Edward Davies's Blog, page 4
November 1, 2015
Short Story : Knowing What’s There Isn’t Always A Good Thing
The room was dark, and I was afraid.
Two simple statements, but what they represented was far from simple.
I discovered that my house had an attic at the age of eight, never before having been allowed to venture up the folding ladder that twisted through the air and rested gently on the upper landing carpet. On that day my mother and father said I could go up there and have a look around. See if there was anything that took my fancy.
The attic room was filled with old junk, including some of my parent’s childhood toys and jigsaw puzzles, old books and magazines, as well as old clothes. Clearly my parents were hoarders or, as my mother quickly corrected me, my father was a hoarder.
I looked through the boxes of things, finding all manner of fun things to play with, including some old He-Man and Thundercats toys and lots of board games, some of which I’d never heard of before. As my parents left me to look through their old belongings, I wandered further into the dark attic space, shining my torch around in case I missed something.
In a far corner of the attic there was a large cob web, filling up one corner of the ceiling. In the middle of the glistening web sat a spider. It was pretty large, but it wasn’t moving so I wasn’t afraid. The web was shiny and made up of many different colours, something I’d never seen before. I always thought webbing was just white and sticky, but this spider had produced blue, red, and yellow webbing. I’ve no idea how.
As I looked closer at the webbing, I could make out what almost looked liked letters. I know what you’re thinking, the spider probably weaved the words “Some Pig” up there or something, but this said something else entirely.
It said ‘boa tarde’.
I wasn’t sure what that meant, so when I’d finished looking around, I wrote down the message on a piece of paper and Googled it.
At first I thought it might have been something to do with snakes – assuming it meant anything at all – because of the word boa, and as I Google searched it seemed more and more clear that the language the spider may have weaved its words in was Portuguese, with the words meaning “Good afternoon”.
So the spider was saying hello? Well, it could have been worse. The next day I wrote down some simple Portuguese phrases on some cards and brought them up to the attic with me.
As I went back to the place where the spider had been, I shone my torch at the web. There sat the spider, only this time the message was different – more elaborate.
It said ‘como estas hoje’.
I had no idea what that meant, so I held up a card that said “voce fala ingles”, which roughly translated means “Do you speak English”.
The spider began to weave again, extremely quickly, and underneath the message weaved the word ‘nao’. I assumed it meant no.
I headed back downstairs, grabbing my ipad, then returned to the attic. I’d use Google to translate as I went along.
The message that read ‘como estas hoje’ roughly translated to how are you today, so I scribbled the translation for ‘I am good today, how are you?’ on a spare card. The spider quickly weaved again, this time saying ‘i ter sido melhor’, which meant ‘I have been better’. I frowned and wrote another message, this one reading ‘qual o problema’, which meant ‘what’s the matter’.
The spider weaved again, removing the existing messages and replacing it with the following.
‘Estou assustado’.
‘I am scared’.
I swallowed nervously, typing a message into the translator on my ipad then scribbling it down on a card.
‘Do que voce tem medo’.
‘What are you scared of’.
The spider started frantically spinning, this new message being the longest it had written so far. Once ith ad finished it read:-
‘A unica coisa que esta fechando a porta do satao’.
It took me a moment to type this into the translator, and when I finished I pressed translate.
My eyes widened.
“The thing that is closing the attic door’.
I spun away from the spider, staring at the place where the attic door stood open to the ground, watching as the ladder lifted as if by itself and retracted into the attic space, the door closing firmly shut. I still had my torch, and I shone it in the direction of the closed door. I could see nothing.
“It must have been my mum or my dad,” I told myself, turning back to the spider web and shining my torch as the web. While I’d been distracted, a new message had appeared.
‘Ele estra atras de voce!’.
I swallowed nervously at the exclamation mark the spider had bothered to weave and copied the phrase into my translator.
‘It is behind you!’.
I turned quickly, shining my torch into the darkness, but still I could see nothing, but this time I could hear something. I tsounded like someone breathing heavily, and I could feel it on the side of my neck.
I spun sideways, the torch outstretched, but still I could see nothing...
...Only I could feel something.
My torch was meeting resistance as I held it out into the darkness; resistance from something that wasn’t there. I looked at the spider, which had weaved another new message. A simple message.
‘Fugir’.
I didn’t need a translator to guess what that meant. It looked like fugitive, so it probably meant run, or hide, or something like that. It might as well have meant say your prayers for all it mattered. Something invisible in the darkness swatted the torch from my hands, and it fell to the ground, switching off or breaking, I’m not sure which. The room was plunged into darkness, even the light from my ipad having gone to sleep. Not that the darkness made a difference; whatever it was the spider had tried to warn about couldn’t be seen, but I could hear it growling, and feel it drawing near. I tried to scream, but fear had stolen my voice as the creature drew closer, its paws feeling for my quivering body in the gloom.
The room was dark, and I was afraid.
Originally Posted 1/11/2015
Result - 1st Place
Two simple statements, but what they represented was far from simple.
I discovered that my house had an attic at the age of eight, never before having been allowed to venture up the folding ladder that twisted through the air and rested gently on the upper landing carpet. On that day my mother and father said I could go up there and have a look around. See if there was anything that took my fancy.
The attic room was filled with old junk, including some of my parent’s childhood toys and jigsaw puzzles, old books and magazines, as well as old clothes. Clearly my parents were hoarders or, as my mother quickly corrected me, my father was a hoarder.
I looked through the boxes of things, finding all manner of fun things to play with, including some old He-Man and Thundercats toys and lots of board games, some of which I’d never heard of before. As my parents left me to look through their old belongings, I wandered further into the dark attic space, shining my torch around in case I missed something.
In a far corner of the attic there was a large cob web, filling up one corner of the ceiling. In the middle of the glistening web sat a spider. It was pretty large, but it wasn’t moving so I wasn’t afraid. The web was shiny and made up of many different colours, something I’d never seen before. I always thought webbing was just white and sticky, but this spider had produced blue, red, and yellow webbing. I’ve no idea how.
As I looked closer at the webbing, I could make out what almost looked liked letters. I know what you’re thinking, the spider probably weaved the words “Some Pig” up there or something, but this said something else entirely.
It said ‘boa tarde’.
I wasn’t sure what that meant, so when I’d finished looking around, I wrote down the message on a piece of paper and Googled it.
At first I thought it might have been something to do with snakes – assuming it meant anything at all – because of the word boa, and as I Google searched it seemed more and more clear that the language the spider may have weaved its words in was Portuguese, with the words meaning “Good afternoon”.
So the spider was saying hello? Well, it could have been worse. The next day I wrote down some simple Portuguese phrases on some cards and brought them up to the attic with me.
As I went back to the place where the spider had been, I shone my torch at the web. There sat the spider, only this time the message was different – more elaborate.
It said ‘como estas hoje’.
I had no idea what that meant, so I held up a card that said “voce fala ingles”, which roughly translated means “Do you speak English”.
The spider began to weave again, extremely quickly, and underneath the message weaved the word ‘nao’. I assumed it meant no.
I headed back downstairs, grabbing my ipad, then returned to the attic. I’d use Google to translate as I went along.
The message that read ‘como estas hoje’ roughly translated to how are you today, so I scribbled the translation for ‘I am good today, how are you?’ on a spare card. The spider quickly weaved again, this time saying ‘i ter sido melhor’, which meant ‘I have been better’. I frowned and wrote another message, this one reading ‘qual o problema’, which meant ‘what’s the matter’.
The spider weaved again, removing the existing messages and replacing it with the following.
‘Estou assustado’.
‘I am scared’.
I swallowed nervously, typing a message into the translator on my ipad then scribbling it down on a card.
‘Do que voce tem medo’.
‘What are you scared of’.
The spider started frantically spinning, this new message being the longest it had written so far. Once ith ad finished it read:-
‘A unica coisa que esta fechando a porta do satao’.
It took me a moment to type this into the translator, and when I finished I pressed translate.
My eyes widened.
“The thing that is closing the attic door’.
I spun away from the spider, staring at the place where the attic door stood open to the ground, watching as the ladder lifted as if by itself and retracted into the attic space, the door closing firmly shut. I still had my torch, and I shone it in the direction of the closed door. I could see nothing.
“It must have been my mum or my dad,” I told myself, turning back to the spider web and shining my torch as the web. While I’d been distracted, a new message had appeared.
‘Ele estra atras de voce!’.
I swallowed nervously at the exclamation mark the spider had bothered to weave and copied the phrase into my translator.
‘It is behind you!’.
I turned quickly, shining my torch into the darkness, but still I could see nothing, but this time I could hear something. I tsounded like someone breathing heavily, and I could feel it on the side of my neck.
I spun sideways, the torch outstretched, but still I could see nothing...
...Only I could feel something.
My torch was meeting resistance as I held it out into the darkness; resistance from something that wasn’t there. I looked at the spider, which had weaved another new message. A simple message.
‘Fugir’.
I didn’t need a translator to guess what that meant. It looked like fugitive, so it probably meant run, or hide, or something like that. It might as well have meant say your prayers for all it mattered. Something invisible in the darkness swatted the torch from my hands, and it fell to the ground, switching off or breaking, I’m not sure which. The room was plunged into darkness, even the light from my ipad having gone to sleep. Not that the darkness made a difference; whatever it was the spider had tried to warn about couldn’t be seen, but I could hear it growling, and feel it drawing near. I tried to scream, but fear had stolen my voice as the creature drew closer, its paws feeling for my quivering body in the gloom.
The room was dark, and I was afraid.
Originally Posted 1/11/2015
Result - 1st Place
Poem : The Spider Weaves
The spider weaves her wicked web
Where you can’t reach her, in the rafter
Spinning freely, out of harm’s way
Mocking with her silent laughter
Originally Posted 1/11/2015
Result - Joint 2nd Place
Where you can’t reach her, in the rafter
Spinning freely, out of harm’s way
Mocking with her silent laughter
Originally Posted 1/11/2015
Result - Joint 2nd Place
October 27, 2015
Short Story : Vicious Circles
Caleb and Georgia loved everything about their new house, except for one tiny little thing.
The carpets.
The hideous patterns on the floor looked like something you might find in a Stanley Kubrick movie, and the first thing they planned on doing once they got together enough money was to rip them up and replace them with something a little more modern. The concentric circles with interwoven triangles dotted throughout them looked repulsive, especially in the unusual colour combination of beige, olive, and pink, and they unfortunately ran through most of the house!
Georgia stared at the carpet as she waited for her husband Caleb, who was busily hunting down the car keys so they could drive to the airport to pick up her mother.
“I can’t find them,” he told his wife, “do you know where the spare set are?”
“They’re hanging from the fridge, where you put them.” Georgia rolled her eyes impatiently, “Come on, my mum’s flight is due to arrive at the airport any minute. You know how she doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Caleb shuddered at the thought of his mother-in-law visiting for the next three weeks. The only consolation would be that eventually she would have to leave, and it would be another glorious year before he had to put up with her put-downs in person again.
Grabbing the car keys from the magnet that held them to the fridge, Caleb danced around their dog, Musso, who was asleep in the middle of the kitchen floor, and raced to the front door. Musso stirred as he heard the front door slam behind Caleb and Georgia and padded his way into the kitchen doorway. He looked down at the carpet in the hall and, as if to give his own impression of what he thought of it, swiftly threw up.
Caleb drove slowly down the motorway towards the airport, not wanting to get there too early and have to listen to his mother-in-law drone on about how horrible the flight had been. She lived in Florida, where she’d thankfully retired to a few years earlier, but that didn’t mean that her influence stayed on the other side of the Atlantic. Far from it. She called regularly and made the usual interfering suggestions you’d expect from your husband or wife’s parents.
“Can’t you go any faster?” Georgia asked, “If I knew this was going to be like a scene from Driving Miss Daisy, I’d have driven myself to the airport.”
“We can’t go much faster,” Caleb told his wife, “there’re road works ahead, so the speed limit’s been reduced.”
“So what?” Georgia growled, “There aren’t any police cars around, so just speed things up a bit, will you.”
Caleb looked at his speedometer and pressed lightly on the accelerator, adding maybe a single mile an hour to his speed. It seemed to pacify his wife anyway, and it made him happy to know that he was getting away with driving slowly.
On arriving at the airport, Georgia’s mother was already waiting, sitting down next to the luggage carousel in the arrivals lounge with her suitcases by her feet, looking very lost.
“I told you we’d be late,” Georgia fumed at Caleb as the two jogged over to her. Georgia’s mother looked up at them as they approached.
“Oh thank God,” she breathed a sigh of relief, “I thought you’d forgotten all about me.”
“Of course not,” Georgia hugged her mother, “we’d never forget you.”
“If you were that worried, you could have called,” Caleb said.
Georgia’s mother glared at him, “I wasn’t going to use a public phone,” she told him, “there was an Arab looking fellow nearby and he might have been holding a bomb.”
“For Christ’s sake, don’t say such things,” Caleb said through grit teeth, “it’s bad enough you have to be so racist, but you don’t say bomb in an airport.”
“It isn’t racist to call someone Arab if they are Arab,” Georgia stuck up for her mother, but even she knew she was in the wrong about her mother assuming all Arab’s carried bombs around with them at the airport.
After bundling the luggage into the boot of their car, Georgia and Caleb drove back home with Georgia’s mother in the back seat, complaining all the way.
“Do you have to go so fast?” she asked Caleb, who was going at least five miles under the limit.
“Yes, honey.” Georgia agreed, in complete contradiction to what she’d said on the way to the airport, “Could you slow it down a little? You don’t want to get a speeding ticket.”
Caleb eased off the accelerator, knowing that the drive home was going to be a very long one, even longer now that he had reduced his speed.
Once they arrived at their home, Caleb took the cases out of the boot of the car and carried them up through the front door. Georgia’s mother stared at the house with a look of judgement on her face.
“What a quaint little place,” she said condescendingly, not bothering to wipe her feet before walking into the hallway, “and such... lovely carpeting.”
“We’re getting it replaced,” Georgia told her, showing her to her room.
“I could do with a drink after that terrible plane ride,” Georgia’s mother told her, pulling a bottle of wine from her carryon luggage and pouring some into a glass that was sat next to her bed. A glass that had been put there for night-time water, but clearly Georgia’s mother was finding a different use for it.
Having already taken the rest of the bags to his mother-in-law’s room, Caleb headed to the kitchen to grab a drink himself, but stopped just short of the kitchen door.
Next to a small puddle of sick on the carpet lay a charred corpse, one that looked like it might have once been a pet dog. Caleb stared in horror at his beloved pet, charred to a crisp in the middle of hall carpet.
“What the hell...?” he shouted, drawing the attention of his wife and mother-in-law from the spare room.
“What is it?” Georgia asked, coming to see what was going on and stopping next to Caleb when she saw the charred doggy corpse, “Oh my God! Musso!”
“Someone truly twisted must have done this!” Caleb shouted angrily, pulling his cell phone from his jacket pocket and dialling 9-9-9, “I’m calling the police!”
“What if the sicko who did this is still in the house?” Georgia whispered as Caleb dialled, “What if we’re next?”
Caleb held his hand over the mouthpiece of his phone, looking at his wife, “Don’t be ridiculous,” he told her, “we’d have seen them by now, We’ve been in most of the rooms already.”
Suddenly a scream came from the other side of the house. It was Georgia’s mother.
“Mum!” Georgia shouted, running down the hallway to check on her mother. Caleb followed close behind her.
When they arrived at the spare room, they found Georgia’s mother lying on the carpet next to a spilled bottle of wine, her body blackened by some sort of accelerant that neither Caleb nor Georgia could identify.
“Mum!” Georgia wept, crouching down futilely to check her mother’s pulse. The body was still hot from being burned, but she was definitely dead.
“What’s going on, Caleb?” Georgia asked, weeping heavily, “Who would do this? And where the hell are they?”
Caleb ignored his wife as he finally got through to the police, “Hello?” he said, “Please, you’ve got to send the police around immediately! Someone has set fire to my dog!”
Georgia stared at Caleb through teary eyes. Caleb licked his lips before adding, “And my mother-in-law.”
After giving the address, Caleb ended the call and put his arm around his wife.
“it’s going to be okay,” he told her comfortingly, “the police will be here soon, and they’ll soon figure out who is behind this.”
“That won’t bring my mother back,” Georgia sobbed.
“I know,” Caleb said, a slight smile flickering at the corner of his mouth, “I tell you what, I’ll go make us both a nice relaxing cup of tea.”
Caleb went to the kitchen stepping over the charred corpse of Musso the dog, and switched on the kettle. Once it had boiled he poured out two cups of tea, bringing them through to his wife who was still in the spare bedroom with her mother’s dead body.
“Here you go,” Caleb said calmly, handing his wife one of the cups. Her hands trembled as she took the cup of tea, and a few spots of liquid spilled over the side, soaking into the carpet.
As they did so, Caleb and Georgia heard a growling noise coming from the floor. They looked down to see the carpet moving, changing shape. The circles started to snap open and shut, the triangle shapes forming pointed teeth as the carpet sprouted mouths throughout the hallway. Georgia screamed, throwing her cup at the nearest mouth, which swallowed it whole. Flames started to shoot from the mouths, catching her dress on fire before she accidentally stepped into one of the gaping mouths and disappeared from sight.
Caleb barely had a chance to react before his wife’s body suddenly shot back out of the carpeted floor, landing on the ground completely burnt to a crisp. He stared at his own cup of tea, gingerly placing it on the bed side table before racing down the hallway to the front door.
Too scared to watch where he was going, Caleb tripped over a potted plant in the hallway, crashing to the ground and sending the plant falling with him. Soil and stale water spilled over the carpet, and Caleb heard the growling noise again as he pushed himself up onto his knees.
The carpet in the hallway burst into life, the circular patterns snapping open and shut as they tried to get a hold of Caleb, flames licking from their depths as he tried to back into a corner.
But it was no use. Caleb felt his hand give way beneath him as it plunged into an open mouth, flame licking up his wrist and forearm as he plunged sideways into the burning depths, only to be spat out again as another burning corpse.
As the flames died down, there came an abrupt knock at the front door. Two police officers stood on the doorstep, one holding a half-eaten doughnut in his hand as the other knocked on the door for the second time.
“Sounds like nobody’s home,” said the doughnut eating police officer, “let’s go back to the station.”
“We’d better check round the back first,” the knocking police officer suggested, “the report said that someone had been set on fire.”
The two officers walked around to the back door, peering through the glass of the door into the kitchen. Just across the room they could make out the charred remains of Musso the dog.
Frantically the officers smashed the glass in the door, reaching in through the hole and opening the door so they could check on the remains. Glass crunched underfoot as they crossed the kitchen lino and approached the dead dog.
“It’s just a dog,” the doughnut eater said, “it looks like someone set him on fire for some reason.”
“There’re three other bodies in the bedroom,” the knocking officer called out from the spare room, “these one’s look like they might have been human.”
The doughnut eater followed the sound of his fellow officer’s voice and came to the spare room, his mouth dropping open in disbelief when he saw the charred remains. His hands trembled, and crumbs from his doughnut fell to the carpet.
“Careful,” the knocking officer warned, “we don’t want to contaminate the crime scene before forensics can get here.”
The doughnut eater looked at the crumbs by his feet as a growling noise rose up from the floor. He stared at his colleague, his brow furrowed in a look of confusion;
“Did you hear that?” he asked.
Originally Posted 27/10/2015
Result - 2nd Place
The carpets.
The hideous patterns on the floor looked like something you might find in a Stanley Kubrick movie, and the first thing they planned on doing once they got together enough money was to rip them up and replace them with something a little more modern. The concentric circles with interwoven triangles dotted throughout them looked repulsive, especially in the unusual colour combination of beige, olive, and pink, and they unfortunately ran through most of the house!
Georgia stared at the carpet as she waited for her husband Caleb, who was busily hunting down the car keys so they could drive to the airport to pick up her mother.
“I can’t find them,” he told his wife, “do you know where the spare set are?”
“They’re hanging from the fridge, where you put them.” Georgia rolled her eyes impatiently, “Come on, my mum’s flight is due to arrive at the airport any minute. You know how she doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Caleb shuddered at the thought of his mother-in-law visiting for the next three weeks. The only consolation would be that eventually she would have to leave, and it would be another glorious year before he had to put up with her put-downs in person again.
Grabbing the car keys from the magnet that held them to the fridge, Caleb danced around their dog, Musso, who was asleep in the middle of the kitchen floor, and raced to the front door. Musso stirred as he heard the front door slam behind Caleb and Georgia and padded his way into the kitchen doorway. He looked down at the carpet in the hall and, as if to give his own impression of what he thought of it, swiftly threw up.
Caleb drove slowly down the motorway towards the airport, not wanting to get there too early and have to listen to his mother-in-law drone on about how horrible the flight had been. She lived in Florida, where she’d thankfully retired to a few years earlier, but that didn’t mean that her influence stayed on the other side of the Atlantic. Far from it. She called regularly and made the usual interfering suggestions you’d expect from your husband or wife’s parents.
“Can’t you go any faster?” Georgia asked, “If I knew this was going to be like a scene from Driving Miss Daisy, I’d have driven myself to the airport.”
“We can’t go much faster,” Caleb told his wife, “there’re road works ahead, so the speed limit’s been reduced.”
“So what?” Georgia growled, “There aren’t any police cars around, so just speed things up a bit, will you.”
Caleb looked at his speedometer and pressed lightly on the accelerator, adding maybe a single mile an hour to his speed. It seemed to pacify his wife anyway, and it made him happy to know that he was getting away with driving slowly.
On arriving at the airport, Georgia’s mother was already waiting, sitting down next to the luggage carousel in the arrivals lounge with her suitcases by her feet, looking very lost.
“I told you we’d be late,” Georgia fumed at Caleb as the two jogged over to her. Georgia’s mother looked up at them as they approached.
“Oh thank God,” she breathed a sigh of relief, “I thought you’d forgotten all about me.”
“Of course not,” Georgia hugged her mother, “we’d never forget you.”
“If you were that worried, you could have called,” Caleb said.
Georgia’s mother glared at him, “I wasn’t going to use a public phone,” she told him, “there was an Arab looking fellow nearby and he might have been holding a bomb.”
“For Christ’s sake, don’t say such things,” Caleb said through grit teeth, “it’s bad enough you have to be so racist, but you don’t say bomb in an airport.”
“It isn’t racist to call someone Arab if they are Arab,” Georgia stuck up for her mother, but even she knew she was in the wrong about her mother assuming all Arab’s carried bombs around with them at the airport.
After bundling the luggage into the boot of their car, Georgia and Caleb drove back home with Georgia’s mother in the back seat, complaining all the way.
“Do you have to go so fast?” she asked Caleb, who was going at least five miles under the limit.
“Yes, honey.” Georgia agreed, in complete contradiction to what she’d said on the way to the airport, “Could you slow it down a little? You don’t want to get a speeding ticket.”
Caleb eased off the accelerator, knowing that the drive home was going to be a very long one, even longer now that he had reduced his speed.
Once they arrived at their home, Caleb took the cases out of the boot of the car and carried them up through the front door. Georgia’s mother stared at the house with a look of judgement on her face.
“What a quaint little place,” she said condescendingly, not bothering to wipe her feet before walking into the hallway, “and such... lovely carpeting.”
“We’re getting it replaced,” Georgia told her, showing her to her room.
“I could do with a drink after that terrible plane ride,” Georgia’s mother told her, pulling a bottle of wine from her carryon luggage and pouring some into a glass that was sat next to her bed. A glass that had been put there for night-time water, but clearly Georgia’s mother was finding a different use for it.
Having already taken the rest of the bags to his mother-in-law’s room, Caleb headed to the kitchen to grab a drink himself, but stopped just short of the kitchen door.
Next to a small puddle of sick on the carpet lay a charred corpse, one that looked like it might have once been a pet dog. Caleb stared in horror at his beloved pet, charred to a crisp in the middle of hall carpet.
“What the hell...?” he shouted, drawing the attention of his wife and mother-in-law from the spare room.
“What is it?” Georgia asked, coming to see what was going on and stopping next to Caleb when she saw the charred doggy corpse, “Oh my God! Musso!”
“Someone truly twisted must have done this!” Caleb shouted angrily, pulling his cell phone from his jacket pocket and dialling 9-9-9, “I’m calling the police!”
“What if the sicko who did this is still in the house?” Georgia whispered as Caleb dialled, “What if we’re next?”
Caleb held his hand over the mouthpiece of his phone, looking at his wife, “Don’t be ridiculous,” he told her, “we’d have seen them by now, We’ve been in most of the rooms already.”
Suddenly a scream came from the other side of the house. It was Georgia’s mother.
“Mum!” Georgia shouted, running down the hallway to check on her mother. Caleb followed close behind her.
When they arrived at the spare room, they found Georgia’s mother lying on the carpet next to a spilled bottle of wine, her body blackened by some sort of accelerant that neither Caleb nor Georgia could identify.
“Mum!” Georgia wept, crouching down futilely to check her mother’s pulse. The body was still hot from being burned, but she was definitely dead.
“What’s going on, Caleb?” Georgia asked, weeping heavily, “Who would do this? And where the hell are they?”
Caleb ignored his wife as he finally got through to the police, “Hello?” he said, “Please, you’ve got to send the police around immediately! Someone has set fire to my dog!”
Georgia stared at Caleb through teary eyes. Caleb licked his lips before adding, “And my mother-in-law.”
After giving the address, Caleb ended the call and put his arm around his wife.
“it’s going to be okay,” he told her comfortingly, “the police will be here soon, and they’ll soon figure out who is behind this.”
“That won’t bring my mother back,” Georgia sobbed.
“I know,” Caleb said, a slight smile flickering at the corner of his mouth, “I tell you what, I’ll go make us both a nice relaxing cup of tea.”
Caleb went to the kitchen stepping over the charred corpse of Musso the dog, and switched on the kettle. Once it had boiled he poured out two cups of tea, bringing them through to his wife who was still in the spare bedroom with her mother’s dead body.
“Here you go,” Caleb said calmly, handing his wife one of the cups. Her hands trembled as she took the cup of tea, and a few spots of liquid spilled over the side, soaking into the carpet.
As they did so, Caleb and Georgia heard a growling noise coming from the floor. They looked down to see the carpet moving, changing shape. The circles started to snap open and shut, the triangle shapes forming pointed teeth as the carpet sprouted mouths throughout the hallway. Georgia screamed, throwing her cup at the nearest mouth, which swallowed it whole. Flames started to shoot from the mouths, catching her dress on fire before she accidentally stepped into one of the gaping mouths and disappeared from sight.
Caleb barely had a chance to react before his wife’s body suddenly shot back out of the carpeted floor, landing on the ground completely burnt to a crisp. He stared at his own cup of tea, gingerly placing it on the bed side table before racing down the hallway to the front door.
Too scared to watch where he was going, Caleb tripped over a potted plant in the hallway, crashing to the ground and sending the plant falling with him. Soil and stale water spilled over the carpet, and Caleb heard the growling noise again as he pushed himself up onto his knees.
The carpet in the hallway burst into life, the circular patterns snapping open and shut as they tried to get a hold of Caleb, flames licking from their depths as he tried to back into a corner.
But it was no use. Caleb felt his hand give way beneath him as it plunged into an open mouth, flame licking up his wrist and forearm as he plunged sideways into the burning depths, only to be spat out again as another burning corpse.
As the flames died down, there came an abrupt knock at the front door. Two police officers stood on the doorstep, one holding a half-eaten doughnut in his hand as the other knocked on the door for the second time.
“Sounds like nobody’s home,” said the doughnut eating police officer, “let’s go back to the station.”
“We’d better check round the back first,” the knocking police officer suggested, “the report said that someone had been set on fire.”
The two officers walked around to the back door, peering through the glass of the door into the kitchen. Just across the room they could make out the charred remains of Musso the dog.
Frantically the officers smashed the glass in the door, reaching in through the hole and opening the door so they could check on the remains. Glass crunched underfoot as they crossed the kitchen lino and approached the dead dog.
“It’s just a dog,” the doughnut eater said, “it looks like someone set him on fire for some reason.”
“There’re three other bodies in the bedroom,” the knocking officer called out from the spare room, “these one’s look like they might have been human.”
The doughnut eater followed the sound of his fellow officer’s voice and came to the spare room, his mouth dropping open in disbelief when he saw the charred remains. His hands trembled, and crumbs from his doughnut fell to the carpet.
“Careful,” the knocking officer warned, “we don’t want to contaminate the crime scene before forensics can get here.”
The doughnut eater looked at the crumbs by his feet as a growling noise rose up from the floor. He stared at his colleague, his brow furrowed in a look of confusion;
“Did you hear that?” he asked.
Originally Posted 27/10/2015
Result - 2nd Place
October 26, 2015
Poem : Patterns Forming
The patterns forming in our minds
That help us memorise
The facts that lead us through our lives
Up until our demise
They aid us with our train of thought
And help our minds to function
They bring to the fore favoured thoughts
And bury all compunction
The patterns forming in our heads
They help us bear in mind
That sympathy’s the way to go
And always to be kind
But sometimes happenstance can cause
Our minds to break a bit
And often anger overcomes
More than we will admit
So do take care of how you act
And avoid hate and scorn
And try to use the kindness from
The patterns that we form
Originally Posted 26/10/2015
Result - Didn't Place
That help us memorise
The facts that lead us through our lives
Up until our demise
They aid us with our train of thought
And help our minds to function
They bring to the fore favoured thoughts
And bury all compunction
The patterns forming in our heads
They help us bear in mind
That sympathy’s the way to go
And always to be kind
But sometimes happenstance can cause
Our minds to break a bit
And often anger overcomes
More than we will admit
So do take care of how you act
And avoid hate and scorn
And try to use the kindness from
The patterns that we form
Originally Posted 26/10/2015
Result - Didn't Place
October 18, 2015
Short Story : Xmas Came Early
“It started with the candy canes.
It was mid-August, still warm and sunny during the day, and I was wandering around a local shopping mall, seeing if anything caught my eye, when something did.
Candy canes.
Quite why there was a display of candy canes – something generally associated with Christmas – being presented to the public more than four months before the day itself was beyond me.
Ordinarily, and correct me if I’m wrong, but ordinarily we’d have Halloween decorations out first, seeing as that particular holiday was only two months away, but for some reason it looked liked Christmas was coming early.
A week after I saw the candy canes, I noticed my first Santa. He was made out of wicker and was sitting outside one of those big and cheap stores, a wide smile on his chubby face and a banner reading “Seasons Greetings” above his head. I did think it was odd at the time, but I just guessed it was consumerism going mad as usual. Christmas, after all, makes much more money than any other holiday, even Bonfire Night with the ridiculously expensive fireworks.
It was the next day that I saw the snowman.
Again, that didn’t seem all that weird to me, but what I saw the next day really got me thinking.
A Christmas tree had been erected in the middle of town, somehow over night, and it had not just been fully decorated but the lights had even been turned on. Now I know that some years the trees are put up early, but it’s rare that the lights are put on before Bonfire Night.
And it wasn’t even September yet!
Most years there’s a whole ceremony to commemorate the lighting of the tree. Like in Oxford Street when a celebrity switches on the lights, usually on the first of December or something like that, then the rest of the country would follow suit.
But not this year.
I mentioned it to my best friend Sam, but he thought I was being ridiculous.
‘Haven’t you got more important things to be worried about?’ he said, ‘Christmas lights and random decorations aren’t really that important, you know.’
But I knew something more was going on.
Something sinister.
I started to perform my own investigation into what was happening, trying to find out why so many people seemed to be ignoring all the other holidays between August and December in favour of Christmas. I asked shop owners, people on the street, even some other friends, but nobody had a conceivable response. Even the shop owners seemed surprised by the sudden appearance of all the Christmas paraphernalia.
‘Our head office just sent us a memo and a delivery of items,’ one guy told me, ‘we had nothing to do with it really. We were just following orders?’
Now where have I heard that before?
Realising I’d reached something of a dead end with this line of questioning; I started searching online for information that others might have noticed and reported. A few bloggers had taken pictures of their local stores, with unoriginal and unwitty by-lines such as “Winter In August” and “The Summer Of Santa”. I sat back in my chair, pondering why all this Christmassy cheer had arrived so early, when I heard a knock at my door.
I threw on my dressing gown, not wanting whoever was at the door to see me in my nighty, and slowly descended the stairs. On opening the front door, my jaw visibly fell open.
‘Santa?’ I half asked.
Two men were stood in the doorway. The first was a large man with wispy white hair and a red suit. His rosy cheeks looked flushed with impatience, and his knee high black boots were covered in what I assumed was horse pooh, though judging by his outfit they more likely came from a reindeers arse.
The second man was a lot thinner and younger, perhaps in his early thirties, and was wearing what almost looked like the kind of night gown Wee Willy Winkie might run up and down the streets in. He too had a long beard, considerably darker than the first man’s, and his dark skin contrasted starkly with his outfit. His hair had a surprising curl to it, and hung past his shoulders.
‘So,’ he muttered, ‘you recognise him, but not me? Shows you what a terrible job that racist PR guy of mine did.’
‘Jesus!’ I mumbled, both in surprise and in an attempt to identify the second man.
‘Finally,’ Jesus groaned, ‘the last person I spoke to thought I was Saddam Hussein!’
I stared at the two men standing on my doorstep, ‘You’re Jesus and Santa?’ I asked.
‘That is correct,’ Santa told me, ‘and we’ve come to speak to you about something very important.’
So Jesus and Santa came into my living room and both took seats on my sofa. I sat in an armchair, simply staring at the two symbols of Christmas.
‘We hear you’ve been asking people about why the Christmas decorations have been coming out so soon,’ Jesus began, crossing his legs and leaning forward in his chair.
‘Maybe,’ I sort of admitted, ‘is that a problem.’
‘Not at all, young lady,’ Santa smiled, sipping from a mug of milk he’d convinced me to prepare for him, ‘it’s just we don’t want too much attention drawn to the whole early advertising side of things.’
‘Why are you doing it?’ I asked, ‘It seems a little silly to be advertising for a holiday four months before it happens.’
‘I’ve been doing the same thing with Easter,’ Jesus admitted, ‘those chocolate eggs are available from Boxing Day most years, and no-one seems to complain about that too much.’
‘That’s just chocolate eggs,’ I said, ‘but having trees up and decorations out is a whole different ball game. Why are you doing it?’
Santa looked sheepishly at Jesus, who nodded his head and began to speak, ‘It’s because of Halloween.’
‘Halloween?’
‘Yes, Halloween.’ Santa took over. ‘Children these days seem so focussed on Halloween, a holiday that embodies evil in all its forms that we just had to do something about it.’
‘So you’re trying to bring Christmas forward early?’ I asked, ‘To over shadow Halloween?’
Jesus and Santa nodded in unison.
‘And we need your help,’ Jesus concluded.
‘Of course,’ I said, ‘anything for Jesus and Santa. What can I do to help?’
And that’s what brought me here.”
The psychiatrist stared over her glasses at Cassandra, sitting in an high backed chair with her arms tied together with a straight jacket, “So Jesus and Santa were the ones who told you to go door to door, setting fire to any Halloween decorations that you might come across?
“That’s correct,” Cassandra grinned, her eye twitching slightly, “They said I’d been a good little girl and that I was the best hope of bringing Christmas back into the hearts of all the devil worshipping little girls and boys that so enjoy egging people houses in the name of Satan.”
The psychiatrist slowly flipped her notebook closed, taking her glasses off and letting tem rests on their chain, “Well, Cassandra, I’m afraid that’s all we’ve got time for today. I’ll be back to check on you on Thursday.”
“Thank you Doctor,” Cassandra grinned as the psychiatrists rose from her seat and moved to leave the padded cell.
“Oh, Doctor?”
The psychiatrist turned at the door, “Yes, Cassandra,” she asked.
Cassandra smiled, almost pleadingly at the doctor, “Is it Christmas yet?”
Originally Posted 18/10/2015
Result - UNKNOWN
It was mid-August, still warm and sunny during the day, and I was wandering around a local shopping mall, seeing if anything caught my eye, when something did.
Candy canes.
Quite why there was a display of candy canes – something generally associated with Christmas – being presented to the public more than four months before the day itself was beyond me.
Ordinarily, and correct me if I’m wrong, but ordinarily we’d have Halloween decorations out first, seeing as that particular holiday was only two months away, but for some reason it looked liked Christmas was coming early.
A week after I saw the candy canes, I noticed my first Santa. He was made out of wicker and was sitting outside one of those big and cheap stores, a wide smile on his chubby face and a banner reading “Seasons Greetings” above his head. I did think it was odd at the time, but I just guessed it was consumerism going mad as usual. Christmas, after all, makes much more money than any other holiday, even Bonfire Night with the ridiculously expensive fireworks.
It was the next day that I saw the snowman.
Again, that didn’t seem all that weird to me, but what I saw the next day really got me thinking.
A Christmas tree had been erected in the middle of town, somehow over night, and it had not just been fully decorated but the lights had even been turned on. Now I know that some years the trees are put up early, but it’s rare that the lights are put on before Bonfire Night.
And it wasn’t even September yet!
Most years there’s a whole ceremony to commemorate the lighting of the tree. Like in Oxford Street when a celebrity switches on the lights, usually on the first of December or something like that, then the rest of the country would follow suit.
But not this year.
I mentioned it to my best friend Sam, but he thought I was being ridiculous.
‘Haven’t you got more important things to be worried about?’ he said, ‘Christmas lights and random decorations aren’t really that important, you know.’
But I knew something more was going on.
Something sinister.
I started to perform my own investigation into what was happening, trying to find out why so many people seemed to be ignoring all the other holidays between August and December in favour of Christmas. I asked shop owners, people on the street, even some other friends, but nobody had a conceivable response. Even the shop owners seemed surprised by the sudden appearance of all the Christmas paraphernalia.
‘Our head office just sent us a memo and a delivery of items,’ one guy told me, ‘we had nothing to do with it really. We were just following orders?’
Now where have I heard that before?
Realising I’d reached something of a dead end with this line of questioning; I started searching online for information that others might have noticed and reported. A few bloggers had taken pictures of their local stores, with unoriginal and unwitty by-lines such as “Winter In August” and “The Summer Of Santa”. I sat back in my chair, pondering why all this Christmassy cheer had arrived so early, when I heard a knock at my door.
I threw on my dressing gown, not wanting whoever was at the door to see me in my nighty, and slowly descended the stairs. On opening the front door, my jaw visibly fell open.
‘Santa?’ I half asked.
Two men were stood in the doorway. The first was a large man with wispy white hair and a red suit. His rosy cheeks looked flushed with impatience, and his knee high black boots were covered in what I assumed was horse pooh, though judging by his outfit they more likely came from a reindeers arse.
The second man was a lot thinner and younger, perhaps in his early thirties, and was wearing what almost looked like the kind of night gown Wee Willy Winkie might run up and down the streets in. He too had a long beard, considerably darker than the first man’s, and his dark skin contrasted starkly with his outfit. His hair had a surprising curl to it, and hung past his shoulders.
‘So,’ he muttered, ‘you recognise him, but not me? Shows you what a terrible job that racist PR guy of mine did.’
‘Jesus!’ I mumbled, both in surprise and in an attempt to identify the second man.
‘Finally,’ Jesus groaned, ‘the last person I spoke to thought I was Saddam Hussein!’
I stared at the two men standing on my doorstep, ‘You’re Jesus and Santa?’ I asked.
‘That is correct,’ Santa told me, ‘and we’ve come to speak to you about something very important.’
So Jesus and Santa came into my living room and both took seats on my sofa. I sat in an armchair, simply staring at the two symbols of Christmas.
‘We hear you’ve been asking people about why the Christmas decorations have been coming out so soon,’ Jesus began, crossing his legs and leaning forward in his chair.
‘Maybe,’ I sort of admitted, ‘is that a problem.’
‘Not at all, young lady,’ Santa smiled, sipping from a mug of milk he’d convinced me to prepare for him, ‘it’s just we don’t want too much attention drawn to the whole early advertising side of things.’
‘Why are you doing it?’ I asked, ‘It seems a little silly to be advertising for a holiday four months before it happens.’
‘I’ve been doing the same thing with Easter,’ Jesus admitted, ‘those chocolate eggs are available from Boxing Day most years, and no-one seems to complain about that too much.’
‘That’s just chocolate eggs,’ I said, ‘but having trees up and decorations out is a whole different ball game. Why are you doing it?’
Santa looked sheepishly at Jesus, who nodded his head and began to speak, ‘It’s because of Halloween.’
‘Halloween?’
‘Yes, Halloween.’ Santa took over. ‘Children these days seem so focussed on Halloween, a holiday that embodies evil in all its forms that we just had to do something about it.’
‘So you’re trying to bring Christmas forward early?’ I asked, ‘To over shadow Halloween?’
Jesus and Santa nodded in unison.
‘And we need your help,’ Jesus concluded.
‘Of course,’ I said, ‘anything for Jesus and Santa. What can I do to help?’
And that’s what brought me here.”
The psychiatrist stared over her glasses at Cassandra, sitting in an high backed chair with her arms tied together with a straight jacket, “So Jesus and Santa were the ones who told you to go door to door, setting fire to any Halloween decorations that you might come across?
“That’s correct,” Cassandra grinned, her eye twitching slightly, “They said I’d been a good little girl and that I was the best hope of bringing Christmas back into the hearts of all the devil worshipping little girls and boys that so enjoy egging people houses in the name of Satan.”
The psychiatrist slowly flipped her notebook closed, taking her glasses off and letting tem rests on their chain, “Well, Cassandra, I’m afraid that’s all we’ve got time for today. I’ll be back to check on you on Thursday.”
“Thank you Doctor,” Cassandra grinned as the psychiatrists rose from her seat and moved to leave the padded cell.
“Oh, Doctor?”
The psychiatrist turned at the door, “Yes, Cassandra,” she asked.
Cassandra smiled, almost pleadingly at the doctor, “Is it Christmas yet?”
Originally Posted 18/10/2015
Result - UNKNOWN
Poem : Trick Or Treat?
There’s nothing quite like chowing down
On something sweet and gooey
A chocolate bar, or candy cane,
A treat that’s often chewy
The greatest time of year for this,
When treats are complimentary,
Is Halloween, shout “trick or treat”
At every building entry
You might be dressed like Superman
Or like a Princess fairy
You may be dressed as something cute
Or something really scary
No matter what your costume is,
This fact is beyond question,
You’re all the same on All Saints Day
Suffering indigestion.
Originally Posted 18/10/2015
Result - UNKNOWN
On something sweet and gooey
A chocolate bar, or candy cane,
A treat that’s often chewy
The greatest time of year for this,
When treats are complimentary,
Is Halloween, shout “trick or treat”
At every building entry
You might be dressed like Superman
Or like a Princess fairy
You may be dressed as something cute
Or something really scary
No matter what your costume is,
This fact is beyond question,
You’re all the same on All Saints Day
Suffering indigestion.
Originally Posted 18/10/2015
Result - UNKNOWN
October 12, 2015
Short Story : Enlistment
I didn’t want to go to war.
I didn’t want to leave my home behind.
“Are you ready?”
I looked up at Adam’s handsome face as he stood in the doorway to my room. My parents must have let him in the house, but I hadn’t heard the doorbell. I was too busy to concentrate on hearing doorbells right then. The only bells I paid attention to were the air raid alarms, but even those I wouldn’t have to worry about for much longer.
“Almost ready,” I replied. I could hear my voice catching in my throat, my nerves getting to me already, even at this early juncture.
“So, do you know where you’re going to be based?” Adam asked, sitting down on the edge of my bed, “Did they have the details on your enlistment papers? Have they told you yet?”
“Not yet,” I told him, “I’ll find out when I get there, but anywhere will be too far away for my liking. I probably won’t know anyone there either.”
“Well, it won’t be for long,” Adam smiled weakly, “I turn eighteen in a couple of months, so I’ll most likely be joining you. I hear they send most first timers to the same base for at least their first year.”
“If we last the year,” I said morosely.
“Don’t talk like that,” Adam said, reaching his hand towards mine. I was still holding onto one of my bags, my grip loosening at his touch.
“But it’s true,” I said with disgust, trying not to allow the tears to take over, “the odds of me still being alive when you get enlisted are... well, astronomical. You do know that the average life expectancy of an enlisted person is less than thirty days.”
“I heard the average was closer to forty days now,” Adam disagreed.
“That doesn’t help,” I sniffed, “I’d still be dead in little over a month, and you’re not due to enlist until after Christmas.”
“It’s an average,” Adam tried to console me, “that means that some people live far longer than the forty days.”
“And some die on day one,” I spat with anger. Couldn’t Adam get it through his head that I was scared?
Adam stroked my hand gently, “I’m sure you’re going to be fine,” he said then, realising he was stroking my hand, he patted it twice and removed it, “I know you will. You have to be.”
I looked into his eyes. I could see he was trying to be brave, but there was sadness behind that smile. I swallowed back the fear in my voice.
“The transport will be here soon,” I told him, “is there anything else you wanted? Anything else you wanted to say?”
“Just that I...” Adam paused, and I leaned forward. I’d always liked Adam, but he’d never indicated if he liked me back as anything more than a friend. I hoped that our current situation might encourage him to actually say something for once in his life.
Especially as this might be his last chance to tell me how he felt, assuming he felt the same way about me as I did about him..
“I... I’ll miss you,” he finally managed, but I could see in his eyes that he meant more than that; that what he wanted to say was something far more filled with emotion.
“I’ll... miss you too,” I said, trying not to cry. What if this was the last time I’d see him? What if this was our last goodbye? I didn’t want it to be. I wanted to say goodbye to him every morning as we left for work, only to say hello again when we returned in the evening. I wanted to have the lifetime of goodbyes that should have lain ahead of us, each one filled with the joy of knowing you would see that person again, not just this one, final goodbye. We deserved so many more.
Adam stood up from the bed, “Well, I’d better get going,” he said, “it looks like you still have some packing to do.”
As he turned to leave my room, I heard myself call after him, “Adam?” I cried, my voice sounding insistent and halting.
Adam stopped at the door, half-turning towards me. His eyes were red, and I could see he wasn’t far from crying. He‘d hate for me to comment on that.
“Yes?” he asked, his voice quaking slightly.
I opened my mouth to tell him, to say those three words that would express how I felt.
“I... I’ll see you after Christmas,” I said, and I watched Adam’s face fall even more than it already had.
“Yeah,” he nodded, “I’ll see you.”
So, the last time I saw Adam he was crying, and that’s the memory I’ll hold of him until the day I die.
Which won’t be far away.
I looked out the window, seeing Adam walking off into the distance as a car pulled up in the driveway. It was the car to take me away, take me away from my family, my friends...
...And from Adam.
I didn’t want to leave my home behind.
I didn’t want to go to war.
Originally Posted 12/10/2015
Result - Joint 2nd Place
I didn’t want to leave my home behind.
“Are you ready?”
I looked up at Adam’s handsome face as he stood in the doorway to my room. My parents must have let him in the house, but I hadn’t heard the doorbell. I was too busy to concentrate on hearing doorbells right then. The only bells I paid attention to were the air raid alarms, but even those I wouldn’t have to worry about for much longer.
“Almost ready,” I replied. I could hear my voice catching in my throat, my nerves getting to me already, even at this early juncture.
“So, do you know where you’re going to be based?” Adam asked, sitting down on the edge of my bed, “Did they have the details on your enlistment papers? Have they told you yet?”
“Not yet,” I told him, “I’ll find out when I get there, but anywhere will be too far away for my liking. I probably won’t know anyone there either.”
“Well, it won’t be for long,” Adam smiled weakly, “I turn eighteen in a couple of months, so I’ll most likely be joining you. I hear they send most first timers to the same base for at least their first year.”
“If we last the year,” I said morosely.
“Don’t talk like that,” Adam said, reaching his hand towards mine. I was still holding onto one of my bags, my grip loosening at his touch.
“But it’s true,” I said with disgust, trying not to allow the tears to take over, “the odds of me still being alive when you get enlisted are... well, astronomical. You do know that the average life expectancy of an enlisted person is less than thirty days.”
“I heard the average was closer to forty days now,” Adam disagreed.
“That doesn’t help,” I sniffed, “I’d still be dead in little over a month, and you’re not due to enlist until after Christmas.”
“It’s an average,” Adam tried to console me, “that means that some people live far longer than the forty days.”
“And some die on day one,” I spat with anger. Couldn’t Adam get it through his head that I was scared?
Adam stroked my hand gently, “I’m sure you’re going to be fine,” he said then, realising he was stroking my hand, he patted it twice and removed it, “I know you will. You have to be.”
I looked into his eyes. I could see he was trying to be brave, but there was sadness behind that smile. I swallowed back the fear in my voice.
“The transport will be here soon,” I told him, “is there anything else you wanted? Anything else you wanted to say?”
“Just that I...” Adam paused, and I leaned forward. I’d always liked Adam, but he’d never indicated if he liked me back as anything more than a friend. I hoped that our current situation might encourage him to actually say something for once in his life.
Especially as this might be his last chance to tell me how he felt, assuming he felt the same way about me as I did about him..
“I... I’ll miss you,” he finally managed, but I could see in his eyes that he meant more than that; that what he wanted to say was something far more filled with emotion.
“I’ll... miss you too,” I said, trying not to cry. What if this was the last time I’d see him? What if this was our last goodbye? I didn’t want it to be. I wanted to say goodbye to him every morning as we left for work, only to say hello again when we returned in the evening. I wanted to have the lifetime of goodbyes that should have lain ahead of us, each one filled with the joy of knowing you would see that person again, not just this one, final goodbye. We deserved so many more.
Adam stood up from the bed, “Well, I’d better get going,” he said, “it looks like you still have some packing to do.”
As he turned to leave my room, I heard myself call after him, “Adam?” I cried, my voice sounding insistent and halting.
Adam stopped at the door, half-turning towards me. His eyes were red, and I could see he wasn’t far from crying. He‘d hate for me to comment on that.
“Yes?” he asked, his voice quaking slightly.
I opened my mouth to tell him, to say those three words that would express how I felt.
“I... I’ll see you after Christmas,” I said, and I watched Adam’s face fall even more than it already had.
“Yeah,” he nodded, “I’ll see you.”
So, the last time I saw Adam he was crying, and that’s the memory I’ll hold of him until the day I die.
Which won’t be far away.
I looked out the window, seeing Adam walking off into the distance as a car pulled up in the driveway. It was the car to take me away, take me away from my family, my friends...
...And from Adam.
I didn’t want to leave my home behind.
I didn’t want to go to war.
Originally Posted 12/10/2015
Result - Joint 2nd Place
October 11, 2015
Poem : The Last Goodbye
The morning was just like the rest
The usual routine
I didn’t know it was to be
The last time you’d be seen
You left the house as usual
I thought that you’d return
I didn’t know your car would crash
And that your corpse would burn
We hadn’t had an argument
For that I can be grateful
There was no sign of raw disputes
Or conversations hateful
But that just doesn’t change the fact
That death has come to greet you
It spun your car off of the road
And ventured to unseat you
I sit at home, alone right now
Remembering our life
Remembering the good, the bad,
Of you being my wife
The memories hit home, they hurt,
They bring tears to my eye
As I recall that gentle kiss
That spelt our last goodbye.
Originally Posted 11/10/2015
Result - Joint 2nd Place
The usual routine
I didn’t know it was to be
The last time you’d be seen
You left the house as usual
I thought that you’d return
I didn’t know your car would crash
And that your corpse would burn
We hadn’t had an argument
For that I can be grateful
There was no sign of raw disputes
Or conversations hateful
But that just doesn’t change the fact
That death has come to greet you
It spun your car off of the road
And ventured to unseat you
I sit at home, alone right now
Remembering our life
Remembering the good, the bad,
Of you being my wife
The memories hit home, they hurt,
They bring tears to my eye
As I recall that gentle kiss
That spelt our last goodbye.
Originally Posted 11/10/2015
Result - Joint 2nd Place
October 5, 2015
Short Story : Runs With Danger
The clans feared that which hid in the darkness, that in turn was protected by the creature that shunned the light. Legend had it that the creature’s very body bent and refracted the rays that attempted to make it visible to those that tried to flee, the foul stench of its gaping maw the only warning that it was close at hand.
The clan member known ironically as Runs With Danger had been forced to join a group of warriors who had been challenged to bring an end to the entity once and for all. Although not the bravest of his peers, it was believed that his ability to run at a speed never before recorded by the clan would enable the rest of the warriors to gain time to bring down the beast. If nothing else, they could capture the beast as it pursued Runs With Danger, who many jokingly referred to as Runs FROM Danger.
The forest was even darker than usual as Runs With Danger brought up the rear of the hunting group. The clan’s bravest warrior, Fights With Monsters, took up the lead, while fellow warriors Dabbles With Peril and Wrestles With Menace, followed close behind.
“Is this really a good idea?” Runs With Danger asked nervously, “I mean, just because we have these new fangled laser rifles doesn’t mean we’re going to be able to take down the creature that lurks in teh darkness.”
“Don’t be such a coward,” Fights With Monsters hissed quietly, not taking his eyes off the path ahead of him, “we didn’t want you on this run, but what the chief says goes, so just keep quiet, keep back, and once we’ve killed this creature you can bask in our reflected glory.”
Runs With Danger swallowed uncertainly, but soon realised that what Fights With Monsters had said was true. He might not be the best warrior, but he’d still be considered a successful one if this attack went off without a hitch. He took a deep breath, puffing out his pigeon chest, then exhaled as he continued to follow the three warriors into the heart of the forest.
The trees seemed to be closing in on the four warriors as their journey into the forest took them into an area with little or no light. Fights With Monsters held up his hand for the others to stop, indicating their laser rifles.
“There are torches attached to the top of your weapon,” he reminded them, “I suggest we all switch them on and keep our eyes peeled for any sudden movements.”
Dabbles With Peril and Wrestles With Menace slowly lowered their weapons to adjust the torches, while Runs With Danger hurriedly snapped his light on without any pause for thought. The light flickered as he forced it on, but his clumsy handling of the weapon led to the torch twisting too far, and the light flickered down to a dull orange glow.
“I think my torch is broken,” he said fearfully, watching the orange light barely making contact with the ground by his feet.
“You must have twisted it too hard,” Dabbles With Peril told him.
“You have to be gentle with these weapons,” Wrestles With Menace agreed, “they’re meant to be handled with care, not with clumsiness.”
“Just stay close to us,” Fights With Monsters sighed, “and use our light so you can see.”
Runs With Danger shivered, staring at his own feeble light and comparing it to the bright light that shone from his fellow warriors’ weapons. He then took a stance close to Dabbles With Peril.
“Do you think we’re close to the creature’s lair?” Runs With Danger asked.
“Well, if we are, it’s probably heard you coming a mile away,” Dabbles With Peril growled as the four warriors came upon the mouth of a large cave, “so do try to be quiet.”
The cave opened into darkness, and a number of animal carcasses were strewn near the cave’s mouth. The four warriors raised their weapons, shining the torches into the darkness.
“It looks clear,” Fights With Monsters whispered to the others, “I’m going in.”
Runs With Danger watched as Fights With Monsters ventured through the mouth of the cave, followed closely and cautiously by Dabbles With Peril and Wrestles With Menace. Not wanting to be left alone, Runs With Danger followed them into the cave, and into darkness itself.
He tapped his weapon gently, trying to get the light on the sight to glow a little brighter, but if anything the light’s glow actually diminished a little. He arched his eyebrows with worry as the light started to blink on and off, eventually going out completely.
“My lights not working at all now,” he groaned, moving closer to Wrestles With Menace.
“Just keep quiet,” Wrestles With Menace growled at him, “if the creature hears us approaching, we’re done for.”
As if to highlight the issue, Dabbles With Peril suddenly let fly a scream that could curdle milk, spinning upside down on his central axis and hurtling sideways into the darkness, carried away by tiny, almost invisible creatures with large teeth. A chuckling sound could be heard beneath his screams as both noises disappeared into the gloom.
“What the hell was that?” Wrestles With Menace said, fear filling his voice as he pointed his gun after his fallen warrior friend.
“Don’t you start,” Fights With Monsters said angrily, “it’s bad enough listening to that cowardly custard complaining all the time.”
Fights With Monsters looked into the darkness which had swallowed Dabbles With Peril, narrowing his eyes as he watched. But he could see nothing.
“We’d best keep moving,” Fights With Monsters suggested, ‘there’s no point hanging around for those little beats to get us too. We need to get to the creature that protects them, after that they’ll just run scared.”
Runs With Danger had his doubts.
After all, when he’d tried to fire his gun at whatever had taken Dabbles With Peril, it hadn’t fired. Probably because no one truly trusted him, he’d been given a dud.
As the remaining three warriors ventured further into the cave, their two functioning lights shone on the remains of other warriors, some spanning back hundreds of years. Runs With Danger swallowed nervously.
“If these warriors couldn’t stop the creature,” he stuttered, “what makes you think we can?”
“We have something they didn’t?” Fights With Monsters grinned widely.
“What’s that then?” Wrestles With Menace asked, starting to sound as doubtful as Runs With Danger.
Fights With Monsters smiled faltered a little, “Why, we have skills and training that are second to none. No one in thousands of years has been as well trained as we.”
Runs With Danger still had his doubts. Unseen by the others, he placed his non-functioning weapon on the ground, picking up one of the centuries-old forgotten weapons that a former warrior had dropped, probably just before he’d been eaten. He’d seen them in the history books, when he’d been getting trained. It was a blunderbuss, and it appeared to still have some ball bearings inside. Even if it didn’t actually work when it came to the crunch, it was much heavier than his own weapon, and would do far more damage if he swung it at someone or something’s head.
Holding the gun by his side, Runs With Danger trotted along, trying to catch up with the others. He caught up to them just in time to smell something rancid in the air.
“What is that?” he asked, holding his free hand to his nose, “It smells like rotten meat.”
“It’s probably just the smell of all the corpses down here,” Fights With Monsters suggested, “so many have died down here over the centuries, it’s bound to smell bad.”
But the last group to come down here would have been years ago, Runs With Danger thought to himself. Any flesh would have gone with the ages by now.
As if to prove him right, Runs With Danger heard a low grumbling noise, and for once it wasn’t him.
“Did you hear that?” he whispered, “What the hell was that?”
“It’s most likely just the wind, blowing through the caverns,” Wrestles With Menace suggested, though he didn’t sound like he believed that himself. Runs With Danger looked over at where he was stood, on a thick patch of strangely coloured moss, his weapon hanging by his side. Runs With Danger looked at the moss, it’s slightly orange colour flickering in the torch light, every so often seeming to disappear all together. His eyes widened as he saw the moss lift gently, then fall back to the earthy ground.
“Wrestles...” Runs With Danger began, sensing something was terribly wrong, but he was too late. With little or no warning, the orange moss lifted completely from the ground, wrapping around Wrestles With Menace and dragging him into what looked like another cave.
But it wasn’t a cave.
It was the gaping maw of the creature for which they sought.
Wrestles With Menace didn’t even have time to scream before the teeth of a creature so huge that it couldn’t be seen in one single viewing clamped down on him and began to chew. Runs With Danger and Fights With Monsters stared at each other, both their faces a mask of terror, before Fights With Monsters turned his weapon on the creature and began to fire. Lasers shot from the end of his rifle, tearing into the darkness where the creature could just be seen, but the laser light passed through the creature, lighting up the tunnel and revealing the tiny creatures who had taken Dabbles With Peril.
“It’s not working!” Fights With Monsters screamed, sounding terrified as the creature flickered in and out of the visible spectrum, sometimes a tooth, or an eye, or a smoke-belching snout, but always he could see the moss covered tongue and smell the foul breath that reeked of rotting meat. Fights With Monsters fell to the ground, his arms wrapped around his weapon as he shook and shuddered with fear.
Without even thinking, Runs With Danger raised the blunderbuss and levelled it at the creature, or at least where he assumed a part of the creature to be. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he fired the blunderbuss at the creature, emptying the barrel of small ball bearings which streamed through the air toward the creature. Most of them missed, but one hit the creature in the left eye, while two others shot into each of its nostrils. They hit home, and the creature’s remaining good eye widened blindly before the creature fell dead to the cave floor.
Runs With Danger stared at the creature as, for the first time, it completely came into view. He looked across the cave at Fights With Monsters, who was still sitting on the ground, tears running down his face. Then, realising that the creature was dead, he wiped his sleeve across his eyes and got up from the ground.
“We say nothing of this,” he said, an air of threat in his voice, “when we get back to the village we tell them that we bravely defeated the creature together, as a team, and that we sadly lost our two colleagues in the fight.”
Runs With Danger shrugged, “Whatever,” he said, “I’m not fussed about the glory, so long as I can retire after all this.”
“You won’t have to retire,” Fights With Monsters smiled, “we’ve defeated the creature, so there’s nothing left for us to fight. The smaller ones will not attack without the larger one for protection.”
Runs With Danger nodded dumbly, then looked around the darkened cave, “Why do you think it was so eager to kill ?”
Fights With Monsters shrugged, “He was a monster,” he said, preparing himself to leave the cave, “he was probably just hungry or something.”
“Maybe,” Runs With Danger said absently, but he had his doubts.
As he looked on at the carcass that had so recently threatened their lives, he noticed something glimmering near the creatures rear leg. Squinting, Runs With Danger noticed that the object he could just see was one of many.
“What is that?” he asked himself, taking a brave step towards the dead creature, “Is that... are those eggs?”
Fights With Monsters stopped his preparations and stared at Runs With Danger, “Did you say... eggs?”
“Yeah,” Runs With Danger replied, holding an egg up for Fights With Monsters to see, “they look like ostrich eggs or something.”
“We should smash them before they hatch,” Fights With Monsters warned, “before we’re faced with more of those creatures.”
Runs With Danger’s eyes widened as the egg he was holding fell to the cavern floor, “Oh, no.”
“What is it?” Fights With Monsters asked cautiously, “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t you see?” Runs With Danger said, terror in his voice, “They’re eggs!”
“I know,” Fights With Monsters nodded, “so let’s destroy them.”
“But if they’re eggs,” Runs With Danger observed, “then the creature must have had... a mate.”
Before Fights With Monsters could react to the words spoken by Runs With Danger, and echoing cry of anguish boomed from behind them, and the two brave warriors screamed as they witnessed the appearance from the darkness of another moss covered tongue...
Originally Posted 5/10/2015
Result - Joint 3rd Place
The clan member known ironically as Runs With Danger had been forced to join a group of warriors who had been challenged to bring an end to the entity once and for all. Although not the bravest of his peers, it was believed that his ability to run at a speed never before recorded by the clan would enable the rest of the warriors to gain time to bring down the beast. If nothing else, they could capture the beast as it pursued Runs With Danger, who many jokingly referred to as Runs FROM Danger.
The forest was even darker than usual as Runs With Danger brought up the rear of the hunting group. The clan’s bravest warrior, Fights With Monsters, took up the lead, while fellow warriors Dabbles With Peril and Wrestles With Menace, followed close behind.
“Is this really a good idea?” Runs With Danger asked nervously, “I mean, just because we have these new fangled laser rifles doesn’t mean we’re going to be able to take down the creature that lurks in teh darkness.”
“Don’t be such a coward,” Fights With Monsters hissed quietly, not taking his eyes off the path ahead of him, “we didn’t want you on this run, but what the chief says goes, so just keep quiet, keep back, and once we’ve killed this creature you can bask in our reflected glory.”
Runs With Danger swallowed uncertainly, but soon realised that what Fights With Monsters had said was true. He might not be the best warrior, but he’d still be considered a successful one if this attack went off without a hitch. He took a deep breath, puffing out his pigeon chest, then exhaled as he continued to follow the three warriors into the heart of the forest.
The trees seemed to be closing in on the four warriors as their journey into the forest took them into an area with little or no light. Fights With Monsters held up his hand for the others to stop, indicating their laser rifles.
“There are torches attached to the top of your weapon,” he reminded them, “I suggest we all switch them on and keep our eyes peeled for any sudden movements.”
Dabbles With Peril and Wrestles With Menace slowly lowered their weapons to adjust the torches, while Runs With Danger hurriedly snapped his light on without any pause for thought. The light flickered as he forced it on, but his clumsy handling of the weapon led to the torch twisting too far, and the light flickered down to a dull orange glow.
“I think my torch is broken,” he said fearfully, watching the orange light barely making contact with the ground by his feet.
“You must have twisted it too hard,” Dabbles With Peril told him.
“You have to be gentle with these weapons,” Wrestles With Menace agreed, “they’re meant to be handled with care, not with clumsiness.”
“Just stay close to us,” Fights With Monsters sighed, “and use our light so you can see.”
Runs With Danger shivered, staring at his own feeble light and comparing it to the bright light that shone from his fellow warriors’ weapons. He then took a stance close to Dabbles With Peril.
“Do you think we’re close to the creature’s lair?” Runs With Danger asked.
“Well, if we are, it’s probably heard you coming a mile away,” Dabbles With Peril growled as the four warriors came upon the mouth of a large cave, “so do try to be quiet.”
The cave opened into darkness, and a number of animal carcasses were strewn near the cave’s mouth. The four warriors raised their weapons, shining the torches into the darkness.
“It looks clear,” Fights With Monsters whispered to the others, “I’m going in.”
Runs With Danger watched as Fights With Monsters ventured through the mouth of the cave, followed closely and cautiously by Dabbles With Peril and Wrestles With Menace. Not wanting to be left alone, Runs With Danger followed them into the cave, and into darkness itself.
He tapped his weapon gently, trying to get the light on the sight to glow a little brighter, but if anything the light’s glow actually diminished a little. He arched his eyebrows with worry as the light started to blink on and off, eventually going out completely.
“My lights not working at all now,” he groaned, moving closer to Wrestles With Menace.
“Just keep quiet,” Wrestles With Menace growled at him, “if the creature hears us approaching, we’re done for.”
As if to highlight the issue, Dabbles With Peril suddenly let fly a scream that could curdle milk, spinning upside down on his central axis and hurtling sideways into the darkness, carried away by tiny, almost invisible creatures with large teeth. A chuckling sound could be heard beneath his screams as both noises disappeared into the gloom.
“What the hell was that?” Wrestles With Menace said, fear filling his voice as he pointed his gun after his fallen warrior friend.
“Don’t you start,” Fights With Monsters said angrily, “it’s bad enough listening to that cowardly custard complaining all the time.”
Fights With Monsters looked into the darkness which had swallowed Dabbles With Peril, narrowing his eyes as he watched. But he could see nothing.
“We’d best keep moving,” Fights With Monsters suggested, ‘there’s no point hanging around for those little beats to get us too. We need to get to the creature that protects them, after that they’ll just run scared.”
Runs With Danger had his doubts.
After all, when he’d tried to fire his gun at whatever had taken Dabbles With Peril, it hadn’t fired. Probably because no one truly trusted him, he’d been given a dud.
As the remaining three warriors ventured further into the cave, their two functioning lights shone on the remains of other warriors, some spanning back hundreds of years. Runs With Danger swallowed nervously.
“If these warriors couldn’t stop the creature,” he stuttered, “what makes you think we can?”
“We have something they didn’t?” Fights With Monsters grinned widely.
“What’s that then?” Wrestles With Menace asked, starting to sound as doubtful as Runs With Danger.
Fights With Monsters smiled faltered a little, “Why, we have skills and training that are second to none. No one in thousands of years has been as well trained as we.”
Runs With Danger still had his doubts. Unseen by the others, he placed his non-functioning weapon on the ground, picking up one of the centuries-old forgotten weapons that a former warrior had dropped, probably just before he’d been eaten. He’d seen them in the history books, when he’d been getting trained. It was a blunderbuss, and it appeared to still have some ball bearings inside. Even if it didn’t actually work when it came to the crunch, it was much heavier than his own weapon, and would do far more damage if he swung it at someone or something’s head.
Holding the gun by his side, Runs With Danger trotted along, trying to catch up with the others. He caught up to them just in time to smell something rancid in the air.
“What is that?” he asked, holding his free hand to his nose, “It smells like rotten meat.”
“It’s probably just the smell of all the corpses down here,” Fights With Monsters suggested, “so many have died down here over the centuries, it’s bound to smell bad.”
But the last group to come down here would have been years ago, Runs With Danger thought to himself. Any flesh would have gone with the ages by now.
As if to prove him right, Runs With Danger heard a low grumbling noise, and for once it wasn’t him.
“Did you hear that?” he whispered, “What the hell was that?”
“It’s most likely just the wind, blowing through the caverns,” Wrestles With Menace suggested, though he didn’t sound like he believed that himself. Runs With Danger looked over at where he was stood, on a thick patch of strangely coloured moss, his weapon hanging by his side. Runs With Danger looked at the moss, it’s slightly orange colour flickering in the torch light, every so often seeming to disappear all together. His eyes widened as he saw the moss lift gently, then fall back to the earthy ground.
“Wrestles...” Runs With Danger began, sensing something was terribly wrong, but he was too late. With little or no warning, the orange moss lifted completely from the ground, wrapping around Wrestles With Menace and dragging him into what looked like another cave.
But it wasn’t a cave.
It was the gaping maw of the creature for which they sought.
Wrestles With Menace didn’t even have time to scream before the teeth of a creature so huge that it couldn’t be seen in one single viewing clamped down on him and began to chew. Runs With Danger and Fights With Monsters stared at each other, both their faces a mask of terror, before Fights With Monsters turned his weapon on the creature and began to fire. Lasers shot from the end of his rifle, tearing into the darkness where the creature could just be seen, but the laser light passed through the creature, lighting up the tunnel and revealing the tiny creatures who had taken Dabbles With Peril.
“It’s not working!” Fights With Monsters screamed, sounding terrified as the creature flickered in and out of the visible spectrum, sometimes a tooth, or an eye, or a smoke-belching snout, but always he could see the moss covered tongue and smell the foul breath that reeked of rotting meat. Fights With Monsters fell to the ground, his arms wrapped around his weapon as he shook and shuddered with fear.
Without even thinking, Runs With Danger raised the blunderbuss and levelled it at the creature, or at least where he assumed a part of the creature to be. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he fired the blunderbuss at the creature, emptying the barrel of small ball bearings which streamed through the air toward the creature. Most of them missed, but one hit the creature in the left eye, while two others shot into each of its nostrils. They hit home, and the creature’s remaining good eye widened blindly before the creature fell dead to the cave floor.
Runs With Danger stared at the creature as, for the first time, it completely came into view. He looked across the cave at Fights With Monsters, who was still sitting on the ground, tears running down his face. Then, realising that the creature was dead, he wiped his sleeve across his eyes and got up from the ground.
“We say nothing of this,” he said, an air of threat in his voice, “when we get back to the village we tell them that we bravely defeated the creature together, as a team, and that we sadly lost our two colleagues in the fight.”
Runs With Danger shrugged, “Whatever,” he said, “I’m not fussed about the glory, so long as I can retire after all this.”
“You won’t have to retire,” Fights With Monsters smiled, “we’ve defeated the creature, so there’s nothing left for us to fight. The smaller ones will not attack without the larger one for protection.”
Runs With Danger nodded dumbly, then looked around the darkened cave, “Why do you think it was so eager to kill ?”
Fights With Monsters shrugged, “He was a monster,” he said, preparing himself to leave the cave, “he was probably just hungry or something.”
“Maybe,” Runs With Danger said absently, but he had his doubts.
As he looked on at the carcass that had so recently threatened their lives, he noticed something glimmering near the creatures rear leg. Squinting, Runs With Danger noticed that the object he could just see was one of many.
“What is that?” he asked himself, taking a brave step towards the dead creature, “Is that... are those eggs?”
Fights With Monsters stopped his preparations and stared at Runs With Danger, “Did you say... eggs?”
“Yeah,” Runs With Danger replied, holding an egg up for Fights With Monsters to see, “they look like ostrich eggs or something.”
“We should smash them before they hatch,” Fights With Monsters warned, “before we’re faced with more of those creatures.”
Runs With Danger’s eyes widened as the egg he was holding fell to the cavern floor, “Oh, no.”
“What is it?” Fights With Monsters asked cautiously, “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t you see?” Runs With Danger said, terror in his voice, “They’re eggs!”
“I know,” Fights With Monsters nodded, “so let’s destroy them.”
“But if they’re eggs,” Runs With Danger observed, “then the creature must have had... a mate.”
Before Fights With Monsters could react to the words spoken by Runs With Danger, and echoing cry of anguish boomed from behind them, and the two brave warriors screamed as they witnessed the appearance from the darkness of another moss covered tongue...
Originally Posted 5/10/2015
Result - Joint 3rd Place
October 1, 2015
Poem : A Few Short Words Of Advice
For those who haven’t listened to
A single word that I have said
Perhaps you’d hear me if I placed
A blunderbuss against your head
Originally Posted 1/10/2015
Result - 2nd Place
A single word that I have said
Perhaps you’d hear me if I placed
A blunderbuss against your head
Originally Posted 1/10/2015
Result - 2nd Place
