Micro Short Story, "Out of the Cold"

            They moved thru the snow slower than they had hours prior.  The piled up white flakes were deeper than they had been, not just on the path, but on the traveler’s shoulders.  The air was as cold and strangely dry as the slick solid ice that was hidden in the unseen ditches to either side.  Another reason the traveler was moving slower was an earlier spill when stepping just a little too left.

            But toward the song they shuffled forward, pushing thru the white.

            The music had rolled over them in the night as the sun became a fading red line on the horizon.  Echoing and distant was the thrum of the voice… or maybe voices?   But even so far thru so much snow it carried with it a warmth.  The traveler’s mind filled with visions of hard wood floors covered in pelts and skins, a whole tree burning in a vast hearth, a long table steaming with tea and cake and a thousand other indistinct sweet and savory things.

            The little flame they had managed to cultivate before twilight and the little tent that had sheltered the traveler, those things had no song to them.  Still and thin, quite and cold, with fuel running low… The traveler decided to become a listener, a follower of this song.

            Maybe the warmth of the tune would carry them on a night’s journey.

            The song was clearer now, less echo and a low bass of some stringed instrument joined in.  And with the depth of the song becoming clearer, detail filled the room with the tree burning hearth.  The furs were of deer, otters, foxes, great oxen, and bears.  The tea had cinnamon in it, bits floating on the surface of the clear brown gold liquid, ghostly hot vapor twisting above it.

The steam of the drink twisted like a flame thought the traveler.  Seeing the cubes of sugar plopping into the cup and shattering as a tiny silver spoon turned the liquid and the shimmering of now dissolved sugar disappeared into the warm whirlpool in the cup.

There is sugar?  How luxurious, thought the traveler.  Reaching for a little cookie the traveler’s hand brushed against something and sugar spilled on the table.  There was a great pile of white.  But I thought the sugar was in cubes.  No, this is the snow.

            Then they stopped and looking thru the vast darkness of night and the falling flecks of ice, they saw a glow from a window.  Perhaps this is an abbey?  A castle?  In the traveler’s mind maps unrolled over the table with all of the spilled sugar, the light of that promised hearth illuminating so many paths, wells, shrines, and any other tiny detail that might be along the road.  Out came a straight edge to guide their eye and sliding it along the map to find this place, nothing leapt to might.  This was something new. 

            It was hard to see the real shape of it in the night’s snow fall.  A light and a pair of doors to a foyer.  No footsteps in the snow leading up.  Well, what fool would be out in this weather?  All around the song’s depth reached its height as small bells and a flute carried in behind the voice and bass.  As the traveler moved closer and closer, the door seemed stranger.

            The traveler had thought it far away, but now they could see that they were right up to it, and it was so small.  It was sized for a child.  Putting out their gloved hand and feeling little etchings in the pair of wooden doors a flowing pattern, like vines on a trellis was made clear to their fingers, as was the coming from within.

            The song had stopped.

            “Well,” came a voice from behind, from dark of the snowfall.  “Aren’t you going to knock?”

            “Hello?” said the traveler.

            “Hello,” answered the voice.  It was so deep.

            “I heard…” started the traveler.

            “I thought so,” said the voice.  “I suppose you have come to beg alms?  Just working up the courage to?”

            “I was hoping for a cup of tea.”

            “Well then,” said the voice.  The sound of a latch unlatching.  “I have some of that.  If you have the nerve to go inside a stranger’s home.”

            The traveler looked into the falling snow.  Looked hard.

            “Thank you,” said the traveler as he knelt and pushed into the warm little house.

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            If you like or hate this please take the time to comment, share on Twitter (click that link to follow me), Tumblr, or Facebook, and otherwise distribute my opinion to the world.  I would appreciate it.

Picture proved by pexels, by this guy.

"Free Market" a Short Story

The storm had passed.  With its passing homes and businesses, roads and fields, so much had been swept away.  A few people remained, their possessions gone, but clinging to hope that they would one day rebuild...

"It is called the free market," said the merchant flush with goods to the crowd of hungry people.  "You pay me my price, or you don't get any product."

"We are desperate," said the man at the front of the crowd.  "It is a time of crisis and you want to exploit our desperation."

"I am not a charity," said the Merchant.  "And I don't see anyone else around here who has anything to sell.  So, pay me what I want or fuck off."

The desperate man at the front of the crowd hit the merchant hard across the face.

"What?!" screamed the merchant, his teeth red with blood.  "What gives you the right to hit me?"

A stone thrown from the crowd of hungry people thumped into the merchants shoulder.

"Ah!" screamed the merchant in pain.  "You are all animals!"

Another strike from a third person.  Then a kick.  They were not individuals anymore.  They were a mob.

"Stop!" screamed the merchant between cries of pain.  "Please!"

The merchant was on the ground now, being stomped on as the crowd surrounded his goods and started handing them out among themselves.  Before long all that was left was an empty cart with the merchant curled up under it to keep out of the drizzle.

The now desperate man flinched when he heard the sound of footsteps but felt relief when he looked out and saw a man wearing a Caduceus carrying a bag of medicine and bandages.

"Please help me," said the desperate man.

"I would love to," said the healer.  "Tell me, how much is my help worth to you?"

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This story was inspired by this sociopathic article by John Stossel, a journalist I used to like and respect.  Now, I just think he is an unsympathetic dick.

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            If you like or hate this please take the time to comment, +1, share on Twitter (click that link to follow me), Tumblr, or Facebook, and otherwise distribute my opinion to the world.  I would appreciate it.

Preview Chapter: "Foresight", Chapter 19

A while back I wrote a short novelette.  It took me a very long time to write it, but I have written almost as much on this squeal in the last year as I wrote entirely for "Hole in a Field".  To show that I have been doing something with the little mystery I created I present you with a sample chapter for what will become "Foresight" (Ironic).

The last preview was of Chapter 9 and is linked here.

Chapter 19: Down to Business

            "Sir?" came the secretary's voice from a cracked door.

            The Man in the Suit was looking at the digital pictures of what had been found in the hole in the field.  A black pillar or stele covered in arcane writing.  It was vantablack and seemed to be emitting some kind of signal.  Four of the five people who had been investigating it had died, and the bodies of random people had been found in the underground chamber.  Was this what the Cloak had warned him about?

            "Yes?" asked the Man in the Suit.

            "I know it doesn't seem important," she said.  "But I wasn't able to cancel the meeting you had set up for this morning."

            "Which meeting would that be?" he asked staring into the black on his monitor.

            "It's with the TV producers about the show," she said sheepishly.

            His chin dropped to his chest and he buried his face in his hands, "okay."

            "What?"

            "I said OKAY!" he yelled.  Followed immediately by, "Sorry.  Sorry.  I'll do the meeting.  Sorry to yell."

            "It's okay," she said.  As the door nearly shut she said, "I heard what happened."

            Part of his job was the management of the image of the White Hats.  The organization was still seen as a group of weirdoes by the public, and those were the few who knew they existed.  As funded and official as they were, they were at best seen as cryptic specialists in investigative work, unable to get the funding necessary to be proactive in research and development constantly taking work outside of the stated mission of the group.

            The obscure hipster mystic image suited the founders of the group just fine, they had started it as graduate students and had spun it into an online community, that was all the fame they ever wanted and they liked doing the work.  But for the financiers, the management that knew how important the work they were doing really is, they needed the public to want the help, they needed the public to offer to help them, they needed more money, more applicants, more trust.  They needed a TV show.

            "Well if it isn't the notorious Man in the Suit," said the gleaming white smile that walked as a man, Tyler.

            "Such poise," said bombshell in a pantsuit, Judy.  "I could sell a horror anthology series with you as the Rod Sterling in an instant."

            Why did everyone always reference the Twilight Zone?  Thought the man in the suit.  "Tyler, Judy, we have spoken in email, good to finally meet you."

            "Ooh," said Tyler.  "Do you hear that voice Jude?  Sounds like Morgan Freeman."

            "I was thinking Yul Brynner," said Judy.

            "You are right, that is the voice of a pharaoh," said Tyler, sitting down first.  "Have you ever considered voice over work?"

            "No," he said.  "I've never managed to get out of management fields."

            "The world of movie trailers weeps for their loss," said Judy taking a seat.

            "We wanted to alk to you about what we see the show being," said Tyler.

            "So you have agreed to a show," said the Man in the Suit.

            "Tentatively," said Judy.  "You have enough material to fill three shows, case files for a police procedural, enough history to fill a history channel hidden mysteries series, and enough investigators to run a Cops style reality show."

            "So you want three shows?"

            "Not so fast," said Tyler.  "We are just worried that horror fantasy entertainment is getting played out.  We have shows that are deep into horror, we have shows that are deep into alternate history."

            "History."

            "What?" asked Tyler.

            "You said 'alternate history'," said the Man in the Suit.  "It isn't alternate anything.  It happened, people just don't want to admit that."

            "You say that with such conviction," said Judy, smiling and fluttering her eyes a bit.  "Makes a believer out of me."

            "Thank you."

            "Point is," continued Tyler, his smile having never left his face, though his eyes weren't smiling completely.  It was a forced smile, he hated being here and hated the show ideas, he thought the whole thing was a farce, like every hack script with the words 'based on true events' written on the cover.  "The point I am trying to make is that you need a hook that sets yourself apart from those and I think we have the idea.

            "It's actually brilliant," said Judy, her smile was legitimate, she probably talked Tyler into coming, probably threw this idea at him to keep the project alive.  She was flirting with him.

            "We want the characters to be really relatable," said Tyler.  "But funny.  We were thinking a comedy like 'Seinfeld' but instead of comedians they are researchers.  The core of the show is actually the dialogue between the characters and them being in the various restaurants and hotels, but with the work they do being the background."

            "Stop a second," said the Man in the Suit.  "I had four people die in the last 24 hours."

            Tyler and Judy went pale, Judy's mouth dropped open and Tyler's forced grin broke.

            "I know you have to worry about media markets," he said.  "I know that things are about selling.  But the reason we want the show is because we want people to know that what we do is dangerous, and the things in the dark are real, and they are here."

            There was a shimmer in the room, just for an instant, and Judy started shrieking.  No, wait, Tyler was shrieking.  Judy was shivering and remaining motionless.  The room was covered in tiny wolf and daddy long leg spiders.

            "I'm sorry," said the Man in the Suit.  "I think I have another appointment that takes precedence."

            "I can come back," said the Cloak stepping out of his door that had materialized in the office.

            "I was talking to them," he said.  "Judy, Tyler, it was good talking to you, but my friend has something important to tell me I am sure, he never shows up for any other reason."

            "My apologies," said the Cloak, as Tyler ran shrieking out of the office, nearly going thru the Cloak's door into the place of harsh yellow light and discordant clicking.

            "It was a good meeting I think," said Judy standing in the most rigid way possible, she had a card.  "Here is my personal number if you want to get together later and talk.  I never got your name."

            "No one has heard his name in a long time Madam," said the Cloak.

            "I'll call you, Judy," he said, taking the card.  "I know it is a lot to ask, but I am going to need your help, I don't believe Tyler is going to have a lot of faith in the show."

            She smiled for a half second, before a spider crawled on her face causing her to cringe, and close her mouth and eyes.

            "Shall I fetch my creature to dispose of the little pests?" asked the Cloak.

            "Judy, we're going to get something to get rid of the bugs, going to need you to keep your eyes closed for a couple minutes," he said.  "Trade secret, has to be protected."

Preview Chapter: "Foresight", Chapter 9

A while back I wrote a short novelette.  It took me a very long time to write it, but I have written almost as much on this squeal in the last year as I wrote entirely for "Hole in a Field".  To show that I have been doing something with the little mystery I created I present you with a sample chapter for what will become "Foresight" (Ironic).

Chapter 9: Things not of this World

            Centipedes.

            I felt them moving across my skin the ends of each step the lightest of pinches.  Too many to count.  The room was lit by moonlight and they glistened.

            The room rolled and shimmered.  It crawled.  The collective foot falls of thousands of them made a constant *hisssss....*.  My skin would shiver if it were not paralyzed with tension to keep from upsetting those hundreds already journeying across my body.

            Then he emerged from the door.  He was cloaked so that no flesh showed, nothing showed only the voice was detectable, "You look unwell my friend."  It wasn't said in a known language, it was spoken in the words of primeval, the base code of the universe, understood by anyone, like you would understand yourself, or the things you wish to do.

            "I am covered in insects," I said.  "I was woken up, by being covered in insects."

            "I do remember such feelings well enough," the Cloak said.  "I apologize.  These things... a product of my disruptions.  I did not intend to cause you harm."

            "Can you get them off me?"

            "Not without some complications," the Cloak replied.  "Something from where I am from."

            "Okay," I said watching the door.

            The was black and had no handle and was in an arch, as if someone was going to partition my room into two smaller rooms and decided to start with the door and frame.  The Cloak pushed it a crack letting light and noise through the crack.  The light was harsh and yellow and blinding to my sleep widened pupils.  The sounds like a thousand clicking tongues and fingers strumming to hear the rattling click of keys on a keyboard.  Sound without meaning.  Just discordant noise.

            Then another shadow entered the room and started slurpily-crunching its way around the floor.  blinded by the harsh yellow I saw it more as a mishmash of parts then a complete whole, a broad back like a big flat turtle, but the limbs were shiny like a carapace, and the head looked like a worm or snake with a face that opened like a orchid with a half dozen little tongues clicking out to pull in the bugs around my floor.  Then the thing moved to my bed, I closed my eyes and felt its front limbs holding it up on the bed, and little by little the tiny pinches disappeared replaced with a hot dry breath and the occasionally wispy lick of a tongue tube on one last patrol for centipede.  Then the beast dropped off and shuffled into the yellow and clicking.

            "Better now?"

            "Why does it do that?" I asked sitting up and taking a more firm grasp of the Cloak standing gormlessly in my room.

            "Each time I move in an out the natural world gets a sort of burst and tends to construct that energy making copies of the vermin that happen to be around."

            "A clone army of centipedes," I closed my eyes, and let my mouth and tongue wag as I shook my head and rubbed and scratched at every inch of myself.  "The most unsettling thing a person can wake up to."

            "Again, I--"

            "Apologize, yes, I know.... Thank you," I said.  "This is really just part of my life.  How can I be of service?"

            "Something is happening," said the Cloak.

            "Okay," I replied.  "What?"

            "I know you cannot hear or feel it my friend, you are not as sensitive as many who work for you.  But I can hear it in the Room that Hangs in Darkness, I can hear it at the Everywhere Motel.  There is a sound more and more of your people will start to hear."

            "What does it mean?"

            "Unknown," the Cloak replied.  "I hear it like distant screams, so loud as to be garbled, so distant as to be faded.  And the universe has a lot of background noise to bother me with."

            "So you hear a noise from over a hill, but the water fall you are standing next to keeps you from hearing the message clearly."

            "That analogy would be apt, yes."

            "Well, what you are hearing, does it sound like a roaring cheer?"

            "No."

            "Cry for help?"

            "No."

            "Is it the sound of someone crying in pain?"

            "At first I thought so," said the Cloak.  "But it has changed.  Now it sounds more like... a growl.  It sounds like hunger."

            I looked at him in the darkness, my composure came back to me then.  I got up and began to get dressed, making sure to keep the light low and aimed away from my guest.  Fumbling with my silver key necklace being tangled for a second with the tie.  "Has anyone in the organization already been bitten?"

            "What?"

            "The Growling... Have any of the people I am in charge of fallen victim to this thing."

            "Some have, yes," the Cloak said.  "They have walked into the mouth that is growling and are already being chewed."

            "Anyone else?"

            "No one directly working for you," said the Cloak.

            "Odd way to word that," I replied.  "Are any of my people proximate to this right now?  Anyone who can be warned?"

            "Perhaps," said the Cloak, "Though it is being managed for now at the expense of those they are working with."

            "Names?"

Hole in a Field, Epilogue

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 (and now this short Epilogue), for a total of a little over 16,000 words, about a fifth of a modern novel.  Here is the first chapter.

Epilogue

            Explanations are always messy, and they always lead to new questions.

            "Max," said the man in the suit, in his typical reassuring tones.  "I am sorry about Wilton, Claire, Allison, and Todd.  Before we continue I would like to tell you that no one thinks you did anything wrong, and from what you told us you reacted as anyone in your position might."

            "What happened?" asked Maxwell.  "I mean, I have an idea, but why did it happen that way?"

            "The house you found in the hole," said the man in the suit.  "We have an idea.  It seems the house fell into a sinkhole sometime in the past, we found the bodies of a middle aged couple crushed under the house.  The body you found in the upstairs bedroom was presumably the couple's child.  She was buried alive in the house, as it started to partially collapse on itself from the weight of the earth, she focused on her toys, and hoped for rescue."

            "Rescue never came," said Maxwell.

            "No," said the man in the suit.  "It never did and we have a likely hypothesis as to why.  Regardless, the girl held out as long as she could in the dark.  Eventually she gave into despair hanging herself with a jump rope."

            "God," said Maxwell.

            "There was a dead flashlight and some paper next to her," continued the man in the suit.  "She wrote something with a marker, we were able to enhance the faded writing."

            "What did it say," asked Maxwell.

            "She wrote, 'I waited so long, but the laughter in the dark is just too much'," the man in the suit said it with a sort of reassuring tone, more wistful and sad then the subject matter would suggest.  "She was alive for a while, she was strong, she was a fighter."

            Maxwell just put his head in his hands.

            "Max," said the man in the suit.  "We--"

            "How do you lose a house?" interrupted Maxwell.

            "I'm sorry?"

            "How do you lose a house?  Why was she not rescued?  How did you lose where we were?"

            "As I was about to say," said the man in the suit.  "We found something under the ruin of the house.  There was a... pillar made of polished black rock, it has script written on it that we have not identified."

            "What?"

            "Any psychic that goes near the thing feels like they are going to puke and die," said the man in the suit.  "It has been there a while, and we think it was the source of the 'laughter in the dark' the girl mentioned, it messes with cell phones, GPS, makes people hallucinate, we shipped it to a radiological institute to put in a shielded box till we figure out what to do with it."

            "So people noticed the house was gone," said Maxwell.  "But this thing scrambled their brains?"

            "That house became a dream to the people who knew of it."

            "Then why weren't people just falling into that hole year after year?" asked Maxwell.  "Why only now?"

            "A section of the ground near it gave way," said the man in the suit.  "Its weird signal spread out, it used the young ladies memories and perceptions as a basis to lure people into the trap.  Her little models of a small town and a carnival with little figurines of clowns everywhere.  It played with your minds."

            "You talk like it is alive," said Maxwell.

            "We aren't sure if alive is the right word," said the man in the suit.  "But we think it might be some kind of device, a computer maybe."

            "So it just kicked on?"

            "No," said the man in the suit.  "And that has us worried.  We think it was turned on.  We think something might be coming."

            "What?" asked Maxwell.  "What is coming?"

            "Something bad for all of us."

To Be Continued.

Hole in a Field, Chap 37

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.

(This is the last chapter.  If you want an epilogue explaining everything, please comment on here and tell me so.)

Chapter 37:

Maxwell was standing alone in the attic of an abandoned house.  The whole place was dark but for a glow out of the window. There, three cords hung from a hole in a cavern ceiling and down into the darkness of the cavern floor.  As he peered around the room tiny metal figures made themselves clear to him, miniatures of clowns and Ferris Wheels, of a little town… and more clowns.  The room had a bed, fallen in on itself from decades of being in the moist underground, and lying across it was a skeleton, juicy and covered in clothing with a long faded clown motif. Wrapped around the skeleton’s neck was a cord or rope.

Maxwell left the room untouched and wandered down through the house that seemed to fill this hole for the most part.  It was dark and smelled of earth but it was a house, and not some twisted little dimension filled with stairs and undead clowns. It was a place, and Maxwell wanted to leave.  He wandered a stairwell and saw more bodies, mummified with age, in different clothes and with different looks, all ancient and moist from the underground. Maxwell’s reaction was blankly distracted.  He felt something on the edge of his mind, a dizziness, or sickness, like he was sleepy or the world was pressing down on him. He felt like he was breathing through a sheet, stifling and uncomfortable.

Maxwell reached the front door and lying rigid on the threshold was Clair, cold and dead.  A few feet away Wilton’s body was splayed out.  Just outside the circle of light were the bodies of Todd and Allison.  Maxwell climbed out of the hole and into the field where he found the cars they had all rented, alongside another car, which Maxwell saw belonged to the guy he had only been introduced to as Ernie (minus the knife in the eye). All were sitting outside around the hole and the nearest road was on the horizon.

Maxwell popped open his rental car and dug his phone out from inside the central console, dialing out.  “Hat Rack, this is Maxwell," he said.  "Hey Jenna, yeah, I know.  Listen, something weird is happening. I need help.”  He then let the phone drop to his side and looked out at the field a Merry-Go-Round turning slowly. He blinked and focused his eyes, and it was gone.  He pressed the phone to his ear. “Be quick.” 

Hole in a Field, Chap 36

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 36:

“Max,” a voice moved through the darkness from behind Maxwell and caused him to form rigidly in his position, looking down on the scene of clowns piling over his comrade. The voice was familiar.

“Clair,” Maxwell responded.  He turned and was greeted by his friend, her visage twisted, pale and distended, a funhouse mirror of his coworker.  “You've looked better.”

“Careful Max,” Wilton’s twisted form crept up out of the shadows. His back was hunched and bent at numerous points and angles, his legs seemingly having far too many joints. His face was crushed on one side but still smiling.  “I don’t think you should be kidding my girl so playfully, it is unprofessional to draw attention to how good she looks.”

Maxwell cringed at the sight of them and realized how useless the weight of his gun felt, how cornered he was between his two friends and the unbreakable window. With a ghost by his side and the madness all around, the world was as crooked as the house he stood in.  “Wil, Clair, I want to ask you: do you know how I can get back to the normal world?”

“Why would you want to go back?”  Clair asked back.

“I suppose you don’t get why seeing the world crooked like this is better,” Wilton chimed in. “Everyone smiles, everything shines. It is all as it should be.  Honestly insane.  Rather than secretly, like the rest of the world is.”

“But do you know?” asked Maxwell.

“Max, baby, you’re already there,” said Clair.

“Just try and see it our way.”  At that phrase the world changed briefly for Maxwell. It was darker, less animate, and just for a moment he saw something different.

“See things your way?”  Maxwell squinted and focused his eyes again, and again the world got darker.  He heard Allison say something but it was a whisper. He heard the clowns of his friends say something, but it was distorted.

Crooked House straightened all out… things got a lot easier to see.

Hole in a Field, Chap 35

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.  (The shortest chapter in the whole story.)

Chapter 35:

Todd fought at them, feeling them tear at him.  His gun clicking as he had fired his last round.  They stomped on him and punched him, he felt like he was falling, then like he was being carried, more like he was being dragged.  He felt kicks and punches landing as he was jerked along the ground by his outstretched arms, he felt several of his teeth were broken and his lips were shredded, his body felt bruised and swollen and soft, and all of it throbbed.  He felt his knee get stomped and it pop and crunch, he stopped feeling really.  He thought of nothing, he blacked out.  Todd was gone.

Hole in a Field, Chap 34

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 34:

Allison and Maxwell had reached an odd end to their walk, a window through which the carnival outside could be seen in all its glittering and glowing glory.

“I can say that I was definitely not expecting to see a giant carnival,” said Allison.

“That was everybody’s reaction.”  Maxwell cast his eyes to the sky, which he had not really expected to see again, and was underwhelmed as the glow of the freakish hell he was still in blotted out the night sky.  “At least we’re not underground anymore.”

“Yeah, but this isn't where you need to be. Break this and all you’ll be is back out there.  Wait… is that?”  Allison saw a man running and gunning like the action star he always claimed to be when they hung out at motels and in the office.  “Todd…”

Maxwell focused in on the running man with the gun who was dropping with surprising skill one after another in a legion of clowns that wouldn't stay down. More just kept springing out of booths and from rides.  “ We've got to help him.”

Allison watched as Todd approached the Crooked House but she didn't even know if the front door was still open.  “He’s going to die.”

Maxwell began smashing at the glass with his gun butt. Cracks and fractures appeared.  “Fuck!  Damn it!”  Maxwell cursed and smashed, and then stood helpless as Todd was tackled down in front of them. The clowns descended, and he disappeared from sight.

Tears poured down Allison’s face as she whispered, “I’m sorry.”  She then saw one clown that gave her a deep shiver. It was herself.

Hole in a Field, Chap 33

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 33:

Todd ran through the empty streets of a town which no longer looked like any town.  The store fronts were distending and growing into new shapes. Lights and new signs popped and crunched out from a once innocuous and unassuming town.

“It’s turning into a fucking carnival!”  Todd halted in the park, whose benches had been replaced with signs reading 'You must be this tall to ride' and as he looked on with terrified awe, a massive Ferris Wheel erupted up from the earth, lighting up the sky with a cascade of neon lights flashing in the dull, hypnotic pattern that all rides of their like attempted, but fell short, this was like a dream.

Miniature roller coasters curled up, tearing trenches. A gazebo morphed into a merry-go-round, and as the night turned darker all the stars faded from the sky and the moon vanished as if the whole of creation consisted of this island of scintillating color and light, hollow but for a distant laughter that filled Todd’s ears as it grew near.

He saw them then, moving in the contrasted dark shadows from the booths and the rides. From all around he heard them, the constant giggling, chittering, sometimes uproarious laughter, but one stood out. He turned back to where he had run from and there stood the hideous grin of the clown with Allison’s face.

“So,” said Todd, “Carnival’s come to town.”

Hole in a Field, Chap 32

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 32:

“The Crooked House has no linear progression,” Allison began.  “You’re like an ant walking around on the surface of a tire swing. You could move around the outside, move forward, back, left and right, but always remain on the tire itself.  What you need to find is the rope that suspends the whole thing, and climb up and away.”  She led Maxwell through archways and along railings, up and down staircases, and ultimately without a clear point of origin among the endless, random architectural pieces they progressed to no avail around her analogical tire.

“How do you know about this place?”  Maxwell was more than a little suspicious of his seemingly friendly company.  “How did you get here?  You said not to worry about it, but how do I know you aren’t some minimalist clown with a boring name leading me around the fun house just until you kill me?”  He stopped and held his ground until she turned to face him.

“I dreamed of this place. And I am not planning on killing you because you’re a White Hat, and so was I.”

“So you are the Allison I knew?”  Maxwell steeled his jaw and eyes

“Hi, Max.”

“And you died?”

“I told you not to worry about that right now.”  Allison turned to start leading them back.

"It's a pretty big thing to worry about," said Maxwell.  "And why do you look like you do?"

"I don't know."

"So your suddenly being a little girl doesn't strike you as odd?"  said Maxwell.

"It's weird," she said.  "But I am dead, so worrying about my own well being isn't really a priority.  You are a priority."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it, Max."

"Allison," Maxwell was noticing things about her appearance now.  "Your neck has markings."

"What?"

"Come here," Maxwell crouched down and looked at a thin line that ran across the front of her throat, like the indentation left by tight pants on his waist.  "It looks like you had something pulled across your neck.  Do you know what that is?"

"I have a feeling that I am just renting this look," she said.  "This is probably someone else who died in this hole.  Sorry if it is creepy to say, but she probably hung herself to get out."

“God, Allison,”  Maxwell saw another colleague dead in front of him.  "I’m so sorry."

"I told you, Max," she said.  "It isn't about me anymore, you're who I might be able to help, so I'm going to try and do just that."

While it was not grisly, and in fact was distant, seeing this dead little girl was making the events of the day catch up with him and Maxwell's eyes welled up as he continued to follow his guardian angel to what he hoped was a rope for climbing, and not for hanging.

Hole in a Field, Chap 31

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 31:

Todd flicked open his phone.  “Hi Jenna, I’m kind of in shit creek right now, and I think it’s about to turn into shit rapids before ending at a shit fall onto pointy, shit-covered rocks.”

“Todd, what happened?”  Said Jenna.

“I… You know, I’ll tell you later. Can you give me some advice for what is going on?”  Todd needed backup. Or more guns. Or an airlift out of this nowhere.

“Yeah, is Allison with you?”

“No.”  Todd really did not need this conversation right now.  “She’s dead.”

“What?!“

“Stop!”  Todd felt the scratches on his face and chest burning. He needed a way out, not more of this.  “I am in mortal danger right now. I need an out, I need a rescue, I need something. And anything to improve the situation would be fine.”

“Todd, I… we, can’t help you,” said Jenna sadly.

His heart dropped a little.  “Explain.”

“We can’t find you, at all," said Jenna.  "A few hours ago you dropped off of the GPS. We called the cell phone network and they can’t find your phone on the planet. We can’t even figure out how you got through, we've called a dozen times.”

“You know where I am, you sent me here.”  Then Todd thought back, he remembered the call but not the directions he was given, not even where he had come from to get here. He wasn't anywhere.  "Jenna, I can't remember how I got here.  Where am I?  Why does my compass say everywhere is north, am I at the south pole?  Where am I Jenna?  Help me."

  He was Nowhere.

“We looked for the directions we gave," said Jenna.  "Nobody around here can even remember what state you are in, where you were traveling from, or the name of the place you and Allison rented your car.  We can’t find Maxwell, Wilton, or Clair.  You’re all gone, and we don’t know where you are.”

Todd decided then that he was on his own.  “Well, if I manage to get out of here, I’ll give you a call alright?”

“Todd?  What did you say? You’re breaking up, why are you laughing?  Todd?”

The phone went dead, and Todd snapped it shut.

Hole in a Field, Chap 30

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 30:

“My name is Allison. Can you help me out here?” said Allison.

“Okay,” said Maxwell started to shake a memory loose in his head, a sticky note he had forgotten about until now, “You know, I know an Allison, she and her partner were supposed to come down here with my friends and me. Guess I forgot to give Wil that message.”

“Don’t worry about that now. I’m going to do my best to get you back on track.  First let’s-"

“Hello again, Maxwell!” the voice was cold, wet, and gargled almost beyond clarity, but the tone was filled with malice that Maxwell remembered. The Clown with a smashed face, bloody and dented from bat impact, wandered forward into the purple haze of the crooked room.  “You didn't play fair that last time.  But to answer your question from before, yes I do believe in God, but here his gaze can’t reach. The shadow of this place is too cold and dark for him to risk coming down for a visit.”

Maxwell positioned himself between the clown and Allison. He wasn't going to let down the first and only friendly face he had met here, (well, unless you count Ernie, but he had been having his own issues at the time).  Maxwell wasn't going to let the clown hurt her.  “Why don’t you go to Hell, you fucking freak?”

The clown smiled, or at least twisted the gurgling mass of the half formed skull into what might have been a smile or a snarl.  It then turned away laughing and wandered off through a doorway, his laughter echoing through the crooked room, then vanished.

“I didn't expect it to be so easy," said Maxwell.  "To think all I had to do was ask.”

“He didn't go far, just off to get some friends.”

“Yeah, well, I've got a lot of bullets for this.”  Maxwell drew his pistol from the back of his waistband.

“Okay," said Allison.  "If that makes you feel better about the whole thing, but we really need to get going.”

Hole in a Field, Chap 29

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 29:

Todd jumped back and tapped the trigger twice as soon as his sights were aligned on the clown's face.  The glass shattered, and the clowns brains blasted out the back of its skull.  It was at this point that Todd became entirely clear of how dangerous the world he lived in really was, and how he now had fewer and fewer bullets with which to deal with it all.  His body was relaxed but alert. He assumed a staggered stance prepared ready to fire again.

He couldn't remember the name of the town he was in, and realized how nothing in this place had a name he could remember. Aside from the clown he had just killed he remembered no people, the plaques on the commemorative park benches were blank because there wasn't anyone who ever lived here to commemorate.  This place was empty… except for whatever the hell was up with the clowns.  Honestly, Todd didn't know what the hell the clown thing was about, but he knew that this town wasn't a normal town, and that whatever it was he was standing in, he needed to get out.

He fished through his pockets and found the Kit Manual.  He flipped though the index finding sadly that there was no cross section on clowns and possession.  He also couldn't think of how to look up towns without names, he searched selective amnesia and found nothing related to what was going on.  He flipped through each little bit of tips, and then just flipped to the first page.  The catch all page for bad situations, it had three steps.  Step One, keep yourself and your surroundings as safe as possible, and secure the area as best you can.

Upon reading step one Todd mad a dash through the doctor's office kicking open doors and sweeping them with his handgun.  After clearing the whole place drawing every shutter to the outside world, and locking every door he could find, he sat in the only windowless room.   The room with a single door with no name on it.  A desk with no photos.  Walls with no pictures or diplomas.  It just had the sort of junk that looks like a doctor would have, like a fake skeleton, and posters telling the reader about infection and condoms.

Step Two, think about what is happening as carefully as possible and compare to any experience that seems remotely similar.

Todd began flashing through all of his experiences, he had seen a possessed girl, but he was sure she had been crazy; he had been in small haunted towns, but not with clowns; he had been in a place where he didn't know where he was... but that was different, he had known where he had been before getting there, and he knew how he got there, he had only been lost in the traditional, normal sense of the word.

He looked at the compass on the face of his wrist watch, something nobody else wore anymore.  He then spun in place the chair turning.  No matter where he faced the compass said north.  "So I'm at the South Pole now."

Step Three, don't panic, learn; don't panic, think; don't panic, survive.

Then his phone started ringing.

Hole in a Field, Chap 28

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 28:

Maxwell fell into darkness, dropping his bat, which floated into the darkness.

He tumbled seemingly forever until he abruptly stopped falling and found himself standing on an Escher stairwell, amid a cavern of halls, doorways, ledges, and steps that mounted the walls, hung suspended in the air. The whole of the twisted room was lit by a vaguely purple glow, like starlight on a clear night.

“Does anyone want to come and tell me where I am, and why clowns are after me?”  Directness seemed the way to go.  “That would be incredibly helpful, because I am approaching the brink of madness, and really, I’m pretty open to any explanation as to what is going on.

“Thing from beyond the universe, psychic girl killed for no reason, aliens, Candid Camera.  I’m not screwing with you, if Candid Camera were to be the ‘it’ of the whole situation, I’d be okay with that, but really I’m not sure how else to approach this whole thing from here on out.

“Where is Clair?  Where’s Wilton?  Where’s—"

“Hello.”  A small voice intruded on Maxwell’s twisted universe.

Maxwell turned with a start and jumped back exclaiming “Holy shit!  Holy shit!  Holy shit!  Where the fuck?!  Where the fuck?! Why?! What?!”

The girl standing in front of him seemed just as startled.  “What?!”

“What?!”

“What?!”

They stared at each other, both of them confused and put off, and considering how much younger and meeker the girl looked than Maxwell, she was really having the overall more mature and balanced reaction to the chance meeting.

Maxwell took a few breaths.  His hands leveled at his sides.  He calmed himself, and straightened out.  “I’m Max.  Who are you?”

Hole in a Field, Chap 27

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 27:

Todd heard laughter fade from Allison’s body as the blood pooled around it. His chest was clawed and getting sticky with blood and he was shivering, partially just from the sudden noise, mostly from the form of his dead dear friend at his feet.  Todd looked at his phone again. A text was ready to be read. He clicked the open key and from Allison the message was: 'sorry you had to do that; keep strong; I’ll miss you; thanks<3.'

Todd sat back against the wall of the doctor’s office and all the pieces started to come together. He needed more info on the specifics, but he knew—

The laughter from outside seemed distant, but cruel in nature.  Todd crawled to the ground beneath the window and took a quick glance outside, but all he saw were the red and bright eyes of the clown inches away, staring at him from the other side of the glass.

Hole in a Field, Chap 26

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 26:

The Crooked House attraction was like nothing Maxwell had ever seen or envisioned as being part of a carnival.  A towering manor where nothing seemed to line up straight, the siding alternated between being cocked at negative and positive angles, the pillars were slightly tilted and supporting their burdens miraculously rather than through power of architectural design.  The house had a tower bent so extremely that it looked like a lightning bolt striking up from the ground toward the non-existent sky.

Maxwell had loaded the gun from the Kit and carried it in his right hand, the bat held slung over his shoulder with his left.  He walked with faux confidence, unsure as to how he was supposed to hide or move stealthily into what he guessed was the den of whatever made all of this.

As he approached the house he felt sick, and off-base.  The architecture up close gave him a headache looking at it.  When his foot fell on the first step, the nausea and unbalance were amplified as though the stair was angled a few degrees off level. It felt level to stand on, as if the rest of the world were off tilt compared to the horizon that was Maxwell’s current step.  When he took the next step, the world seemed to reorient to the new angle.  Back and forth the world see-sawed for Maxwell. No matter how sideways he was he always stood as if on level ground and the world hung out, unable to be normal.

He finally stood at the front door. Looking back over his shoulder, the underworld carnival was sideways and far away, somehow whispering to him promises of relative safety.  Maxwell looked back to the door, reaching for the knob, and as he did so the door swung open to absolute darkness and Maxwell fell into the pure shadow, pulled by the twisted gravity of the Crooked House. The door slammed shut behind him.

The Carnival seemed to grow slightly darker as the hollow manic laughter of various clowns echoed through the stands and rides.

Hole in a Field, Chap 25

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 25:

“You want to know what is going on?”  The Not-Allison was still standing there with the discolored and steadily more hideous face of Todd’s friend, speaking to him in hisses and menace that is reserved for bullies trying to lull false security from a victim before knocking them all the harder when they least suspect.

“If you could fill me in on all of that, I think that would be really helpful.”  Todd was now debating whether or not he had the mental fortitude to shoot what used to be his friend if the threat to his safety dictated him to do so. He acknowledged again that his Kit firearm was at the base of his spine, but decided that he would prefer to not have to find out, and put it out of his mind.

“Okay, here is what is going on:  I, Allison, came to this little bit of nowhere with you, my little crush, Todd.  We were supposed to meet some other people to work with, your friends Wilton and Clair, and some other guy, who are probably all dead at the bottom of this little hole, who evidently didn't get the call to wait for us.

"I then crept into the darkness trying to impress you, and now here I stand before you a changed woman.”  All the color was now gone from her skin but was returning in selective fashion. Her lips were brighter, the skin around them was turning an even brighter red, her eyelids also were turning bright red along with the rest of the areas around her eyes.  She looked menacing and cartoonish.

“Change back.”

“Sorry, can’t step into the same river twice," said Not-Allison.  "I don’t want to go back. I like it now, I like it here.  You’d like it too, Todd.  Just let me help you get there.  Come on Todd, you're the one who said for me to keep trying, you're the one who wanted this.”

"I did not want this."

Not-Allison rubbed her hands in a shaky unnatural pattern across her body and said in a mock seductive voice, "I think you want this."  She grasped and pulled off her gown and stood stark pasty white in front of Todd.  Not-Allison giggled and her body shook with the laughter.

Todd’s phone hummed with a text message. Todd grabbed it and held it up so he could glance between it and keep his eyes on Not-Allison.  The ID said it was from Allison, and it said: 'shoot that thing, its going to try and kill you.'

With that, Todd drew down. Not-Allison leapt at him, her hands like claws, and Todd squeezed the trigger.

Hole in a Field, Chap 24

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 24:

“Can you tell me what is going on?”  Maxwell knew he couldn't trust what was sitting next to him, and probably for however long he went on living he would never again trust a clown, but answers (truthful or not) might be able to send him in a direction outside the pointless circles he had been making through the park.

“Maybe,” replied Ernie the Clown with a sort of forlorn tone to his voice.  “I was eating at a diner, or at least I was sitting in a diner, and as I was going to storm out because of the bad service. I decided to go complain, so I pushed open the door to the kitchen and…” Ernie the Clown paused before laughing loudly and powerfully about the whole thing.

When Ernie the Clown had stopped his boisterous laughter, which had caused Maxwell to cradle his bat quite closely, Maxwell asked: “And?”

“Oh, yeah, well I stood there, dumbstruck. The kitchen was empty except for one girl in a waitress outfit, but it was an over the top outfit, giant bows, lots of mismatched dots and plaids.  Her face was all painted up, with a huge red smile and white face, and just as I decided that I was scared enough to try and run, she was on me, and had stabbed me straight through to the back of my skull.”  Ernie the Clown then began to laugh again, and punctuated the laugh by saying: “Hurt like hell.  Sure am glad I’ll never have to worry about anything like that again.”

Maxwell moved one hand to the handle of the knife in his pocket, the other to his handgun, which he didn't know if it had a round chambered or not, another thing he was cursing himself for.  “Well, what are you doing here?”  Nothing Maxwell had heard made him feel any more at rest, any more at peace with his surroundings, or had given him hope of an exit.

“You know, I’m not sure if it was like falling or being carried.  Maybe it was like being dragged. But when it was over I remember being here, and being told by someone to talk to you.”

“Who told you that, Ernie?  Who told you to talk to me?”

“The guy in the Crooked House told me to go to the knife throwing table afterwards - said that with my looks it would be the attraction for me.”  Ernie the Clown began laughing again, and ended with an odd smile.  “Did you happen to pass that both on your way around? I’m not sure where it is.”

Maxwell pointed to where he had been a few hours before. He had remembered the sight because it mostly had consisted of a sign, a bloody table, and a basket of blood stained knives.  “Think I saw it back that way a while ago. You’ll know it if you see it.”

“Thanks.”  And with that Ernie the Clown got up, and began a strange and disjointed walk/skip/frolic toward his own little corner of this place, leaving Maxwell sitting on the bench, holding his bat, and wondering where and what the Crooked House was.