Future Graveyard

a Chuck Wendig flash fiction challenge (240 w) here

I plucked out a thin thread from the empty space in front of me.

With a gentle pull, I rotated my index around it. Slowly. With elliptical movements, carefully not to rip it. Always the same, always one thread at the time. I tugged at the fabric of destiny, twirled it between my thumb and index, till it became solid. Not one resisted my hands. I made a ball, in the size of my fist.

It looked like hair, made of pure moonlight. I remembered its glow, when I was still able to see, but that was long ago.

Somewhere around me, on the limestone tiles of the room, there must be over ten thousand orbs of glowing silver.

Decades passed, and what I did, I did every day. Since I got blind, I only imagined, when one day began and when it ended. The only constant occurrences were the food. They always send a child with the food, once a day – probably – always a different child.

But that wasn’t my concern.

My duty was to eliminate the uncertain futures, by pulling the alternative destiny patterns out of the tissue of time. I obliterated parallel events out of the myriads of possibilities. The run in the fabric collapsed the unwanted realities on its own. I only hooked the critical event and tugged, till I felt the cold sigh of perishing on my face.

Muddy Stars

a Chuck Wendig flash fiction challenge (208 words) here

I sat at my tiny table, a cup of hot green tea in one hand. The table was perched at the northern corner, on my two square meter balcony. Seventeenth story. The wind was icy, but I had great view. A view other people payed for: to my right, the blueish white blotch of  Mount Fuji, to my left, the soft silvern gleaming of the ocean.

Around my apartment building the beads of streetlights and headlights of cars stretched as pulsating arteries of Tokyo. Although it was only about four o’clock pm, it was dark already. The stars and the full moon hid behind thick grey clouds. This January evening  brought the scent of snow.

As the first flakes drifted by, I caught a glimpse of movement. Finally! It was the ghost light of a fox, heading this way. What trouble will you cause, my friend?

As His Majesties first Magician at Court, I had to keep the spiritual peace in the city. A mischievous little fox meant nothing good. They kept sticking their noses into the emperor’s business.

I thought of my tea. Really, it was a sin to let it cool out, but I had work to do.

 

River Mask

a Chuck Wendig prompt (209 w)- here

I pulled the car into a parking lot, and killed the motor. My head was spinning, since I left the highway.

I breathed.

My forehead touched the steering wheel. It’s cool soothed my headache. The long wooden mask, I bought hours ago, sat beside me in the passenger seat. It’s dry hair was made of some kind of weed, smelt of rain and mud.

“Breathe.” The words fell into my lap. I obeyed, slowly forcing the air in and out of my lungs, counting. One. Inhale. Two. Hold air in. One. Exhale. Two. Keep air out. One. Inhale.

I sat up and threw the driver’s door open. My head and stomach felt hot, my hands and feet were icy. I tried to keep the blazing sun out of my eyes, by squeezing them shut. It didn’t help.

The murmur of the river seemed too distant, although I parked directly at the shore.  Steps approached, sloshed through mud.  Something wet touched my cheek. My eyes flew open. A man had his cold hand on my forehead. The bright made it impossible to see his face. I felt better, though.

“Finally. Took you long enough to get here.” I knew that voice. He sounded like me.

 

The BookFeet

a chuck wendig prompt (204 words) - here

I had my notebook and a pencil safely tucked away in my parka. A glance at my wrist showed it was 9:30 pm. Right on time, this time at least… I relied on the weather report, which said no snow, no rain.

Between Houston Street, Canal Street and South Ferry Station was something I dubbed the Triangle of Uncanny. I’ve been down here for nearly a weird week, every night.  I’ve been exploring the streets, the parks towards the Hudson, taking notes. Today was Teardrop Park on schedule.

The triangle… That thing kept spitting out huge dark figures, gestalten, weird shops, I never was able to located during the day. The empty streets were as inviting as ever. That never failed to get the writing juice flowing. I heard the Hudson ahead, licking at the piers and walls of River Terrace.

A young girl, not older than twelve stood at the entrance of the park, waiting for me. Her straight dark  was hair tied back, her bright sand colored eyes beamed at me. “Welcome to the moonlight market, pilgrim. Password. Please.” She smiled a broad, nearly friendly smile.

“Uh…” I said, and remembered what that hobo screamed at me. “Uhm…BookFeet?”

HAUNTED HUNTER

HAUNTED HUNTER
A Chuck Wendig prompt - 2036 words
genre: supernatural horror - found footage

***

With a flicker of blue light, the screen comes to life. It’s evening, the streetlights flare on. The lens zooms in on an old, abandoned looking house, with bashed in windows on ground level. There is a wooden porch with some missing slats.

Someone smokes there. A little red dot gleams lazily just above the handrail.

There they are…“ A male voice whispers to himself. “Showtime.” A bush winks into the field of view. A shadow moves in front of the ember. Suddenly the cameraman shrinks behind the bush.

Click. The frame blacks out. Continue reading “HAUNTED HUNTER”

Meet Steve Garner, the rotten golden apple

A Chuck Wendig Prompt - create a character (about 250 words)
Hint: The man answering the phone is Steve Garner.

“`Llo?” The man answering the phone sounds drained. His crumpled voice seeps through the landline.

“Hi. I am Vincent.”

“So?” Drowsiness dissipates slowly, “nobody’s perfect.”

“You’re looking for me.”

“Am I?” A soft slapping noise in the distance, “enlighten me. Please.”

“Do you remember Mr. Stanculescu and his two daughters?” Vincent waits for a response. No recognition on the other end, so he continues, “you know, the strange girl with the red mane and green eyes, one missing upper incisor? Was all over the newspapers.” Nothing. “The one legged kid, who disappeared for three days?” Silence. “The cabin at Lake Eden?”

“Oh. Lake Eden! Of course!” The voice tightens, picks up momentum and rhythm. “I remember laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe, just imagine that. A one legged kid hopping around on the shore and the woods, like an oversized toad– ”

“I brought her back.” The amused chuckle fades into stunned silence.

“You? You– ” The man stutters in disbelief, “did that?” A sharp clacking sound echoes. Porcelain hitting porcelain, or maybe teeth hitting teeth. “How fast can you be here?Where can we meet?”

“You remember him now, huh? He says it’s important…”

“Yes, absolutely.” The breathed voice cracks. It is a bit too fast, for someone still needing to negotiate a fee. The man proceeds to attack. “May I invite you? No limits, just tell me what you need. A room, a flight, cars, booze, women… Men. You name it.”

The Cassandra Concept

part 0.01 - 
part 0.02
PREPARED

“I got you a blanket, so you won’t freeze.“ Steve smiles and hands Tom a grey woolen cover.

Already half undressed, Tom furrows his brows. He stops mid motion, shoe laces around his fingers. “It looks scratchy. I’m hungry and it’s freezing.“ He looks at Steve’s face and stops again, irked. “Don’t stare like that!

“-Like what?

“Like I was a T-bone steak, ‘n you hungry… It’s awkward. Continue reading “The Cassandra Concept”

The Cassandra Concept

part 0.01 - 
part 0.02
DEEP IN THE BOWELS OF A HOSPITAL

They follow the man in scrubs down some corridors. The lighting is even worse, than in the janitors lounge. The stinging smell of sanitizer and some aggressive detergent gets stronger with every step.

Decker shows them the way.

The soft gleam oozing from the last vending machine fades away.

The longer they go, the harder it gets to breathe. It’s hot and stuffy. Continue reading “The Cassandra Concept”

The Rio Negro Game

The Rio Negro Game
Backstory to "BOCA DE MORTE"

 

Pick yourself a nightmare!“ Howard snorted and waved patronizingly at the swinging boat hulls. They bobbed up and down, in the brownish shoals of the Rio Amazonas. The plank under our feet creaked, so I showed Howard towards one of the newest looking boat. It hit me, that new was just a mere concept in Manaus. New meant anything under 15 years, more or less. My partner gave me the brow. „You know, there are easier ways to-“

Shut up ’n move!“ I had no intention on striking roots here. It smelled of dead fish and rotting vegetables, if we stayed longer we’d put on mold. The sweltering heat was getting on my nerves. Dammit!

My. Aren’t we cheerful today? Nicky? Really?! A death-stare? I’ll be another mystery death. A body with two holes in the chest, burnt all the way through. Oh, noes … Just imagine the newspapers will write horrible headers, that the Chupacabra finished a mighty good-looking tourist. What a terrible loss to humanity… Seriously. …Stop it. Continue reading “The Rio Negro Game”

boca de morte

boca de morte

It is too damn hot and too damn humid to feel like a decent human being.

Plus, this is my last beer – maybe for months. Lukewarm as piss…

How the hell do people here cool themselves?!

The food is spicy, the liquor nasty. To shower is useless, cause I’m sweating.In. The.Shower! The river looks tempting though. But… I won’t take my chances, to end up with a weird, or nasty disease, or both.

Continue reading “boca de morte”