The car screeched to a halt.
The driver peered down the hood of the car to see a black cat sitting in the beam of the headlights, giving itself a bath. It sat long enough for the driver to get really annoyed, then walked away.
The cat crawled under a fence, through a yard, across another street, through another yard and over a fence into the woods. It continued another fifty in, where it joined many more black cats.
An old tom sat on a log in front of the group. The right ear was missing. Bald patches from old scars peppered his fur and his tail bent oddly. One of his front teeth was missing, as well as his right eye. "Tomorrow is Halloween. We have a duty to frighten and unnerve every human we can. However, be wary. There are many who would harm you because of your black fur."
A queen joined him on the log. She was missing her left eye, but was otherwise unscathed. "Each kitten is to team up with an older cat, who will show them the ropes."
When the kittens all had their partners, the queen continued, "Spread yourselves throughout the city. We will meet here again at the dawn of the first of
November."
"We will sing the Hallow Cat before we depart," said the old tom.
Hundreds of feline voices rose and rode the wind.
"On this night of a thousand fears,
Humans try to hide their tears.
Little do they realize,
Where the only true fear lies.
For they are left desolate,
On this night of the Hallow Cat."
A human paused to listen to the caterwalling coming from the trees, shuddered, and quickly went inside.
-----
Lady and Folgar sat on a fence, watching. Occasionally, Folgar's tail twitched. Lady, a six month old kitten, moved her head up and down and side to side, trying to spot a human.
"Stop fidgeting," said Folgar. "You're not going to unnerve anyone with all that movement."
"Unnerve who? I don't see anyone."
"Look in the window. There is a human watching us."
"Where? Where?" In her eagerness, Lady lost her balance and fell off the fence.
Folgar ignored her and continued to sit like a statue.
Lady climbed back up, peered in the window and mewed. "I see it! Is it unnerved yet?"
"Sit very still and stare. The only movement should be the occasional twitch of your tail."
The two black cats stared at the human for several hours. When the human, unnerved, refused to look at the cats again, they left.
-----
Jaguar sat on a branch. A human walked underneath. Jaguar landed on his head, meowed, ffftted, scratched and left.
-----
Katrina followed the disguised children to a door. She sat in the middle of the sidewalk as they rang the bell. When the door opened, the light hit her eyes. The children, happy with their gain, turned and screamed at the sight of her glowing eyes.
-----
Domino waited outside a corner shop. The door opened. He rubbed up against a leg. The heavily laden lady, unable to see him through her purchases, screamed and fell. Domino waited until she saw him before running off.
-----
George, a crow in his mouth, and Felix, a rat in his, placed their catches on a doormat. Felix hid behind a hay bale, while George climbed the scarecrow standing by the door. George pressed the doorbell with his paw and jumped down to hide with Felix.
A middle-aged woman opened the door with a bowl of candy. Her smile faded. She looked down and screamed.
George and Felix ran across her path and off the porch.
-----
Betty ran. Five human boys were chasing her. One carried a bag, another a stick. All wore thick gloves. They shouted at each other and her. Betty turned down an alley. They followed.
She crawled under a dumpster. The stick followed. She growled, hissed and batted at it.
The sound of many fierce growls entered the alley. Other cats who had seen her running by had come to her rescue. The boys were covered in a dozen black cats, each. Betty joined the fray. The boys ran. The cats dropped off them and continued their hauntings.
-----
A group of humans walked through the graveyard. A boy boasted of his bravery, while the girls cringed. A boy hid behind a tombstone waiting to scare the group.
Ghost dipped his paws in a puddle with frost forming around it. He hobbled on three legs to the hiding boy and placed his cold wet paw on his exposed ankle. The boy yelled, jumped up and ran out of the cemetery.
The boaster saw him leave and ran after him. The girls followed, screaming.
Ghost sat on the tombstone and purred.
-----
Pre-dawn brought the last black cats to the woods.
The old tom sat again on the log. One at a time, other cats would join him and tell their tales of Halloween Night. They all laughed heartily at the easiness of scaring the humans.
As the sun broke the horizon, the cats left one by one to return to their homes. The song a dwindling hush on the fresh morning breeze...
"...For they are left desolate,
On this night of the Hallow Cat."
Elizabeth Williamson Copyright © 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
The Seed: A Halloween Tale
I've made a few minor changes. Hope it works.
The Seed
Every day of Summer Vacation Marc and Dale had walked past Old Lady Croswell’s run-down house and every day she followed them with her “evil eye”, as Dale called it. Marc once had the audacity to wave timidly and say, “Hello Ms. Croswell,” only to see her jerk forward in her rocking chair, as if to jump up and chase after them. He was only slightly comforted when she sat down again, but was uneasy when he saw that she was still leaning forward, eying them critically, her hands clenched the arms of the rocker, her elbows hovered above the arm rests. She looked like a panther, prepared to spring at them if they so much as smiled in her direction. When they reached the end of the block they laughed at the old woman, though she scared Marc more than he liked to admit.
That night Dale arrived at Marc’s front door with a sleeping bag, snacks and comics under his arm. Marc had arranged with their parents to have Dale spend the night camping in Marc’s backyard. As the moon rose high in the sky, they snuck, armed with flashlights, a spade, and a rope, over to Ms. Croswell’s yard and stole a seed from her ‘prize-winning’ garden. It wasn’t until they got back to Marc’s house that they inspected it for the first time.
“Now I know she’s a witch.” Dale said, a look of repulsion on his face.
Marc grimaced. The seed was nearly the size of a walnut, and was a sickly green color with yellowish spots that looked like speckled viper’s eyes. Five knobby bumps stuck out at weird angles, and Marc swore that it throbbed, very slightly, as he held it.
Dale suggested they bury it, “to hide the evidence”. Marc chose a back corner of the yard below a gnarly sycamore tree as the spot. He could see the spot from his bedroom window. He knew he’d be able to keep an eye on it from his bedroom, and see if it grew.
After several days of watching they noticed that a single root-like protrusion stuck up from the ground. It looked dead and gray, instead of green and alive. Marc said it looked creepy, Dale agreed. But dead or not, it continued to get bigger, or at least thicker with thin wiry gray twigs sticking from it. Then the strangest thing of all happened; the ground below it began to bulge. Within days the bulge was nearly the size of a small man, and Marc swore that it was throbbing, ever so slightly, as if it were breathing.
Both boys noticed something odd about Ms. Croswell too. Ever since they’d stolen the seed; instead of glowering at them as they went past, she watched them with a strange satisfied expression on her face, as if she knew something they didn’t know. They crossed the street whenever they had to pass her house. They could have sworn that they heard her cackle carried on the breeze after they’d passed.
The night seemed to be becoming chillier, or maybe it was Marc’s conscience pricking him about the theft. It didn’t seem to bother Dale, but he told Marc that he wasn’t sleeping well lately. It was as if he was being watched at night while he was sleeping. Marc had had the same feeling; he shuddered as he reflected on the previous night.
As Marc climbed into bed he heard a tap, so faint, he hardly heard it at all in the still of the darkened room. Was it a mouse scurrying on the rug? Then again, so quiet, the sound barely audible. What was it? There, at the window? Then tap, tap tap, louder this time. Then Bang! Bang! The glass of his window shuddered under the blows. Marc snapped toward the window. A hideous creature its gray almost human face grimaced at him through the darkness. It was covered head to toe with short and long twigs and moss. It banged several more times, then long crooked fingers, wickedly sharp, scratched at the base of the window, trying to get under the window pane, to lift it; to get in, to get him.
Marc darted for the door, and stifled a scream as he banged his shin on the corner of his bed frame. He leapt up, and hobbled through the house trying vainly to locate his parents. At each window he passed the monster was already there, scratching and banging at the window, watching him, and madly attempting to get in. He ran into the living room where his mother and father sat looking stunned, a book in each of their laps. He spat out the whole story, even the details of the theft of Old Lady Croswell’s repulsive seed and the thing that had grown from it. Several attempts, by each of them, to see anything in the yard, bore no evidence of a ‘monster’, and they sat on the couch together.
His parents didn’t believe that Ms. Croswell was a witch, or that her seed had come to life; they did recommend a solution to Marc’s ‘agitation’. They told him that in the morning he could dig up the plant and take it back to Ms. Croswell, and apologize. In spite of his protests his parents insisted that both he and Dale would do exactly that.
Marc didn’t see the plant at the window anymore that night, but thought he heard the sound of branches scratch at the side of the house. Around 2 a.m. Marc finally fell asleep, but rested badly. His dreams shadowed by gnarly trees that tried to get through his window.
At 6 a.m. Marc called Dale. They discussed the night’s events with nearly the same tale to tell. Dale too had seen the thing in the window and confessed all to his parents. Within 20 minutes Dale was out in the yard with Marc looking at the mound and the dead looking stem. By all appearances, the creature wasn’t able to come out of the ground during daylight hours, but hibernated during the daylight hours. Hoping that their theory was accurate, they devised a plan. Reluctantly, Marc tied a rope securely to the topmost part of the plant, and at Marc’s signal, Dale pulled with all his strength on the rope. There was a loud crack and eight inches of the plant broke away, dangling from the length of rope. An unearthly muffled groan rumbled up from the mound. Marc dropped the rope he’d intended to tie the thing up with, and both boys screamed and scrambled backward simultaneously. The mound of earth moved just below the grass, as if something were crawling around beneath a rug. It raced toward the fence and burrowed below it in the direction of Ms. Croswell’s place.
It was nearly 7:30 before the boys got the nerve to start off in the direction of Ms. Croswell’s, and not without some encouragement from Marc’s dad. A broken fragment of branch from the creatures back dangled from between Marc’s index finger and thumb, dripping greenish ooze. As he approached Ms. Croswell’s front porch they noticed that Ms. Croswell herself was bent over a mound of grass in her yard, speaking softly and running her hands over it in long smooth strokes. She looked up at the boys, who froze mid-step; her steely gaze met their terrified ones. She stood up, which for all of her four feet, nine inches, might as well have been ten. As she strode ponderously over to the base of the stairs, she gave them a contemptuous glare. The boys took an involuntary step backward. Her gaze moved to the oozing limb in Marc’s hand. “I believe that belongs to me.”
“Yes,” Marc stammered, and extended the plant out to her. Ms. Croswell snatched the branch out of his grasp, and Marc pulled his hand back. Dale twitched.
“We’re sorry.” The boys said together. Then without another word, the boys ran all the way back to Marc’s house before pausing to catch their breath.
Dale was the first to see the package on the steps of Marc’s porch, he pointed at it wordlessly. It was small and wrapped in glistening purple paper, a black silk ribbon tied neatly into a perfect bow on top of it. A folded piece of parchment paper was tucked neatly under the ribbon.
Marc picked up the note and unfolded it, reading it aloud as Dale read over his shoulder. “A reward for your integrity. Use them wisely.” It was unsigned. Marc tugged at the ribbon and the lid slid off easily without unwrapping it. Inside the tiny box, resting in a bed of dark purple silk, were two almond-sized cream-colored seeds.
The Seed
by Ken Chandler
Copyright © 2008
The Seed
Every day of Summer Vacation Marc and Dale had walked past Old Lady Croswell’s run-down house and every day she followed them with her “evil eye”, as Dale called it. Marc once had the audacity to wave timidly and say, “Hello Ms. Croswell,” only to see her jerk forward in her rocking chair, as if to jump up and chase after them. He was only slightly comforted when she sat down again, but was uneasy when he saw that she was still leaning forward, eying them critically, her hands clenched the arms of the rocker, her elbows hovered above the arm rests. She looked like a panther, prepared to spring at them if they so much as smiled in her direction. When they reached the end of the block they laughed at the old woman, though she scared Marc more than he liked to admit.
That night Dale arrived at Marc’s front door with a sleeping bag, snacks and comics under his arm. Marc had arranged with their parents to have Dale spend the night camping in Marc’s backyard. As the moon rose high in the sky, they snuck, armed with flashlights, a spade, and a rope, over to Ms. Croswell’s yard and stole a seed from her ‘prize-winning’ garden. It wasn’t until they got back to Marc’s house that they inspected it for the first time.
“Now I know she’s a witch.” Dale said, a look of repulsion on his face.
Marc grimaced. The seed was nearly the size of a walnut, and was a sickly green color with yellowish spots that looked like speckled viper’s eyes. Five knobby bumps stuck out at weird angles, and Marc swore that it throbbed, very slightly, as he held it.
Dale suggested they bury it, “to hide the evidence”. Marc chose a back corner of the yard below a gnarly sycamore tree as the spot. He could see the spot from his bedroom window. He knew he’d be able to keep an eye on it from his bedroom, and see if it grew.
After several days of watching they noticed that a single root-like protrusion stuck up from the ground. It looked dead and gray, instead of green and alive. Marc said it looked creepy, Dale agreed. But dead or not, it continued to get bigger, or at least thicker with thin wiry gray twigs sticking from it. Then the strangest thing of all happened; the ground below it began to bulge. Within days the bulge was nearly the size of a small man, and Marc swore that it was throbbing, ever so slightly, as if it were breathing.
Both boys noticed something odd about Ms. Croswell too. Ever since they’d stolen the seed; instead of glowering at them as they went past, she watched them with a strange satisfied expression on her face, as if she knew something they didn’t know. They crossed the street whenever they had to pass her house. They could have sworn that they heard her cackle carried on the breeze after they’d passed.
The night seemed to be becoming chillier, or maybe it was Marc’s conscience pricking him about the theft. It didn’t seem to bother Dale, but he told Marc that he wasn’t sleeping well lately. It was as if he was being watched at night while he was sleeping. Marc had had the same feeling; he shuddered as he reflected on the previous night.
As Marc climbed into bed he heard a tap, so faint, he hardly heard it at all in the still of the darkened room. Was it a mouse scurrying on the rug? Then again, so quiet, the sound barely audible. What was it? There, at the window? Then tap, tap tap, louder this time. Then Bang! Bang! The glass of his window shuddered under the blows. Marc snapped toward the window. A hideous creature its gray almost human face grimaced at him through the darkness. It was covered head to toe with short and long twigs and moss. It banged several more times, then long crooked fingers, wickedly sharp, scratched at the base of the window, trying to get under the window pane, to lift it; to get in, to get him.
Marc darted for the door, and stifled a scream as he banged his shin on the corner of his bed frame. He leapt up, and hobbled through the house trying vainly to locate his parents. At each window he passed the monster was already there, scratching and banging at the window, watching him, and madly attempting to get in. He ran into the living room where his mother and father sat looking stunned, a book in each of their laps. He spat out the whole story, even the details of the theft of Old Lady Croswell’s repulsive seed and the thing that had grown from it. Several attempts, by each of them, to see anything in the yard, bore no evidence of a ‘monster’, and they sat on the couch together.
His parents didn’t believe that Ms. Croswell was a witch, or that her seed had come to life; they did recommend a solution to Marc’s ‘agitation’. They told him that in the morning he could dig up the plant and take it back to Ms. Croswell, and apologize. In spite of his protests his parents insisted that both he and Dale would do exactly that.
Marc didn’t see the plant at the window anymore that night, but thought he heard the sound of branches scratch at the side of the house. Around 2 a.m. Marc finally fell asleep, but rested badly. His dreams shadowed by gnarly trees that tried to get through his window.
At 6 a.m. Marc called Dale. They discussed the night’s events with nearly the same tale to tell. Dale too had seen the thing in the window and confessed all to his parents. Within 20 minutes Dale was out in the yard with Marc looking at the mound and the dead looking stem. By all appearances, the creature wasn’t able to come out of the ground during daylight hours, but hibernated during the daylight hours. Hoping that their theory was accurate, they devised a plan. Reluctantly, Marc tied a rope securely to the topmost part of the plant, and at Marc’s signal, Dale pulled with all his strength on the rope. There was a loud crack and eight inches of the plant broke away, dangling from the length of rope. An unearthly muffled groan rumbled up from the mound. Marc dropped the rope he’d intended to tie the thing up with, and both boys screamed and scrambled backward simultaneously. The mound of earth moved just below the grass, as if something were crawling around beneath a rug. It raced toward the fence and burrowed below it in the direction of Ms. Croswell’s place.
It was nearly 7:30 before the boys got the nerve to start off in the direction of Ms. Croswell’s, and not without some encouragement from Marc’s dad. A broken fragment of branch from the creatures back dangled from between Marc’s index finger and thumb, dripping greenish ooze. As he approached Ms. Croswell’s front porch they noticed that Ms. Croswell herself was bent over a mound of grass in her yard, speaking softly and running her hands over it in long smooth strokes. She looked up at the boys, who froze mid-step; her steely gaze met their terrified ones. She stood up, which for all of her four feet, nine inches, might as well have been ten. As she strode ponderously over to the base of the stairs, she gave them a contemptuous glare. The boys took an involuntary step backward. Her gaze moved to the oozing limb in Marc’s hand. “I believe that belongs to me.”
“Yes,” Marc stammered, and extended the plant out to her. Ms. Croswell snatched the branch out of his grasp, and Marc pulled his hand back. Dale twitched.
“We’re sorry.” The boys said together. Then without another word, the boys ran all the way back to Marc’s house before pausing to catch their breath.
Dale was the first to see the package on the steps of Marc’s porch, he pointed at it wordlessly. It was small and wrapped in glistening purple paper, a black silk ribbon tied neatly into a perfect bow on top of it. A folded piece of parchment paper was tucked neatly under the ribbon.
Marc picked up the note and unfolded it, reading it aloud as Dale read over his shoulder. “A reward for your integrity. Use them wisely.” It was unsigned. Marc tugged at the ribbon and the lid slid off easily without unwrapping it. Inside the tiny box, resting in a bed of dark purple silk, were two almond-sized cream-colored seeds.
The Seed
by Ken Chandler
Copyright © 2008
Saturday, October 18, 2008
TOPIC: A Halloween Tale
In honor of "All Hallows Eve" coming, I propose that we all write a story for Halloween.
It can be:
• A scary Halloween tale
• A Ghost Story
• An Urban Myth
• Or a Mystery
Happy Halloween everyone!
(For inspiration, here's Monster Mash and Vincent Price's sinister laughter.)
The links are Rated PG, harmless Halloween fun.
It can be:
• A scary Halloween tale
• A Ghost Story
• An Urban Myth
• Or a Mystery
Happy Halloween everyone!
(For inspiration, here's Monster Mash and Vincent Price's sinister laughter.)
The links are Rated PG, harmless Halloween fun.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
The Show Must Go On... A Space Opera
Everyone told me it would be a once in a lifetime experience to travel. This just goes to show that you shouldn’t make life decisions based on other people’s opinions. Today was just another example of how utterly fouled up my life has become.
I just received a stellar-gram from my wife today. Commander Marsh told me to wait until after the party to read it. Did I listen? “NO!” My wife informs me that in my absence of eight months, three weeks, and four days ago; she has given birth to my bouncing baby boy. He has curly red hair (like mine), a birth mark on the tip of his nose (like mine), and very large feet (like mine). She says she was hoping he would look more like her. My family has such dominant genes. She says didn’t sign up for this kind of shenanigans and she’s had enough. She was done.
I thought maybe this might be just another one of those syndromes you read about when women go through a birth of a child. Post Partum depression or something. What can I do from all the way out here? She knew that this was what I went to school for. I couldn’t just leave my post. There was nothing that I could do. How do I explain to her that this job hasn’t been a bed of roses?
I spend most of my time trying to keep the women off my lap, removing their fingertips from my hair… isn’t that enough? I am constantly juggling between work and home. She doesn’t even consider how difficult my job can be here. Of course these are things I don’t dare mention to her. What about me? What about my feelings? I am constantly trying to satisfy the needs and keep up moral of my co-workers. I am certain she doesn’t realize how difficult it can be getting supplies out here. It is a logistical nightmare. When I get flustered and upset; I often find myself being laughed at …. NO ONE takes me seriously! What does she want me to do drop everything and just fly home? Like that is even an option.
Just last week, I was reviewing my program with one of the female staff members. She told me she just found out her fiancé changed his mind. He wasn’t going to get married to her. He was going to marry his sister. I gasped, she went on to tell me he had been living with her and his parents for the last eight years. With his fiancé being absent he has decided he didn’t want to wait for children and a family so the wedding was off. He is going to marry his sister. I was horrified, for her. Embarrassed even, she finally explained that the brother sister duo were only brother and sister legally. She was adopted by his family at the age of eleven years old. It was still awful in my eyes. I tried to console her; I told her I would show her a trick or two. She thought I was trying to make advancements toward her. What a horrible thought. I’m married I profusely explained. She said I waved about like Kermit the frog. She said she could never work on another program with me again.
Two weeks ago one of the senior staff nearly killed a crew member for removing his plate from the table before he was finished with his meal. He said that the crew member was only after his Winkie Cakes.
To make things worse yesterday, while running on the treadmill I was given a very graphic offer of an evening rendezvous with one of the grease monkeys of the motor pool. It gives new meaning to the Don’t Ask Don’t Tell policy.
This place is a nightmare. I don’t want to be here anymore than she wants me to be; but, I am under contract. I thought for the mega money offered with this job it would be a piece of cake. No one told me these people were so strange. No wonder the money was so good.
Here I am. All I can keep telling myself is that it is only a twelve month tour. I can survive. It’s almost over, but, what if they extend me for doing such a good job. What if they see I am the only sane one here? I have kept up some pretty good disguises. She’s mad at me because my son looks like me??!! What can I do about that?
That’s it! I exclaimed. I ran over to the escape hatch and just as I began to pull release arm. Commander Marsh placed a hand on my shoulder and said, “Son don’t, you’ll kill us all”. I let go of the handle and sat down where I once stood.
Commander Marsh took me aside and said that he could put me on the next shuttle out if I could pull myself together. He reminded me, “There was no one to blame and that seeing me again would bring my wife such great joy”. He said. “I had done my duty with dignity and pride.” I felt a surge of renewal. I knew I had my duty to perform; just one more program. The commander had renewed my sense of duty and he understood. I’ll do it! It will be the greatest show in space. No, I didn’t have any elephants, or cannons, or acrobats; but no one will ever perform as well as I will. Who could blame the first clown in space for being upset? I was proud; my newborns son destiny was the same as my own. We could be the first father son act in space. No matter what, there is no denying that bouncing baby boy is my son. From his curly red hair, his oversized feet, and the red dot on his bulbous little nose. I am proud to be his father, and I am going home. We are clowns and I know that my son and I will carry on the family legacy. From this moment forward just as my father’s father taught him; I will teach my son. We will perform with the same energy and pride as I do today. Everything will work out ok. She loves me and she will love our son. So here I go… I fluffed up my hair, gathered my balloon animals, grabbed my juggling balls and entered the room. "Folks," I hollered, “THE SHOW MUST GO ON!!”
Alisa Lucas - Aka. Max Lucas
"The Show Must Go On..."
[Space Opera-Short Story]
Copyright © 2008
I just received a stellar-gram from my wife today. Commander Marsh told me to wait until after the party to read it. Did I listen? “NO!” My wife informs me that in my absence of eight months, three weeks, and four days ago; she has given birth to my bouncing baby boy. He has curly red hair (like mine), a birth mark on the tip of his nose (like mine), and very large feet (like mine). She says she was hoping he would look more like her. My family has such dominant genes. She says didn’t sign up for this kind of shenanigans and she’s had enough. She was done.
I thought maybe this might be just another one of those syndromes you read about when women go through a birth of a child. Post Partum depression or something. What can I do from all the way out here? She knew that this was what I went to school for. I couldn’t just leave my post. There was nothing that I could do. How do I explain to her that this job hasn’t been a bed of roses?
I spend most of my time trying to keep the women off my lap, removing their fingertips from my hair… isn’t that enough? I am constantly juggling between work and home. She doesn’t even consider how difficult my job can be here. Of course these are things I don’t dare mention to her. What about me? What about my feelings? I am constantly trying to satisfy the needs and keep up moral of my co-workers. I am certain she doesn’t realize how difficult it can be getting supplies out here. It is a logistical nightmare. When I get flustered and upset; I often find myself being laughed at …. NO ONE takes me seriously! What does she want me to do drop everything and just fly home? Like that is even an option.
Just last week, I was reviewing my program with one of the female staff members. She told me she just found out her fiancé changed his mind. He wasn’t going to get married to her. He was going to marry his sister. I gasped, she went on to tell me he had been living with her and his parents for the last eight years. With his fiancé being absent he has decided he didn’t want to wait for children and a family so the wedding was off. He is going to marry his sister. I was horrified, for her. Embarrassed even, she finally explained that the brother sister duo were only brother and sister legally. She was adopted by his family at the age of eleven years old. It was still awful in my eyes. I tried to console her; I told her I would show her a trick or two. She thought I was trying to make advancements toward her. What a horrible thought. I’m married I profusely explained. She said I waved about like Kermit the frog. She said she could never work on another program with me again.
Two weeks ago one of the senior staff nearly killed a crew member for removing his plate from the table before he was finished with his meal. He said that the crew member was only after his Winkie Cakes.
To make things worse yesterday, while running on the treadmill I was given a very graphic offer of an evening rendezvous with one of the grease monkeys of the motor pool. It gives new meaning to the Don’t Ask Don’t Tell policy.
This place is a nightmare. I don’t want to be here anymore than she wants me to be; but, I am under contract. I thought for the mega money offered with this job it would be a piece of cake. No one told me these people were so strange. No wonder the money was so good.
Here I am. All I can keep telling myself is that it is only a twelve month tour. I can survive. It’s almost over, but, what if they extend me for doing such a good job. What if they see I am the only sane one here? I have kept up some pretty good disguises. She’s mad at me because my son looks like me??!! What can I do about that?
That’s it! I exclaimed. I ran over to the escape hatch and just as I began to pull release arm. Commander Marsh placed a hand on my shoulder and said, “Son don’t, you’ll kill us all”. I let go of the handle and sat down where I once stood.
Commander Marsh took me aside and said that he could put me on the next shuttle out if I could pull myself together. He reminded me, “There was no one to blame and that seeing me again would bring my wife such great joy”. He said. “I had done my duty with dignity and pride.” I felt a surge of renewal. I knew I had my duty to perform; just one more program. The commander had renewed my sense of duty and he understood. I’ll do it! It will be the greatest show in space. No, I didn’t have any elephants, or cannons, or acrobats; but no one will ever perform as well as I will. Who could blame the first clown in space for being upset? I was proud; my newborns son destiny was the same as my own. We could be the first father son act in space. No matter what, there is no denying that bouncing baby boy is my son. From his curly red hair, his oversized feet, and the red dot on his bulbous little nose. I am proud to be his father, and I am going home. We are clowns and I know that my son and I will carry on the family legacy. From this moment forward just as my father’s father taught him; I will teach my son. We will perform with the same energy and pride as I do today. Everything will work out ok. She loves me and she will love our son. So here I go… I fluffed up my hair, gathered my balloon animals, grabbed my juggling balls and entered the room. "Folks," I hollered, “THE SHOW MUST GO ON!!”
Alisa Lucas - Aka. Max Lucas
"The Show Must Go On..."
[Space Opera-Short Story]
Copyright © 2008
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Zodiac Story_ Finished!
I've finished my Zodiac story. It's over 2,000 words long, so (with permission from the Creating Story gang (thanks guys)) I've posted my story in two parts.
PART I is here (click link to go there).
and PART II is here.
Or you can just scroll down to Elements 1 and 2.
I hope you enjoy it. I look forward to reading your stories too.
Ken
PART I is here (click link to go there).
and PART II is here.
Or you can just scroll down to Elements 1 and 2.
I hope you enjoy it. I look forward to reading your stories too.
Ken
SPACE
Space. There's too much of it. A few more black holes might get rid of some of it. I suppose people need somewhere to live. Sigh. More galaxies it is.
He's so awkward. His feet hit the floor rather hard. He should stop turning to look at me. He bumps into a wall every time. Maybe if I walked beside him.
No. That's worse. I'd go in front of him if I knew where he was going.
"In here."
Table. Chairs. Nothing of interest here.
"Captain," why is his arm up like that? "This is the stowaway, Sir."
Oh, his name is Captain.
"What is your name?"
"Rachel."
"Why are you on my ship?"
"Ship? Oh! Is that what this is? I was just working, when it sped by. I wanted to know what it was. What does it do?"
"It travels through space to many different planets."
"Oh. Why?"
"Because we want to learn about other worlds."
"But, why the ship? Why not go without it."
Why is he laughing?
"That's impossible. We have to travel in something. We can't just go through space like it was air."
That's hard for me to imagine. I've always been able to go wherever I want. No bounadries. People really are different. Father is right.
"May I stay on this ship?"
"You have a choice?"
"I can leave if you want, but I would like to stay and learn about you."
"Leave where? Space? You'd die!"
"That would be impossible. May I stay?"
"What can you do?"
"Many things."
"Let me rephrase. What can you do that would benefit the crew and the ship?"
"What would be of use?"
"Our doctor is in need of a nurse. Do you know anything about healing people?"
"I know the anatomy of a person, and how it is supposed to function. As for the healing, I have never tried, but I am confident in my capabilities."
"Jacobs."
"Yes, Sir."
"Escort Rachel to Medical."
"Yes, Sir."
I wonder what medical is.
*Dr. Jones, I am sending Jacobs down with a lady I want you to examine.*
Elizabeth Williamson Copyright © 2008
WOOSH
What the...?
What is that?!
It's smaller than a planet, but a planet doesn't move that fast. I have to check this out. It's Hollow. Ah, a window... I think. It's shut. Hmm...
Woa! This air makes me dizzy. There's stuff in it. Slow down. Take slow deep breaths. Adjust. Take in the oxygen. Ok. I'm fine.
Now for some exploring. Where does the warmth come from? A hole in the ceiling. I wonder where it goes...
What's that? It's a person!
"You're not part of the crew."
"Crew?"
"How did you get here?"
"Through the wall."
"The..."
"What's that?"
"Captain! We have a stowaway!"
"Who are you talking to? What's a stowaway?"
"It's a lady, Sir."
Where is that voice coming from?
"Come with me."
"Where are we going?"
"To the Captain."
"What's a Captain?"
"Don't be stupid."
Stupid about what? What is he talking about? I don't understand people. I guess Father is right.
Little room. I don't like the feel of my feet pressing into the floor. That's better.
Little room. I don't like the feel of my feet pressing into the floor. That's better.
"What?"
"Your feet aren't touching the floor!"
"So? The door's open. Do we go through?"
"..."
Why isn't he moving? I'll just push him. Oops. Too hard.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Er... follow me."
He's so awkward. His feet hit the floor rather hard. He should stop turning to look at me. He bumps into a wall every time. Maybe if I walked beside him.
No. That's worse. I'd go in front of him if I knew where he was going.
"In here."
Table. Chairs. Nothing of interest here.
"Captain," why is his arm up like that? "This is the stowaway, Sir."
Oh, his name is Captain.
"What is your name?"
"Rachel."
"Why are you on my ship?"
"Ship? Oh! Is that what this is? I was just working, when it sped by. I wanted to know what it was. What does it do?"
"It travels through space to many different planets."
"Oh. Why?"
"Because we want to learn about other worlds."
"But, why the ship? Why not go without it."
Why is he laughing?
"That's impossible. We have to travel in something. We can't just go through space like it was air."
That's hard for me to imagine. I've always been able to go wherever I want. No bounadries. People really are different. Father is right.
"May I stay on this ship?"
"You have a choice?"
"I can leave if you want, but I would like to stay and learn about you."
"Leave where? Space? You'd die!"
"That would be impossible. May I stay?"
"What can you do?"
"Many things."
"Let me rephrase. What can you do that would benefit the crew and the ship?"
"What would be of use?"
"Our doctor is in need of a nurse. Do you know anything about healing people?"
"I know the anatomy of a person, and how it is supposed to function. As for the healing, I have never tried, but I am confident in my capabilities."
"Jacobs."
"Yes, Sir."
"Escort Rachel to Medical."
"Yes, Sir."
I wonder what medical is.
*Dr. Jones, I am sending Jacobs down with a lady I want you to examine.*
Elizabeth Williamson Copyright © 2008
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
TOPIC: Space Opera.
TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIME for the new topic. For years, I've always wanted to write a space opera (you know, like Star Trek, Star Wars, Star Ocean, StarCraft... pretty much anything starting with 'star'...). I know some of you don't like sci-fi as much as I do, and some of you don't even know the first thing about space travel, but now's the time to learn and like it! I'll leave this one fairly open, but it must be in space. No Earth, no alien planets. SPACE. It can be a short story, or an excerpt from a longer story, or whatever you like. Above all, enjoy it! Ja ne.
Elements: Part I
Ken Chandler
Copyright © 2008
http://golemchronicles.blogspot.com
golemhunter@hotmail.com
Elements (Part 1 of 2)
By Ken Chandler
A hulking broad shouldered man, his hands calloused with years of toil, strode with measured and lengthy strides along the massive causeway of stone. A young dark-skinned girl scurried at his side, her bare feet padding the wet stone beneath her. Long ringlets of tawny hair bounced lightly as she jogged along. Twenty feet ahead of them expansive boulders broke through the great frothing waters; twenty feet behind, they again sank slowly beneath the waves.
The man smiled easily, his brown eyes wrinkling at their corners as he told the girl tale after tale of his life and adventures. She occasioned a glance at him to show that she was listening, but said nothing. Several hours ago, the man had seen the first peaks of the shallow mountains that adorned the highest points of the island, now he could see the lush green of the jungle, its craggy cliffs. When they were within 100 yards of the white of its beaches the man and the girl noticed that the skies began to darken, and the wind to pick up noticeably. As they walked down the cool stone incline to the beach he placed a strong hand on the girl’s head. Turning her eyes toward him, she acknowledged his gesture and reached up to place a small cool hand on his. He smiled down at her reassuringly and looking back at her took several long strides inland. He stopped and glanced around the island, then started toward the cliffs a knowing grin played about his lips. Seeing that he was putting some distance between them, the girl hopped over the hot sands of the beach following the deep impressions of the man’s boots in the sand.
After he’d gone several hundred yards up the beach, large boulders jutted upward and tiered in layers like giant steps toward the peaks overhead. Off to his left he could hear a roaring waterfall crashing into a crystal blue pond. He stopped and cupped his hands around his mouth. The girl had perched on a shallow stone outcropping, lowered her head, winced, and cupped her ears with both hands. The singular word, “BROTHER!” sounded like a cannon shot. It echoed off distant canyon walls. Numerous birds took flight over the canopy of trees to the southwest, cawing and squawking in their surprise and annoyance.
The girl glanced around warily, her ears perked for a response. When no reply came she looked to the large man and shrugged mutely. The man threw his head back and laughed lustily, his hands on his hips. His large barrel chest and wide shoulders heaving as he guffawed. When he was through, he turned to the girl and said warmly, “Did you think your uncle would simply amble up the beach with his arm outstretched, rejoicing to see his own flesh and blood?” The warmth in his smile faded, and was replaced with an expression of grief, “the murdering coward.”
“Murderer,” A voice came from above, it sounded contemplative,” Yes, I suppose that is apt, but a coward? Surely you know me better than that.” The tall thin man, though equal in height to the large man so firmly planted on the ground, was about one quarter his girth. His tailor made suit with vertical stripes exaggerated his already too thin frame. He stood in the air, 15 feet above the ground, suspended airborne as the wind howled around him, tossing his golden short-cropped hair, and causing his coat and trouser legs to whip about him playfully. He had the air of a banker who’d just stepped out into a windstorm. The grin the large man had worn before, spread back over his pleasant face. “Eddy! What’s this I’ve heard you’ve been doing with yourself? By hooking up with gangsters, and then killing them all in a bid to gain control of the Cartels? I knew you didn’t play nice, but that’s taking things too far.”
A sneer crossed Eddy’s face. “Don’t act so self-righteous, Henge. You’d have done the same thing in my position.”
Henge, blanched, he looked at the bronze girl, whose face was set, and she nodded No! He turned back to his brother. “You know I wouldn’t.” He swelled with indignation. “I’ve always honored life over all else.”
“Except mine.” His sneer changed to malice. “You did come here to kill me, didn’t you brother?”
“That decision,” Henge seemed to deflate slightly, “was made for me, not by me.”
“By the Council then, I suppose,” he muttered something that Henge took to be ‘arrogant pinheads…’
“You had as much to do with that conclusion as anybody, Eddy.” Henge spoke loudly and boldly. “When you decided to use your talents to slaughter all those men and women, you decided your fate, and the outcome.”
“Ah yes, now let me think,” he fingered his mouth while looking heavenward, as if giving his full attention to the thought, “the decree to live among men, and to use our power to aid them.”
“And never to do them harm. Except under the most unusual circumstances.” Henge finished.
Eddy waved a hand, as if swatting at a fly, “Phah! They were all criminals. Everyone in that room would have killed me without blinking,” He raised his index finger high into the air, his expression a leering smile, “if they thought they could have walked away with the contents of my wallet. They were the vilest of sinners, they deserved to die.”
“That wasn’t your choice to make.” Henge’s voice thundered. “And now that you’ve made that choice,” his voice broke into a sob. “I have to do the thing that I knew would invariably be mine…” he broke off, unable to complete the thought.
“Take heart brother,” Eddy smiled coldly, “if I have my way, you’ll be dead, and I’ll have spared you any guilt you may feel at my death.” At these words the wind became violent, simultaneously he pulled several darts out of his pocket and aimed them at Henge. As quick at thought the darts flew toward Henge’s heart. A moment before they struck, a wall of stone shot up into the space between them and their target. They sunk deep into the stone with a loud metallic thud. A cascade of pebbles trickled down the face of the stone where the darts had struck, as if they were blood from a wound.
“Ah! That delightful talent of yours for manipulating stone.” He stroked his chin with a dagger-like fingernail. “It won’t save you… in the end.”
“Don’t underestimate me.” Henge said soberly. Stepping forward as the wall of stone melted back into the beach, he reached out and broke off two watermelon-sized chunks. With deft movements he hurled first one stone, than the other. The first missed its target as Eddy launched himself backward and vertically into the air, the second he dodged at the last possible second, but which was so close that it tore the jacket away, a horrible shredding sound rent the air. Henge smiled when he saw Eddy floating in the air 25 feet ahead of him. All that was left of the suit were its two sleeves.
“That suit jacket…” Eddy said, loathing in every syllable “was hand tailored by Gregorri Favrotini,” he tore away one of the sleeves and hurled it to the ground. “That suit jacket cost me $10,800. It was a one of a kind. Irreplaceable!” He tore away the other sleeve and hurled it to the ground to join its companion. With hands outstretched at his sides, each finger forming a claw, Eddy channeled all his power into a tsunami wind that tore into Henge who at first stood leaning into the tempest; within moments however he found his foothold insufficient as he slid and he slid backward a few feet, then felt it give way altogether. He was launched airborne at incredible speed. He braced for the inevitable impact. It came all to soon. He was slammed into the cliff wall, where he slid eight feet to the base. His legs buckled, and he fell forward onto his hands and knees gasping and attempting to regain his breath.
Eddy's satisfied smirk hardened into malice and rage as he channeled his energy into the loose boulders and stones that lined the base of the cliff. The dazed Hendge, only just managing to stand, by bracing himself against the cliff wall let out a scream of terror, it was snuffed out by a dozen man-sized boulders. The tempest hurled several tons more debris onto the fallen hero. The winds subsided to a whisper, and then all was still.
Copyright © 2008
http://golemchronicles.blogspot.com
golemhunter@hotmail.com
Elements (Part 1 of 2)
By Ken Chandler
A hulking broad shouldered man, his hands calloused with years of toil, strode with measured and lengthy strides along the massive causeway of stone. A young dark-skinned girl scurried at his side, her bare feet padding the wet stone beneath her. Long ringlets of tawny hair bounced lightly as she jogged along. Twenty feet ahead of them expansive boulders broke through the great frothing waters; twenty feet behind, they again sank slowly beneath the waves.
The man smiled easily, his brown eyes wrinkling at their corners as he told the girl tale after tale of his life and adventures. She occasioned a glance at him to show that she was listening, but said nothing. Several hours ago, the man had seen the first peaks of the shallow mountains that adorned the highest points of the island, now he could see the lush green of the jungle, its craggy cliffs. When they were within 100 yards of the white of its beaches the man and the girl noticed that the skies began to darken, and the wind to pick up noticeably. As they walked down the cool stone incline to the beach he placed a strong hand on the girl’s head. Turning her eyes toward him, she acknowledged his gesture and reached up to place a small cool hand on his. He smiled down at her reassuringly and looking back at her took several long strides inland. He stopped and glanced around the island, then started toward the cliffs a knowing grin played about his lips. Seeing that he was putting some distance between them, the girl hopped over the hot sands of the beach following the deep impressions of the man’s boots in the sand.
After he’d gone several hundred yards up the beach, large boulders jutted upward and tiered in layers like giant steps toward the peaks overhead. Off to his left he could hear a roaring waterfall crashing into a crystal blue pond. He stopped and cupped his hands around his mouth. The girl had perched on a shallow stone outcropping, lowered her head, winced, and cupped her ears with both hands. The singular word, “BROTHER!” sounded like a cannon shot. It echoed off distant canyon walls. Numerous birds took flight over the canopy of trees to the southwest, cawing and squawking in their surprise and annoyance.
The girl glanced around warily, her ears perked for a response. When no reply came she looked to the large man and shrugged mutely. The man threw his head back and laughed lustily, his hands on his hips. His large barrel chest and wide shoulders heaving as he guffawed. When he was through, he turned to the girl and said warmly, “Did you think your uncle would simply amble up the beach with his arm outstretched, rejoicing to see his own flesh and blood?” The warmth in his smile faded, and was replaced with an expression of grief, “the murdering coward.”
“Murderer,” A voice came from above, it sounded contemplative,” Yes, I suppose that is apt, but a coward? Surely you know me better than that.” The tall thin man, though equal in height to the large man so firmly planted on the ground, was about one quarter his girth. His tailor made suit with vertical stripes exaggerated his already too thin frame. He stood in the air, 15 feet above the ground, suspended airborne as the wind howled around him, tossing his golden short-cropped hair, and causing his coat and trouser legs to whip about him playfully. He had the air of a banker who’d just stepped out into a windstorm. The grin the large man had worn before, spread back over his pleasant face. “Eddy! What’s this I’ve heard you’ve been doing with yourself? By hooking up with gangsters, and then killing them all in a bid to gain control of the Cartels? I knew you didn’t play nice, but that’s taking things too far.”
A sneer crossed Eddy’s face. “Don’t act so self-righteous, Henge. You’d have done the same thing in my position.”
Henge, blanched, he looked at the bronze girl, whose face was set, and she nodded No! He turned back to his brother. “You know I wouldn’t.” He swelled with indignation. “I’ve always honored life over all else.”
“Except mine.” His sneer changed to malice. “You did come here to kill me, didn’t you brother?”
“That decision,” Henge seemed to deflate slightly, “was made for me, not by me.”
“By the Council then, I suppose,” he muttered something that Henge took to be ‘arrogant pinheads…’
“You had as much to do with that conclusion as anybody, Eddy.” Henge spoke loudly and boldly. “When you decided to use your talents to slaughter all those men and women, you decided your fate, and the outcome.”
“Ah yes, now let me think,” he fingered his mouth while looking heavenward, as if giving his full attention to the thought, “the decree to live among men, and to use our power to aid them.”
“And never to do them harm. Except under the most unusual circumstances.” Henge finished.
Eddy waved a hand, as if swatting at a fly, “Phah! They were all criminals. Everyone in that room would have killed me without blinking,” He raised his index finger high into the air, his expression a leering smile, “if they thought they could have walked away with the contents of my wallet. They were the vilest of sinners, they deserved to die.”
“That wasn’t your choice to make.” Henge’s voice thundered. “And now that you’ve made that choice,” his voice broke into a sob. “I have to do the thing that I knew would invariably be mine…” he broke off, unable to complete the thought.
“Take heart brother,” Eddy smiled coldly, “if I have my way, you’ll be dead, and I’ll have spared you any guilt you may feel at my death.” At these words the wind became violent, simultaneously he pulled several darts out of his pocket and aimed them at Henge. As quick at thought the darts flew toward Henge’s heart. A moment before they struck, a wall of stone shot up into the space between them and their target. They sunk deep into the stone with a loud metallic thud. A cascade of pebbles trickled down the face of the stone where the darts had struck, as if they were blood from a wound.
“Ah! That delightful talent of yours for manipulating stone.” He stroked his chin with a dagger-like fingernail. “It won’t save you… in the end.”
“Don’t underestimate me.” Henge said soberly. Stepping forward as the wall of stone melted back into the beach, he reached out and broke off two watermelon-sized chunks. With deft movements he hurled first one stone, than the other. The first missed its target as Eddy launched himself backward and vertically into the air, the second he dodged at the last possible second, but which was so close that it tore the jacket away, a horrible shredding sound rent the air. Henge smiled when he saw Eddy floating in the air 25 feet ahead of him. All that was left of the suit were its two sleeves.
“That suit jacket…” Eddy said, loathing in every syllable “was hand tailored by Gregorri Favrotini,” he tore away one of the sleeves and hurled it to the ground. “That suit jacket cost me $10,800. It was a one of a kind. Irreplaceable!” He tore away the other sleeve and hurled it to the ground to join its companion. With hands outstretched at his sides, each finger forming a claw, Eddy channeled all his power into a tsunami wind that tore into Henge who at first stood leaning into the tempest; within moments however he found his foothold insufficient as he slid and he slid backward a few feet, then felt it give way altogether. He was launched airborne at incredible speed. He braced for the inevitable impact. It came all to soon. He was slammed into the cliff wall, where he slid eight feet to the base. His legs buckled, and he fell forward onto his hands and knees gasping and attempting to regain his breath.
Eddy's satisfied smirk hardened into malice and rage as he channeled his energy into the loose boulders and stones that lined the base of the cliff. The dazed Hendge, only just managing to stand, by bracing himself against the cliff wall let out a scream of terror, it was snuffed out by a dozen man-sized boulders. The tempest hurled several tons more debris onto the fallen hero. The winds subsided to a whisper, and then all was still.
Elements: Part II
Elements (Part 2 of 2)
by Ken Chandler
Exhausted from his effort, Eddy stumbled forward, laughing and panting alternately. As he neared the mound where his brother lay buried, he heard a scraping of stone against stone. Eddy stopped laughing. Boulders shifted, rose and fell, making way for the haggard and broken form of Henge. With one last groan he rose unsteadily to his feet, swayed drunkenly, and fell headlong down the face of the boulder field and laying face down on the beach. His breathing was now a mere whisper, and his body rose and fell only slightly.
Eddy's own breath came in ragged wheezes as he walked toward the broken man before him. “You are not much longer for this world, brother.”
A breeze grew into a gale, but died suddenly as Henge’s young companion darted between the two men. The girls jaw was set and she held her arms out wide to prevent Eddy from approaching.
“I'd almost forgotten... you must be the daughter,” Eddy said, glancing at the prone figure over her shoulder, “I got news of you, though I’d heard you’d died with your mother in delivery. Cruel fate. A mute then? Too bad really, I won’t have the pleasure of hearing you scream like your father.”
A gale force wind tore into her but she withstood the blow, even having the nerve to step toward Eddy. He increased the velocity of the wind, and she took another step forward.
Eddy, terror in his eyes redoubled his effort, now sending tons of beach sand into the girl who disappeared into the storm.
After a time, Eddy collapsed, utterly spent, onto his hands and knees. The winds died and the sands rained down onto the beach. Eddy’s eyes widened, and a gurgling choke rose in this throat as the alien figure before him took one last step forward. All the girl’s features, most of her torso, and any refining details had been worn away to reveal that she was merely a construct of stone, now polished to a glassy sheen by the storm. Manipulator of stone. Eddy though silently, the idea dawning on him too late.
In the core of her chest was a faint glowing light. Her glassy faceless head looked down at the orb whose light reflected off the smooth surface. Fingerless hands plucked the glowing orb out and extended it toward Eddy who arched back in fear. A scream started, but was drowned in the rush of light and wind that burst from his chest and was absorbed into the crystal sphere. Within moments the light faded until it was merely a pleasant pulse in the core of the orb.
The fingerless hands replaced the orb into the hole in her chest, and looked down at the lifeless man before her. A shadow fell over the stone girl and large hands rested on either of her worn away shoulders.
Henge sighed, “Never before have twins been so vastly different as we, dear brother.” Henge raised a hand and the ground dropped away under the prone figure that was his brother. Sand filled the open grave in a rush, and then was still. Another wave of his hand was met with a vast, and ornately carved, cool gray grave marker rising from the, which was inscribed with the words:
The behemoth man strode away toward the ocean again, his shoulders slumped slightly, and his smile gone entirely. As he neared the beach, a great stone causeway divided the crashing waves and extended down into the sands of the beach at his feet. He had ascended the height of the causeway when he stopped suddenly and turned toward the unmoving polished stone figure. A hint of a smile crept back onto his face, and his brown eyes twinkled.
The figure stooped and gathered up large handfuls of sand. She splashed the sand onto her face, which was instantly that of the young girl who’d accompanied him to his trip to the island. She trotted up the beach to his side. He knelt down and looked into her amber eyes, and gently cupped her cool cheek in his powerful hand.
“My dear sweet child,” Henge's voice was repentant, “in my grief I’d almost forgotten. And who would I tell all my stories to, if not for you?”
She smiled, seemed to consider his words, shrugged, and pointed at herself.
Henge laughed out loud.
“Did I ever tell you about my daughter? She would be exactly your age if she had lived. She had the most beautiful hazel eye, exactly like yours, in fact.”
Looking up into his face, she took his large warm hand in her cool grip, and together they started off over the causeway, toward home.
Ken Chandler
Copyright © 2008
http://golemchronicles.blogspot.com
golemhunter@hotmail.com
by Ken Chandler
Exhausted from his effort, Eddy stumbled forward, laughing and panting alternately. As he neared the mound where his brother lay buried, he heard a scraping of stone against stone. Eddy stopped laughing. Boulders shifted, rose and fell, making way for the haggard and broken form of Henge. With one last groan he rose unsteadily to his feet, swayed drunkenly, and fell headlong down the face of the boulder field and laying face down on the beach. His breathing was now a mere whisper, and his body rose and fell only slightly.
Eddy's own breath came in ragged wheezes as he walked toward the broken man before him. “You are not much longer for this world, brother.”
A breeze grew into a gale, but died suddenly as Henge’s young companion darted between the two men. The girls jaw was set and she held her arms out wide to prevent Eddy from approaching.
“I'd almost forgotten... you must be the daughter,” Eddy said, glancing at the prone figure over her shoulder, “I got news of you, though I’d heard you’d died with your mother in delivery. Cruel fate. A mute then? Too bad really, I won’t have the pleasure of hearing you scream like your father.”
A gale force wind tore into her but she withstood the blow, even having the nerve to step toward Eddy. He increased the velocity of the wind, and she took another step forward.
Eddy, terror in his eyes redoubled his effort, now sending tons of beach sand into the girl who disappeared into the storm.
After a time, Eddy collapsed, utterly spent, onto his hands and knees. The winds died and the sands rained down onto the beach. Eddy’s eyes widened, and a gurgling choke rose in this throat as the alien figure before him took one last step forward. All the girl’s features, most of her torso, and any refining details had been worn away to reveal that she was merely a construct of stone, now polished to a glassy sheen by the storm. Manipulator of stone. Eddy though silently, the idea dawning on him too late.
In the core of her chest was a faint glowing light. Her glassy faceless head looked down at the orb whose light reflected off the smooth surface. Fingerless hands plucked the glowing orb out and extended it toward Eddy who arched back in fear. A scream started, but was drowned in the rush of light and wind that burst from his chest and was absorbed into the crystal sphere. Within moments the light faded until it was merely a pleasant pulse in the core of the orb.
The fingerless hands replaced the orb into the hole in her chest, and looked down at the lifeless man before her. A shadow fell over the stone girl and large hands rested on either of her worn away shoulders.
Henge sighed, “Never before have twins been so vastly different as we, dear brother.” Henge raised a hand and the ground dropped away under the prone figure that was his brother. Sand filled the open grave in a rush, and then was still. Another wave of his hand was met with a vast, and ornately carved, cool gray grave marker rising from the, which was inscribed with the words:
Maelstrom "Eddy" Ophemus: Wind Rider
Rest in Peace Dear Brother
Rest in Peace Dear Brother
The behemoth man strode away toward the ocean again, his shoulders slumped slightly, and his smile gone entirely. As he neared the beach, a great stone causeway divided the crashing waves and extended down into the sands of the beach at his feet. He had ascended the height of the causeway when he stopped suddenly and turned toward the unmoving polished stone figure. A hint of a smile crept back onto his face, and his brown eyes twinkled.
The figure stooped and gathered up large handfuls of sand. She splashed the sand onto her face, which was instantly that of the young girl who’d accompanied him to his trip to the island. She trotted up the beach to his side. He knelt down and looked into her amber eyes, and gently cupped her cool cheek in his powerful hand.
“My dear sweet child,” Henge's voice was repentant, “in my grief I’d almost forgotten. And who would I tell all my stories to, if not for you?”
She smiled, seemed to consider his words, shrugged, and pointed at herself.
Henge laughed out loud.
“Did I ever tell you about my daughter? She would be exactly your age if she had lived. She had the most beautiful hazel eye, exactly like yours, in fact.”
Looking up into his face, she took his large warm hand in her cool grip, and together they started off over the causeway, toward home.
Ken Chandler
Copyright © 2008
http://golemchronicles.blogspot.com
golemhunter@hotmail.com
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