Thursday, January 24, 2013

Hole in a Field, Chap 17

A little while ago I wrote a short story for the L. Ron Hubbard "Writers of the Future Contest".  I did not win, and I know why, my story is really more horror than Science Fiction or Fantasy.  But I decided that I will post each chapter here on my blog.  There are 37 very short chapters, for a total of 15,000 words, about a fifth of a modern novel.  Here is the start.

Chapter 17:
“What is your shoe size?” The clown was on his last question about the dimensions of Wilton and now nearly ready to make a guess as to the weight of the man.

“13.” Wilton had already given the standard assortment of answers to whatever it was he was talking to, whatever had made itself look like a color deficient clown for this little meeting.  “Though I am unsure as to what brand of shoe you are imagining, because in the past I prefer a slightly looser fit in my Nikes.”

'How in the hell is he doing that?' Maxwell stood more of less in awe of Wilton being able to joke at the Clown, Wilton having picked up on the game aspect; the need to play along. Maxwell knew Wilton had been in bad places before, but this seemed to be hitting him outside any possible comfort zone.  Maxwell moved his fingers across the bat he was holding, the little grooves in the side giving him no comfort, but what the hell else did they have?  Maxwell stood there and watched as Wilton stepped onto the pressure plate.

The clown made a few scribbling gestures in the air, mumbled some calculations: “Carry the four,” “Accounting for the wind resistance,” “Your mother came from a particular climate, have to account for that too,” and then let loose his prediction:  “Too heavy!”

The Clown then jerked fast a lever next to the pressure plate, at which moment the plate dropped out from beneath Wilton.  His eyes, much like Maxwell’s, went wide as he tried to grasp outward to stop his fall.  He fell into darkness, a darkness that was quickly covered by a pressure plate which now could more accurately be described as a trap door.

Maxwell turned fast to the Clown and drew back the bat.  The Clown, for its part, smiled and asked: “So, would you like to play now?”

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