The Fallowing – The Fifth, Part I

Novel: Horror

When I woke it was noon, light full in the hotel room.  I stretched awkwardly beneath the blankets and rolled over, but the space on the bed next to me was empty and cold.  I sat up and looked around the room, at the window where Sam spent so much time.  He wasn’t there.

“Sam?” I called, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and starting to panic.  If he had left the room without me…

“Yeah?”  Sam came around the corner from the bathroom.  Soap suds were on his face and a straight razor was in his hand.

I flumped back down on the bed.  “I thought you had left.”

“For what?  Lunch?  I mean, you’ve been snoring a while but I was still going to wait for you.”

I flung a pillow at him and he ducked back into the bathroom to avoid it.

As I dressed I could hear the razor swishing occasionally in the sink.  Since when did Sam ever get out of bed before me?  I thought back to last night, to a watch dropped on the floor of the room, Sam poising his knife over it.  As he brought it down I had fallen forward onto the carpet and thrust out my hands over the watch.  He couldn’t quite stop his motion, could only turn the knife aside, nicking the outside of my left hand.

Continue reading

The Fallowing – Interlude IV, Part II

A friend of mine was the one who guilted me into calling this thing “occult adventure,” due to the tone.  But reading back over it I have issues with calling it that.  There are some very dark elements in this story that make it not entirely adventure and more horror.  I keep having this idea in my head that horror must not contain light-hearted elements, must be fully horror non-stop all the time.  But if I’ve learned anything from Manly Wade Wellman, it’s that the characters in a horror story can be horrified some of the time, and can also have fun some of the time, even while they’re horrified.  So here is some…

Novel: Horror

“You may call me Amnon,” says the man, genially enough, all trace of tooth gone from his voice.  “Might I ask your name?”

“I thought you were expecting me?” the boy says, still dazed.

“I anticipated your arrival due to your motions.  Your… energies?  But names, sadly, I cannot predict.”

Continue reading

The Fallowing – Interlude IV, Part I

Novel: Occult Adventure

In the red light district – call it a district but it’s only a street in the shadow of Wrigley Field – neon lights flash their announcements of girls, sexy girls, gorgeous girls, hot girls, cheap, fine, or the best.  Lamps blink hearts and shapely bodies and cats with tails whipping back and forth.  Music pounds at the doors and rolls out onto the sidewalk.  Slinky music, music not for dancing but for seduction.  Ladies in lingerie pose in the windows, women outside the clubs hug their furs around themselves and bat their lashes and flash coquettish smiles.  The outside ones are the prettiest, the most lovely on the block; they have to be, to pull in the customers while wrapped in coats and hats and gloves.  They’re also the most mysterious for it, their smiles the most knowing for it, their scarfs like veils in an Arabian Nights tale, hiding the loveliest of princesses.

One of these muffled beauties bites a thumbnail seductively, eyes directed towards a young man.  A boy.  Barely old enough to be here.  She locks eyes with him and, unexpectedly, his face turns sour.  He frowns, his eyes go dark, he sneers a little.  The beauty understands immediately: a woman-hater.  A revenge-seeker.  Here to take out his frustration on a female – any female.  A possible altercation.  A probable domestic.  She unfocuses from him and pretends she was looking past him at a gruff giant of a man just beyond.

The boy forgets her just as quickly as he noticed her.  He’s here on business.  He has an address.  He has a grudge, and he’s ready to collect what’s due.

Continue reading

The Speed of Sound

Short Story: Sci-fi Drama

Jay had never been much of a talker. He had won Carrie’s heart with gentle touches on the hand and shoulder, neck and waist. He had made her dizzy with rare utterances of her beauty and his love, precious because they were so rare. When they married three years ago his vow had been short and sweet – Carrie, you were perfect when I first saw you, and you’re perfect still. I’ll love you forever, because you’ll be perfect forever.

She thought of those words as she heard him bumping around upstairs, just woken up, sleepy and stumbly. She smiled to herself and hummed along to the radio, flipping pancakes and bacon.

When he came into the kitchen he was freshly shaved and smelled of soap. He kissed her on the cheek and she said “How’s pancakes sound?”

“Sounds good to me,” he replied, and shook out the newspaper.

Continue reading