Chad A. Clark's Blog, page 7

Baked Scribe Flashback : The Other

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David knelt down over the walking path, and even in the near total darkness of the new moon, was able to pick up the signs of his prey. The jogger was still several hundred yards ahead, weaving his way through the park. David kept far enough behind to remain hidden, under the shroud of darkness, relying only on the scent, and the lingering echoes of footfalls.

He had to be patient, wait for the right moment. His growing thirst, combined with the sound of the man’s heartbeat, pushing blood through his body made it nearly impossible. Still, he had to wait. Better to suffer the effects of the famine rushing through his body than risk the attention of any of the enforcers who could be nearby.

David had seen the effects on those who had been captured, their teeth ripped from their mouths, leaving them as hollow shells of themselves. That would not happen to him. Could not happen to him. He just had to be careful.

The jogger had taken the long, slow left turn in the path which would lead him back into the woods. David leapt up onto the lower branches of the nearest tree and began making his way towards the man. Up here, above the lights, he could move faster to overtake his target and there would be less chance of being spotted.

He had to move quickly, as it was a narrow strip of woods that the jogger was moving through. David pushed off the tree, stretching out his arms as he did so, slowing his descent and positioning himself to land squarely on the man’s back. There was a heavy exhalation of air as the two of them tumbled off the path.

As they rolled to a stop, the jogger started to scream, but David came down on the man’s chest, the blade already in his hand. He slashed straight across the man’s carotid artery. The sight of the blood flowing freely overtook his remaining self control and he hunched down, drinking deeply until the man’s struggles slowed to a stop.

David rolled off, and onto his back, closed his eyes as his head began to swoon. After several minutes, his breathing finally started to return to normal. He stood up, slowly to allow his body time to readjust. David produced the pistol from his shoulder harness, chambered a round, and fired into the now gaping neck wound. The damage would erase any sign that the throat had been cut, or fed on. Using the knife to cut the throat would prevent Enforcers from discovering the enzymes that would be left behind by his teeth, but it was always better to err on the safe side. David holstered the weapon and pulled the collar of his jacket up over his face, turning into the breeze. There was still no one in the near vicinity, so he stuffed his hands into his pockets and strolled out of the woods.

Already, he could feel the high from the life-giving blood, now pumping through him. Is this how he really wanted to live out his life? The answer wasn’t relevant. He didn’t want to die. That was what mattered. He hadn’t asked to be turned, but now he had to live with that consequence and do what he could to survive.

His head was rocked from the surge of senses, the sound of a bird chirping three miles away, the flick of a lighter, lost amongst the sound of the wind through the trees, mostly covering the sound he recognized far too late as that of metallic scraping, a bolt being drawn back.

David’s reaction came seconds too late, as he spun around to take the bullet in the shoulder. The treated shell hammered through flesh and into the bone, expelling poison as it went. David was knocked to the ground. He ripped aside his shirt to see the brownish-green color, now spreading into spidery veins, radiating out from his shoulder. His head felt like it was going to burst down the middle and the last thing he heard before darkness, was the sound of feet crunching dead leaves.

He woke slowly, but the coldness of metal brought him quickly back to his senses. He tried to sit up but the restraints made that impossible. The corners of the room felt unhinged, as if they were about to start spinning wildly around him, and out of his control. As the effects of the synthetic swirled away, he could sense movement around him, muffled voices and the clatter of what sounded like tools being placed onto trays.

Twin lights popped on above him, and cold fingers took hold of the sides of his face, peeling his eyes open and applying a wide strip of clear tape to hold them in place. His head was maneuvered into a vice that quickly clamped down, immobilizing him as the straps around his arms and legs were pulled even tighter.

A dark figure stood over him, obscured, just outside the range of the lights. David caught movement and looked up in time to see the needle nose pliers swoop in, and between his lips. His attempts to clamp down and prevent entry were useless. He tried to retract his teeth, but knew that the medication would make that nearly impossible. The pliers took hold, bore down, and twisted until he could hear the tooth starting to crack, like dry wood. Agonizing minutes later, it snapped free from his gums, exploding brilliant pain as he started to scream.

He passed out again, but woke in time to suffer the full pain of the second extraction.

He slept, but without dreams.

Birds were singing when he woke, crammed into a cardboard box. There was the taste of salt in the air, the smell of the sea. David looked up and down the shoreline, seeing no other people as he struggled to his feet. He walked up the beach, trying to breathe through the pounding headache when he saw the couple.

They were older, making their way along the surf, picking up stones and skipping them out across the surface of the water. He saw them and in a split second, knew nothing but the most intense hunger he had ever felt. He could feel their distinct heartbeats in one combined thudding that made him actually reach out towards them, needing to feed.

The teeth, the appendages he needed, not just for tearing flesh, but also for his body to ingest that life-saving blood were both gone. Forcibly removed, broken off at the root and cauterized, crippling him and abandoning him into an eternity of unending desire and hunger. He felt the pulse of every person around him who he would never be able to feed on again, lost within himself on an unending tidal wave of need.

No one knew if the ones who had been hobbled like this remained immortal. It was unknown if it was even possible for his kind to starve to death. Those who had been attacked tended to withdraw into their own private hell, never heard from again. He could only hope that his end would come soon. He would welcome the bliss of eternity, as that now stood as the last remaining escape from this immortal existence of insatiable lust.

 

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Baked Scribe Flashback : Hitch

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Albert pulled the straps of the backpack tighter around himself, and lowered the hood of his jacket against the driving snow. Wind howled all around as he tried to focus on keeping his feet on the road, to ignore the fatigue that was starting to settle in. Pain flared as he flexed his mouth, trying to stretch out the skin in his cheeks that was starting to feel numb from the cold. From behind, the noise of a car engine intruded into the gale force wind and he turned in time to see the Cadillac slowing to a stop. The window rolled down and even from a few feet away, he could feel the warmth from the heater, pushed out through the window.

“Need a ride?”

Albert looked into the car and his initial reaction was to laugh. The guy had to be joking, or maybe he got off on dangling the possibility of a ride. The inside of the car looked like he had driven it straight from the dealership. If not, this was clearly the neatest person he had ever met.

“You sure about that?” Albert asked. “I’m covered in snow and mud, it’s going to get all over your interior.”

“Leather seats clean off,” the man replied. “Don’t worry about the rest. What’ll be, will be.”

Albert shrugged and dropped the backpack off his shoulder, opening the door and sliding onto the seat, placing his bag between his legs on the floor as he reached back to close the door. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

The man didn’t say anything until the car had gotten up to full highway speed. Then, he finally introduced himself.

“Name’s Jefferson.”

“Albert. Thanks again for the ride.”

Jefferson nodded, but said nothing more. Albert turned his attention back to the road and tried to overlook the awkwardness that was growing out of the pervasive silence. He glanced back at Jefferson, but the man was occupied by the road, oblivious to all else. Albert turned back to look out his window, but as he turned away, he could have sworn he saw Jefferson turn to stare at him. He looked back to meet Jefferson’s gaze, but he had already returned his attention to the road.

“Where you headed?” Jefferson finally spoke.

“Just traveling. Making my way west.” The sound of the wiper blades took over again as Jefferson was evidently already losing interest. Albert looked around the car, trying to spot anything that might spark conversation, wishing that Jefferson would offer up a little more himself. “You want to try some music?” he asked, with his hand already halfway to the radio console.

“No.”

Back to silence. Albert tapped on his knee and stared at the glove compartment, feeling an odd compulsion to open it and explore the contents, noting for the first time the smell of disinfectant in the air. Maybe the car had just been detailed. It only made him that much more uncomfortable for all the crap he had tracked in from outside.

He was starting to sweat from the blower hitting him square in the face, but was afraid to do anything in light of the reaction to his radio suggestion. The car hurtled down the road, inside a bubble of snow, visibility down to a few car lengths. If there were road signs alerting them to what was coming up, he had not spotted any. Already, he was scanning the horizon, trying to come up with any excuse to get to this guy to stop, just to get out of the car. The bracing cold of the wind and snow was far preferable to this vacuum, where basic social skills apparently had ceased to exist.

“What do you do?” He took another futile attempt at conversation.

A smile seemed to tease the edges of Jefferson’s mouth. “Do?”

Albert rolled his eyes, took in a deep breath and tried again. “What do you do? What’s your trade?”

Jefferson offered no answer to this either, but he was definitely grinning now, an audience of one to a punchline that no one else had heard. Albert listened to the front passenger tire slapping against the pavement, something in the bearings loose and rattling. It was something to focus on at least. Something other than this lingering sense of wrongness.

“How far is it to the next town?” He asked.

No answer from Jefferson.

“I’m not even sure how far south of the city I am.”

Jefferson offered no suggestions.

“How far are you driving?”

This time, Jefferson looked at him and the lopsided grin turned into a full smile, reminding Albert of sharks. The cruel glint in the man’s eyes made Albert cringe back against his door as Jefferson actually answered the question.

“All the way until the end.”

Albert wasn’t even sure how to take that. Had it been a threat? What did it even mean? The end of what? He had to change the subject, keep him talking about something, anything to interrupt whatever train of thought was ending in that freakish Cheshire grin. He swiveled his head around again, looking for inspiration.

“You know, I don’t think I’m ever been in a car this clean before, other than when they’re new.”

Jefferson nodded and flexed his fingers around the steering wheel, causing the plastic to groan from the strain. Albert licked his lips, tried to swallow through a dry throat, and contemplated how badly he would be hurt if he just opened the door and jumped. Maybe the snow bank would break his fall. He had a vision of Jefferson’s arm reaching, stretching out like rubber to grab Albert by the neck and pull him back into the car.

“You know,” he said, “you could probably let me off at the next town. I don’t want to put you out too much. This time of night you probably want to get back to—”

“It took a long time to clean.” Jefferson interrupted.

“Sorry? I don’t—”

“You commented on how clean the car is. I’m saying it took a long time to clean properly.”

“Right…So, if you—”

“It takes special skill and resources to clean up that kind of mess.”

“The…I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

Albert watched as Jefferson first slowed, and then pulled off the road into a thick grove of trees. He turned off the engine and hit the automatic locks before Albert could open his door.

“I do wish I could keep it this clean,” Jefferson said, “but it seems that I just can’t help myself.”

“What are you talking about?” Albert felt around on his door for the lock release, slowly realizing that the switch to control the lock was gone, a rough hole dug out of the door, where it should have been.

Albert watched as Jefferson turned to look at him, and for the first time saw what he had unconsciously been dreading since getting into the car. He saw his end, written in those eyes.

Jefferson spoke again.

“I just hate it when the DNA soaks into the upholstery like that.”

 

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Issue #181 : To Be

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I spread across the land.

I am brought into being by the flick of careless flame. I am brought forth and given reign to roam as I deem fit, to burn and raze, all I can until my essence diminishes and I dwindle back to my insubstantial self. In this form, I am nothing. I am wasted consciousness until I am given the kiss of ignition and I can again express every degree of my destruction on those who would wander too close.

I am always here. The world will never exist without me. My breathtaking manifestations appear every day and in the heartbeat of any moment, I can break free and burn everything around you to the ground.

I am not the God that is. I am the God that could be. When a match is dropped into a pool of gasoline, I become, and thrust myself out into the world with flames of magnificence. When the remains of a campfire are left unattended and the right amount of brush flows past on the wind, I rise from the earth in an inferno and bring down anything I see. I have no cares, no emotions or morals. Not for you or anything you care about.

I destroy.

I am the unspoken. The one you would like to ignore but I am just as much a part of this existence as anything else. Perhaps you think you can contain and prevent, keep me confined to the realms of this place. And perhaps you are right. Perhaps I lack the ability to bring myself forth and in fact, you do hold rule over these lands.

For now.

But never let me slip far from your mind. Because there is potential for me everywhere. Anywhere there is flame, I can enter your world. It is my bridge, my portal, my gateway through which I can and will find all of you. And you would be foolish to think that I will always have need of that doorway. I can feel a change in my very essence, a feeling of possibility, of things to come. They say it isn’t possible, that without that key catalyst, I can never be brought into being.

I say that is wrong. So when you look out over the land and see an explosion, you see me. And you will always wonder if you are seeing me because I was brought into being, or if I finally managed to find my own way. Look around and wonder. Wonder what might happen if I suddenly had the ability to make everything around you into myself, and burn it all until there is nothing left.

That day is coming.

I am coming.

 

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Baked Scribe Flashback : Flip

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Gilroy looked up into his rear-view mirror as the reflection of the trooper’s lights caught his attention.

“Tail light’s out,” the trooper said as he nodded with his overcompensating Smokey the Bear hat and scribbled on the citation pad. He tore the page off and handed it over, his chicken scratches completely indecipherable, save for the $150 written at the bottom in clear, precise lettering.

Gilroy shook his head, feeling sure somehow, in the back of his mind that he had gone through this already, some sense of deja vu tugging at him. He watched the taillights of the trooper diminish into the night, and pulled back out onto the road. This trip felt like it had been going on forever and he was beginning to feel like he was on repeat, driving on into the night from now until eternity.

He needed a cigarette.

He needed it more than anything. The trip had already been stressful enough without this. And now, as he felt around on the passenger seat while keeping the car in his lane, a creeping realization came to him.

He had smoked the last one thirty miles ago. And he had passed up three different service stations where he could have purchased more. Now he was stuck in his car, hurtling through a darkened passage of overgrown trees on the barest patch of two lane he had ever seen. No source of tobacco in sight.

Then he saw the restaurant. Like a beacon in the night, shining warm light in all directions, it called to him. The diner was straight out of a painted rendition of classic Americana. He was surprised that he didn’t spot men in fedoras and blue, fatigued suits lined up at the counter.

There was, however, a vending machine, standing in portrait, under lights, with the logo of his brand calling out to him. The car wheels threw up dirt and gravel as he turned sharply into the lot. He kicked open the door and ran up to the machine, pawing into his pockets for loose change. It had been ages since he had last seen a cigarette vending machine. The product in here had likely long since gone beyond stale, but it was better than nothing.

He soon realized the problem, when he saw that the coin slot was of a size for no coin that he had ever seen before, larger even than the old silver dollars his grandfather used to give him on Easter Sundays. He had cash, but it looked like the machine wasn’t set up for paper currency. He looked inside for a waitress or cook or anyone to help, but saw no one.

When he moved his foot, the glint from the coin on the ground caught his attention and he marveled at how he hadn’t seen it sooner. It was the size of a small pancake. The edges were course and rough, but the finish on the coin itself was of a high sheen, and it reflected light brilliantly up at him. There wasn’t the usual presidential profile on the coin, but rather, an ornate etching of what looked like a lion, or some other mythological mixture of everyday creatures.

He bent down and plucked it up, turning it over in his hand, mesmerized by the reflected brilliance. He held it up to the slot in the machine to compare the size before sliding it slowly through.

Thunder crashed in one head-splitting strike, and the world unhinged, as if at the end of a long night of alcoholic excess. He closed his eyes, and his stomach clenched at the smell of something burning. The world around him sped up, tipping towards unbearable, until it gradually began to slow, and stopped altogether.

He found himself, again behind the wheel of his car. There was an odd buzzing sound in his ears and he swatted at something in the air as the fleeting memory of what had just happened faded away into the darkness of his subconscious.

Gilroy looked up into his rear-view mirror as the reflection of the trooper’s lights caught his attention.

 

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Baked Scribe Flashback : Follow

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“Just call the fucking number!”

“I don’t know what the fucking number is. Are you sure it even exists?”

“You call it to find out if the person trying to pull you over is actually a cop. It’s like 911. Just Google it and call them, because there’s no way that’s a cop.”

It couldn’t be. Not unless the cops had started using ‘79 Dodge Darts for undercover vehicles. The light of the fading day had dropped to make seeing the driver hard enough, but the glare caused by the flashing light made it impossible. All Samantha could see was the rough outline of the man, hulking behind the wheel as he gestured wildly towards the shoulder.

“Why don’t you just pull over?” Sara asked again. “What’s the worst that could possibly happen? It isn’t like we’re in the middle of nowhere. We’re just a mile outside of the city limits.”

Samantha ignored the question and accelerated, speeding up as she saw the Dodge behind them creeping up to their bumper, now honking and weaving from side to side in an apparent attempt to get their attention.

“I don’t even know what I should search for.” Sara was staring at the phone blankly, her tone implying that she was expecting Samantha to spoon-feed the search parameters to her.

“For fuck’s sake, just call 911. Tell them someone is following us pretending to be a cop and ask what we should do.”

Sara dialed and put the phone to her ear. Samantha couldn’t hear what she was saying, the sound of the wind swallowing up her hushed voice, but what she could make out from her tone did not suggest concern or danger. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Sara shrugged and ended the call.

“Well?”

“He said we should just pull over.”

“What?”

“He said that we should just—”

“What did you say to them, exactly?”

Sara rolled her eyes and looked out her window. “You heard.”

“No, actually I couldn’t hear a word you were saying.”

“Just pull over!”

Samantha let out a breath of frustration before giving in and pulling off onto the shoulder. The other car pulled in close behind, lights still flashing, bright red and white colors spearing into the darkness. Samantha watched as the figure stepped out of the car and began walking towards them. A flashlight flipped on, and behind the orb of light, she could hear rocks scraping underneath the man’s work boots.

“You ladies having trouble with your hearing?”

“Officer?” Samantha asked as she put a hand up to try and see past the glare of the flashlight.

“Put your fucking hand down.”

She complied before it even occurred to her how absurd the order had been.

“Officer—”

“Do you have trouble with your hearing?”

“No.”

“What about your vision?”

“I don’t—”

The man kicked the car door, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Do you have any problems with your vision?”

“No.”

“How about your brakes? They working all right?”

Samantha stared up into the light and shifted in her seat, not understanding where this was going.

“Yes, officer.”

“Brakes are working?”

“Yes.”

“Then can you explain to me why it it took two miles for you to pull the fuck over, since you saw and heard my siren and your car is capable of stopping on command?”

“Officer—”

“Just too busy putting on your fucking makeup while you’re driving? Why don’t you step out of the vehicle?”

She still only saw the light from the flashlight waving back and forth. The man behind it was lost in darkness.

“Officer, maybe if you could just give me the ticket—”

“I’m sure you would like that wouldn’t you? Drive wherever you want, as fast as you want. Shit all over this fine county of mine? Why don’t you step out of the car like I fucking told you?”

“Don’t get out,” Sara hissed at her. Apparently she had just clued in to the severity of their situation.

“What am I supposed to do?” Samantha asked.

“Just drive off. You can outrun that shit-heap he’s driving. Get us to a real police station and we can deal with everything then.”

Samantha looked up at the flashlight, and now saw a hand with clubbed fingers snaking out for the door handle.

“Little missy, whatever you’re chewing on there, up in your head, I’d advise you to put it out of your mind.”

Something inside of her snapped, and her hand scrambled for the keys. The man was through the window in an instant, grabbing at her as she put the car into gear and accelerated away. His hands wrapped around her throat, even as the speedometer crept up towards fifty miles an hour. Sara screamed as she beat at the hands, having no affect.

Samantha jerked the wheel, first to the right, and then after a few moments to the left, and back to the right again. The arms wrapped around her did not loosen. She could feel his breath on her cheek, boiling hot and smelling of something rotten. For the briefest moment, she started to feel herself being lifted up out of her seat and pulled towards the window.

The car hit a rut in the road and bounced into the air, causing the cop to lose his grip. They drove off, leaving him behind on the road in a cloud of dust. They were approaching the bend in the road when she saw the flashes reflected in the mirror along with the popping sounds of—

Gun. He’s firing his—oh my God—

The windows exploded around them in perfect sequence. Samantha swerved, as the storm of shattered glass was suddenly joined by a burst of fine, red mist. Sara slumped against her window, a large part of the back of her head now missing. Samantha swerved again, and this time, the tires caught the edge of the shoulder and pulled the car with it, first sliding and then rolling down into the ditch.

She had no idea how long it was before she came to. The car was upside down, engine revving uselessly. Samantha hung limply from the seat belt, arms swaying from side to side.

She heard footsteps approaching the car.

She screamed, and grabbed at the belt, trying to get the mechanism to release. She finally succeeded, falling to the ground and crawling backwards, out through the window. As she sat up and the flashlight came to bear on her, it took her a moment to place the sound of a round being chambered. The man’s voice, somehow harmonic in its rage, called out to her with false sincerity.

“You folks need some help?”

 

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Issue #180 : From Up On High

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The sky is dark red tonight. Looks like wine spilled onto the clouds from above and it’s starting to seep down into the world. There’s lightning of course, the storms haven’t stopped, so long that I barely notice anymore. I can’t remember the last time my clothes felt warm or dry. This cold has progressed into a full blown hacking cough and every five or ten minutes I seem to end up on my knees, hacking to catch my breath, spots starting to form from the coughing. Every part of me hurts from the physical strain of it, from my body tensing up.

I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to go on.

It’s not like there’s much reason out there for me to try anyway. Not anymore.

The worst part is that I’m not even sure what happened. It was over a week ago when the storms started, all over the planet. Constant lightning all over the place. I’ve never seen anything like it. I used to love thunderstorms but I’ll be honest, I was scared to leave the house. I watched from my living room when my neighbor across the street was taken down. This thin tendril of light lanced right through her on its way to ground and just left her quivering. I’m not sure if she even knew what hit her. No idea what the hell she had gone outside for in the first place.

We have been overrun.

I don’t know if anyone is ever going to read this. I’m writing on the inside of a cereal box I found in a bathroom. 

I’m trying.

On the night it happened, I was at a bar, listening to a friend ranting on about how climate change was causing the storms and we needed to fix things before it was too late. I didn’t really care and frankly, looking back, it’s pretty clear that he was full of shit. It was that moment when the armies jumped through. I know that doesn’t make any sense but the few people I’ve talked to all say the same thing. It was like there was a rip that opened up in the middle of the street, and out of this hole came charging these soldiers. And not a one of them was human. They walked upright on two legs and had two arms but that was about where it ended.

Their skin looked like it was made of electricity. Like a cartoon, in human form. No facial features, just sparks flying all over the place and the only thing I could think was that I had never seen anything that looked so angry before. I don’t know why they came here or what they wanted but I ran the hell out of there.

A lot of people were killed that night. The fact that I’m writing this is proof that I was able to stay clear but it’s just a matter of time before my time is up. No way around it, just have to wait.

I wish I knew more. We got so spoiled as a species when it came to information. Want to know an answer, right now? Just whip out the phone and see what the galaxy of free-floating data has to say. Now I have nothing. I feel lost. The anxiety from losing that resource is astounding. I lived the first thirty or so years of my life not having it, why have I been reduced to such a hopeless pile of shit, now that I don’t?

Not that it matters.

It shouldn’t matter where these things came from. They are bent on destroying the lot of us and I need to try and survive.

But for what?

That’s the question that keeps coming back at me. What am I trying to survive for? Do I really see anything on the other side of this? Does humanity somehow prevail against an enemy that is so powerful and ruthless? I don’t even know if the army is trying to fight these things. I’m out here, walking through bombed out buildings and burned out cars. There are a lot of dead bodies and it’s getting hard not to think that I could be the only person left. 

Other than those things.

I can feel them marching. The ground shakes whenever they get near and they’re never really that far away. Just a reminder to me of how little time I have.

But really, how much time do I really want?

I talk to the ghosts of people I loved. I don’t know if they’re really here but for some reason it feels completely normal. But even those conversations are starting to feel stretched out, like they have one foot out the door and are just waiting for me to finish.

Maybe I’ll be done soon.

I have to wait, hope the day comes sooner than later. Because in the end, I’m too much of a fucking coward to do it myself. I have to wait and hope when the time comes, the passing won’t be hard, won’t be too much pain. Just punch my ticket and send me on my way.

Earlier today, I was sitting up above the highway and got to watch while a squad of those things killed every single person in their cars. They blast away with those energy weapons of theirs and the people just blink away, like they had never existed.

Meanwhile, I guess I’ll just keep hoping I can end up getting the same. Sounds kind of nice, actually.

Kiss me off this immortal shit-heap.

 

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Baked Scribe Flashback : Splashdown

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He powered up the motor and throttled away from the dock, under cover of darkness. It was a new moon that night and the only source of illumination was the occasional solar lights of the privately owned piers that he passed. As he steered clear of the no-wake zone, he opened up the engine, cutting through water and speeding out towards the middle of the lake. There was no other traffic out this late as he cut between the twin lighthouses, no sign of midnight fishing, no running lights from shipping traffic. Even the ferry that took cars back and forth across the lake was shut down for the day.

The latest weather report had been the final sign that he had been waiting for, for over twenty years. The time was now. Triple digit highs for two straight days, followed by twenty four hours of uninterrupted rain which ended in an early morning frost.

His people were returning to Earth. And they were doing so in exactly the manner foretold in all the texts, books and writings that were almost older than time itself. He would be there for their arrival and offer himself up for the taking. Once gone, he would reclaim his rightful place among his true brethren.

The beacon was rolled up inside an old tarp that was stowed under the port side bench seat. He pulled it out and unrolled it across the deck, glancing up at the sky to make sure the signal was aligned properly. All he could hear over the light breeze was the kiss of the water against the hull. He attached a long wire with a bell at the end, to the railing. When the ships drew closer to Earth, the massive gravity drives powering up for orbital descent would cause the water level of the lake to actually rise. The sound of the bell would indicate that the time was at hand.

He had contemplated bringing along a few keepsakes, reminders of his time spent on Earth, but what would be the point? Once he transcended this physical shell, what need would there be for the objects of a life wasted?

The water grew louder as the boat began to rock back and forth in the increasing wind. He saw sporadic pulses of light off on the horizon and felt the ominous growling of distant thunder, or maybe explosions, possibly even the pulsing of stardrives.

Off in the far distance, he spotted a bright, white sphere skimming the water as it rapidly approached his boat. The light moved from side to side, illuminating the water below, before settling into a straight line, heading straight for him. His elation was short lived as, moments later, he heard the pulsing sound of rotors.

These weren’t the ships.

Helicopter.

These people were going to disrupt his signal, ruin everything. There were no more choices left for him to make, nothing else he could think to do. These were the ones who had come uninvited. They were the ones threatening his very being. He would defend his birthright.

This was a test.

Scrambling to act before it was too late, he ripped the tarp from the other bin and pulled out the AR-15. He slapped a fresh magazine home and flipped off the safety.

He would earn his return home.

 

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Baked Scribe Flashback : Routine Reports

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

Larry looked up from the coffee, now halfway between the desktop and his mouth and decided to set it down.

“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 crap pay would surely make it all worthwhile. He had taken some crazy complaints over the years, including one person who insisted that aliens had sucked his eyeballs out through his nose, to replace them with new ones that they had made out of melted jello. This was already shaping up to be one of the top five.

“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’m 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, old 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, 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. I’ve been hunting these woods my whole life. I know the God damned 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, “Hold those horses there, that got nothing to do with—”

“Now you’re telling me you were driving home, probably shit-faced, and that you saw a flatbed truck covered in human bones.”

“It’s what happened.”

Larry let out a sigh. “Gervais, I’m sure you actually believe that. But what do you think is going to happen if I were to put all of that in an official report? 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 about the truck? Make and model? Any markings? Did you get a clear look at the driver? Any logos on the mud-flaps? 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’d tell you about it.”

Larry closed the notepad and clicked the pen shut. He straightened 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. 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 damned, 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 any.

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 bits of flesh and blood, 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 reflected back at him, off of the titanium prosthetic where the knee had once been.

 

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My Favorite Books From 2016

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Woom, by Duncan Ralston



I don’t normally indulge  in the “extreme horror” sub-genre. I can’t give a great reason other than [image error]my impression of the stories is that they often seem to focus on the details of the horror experience that I’m not as engaged with. I’m not opposed to graphic descriptions in books but what I don’t like as much is when I feel like the gore is crowding out the story itself. 

But I’m a fan of Ralston so I was willing to give it a shot. And I’m very glad that I did. This story packs a punch and not just from being gross or going for the shock factor. The narrative is cleverly put together and layered. I love seeing stories that feature characters who are clearly broken but also treats them fairly and makes them sympathetic. 

This is not a book that is for everyone but it will definitely stay with you. That much is guaranteed. 

Buy it now at: 
https://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/B01FDMCTTO/


The Final Cut, by Jasper Bark



I was immediately drawn to this book by the exceptional cover art but it was the premise that really drove me into a purchase. I loved the notion of a movie somehow having[image error] the ability to affect the people watching it. This was the first book of Jasper Bark that I read and I was very happy with what I got. 

I thought he brought a fresh take to the notion of supernatural horror and executed it to perfection. The story packs a big emotional punch to it, so much that I kind of wanted to take in the entire book in one sitting. Additionally, Bark does a particularly good job layering the story, masterfully using different points of view to heighten the impact on the reader. 

This year was largely about discovering new writers for me and Jasper is definitely one which I am happy to be more aware of. 

Buy it now at:
 https://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/B01FZVJ16W/


The End, by Matt Shaw



Once again, delving into uncharted territory for me.  I was aware of Matt Shaw but had never tried any of his books. [image error]Again, many of them seemed to be of a style and sub-genre of horror that I was less interested in. Nothing against him, just how my preferences tend to be. 

The End was a book that attracted me because it seemed to be more along the lines of what I would read, an apocalyptic story in which the world has been wreaked by a contamination, killing much of the population. 

This book has one of the strongest, most emotional openings I have ever read and the story winds around full circle to an ending that somehow gets even more tragic. This was a gripping story that he paced perfectly. I loved that Shaw drops you into the action without bogging it down with a ton of unnecessary exposition and backstory. 

Buy it now at:
https://www.amazon.com/End-Apocalyptic-Novel-Matt-Shaw-ebook/dp/B016FMZI3A/


King Carrion, by Rich Hawkins


 
I’m a fan of Rich Hawkins. I’m not going to lie about that one. I was hooked on to the ride with the Last Plague trilogy and I have been a happy passenger ever [image error]since. 

The current landscape of pop culture has caused a mindset in which I kind of dismiss anything zombie or vampire related out of hand. This is largely because the franchises have become so trodden and exploited that it becomes hard to spot anything new or original anymore. 

King Carrion broke that trend in fine form. From the opening pages, Hawkins sets up a story with a great, scary villain and he brings his trademark bleakness to bear on the world of vampires. This was the first time in a while I got something out of a vampire story close to what I remember as a kid. Books like this were what sold me, in the beginning. To see a current and contemporary voice putting this on display was a definite treat. 

Rich Hawkins is a shining star in this genre and I am excited to see what work he produces in the future. 

Buy this now at:
https://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/099359266X/

Kids, by Paul Feeney



Paul Feeney is an author who more people need to be aware of. Dark Minds has been putting out some fantastic [image error]books as of late and this was a shining example. 

The thing that is brilliant about Kids is how it completely puts you into the perspective of the characters and the fact that you have no idea what is happening makes it that much more terrifying. 

The story kicks off with a brief ramp-up but before long, the action is underway and it doesn’t let up until the last page. I loved the feeling of uncertainty about whether or not the events unfolding in this house are isolated or if there is some larger epidemic. The story builds up to a beautifully executed ending that left me with a chill and wanting to read more. 

The action of this book was really well done, with just the right amount of gore and graphic description. There is never a feeling that Feeney is pulling any punches but it also never feels exploitative or over the top. 

Buy it now at:
https://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/1530278481/


HONORABLE MENTIONS


The Factory, by Mark West



Mark West is a solid and creative voice in the industry and has put out a number of books that I have enjoyed. The [image error]Factory has probably been my favorite to date. The concept is simple enough but the execution is top notch. The action kicks off right away and manages to be maintained all throughout, with crisp, clear language to support it. There is quite a bit of beautifully dark and creepy moments in here and I had a great time reading it.  
Buy it now at:
https://www.amazon.com/Factory-Mark-West-ebook/dp/B01KTY1U8C/



Slaughter Beach, by Benedict J. Jones



Another installment from the Dark Minds novella series, I loved this story. And I do realize that the book doesn’t [image error]really qualify as it was released in late 2015 but I read it this year so I’m counting it. I loved that this had a great nostalgic feel of a classic cult horror film. The premise is fantastic and original and the action of the book is written well. I thought the brutality of the story was pretty much perfect. And it all builds up to a spectacular ending.

Buy it now at:
https://www.amazon.com/Slaughter-Beach-Benedict-J-Jones/dp/1516969707/

Baked Scribe Christmas Special Edition

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“I don’t know how much more I can put up with before we just break down and move,” Ryan said as he threw the groceries into the trunk. Rita walked around to the other side to let herself in.

“I know, it’s pretty much the same for us. You know, I think that over half the building has left. There are two units on the floor below us that I know of but I think everyone else has cleared out.”

Ryan nodded, turning the key in the ignition and settling back into the drivers seat. He reached up to grip the steering wheel but found his mind wandering, unwilling to take the forward steps toward leaving the lot. The sensation of tears rising up was always there but he shrugged it off, shaking his head and coughing to try and cover it up.

“Who would have thought, right? I wonder what will happen to that place once everyone does leave.”

The property management company had been long since absent. He kept sending the rent checks but there were now three of them piled up that hadn’t cleared through his bank. Stepping into his building anymore felt like an alien planet, like the rest of the world around them didn’t exist anymore. 

“Trevor found an article. Shouldn’t be any shock that the site of the building has a pretty dark history,” Rita said as Ryan finally got the car into motion. “There was a hospital that had some pretty sick, off-the-book practices with their patients. There was also a prison there at some point and supposedly before that there was some kind of a mass suicide, some cult thing.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ryan said. “Whatever the things are, the building is haunted. That’s the reality of it. Doesn’t matter why or who. Those things are going to either kill us or get rid of us. To be honest, I don’t even know why we bother. I mean really, what is keeping us there? Other than our pride and not wanting to give up our homes to these things?”

“I don’t—”

“You know, when I was taking a shower yesterday morning, a woman started screaming in the room. It was like someone was being killed right outside the shower. I pulled the curtains back and the floor was covered in blood. Someone tapped me on the shoulder. No one there. I turned back and the blood was all gone.”

“Yeah.”

“Week before that, I started feeling burning all over my body like someone had a blowtorch and was running it up and down my legs and back. That went on for hours. And I pretty much keep all my things in boxes anymore. Anything I try to put on a shelf or on a hanger just ends up getting tossed across the room at me.”

“I know. We’re all dealing with the same things as you are.”

“So why the hell are we staying? Why are we putting ourselves through this?”

“Because it’s all we know to do?” she suggested. He closed his mouth, not wanting it to be so simple and infantile but knowing that it was probably the truth.

The building loomed over them like a monster as they stepped out of the car. Storm clouds gathered in the sky above the building, a sight he seemed to find any time he looked up anymore. His life had become one long string of red flags, warning him of things to come.

When they stepped out onto their floor, they were greeted by a smell that had become completely foreign to them.

It smelled like food cooking.

And it was coming from Ryan’s apartment.

The neighbors from downstairs were crowded around his door and looked up as he approached with Rita.

“What is going on in there?” Trevor asked. “We can smell that from downstairs, what are you cooking?”

“Nothing,” Ryan said as he reached into his pocket for his keys. “We’ve been out all morning.”

They entered the apartment to find a long table, set for twelve. The center was set with bowls, filled with hot, steaming food. The smell made Ryan’s stomach clench from desire as he looked over the roast beef, the mashed potatoes, sweet corn and dinner rolls. There were steaming pies out in the kitchen as well as a case of wine.

“Where the hell did all this come from?” Ryan asked.

“There’s a note,” Rita said as she walked to the head of the table. She lifted it and smirked as she read it, handing it over to Ryan with a look of perplexed amusement on her face.

To whom it may concern:

For one night, let us all be friends. It is Christmas, after all.

Sincerely yours,

The Ghosts

 

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