#Writing #Fiction #IndieAuthor The first day of school. It was always the best and the worst at the same time. Everyone showed up in their best clothes,… Read more “Write One Page Per Day – 81/365 – March 22, 2018”
#AmWriting #ShortStory #IndieAuthor The building sat dark and decrepit as Haley, Josh, Mark, and Matt walked up the path. Their flashlights barely cut through the fog that… Read more “The Dare”
Chris, comfortably lying in bed, surrounded by pillows, with the special comforter pulled up to his chin, stared at the ceiling. He listened to the light ticking sound coming at regular intervals from the water heater two rooms away, even through the hum of the overly expensive noise machine he had been instructed to buy by his doctor. He wasn’t sure exactly how long it had been since the last time he had slept, but he knew that his mind was wearing thin.
Weeks of research, doctors appointments, and pseudoscience solutions had yielded no results for him. He had even begun taking prescriptions to help him sleep, but they had little to no effect on him, other than occasionally granting him the reprieve from reality that only hallucinations could bring.
Tonight, however, there were no prescriptions, or anything else. It was only Chris, lying in bed as comfortable as he could be, starting at the ceiling. His mind wandered occasionally, but his body refused to allow exhaustion to gain a foothold. Hours passed and he hadn’t moved. He assumed that if he did it would reset some imaginary clock that required some arbitrary amount of time before he could sleep.
The clock tower across town chimed three times, informing him that his practically useless alarm would go off in three hours. Suddenly a thought went through his mind. Water. He hadn’t had a glass of water before lying down.
“Son of a b***h.” He muttered as he moved the covers of him.
He swung his feet over the side of the bed and slipped them into the slippers waiting for him. He walked out of the room, down the hall, and flipped on the bathroom light as he shut the door behind him. He turned to the sink, filling his glass, only half paying attention before he raised the glass to his lips.
In the mirror, where he had expected to see his old, tired reflection holding the glass, was only black. It was beyond black. It seemed as though it were quite literally nothing sitting in the cracked silver frame. He moved his free hand up to touch the nothing before him, but his body wouldn’t move.
Panic surged through him. He had hallucinations frequently in recent history, but none like this. Then he heard the whispers. They came through the void before him. There were so many voices that he couldn’t follow what any of them were saying. The volume of the whispers would rise and fall as though orchestrated by some great unseen conductor.
Chris stood there, unable to move, gripped by fear as the whispers increased in volume and he began picking words from the babble.
“Why?” One said, “Why me?”
“Please let me go, I have kids.” A feminine one said as though pleading with him.
“Run!” Another said, barely louder than the rest. “You have to run!”
The voices continued to rise in volume until Chris was sure that his ears were bleeding. Everything in the bathroom was shaking from the noise. Yet, he remained perfectly paralyzed in his pajamas staying into the void. He tried to form words but not even his mouth would obey his mind.
The blackness seemed to begin changing in Chris’ vision. He wasn’t sure if it was because he couldn’t blink, but it seemed to be moving. Drawing closer to him as the surface stretched toward his face. When it touched his skin he found his voice, but it wasn’t words he had found, it was the scream of agony escaping him from the burning cold washing over him.
The fog flowed across the lake with the wind. The sound of wind chimes could be heard from every bank as the dingy rowed slowly to the center of the body of water. Sam had a plan but he needed to make sure that everything was perfect. If it wasn’t, everything would fall apart and the soul of Eliza, his wife, would be gone forever.
He reached the center of the lake just as the church tower on the western back began ringing loudly that midnight had arrived. Sam reached into his backpack for the hide pouch of magical herbs and quickly the it overboard. All he could do now was wait for the boat man to arrive.
Nearly ten agonizingly long minutes passed before he finally saw the silent form of the boat gliding across the water. Sam swallowed hard but it became stuck in his throat as the visage of the skeleton on the keel became apparent in the dim light shed by his lantern.
“Why have you called me here mortal?” The boat man asked. Sam felt bile rise up in his throat when he saw that there was no flesh on his face.
Continued from Dark Fog
I walked slowly past the gates of the prison, enjoying the sounds of screams emanating from inside. What once barred entry to the interior of the prison had been disabled by the darkness on its mission to free the others. All that remained of both the gate and the guards that once manned the post was ash. Even their weapons had been subject to it.
I reached out with my mind to perceive through the darkness’ sentience. It was swirling from cell to cell, liking everyone it came across as it searched the cell block for the first of my compatriots, Jensen. He was a true ally and a formidable foe to anyone that fared to stand against him. As though the darkness could read my thoughts it suddenly jolted down the cell block and into a cell where I saw Jensen sitting calmly with his legs crossed in stark contrast to the majority of the prison, which was still screaming as other tendrils stretched from cell to cell.
Jensen, in his prison issued clothes, smiled at the darkness that floated before him. He moved slowly but confidently as he placed his feet on the floor. He stood, raising to his intimidating six-foot-five-inch tall height, before stretching. The tattoos on his skin crawled in response as if they too understood what was happening. He turned, grabbed a small makeshift bag from under the bed, then turned back to the darkness that watched him, glaring at it from under his thick eyebrows.
“It’s about time, Emordius.” He said throwing the bag over his shoulder. The light from the ceiling made the scars that covered most of his face and arms seem more severe than normal. The darkness even pulled back slightly when he spoke as if it understood how dangerous the man before it was. “I’ll see you in a few minutes. The others are still in solitary.”
With a confident smile plastered to his face, he walked straight into the dark fog before him and made his way toward me. One down, three remaining allies to collect from this prison. I pulled my mind back to my body as Jensen came through the missing front door walking at a leisurely pace. If it were anyone else I would’ve thought they were over confident, but he knew my attachment and respect for him.
“Hello, old friend.” He said coming to a stop just beside me. “The darkness finally obeys you.”
It was a statement, not a question. I was still smiling, and it spread wider in response. There was nothing to say at the moment. It would only be a few more minutes before the others were free and I could address them all when they came.
I sat, shackled in the back of a police wagon, listening to the rain fall on the steel exterior. The cops standing guard outside were chattering along… Read more “Dark Fog”
For hundreds of years people have been born with marks on their forearms bearing resemblance to various creatures of the world. Marks that grant the bearer special abilities based on the creature it looks like. The White Cloaks have controlled much of the small towns and villages in the kingdom by dictating which marks are safe, and which are dangerous. All while searching for the rarest, and most dangerous of them all.
On the night Miles was born, his parents were terrified when they saw he bore the mark of the leviathan. Years later, they came for him, destroying his quiet life in one night. While he is searching for answers, he uncovers a world-shattering secret that could undo all the progress the White Cloaks have made.
Pay what you want for my novella on Smashwords
Picture creator: Unknown Children see the world differently than adults. We can all accept that. They let their imaginations take control, occasionally being in space, or in… Read more “Write One Page Per Day – 7/365 – January 7, 2018”
Everything we writers put on paper begins with a single, practically meaningless, out-of-context sentence. I know, lots of writers are probably thinking “that’s total bulls**t,” but hear… Read more “Just one sentence…”
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