Richard Schiver: free fiction online

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G is for God is Dead Part VI

Author Note: Sorry for the delay in getting this segment out. Had some issues with Word on my computer and wound up having to do a complete reinstall.

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.

“Where are his followers?” Window said, spreading his arms wide as he slowly turned around in the deserted church. “Where are these true believers?” Window stopped, having turned all the way around until he was facing the priest once again. His arms still outstretched he glanced left and right.

“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.

ALL ROADS LEAD TO TERROR

Become a member of my

readers group and get a

free starter library.

That's 2 complete novels and a

collection of short stories.

Absolutely Free!

Free Read Friday: G is for God is Dead Pt V

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 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 V

On a lonely country road four boys reach the edge of reality.

He was only dimly aware of the others as he slowly approached the outstretched figure shrouded by deep shadows. In those shadows he saw movement. A primitive dance that kept time with the steady beat of his heart as the shadows slithered with a sinuous ease across the animated face of the statue.

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.

ALL ROADS LEAD TO TERROR

Become a member of my

readers group and get a

free starter library.

That's 2 complete novels and a

collection of short stories.

Absolutely Free!

Free Read Friday: G is for God Is Dead Part IV

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.

“It’s nothing, really, just the wind, and all that, there’s nothing at all in the shadows,” the man finished, jerking his head around to the right as he continued to search the shadows. “Or maybe it’s a nightmare that’s slipped its moorings,” he whispered more to himself as he turned from the four boys to continue his search of the darkness that had grown to fill the church with a palatable sense of approaching doom. They were trapped between the undead waiting outside, and a shadowy presence that inhabited the church. Why were the undead waiting? What invisible force was keeping them at bay? The questions begged for answers that were not immediately forthcoming.

“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.

ALL ROADS LEAD TO TERROR

Become a member of my

readers group and get a

free starter library.

That's 2 complete novels and a

collection of short stories.

Absolutely Free!

Free Read Friday: G is for God Is Dead Pt III

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!

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.

ALL ROADS LEAD TO TERROR

Become a member of my

readers group and get a

free starter library.

That's 2 complete novels and a

collection of short stories.

Absolutely Free!

Free Read Friday: G is for God is Dead Pt II

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!

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!

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.

ALL ROADS LEAD TO TERROR

Become a member of my

readers group and get a

free starter library.

That's 2 complete novels and a

collection of short stories.

Absolutely Free!

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.

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.

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.

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.

ALL ROADS LEAD TO TERROR

Become a member of my

readers group and get a

free starter library.

That's 2 complete novels and a

collection of short stories.

Absolutely Free!

Free Read Friday: F is for Funghi PtIII


(c) Can Stock Photo / knorre

F is for Funghi

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!

“Absolutely,” he said as he showed her his arms and legs, letting her inspect every square inch of his exposed flesh. She nodded satisfied as she stood up and glanced again at the back door.

“Did you finish?”

“Still have to cut the grass, I’m gonna take care of it,” he said, his earlier fear having evaporated.

It was nothing, he sought to convince himself as Nadine turned and walked across the kitchen.

“I’m going down to work out while you finish, how does Chicken Cordon Bleu sound for dinner?”

“Fabulous,” he said.

She glanced back at him with a wide smile before she vanished down the stairs to the basement.

The root of the problems between them lay with him. It was only natural that he would want to go out, after all he didn’t have the same problems she did. While he found her fascinating and exciting, as well as quite sexy, he had to interact with other people. At first she fought against his need to just get out of the house, demanding that he stay with her. A couple of times, in the early days of their relationship he had moved out, but she would call, begging him to come back, and he would always relent.

Before long they came to an understanding. He would do all the shopping, eliminating the need to have things delivered. While running his errands he could mingle with other people. Hang out with his friends for an hour or so, and so on. As long as he always kept in touch, and came home to her, she was happy. It was an agreement he could live with, and while his friends might have teased him about the short leash she kept him on, he was happy, what they didn’t know about, was the size of her sexual appetite.

It may have been the chemical imbalance in her brain that caused it, or the array of drugs she took to counter that imbalance. Whatever the cause. every so often she would become overwhelmed with a need he found difficult to satisfy no matter how long or hard he tried. She once described it as an itch he could just barely reach, as they lay side by side in her king size bed after a long night of very passionate sex. She was an animal in bed, the exact opposite of how she portrayed herself to everyone else.

As the sound of her running on the treadmill came from the basement he stepped outside. She would spend an hour or so in her fully equipped gym that took up one half of the basement. It was the only room in the house he was not allowed to enter and he had only ever been in it once, when she showed it to him after they first got together. It was her sanctuary and Eric had always kept his promise to her to respect her privacy while she was working out.

The remainder of the day passed uneventfully. He finished the grass without further incident though he did keep a close eye on that hole as he cut the rest of the yard. By the time dinner was finished and they were watching one of Nadine’s favorite shows, Grays Anatomy, he had completely forgotten about the hole along the fence in the back yard.

Later that night with Nadine fast asleep beside him, he was startled awake by a strange sound. He lay in bed listening, trying to determine what the sound was, and where it might be coming from. The pale light of a full moon painted the shadowy branches of the tree behind their house on the wall across from the bed, and Eric watched them moving back and forth in time with that rhythmic sound that lay just at the edge of his consciousness.

Quietly slipping out of bed, so as not to disturb Nadine who was snoring quietly, he crossed to the French doors that led out onto a small balcony overlooking their back yard. Here the sound was louder and he recognized it as faint music that seemed to have no source.

He opened the door carefully and stepped out onto the balcony, pulling the door shut behind him. Outside it was obvious the sound was music, and it appeared to be coming from his back yard neighbors, the Morison’s house. But there were no lights on, and the house had an abandoned, neglected air about it. The overgrown yard, the shades pulled down at all the windows. It looked as if they had just up and left in the middle of the night.

The sound of the music grew louder, a soft lilting melody that was unlike anything he’d ever heard before. It wasn’t classical, modern, rock, or even rap. Just a gentle melody that immediately put him at ease even though he was standing on the balcony in the middle of the nigh wearing only a pair of boxers. The moon emerged from behind a bank of clouds, filling the yard below with a pale effervescent light, and in it he thought he detected movement.

Something shifted in that soft white light and he immediately latched onto the word undulate. It hadn’t moved in the traditional sense. He rubbed his eyes as he peered down at the back yard, near the fence where that hole was, and again he spotted movement. A flowing, rolling motion undulating in time with the music. It spread out and withdrew like the waves of the ocean as it flowed back and forth across the lawn.

What was it? He wondered as he rubbed his tired eyes again, peering into that eerie glow, trying to make out any detail that might give him a clue to what he was looking at. As the sound of the music washed through him he felt his eyelids growing heavier with every passing moment.

“Wake up sunshine,” Nadine said as she pulled back the drapes, filling the room with bright morning sunlight. He sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes as he tried to remember when he had come in from the balcony.

To be continued!

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Free Read Friday: F is for Funghi, PtII

F is for Funghi

Authors Note: Nadine is choosing to elude me right now, but I'll get her pinned down. After all I sense she will be playing a pivotal role in the ending of this tale.

He stood gazing into the hole for a moment, still not believing what happened before reason reasserted itself, and he was overwhelmed with the desire to run. He raced back to the house, glancing over his shoulder, expecting to find some unnamable thing pursuing him across the well manicured lawn. At the door he fumbled with the handle as a soft whine emerged from the back of his throat. Just when he thought he was going to pass out from his panic, or even worse, suffer a heart attack from his heart thundering in his ears, the door opened and he stumbled into the immaculate mud room.

“Is that you?” Nadine shouted from the depths of the house as he struggled to catch his breath, his hands gripping the sides of the utility sink to hold himself upright. He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath the entire time and as he struggled to catch up black spots danced before his eyes.

“I just cleaned, don’t be tracking mud into the house.” He voice came from the kitchen beyond the doorway. Footsteps sounded as a shadow crossed the kitchen and he stood up, trying to fix a smile to his face as she came into view.

The screeching nature of her voice belied the simple beauty of her face. Were one to hear her without actually seeing her they would assume she were a shrew like woman with a hatchet face and a blade like nose. On the contrary she was quite simply, beautiful. With short blonde hair framing a symmetrical face that featured sparkling blue eyes.

Why she ever married him was one of the mysteries he chose not to solve, content to accept the fact that she was his wife. She was a compendium of contradictions, beautiful and smart, yet a terrible nag with a little problem keeping the house clean. It’s been said every dark cloud had a silver lining, sometimes those silver linings hid a much darker secret in their shimmering depths.

Nadine’s was fastidious. Always cleaning, never relaxing, and the house sparkled as a result of her obsession. Yet one could not live in a place this clean, not when the smallest piece of dust sent her into a cleaning frenzy. The house looked like it had been taken from the pages of some national magazine, so sterile, so perfect. It lacked that lived in appearance, a fact that kept Eric constantly on his toes.

“Are you all right?” she asked when his frightened expression became obvious to her. She crossed the mud room with a look of concern, her hand out to help him.

“I’m okay,” he said, “a squirrel startled me,” he lied, grabbing for the first thing that popped into his mind.

“A squirrel scared you?” she said as a smile spread across her face, revealing sparkling white teeth.

“Yeah, a squirrel, I must have startled it or something, it ran across my foot and scared the crap out of me.”

“It wasn’t rabid was it?” She asked, her smile fading as she glanced out the window into the back yard. “Maybe we should call animal control,” she said, her amusement turning to concern. “It didn’t bite you did it?”

“No, of course not, it just scared me, that’s all. I’ll be okay.

“Are you sure?” The mistrust grew in her eyes as they shifted from the window to Eric’s face, then back again. It was another of her little idiosyncrasies, she hadn’t been outside in over a year. Her doctor said she suffered from Agoraphobia, among other things. The last time she stepped outside, no further than the patio, she’d suffered a panic attack so bad she had to go into the hospital.

They’d met when he put out flyers to cut people’s grass after losing his job and she became one of his best customers. After a year of taking care of her lawn she had invited him inside and from that their friendship had grown into a relationship. Even when they got married it was in the house. At the time he had been blind to what his future might hold, but it wasn’t long before their clashes started, and Nadine’s true nature emerged.

To be continued!

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Free Read Friday: F is for Funghi

F is for Funghi

Beneath the green grass of our lawns lies a whole different world.

For Eric cutting the grass has become a whole new adventure, not only does he have to watch out for Nadine’s fledgling flowers, but a new arrival makes itself known and he quickly learns this creature is not one to be trifled with.

"And be careful around my flowers," Nadine shouted from the door as Eric crossed the back yard to the shed in the corner. His hands stuffed into the pockets of his shorts, his shoulders drooping as if they carried the weight of the world upon them. Which in a sense they did.

They carried Nadine’s endless worry about needles things, her constant nagging, as she reminded him daily how she could have married Howard down the street. That he should be thankful she chose him instead, but of course a cretin such as he would never understand the supreme sacrifice she made in becoming his wife.

“Of course dear,” he said more to himself. After the door slammed and he was sure she was out of earshot, he continued, under his breath. “I’ll run the little bastards down first chance I get, I’ll chop them into mush and carry them into your clean living room on my shoes. I’ll put my feet up on the couch and stain the fabric green with their blood.”

Of course he would do none of this. It was better to just make his way through the day, do as he was told him, and live out his life firmly planted beneath her thumb. Besides, she had money, old money from a family business that had been passed down from generation to generation since the earliest days of the colonies. Money that allowed him to live a life of leisure. They had enough money to hire a gardener to care for their simple lawn, but it was the one thing he actually enjoyed doing, and as it took only a few hours once a week, it wasn’t overly labor intensive.

A concept that fit well with his outlook on life.

At the shed he pulled the push mower from its shadowy interior, enjoying the scent of gas mingling with the odor of cut grass as he topped off the tank and primed the carburetor. The mower roared to life on the first pull and he smiled as the sound of the engine drowned out the shrieking voice of his wife that echoed from the depths of his mind. Sometimes he thought about using the mower on her, running it back and forth across her face as the steel blades did their duty, but he knew that would never happen. Doing that would only jeopardize the life he led. He’d lose everything including his freedom.

No it was better to just live with it.

After carefully cutting around her flowers, all the while resisting the urge to just run them over, he moved to the back perimeter and was running along the high privacy fence that blocked their view of the Morison’s when the mower went through a dip in the yard that wasn’t there two weeks ago. The blade cut into the ground, nearly stalling out as he pushed through the dip until the mower was on the other side. Shutting it off he looked down into a small cavity that appeared to have a hole in the bottom.

How did that get there? He wondered, his gaze drawn to the Morison’s overgrown yard on the other side of the privacy fence. He could see the high weeds through the slats of the fence. It looked like the yard had not been cut in months. But that couldn’t be right, he thought, as he searched his memory for the last time he’d seen either of them.

Neither he nor Nadine were close with the neighbors in the back, hence the reason for the privacy fence, Eric found them to be quite boring. The few times he’d spoken with either Jake, or his wife Estelle, he’d come away with the impression that they were made for one another, and as unimaginative as two bumps on a log.

With a shrug he returned his attention to the hole that had mysteriously appeared in their back yard. Its proximity to the fence led him to believe the cause lay in the neighbors yard, and he knew if he was unable to rectify the problem, he’d have to go over there and have a chat with them. It was a task he did not relish. Jake was the kind of guy that was likely to take things to a physical level if he was intellectually outclassed.

Retrieving a shovel from the shed he returned to the hole and poked around with the tip to see if he could determine what was responsible for the hole. Groundhog was the first thought to pop into his mind as he probed the depths with the shovel. Having grown up in the county he was more familiar with groundhogs than most people who only ever saw them on Groundhog day when they emerged to proclaim the end of winter or foretell another six weeks of ice and snow. They were not the cuddly creatures they were made out to be, and though they were usually quite roly-poly there was a viciousness about them, after all they were a wild animal.

As he probed the depths he spotted movement, something white had briefly appeared, accompanied by a hissing sound reminiscent of a snake. Suddenly the shovel was snatched from his hand and yanked into the ground. The handle dropping into the hole until there was only a foot of it left sticking out of the ground. He wrapped his hands around the handle, fully intending to pull it back out, when the wood slipped through his grip and the entire shovel vanished into the opening.

To be continued!

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E is for Everett Park The End

E is for Everett Park

The End

Read from the beginning HERE!

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Authors Note: A famous writer once said writing a story is like uncovering a fossil. As we work we brush away the layers that block our view of the finished product, and only in the end, when we have uncovered the fossil completely, can we tell what it is. He went on to explain that many times the beginning of a story is not fully realized until the end of the story has been uncovered. Such is the case with E is for Everett Park, a title that only served as a place holder until I uncovered the real title, and the real thrust of the story.

As we reach the end of the tale, and the final details of the hidden fossil are exposed, we now see what the story’s true destination is. This will guide me, during the subsequent rewrite, to open the story as it should be.

“Can I touch it?” I asked, both fascinated and repulsed at the same time. I’d never held a gun before, or even shot one, these things were just not allowed in my house.

Jimmy nodded his assent and I reached out, my fingertips coming into contact with the oiled steel of that black barrel. As my flesh came into contact with it I was overcome by a feeling of uninhibited power. This thing, this object, this inert piece of metal contained a power I’d never known before.

“What kind is it?” I asked.

“My Dad said it’s a thirty eight special.”

“Have you shot it?”

“Once or twice.”

‘Where did you get it?”

“My dad keeps it in the glove box of his car, I swiped it this morning on my way over, I’m gonna scare Arnold with it.”

“Can I hold it?” I asked breathlessly as that sensation coursed through my body.

Again Jimmy nodded his assent and I wrapped my hand around the handle, the thatch work design of the grip coarse against the palm of my hand.

“He’s gonna show em,” Tina said but I didn’t hear her as I lifted the pistol from Jimmy’s hand, my finger naturally wrapping itself around the trigger.

“Don’t put your finger on the trigger, not yet, not until you’re ready to shoot,” Jimmy said and I shuddered at the thought that with a simple pull of the trigger, I could solve all of our problems on the playground.

The gun was heavier than I had anticipated, the weight dragging my hand towards the ground as I raised it to look closer at its black surface. The metal seemed to absorb the growing sunlight of the day, yet there was a faint reflection in the oiled side of the barrel, along with a smudged fingerprint. As I looked the pistol over my eyes kept getting drawn to that fingerprint, it was a shame to mar such a powerfully beautiful surface.

At the same time I felt the power of the gun, I sensed a dark force that hovered about it, a malignant air that came not from the object in my hand, but from somewhere deep within me. The presence of the gun touched something deep inside me, something I’d never faced before, a primitive thing that sought the power this object conveyed.

Voices from the other side of the playground drew out attention and I hurriedly passed the gun back to Jimmy and he tucked it into the waistband of his pants. Of course Tina knew about the gun, so there was no sense even hiding it as the first words out of her mouth when she saw Arnold and company, were of a specifically threatening nature.

“You better run home to Mommy, Arnold, Jimmy’s gonna fix you today.”

The power of the gun had even affected Tina whose comments were so out of place compared to the way she normally acted. The open threat only served to draw our three tormentors to us, and they crossed the playground with a small crowd around them.

“What’s the baby gonna do?” Arnold said as he stepped up to Jimmy who kept his eyes focused on the ground at his feet.

“Come on, do something, butt munch.” Arnold’s comment drew several laughs from the crowd around us.

“Show him, Jimmy, show him who’s the boss of the playground now,” Tina said, her comments like gasoline on a fire.

“Yeah, show me dick breath,” Arnold said, pushing Jimmy back with one hand, his other balled up into a fist ready to strike.

There was a moment, a brief second where I was sure Jimmy was about to turn and flee for good, it seemed like he was struggling with himself, and I was certain reason would reassert itself and everything would go back to normal, or as normal as one could expect at Everett Park.

“Show him Jimmy,” Tina said and Arnold lashed out at her with one hand, knocking baby Sally to the ground.

“Would you shut your cunt up.”

I honestly believe that had Tina kept her mouth shut Jimmy would have fled from the playground that day. As it was she didn’t and Jimmy responded, not to protect himself, but to protect her.

When Arnold spun back around to confront Jimmy, he’d pulled the gun from his waistband and was aiming it at Arnold’s head.

“You leave her alone,” Jimmy said, his voice low, full of menace as he stood in what I later learned was the classic two handed shooter’s stance. He’d obviously shot the pistol before, and knew what to expect.

Instead of turning to flee as we had expected Arnold raised his hands, palms out at shoulder level, as he sneered at Jimmy. “What are you gonna do with that?” Arnold said, taking a step closer, forcing Jimmy to take a step back.

I’d seen something in Arnold’s eye the moment he recognized the pistol, something that I didn’t understand until I was much older. There was no fear in his eyes, no anger either, just a mute acceptance of what he was confronting. There was a lot I learned later in life about what makes us who we are. But for the moment we had a standoff. I didn’t believe for one moment that Arnold was going to run, nor did I think Jimmy would pull the trigger.

I think Arnold knew this as well, just like a predator will know the difference between prey and other predators. He took another step closer to Jimmy, forcing him back to the edge of the pavement, and Jimmy was forced to look away, giving Arnold the opening he was looking for.

He snatched the pistol from Jimmy’s hand, pushing the younger boy down at the same time as he overwhelmed him with his bulk. Jimmy lay on the ground his hands up in a defensive manner as Arnold stood over him with the pistol.

“Let me show you how it’s done,” Arnold said as he pulled back the hammer with a loud click. Several of the others shouted for him not to do it, to let it go, but it appeared Arnold wasn’t hearing any of that. He looked like he was about ready to pull the trigger.

That was when I got involved. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I let him shoot Jimmy, yet even after my actions that day I’m still full of guilt. Had I not done what I did things would have maybe turned out different for everyone concerned. Before anyone could react I grabbed a ball bat from one of the spectators and pushed my way through the crowd.

Everyone’s attention was on Jimmy. Arnold’s back was to me so he didn’t see me raise the bat over my shoulder, or take the hardest swing of my life. But he felt it, maybe for a moment, or two, after the bat connected with the back of his head. For the second time in the time I’d known him, Arnold dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes. He never go up again, thankfully he lived, but he never walked again. Spending his days confined to a wheel chair as he spoke in a child’s voice to things no one else could see.

I spent some time in juvenile detention and the crowd that once hung out at Everett Park grew up and went it’s different ways. Tina got married and raised a family of her own, the others scattered to the four winds, and I was left with my guilt. Since I was a juvenile when I was charged my records were sealed on my eighteenth birthday and I worked to rebuild my life.

Turning back to the front page I look again at the familiar face staring out at me from beneath the headline. He’s gotten older, as all of us have, yet I can still see the frightened child in his eyes. The same child who on a chilly morning showed me his father’s gun. Jimmy grew older as all of us did, but he never really grew up. Three days ago he walked into the place where he worked with a loaded gun.

I don’t need to explain the rest, but I will leave you with this.

Evil lives among us, we see it everyday as we go about the task of living, yet we don’t fully understand what we’re looking at. Evil is not some intangible force that comes and goes like the tides of the ocean, it lives in the heart of every man, woman, and child that draws a breath. Most of us can control those darker impulses that speak to us late at night as we struggle to fall asleep while reliving our day Pointing out our weaknesses, and sometimes cajoling us to seek revenge for slights real or imagined. There are those who listen to that inner voice, and it is they we need to watch out for.

THE END

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