Chad A. Clark's Blog, page 46

Special Thanksgiving Edition!

He didn’t know how to tell her that the night before had been the extent of his interest. Nothing against her, but the sex was done, and beyond that, he would have preferred to not see her at all this morning. The only reason he hadn’t called her a cab the night before is because of the screaming fits of rage women seemed to go into when you asked them to leave at 2:30 in the morning.

This one wasn’t leaving though. She stood there in the room, tapping her foot on the floor looking at him expectantly, like she was waiting for him to do...

What exactly?

It was always a little awkward even though he had done this dozens of times. That was how the scene worked. You hit the clubs, pick out the one you want and bring her home for a little after-party party. Why couldn’t that just be the end of the exchange, with the transfer of fluids? He wanted her, and clearly she had wanted him the way she had responded to his advances. No need to complicate this whole thing with strained conversation.

In the midst of his dull recollections, he suddenly remembered her body pressed up against his outside the coat check at the bar. What was she whispering in his ear? He shook his head.

“Look...” he started, reaching into his memory for her name and finding nothing, “Look I don’t know what you were hoping for here, but—”

“Eddie.”

He stopped, again with a feeling in his gut that there was some key part of this exchange that he was forgetting, something that was important. Blank slate was all he could come up in his mental loft.

“What?”

She smirked and shook her head. “You owe me three hundred and fifty dollars.”

Thank you for taking the time to visit the blog, I hope you enjoyed the story! If you did, I hope you'll consider sharing this story via your social media of choice below, or even leave me a comment!. You can also subscribe above to receive email notifications of new content when it is available.
All text content is the exclusive property of the author, Chad A. Clark and is intended solely for the purposes of viewing online. Any copying, downloading or re-distribution is strictly prohibited.
©2014 Chad A. Clark      All Rights Reserved  

Issue #92

Thank you for taking the time to visit the blog, I hope you enjoyed the story! If you did, I hope you'll consider sharing this story via your social media of choice below, or even leave me a comment!. You can also subscribe above to receive email notifications of new content when it is available.
All text content is the exclusive property of the author, Chad A. Clark and is intended solely for the purposes of viewing online. Any copying, downloading or re-distribution is strictly prohibited.

©2014 Chad A. Clark      All Rights Reserved  

↑ Grab this Headline Animator

Baked Scribe Flashback!

“I’m telling you, it was dead bodies.”

Larry looked up from the coffee that was now hovering halfway between the desktop and his mouth and decided to set it down, wondering if it was too late to think about adding some of whatever it was that Gervais had been drinking that night.

“You’re going to have to run that one past me again, Gervais.”

“Dead bodies.”

“You mean like road kill? I guess you need permits to transport stuff like that, but I can tell you that stretch of road has been due for a cleanup since—”

“Not animals, you idiot. Human bodies. Flatbed trailer piled high with human bones.”

Larry dropped the pen onto the desk and took his glasses off. He looked around the mostly empty station, wondering why he had passed on the opportunity to go home early when it had been offered. No, he had to stick around for the shit-bird shift, because a few extra hours of shit pay would surely make all the difference to him. He had taken some crazy complaints over the years, including one person who insisted that an alien had sucked his eyes out through his nose and then made new ones out of melted jello, but this one here was already shaping up to be one of the top five.

“All right Gervais, just … just go over it again for me, all right?”

Gervais rolled his eyes and shook his head, clearly never having been so put out as this. “I was driving south, down the I-ten. I was workin’ that graveyard again so I’m used to pretty much having the road to myself.”

“Okay, with you so far.”

“I had just passed that big ass oak tree, the one out Cider Lane? Anyway, I’m driving along when all of a sudden, this big ass truck is right next to me, weaving in and out of my lane. I almost pulled off onto the shoulder just to get away from the idiot.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Big son of a bitch, the truck I mean. I couldn’t believe it could even go that fast.

“Yeah, I bet.” Larry paused in the middle of the tiny sketch on his notepad long enough to write, “big son of a bitch,” saying it out loud to satisfy Gervais.

“It was just a flatbed, no covered trailer and when it passed at first I figured he was just hauling firewood or something. But I looked again and I shit you not, that thing was covered in human bones.”

“Gervais—”

“Just shut up one damn minute. You know I’ve been hunting these woods my whole damn life. I know the God dammed difference between animal and human bones.

“Gervais, what are you expecting me to do here, really? I know for a fact that you were at Rusty’s Tap tonight.”

He put out a shaky finger as he spoke, “Now hold those horses there, that got nothing to do with—”

“And if I already know about it, there’s likely a dozen or so people who would be able to recollect seeing you. Now you’re telling me you were driving home, probably shit-faced out of your gourd and that you saw a flatbed truck covered in human bones.”

“It’s what happened.”

Larry let out a sigh. “Gervais, I bet you actually believe that. But what do you think is going to happen if I fill our a report like this? I end up eating government cheese and you end up sucking your meals through a straw.”

“I saw what I saw.”

“Can you at least tell me anything else about the truck? Make and model? Any markings? Did you get a clear look at the driver? Any logos on the mudflaps? Flag in the window? Did you catch the plate number?”

“No, but—”

Larry put his hand out again to stop him. “No … to which question?”

“Any of ‘em, I guess. I didn’t see anything else, otherwise I would have told you about it.”

Larry closed the notepad and clicked the pen shut. He straightened out his tie as he pushed back from the desk.

“Gervais, I’m going to do you a favor. I’m not taking this report. No one would believe whatever it is you have to say and to be honest, I don’t want my name attached to it. Go home, sleep it off. Trust me, you’ll thank me in the morning, if you even remember any of this.”

“If I’m even here in the morning,” he muttered.

“What?”

Gervais shook his head, gaze still dropped to the floor. “Don’t matter none.”

“Come on, it’s one thing to come in here, spouting off about seeing dead bodies on a truck but now you’re saying someone is actually after you?”

“You don’t see something like that—”

“Gervais, you didn’t—”

“You don’t SEE something like that without getting yourself into some bad trouble in the long run, see? They won’t let me stick around, not after what I saw.”

“Who are you talking about?”

Gervais leaned in so close that Larry reflexively winced at the chariot of scotch fumes driven out of his mouth, with the stench of tobacco at the reins.

“Don’t matter who “they” is, you dummy. It’s all the same in the end. If I knew who they were, all I’d know is what direction to high-tail it in. As it stands, I’ll do what I can, head for home and grab whatever I need. Then I’m smackin’ pavement.”

“Gervais, don’t do anything stupid.”

“Stupid would be staying here. So unless you’re planning on arresting me.” Larry shook his head and nodded towards the door. He frowned at the sight of Gervais struggling to stand up.

“Are you hurt?”

“Naw. God dammed son of a bitching prosthetic in my knee. Titanium, my ass. Might as well be made out of paper clips.”

Larry watched him stumble out of the station, fairly sure that it was the booze making him wobble more than the prosthetic.

The rest of the night was boring, by comparison. More drunks, a few domestics, a dog attack. No trucks. No bodies. Not that he was expecting either.

It was late before he got onto the road, choosing to take the I-ten south to avoid the stoplights. For a change, there was no traffic for him to contend with as he made his way up to cruising speed. His autopilot had kicked in so strongly that he almost didn’t see the truck. He heard it before he saw it, the heavy sound of springs protesting, the flatbed jerking forward and clanking against the cab. He glanced to his left as the truck passed, rust glaring in the moonlight. Somehow, the truck was managing to accelerate past him and in a moment, he felt his jaw start to go slack and he immediately wished that he had taken the report more seriously.

The flatbed was covered in human remains.

Bones and skulls with the barest remnants of sinewy flesh clinging to what was left of the their former bodies. He had written off the whole thing as a joke, a drunken delusion and now he found himself having to focus well enough to keep his car on the road. Then, as the back end of the truck passed he saw, perched on the very top of a pile, wobbling as if it was about to fall off, what looked like a leg bone. It lay there, mocking him, polished to a near sheen, the lights from his high beams reflecting back at him off of the titanium prosthetic where the knee had once been.

Thank you for taking the time to visit the blog, I hope you enjoyed the story! If you did, I hope you'll consider sharing this story via your social media of choice below, or even leave me a comment!. You can also subscribe above to receive email notifications of new content when it is available.
All text content is the exclusive property of the author, Chad A. Clark and is intended solely for the purposes of viewing online. Any copying, downloading or re-distribution is strictly prohibited.

©2014 Chad A. Clark      All Rights Reserved  

Issue #91

Gregory sipped the wine and gazed out the window at the ocean raging below. They could hear the sound of the surf crashing against the cliff, a constant buzz underneath the conversation which had been ongoing, all night long.

“You remember the Christmas party? Emory asked, already laughing through a mouth full of dinner roll.

“Which one?” Leona asked, starting to giggle herself. “The one where he got into an argument about Faulkner with a seven year old? Or the one where he insisted that Peter, Paul and Mary were actually the leaders of a Satanic cult?”

Emory was now laughing so hard that his face had become close to the color of a tomato. He put a hand out on Gregory’s elbow to steady himself and catch his breath. “I forgot about the first one. No, this was the one where he got so off-his-ass drunk that he ended up stripping down and running out into the snow, insisting that he was going to find a twenty four hour nude bowling alley.”

“I remember how it took us over an hour to find him,” Gregory said as he swirled the wine around in his glass. “I had to drive him to the hospital myself, he almost lost half of his toes because of that.”

“He was the only one, you know?” Leona said. “He was the only one who realized what was happening the second those ships dropped down out of the clouds.” Her voice hitched and her eyes were starting to glisten from the tears. The others didn’t voice what she was clearly hinting at. Of all of Stanford’s friends, she had been the most vocal in ridiculing him for what they had all seen as crazy ravings and paranoid fantasy.

The whole planet had been taken in when the ships arrived. When the communications from their leaders had been broadcast out over the globe, everyone had believed them in their benevolent intentions. It had all been a smokescreen of course but no one had seen through it.

None of them, save for Stanford.

Towards the end, he had been harder to get in touch with as he progressively fell further of the grid. They never knew for sure if he had gotten involved with the terrorist groups who had tried to rise up against the visitors. They didn’t know and didn’t go out of their way to find out, even though they all suspected that it was true. When the warrant for his arrest had been handed down, they had disassociated themselves with him, claiming ignorance to the authorities but also cutting off their friend for good. Gregory had tried to tell himself that this was just as much for his protection as theirs.

Stanford’s body had been found a week later.

Even this, they had written off as just a close friend meeting the end which he had likely brought upon himself with his own actions and poor decisions. If Stanford had been there, he would have been raving about how the visitors were likely behind the killing, about the folly of still referring to them as “visitors”, even though they were clearly here to stay.

Their only saving grace that evening was that the dead couldn’t say, “I told you so.”

They did it for him anyway, punishing themselves with their memories, flogging themselves with the guilt that they all felt but never actually vocalized to each other.

“We couldn’t have done anything,” Leona said, half as a question, sounding like she was trying to convince herself as much as anyone else.

“Nothing we could have done.” Gregory echoed the sentiment as he lifted his glass for another sip. They toasted each other, ensconced in their own seeming confidence that the statement was true. The wine went down smoothly, the scent and the tannins obscuring what they were actually ingesting.

Society was on the brink. Security forces had descended down from the ships and were now corralling the citizens of Earth, crowding them into camps and jails. There had even been some public executions.

Stanford would have been the one to push for action, the scream for the need to do something, anything other than the pathetic self-doubt and fear which they now hid behind.

Tonight wasn’t about dwelling on their own depression though. It was about looking back, seeking, through their reflections, a way to make their final moments as pleasant as possible. This should have been a celebration, not a reason for despair.

“I miss the trips out to the bluffs,” Gregory said, “We used to take the kids out there every summer.” His family was gone now, caught in the rubble underneath the school which had been bombarded for being a suspected safe house for insurgents. He should have been there as well for a teacher conference, but had been running late and his life had been spared by mere minutes.

“Tuesday nights,” Leona said. “Sid and I … it was the only night we actually had together…” She trailed off. Sid had been killed in one of the worker’s riots, quickly put down with violent precision.

“I’m going to miss the three of you,” Emory said, including Stanford, despite his absence.

“I just don’t understand how things could have gone this far,” Leona said. “Why didn’t anyone see anything sooner?”

It was a moot point. There weren’t any answers to be found anymore and even if there were, they had chosen the path to take and it was too late to turn back. Leona swirled the wine in her glass and took a long drink, as if willing the effects to come on faster.

“I’m surprised I can’t taste it,” she said.

“No reason why you…” Emory trailed off as his mouth slipped open, as if on a hinge. He swiped away the drool that was starting to form with the back of his hand and shook his head. “Is this…” He wasn’t able to finish the sentence and his head nodded down slightly, as if he was falling asleep.

Leona was crying now and reached out to take hold of Emory’s hand. Gregory took hold of the other, gripping it tightly, thinking that there might have been a response to the touch but it was hard to know for sure. It was getting difficult to see or hear clearly. He blinked and jerked his head up. Leona was laying her head down on the table, reaching out for his hand.

All he could think about was how dry his mouth felt as he began inching his hand towards hers. His field of vision was beginning to narrow down to a fine point. He felt like he was looking up from the bottom of a deep well. In the depths of his awareness, he felt the touch of Leona’s finger against his, already cold. He slipped away, escaping the horrors of their future, wrapped in the memory of his past and the faces of his wife and children. Taking one last, short breath, he allowed his eyes to droop shut one last time.

Thank you for taking the time to visit the blog, I hope you enjoyed the story! If you did, I hope you'll consider sharing this story via your social media of choice below, or even leave me a comment!. You can also subscribe above to receive email notifications of new content when it is available.
All text content is the exclusive property of the author, Chad A. Clark and is intended solely for the purposes of viewing online. Any copying, downloading or re-distribution is strictly prohibited.
©2014 Chad A. Clark      All Rights Reserved  

Flashback Saturday!

The plane set down in New Orleans in a pouring rain. He stepped out of the terminal, his bright red alligator boots crunching down broken glass as he held up a hand clutching a pack of cigarettes for the next cab.

He was walking down Bourbon Street, glancing up at the balconies and remembering how her hair had flowed in the breeze as they pelted the Mardi Gras crowds with peanuts. He took long drags from the cigarette, the smoke rising up to mingle with the banners and elaborate flower arrangements lined along the street.

The coffee shop where he had met her was still there, now sandwiched between two trendy chain restaurants. The ragged poster of Louis Armstrong still stood guard over the patrons partaking in burnt espresso and stale sandwiches. He had never cared for the place but the essence of her still lingered there and who was he to fight the pull of tradition?

On the next corner, as he tried to fight the taste of caffeinated memories. The smell of catfish frying wafted down from the balcony above he could make out the sound of someone inside, banging on an old piano. It was the same corner he had walked past with her, the preacher standing on his apple crate, reaching out to the crowd, reaching out for him.

She had always loved the city, the people and the music, the food and festivals. Loved the smell of the spice in the air and nights spent trudging through the worst parts of town to fine restaurants hidden behind heavy metal doors that looked like you would need a password to get into.

She had always been there next to him on these trips, here in the city and beyond. She was supposed to stay there, always at his side to either lead him down the path or follow. Now the only presence he felt around him was the weight of absence.

So, hours after his informal walking tour, he blinked and found himself on the bed of a hotel room. He reached across to place the now empty bottle of gin next to the empty bottle of scotch. Satisfied he had finally finished both, he reached to the table on the other side of the bed, took hold of the tiny prescription bottle and laid back, steeling himself against the imminent comfort of the outstretched shades of eternity.

Thank you for taking the time to visit the blog, I hope you enjoyed the story! If you did, I hope you'll consider sharing this story via your social media of choice below, or even leave me a comment!. You can also subscribe above to receive email notifications of new content when it is available.
All text content is the exclusive property of the author, Chad A. Clark and is intended solely for the purposes of viewing online. Any copying, downloading or re-distribution is strictly prohibited.

©2014 Chad A. Clark      All Rights Reserved  

Issue #90

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Derrin pressed a hand to the side of his face, feeling blood trickling through his fingers.

“I’m sorry, all right? Are you okay?” Jerry asked.

“No. I’m not okay. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Look, I said I was sorry, I didn’t know you were going to put your face there.”

Darrin took a step back and looked around, as if he was expecting some unseen audience to react to the absurdity of the statement. “What does that have to do with anything? Who the hell taught you how to play mini-golf anyway?”

“All I can do is apologize. You’re so God damned quiet, I didn’t even hear you walking up next to me.”

“I didn’t think I needed to announce my presence. Why can’t you pay more attention to what you’re doing?” Derrin noticed Jerry’s hand tightening around the grip to his club and wondered if maybe he was pushing this too far. The problem was that letting go was a little easier said than done. “Why can’t you just admit that you made a mistake? God forbid, maybe you could even apologize for—”

“That’s bullshit, I just apologi—”

“Like you mean it fuck-stick.”

“Don’t call me that.” This time, the putter was lifted halfway up, drawing back slowly as if to strike. This was stupid. There was no point to dragging out this argument. He just needed to clear his head and calm down. Darrin shook his head and began walking towards the next hole.

“Where the hell are you going?” Jerry’s voice had jumped several octaves and was starting to crack as he spoke. Darrin waved off the question and kept on walking. He heard Jerry’s shuffling footsteps and even the whistle of the club swinging through the air but didn’t register it soon enough to avoid the blow. Brilliant light exploded around him as he heard a dull thud coming from somewhere inside a deep, dark hole that he was now falling in to.
Sarah glared across the way at the two douche-bags, now in full blow-up mode as they screamed at each other. It was beyond her what could have transpired during a game of mini-golf that could have led to an argument as heated as this.

Her heart jumped in her chest as douche-bag number one actually hefted his club in his hand and cracked it across his friend’s skull. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. What had started as an annoying disturbance had turned into an emergency, someone in need of her assistance. Isn’t this why she had been preparing herself for all this time? All of the classes, the practicing at the range, the permit to carry, this moment would be the justification for all of that.

Sarah began walking towards the two, hand shaking as she reached into her satchel.

Bryce watched the woman as she began making her way towards the feuding frat brothers. She had a set, determined look on her face as if she was psyching herself up for something. His breath stopped as her hand came out from her bag holding a … Jesus, was that what it looked like? He need to stop this before it got out of hand.

“Hey!” he yelled out at her, taking a step forward. She spun towards him and jerked at the unexpected noise. He had just enough time to register the look of dismayed shock on her face before he saw the muzzle flash and felt the impact to his forehead.

Any remaining conscious thought he might have had exited through the rear. Thank you for taking the time to visit the blog, I hope you enjoyed the story! If you did, I hope you'll consider sharing this story via your social media of choice below, or even leave me a comment!. You can also subscribe above to receive email notifications of new content when it is available. All text content is the exclusive property of the author, Chad A. Clark and is intended solely for the purposes of viewing online. Any copying, downloading or re-distribution is strictly prohibited.
©2014 Chad A. Clark      All Rights Reserved  

Baked Scribe Flashback!!!

The answering machine was blinking red when he walked through the front door, indicating the sole message waiting for his review. He pressed a finger to the button, and listened as he tapped his keys against his leg. There was no voice on the message, but he could hear sound, feedback like wind, but muffled. Somebody had likely dialed him from their pocket, no way to know how long the message would go on like this. He was reaching out again, this time for the delete button, when there was a burst of static from the speaker followed by the sound, again muffled in the background, of a child laughing. The message returned to silence and Roland frowned. Had to be stray cellular transmissions getting mixed up. He wanted to delete the message but for some reason, was also intrigued.

He let it run for another ten seconds or so before the sound of the child came through again, hysterical giggling at some joke unheard, something private which he had been left out of. He took a step back away from the machine as the sound cut off and was replaced by a high pitched ringing. It went on for several seconds and he clamped his hands over his ears, dropping his keys in the process when the ringing shut off and after what felt like several minutes, a mono-toned voice came through the speakers, crystal clear and spoke only one word.

“Goodbye.”

There was a clatter of plastic on the other end, like a drunk trying to manage hanging up the phone when there was finally a click, followed by the beep of the machine, indicating that the message was done. Roland stepped forward and pressed play again, but despite the fact that the machine still indicated that there was a message to be played, nothing happened when he pushed the button. The machine merely beeped, indicating a cleared memory.

Roland shrugged it off and started for the kitchen, noting the complete stillness of the house around him. The only times he recalled it being this quiet was during power outages. Still, the clock on the oven was correct and the fridge was on as he took the frigid cold bottle of beer from the shelf. He reached for the remote and just as his fingers brushed against the plastic, the television clicked on, displaying static. Roland frowned first at the screen and then the remote, muting the volume and changing the channels, finding nothing but static. He pointed the remote and pressed the power button but it remained on. Batteries had to be dead. He reached for the set itself to press the power button, but still nothing happened. He smacked an open palm against the side of the TV several times and pressed the button again. It stayed on.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered as he felt back behind the coffee maker for the extension cord, shaking it until the loosely fit plug from the television dropped out and the screen went dark. He shook his head as he headed for the basement, hoping that the older model television was the source of the problem instead of the cable being out altogether. As he got to the bottom of the stairs and started turning towards the couch, he heard a sound coming from behind the door that led out to the garage. He could hear and identify it, even through the heavy-duty security door.

It was the sound of static.

Roland threw open the door to the garage and was greeted by silence. He picked up a shovel that was leaning up against the door frame and walked around the three-car garage, looking for anything out of order, anything that he could use to take out the frustrations of the day. After several laps, he was satisfied that nothing was waiting to jump out at him so he returned to the house, double checking the deadbolt before heading for the couch. If there was no signal from the satellite and he couldn’t access the DVR, at least there were the movies down here he could settle for. He twisted the top off the bottle and dropped into the sofa. Picking up the remote, he wasn’t surprised to see static on this screen as well. He pressed the button to access the Blu-ray player and call up one of the hundred or so discs that were inside.

The screen went blank for a micro-second before the Blu-ray menu came up and as he started to scroll through his options, a memory tugged at the back of his mind, something he had seen, but not immediately acknowledged. It had been a reflection in the screen just before the menu came up. Something behind him. Roland pointed the remote and turned off the television.

There was a woman standing on the stairs behind him.

Roland leapt off of the sofa and spun around, the bottle flying from his now limp fingers where it hit hit the floor, fountaining beer out and all over the carpet. He barely even noticed it as he looked around the room, breath starting to come in gasps.

The room was empty.

But he had seen her. There was no doubting his memory of what had just happened. He had distinctly seen her standing there, looking over his shoulder and staring at him in the reflection. Still, no one else was in the room. Other than the cat, which was now cowering in the corner under the office table, he was alone.

The air in the room had taken on a heavy, burnt smell, as if something electrical was overheating. He thought about checking the fuse box when a sudden wave of dizziness made him stagger. The room started to spin as he tried to stay on his feet and just as he was beginning to feel like he was going to throw up, he heard the sound of footsteps running down the stairs along with the shrieking laughter of children playing. He felt people rushing past him, as if he was stuck in the middle of a huge crowd. The house itself felt like it was shaking when he was suddenly knocked off his feet. He landed on his back, and after a second felt himself being lifted up off the floor for several feet before being dropped. He felt a sharp blow to the back of his head and then darkness.

When he came to, he was being dragged by the heels, pulled up his own stairs by an unseen force. He started to struggle and screamed as tiny incisions cut their way across his arms, hands, neck and face, as if from a hundred miniature scalpels. The invisible hands gripping his feet relaxed suddenly, and he slid backwards, down the stairs, the repeated blows giving a staccato like sound to his screaming. He hit the bottom, and stars exploded in front of him as his head struck the tile and he had the vague sense of his own feet tumbling over himself and again, darkness.

He woke up to the sound of screaming.

The sound was neither male or female, but rather a bizarre, modulated, androgynous combination of both, as if souls themselves were screaming out to him for relief. He clamped his hands over his ears but it was pointless, as if the sound was coming from the inside of his own head. The volume rose, becoming more animalistic in its fury and rage. He smacked himself, as if the sudden pain would bring him back to his senses, but even the ringing in his ears wasn’t enough to overcome the cacophony of suffering, howling in his head.

The grip on him was still absent, so Roland staggered to his feet and ran for the garage. He bounced off the door before getting his fingers around the doorknob and twisted, pain flaring up again from the cuts on his hands and he stumbled out into the garage. Somehow, he managed to trip over the snowblower, into the control panel, and the door rumbled to life. He managed to get to his feet and under the door as he made his way down towards the street.

There was little noise outside, even for early evening as he sprinted away from his house, clutching at his head and crying for the screams to stop. The neighborhood was quiet enough that he should have heard the moving truck. He was so occupied, though, that he didn’t even register the sight of the truck’s grill as it caught him in the chest, spinning him, while taking a substantial amount of flesh and muscle with it.

He was lying on his side in the street, looking up at his house. His legs were either gone completely or merely beyond his ability to feel them. There was no pain, but he was struggling to get breath past the blood that was bubbling up into his throat. He could see the windows of his dining room looking down over him and in his last few moments, he saw the woman again, staring passively out at him. They made eye contact, and as his eyes started to droop and he felt the sensation of sleep overtaking him, he heard the quiet voice in his head, speaking to him out from the void. One word only.

“Goodbye.”

Thank you for taking the time to visit the blog, I hope you enjoyed the story! If you did, I hope you'll consider sharing this story via your social media of choice below, or even leave me a comment!. You can also subscribe above to receive email notifications of new content when it is available. All text content is the exclusive property of the author, Chad A. Clark and is intended solely for the purposes of viewing online. Any copying, downloading or re-distribution is strictly prohibited.
©2014 Chad A. Clark      All Rights Reserved  

Issue #89

He pushed the bicycle up the hill, grunted as he muscled the tires through the deep patches of mud and braced himself against the driving rain. For not the first time, he began to wonder about the crazy notion that had led him to attempt this trip in the first place. Get out of the city, see the progression of the countryside as he traveled west, all from the quaint view of his bicycle seat. Right about now, he was guessing that he would find the trip just as quaint from behind the steering wheel of his car. There weren’t even creepy, rural area motels for him to take advantage of. Nothing but the road, the dark, the cold and the mud.

Then, when he was nearly to the breaking point, he looked up and saw that to his right there was a house up at the top of a steep hill. It was huge, three stories and all of its windows lit up with an inviting, warm glow. James dropped the bike at the base of the path winding up to the house. His feet slipped several times before he reached the porch. He could hear music coming from inside despite the late hour. There didn’t seem to be a doorbell but there was a length of chain hanging down from the ceiling next to the door. James took hold of it and pulled. There was resistance at first but eventually the chain moved, grinding with a metal on metal sound which was followed by a booming proclamation of bells and chimes within the house.

“Help you?”

The voice came from behind him and made him actually jump, dropping the satchel that he had just pulled up over his shoulder. The man was standing there, halfway up the steps, tall and thin, nearly seven feet tall. Despite looking to be in his early sixties, the man looked spry and healthy. He stared at James with a blank expression on his face, seemingly unaffected by the weather raging around them. In his arms was a load of firewood.

“Hi,” James said, not being sure what else would be appropriate. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to trouble you this late but I’ve been caught out in this storm and yours is the first place I’ve come across in a while. Would it be at all possible to stay here, maybe just until the rain stops?”

The man squinted as he looked up into the night sky. James frowned as he noticed the man tilt his face up and breathe in deeply, as if he was sniffing the air.

“Ah, gonna be a while before that happens. Best if you just spend the night.”

“No, I couldn’t put you out like that, I just—”

“It’s no bother.” The man unrolled his arms, letting the wood tumble out onto the porch and wiped his hands off on his pants. “Besides, if you’re just gonna stay until the weather blows over, that’s all you’ll end up doing. Trust me, these summer storms come rolling down onto us and they stay for a long time.”

“Well … all right, I guess. Only if I’m really not inconveniencing you though.”

“The bed’s there, might as well be yours.” He walked into the house, nodding for James to follow.

The room they walked into looked like it could have been an elaborate set for a fifties-era movie. In the center of the room was a huge rocking recliner. The small table next to it sported a mug with contents that were still hot enough to produce steam. There was also a radio that looked like it came straight from the antique shop. There was a fire going strong in the hearth and James could feel the warm, inviting heat even from across the room.

“Guest room’s upstairs. End of the hall, to your right.”

James headed up, shouldering his bag and wiping the moisture from his face. He walked down the hall and turned into the room, surprised to find the bed turned down and a towel folded neatly on the pillows. Maybe people passing through was a more common occurrence than he was giving the area credit for.

His host was stirring a small pot of soup when he made his way back down to the kitchen. “Figured you could use something hot to eat,” he said, his back staying turned. “My name’s Edward, by the way, didn’t catch yours.”

“Sorry. I’m Jacob.”

“No worries. I’ve pretty much settled with your generation not having much regard in terms of manners.”

James paused, halfway into sitting down at the table. He straightened back up, trying to regain his mental footing at the sudden verbal jab from the man who, up until now had been congenial.

“Um … I … sir, I’m sorry if I—”

Edward waved him off, still without turning and spoke with the same deadened tone of voice, “I”m only foolin’ with you son, take a breath.”

James nodded and sat down, hearing the friendliness in the man’s voice but wondering how genuine it really was.

“Right. Sorry, I guess that’s what being alone all these weeks gets you.”

“How long you been out there in the rain?”

“All night.”

Edward chuckled. “Well, then you need this.”

James took the bowl of soup that Edward offered and went straight to it, only slightly aware of how rude he was acting, shoveling the food into his mouth like a slob.

“I got coffee too,” Edward said. “And if that don’t work the bourbon’s downstairs.”

“Thank you.”

“Been dry as a bone here the last few weeks,” Edward said. “We need this rain.”

“I’m sure.” James looked around the kitchen, still feeling like he was in the middle of a World War II exhibit at the museum.

“Have you been here long?” he asked, trying to at least be the one to start a topic.

“Oh, pretty much the entire time,” Edward answered.

James frowned. Something about the way Edward had answered the question seemed off but he couldn’t quite explain why.

“I’m just glad I came across your place when I did.” He floundered around, trying to think of something else to add to his sentence but instead resigned himself to lowering his head, fighting the awkwardness in the room but also savoring the warmth from the soup. “Do you live here alone, or do you have family?”

“Just me for now, holding down the fort. They’ll send more when they’re ready.”

Again, James was struck by the oddity of the answer. He opened his mouth to ask what Edward had meant but as he did so, his mouth and tongue went numb and all he could manage sounded alien even to himself.

“D’you ev …”

James shook his head violently, trying to clear the fog in his mind. He couldn’t really be this tired but it had suddenly become too much of an effort to even keep his eyes open. A voice screamed at him from his head that something was wrong, that he needed to get away.

It was too late for him to care, too late to act on any thought that might intrude into this haze of mental nothing-ness. His arms felt like they weighed fifty pounds each as they dropped to his side, knocking the soup off the table. The bowl shattered in an explosion on the floor, spreading tomato soup and shards of glass all over the kitchen.

“See now, look what you’ve done.” Edward’s voice was booming in his ears, so much so that James’ first thought was of the great and terrible Oz. He tried to talk, to ask what was going on. One word was all he could manage to get out and it was delivered distorted and stretched as he said it.

“You …” It sounded like a record being played at a slower speed. His eyes drooped and he gave in to sleep.

When he woke up, he was lying on a cold, hard table. There was no sensation of anything below his neck. He opened his mouth to call out, sending bolts of pain through his face and into his neck.

“Don’t bother,” Edward said from the corner. “I removed your vocal cords some time ago. This is actually the third time I’ve told you this, you keep passing out from shock.”

James shook his head and recoiled on the inside as Edward, or whatever he had been in the first place, stepped out from the shadows. He had grown in size to the point that the top of his head was nearly brushing against the high, arched ceiling. He had sprouted three more arms from somewhere behind him that were swirling around in the background, grabbing at the air with pincer-like movements and his skin had gone a deep purple color.

James began to buck up and down on the table, or at least he thought that was what he was doing with so little sensation to confirm the action. Despite what he had just been told, he opened his mouth to scream, seeking purchase from a voice that had abandoned him.

The thing in Edward’s clothes darted forward and backhanded him. It bent down until their faces were only inches apart. “Do not pass out!” It howled at him, so loud that he could barely understand the words. The house itself felt like it lifted up from its foundation for a moment and settled back down. He was looking up at the ceiling at the dust and debris that had been shaken loose when he felt the sharp end of something metal first pressing against, then breaking through the skin of his belly. He sucked in his breath as he heard Edward speak, suddenly clinical in his tone.

“We all want this project to succeed so please, tell me. Exactly where does it hurt?”



Thank you for taking the time to visit the blog, I hope you enjoyed the story! If you did, I hope you'll consider sharing this story via your social media of choice below, or even leave me a comment!. You can also subscribe above to receive email notifications of new content when it is available.

All text content is the exclusive property of the author, Chad A. Clark and is intended solely for the purposes of viewing online. Any copying, downloading or re-distribution is strictly prohibited.

©2014 Chad A. Clark      All Rights Reserved  

Baked Scribe Flashback!

Bruno tied the broken strap of his backpack, threw it over his shoulders and stomped off, not pausing to see if Sasha was keeping up. “We can’t be late to the ceremony,” he called out as he picked up his speed. “This is the one Sasha. I can feel it this time. This. Is. The. One.”

The last sentence came in between massive inhalations for air as he struggled to keep his over-sized frame in motion. “The one what?” On a normal day, Sasha could have kept up with Bruno just by walking briskly. But he had roused her from a deep sleep and without any caffeine, she was held back by her own mental fog. Plus, in the time it had taken her to stoop down and tie her shoe, he had gotten nearly a half a block ahead of her.

“Today everything changes for me. Today I become new.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Do you have any idea how tired I am of watching an endless stream of worthless hacks parade past me, climbing mountains solely on the basis of their ability to ejaculate pedestrian prose onto any forum that will have them? No more! Today I receive what is mine.”

Sasha shook her head as she finally caught up to him and matched his stride. She offered no response or argument though and Bruno plowed on through his tirade.

“It isn’t my fault that the literary establishment is too small-minded to recognize the brilliance of my verbiage. Forgive me if my work isn’t childishly linear enough for them. Big six publishing houses? More like six abortions of taste.”

“Bruno—”

“Maybe I should send the editors a toy along with my submissions so that their attention would be sufficiently occupied while reading.”

“Bruno—”

“Or maybe I should start a series about sexually curious, adolescent vampires trying to make it onto the US ping-pong team. That sounds marketable.”

“Bruno—”

“We’re here.” Bruno turned and ran up the stone steps, two at a time and threw open the doors. They walked into a large ornate lobby and Sasha immediately heard the sound of applause. Bruno jogged ahead of her and threw open the doors to the auditorium. Just as he did, she could hear the amplified voice emerging from within.

“...and this years selection by a narrow margin is Bleeding Rose Petals That Sing My Name by Bruno Hoppenfeifer.” Sasha followed Bruno into the auditorium and stopped short. The first thing she saw was the banner reading, “4H Annual Youth Creative Writing Contest”. The second thing she saw was that the crowd of fellow contestants in the contest that Bruno had evidently entered was a crowd of grade school age children with their parents. The man up at the podium had removed his glasses and was looking around the room, likely waiting for whichever ten year old he assumed was the author.

Finally, she saw Bruno, racing down the aisle to accept his award, arms waving back and forth and hooting like a loon.

“Suck on that you little bastards!”




Thank you for taking the time to visit the blog, I hope you enjoyed the story! If you did, I hope you'll consider sharing this story via your social media of choice below, or even leave me a comment!. You can also subscribe above to receive email notifications of new content when it is available. All text content is the exclusive property of the author, Chad A. Clark and is intended solely for the purposes of viewing online. Any copying, downloading or re-distribution is strictly prohibited.

©2014 Chad A. Clark      All Rights Reserved  

Issue #88

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
This is the final installment in an ongoing story which
will conclude on All Hallows Eve.
To go back, click on the appropriate link:

part one        part two        part three        part four        part five
Kim ran down the hall towards the rear entrance. She had just tucked the extra magazines away wherever she could find somewhere to put them when, on cue, the door swung open and Richard came sauntering in. Why he couldn’t have been here when everything had gone down was beyond her. The two of them made eye contact and in that instant she decided that she might as well reap whatever advantages she could take from her situation. She could see him starting to take note of her appearance, of the blood still streaked up and down her arms and clothes but before his brain could go any farther with the information, she had produced the gun and brought it across his big, stupid face.

The look of shock was actually comical as he toppled back against the wall, arms flailing around like some kind of intoxicated marionette that was trying to take flight. Kim leapt onto him as he crashed to the floor and brought the gun down three more times. Excessive, but she didn’t need him on her back-trail or worse, calling for help. She fished his phone out of the inside pocket of his sports coat and smashed it against the wall. As she stood, she reached into his jacket again and removed his revolver from the shoulder clutch. She chambered a round, aimed down and took the only other two shots that would be fired in the station that night, both into the meaty parts of his thighs. Not life threatening, but at least he wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon.

It was starting to drizzle outside as she started for Ronnie’s Lincoln. There was a sound of sirens off in the distance but that was such constant sound of the city, she doubted that anyone could be coming here yet. She let herself into the car and gunned the engine, backing out of the lot and making her escape, keeping a close eye on her speed the whole time.

The city flowed past her like she was in a dream, the traffic merging and separating around her as if it were a night just like any other. The level of unaware ignorance on the part of the people who lived here was frequently a sight to behold.

Kim jumped in her seat as the cell phone buzzed in her pocket. She hadn’t even realized that she still had it. Just one more way they could use to track her down. She rolled the window down and tossed the device without even looking to see who was calling.

She needed to find somewhere off the grid where she could stay out of sight. The fairgrounds were no good since the cops would likely stake it out, waiting for her to show up. There were only a handful of cash-friendly motels around and the department would likely end up sitting on each one of them. Even the shelters would be watched. The best course would probably be to leave altogether, cut her losses and start driving.

As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t find it in herself to turn tail, to let that thing win. There was no way that she could see to get out of this or convince anyone that she was innocent. Too much of the evidence was stacked up against her and all of the explanations she could offer the authorities would just end up with her in the nut house.

She yanked the wheel to the right, killing the lights and pulling into a nearby industrial park. Pulling in behind a building far enough that she would be out of sight from the highway, she stepped out of the car. Richard’s gun felt cool in her hand as she hefted it, trying to get comfortable with the weight difference from her own weapon. She had no idea where the thing was that was responsible for all of this but a nagging voice at the back of her head whispered that it was probably looking for her as well. Wouldn’t it be wanting to tie up loose ends at this point?

Things were getting too far out of hand. She needed to take a beat, collect her thoughts and figure out where she was going to go from here. What had she done to deserve any of this? The answer, of course, was that she had done nothing. But the reality was that it wouldn’t make any difference, no one would give a shit.

The sound of the Lincoln idling started to fade into the background as she walked further away from it, the sound of the traffic from the freeway taking over, with some industrial noise mixed in. Maybe she was wasting her time. Maybe she was just hanging around so that the cops could catch up with her and put an end to all of this. What were the odds that she would be able to find this thing, anyway?

The thought had just articulated in her head so she couldn’t help but laugh a little as she looked off into the distance and spotted the woman, or at least the woman that the thing looked like. She was approaching from the shadows between the massive factories, taking no effort to find cover, not hurrying or stalling. Kim lifted the gun and took aim.

“What the hell are you?” She yelled out as the thing advanced, keeping her finger out of the trigger guard to keep her jittery nerves fro, discharging the weapon. The woman offered no answer and instead just grinned as she walked, revealing a set of teeth now extending into elongated fangs, gleaming in the dark from the sharp edges.

Clearly there was going to be no discussion, no resolution. That wasn’t why the thing had come here. Kim fired twice, both rounds hitting center-mass but having no obvious effect before the two were standing face to face. Before she could make any move to protect herself, she was lifted up off the ground and thrown against the wall about a dozen feet behind her. Her head struck something hard and stars danced in front of her as she crumpled to the ground.

Kim heard the scraping of the thing’s feet as it charged, picking up speed and ferocity in the attack. She felt hands scoop down under her arms and lift, tossing her up and against the wall as if she weighed nothing. The second revolver was suddenly in her hand and without even fully realizing she had it, she pressed the barrel into the thing’s side and fired several times as it howled in rage, tossing her back to the ground.

Trying to ignore the sharp pain ripping through her, Kim stumbled to her feet and ran away from the creature that was looking up into the sky, screaming with what she could only hope was pain. There was a loud flapping sound, and a set of wings emerged from the creature’s back, unfolding into a massive span of over ten feet. Kim threw her arms up over her head in an effort to deflect the debris that was caught up in the small windstorm created by those wings beating the air.

She wanted to think that she had hurt it, but deep down she knew that all she had really done was piss it off. The gun was still in her hand though and she fired the remaining rounds, ejecting the magazine even as she was reaching for a fresh one. The creature jerked back with each impact, blood starting to trickle out of its mouth as it swayed on its feet, but just as it seemed like the thing was going to stagger, a fresh surge of energy flared out from its eyes and it took flight, flesh tearing like cloth as it’s torso separated from the lower half, streaking up into the night sky.

The thing wasn’t invincible, it had to be possible to hurt it. Kim slapped another magazine home, took aim at the lower portion of the body and fired down, straight into the thing’s exposed waist. The legs jerked back and forth, as if under something else’s control and she looked up to see the thing now in faltered flight, dropping back down as if struggling under some great effort.

She reached for another magazine when the thing was on her again, puling her off her feet and throwing her. The air whistled around her as she sailed and actually skipped as she landed, crashing to a halt against a large compressor shed. Before she could try to stand, she was pinned down and the thing darted down, biting and taking a large piece of flesh from her forearm. Kim screamed and began beating the thing with the gun. She was driven back again to the wall, forcing the air out of her before her vision began to swim and she fell to her knees.

The thing was still screaming but now with a strangely modulated tone, almost with structure as if it was trying to speak to her. She tried to bring the gun to bear, but the creature grabbed her wrist before she could fire, twisting until she felt the bones starting to break.

She was running out of time, couldn’t keep this up for very much longer. As she felt it starting to lift up off the ground, she let her body go limp, dropping from the thing’s grip. Before it could drop back down to get her, she aimed up and fired up into the torso, pulling the trigger until the heavy reports were replaced with dry clicking.

This time, the entire body spasmed, as if exposed to some kind of electric current. Kim ejected the magazine and replaced it with the last one she had left. The thing floundered off, trying to take flight but clearly having trouble, not able to get much more than fifteen feet off the ground before dipping back down. She placed shots along the over-sized, spidery veins of each wing as well as tracing bullets up the spine and into the back of its head.

The creature howled in anger, a sound that echoed in her head so loudly that for a moment she forgot where she even was. After an eternity trapped inside of that hopeless rage, the thing plummeted down and crashed into the tree-line. Not wanting to lose the advantage, Kim took pursuit.

She saw the flash of light from the corner of her eye and, out of instinct, brought the gun around to bear before he mind caught up and recognized the flashing lights atop the cruisers for what they were, far too late.

The volley of shots took her off her feet and deposited her onto her back, the gun skittering out of her limp hand onto the ground. She coughed violently, feeling her own blood spurting up and out as the officers began crowding around her. The world around her began to shake, blink in and out like a light bulb that was going out.

Time was indeterminate as her head dropped to the side and she had just enough moments left to recognize the female officer walking away from the scene. She was tugging at her uniform, as if it didn’t quite fit right and moments before Kim’s eyes slid shut, the woman glanced back. Kim’s entire body went cold at the sight of the familiar glint in those eyes, the sarcastic smirk as the thing in the cop’s uniform lifted one hand to wave before turning and melting into the far darkness of shadows.


Thank you for taking the time to visit the blog, I hope you enjoyed the story! If you did, I hope you'll consider sharing this story via your social media of choice below, or even leave me a comment!. You can also subscribe above to receive email notifications of new content when it is available. All text content is the exclusive property of the author, Chad A. Clark and is intended solely for the purposes of viewing online. Any copying, downloading or re-distribution is strictly prohibited.

©2014 Chad A. Clark      All Rights Reserved