startled flight as the heavy slug slapped her in the forehead, stopping her forward momentum as it shattered her skull and pulped her brain.
She dropped to the ground instantly as what remained of her brains splattered against the tree trunks behind her.
“What the hell did you do that for?” Meat yelled as he turned on Window. “Now everyone within a four mile radius knows where we are.”
“Who cares, let em come get us, I’m ready for them.”
Meat saw the truth in the younger boys eyes, for all his bravado he was as scared as the rest of them.
As if in answer to Window’s boast the sound of more movement came from the forest around them. More shapes emerged from the shadowy depths, staggering into view, drawn by all the noise Window had made.
“We better get going,” Widow said as he turned to flee down the road. The other three followed as more than ten of the undead staggered onto the cracked pavement of that narrow ribbon of road. Followed by even more that seemed to inhabit the entire forest around them.
Where had they come from? Meat had time to wonder as they drew closer to the church flanked by two other buildings. They were in the middle of nowhere, far from any major cities, there shouldn’t be that many undead in the woods around them.
When he chanced a look back he saw the road covered by a staggering crowd of the undead.
Window reached the church first and without hesitation he smashed open the door. After the last of them hurried through he closed it and with their help used whatever was lying around to barricade it.
To be continued!
Why? The question begged to be answered, why would they hang their priest?
He didn’t appear to have suffered any other wounds, his clothes though dirty, looked to ve well maintained.
“What do you suppose happened?” Window said on his right as Meat watched the clearing ahead for any signs of life.
“Hard to say,” he answered with a shrug, his gaze never straying from that clearing.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Window said as he started down the road ahead of them.
“Maybe we should just go around,” Meat said, stopping the younger boy in his tracks.
“I agree,” Einstein offered, “I think it would be better if we just went around.”
“What do you think?” Window said, shifting his gaze to Billie-Bob who was whispering to himself, his voice soft, indistinct, the words running together like a chant.
“Who me?” Billie-Bob looked up startled, shrugging as he shook his head and lifted his hands, palms up. “Doesn’t matter to me which way we go.”
“It’s settled then, we’ll go through,” Window said before turning on his heel and striking out.
“Wait,” Meat said, “I don’t think it’s safe.”
“Where is it safe?” Window shot back, turning to face the other three boys, “tell me that, where in this world is it really safe, because you know what, I want to go there. I’m tired of always being afraid, always having to be cautious so we don’t disrupt the others, or draw their attention.” Window’s voice rose as he continued, closing with a shout of frustration. “Where is it safe?”
Several birds took to flight from the trees above them squawking in protest with raucous cries. Window stood before them, like them, nothing more than a kid lost in a world that no longer cared. Sure they were armed, and they certainly knew how to use the weapons they carried, but beneath their grimy exteriors, they were nothing more than children shouldering a burden that had been forced on them.
As the echo of Window’s voice faded into the distance, and the startled birds had settled elsewhere, from the forest on their right came the steady sound of someone’s approach though the dense blanket of leaves that covered the forest floor.
All eyes turned to the forest, hands dropping instinctively to the butts of their weapons. In this new age, when a stranger approached, it was best to be ready for anything.
A spot of white materialized from the gloomy forest depths as those steady footsteps drew closer. A person emerged from the shadows, staggering towards them, more details becoming obvious with every passing moment. She might have been beautiful once, but not anymore. Long blonde hair, that which remained, hung in filthy strands around a face marbled in shades of gray and black. Her mouth hung open, exposing blackened teeth that had probably once been perfectly straight and white. Her eyes burned with a preternatural light, shimmering in the shadowy depths as he mouth worked in hungry anticipation of sinking those neglected incisors into warm, living, flesh.
She was one of the undead and they slipped well worn pistols from leather holsters as she reached the edge of the road. Window fired, the sound of his forty four shattering the stillness, sending a flock of birds into startled flight as the heavy slug slapped her in the forehead, stopping her forward momentum as it shattered her skull and pulped her brain.
She dropped to the ground instantly as what remained of her brains splattered against the tree trunks behind her.
“What the hell did you do that for?” Meat yelled as he turned on Window. “Now everyone within a four mile radius knows where we are.”
“Who cares, let em come get us, I’m ready for them.”
Meat saw the truth in the younger boys eyes, for all his bravado he was as scared as the rest of them.
As if in answer to Window’s boast the sound of more movement came from the forest around them. More shapes emerged from the shadowy depths, staggering into view, drawn by all the noise Window had made.
“We better get going,” Widow said as he turned to flee down the road. The other three followed as more than ten of the undead staggered onto the cracked pavement of that narrow ribbon of road. Followed by even more that seemed to inhabit the entire forest around them.
Where had they come from? Meat had time to wonder as they drew closer to the church flanked by two other buildings. They were in the middle of nowhere, far from any major cities, there shouldn’t be that many undead in the woods around them.
When he chanced a look back he saw the road covered by a staggering crowd of the undead.
Window reached the church first and without hesitation he smashed open the door. After the last of them hurried through he closed it and with their help used whatever was lying around to barricade it.
To be continued!
The four boys featured in this story appear in my post apocalyptic coming of age series available from Amazon.
Now only $0.99
Click the link below to grab your copy today.
Free Read Friday: G is for God is Dead!
 | |
| © Can Stock Photo / Zeferli |
Author Note: What follows is a brief foray into the world the four boys from my post apocalyptic series inhabit. A world of unrestrained brutality where death lurked at every turn, where the only law was the firepower one carried, and the only hope was for a swift death followed by a dreamless sleep. Inspired by Stephen King's Dark Tower series. Roland Deschain was the last gunslinger, one of these boys is destined to become the first.
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Click here to be notified when the story updates.
G is for God is Dead!
On a winding country road four boys reach the edge of reality.
Book one, ALL ROADS LEAD TO TERROR
Were it a different time and place the sight of four boys on a camping trip would elicit a smile as many recalled doing just that when they were young. Their packs slung across narrow shoulders, the pockets of their cargo pants bulging with the necessities for the trip. An adventurous trek into the wilderness away from the safety of home, even if it was at the very edge of the backyard where the forest waited in gloomy anticipation.
There was one notable difference, and it was in the way they moved. They weren’t bunched together as a group of boys normally would be. Shouting to let the world know they were alive. This group was spread out in a formation familiar to anyone who has ever served. Keeping to the edge of a road covered by a dense layer of dead leaves, the safety of a narrow ditch within easy reach.
Their obvious wariness belied the innocent nature of their trek, their heads always on a swivel as they kept watch on the forest that surrounded them. The well worn handles of various weapons within easy reach of hands that appeared at first to be idle, yet moved with a determined grace.
For them this was not a different time and place, this was their reality, having grown up amid the brutality of a world turned upon its head. This was the time after. Though they had heard the stories from the days before the dead walked. None of them had ever experienced the convenience of a fast food restaurant, the overwhelming sight of a fully stocked supermarket, the safety of a secure home.
“Did I ever tell you about the Zombie who wanted a girlfriend,” Billie-Bob, the youngest member of the group called out from his place at the rear.
“Keep it down back there,” Meat, the boy in the lead replied, turning around to walk backwards as he and Window, the second boy exchanged shrugs. There was a preternatural stillness about Window, who was not much younger than Meat. They both viewed the world through a thousand yard stare that was so out of place on a face so young.
In the distance ahead several structures along the side of the road emerged from the forest. Nothing more than a wide spot in the road, but it was the first sign of civilization they had seen this day. The last little town they had passed through had burned to the ground some time in the past. The fire leaving only the charred remnants of the foundations that once supported the buildings. With no fire department to respond the inferno had consumed the small village.
Window spotted something ahead and pushed forward to tap Meat on the shoulder. Dropping to one knee they tried to make out what it was hanging from the tree limbs interlaced over the road.
“I don’t like this,” Window said, his hand dropping to the butt of the revolver protruding from the holster on his hip.
“There’s a lot of things you don’t like,” Billie-Bob said. He was the only one in the group who could get away with riding Window, who shot him a dirty look.
“Let’s get closer,” Meat said and as a group they rose and quickly covered the distance between themselves and that object.
As they got closer the smell alerted them to what it was. It was the stench of something dead that has lain in the sun for too long. For them it was a familiar smell, one they had grown up with, marring the fresh clean scent of a wilderness that has moved on to leave the remnants of civilization behind.
More details emerged as they got closer and from the canopy of interlaced branches above them hung the dead body of an older man. His neck had obviously been broken, the head sitting at an unnatural angle, the eyes open and watching as they neared.
“It’s alive,” Einstein, the fourth member of the group said with obvious distaste. Unlike the others he had grown up in a secure compound along the banks of the James river, so he was unfamiliar with the brutality of the world in which they lived. He was the smartest in the group, earning the nickname he carried.
“Not for long,” Windows said as he drew his revolver.
“Don’t,” Meat said, putting his hand out to stop him, “there might be others nearby.”
From the dead man’s neck hung a crudely drawn sign.
“God is dead.” Billie-Bob read the sign out loud. It was then Meat spotted the white collar around the man’s neck. He’d been a priest.
Why had he been hung?
Meat turned his attention back to the buildings ahead, and spotted the small church, its white siding shimmering in the noon day sun. The answer lay there, he was sure of it, he just wasn’t sure if he wanted to answer it.
There was one notable difference, and it was in the way they moved. They weren’t bunched together as a group of boys normally would be. Shouting to let the world know they were alive. This group was spread out in a formation familiar to anyone who has ever served. Keeping to the edge of a road covered by a dense layer of dead leaves, the safety of a narrow ditch within easy reach.
Their obvious wariness belied the innocent nature of their trek, their heads always on a swivel as they kept watch on the forest that surrounded them. The well worn handles of various weapons within easy reach of hands that appeared at first to be idle, yet moved with a determined grace.
For them this was not a different time and place, this was their reality, having grown up amid the brutality of a world turned upon its head. This was the time after. Though they had heard the stories from the days before the dead walked. None of them had ever experienced the convenience of a fast food restaurant, the overwhelming sight of a fully stocked supermarket, the safety of a secure home.
“Did I ever tell you about the Zombie who wanted a girlfriend,” Billie-Bob, the youngest member of the group called out from his place at the rear.
“Keep it down back there,” Meat, the boy in the lead replied, turning around to walk backwards as he and Window, the second boy exchanged shrugs. There was a preternatural stillness about Window, who was not much younger than Meat. They both viewed the world through a thousand yard stare that was so out of place on a face so young.
In the distance ahead several structures along the side of the road emerged from the forest. Nothing more than a wide spot in the road, but it was the first sign of civilization they had seen this day. The last little town they had passed through had burned to the ground some time in the past. The fire leaving only the charred remnants of the foundations that once supported the buildings. With no fire department to respond the inferno had consumed the small village.
Window spotted something ahead and pushed forward to tap Meat on the shoulder. Dropping to one knee they tried to make out what it was hanging from the tree limbs interlaced over the road.
“I don’t like this,” Window said, his hand dropping to the butt of the revolver protruding from the holster on his hip.
“There’s a lot of things you don’t like,” Billie-Bob said. He was the only one in the group who could get away with riding Window, who shot him a dirty look.
“Let’s get closer,” Meat said and as a group they rose and quickly covered the distance between themselves and that object.
As they got closer the smell alerted them to what it was. It was the stench of something dead that has lain in the sun for too long. For them it was a familiar smell, one they had grown up with, marring the fresh clean scent of a wilderness that has moved on to leave the remnants of civilization behind.
More details emerged as they got closer and from the canopy of interlaced branches above them hung the dead body of an older man. His neck had obviously been broken, the head sitting at an unnatural angle, the eyes open and watching as they neared.
“It’s alive,” Einstein, the fourth member of the group said with obvious distaste. Unlike the others he had grown up in a secure compound along the banks of the James river, so he was unfamiliar with the brutality of the world in which they lived. He was the smartest in the group, earning the nickname he carried.
“Not for long,” Windows said as he drew his revolver.
“Don’t,” Meat said, putting his hand out to stop him, “there might be others nearby.”
From the dead man’s neck hung a crudely drawn sign.
“God is dead.” Billie-Bob read the sign out loud. It was then Meat spotted the white collar around the man’s neck. He’d been a priest.
Why had he been hung?
Meat turned his attention back to the buildings ahead, and spotted the small church, its white siding shimmering in the noon day sun. The answer lay there, he was sure of it, he just wasn’t sure if he wanted to answer it.
To be continued!
The four boys featured in this story appear in my post apocalyptic coming of age series available from Amazon.
Now only $0.99
Click the link below to grab your copy today.
Free Read Friday: F is for Funghi Pt VIII
 |
| (c) Can Stock Photo / knorre |
F is for Funghi
Part VIII
Follow this link to read the story from the beginning: HERE
Sign up to be notified when I update my blog, click HERE!
After recording five minutes of the treadmill he worked his way back to his equipment and finished setting it up. After establishing a five minute loop he flipped the switch to start the replay. Static hissed from the speakers and he adjusted the gain to blanket it. Faintly he heard the recording of the treadmill coming from the speakers and he twisted the volume dial all the way up, filling the basement with sound. They were out of sequence, the two separate sounds coming a split second apart, agitating the creatures around Nadine. Large thorns and assorted other piercing and cutting objects sprouted from their slender bodies and he hurriedly adjusted the speed of the replay to synchronize the two different, yet similar, sounds.
The creature closest to the speakers drifted towards the recorded sound, gathering around the twin speakers to dance in time with the steady thrumming. Slowly he turned the volume up, blanketing the sound of Nadine’s treadmill, drawing even more of the creatures to the speakers.
With a path cleared to the treadmill he raced over and got Nadine’s attention. Her eyes were bloodshot, her breathing came in ragged gasps, her hands grasping the bars so tight her knuckles looked like they were about to break through her skin.
“You can stop,” he said, motioning to the creatures that were now gathered around the speakers.
She shook her head silently, determined to see this to the bitter end, and he pointed at the speakers, turning her head against her will until she could see what was happening. She stopped then, that brief pause causing a flurry of activity to wash through the creatures who quickly settled down to continue dancing.
“We gotta get out of here, can you walk?”
Nadine nodded, took two steps off the treadmill, and collapsed into his arms. Holding her close he raced to the door and slipped through, closing it behind him, muting the recorded sound of the treadmill.
On this side of the door the basement was clear of that invading creature. The concrete block walls still white, but as he watched a faint pattern of darker lines appeared, growing thicker and darker with every passing second. All around them the pattern spread out across every available surface, those searching fingers of night reaching out from the other side of the wall where Nadine’s workout room was.
“We’ve gotta get out of the house,” he said as he lowered her to her feet.
“No! We can’t,” she replied, panic flashing in her eyes, “I can’t go outide.”
“We can’t stay here.” He pointed at the growing lattice work of searching vines that were racing across the walls around them, trying it seemed to block their escape.
He grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the narrow stairs, the walls to either side were already covered, small tendrils of night growing from the surface, reaching across the space to create a barrier. He plowed through the narrow vines, ripping and tearing his way up the steps as panic rushed through his body and his heart thundered in his chest.
They had almost made it, the faint glimmer of the door only inches away from his fingertips, when Nadine’s hand was ripped from his.
“No!” he screamed as he turned back to see her vanishing into a vine packed maw that slowly retreated down the steps. He tried to follow, intent on saving her, her screams muted by a dense layer of tentacles that lashed out at him with razor sharp thorns, laying open his cheek, slicing through the flesh of his arm as he raised it to protect himself.
He retreated, falling back into the kitchen, the image of Nadine vanishing into that squirming morass burned into his mind. Sure, she was a pain in the ass at times, but she surely didn’t deserve what happened to her. For the first time in a long time he was overcome by sadness. It was a sensation he hadn’t felt since his mother died when he was a child.
On its heels followed another, more familiar sensation, that sense of finally being free. It reminded him of when he was released from prison the first time, finishing a 2 year stint for burglary. It was a lightening of the spirit that put a spring in his step.
Nadine was no more, and as he thought this he heard the steady thump of the treadmill in the basement. They had gotten what they wanted and as he looked around the spotless kitchen he realized he was truly free for the first time in his life. She had money in the bank, more than he would ever need, and as her husband he had access to it.
He didn’t need to stay here any longer, he could move on with his life, never work another and life a live of leisure. Pushing himself to his feet he worked out what he would have to do to get access to her cash. Her bank card was in her pocketbook still sitting on the counter, and he knew her pin number.
It would be a piece of cake to drain her account over the next few months and set himself up wherever he wanted to go. The world was his and as he crossed to the counter he realized the steady thrumming in the basement had stopped.
Had she worn herself out?
It started again and he smiled, let her run herself to death if that’s what she wanted, he was getting out of this place. As he searched through her pocketbook he didn’t hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs beyond the basement door. Nor did he notice the vines emerging from the walls around each door and window. He was focused on more important things as the door behind him swung open with a faint squeal he’d always promised her he would fix.
He did feel the icy hand on his shoulder, the sensation of something spreading across his chest and back, and when he spun around Nadine was waiting for him. But it wasn’t really Nadine anymore. It had her face, and her body, but what lived in the depths of her eyes was anything but the soul of the woman he’d married. It was an alien thing that lived in her gaze, watching him with a cold indifference.
He felt the tentacles spreading across his chest and back. Climbing his neck and spreading out around his head, probing his lips, his nose, and his ears as a sweetly sinister voice whispered in his mind.
“Relax, this will only take a moment.”
THE END
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Revisiting Covenant
Covenant
The rewrite.
Authors Note: Covenant was born one Sunday morning as I was reading the paper, while mentally searching for the next story idea in my 26 story challenge. I came across a report about a murder and attempted suicide of an older couple in their eighties, that happened on the east side of my small town. Details revealed the wife was suffering from end stage Alzheimer Disease, and her husband was trying to end her suffering. That of course set the gears into motion and the first thought to emerge centered around that certain stubbornest to being married to the same person for more than fifty years.
A union like this transcended love.
When you toss in a healthy dose of Alzheimer disease, dementia, and the assorted other demons that tend to rear their ugly little heads, you've got a tragedy in the making. Suddenly the woman, or man, you've spent your entire life with, is no longer there. A stranger has taken their place as you struggle to come to grips with this new reality. If you've witnessed this first hand, and discover later in your own life that you are likely to come down with the disease, what would you do?
What if the woman, or man, you love turns to you as their last resort in such a situation? Would you be able to do as they ask?
Archie faces that very situation, he made a promise to his wife after they buried her mother, a pact, a covenant, to not let her suffer the same fate.
Most of the rewrite consisted, as it usually does, in cleaning up my sentence structure to excise as much of the passive voice as I could. To tighten things up while discarding much of the needless stuff.
Upon completion of the first draft I realized what the story was trying to say and knew I had to set the scene. In the first rewrite I added the following passage.
She watched him from the pillows under her head, her once vibrant red hair now the color of the sheets she lay on, her faced lined with age, eyes that once sparkled with a mischievous light now watched him with guarded mistrust as he moved around the foot of her bed, and crossed to the window.“You promised,” she said, her eyes darting back and forth as she searched for her words.He was taken back by the comment, it was so out of place when compared to the way she had been acting lately. “I promised what, Sweetheart?” he said, choosing to ignore for the moment this turn of events. He didn’t want to get his hopes up that her condition was improving. The disappointment would be too much to bear.Her eyes continued to dart back and forth, in search of words that were not forthcoming, her brow creased with concentration as she tried to capture the elusive tail of her comment.
As the story is titled Covenant I felt it necessary to make an early reference to the promise Archie made to her the day her mother was buried.
For me, the restored phone booth in the basement as well as the assorted advertisements, represent a link that connects Archie with the past. It is this link that will provide the conduit into Pat's mind where he will be reminded of his promise. I used the bar as a refuge from the storm that was her disease constantly churning beyond the walls.
In the end he comes to realize what he must do.
In the end he comes to realize what he must do.
On the churning clouds around them flickered the scenes from
their past together. Fading in and out of focus as the clouds beneath the
images churned. He saw the day they met, he just a clumsy kid too big for his
own good. She, as she had always been, quite and demur. Self assured where he
was still coming into his own. He saw it all laid out before him, the billowing
depths of the clouds serving as a living screen as those moments replayed
themselves in brief flashes of light. He saw her walking down the aisle in the
little church where they were wed a week before he shipped out to Vietnam. He
saw the birth of their boys. Birthdays, anniversaries, and summer vacations
stretching out into eternity. As he watched the scenes playing out he came to
understand something that at first glance was beyond belief.
He looked from the clouds to his wife, and back
again as the realization filtered through his thoughts. He was in her mind,
experiencing first hand the loss of self she’d so far endured. His heart was
broken when he realized the truth of what he had to do.
And so the story ends with a replay of the opening sequence with one exception. The addition of a pistol on her tray.
Next
to the napkins lay his nine millimeter pistol. Dark and sinister, it’s muted
color in sharp contrast to the white napkin. The difference between the two
was like that between night and day, or life and death.
You can read the edited story in its entirety at this link: Covenant
Keep in mind that when the story is released I will be truncating the story on my blog, and providing a link to where it can be purchased. I'd really appreciate it if you did buy one or two of my stories, they're only a buck a piece, less than a cup of coffee, and the sale will keep me motivated and turning out more stories. Thanks,
Two new titles, along with an idea for two of my upcoming stories has come to me.
For the letter G we will visit the boys from my Dreadland Chronicles series, Meat, Window, Einstein, and Billie-Bob will come upon a strange compound in the short story G is for GOD IS DEAD. Don't know everything that's gonna happen yet, but I can see the opening scene is in my mind, so look for the first installment that should be coming Friday April 27, 2018.
Don't forget the final installment of F is for Funghi, will be posted Friday April 20, 2018.
For the letter H I've come up with the idea of an opening to hell appearing in the Appalachian mountains where I currently live, keep your eyes open for H is for HILLBILLY HELLMOUTH coming soon.
As always if you've been enjoying what you've read why don't you stop by my one of my Author Pages listed below to check out my other work.
You can read the edited story in its entirety at this link: Covenant
Keep in mind that when the story is released I will be truncating the story on my blog, and providing a link to where it can be purchased. I'd really appreciate it if you did buy one or two of my stories, they're only a buck a piece, less than a cup of coffee, and the sale will keep me motivated and turning out more stories. Thanks,
Two new titles, along with an idea for two of my upcoming stories has come to me.
For the letter G we will visit the boys from my Dreadland Chronicles series, Meat, Window, Einstein, and Billie-Bob will come upon a strange compound in the short story G is for GOD IS DEAD. Don't know everything that's gonna happen yet, but I can see the opening scene is in my mind, so look for the first installment that should be coming Friday April 27, 2018.
Don't forget the final installment of F is for Funghi, will be posted Friday April 20, 2018.
For the letter H I've come up with the idea of an opening to hell appearing in the Appalachian mountains where I currently live, keep your eyes open for H is for HILLBILLY HELLMOUTH coming soon.
As always if you've been enjoying what you've read why don't you stop by my one of my Author Pages listed below to check out my other work.
Become a member of my
readers group and get a
free starter library.
Free Read Friday: F is for Funghi Pt VII
|
| (c) Can Stock Photo / knorre |
F is for Funghi
Part VII
Follow this link to read the story from the beginning: HERE
Sign up to be notified when I update my blog to keep abreast of the story, click HERE!
He tried to work out what manner of creature this was, only to come up empty. There was nothing within the grasp of his understanding to explain what this thing was. Only that it was huge, and had obviously been spreading for some time through the Morison’s house.
When was the last time he’d seen them? He wondered, aware that it had at least been several months. Had this thing been growing inside all that time?
What he could see of the basement was a dense forest of interlaced vines. Nothing looked as it should, and every available surface had been covered by these invading objects. The bar that once stood along the wall was wrapped in a layer of intertwined vines that pulsed in time with the steady thrumming sound so reminiscent of a heartbeat.
With a voice like the rice crispies cereal of his childhood, that impenetrable wall of vines grew behind him, pushing him down a narrow artery toward the sound pulsing through everything around him. He came to a wider room, the thrumming pulse so loud it wrapped itself about him, invading his body, his thoughts, matching the steady beat of his own heart stride for stride.
In the center of the room he saw her. Surrounded by a forest of these primitive things that seemed to be dancing in time with the steady rhythm coming from the treadmill she was running on. Sweat glistened against the flesh of her face, her eyes fixed on an object he could not see, her face set in a mask of disturbed concentration.
Onward she ran, her slender legs scissoring in a steady rhythm as she kept her pace on the treadmill. She was clinging to the handle with white knuckled hands and as he got closer he saw that she was far from enjoying herself. He had the impression she was no longer exercising, but was running for her life, the slender appendages surrounding her were weaving back and forth in time with the steady rhythm of her feet on the treadmill.
Were they feeding on her misery? The thought stopped him cold as he took in the slender objects gathered around her in a dense crowd. They stood no more than two feet high, like supple tree branches with little to no distinguishing features to tell one from the next. At their base they were each connected to the other by an interlaced network of smaller vines that formed a latticework pattern on the painted concrete.
As he approached she turned her head and spotted him, her eyes growing wide in surprise as he gingerly made his way through the dense crowd that parted to permit him access.
“Can you stop?” He asked, and she shook her head silently. She was winded, struggling to maintain her pace, her face a mask of fatigued terror.
What could he do to save her? He wondered as he looked around the basement at the discarded electronic equipment scattered along the walls. How could he get her out of there? What would happen if she stopped running? The questions chased one another though his mind as he struggled to come up with a solution. His gaze fell on his old recording equipment, he’d put together tracks for a couple of local bands when he was much younger, driven by the hope of discovering something big. A hope that never panned out.
He looked back at the treadmill, at Nadine’s faltering step, the steady sound of her running missing several beats. She was winding down. The creatures became agitated at the interruptions, their smooth surfaces sprouting wicked barbed thorns that quickly smoothed over as the beat picked up again.
She was literally running for her life.
If he recorded her running, maybe he could get her out of here, get both of them out of here before those things turned nasty. The thorns had looked like they were quite capable of tearing a person to shreds. Was that what happened to the Morison’s? He turned away from that line of reasoning, focusing instead on getting his old equipment back together.
Confidence eluded him as he struggled to put his system back together. It had been too many years since he’d fooled with it, and he worked clumsily at first, then more confidently as muscle memory resurfaced to guide him. Soon he was ready and he cautiously approached the treadmill, taking care to avoid those dancing things gathered around her, the memory of those wicked thorns not far from his thoughts.
To be continued!
If you've been enjoying what you've read why don't you stop by my one of my Author Pages listed below to check out my other work.
Become a member of my
readers group and get a
free starter library.
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