Abandoned?

It was sad for Gerald Cooper to see the town in which he had grown up to be hit so hard by the bad economy. He saw families that he knew most of his life lose their jobs and their homes, and forced to move in order to find any work. The numbers at the First Christian Church went downhill fairly quickly, and before long it was forced to close its doors. He even outlasted the minister, who had stayed long after they could no longer afford to pay him, but to support his own family had to take a job at another congregation.

Gerald had gone to the church his entire life. It was where his parents had gone when they were alive, where he was baptized and married, and where his kids had gone before they went away to college and had families of their own. Every nook and corner of the building was familiar to him, from the humble piano near the front of the sanctuary, to the fake wood paneling on the walls. He now walked through the classrooms where lessons were taught on flannel boards and the kitchen where many potlucks had been held and friends and strangers alike were fed.

He stood in the small library in silent melancholy at the sparse, yet important, books filling the shelves around him. The knowledge in this room matched that of any other mega-church in the region, yet few even knew of its existence. He ran his fingers across the spines of the familiar volumes, occasionally lifting one to examine the cover. There was a glass case against one wall containing several ancient artifacts from past missionary and archaeological journeys from before even his time, each with a card describing its Biblical importance and the person who had found it. Tears began to well in his eyes, knowing the people who would miss out on what he had learned in this church. He leaned against the case, something he always told the children not to do, but under his weight it shifted unexpectedly.

His vision slightly blurred, he started to move it back into its place, but upon closer examination at the floor beneath it he noticed what appeared to be a handle set into the ground. He shuffled the case completely out of the way and revealed a small trap door of which he had never known was there. Scratching his head, he bent down and pulled on the handle, opening the unused door with surprising ease to a set of stone steps leading down deeper than one would expect in such a building.

There was no light down there, so Gerald had to go out to his truck for a flashlight. He returned and descended into a musty darkness that closed in around him. He swept the light across shelves of trinkets and unlabeled boxes. There were bicycle parts and clothes from the Civil War folded neatly and masked with a coat of grey dust. He found letters and heirlooms of long-dead members, including some belonging to the same man mentioned in the glass case on the floor above him.

His discovery brought him momentary joy because he knew, if anything, some of these things could be auctioned off, or he could even turn the church into a museum of local artifacts, bringing a tiny semblance of tourism to his dying town. The thought was swept away, however, and replaced by a sense of dread by what was in the farthest corner of storage.

In the corner, blocked away by shelves and barrels, was a sort of shrine surrounded by candles and incense burners. At its center was an ornate book stand with an antiquated tome resting on it. He stepped in front of the stand and tried to read it, but it was in some archaic language that he could not understand. He lifted the cover to see if the rest of it was more of the same, but doing so, he felt the air around him move, and the flashlight in his hand struggled to push away the darkness, dimming so noticeably that he shut the book again. Something was not right. He looked around for clues as to where this shrine had come from, but the only thing he could find was that it had been used more recently than he wished to admit. The wax candles did not have dust on them.

A shadow shifted in the corner of his eye. He whipped the flashlight across the room, then hesitated, listening. Gerald could not hear anything but his own breathing, yet he felt the presence of someone else, or something else, down here with him. Somehow, he knew it had something to do with the book, so he returned his focus on it. He again lifted the cover, this time flipping through the pages for something he might be able to understand, when it opened to a scrap of paper written in English. It began:

As translated from the Liber Kanon: The Book of Summoning.

The paper went on to describe horrific things which brought about even more terrible results of other realms of which Gerald assumed were demonic. Most of all he wondered what something like this was doing in his church, when a voice spoke to him.

"You are probably wondering how this got here, aren't you? This is a place of healing and protection. However, I fear there is not much protecting us now."

Photo by Sarah Parker

A Monster In My Closet

There is a monster living in my closet.

At night I can hear it scratching and rustling and thumping as I attempt to fall asleep. I can occasionally hear it growl or grunt as it attempts in vain to turn the doorknob to escape. I imagine the difficulty it has with the doorknob by the frustrated sounds I hear, and I imagine large, sharp claws thankfully impairing its dexterity. The thought of it escaping causes me to worry.

You may think that I am your every day eight-year-old boy manufacturing a monster out of shadows and faint sounds, but I assure you I am a grown man in his thirties, living alone in a recently vacated musty old house. The real estate market has been somewhat volatile as of late, and this was the only place that I could afford. I began hearing the sounds the first night I slept here, and the noises grew increasingly more violent as the nights progressed. I swear I am not just hearing things; I have proof.

I wonder at where the thing goes during the day, for I have found myself regularly probing through the closet when the sun is up to no avail in finding any deadly monsters. The scratch marks toward the back of the closet were enough evidence to know that I was not going insane, at least not from hearing sounds of make-believe monsters. If I was going to uncover the reality of this thing, it would take much more ingenuity on my part.

That first night in my house, I lay there staring at the ceiling as the wind rattled the flimsy glass in the windows. Moonlight fell in through those windows sending shadows cascading across my bed and down the wall in tendrils of fluid movement. The erratic rhythm of the wind, the shadows, and the windows began to lull me to sleep. I neared unconsciousness, but my breathing caught in my lungs when the shadows that I thought were those of the giant oak spread out in the dark moved apart from the sounds that the wind provided. My eyes snapped open.

"Is someone there?!" I shouted over the howling wind.

Nothing responded but the rattling windows.

I pulled myself out of bed and searched through the house, turning on the light of each room as I entered. I found nothing or no one, and the silly thought of something in the empty, lonely house made me laugh to myself. "Stupid," I said to nobody in particular, except for maybe myself.

I returned to my room and turned on the light, as with the other rooms, and the shadows retreated as they were illuminated. They all retreated, although those nearest the closet seemed to disappear somewhat slower than the others in a lurching speed I could barely discern from the corner of my eye. I stepped to the closet door, and then wrenched it open.

There was nothing there but clothes.

I laid in bed for what seemed to me hours. Finally deciding that I was going to get no sleep in my room that night, I went into the living room and bundled myself up on the sofa with several blankets, leaving the light on in my bedroom.

The next day, I woke early to the crunch of a branch of the ancient oak outside snapping and falling to the ground. I jerked my head from the throw pillow and wiped a bit of drool from my lip. Finding my slippers, I made my way outside, still wearing a blanket I had pilfered from my bed the night before. In the bitter cold I stood there staring at a massive limb filling the yard, thankful that it had not fallen on the old house. I looked over the roof and side of the house, checking for damage. There was none, however when I glanced over my bedroom window, I saw a shape quickly recoil from view.

I reentered the house somewhat startled. I went to the kitchen for a glass of water with my heart still attempting to pound its way through my chest. On the calendar hanging on the wall there, I was reminded that this was All Hallows Eve. Too old to participate in trick-or-treating, with no children to dress up for free candy, I was resigned to remain at home awaiting the throng of witches and vampires to come begging for sweets, although the longer that I thought about it, the remote location of my house was not likely to bring very many, if any at all.

I left my house to obtain at least a small amount of candy to pass out to children, if any happened to stray this far from town. Along the way I drove past a few homes decorated with pumpkins and images of ghosts, which grew more frequent as I neared the grocery store. The store was overwhelming with orange and black decorations, all directing customers to the candy aisle. I waded through a crowd of last minute shoppers and selected two large bags of individually wrapped chocolates. I opened one of them in the car and shoved one of the treats in my mouth, letting it melt and savoring it for as long as it survived.

My house was devoid of all festive decorations, save the lone pumpkin on my front porch. I had meant to carve it weeks ago. I even had visions of my own eerie artistry coming to life as I scooped out the innards and devouring me. There it sat, mocking my lack of determination as I pulled into the long driveway.

The house was just as I left it, quiet and empty. The thought of a tomb entered my mind, but tombs were probably built much sturdier than the house. I left the candy on the kitchen counter, and then climbed the stairs to examine the damage of the tree limb from a higher perspective. I cautiously entered my bedroom, first peering into the still closet, and then the window in which I had seen something move. There was nothing in either of them. I shook my head at the idea, yet again berating myself for thinking such juvenile thoughts about monsters placing residence in my bedroom.

I spent most of the day outside doing my best to cut the tree limb into smaller, more manageable pieces. I did not own a chainsaw, so the task was more laborious using a handsaw and a set of pruning shears. By mid-afternoon I was sweating and breathing heavily, realizing how hungry I was hours after I should have had lunch. I staggered into the house and devoured a hastily prepared sandwich, plopped onto the couch, and then washed my lunch down with a cold glass of milk. I felt I should get up and take a shower before people might possibly come begging on the doorstep, but before I realized it I awoke and it was already getting dark.

"What the…" I muttered to myself as I blinked into the dimness of my unlighted house. I must have worn myself out. I had fallen asleep! I stood, wavering from dizziness, and reached to turn on the lamp next to the couch. It popped with a flash, but immediately went dark again. "Dang it," I said.

I staggered to the hallway and flipped the light switch on the wall. The brightness of the lights on the ceiling made me squint, my eyes still struggling to open. I stumbled down the hallway to the bathroom and washed my hands and face that were still salty from sweating outside. While I rubbed water in my eyes, I heard a thump come from somewhere nearby. I turned off the water, listening. I stood there silent for a while, and heard nothing. I stepped toward the door, however, and heard a second thump coming from upstairs. My dripping hands began to tremble, but my mind raced for possible reasons for noises from upstairs. Perhaps there are rats infesting the house, I thought to myself. Surprisingly, the thought made me feel better, for the alternative might be grounds for admitting myself to the state hospital.

Despite the things running through my head about what might be transpiring on the second floor, I dried my hands and went to the front door to turn on the porch light for trick-or-treaters. I poked my head out the door with anticipation of seeing dressed-up children, but all I found was darkness and the sounds of crickets.

I went back inside, this time turning on the television. I settled on an old Charlie Brown special and sat there enjoying the ruminations of cartoon kids on subjects of faith and Halloween when more sounds came from upstairs. This time I was more annoyed than afraid. I ran to dig through piles of boxes and found my autographed Mark McGwire baseball bat. I scaled the stairs two at a time and swung the door open with a thud. I fumbled with the lights, but caught sight of something moving in the dark near the corner before I switched them on. There was nothing there now, but the tendrils of shadow were now fresh in my mind, snaking their way through the darkness to their home in the closet.

This is my chance, I thought to myself. I strode to the door and flung it open. Once more, there was nothing there. Then a thought came into my mind. Perhaps it is the light.

I stepped backwards to the light switch with the closet still open. With my eyes trained on the open door, I pushed down on the switch. At first, I saw nothing move, and heard nothing. As my eyes adjusted, I could better see the outline of the doorway, along with the shapes of my clothes and several boxes of unpacked junk. I stood there silent for several minutes, holding my breath, yet still there was nothing. I let out a breath.

"Are you the Great Pumpkin?" I asked with a smirk. I immediately let down my guard and began to chuckle to myself. I turned to leave the room when I heard a shuffle come from behind me. I turned to see what made the sound, but I felt as if my body were submerged in molasses. My arms were unable to lift the bat, my body frozen despite my instinct to run or swing wildly. I stood there motionless for several minutes, now hoping to see something, anything to reassure me of my own sanity.

Something moved from within the darkened doorway. A long, slender shadow reached out and rested on the floor a foot from the closet, and then was still. Behind this shadow a much larger bulk was pulled into view. The room was black, but the shadow before me was devoid of all light, and despite its relatively small size I felt dread creep down my spine. Whatever this was, it was definitely not something I have ever seen or heard of before, and from wherever it came I immediately knew to be a wretched place.

I could not tell if this thing could see me, but when I accidentally bumped the bat against the door frame I could visibly see its shape become tense and wary. It did not make any threatening sounds or movements. It merely sat there in the unlit room studying me and waiting, as I was doing to it. The tension was removed when the doorbell rang.

We both jumped at the unexpected sound. I was expecting some funereal tune by the looks of the house, but it rang in a normal ding-dong fashion. I leaned the bat against the door frame and left the shadowy thing to its own thoughts in my room. Downstairs, I poked my head from behind the curtain to see several small creatures on my doorstep. I relaxed and picked up the bowl of chocolate, opening the door to a fairy or princess, or perhaps a fairy princess, protected by Superman and a somewhat tentative Frankenstein's monster, followed by an impatient-looking adult pleading for relief.

"Trick-or-Treat!" they shouted in unison.

"Wow, you're the first ones out here tonight," I feigned enthusiasm. I placed multiple objects into each of their pumpkin-shaped baskets. "Be safe tonight." I finished.

"What do you say?" said the man I assumed to be their father.

"Thank you," the kids said.

I had to inquire. "So what are you doing way out here?"

The man spied his kids, who were engrossed in the act of inspecting my generosity, "We had heard someone moved in here, and after last Halloween, we wanted to see if anything would happen this year. Apparently everything seems to be fine."

"What happened last year?" I asked.

He continued. "Last year on Halloween, the old woman that lived here mysteriously disappeared. Every year, kids would flock to her house to get candy because she would decorate it with fervor and greet them all as if they were her own grandchildren. People went out of their way to bring their families to see her decorations, and each year they would become more and more elaborate. Halloween was like her Christmas. She lived for it, and last year on this day, she vanished."

"Did anyone find out where she went?"

The man again looked at his kids to see if they were listening. When he found them still looking through their candy he continued. "They assumed she was killed, for the only trace of her they found was in the upstairs bedroom. They said that there they found a small trace of blood near the back of the closet."

"That would have been nice to know when I bought the house," I said as jokingly as possible and the man laughed.

"Yeah, talk about creepy, especially tonight," he said. "Don't let that keep you up all night! Ha ha! Just kidding. Well… we'd better get going. Thanks again!"

The family walked to the street and piled into a waiting minivan. I stood there on the porch staring at the illuminated front lawn for several minutes. Could whatever is in my closet have killed the old woman?

I went back inside, shutting out the wind and the night and set down the bowl of candy. From where I stood in the doorway, I could hear the thing scrabbling and scratching upstairs. I sighed. I had to do something. I either had to leave the house, which may be exactly what this shadowy creature wants, or I would have to confront it. Since I had no intention of leaving a place I had just moved into, and because my curiosity was now greater than my fear, I steeled my will against my quickening pulse.

Again, I climbed the stairs and turned to go to my bedroom. I thought twice against turning on the light, assuming that this monster would be deterred by it. Instead, I reached for the baseball bat that I had leaned against the door, only to find that it was now gone. I quickly scanned the dark with unadjusted eyes, searching for moving shapes and shadows, but nothing in the room moved. My last option was the closet, which now was closed in spite of the way I had left it. Without thinking, I stepped to the door. I grabbed the knob as silently as possible, but briskly swung it open. Nothing stirred. I groped my way to the floor, feeling my way through outlines and shadows, and before I could make my way to the back of the closet I came across the wooden bat.

Something grumbled from behind a pile of boxes in front of me.

I grasped the bat and pulled it close, standing and backing out of the room. In the hallway light I examined the bat, finding it had been scarred or even chewed on, covered all over with something like teeth marks down its length. Obviously this caused me great concern, for it was in mint condition before, and Mark McGwire's signature was now illegible. This was the last straw.

I stormed back into the room not wielding the bat, but furiously shaking it at the closet. "Look at this!" I shouted. "Look at what you did!"

The monster crept from the closet and sat there on the darkened floor before me. Its shapeless head tilted to one side and I saw its body quiver, which in turn made my skin crawl.

"Sorry", the thing said with a gravelly voice which could have been imitated by rubbing together a pair of cinder blocks.

It caught me off guard, but regaining my composure I shared more of my disdain. "What do you want anyway? You've been keeping me up all night with your scratching and shuffling in there. And did you have anything to do with that tree branch?"

The monster swayed in place, making me slightly disoriented, and then responded again. "Scary."

"Wait, you did all those things because they're scary? Are you trying to scare me? Why?" I asked.

"Scary," it croaked again.

"That doesn't help. Are you trying to get me to leave?"

"No. Scary."

"Great," I said, "so you're scary. I've got to ask you then. Do you know anything about the woman that used to live here?"

It shifted its weight, if it had any, and responded. "Me."

I assumed the most logical thing coming from a supposed monster. "You killed her." I stood my ground, gripping the gnarled bat defensively.

"No. Me," it repeated.

I hesitated, not quite understanding. "What do you mean "you"? What did you do to her?" And then I realized the truth. This thing crouched on my dark bedroom floor actually was the old woman that used to live in this house before me, or at least used to be. Something horrific happened last year on this night which took the life of that woman and transformed her into a creature of shadow and fear.

"You used to be the old woman that lived here." I said.

The monster bounced and let out a horrifying squeal of glee in affirmation.

"But how? Why?" I asked.

"Scary," it repeated.

"You, the woman, did this on purpose to be scary?"

The shadowy monster bounced and squealed again.

"There's something I don't understand. I was told that they found blood near the back of the closet."

The thing shrank back and made a sound of distress, or maybe even sorrow. It could not find the words to explain itself completely, and it disappeared back into the closet. I thought that perhaps it did not like where the conversation was going, but it returned carrying something small and rectangular. It held it out to me, but I was not sure if taking it was wise, especially coming from a creature of unknown origins. After a short time, it laid the object on the floor by my feet and backed away in silence.

I stepped forward in the dark room and picked up the object, immediately knowing that what I held was a book. I left the room and the monster in my bedroom and stepped out into the light in the hall. On the cover of the book there were two words in something I did not know, like Greek or Latin, but not quite either one. It read: LIBER KANON. I flipped through the pages, and the words were just as foreign to me as those on the cover. When I reached the end, a scrap of paper fell from the book. I picked it up and read in plain English describing some sort of incantation from another world, speaking of dark places that I did not wish to even think about. What I gained from it was that it was some sort of incantation summoning a creature from another realm to act as a personal servant. Either the incantation had not been done properly, or the ultimate ramifications of the spell were far greater than it described. I thought of what an improper translation might have done, but the thought that this might be a proper translation left me even more chilled.

Shoving the paper safely back into the book, I returned to my bedroom and encountered the monster.

"I know what you did. You liked Halloween so much that you wanted to make your house as creepy and scary as possible. The only problem is you ended up giving your life for it, and you became this monster."

The creature quivered as it did before, chilling my bones.

"I don't know what to tell you, other than I am not leaving this house. You can stay here as long as you leave me alone, especially when I am trying to sleep."

The monster sat there motionless for a couple of minutes, and then spoke one last time. It said, "Home."

Throughout the year, I catch glimpses of shadowy inconsistencies in the dark and feint growls and scratches from upstairs. Occasionally, strange things happen that cannot be explained that I can attribute to that creature in my closet. It is on Halloween each year that I can expect the most activity out of my monster. It finds a curious sense of joy in fostering fear in anyone who might venture far enough from the bustling residential streets to the larger rural homes in search of higher quantities of candy. It is for this reason that the woman who lived here called upon this creature to begin with, for her love for the holiday.

There is a monster living in my closet. Not all monsters are dangerous, but from what I have seen, it does not take but an obsession to become one.

The Identity Thief

I swiped my card to access the server room and it gave me a red light. Expecting it to turn green, I tried it again. Still red. I thought that maybe my card was dirty, so I wiped it on my pants and swiped it a third time. I got a red light again, only this time it told me on its screen that my access has been denied because of too many tries within a certain period of time. I shook my head and strode down the hall, taking the elevator back up to the fourth floor.

I did my best to share my frustration with the I.T. person in charge of granting access to rooms, but since he was my boss it lacked a certain force once I was there.

"I just got locked out of access to the server room. My card didn't work and now I'm frozen," I said.

He looked puzzled and apathetic simultaneously. "Let me check your status." He punched a few keys on his computer. "It says you're already in there. That's weird."

I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, since I'm standing right here."

He looked at the video surveillance and turned the monitor towards me. "Yup there's someone in there."

I looked at the screen with more than puzzlement. There was indeed someone in the server room, and he looked just like me, only it wasn't.

"You'd better call security," I said, panicked.

"You're right," he said, picking up the phone. "Yeah, you'd better come now. Yes, he's standing right in front of me."

On the Eve of the Battle for Crystal City

   On the eve of the battle for Crystal City, Rian Bester, the last Skylord, dreamed.  He dreamed of his people the Tryces and that day long ago when their great city plunged into the Meridian Sea.  He dreamed of his long quest for Corcoras, the last Iron Dragon remaining to the world and the only hope of defeating the hordes of Penzad, which even now approached relentlessly from the south.  And he dreamed of his beloved Arika, groaning in his sleep, hoping against hope that she would return before the battle with the Heart of the Dragon, the living crystal which would give life and power once again to the formidable Corcoras.  Possible futures horrified and thrilled him by turns as only dreams on the eve of great deeds could do.

   Before dawn, Rian, the last Skylord, awoke to the sound of a gentle knock at his chamber door.  "Come," he said to the darkness.  The translucent door swung slowly open and a servant of Arika's retinue entered.  Rian's heart soared; news of his beloved!

   But he was to be disappointed.  The young woman, knowing her coming might confuse the Prince of Tryces, spoke quickly to explain:  "My lord, no word yet of the Crystal Queen.  Keen-eyed watchers stand waiting for her return and you shall be first to hear the glad tidings once she arrives.  Forgive me for disturbing you, but Katlyn and her engineers have finished their work, the shards are prepared, and all stands ready for your command.  Not a single wasp has yet been seen on the horizon, so perhaps we are in time."

   Rian threw back the coverlet from his bed and stood, rubbing his eyes.  "Thank you, Pira.  I fear that if your Queen does not return soon with the Heart, Katlyn's shards will only delay the inevitable.  But let us go and see to the preparations.  My dreams forbid me my rest anyway."  The young prince tied back his blonde hair and donned his blue jacket, buckling his Tryce saber and a Cameran pistol around his waist.  "Take me to Katlyn, let us test the mettle of her labors."

   In a few minutes, Pira had led Rian to the highest towers overlooking the orchards to the west of the Crystal City.  The sun climbed slowly into the eastern sky, now a brilliant gold driving the molten blue before it.  Mists hung like spectres among the vast rolling orchards.  All the people of Ordanna had been recalled into the city, half a million refugees awaiting the worst with the approach of the Penzad.  What if Arika did not return in time?  Fear bit into his belly, not for the first time since the headstrong Queen had ignored his pleas and gone alone into the south to seek the Heart of the Dragon.  He could not have gone with her, not without leaving the Farmene to their fate.  But his own heart ached every time he thought of her beautiful face, the thought of her death alone in the wilds of the southern savannahs threatening to overwhelm him.  He knew in his heart that whatever the outcome here today, he would not live to see another summer should she be lost.

   Rian glanced down into the face of young Pira, whose eyes were brimming with tears.  She looked down in shame after meeting his eyes.  She said softly, "My lord, you love her very much.  My heart aches to see it in your eyes."

   Rian smiled, was it so plain on his face?  "Yes I do, Pira.  I do not know what I will do if she does not return."

   She turned her eyes back to him, a boldness he had never seen in the young woman.  "Forgive me, I am too bold, my lord.  But know this:  the Queen of Crystal is not the only woman who loves you."  She pulled up his right hand, bowed her head and kissed him gently on the wrist.  Then, as if realizing what she had just done, she hastily stuttered, "Forgive me my lord!"  Eyes downcast, the young woman rushed down the watchtower's stairs.  Rian stood stunned, flattered, wide-eyed.

   A moment passed, and Katlyn and two of her elite emerged from the same stairs.  Katlyn, a marvelously skilled crysolist, still wore a stained floor-length smock, a pair of chain gloves in her left hand.  She nodded to the young prince and said, "My artisans pull our work to the walls even now.  Look!"

   Rian stepped closer to the parapet and looked down where she pointed.  Teams of men directed draft animals to the lower walls of the Crystal City.  The huge beasts wheeled massive obelisks of translucent crystal the size of belltowers to the edge of the walls.  He had never seen such an array of the mysterious weapons in one place; it had taken a master crysolist weeks to call one from the earth the last time he'd seen one.  How had Katlyn managed the dozen or more in such a short time?  For the moment at least, his hope swelled.

   Just then, the horn sounded from the watchtower north of the one in which Rian stood.  Three more bursts from the horn: enemies approached!

A Passage From Remedial Theoretical Illusionism by Calvin Harrison

When practicing the art of illusionism, one must consider the audience as much as the art itself. You need not perform the act to perfection, but only as it pertains to the perception of those viewing it. For the discerning eye, the skill of the magician must be much more advanced with a hand steadier than any amateur or novice.

The skilled magician uses whatever he can to influence the perception of the audience. Bending the audience's perception is a skill in and of itself. There are several ways in which this is done through a) misdirection, such as with assistants and distracting objects, or b) misperception, such as with mirrors and smoke. A third option of which we will not cover involves supernatural powers claimed or manipulated by certain magicians. The validity of these claims cannot be positively identified nor the ethical ramifications they involve. From here we must assume that they are neither commonplace nor factual.

~ Remedial Theoretical Illusionism by Calvin Harrison, Chapter 1

Gravestones

 
They say the cemetery is a place of peace,
With its silent wind-turned leaves and brightly deceitful flowers,
Stone temples to quietness and reverence:
They say, "he is at peace."

But there is no peace here, only hunger;
The wind churns with it, trees part, soft earth yearns.
It is dust calling to dust:
A cannibal mother calling her brood.

A wide stone stands a little above the grass.
In lasting marble is carved a fleeting moment in time,
The whole of a life loved and lost:
"1914 - 2005"

Six feet away, crouching low in the grass
Like some clenched-clawed predator stalking its prey,
Another hungry stone waits:
"1917 -          "

Holidaze

As submitted to The Writing Show Holiday Short Story Celebration

Perry Winkle has always disliked this time of year. It wasn't necessarily the holidays themselves. He loved Thanksgiving: a time where someone could engorge themselves into a veritable food coma. And he loved spending time with his family. They would get together and share old stories, listen to music, watch football, play games, and generally enjoy being together after a year of living in the grind of everyday life. It was Christmas he hated, or rather it was the frenzy of shopping associated with Christmas.

Perry waded through droves of shuffling consumers, all bleary eyed from their early start, and all growing weary from their waning attempt to attack the good deals. So many of them felt the rush of victory with each purchase, a euphoria brought on by the successful hunting experience. Tomorrow the adrenaline excitement would wear off, replaced with emptiness and regret and bloated credit lines. At least these were the things that Perry said to himself as he looked into their hurried insane eyes, pushing his way through what always seemed to be the wrong direction of holiday shopping traffic. Going to the store the day after Thanksgiving, Perry said to himself as he shook his head. I should have known better.

Perry chose what he considered to be the shortest line, with twelve shoppers shuffling in place with impatience. The pock-marked cashier in Perry's line lurched the items over the bar code scanner with indifference. Perry was quickly followed by six more customers with overloaded carts. The growing line of people inched closer together as the checkout process became backed up by the sheer quantity of customers, who grew more and more irritated with the caffeinated teenage cashiers. Perry sighed, resigned to his fate to wait. He looked down at the items in his hands: a half gallon of milk, an eight pack of batteries, and a toothbrush. What was I thinking? he thought to himself as he lurched forward.

He closed his eyes and shuddered because of the screaming child behind him in line to whose cries his parents were indifferent. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. His vision began to blur, the displays of Christmas tinsel and wreaths in soft focus. Maybe I should have had some coffee before I came here, he thought. He squeezed his eyes shut again, and then opened them. The store began to spin, causing him to stagger and grab the display of discount movies for support. The edges of his vision grew dark, quickly filling to the center until everything went black.

He snapped out of this daze to the sound of an explosion that shattered the automatic doors at the front of the store, and was even more surprised with the destruction of a large amount of the wall where those doors had stood. Many of the customers stood where they were, guarding their carts as if they had already purchased the items, while others abandoned their finds to scatter to parts of the store farther away from the damage. Several closer people knocked to the ground by the blast were now regaining their feet with confusion on their faces, mirroring those of everyone else in the store. A solitary male cashier with bad acne continued to ring up the items coming down the conveyor belt, oblivious to the situation.

Even more confusing was what happened next; half a dozen strange-looking men wandered calmly into the store through the damaged opening they had just created. At this sight, the crowd grew silent. Six inhuman things that appeared to be men, but not quite, slid and glided as a group into the store appearing to look for something in particular. They were all four feet tall with skin color only subtly the wrong color that it was slightly disturbing. They wore robes that hid their legs, or whatever it was they stood upon. The inhuman thing in the center and front appeared to be the leader of this group, for he spoke in a strange tongue to everyone but to no one in particular.

"Suwetir," he said.

Everyone was remained silent.

"Suwetir," he said again for good measure.

A muscular man in a checkout stand near to where the doors used to be spoke up. "Welcome. Peace to you." He held up a hand as a gesture of pacifism and approached the strange creatures.

"Be careful, Frank!" a terrified woman shrieked at him. He motioned to her to be quiet.

"Where are you from?" Frank said slowly and loudly, as if these strangers were deaf.

"Suwetir," the thing said again.

"Veedogam," the one to his right said. Everyone, both human and inhuman, seemed to now be confused.

"Suwetir," the first thing said.

"Veedogam," again said the second thing.

Each of the six now began to speak simultaneously, and each had something different to say.

"Kumptor."

"Veedogam."

"Skeetiburd."

"Chuus."

"Fernytoor."

"Suwetir," again said the leader.

Frank scratched his head, considering what to do. He extended his hand in friendship, assuming the custom of shaking hands might be one that is universal. The leader of the strange men lifted his hand in return. He did not shake Frank's hand. In his hand was a small object that appeared harmless, but what appeared harmless to him vaporized Frank into a pile of dust.

This caused the people who had remained in the checkout lines guarding their things to go into a complete panic, which in turn caused the group of inhuman things to scatter throughout the store, each hoisting weapons similar to their leader's and chasing the frantic customers through store aisles. The only person who remained in place was Perry, still holding his milk and batteries and toothbrush possessively, only crouching behind the counter slightly each time someone came running past.

A family of four raced to the door to see if they could escape through where the exit used to be, but they disappeared into vapor before Perry's eyes. Two of the strange men glided into view where Perry stood.

"Veedogam," one of them said to Perry. He seemed to understand for he lifted his arm and pointed to a place near the back of the store. The creatures turned and slid to where Perry had pointed without another word.

Perry looked to the door when more of the strange beings came pouring into the store. Each of them held identical weapons and each had an identical appearance as the others, except one. There was one who was slightly taller than the rest, more slender and human-looking if only in appearance. Perry's previous observation of who was their leader was apparently incorrect, for this thing began to bark orders at the other inhumans. They hurriedly scurried around following whatever commands it had just given, trampling the pile of Frank on the way.

More of the short creatures chased a rotund woman breathlessly still pushing around her cart full of merchandise. They fired repeatedly at her, but she somehow avoided their weapon fire and darted between aisles with skill. Another not quite human thing had cut her off by circling around, but instead of firing at her it reached into her cart and pulled out a red sweater that she had chosen for purchase. The woman screeched to a stop, and with panic-stricken eyes she clawed at the sweater and the non-human to pry it from its grip. They struggled like this for several minutes until the inhuman had managed to gain control of the sweater and slid away.

"Suwetir," it said gleefully.

The round woman did not hesitate. Still driving her overflowing cart, she began to pursue the inhuman, who was now wearing the red sweater. She was now chasing the creature, who appeared somewhat dismayed by her persistence and sped away.

So went the scene as Perry stood motionlessly watching. Creatures continued to chase and vaporize customers (from which Perry happened to get some small amount of satisfaction) until they found the items each of them were looking for. The round woman continued to pursue her red sweater that was on sale for half price. Some customers huddled safely behind displays, having abandoned their own carts of merchandise, unless they happened to hide behind a display containing something that one of the inhumans desired. The taller, slender leader barked orders as its minions scurried to please it. Christmas lights blinked and trees toppled with the chaos created by these creatures. The acne-covered cashier continued to ring up items, his caffeine obviously wearing off.

Frank was still a pile of dust.

The creatures seemed to have come to the conclusion of their mission, for they began to gather at the smoking opening at the front of the store. The leader stood at its place watching them and checking the merchandise they had gathered. The inhumans paused before the leader with their items as it nodded in approval to each of them, releasing each of them in turn through the gaping hole in the wall. After the last had struggled through the wall wearing a red sweater, a rotund woman dragging behind it gripping its robe, the leader turned to face the store and raised its arms.

In a higher-pitched voice than the rest, the leader said in awkward English, "Thank you all for your patience and for helping us to enjoy the holidays with these fantastic gifts. We wish you all a merry Christmas and a happy new year. Shop safely."

On these last words, the leader reached beneath its robes and withdrew a round metallic object the size of a tennis ball. It pressed multiple buttons on the object and dropped it on the tile floor before it leaped through the opening in the wall. A roar erupted from outside the building as if engines were being ignited, and more smoke billowed inside choking those nearest to the door. The roar faded into the distance, leaving a silence broken only by the sound of a faint electronic beeping.

An elderly woman picked up the metal object and eyed it confusedly. She held it carefully in her shaking hands to the rest of the store and asked, "What is it?"

Another person said, "I think it's a bomb."

The woman froze and her eyes grew wide. There was another moment of panic in the store, just as people were emerging from their hiding places. There was a tug on the woman's pants leg.

"I can fix it grandma," said a tiny voice next to her.

A dark-haired girl stretched out her hand and fearlessly took the object from the elderly woman. She fidgeted with the metallic ball for a few seconds, studying it and taking in the buttons and flashing lights. She tested one of the buttons and it beeped and caused other lights to come on and others to turn off. She scratched her head and pressed another button. More lights came on and more went off. The little girl smiled and looked at the woman. She then began pressing buttons with confidence and without pause until all of the lights on the object were off and the beeping ceased. Everyone in the store exhaled in unison.

"Happy Holidays, did you find everything o.k.?" said a monotone voice near Perry.

Perry's head snapped up and he squinted, wincing at the bright lights and Christmas music playing through the store speakers. He looked around the store. It was still filled with shoppers, only none of them were piles of vapor or dust. The front doors were still in tact and there was no hole in the wall. The rotund woman still showed off her red sweater in triumph. Customers buzzed around, searching through shelves for remaining bargains. The most surprising thing was that there was no trace in the store that strange, not quite human creatures had ever been there. Perry turned to the people behind him in line, who had an obvious look of irritation on their faces, all except for the child who was still screaming. One of them pointed to the cashier. Perry looked to where they pointed.

"Hm?" he said to the greasy cashier. The customers who had been in line before him were gone, and the line had dwindled without him noticing.

"Did you find everything o.k.?" the cashier repeated in the same monotone voice.

Perry managed to stammer, "Er...oh...yes...thanks."

The cashier scanned Perry's three items, shoved them into a plastic bag, and accepted his money. He offered a heartless "Thanks for shopping," and looked to the next customer. Perry stepped out of the family's way and allowed them to unload their bounty onto the conveyor belt while he blinked, still unsure of what had just happened.

Perry had apparently fallen asleep in line while waiting to pay for his items. He considered why he hated Christmas so much, and added this experience to the list as if it were Christmas' fault that he fell asleep in line and dreamed of alien shoppers randomly destroying everyone who got in their way. He smirked a little at this ridiculous thought.

Are we much different? he thought to himself. Maybe there are inhuman things in here today, and we are them. We all lose track so easily and forget what is important.

As Perry left the store, he saw the little dark-haired girl, who curiously held a small, round metal object in her hand. She looked at it with a perplexed look on her face, as if she had no idea what it was and as if she had never seen it before.