Dark Fiction
There are times when my mind wanders for a long moment. I might stop and watch a magpie hopping along the grass before taking flight. A snail slowly making its way across a stone can be strangely captivating. I have often wondered if a bottle on the kitchen table aspires to be something more. Sometimes I need to practice my craft in a carefree way. Other times, I just want an excuse to write something creepy or disturbing. These moments are the essence of flash fiction and inspire my short writings. As for their composition, I follow these strict rules: a maximum of eight hours to write each piece and a maxium of four hours for the revision.
The Faded Armchair:
28 March 2026
She sat in a faded brown armchair in a white kitchen next to the old oak table. Her arthritic hands held a cup of tepid tea. The vapor from the tan liquid filled her nostrils with the aroma of cream and bergamot oil. She gripped the cup tightly in her gnarled hands and brought it to her lips. Her throat closed at the familiar taste and she turned her head. She set the tea down on the table with a thud. A few drops spilled over and puddled around the cup. She sat in the old armchair and pretended not to see the bustle in the kitchen. Hands gently touched her shoulder; soft lips brushed her cheeks. Plates clinked and glasses were filled. Hushed voices whispered orders and hands waved to the kitchen door. She closed her eyes and refused to see them slicing the pound cake that she had baked yesterday. Her eyes misted at the buttery aroma. She sat in the faded armchair that was foreign to the kitchen. It had been dragged in from the living room to give her a place to rest. But the faded armchair’s place was beside the fireplace, next to the other worn furnishings and below the colorful paintings. It should be next to a smoker’s table with a black cup of coffee and a recently published thriller waiting for its master. The armchair looked best on a throw rug with an old pair of blue slippers before it. She sat in the faded armchair and inhaled the scent of tobacco and whisky lurking in its fibres. She settled her head back and willed her vision to dim. The room slipped out of focus and her mind was shrouded in a mountain fog. Faint shadows moved about, faint voices continued to whisper. She was surrounded by her family and yet alone. She squeezed the pipe sitting in her lap and wondered when they would meet again. *** Thanks to my writing friend Roberta for the exercise.
Country Kitchen:
21 March 2026
Jason walked into the large, white kitchen with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looked at Martha and offered a pinched smile. He ambled over to the wooden top island with his shoulders hunched up to his ears. He leaned his angular body on the kitchen counter and rocked back and forth. “Would you get out of the way?” Martha hissed. She thrust her hand into a large, canvas bag and pulled out a jug of milk. “I have to put the groceries away.” “Yeah, sure,” Jason said. He slid sideways across the counter, his belt squawking until his body detached. “I just thought we could talk for a minute. You know, sort things out.” “There are frozen vegetables that I have to put in the freezer,” Martha said. “Do you want them to spoil?” “Do you want me to help?” “When have you ever helped?” Jason nodded and rocked from his knees with his feet close together. His hands squirmed in his pockets, his shoulders jutting even further upwards like a grey heron. “I thought maybe tonight we could go out for dinner.” “Weren’t you out last night?” Martha snapped. “Or was it the night before? Or both?” Jason rubbed his neck and swallowed. “I just thought that since you’d been on nights for the last week and now your off for a few days, we could take advantage of your body clock.” Martha froze with a bag of oranges suspended above the counter. She closed her eyes and pulled the oranges to her breast. Her eyes flashed open and she dropped the bag on the counter with a thump. “My body clock?” “I just meant that since you’re used to being up it wouldn’t be a problem to go out for dinner,” Jason said. “Then we could get up late since tomorrow is Sunday.” Martha elbowed past Jason, opened the freezer door and stuffed in three bags of mixed vegetables. “On Wednesday I start my run of day shifts.” “Right, but today is Saturday.” Martha slammed the freezer door shut, her hand squeezing the handle. She spoke to a photo of her and Jason on a white sand beach held by a heart-shaped magnet. “I’m tired and I need to adjust for my upcoming day shifts.” “Alight, if you change your mind let me know,” Jason said. He raised his chin and sniffed the air. “It smells good in here. Did you bake cookies? Yours always taste better than those store-bought ones. I’d love to have some.” Martha opened the pantry and slammed down a bag of all purpose flour on the shelf. She had baked cookies, but not to share. She had baked them to stuff her own face. She had baked them to cover up the sickly rose perfume that was still on Jason’s clothes. The cloying stink gripped the sweater that she had bought him for his birthday. She couldn’t stomach the thought of washing off the syrupy smell that wasn’t hers. *** Thanks to my writing friend Roberta for the exercise.
Meet Mr. Snap:
21 February 2026
The man sat in the waiting room chair with his back straight and his hands loosely on his legs. He looked like a young executive from a business magazine. His thick, light brown hair was cut and styled in a loose comb over. He wore a tailored, medium grey suit with a white shirt and a burgundy tie. He had a slim build with shoulders a little too narrow, but otherwise perfectly proportioned. His button nose sat well under his brown eyes with their tapered brows. He had a small mouth with thin lips and a strong chin that was cleanly shaven. He wasn’t quite handsome, but neither was his face and easy one to forget. But there was something unkind about his features that eluded me. When I caught his gaze, I thought I saw a flash of cruelty in his eyes. The phone on my desk rang and I put the receiver to my ear. “Yes sir, I’ll send him right in.” I looked up and nearly flinched at the man’s hard gaze. “Mr. Snap, you may go inside now.” Mr. Snap stood up and smiled. It was such a cold smile that I felt a shiver scuttle up and down my spine. He adjusted his jacket and walked briskly to the director’s office. He opened the heavy door and stood for a moment while looking inside. He shook out his shoulders and rotated his neck as if he were about to box instead of participate in a business meeting. He took two steps inside the office and the door shut. I exhaled. I hadn’t even realized I had been holding my breath. The entire affair was quite strange. A last minute meeting wasn’t out of the ordinary, but when they happened my director had always been in a boisterous mood. It usually meant an upbeat marketing meeting about an exciting new product, or an unexpected sale. But in this case my director had been very tense. He said a man by the name of Mr. Snap was to arrive at any time and I was to alert him immediately. My director said he would terminate any meeting or call he was conducting within minutes. And he had done exactly that. I think no more than a minute and a half had passed from the moment Mr. Snap announced himself to me to the moment he walked inside the director’s office. Mr. Snap. Such an odd surname. I had heard of ‘Snape’ and ‘Snappe’, but never ‘Snap’. Like the snapping of one’s fingers. Or the crunching of bones. My stomach clenched at a cracking sound from the office. Just like someone had snapped his fingers, but much louder. A thump followed. For a moment I thought I had heard a soft groan. I tensed my ear but there was only silence. I was holding my breath again and wringing my fingers. I exhaled and took a deep breath before exhaling slowly. I stood and my hands began obsessively smoothing out my skirt. I clenched them to stop the nervous gesture. Slowly I maneuvered around my desk and padded to the door on my tiptoes. I knocked softly. “Mr. Levine? Mr. Snap? Is everything alright?” The door flew open and I stumbled back, nearly tripping over my heels. Mr. Snap appeared with a cold smile on his lips. He shut the door behind him. He took a step forward and I took three steps back. He ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his tie. “How do I look?” “I-Is Mr. Levine—” “Lucinda, I think you and I need to have a chat.” Mr. Snap raised a hand and I flinched. He stopped it at eye level and looked at me. His middle finger and thumb were pressed against each other. His lips smiled but his eyes did not. *** Mr. Snap to be featured in a future novel.
Come On In:
07 February 2026
‘We’re always open except when we’re closed!’ I’ve always hated those stupid signs. Some idiot’s idea of irony. “Is that supposed to be funny?” My husband looked up from the dresser and grinned. “Well, maybe just ironic?” Case in point. An idiot’s sense of irony. “Ironic how? That’s not ironic, it’s just confused.” He shrugged. “Why is it important?” “Because we won’t find everything we need today and we’ll have to come back,” I said. “We need to take the measurements of this dresser to check if it will fit, but will they be open tomorrow if we want to come back?” He craned his neck over the haphazardly piled used furniture. “Isn’t there a sign somewhere with opening hours?” “That is the sign! That’s my whole point!” Sometimes my husband was exasperatingly obtuse. “Never mind, I’ll look for a clerk.” As usual, all problem solving was left to me. I picked my way through the collapsing aisles of piled furniture but I didn’t see a soul. The aisle stretched on forever. This thrift store was huge, bigger than anything else within one hundred miles. It was a dilapidated warehouse full of antiques, and most were poorly conserved. It broke my heart to see water stains on 19th century writing desks. I looked up and frowned at the water that dripped from the ceiling. I couldn’t even imagine what gems were buried below the layers and layers of kitsch. This dump could be a treasure trove, but I would need days to rummage through the junk. I turned into another bewildering aisle and I zig-zagged around bedroom furnishings. I finally spotted a clerk at a tiny, overflowing counter. “Excuse me,” I said as I walked up and rested my hands on the counter. The man looked up from fiddling with an antique clock. It was gorgeous. Probably cast iron with gold leafing. If it worked and if it wasn’t too expensive, I would buy it today. He gave me a look as if to say I had disturbed him. “Are you looking for something?” “No, I would like to know what days you’re open.” “Every day, ma’am.” “Oh, great, thanks,” I said. I turned to walk back down the aisle. “Except when we’re closed.” I stopped and felt my blood pressure rise. I guess I had just met the idiot who had written the sign. I turned back to face him and I drummed my fingernails on the counter. I really wasn’t in the mood for games. “Can you be more specific, please?” “More specific, how, ma’am?” Was he trying to make me mad? “Are you trying to be funny?” “No ma’am, I’m just trying to answer your question.” “Right. So, are you open tomorrow?” “Yes, we are ma’am.” “Well, that’s good to know.” “Unless we’re closed.” I could feel my blood boiling. If the jerk wanted a hassle, then I would give him one. “Ok wise guy, why don’t you call your manager?” “I am the manager.” “Oh really? Well, Mr. Manager, if you can’t get your store hours straight, how do you plan on managing the rest of this dump?” Maybe I would just flat out tell him what a stupid jerk he was. He should be mopping the floors. “I mop floors all the time,” he said. “Were you trying to belittle me?” I put my hand to my mouth. Did I speak out loud without realizing it? It didn’t matter; I wasn’t about to be pushed around. “I’m asking for your store hours and you answer with wisecracks. You’re here to serve me, you’re not paid to act like a jerk. So, I’m going to ask you again and I want a straight answer. Are you open or not tomorrow?” I wondered if I should call my husband. “Your husband can’t help you now.” “Excuse me?” I gasped. “H—How did you know I was thinking about –” “Don’t look at my shadow on the wall.” “What are you talking about? I’m not looking at your shadow!” I turned and I started shouting. “Mark! Mark, come quick, please!” “Don’t look at my shadow!” “I’m not looking!” I cried out. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the shadow of the mantel clock elongate and spill itself on the floor. Then with a ripple the shadow shot upwards. But it wasn’t a clock, it was a figure with horns. “Don’t look at my shadow!” I felt a terrible neck spasm and my shoulders twitched. The air went out of my lungs as I felt my throat smash shut. My head twisted violently upwards and with blurry eyes I saw him. A gigantic, dark figure that sucked in the light. Completely black, except for yellow, bloodshot eyes. “I told you we are open closed open closed OPEN CLOSED OPEN CLOSED OPEN CLOSED!” *** Shadow Demon #4
The Scary House:
13 December 2025
The house will hunt you like a wolf stalks its prey. It will stare and lure you towards it with its evil powers. Then the weeds will reach out to snatch you. Like long, twisted green arms, they will grab you and drag you to the door. Before you realize it, the house will be beside you, above you, under you and all around you. It will howl at you and gnash its rotting aluminum teeth. The house can hear your thoughts, but there will be no time to think them. Before you know it, the house will drag you inside, stuff you like a piglet and serve you up for dinner. This is how my older sister described the old, scary house to me. She said the house saw you long before you walked up the footpath. She said the windows were like frosty eyes that watched you. My sister said the wind sobbed and wailed through the cracked and creaking joists. She said we were being brought there as a sacrifice. We would be brought inside to be boiled or roasted or steamed in a kettle. My sister said to me, ‘rest assured we will never leave!’. This is what I thought during the car ride over and I wondered why my parents would take us there. Had we done something so wrong? I had been good all week. I made my bed every morning and I would brush my teeth without being told. I did all of my colouring between the lines. If I coloured on the table by accident, I would tell momma with tears in my eyes and she would smile and say ‘you’re such a good girl for telling me!’ So why would I be sacrificed? I didn’t even know what that word meant until my sister told me. Maybe it was my sister who hadn’t been good. But then why should I be punished and eaten like a roast pig with an apple in its mouth? It wasn’t fair! Our car whined and creaked over the bumps and parked at the bottom of a long drive. When I saw the house, I started trembling. It was just like my sister had described it. The overgrown footpath led to even bigger weeds that clung and grew up the side of the house. It had faded grey aluminum siding for teeth. The house stood all alone. There were no neighbours to call out to in case of need. Just a long drive that laboured through the weeds to the ramshackle house. I wanted to cry and scream but my chest was paralyzed with fear. My sister gave me a smirk and pretended to bite down hard on her arm. She pretended to bite off a chunk of flesh and even mimed a big swallow. She whispered that I would be the first to be eaten, probably as an appetizer before she herself was eaten as the main course. Imagine my shock when I watched my sister boldly charge forward when the rusted porch door swung open. “Hi grandma! We’re here!” My sister called out. “Daddy’s going to cut the weeds and paint the siding! Momma’s gonna help clean the house!” “Oh, bless you all!” A smiling old woman wearing an apron called out. “C’mon in, I just baked some cookies! Let me stuff you girls like grandma’s little piggies!” I wanted to run, but I really wanted those cookies!
The Parking Lot:
06 December 2025
He looked up at the ruffle of feathers. The clumsy flight of the pigeon sounded like papers fluttering to the ground. Just like the mouldy documents he had thrown across the room yesterday. It had been a useless fit of anger in the council room. Shamed at his outburst, he had picked them up and jammed them in his briefcase. Now the musty documents lay on the garden table. He traced a finger over the embossed top sheet, cracked and yellowed like a smoker’s stained teeth. He winced as he sipped his coffee. He set the ceramic cup down to a click. The cold coffee tasted like dirt and smoke when it cooled in the autumn air. He had decided to forgo the caramel sweetness of sugar to satisfy a misbegotten idea of health, but it made drinking coffee unbearable. He found he could only drink it if it scalded his lips. Perhaps he could search for a less bitter roast. If it weren’t for the boost of caffeine, he wouldn’t drink it at all. He was dawdling. Thinking of the cold mug of coffee and the flapping pigeon. He couldn’t put off the inevitable. He tightened the wool scarf around his neck and inhaled the cherry scent of his tobacco. Smoking calmed his nerves but it was too early to smoke. He never smoked at breakfast, but after yesterday it was a strong temptation. He was distracted again. He hadn’t noticed that his fingers had picked up the spoon. He was drumming it on the table like a gallows’ march. He sifted through the loose pile of papers and selected the sheet of his rage. On it was written a commencement date. He brought it to his lips and closed his eyes. The bitter almonds and grassy smell of the paper woke in him memories of the neighbourhood park. It had been his favourite place as a boy. The days screeching with his friends as they crunched through the dried leaves. Their skinned knees on the gritty gravel. The park would be no more. As city councillor he had been told the long-archived project would finally begin. They awaited his signature. His place of fond memories would soon become a parking lot.
Books:
15 November 2025
Books had been my friends. I know it seems hard to believe now, but they used to comfort me before the Subtle Return. Their change in attitude towards me was not immediate. They did not mock me the day after the Digital Connection had been completed, nor did they show their disdain in the months that followed. They were slow to act, as this is the way of books. But they were so slow to act that I thought I would never be purged. Then one day the books said I could no longer copy edit. Some time later they said I could no longer bind their sheets. Finally, they said I would no longer be allowed to open their pages and obtain their unchanging knowledge. For a time, I was allowed to work in the library if only to dust the shelves. I would run my finger along their jackets, yearning to open them and devour their contents. I think the books sensed this as one day they said my services as custodian were no longer needed. It was only then that I felt a great void in my stomach. For decades I had been immersed in books, unparalleled in my ability to organize, catalogue and fully understand their needs. There was never a book with a page glued out of place, nor did a book have a single copy error. Each book was a splendid gem, pristine and charged full of knowledge carefully managed under my tutelage. Then why had I purged? The books said that the Subtle Return had chosen its own. It removed the people unwilling to understand the ageless knowledge that books contained. The books were now only for those who understood that the knowledge contained within was timeless and immovable. Each single book was a time capsule, and so few had understood this. I threw myself down on my knees in front of the books and swore that I had understood this. I had been at the service of the books for so long, who else could have understood better than me? Yet I had been purged. As I walked along the street I witnessed the vacant look of the citizens, heads down and staring at black screens. I heard the empty cries of children wearing visors while their mothers spoke with cloud based services. I saw men and women trot past with self-important stares as they looked through their smart glasses. These were the people that the books had purged after the Subtle Return. But I knew that these people had given up on true knowledge long before the books had turned their backs on them. I sat at a park bench under the glorious sun and felt a deep sadness. But I was determined to make the best of my plight and I rummaged through my bag and drew out another old friend. Who needed books when I had this wonderful device? I opened my eReader and tapped the electronic bookmark to read my favourite historical quote. I gasped as I stared at the screen. The quote had been modified and replaced with another. Finally, I understood.
Waiting for the Fall:
11 October 2025
“What are you looking at?” I asked. The man was staring intently across the street at nothing. “What do you think I'm looking at?” he replied. “I can't tell. Well, you're looking across the street, but there's nothing there.” “As unusual, you don't understand nothin',” he said. I frowned. Not that I was particularly bothered by his comment. His nature was brusque, but in the short time I knew him, he was never mean. Still, watching him stare across the street was creepy. He continued to stare with his whole body. It was like he was trying to pour himself into the empty space in front of him. “Maybe you should come back inside the pub,” I said. “You're giving people the creeps.” “No, I'm not. I’m giving you the creeps.” “Yeah, well, you are. Listen, they asked me to come and get you.” I lied. “I doubt anyone in that dive is looking for me,” he said. “Maybe they're looking at what I'm lookin' at. But maybe not. It would be a bad idea.” A wicked grin split his face. I watched his taut body staring hard across the street, but there was nothing there. It was only a side street, and at this hour ten minutes could pass without a single car driving by. “Anyway, what are you looking at?” He didn't answer but leaned over further. His eyes narrowed as he mumbled under his breath. “Well?” “A religious event,” he said. “What?” “I said, I'm looking at a religious event,” he said. “It’s right next to me.” “If it’s right next to you then why are you looking across the street?” “Because it’s a religious event,” he snapped. “I can't look at it directly.” “That doesn't make any sense,” I said. “A religious event happens in a place of worship and there's no church on the other side of the street. Plus, it's nearly midnight.” “I'm waiting for the fall,” he said. “Sooner or later, all men fall.” I didn't know what to say. Was he insane? I hadn't known him long, and he seemed a little eccentric at times, but this was crazy. “I'm not crazy.” “What? I didn't say that.” “You thought it. You thought it hard.” “No, no I didn't.” I lied again. I swallowed. How could he have heard? “Because I can,” he said and gave me a quick glance. There was something wrong with his eyes. “You tell too many lies. Lying is not good for the soul, but it’s good for me.” “I'm not a liar!” I shouted. “I'm an honest guy, it's just that you're –” “Don't look at the wall.” “What? I'm looking at you, I'm not looking at the wall.” “Don't look at my shadow on the wall.” “What are you talking about?” “Don’t look at my shadow!” I felt a lacerating pull. It was like a meat hook had ripped into my neck to turn my head. My torso twisted but my feet were unmoving. I saw something deep and pulsing on the wall. “Don't look at my shadow! Don't look at my shadow!” I felt a snap and I gurgled. My body went completely numb. As my vision blurred, I made out his dark and gouging shadow sneering down at me. “I told you. Sooner or later, all men fall.” Shadow Demon #3
Exile:
27 September 2025
Loneliness isn't as bleak as it seems, though ostracism is. Being set aside, seen but ignored, permeates the skin and finds its way into the bones. It’s like the cold and hollow wind of November when you are without your jacket. Once you are stamped as an exile, the hurt never leaves you. Whether at parties or packed in like sardines in a train, you are simply not part of the crowd. I heard my shop door open and I looked up. I wasn't sure if I could say I was surprised or bitter. My feelings seemed to whirl about chaotically like electrons in an atom. I should have guessed she would have come. I had heard that things were bad now. Still, I couldn't control the sinking feeling in my stomach as she smiled hesitantly. “Hi,” she said. I took a moment to breathe deeply before I answered. “Hi.” I know we would have spent an eternity staring at each other if she hadn't laid her eyes on the chair to my right. She cleared her throat. “Can I sit?” “Of course,” I said, even though I mentally willed her away. She swept back her long skirt and sat down. She adjusted the neckline of her sweater and then folded her hands in her lap. I could see the tension in her jaw, her tight lips. I continued to stare until she began to fidget with her fingers. I knew I was being cruel staring at her this way, but I found it difficult to be the first to speak. Perhaps I even enjoyed this bit of childish revenge. It was hard to tell with my emotions dulled by years of exile. “I need your help,” she said. “It's been, how long?” I asked. “Four or five years? You’ve never once come by to see me.” “I know, I know. I should have come sooner.” She gave me a pained smile. “How are you doing?” “You can’t be serious.” “I am. I do care. It was just so difficult.” “Why now?” I knew why she came now. Things had gotten bad, and not just for her. Suddenly she had an annoyed expression with her pinched brow. I knew I caught a flash of prideful anger in her eyes. “I'm not well. I need your help.” “Just you?” “It's not just me,” she said. “None of us are well, but I'm doing far worse.” I could have said I had tried to warn her, but it seemed too childish even for me. I could have buried her under a mountain of ‘I-told-you-sos’. But acting self-righteous wouldn’t make me feel any better. “I really can’t help you.” “But we’re sisters,” she exclaimed. “How can you turn you back on me?” I bit back a savage response. I breathed out. “You know it's too late for me to help you.” She shook her head vigorously. “You said as long as we lived it would never be too late. You said we could always find a way.” “That was years ago.” “And you know the right people,” she said, ignoring my response. “Please, help me reach out to the ones that can help us. Please.” The pleading note in her voice cut me deeply. I didn't expect it to sting, but it did. “You shut me out of your life. No, you did worse. You cut me out of everything.” I could see her tears forming. Watery blue moons stared at me as she whispered. “I was wrong but I was very afraid. We were all afraid of you.” It was the same, old refrain. I had heard it a million times before, said in different ways, but it was always the same cold, watery broth. I had been a raging lunatic. I had been the woman who had lost her marbles when she refused to acquiesce. And now it was my fault for having failed to stop them from making their foolish choices. As I looked down at my hands and back up to my sister’s trembling lips my thoughts dissolved into my years of unconfined exile.
Sacrifice in a Flash:
30 August 2025
The jump had been more painful than expected and I couldn’t open my eyes. Spots danced behind my lids as I shook my head. I drew in a ragged breath and tried to force my eyes open but a sudden jolt at the base of my brain stopped me. I pried my eyelids open with my fingertips. They watered at my effort but slowly the stinging subsided. The pounding in my ears faded. My hands reached out into the gloom and I was hit by a boundless sense of vertigo. I instinctively crouched and nearly fell over. I took another three breaths and my body steadied. The blindness had passed but the room was dark and indistinct. I heard her moan and cough before she grabbed my arm. “Where are we?” she whispered. The fear in her voice lacerated my gut. “I don't know,” I answered. “I wasn't able to see the settings before he threw the switch.” “Oh god, oh god!” she rasped. I could barely make out her hand as she raised it to her forehead. “Are we even in the same decade?” I nodded before I realized she probably couldn’t see my movements. “Yeah, we’re still here,” I said. “There wouldn't have been time for him to have made a complex calculation.” Despite the low light I caught sight of the markings. The alien alphabet that had begun to appear since our first interdimensional travel had formed on the wall. “There's a door over here!” she shouted. I could feel the desperate tone of hope in her voice. “It looks armoured and the knob won't twist.” Her silhouette trembled as I heard her rattle the handle. “We're trapped! We're never going to get out!” She slammed her fist against the door and the room was filled with a hollow ring. “We were so close and now we’re trapped!” “We've been in worse spots than this,” I said. “He might have relocated us but there's no way he can know exactly where we are in the building. We can still get the job done.” I ran my hand back over the alphabet, trying to decipher the strange letters in the dark. If I could, interdimensional travel was possible even without the machine. “Just give me a minute to read the markings.” “How? It’s too complicated to recalculate even if it wasn’t too dark to see them clearly.” I heard another resounding echo as she kicked the door. “We can’t travel if we can’t read them.” “I can read them,” I said. “You can’t use the same logic sequence as before,” she said. “We need to first understand the new order.” I felt her pull on my arm. “They’ve been changing, don’t you remember?” I thought back. My mind was fuzzy from the jump and I struggled to focus. I felt a hollowness in my stomach and realization sunk in. She was right, the alphabet had been changing. We would need to decipher the entire sequence before a jump was possible. I tried to sound confident. “I’ll get started and we’ll get out of here.” “It will take too long!” she shouted as she kicked the door. “I don’t have my kit. We have no Cutters to slice through this slab of steel!” She leaned over and put her hands on her knees. I heard her trying to stop the panicked hyperventilation. “We have no weapons and he will have his men turning the building inside out like a sock. For all we know they could find us in minutes!” There was a muffled sound from behind the door. I saw her jump back and crouch in an attack position. Her dim form began rocking back and forth as she prepared to pounce. But her martial skills would be no use against Stunners and Clappers. There was a flare as a laser began cutting through the steel plate. If ever there was a time to tell her, it would be now. If I had to consider morals, I would have to tell her about the backup plan. But if I did that she might interfere. It was only natural. When confronted with the ultimate sacrifice no one really wanted to go through with it. It didn't feel heavy in my pocket but it felt heavy in my hand. The screen flashed as I tapped in the code. My bitter reward was a single blip of acknowledgment. In the dark I could feel her curious glance. Her breath quickened, driven by fear. I don't know if she saw me push the cylinder against the support column before the thunderous roar and searing flash of light.
Perfidious Memorial:
23 August 2025
The smell of fresh humus and wet, powdery stone wafted up from the path. It was cold and damp, not enough for a heavy coat but she wished she had brought one anyway. Her appearance at the memorial was necessary, but it gave her chills. Barrows and barrows of soft earth lined the walkway to mark the fallen. Her role in all of it was hardly more than a distant shadow dissolving at the break of dawn. She curled her shoulders and shivered. “I really wish we didn't have to be here,” she said. “We have to walk it to the end,” he replied. He cast her a sidelong glance. “It's only right, you know?” “Yes, I know. It's just that—I don't know.” She felt a stare and turned. A woman quickly lowered her eyes. The queue of couples behind her seemed endless. She turned back to her companion and whispered in his ear. “It feels creepy.” He stopped and his eyes widened. “Creepy?” She flushed at her choice of words. Luckily, they were both too far from the next couple to have been heard. Would he have understood that she had been involved with the Creepers? Could he have understood her slip? “I'm sorry, that was inconsiderate,” she said. She looked up at him with a wan smile. He waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it.” She felt the tension release. She glanced at the curving path and sighed. “Well, this is important.” He glanced at her. “I’m glad you’re here.” She felt a genuine smile touch her lips. “Thanks, but I really don't feel like I should be leading the memorial.” “Well, I think it's fitting,” he said as he steered her around a puddle. “You were part of it just as much as everyone else.” She felt a cold prickle on the back of her neck. She cleared her throat. “Of course, but not in the same way. Not like you.” “No, not like me, but you were definitely part of it.” They continued with soft, crunching steps. Grave after grave had been formed in a spiral. Their circular meandering had become tighter as they neared the last of the graves. She shivered as she crossed glances with the people on the outer rings. When they reached the end, would they have to walk back through the crowd? She felt the press of people as they closed in behind her. “It’s a strange layout, don’t you think?” “Strange?” he said and raised an eyebrow. “You’re full of insensitive comments today.” “I’m sorry,” she said as she squeezed his hand. “It’s just that organized this way it feels like a trap.” He slowed and looked at her. “Hm. Interesting choice of words.” She started. “What do you mean by that?” He shrugged. “Oh, nothing.” “No, what do you mean?” she felt her breathing quicken. He blew out a sharp breath. “Isn’t that how all of these people ended up here? Hadn’t they all been trapped before it happened?” He pointed to the centre of the spiral. “There’s only one spot left to fill.” She looked at the last, empty plot. “Whose grave is that?” His eyes were flat black. “It’s yours, traitorous girl.”
Tracker
16 June 2025
His scent inhabited his clothes. The odor was thick, maggoty and pummelled with force. It was strong enough to burrow deep down and fill out the silhouette of his shirt and trousers. I remembered how his smell puffed out like a melted wax doll that puddled and left sour droplets wherever he passed. His clothes could not discard the scent even if scrubbed with vinegar. There was no washing machine up to the task, no cold river water could carry away his smell. That is how I found him. It wasn't dumb luck or fancy detective skills; all I had to do was follow my nose. The scent of rapid decay led me out the back door and onto the porch. I thought it was strange to find a house with a porch on the backside. It was like the whole house had been turned around. I don’t know why I thought that now. It shouldn’t have been important, but the backwards mounted porch bothered me. I shook the thought and concentrated on the putrid odor. It was like a festering wound. The smell clung to the porch’s wooden columns and pointed to the barn like an arrow. As I crunched along the gravel path I could smell the sweet roses, but they were not enough to cover his smell. The delicate scent of the roses was choked and suffocated by the repulsive stench of rot. The nauseating blend of odours made my eyes water. The scent grew stronger as I reached the barn door, but not strong enough for me to be convinced he was inside. Since I had no other leads, I pushed the sliding door aside and looked into the darkness. I couldn't quite cut the smell like a knife, but I felt like I could dig it out with a spoon. It took me only a few moments to realize he had spent many hours here. The stench was confused, old and new, rancid and biting. But I couldn’t be sure he was here now. He could have left the barn for the creek. Down by the water it would be very difficult to track his scent. I moved forward cautiously towards the center of the barn when I picked up a pungent wave that nearly caused me to gag. The stench of maggots swelling a body. The rippling aroma told me he was here now. I drew my gun and felt the beads of sweat on my brow. I took slow steps towards the stalls in the back and was overwhelmed by the searing odor. There was no mistaking it. I was only a few yards from my prey. A long shadow slashed out from under a dangling bulb. I had found him, but as I felt the knife sink into my side, I realized too late that he had found me first.
Water Cooler Cliché
17 April 2025
Oh hey, I didn’t even realize you were here. Yeah, I came in the back way. I couldn’t find parking out front. You didn’t park in the supermarket, did you? No, I know they close it after ten. He paused. So, Danny’s not here? No, she said. She looked at Mark. Broad and brawny with soft eyes and straight teeth. So, are you still thinking of quitting? Yeah. I mean, what’s the point of staying? I’m not going to get the promotion. She wrapped her fingers around her pint and squeezed. Why didn’t he just go talk to them? Mark was all shoulders and muscles but he never would speak up. Did you get an official response? Not yet. Then how do you know? Cuz I know. I know I’m not going to get the promotion. Mark, it’s not like they’ve sent an email or anything. I haven’t seen a posting on the eBoard. I just know. He went dark like a TV and slouched. She looked at his bigness. A balloon. She watched his eyes move from her and then to the barstool. She hasn’t invited him to sit. But why didn’t he take charge? Do you want to sit? Isn’t Danny coming? Later maybe. He hasn’t answered my message. She wondered if Mark saw her ears turn red. Danny had already answered. He wasn’t coming. Cool, yeah. I mean cool about us having a pint. Yeah, I know what you mean. She shrugged. You know I lost my cell phone? Why had she said that? Oh really? Then how did you message with Danny? I didn’t mean forever. I meant. I don’t know. She felt stupid and now her ears were red. They burned like solar flares. I didn’t mean to call you a liar. You didn’t. Now she was getting angry. I know. But the way I said it and then your look. What look? She was mad now. And she felt stupid. She really had lost her phone. Just for a few hours but it had driven her crazy. It had been in her purse the whole time with the ringer off. Inside a pocket she never used. Sorry. He shrugged his bear shoulders. Don’t say you’re sorry. There’s nothing to be sorry about. I know. I just. He gave another big shrug, like two mountains heaving in a geological event. Nothing. It’s nothing. Nothing what? Nothing. I don’t know. What’s with Danny? She rolled her eyes. Mark, just forget about him. If he comes now, what do you think he’ll say? Mark, please. She had tucked away her irritation and now it was crawling back out of her pocket. I’m just saying. I mean, you asked me to sit down. Well, you were just standing there. It was a stupid thing to say, but she couldn’t call it back. So, you just didn’t want to be mean? That’s not what I meant. You know why I haven’t quit. Her ears were burning. Mark, please. It’s not like you and Danny are married. I don’t want to talk about it. Yeah. Sorry. Sorry to bother you. No, Mark. Don’t be like that. Mark stood up. I’ll see you around the water cooler. He turned and disappeared to the right of the bar. Around the water cooler. Such a cliché. Such a big burly cliché.
Lucid As A Hatter
06 March 2025
My head lifted instinctually at the chiming bells. The door opened and I crossed gazes with a rather dour looking gentleman. Though I must admit, I was quite pleased to see he was without a hat. Very unusual considering his stately apparel, but very convenient for my trade. “Good day to you, my fine sir!” I said gaily. “Wonderful dry spell we’re having.” “Harump!” He offered in response. “Yes, it’s a day, though I would not say it’s good.” “Perhaps together we can make it a fine day, Mr – ?” “Crobblehence,” he said abruptly. I must confess I had never heard that name in London. Perhaps he was a foreigner. “Mr Crobblehence, sir? Did I hear right?” “Yes, hatter, that is my name.” He struck his umbrella’s end tip sharply on the stone floor. “Are you deaf or mad?” My goodness, what a character. I could feel his cold eyes on me as I spoke. “I meant no offence, Mr Crobblehence. It just struck me as an unusual name.” “What do you mean?” He appeared before my desk. It was very curious. He didn’t seem to walk, yet he had covered ten paces without me noticing. “Well, it’s not common.” I cast a glance down at his feet before I met his cold eyes. “I meant nothing by it.” “But you said it, though.” Crobblehence raised his chin and the gaslight on the wall flickered. “Have you been breathing in mercury vapour?” “Of course not!” What an offensive thought! “My laboratory has large windows that are always open when I form my hats.” It would appear I would sell my top hat to an impolite man. “Impolite?” I blanched. “Pardon me?” “I said your speech sounds slurred.” The hatless Mr Crobblehence curled his lip as he pointed to the window. “Open them wide the next time you shape a hat.” I looked closely at the discourteous Mr Crobblehence. His attire was quite rich. His clothes were finely stitched and the watch chain that disappeared into his coat seemed to be solid gold. My business had not been what it used to be since my former apprentice opened his own shop not two blocks from my own. I feared I would have to swallow my pride and engage him to the best of my abilities. “I shall remember to open the windows fully.” “See that you do,” he said as he turned to look at the racks of hats. “Well, what have you to show me? If you aren’t blind as well as deaf and mad you can see my head needs a shelter.” I couldn’t help but raise my eyebrows at the curious choice of words, though I kept my tongue. “How about this one? It’s quite fashionable and required many hours of painstaking labour.” “Trying to get me to pay more, eh?” His finger flicked out and I had to stop the hat from toppling off the bench. “It looks like the tower of London.” “Then, how about this one?” I reached up to a higher shelf. “It’s sleeker.” “It looks like a strangled snake.” “Then perhaps this bowler?” “I’ve seen gravediggers with better apparel.” Mr Crobblehence presented me with a vicious grin. “Just yesterday, in fact.” I was getting desperate, if I could not find a suitable hat I would lose a sale. “How about—" “Yes, I know you’re desperate. You need my sale.” How did he know? Had I spoken aloud? Worse, it was likely he would purchase a hat from my former apprentice. “If you—" “Most probably, yes.” His gleaming black eyes were cold. “I think I will visit your apprentice.” “How, how? This can’t be!” I felt a terrible tremor. “Y-you can’t have heard what I said! I didn’t speak.” “You’re shaking.” Mr Crobblehence tsked and shook his head. “You’re mad as a hatter.” “No, I’m not!” Mr Crobblehence turned. “I’ll be on my way.” “No, please! I have more to show you.” I reached towards him but felt instantly repulsed. I was shaking. I could barely stammer. “D-don’t l-leave just yet.” “Are you sure?” The gaslight dimmed as Crobblehence spoke. “Are you absolutely sure you want me to stay?” “Y-yes, I have many more hats to show you.” “I don’t recommend it,” his smile was smug and wretched. “I think I should leave for both our sakes’.” “No, don’t leave!” “Don’t look at the wall.” “I didn’t look at the wall!” “Don’t look at my shadow on the wall!” His mouth expanded atrociously over his grey flesh as I felt a strong pull on my neck and numbness down to my fingers. My bowels turned to ice when I saw a long, dark shadow on the wall slip out from the hatless man’s head and slither towards me. The shadow’s ethereal hands grasped my head and feet. I felt the nothingness pull until my vertebrae separated. As I gasped my last breath, I understood why Mr Crobblehence’s head needed a shelter. *** Shadow Demon #2 ***
Slipping
01 March 2025
I put one foot in front of the other, but I didn’t seem to get anywhere. I felt my hand slide along the wall when my legs betrayed me. My teeth chattered and I felt my left eye twitch when my chin slammed to the ground. I may have blacked out but all I remember was deliriously shouting to the heavens. “There is ice on the stairs! Clear the damned ice off the stairs!” The maids rushed around me, like cawing magpies. I shooed them away and I steadied my hand on the wall to push myself up. I put my fingers to my bloodied chin as I looked out the window to see the green meadow. The sun was burning like a furnace, but I was very cold. Why did my vision suddenly dim if everything was so damned shiny? I woke up, I think. But if I did then I woke up in a blurry rainbow. Or maybe inside a kaleidoscope. I could have been inside a vat of coloured glass. But it didn’t feel cold and smooth like glass, so maybe I was dreaming. But in the dream, there were talking shapes that tilted and reflected the multicoloured light. The shapes were speaking. “– feel better, Mr Moriarty? You need bed rest and your pills.” “I don’t want my pills.” Had I said that? It felt like the sound came out of my mouth, but I cannot say that my lips moved. The shapes had taken form, wicked and frayed silhouettes. Then I could see them. Two maids and a nurse. “Oh, come on now, Mr Moriarty! Don’t be a dour Damian.” “Damian? Who’s that?” “Oh, Mr Moriarty, it’s just an expression!” The nurse crooned. “Someone needs to take his pi-ills!” There was no expression like ‘dour Damian’, was there? Was that supposed to be me? Was I Damian Moriarty? Why did I have two maids and a nurse? Was I rich? The furnishings looked expensive, but they were oblique. The room was large, but too shiny. There was ice on the stairs. “No! I won’t ingest any of your garbage! Get me, get me –” I felt myself floundering like a limp fish. Or maybe like a mollusc with pinched tendrils. I could feel that I was slipping away. There was that damned, polished ice. “It’ll be over in a jiff. Just a little pill to the lobe. Then a little pill-jab to the heart!” “What? What do you mean? What is that?” The nurse held something over me. I was slipping backwards on black ice. My vision, my vision! “It’s just our usual jabby-jabby pilly-pilly, Mr Moriarty. Just like all the other jabby-jabby pilly-pilly times.” “Why are my hands tied to the table? Let me get up!” “Your hands aren’t tied. You’re just a snug old bug in a rug. You don’t want to slip on the ice again, do you?” “There was ice! You made me slip!” “Mr Moriarty, it’s July. There is no ice in July.” “But you said there was! You just said I’d slip on the ice!” I watched the nurse as she shook her spikey head and gave me a patronizing look. “No, Mr Moriarty. You’re hearing things again.” She glanced over her shoulder at the maids. “Right, girls? “He’s hearing things again!” They sang in a chorus. In a chorus! No one does that! And they look the same. Maybe they are twins? Twin maids in my house. I don’t remember having maids. And why would I hire two of the same? “Untie me! Untie me now!” I shouted with all my strength, but the icy bands were too strong. “I’ll let you meander spaciously in just a jiff.” The shiny nurse said. “First, let me just get the forceps.” “No! Why forceps? You said you were going to give me a pill!” “Oh, Mr Moriarty, you’re such a silly Sidney.” The nurse sang to the robots. “He’s hearing things agaaaain!” “He’s hearing things agaaaain!” The robots yodelled. But they were maids! And now they were gleaming robots. They were made of chrome and ice! What was happening? “You have to let me go. I have to catch the bus. Yes, a bus. I have to catch the bus to Garble Knob Creek, where the fish whistle The Ride of the Valkyries.” “There we go, that lobe is coming out nice and snappy.” The translucent nurse said. “I’ll be done in a jiff, Mr Moriarty.” “The corroborating evidence for space-time dimensional shift is Euclidean.” Her red eyes were multi-faceted rubies against her gleaming ectoplasm. “Just installing the Augmenting Transmute Chip. You don’t want to be without one, do you?” “I need to be on Moonbase Hathor. You can’t leave me in a fishbowl next to the sink of dreams. I won the lottery the other day in a pig’s pen. I thought about things, once.” “Oh-droid! Look at your new cortex, MR.MoR-1-RT! The Foundation Cyborg will be so proud of you!”
What is Howling Will Be Healing
08 February 2025
“What is howling will be healing! What is howling will be healing!” Their bodies swayed from side to side as bone white arms reached upwards. Softly kneeling, they relaxed on their heels as they swayed. Their heads bobbed calmly as they chanted. Serene smiles on their lips. Their eyes were closed as they focused. Their thoughts floated close enough to their fingertips so they would not get lost in the void. It was the beginning. “What is howling will be healing! What is howling will be healing!” Pain was no longer a concern, nor was want, nor was longing. With a simple chant, suffering had been eliminated and minds had been cleansed. When an acolyte was afflicted, he had only to join his brothers and sisters and chant. As his body relaxed and his hands stretched upwards, the healing chorus mended all wounds and calmed the intellect. It was the perfect solution to all of society’s problems. This was the beginning. “What is howling will be healing! What is howling will be healing!” If only it had been understood sooner! So much time had been wasted in fruitless doubt. Doubt was not the realm of the philosopher; it was the stronghold of the ignorant. Perfect healing had always been possible if only trust had been absolute. The learned men who guided the inhabitants had known this all along and finally it had been understood. The beginning was strong. “What is howling will be healing! What is howling will be healing!” The last of the stragglers had reached the temple to have all suspicions washed away. The stark beauty of conformity had been recognized. Oh, the learned men! Thankfully they had reached the ignorant masses in time to save them all. Down to the last man all had joined the temple to sway and heal! The beginning was coming full circle to reach the end. “What is howling will be healing! What is howling will be healing!” There was one man, though. Behind the stragglers there was one, brooding, forlorn figure that did not step forward. He stood silently and did not drop to his knees. He kept his hands down and did not sway. He resisted against perfect healing and glorious thoughts. He did not understand the circle of faith. He opened his mouth and spewed blasphemy: “If you tolerate this, then your children will be next!” Kill that man.
Frigid
19 January 2025
I picked her up in my arms and I ran. I didn't think my legs had the strength to carry my body up the flight of stairs so fast, but they did. I raced past the icy crystals that clung to the banister, taking two steps at a time. My lungs worked like a furnace bellows and my legs pumped like train pistons, propelling me upwards. Farther and farther and always upwards. I wished for heat, a burning hearth of resinous pine, or the burning wet rock that smelled of hard coal. But as I climbed all I felt was the growing cold, like a slippery sheet of glass threatening to cast me down into the abyss. I slipped at the curve on the landing and nearly lost my balance with my precious cargo. As unsteady as I was, I dared not touch the rail. I turned my head away and felt the air of the stairwell bite deep into my flesh. My heart skipped a beat when I heard her whimper. She buried her head in my neck, hoping to ward off the incapacitating frost. I gritted my teeth and pushed upwards, my cleats scraping and stabbing into the stairs. I hadn't realized that the momentary loss of balance had sapped my strength. My legs slowed and I felt my ankles go rigid. I was still so far from the top. I took a few more steps and slipped, thankful that I had reached the landing as I crashed and skidded. The spikes in my jacket caught and kept me from sliding into the wicked banister. The landing was wide but suffocated by a thin sheet of ice. Once again, I steadied my breathing and spoke softly in her ear to silence her cries. I wasn’t sure how I would be able to stand with the little one in my arms. If I slipped again and touched the rail, that would be the end of our ascent. I calmed her with a few, whispered lines of a timeless lullaby. My soft singing turned into a grunt as I pressed my right foot into the floor to rise. I took a moment to breathe and tested my left foot with a step. Injured, I cursed. My left foot definitely had suffered a twisted ankle or some broken bone. The fierce rawness of the cold made it impossible to understand. I couldn't even feel the pain and only knew I was injured from the spongy response to my staggered steps. I walked, plodding forward, one solid step followed by one, squishy trudge. The slow strides were extremely dangerous. Without my blood pumping hard, I could quickly be overtaken by the cold. The hard run had cleared my mind with just one focus; reach the top. My snail’s pace gave me unwanted time to look down every dark hall I passed. Instead of focusing on the run to the top I scrutinized every closed door. The ice crystals played tricks on the mind. Terrible tricks. I could never be certain if what I saw was a glacial mirage until I was nearly upon it. That's why I didn't stop when I saw the figure with the knife standing only a few paces away. Just behind the one, a dozen others. I will not excuse my failure; it's just how the cookie crumbled. "We are very, very hungry,” they said.
Forever and Ever
05 January 2025
The floor heaved upwards, and I was frightened. It shouldn't have done so, floors are supposed to stay where they are, solid like granite, or unmoving, like my brother's stubborn will. But not in this case. Somehow, the floor split and pushed upwards like fingers of two hands trying to make a steeple. It is a curious thing to see a floor reach for the sky like a mountain. And it is also terrifying. I wondered what to do. I could not go around the cracked mound, but I was too afraid to scale the peak. What if I fell through the cracks and into the earth? Who would hear my scream? Would anyone write my epitaph and remember me? I was torn by these thoughts, but I could not stay where I was forever. The strange concept of 'forever'. I think it only exists as a common convention to be less afraid of death. “There is no such thing as 'forever'”, I thought. And since I was very afraid, there could be such a thing as 'forever'. This always happened to me when I was afraid. I would have strange and confused thoughts enter my head. I approached the prominence and stared at it for what seemed like forever. Yes, yes, I know there is no such thing as forever! But pretending that forever exists calms me. I felt like it was working. I was not so afraid of the towering broken pile that was the floor. It didn’t seem so menacing now that I had a stronger belief in forever. Maybe not as strong as I needed to climb over the heap, but at least enough to start. My first pulls and pushes were awkward. The edges that seemed smooth from below were jagged. I tried to be very careful, but I couldn’t help cutting myself. The broken tiles slashed my palms and fingers and sliced my shins. I decided it would be smart to rest, so I crammed myself into a ledge which was a good place to watch the sunset. Only then did I notice there was no sun, it was all grey with a cautious, dim light. I felt the vertigo of fear take over and I closed my eyes and said “forever is forever, you can believe in forever”. It was just enough to stop the swells, and I continued my journey upwards. My hands felt for the peak. I wasn't sure how I knew I had reached it, but I could feel that I was there. The hard part would be standing up, but it was the only way to cross over. I closed my eyes and thought of forever. My legs trembled as I felt myself stand, teetering on the apex. I knew I had to open my eyes, or I would not make it over. I felt precarious like I was on the edge of an abyss. There was no wind, but something whipped around me, silent and vast. Vast, but not eternal. Huge, but not everlasting. I built up all of courage and opened my eyes in the hopes I would see forever and ever.
The Fool
20 December 2024
"May I inquire after your name?" "Fool." "Yes, I know that is your, well, calling. I mean your birth name." "Fool." "Really? You have no other way of being called? Perhaps, you are called Geddrick, or Samuel or –" "Fool! What is it you cannot understand? I said my name is Fool!" I watched as the fool's chest rose and fell in gasps. His entire being glowered. I had not expected that my questions would have made him so angry. My only aim was to demonstrate respect for his person and position. "Of course,” I said. “Let us look at your accommodations in the castle." "I have accommodations." "I know, but they are above the stables. The Lord Steward has informed me that –" "I will not leave my room." The fool seethed. Or rather, Fool seethed. "No, of course not.” My brow felt hot. “Well, then let me see to your comfort considering –" "I am comfortable." "Yes, but the bed needs defeathering so that it can be –" "I like the feathers it has." I could feel myself sweating. I had expected a difficult engagement, but from a vacuous mind. The fool had a brutal gaze that burned into me. Every sentence of mine he interrupted seemed to be the result of instant thought. I was told of his strange abilities, but I had not suspected he could be a thought-reader. Of course, I was being foolish, he was only quick of wit. "I'm more than that." The fool hissed. "What? Pardon me, Mr, eh, Fool." "You heard me, Master Reeve. I am more than just shrewd. Much more." I could feel myself flush. Did he hear my thoughts? He could not possibly be psychic; those were things of legends. Perhaps he just guessed by studying my face. A good physiognomist was needed at court to receive foreign ambassadors. And I had thought he was quick of wit, not 'shrewd'. "I am both! Quick of wit and shrewd!" "My, my, what? I don't, I don’t, understand. You can't possible read –" "Don't look at the wall." "I'm not! Please Mr Fool –" "Fool! My name is Fool! Why is it you cannot get that into your thick skull!" "I apologize, Fool, if we could just be civil and –" "Don't look at my shadow on the wall!" I felt my eyes twitch to the left. I could feel my neck creak and groan. My shoulders pulled as I felt my body twist. I did not want to break his gaze but I so wanted to see his shadow! "Don't look at my shadow on the wall!" My head snapped suddenly, and my vertebrae pushed against my eyes. My tongue rolled as my body twitched. "I told you not to look." *** Shadow Demon #1 ***
Yum-Yum
23 November 2024
“You know,” he said as he slipped a toothpick between his fingers. “There ain’t no reason to be upset.” The father stared at the brute rasping at his teeth. He swallowed hard, his mouth a thin line with moisture on his lips. He moved his eyes to the big man’s companion. The brute said she was his daughter, but they seemed too close in age to seem true. He watched as she snickered quietly, vacant eyes and purple-blue hair. It reminded him of a documentary of a Dottyback fish, he recalled. “Really,” the brute continued. “We only want a bite to eat and then we’ll be on our way.” Dottyback guffawed, nearly spewing her milk. The brute’s supposed daughter had asked for milk even though his family had only ever had wine and water at the table. But he dared not risk his own household by saying no to any request. He looked at his wife and his own two daughters, all four of them defenceless before the big man. “Your wife’s cookin’ is delicious.” He turned and winked at his mauve patsy. “Ain’t that right, pumpkin? Go on, you tell ‘em.” “Yeah, delicious, um-yum! Yum-yum!” Dottyback began to cackle, a strange high pitch wheeze as milk dribbled from the corner of her mouth. “Yeah, your wife did a number on it. I’m glad we brought such a big hunk.” The brute squeezed Dottyback’s breast. “A hunk. Ain’t that right darlin’?” The brute’s daughter couldn’t contain herself and coughed, spitting milk into her plate as she chortled. She gasped for air and started to choke until the big man began to pound her on the back. “Easy there, easy there, we can’t even understand a word of wha’ you is sayin’! What you trying to say then, little girl? What you trying to say to us?” “Yum-yum. Yum-yum-yum!” She giggled savagely. “Oh, yeah, that really was yum-yum! That hunk was real yum-yum!” The brute grinned wickedly. The husband caught his wife’s eye and thought he saw an imperceptible nod. Slowly, the husband moved his hand toward the carving knife. When the brute had put it down after the last cut, he laid it casually, not more than an arm’s length away. The point was no longer at his chest and he was certain he could reach it. “Hey, mister. You ain’t touched yours. Neither has your little girls, wifey to boot. You ain’t hungry? It was a big, gorgeous hunk.” The brute continued to pick at his teeth. Dottyback peeled with laughter and slapped her hand down on the table. Each thump turned the carving knife and bounced it a fraction of an inch closer to the husband. His fingertips could almost caress the handle. “No!” Dottyback growled. Her eyes went from vacant to fierce, like a beast staring down its prey. Her shoulders were hunched, both hands on the table. Suddenly she was a purple-blue dragon with a heaving chest. Her fierce stare burned the husband causing him to shrink back. “Oh no, oh no! Now look at what you gone and done. You done upset my daughter, you did. Now, you don’t want to be doing that, you know.” The brute was on his feet, his cruel heft projected down upon them like an executioner. The husband breathed heavily, his eyes pleading as they darted from the two strangers to his own family. A cold sweat had stained his shirt and he fumbled with his tie. “Aw, shucks. We don’t wanna ruin a perfect evenin’ after your lady cooked up that hunk for us? Hey, how’s about a toast then? Like rich people do?” He raised his empty glass and with wild eyes stared at Dottyback. “Whaddya say, baby girl?” “Yum-yum. Um-yum-yum.” “Yeah, that sounds ‘bout right. A toast, baby girl!” His body shook with delirious laughter as they shouted in unison. “UM-YUM-YUM! UM-YUM-YUM! UM-YUM-YUM. THAT BOY WAS UM-YUM-YUM!”