Fiction: ‘The Shoemaker Who Made Toys’

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Another amazing story by the incredible Ekaterina Tretiakova. Third and last part of my story El Duende will be out tomorrow.

Writing on Tangents

54 - The Shoemaker Who Made Toys Image Source: http://bit.ly/2rE1E0M

Finn Dreyer was a shoemaker who didn’t really like shoes very much. No, he didn’t like them at all. Every day he would rise early in the morning, walk across town through the slushy snow to his master’s workshop, and spend hour after hour, day after day, year after year, making shoes.

First he would carve the soles from sections of willow. Then he’d trace his master’s patterns into strips of leather which he collected from the tanner, and stitch these pieces together over the wood.

The process wasn’t so dull when he first began at the age of fifteen.

But after years of following the same method, he began to feel that it wasn’t quite as interesting as he had thought when he first purchased his apprenticeship with the little coin he had.

Each day after the sun had set, Finn packed away his tools, cleaned…

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El Duende Pt 2/3

by in Fiction, mythology and tagged , , , , , | 8 Comments

El Duende 2.jpg

First part here.

It turned out to be señoritos, rich land owners, who had killed them. They stopped by later that day, making a lot of threats, but no one could do anything.The killings continued. Every morning they found new bodies.

The Guardia Civil, the village military police, was no longer to be seen.

The next day Pedro went out to milk the goat again, but once again the goat was milked. This time the bucket was gone.

A bit confused Pedro looked around the barn. No milk anywhere, but the goat was empty. And there couldn’t have been anyone here. Could there?

So someone have been stealing our milk… That’s odd. It had never happened before. He was worried.

Every morning someone was found dead. The rich men from the city had said they would kill everyone who had voted against the old system. Pedro knew he was in danger.

Life went on, though. They never went anywhere in the night time, but he was worried of who had stolen the milk. The revolutionaries would not steal from him, he knew that. They were occupied taking down the ones in power.

This morning things seemed to be back to normal. He was going down to meet his cousin and some friends to talk about the situation. They couldn’t let people keep disappearing. He went to milk the goat before he left, and was picking up some utensils when he heard something behind him. He turned around.

He was astonished. He had never really believed in the gnomes, but there it was. The same little creature he’d seen the other day. It was real.

Hey! It said. You want some milk? He kicked the milk bucket over. Pedro looked at the milk on the floor…

What did you do that for?

The little creature glared at him viciously. Then he kicked the goat in the butt.

Hey stop that! What do you think you’re… The little gnome came running towards him. Kicked him in the leg. Why you little… Now he was getting angry.

He tried to kick it, but he missed. He tried again. The little soul less gnome was too fast. It picked up a log from the floor. Hit him in the ass with it. Pedro was really pissed now. He grabbed a long stick meant to be the handle for a broom.

Now you’ve done it, he said, hitting for the little man. Missing. All the time. The duende, on the other hand got it quite a few punches. After a long fight he was lying on the floor, exhausted. The little man was sitting on the bench laughing. Pedro was defeated He got up, limped out of the barn.

He walked down towards town. He saw a large group of people further down. They were talking, shouting. People were running up and down the slope. Pedro walked over, slowly, his whole body was hurting.

There were three bodies on the ground. One of them was his cousin. If it wasn’t for the fight with the little man, Pedro would have been one of them.

They just shot them down! Señor Gomez was terrified. Who will be the next? Who will be the next!?

Pedro’s mother was there, crying her eyes out. You have to leave, Pedro! It’s too dangerous here for you now!

Pedro knew she was right. He went home.

I have to go, he said to his wife when he arrived.

She said nothing, ran to the bedroom and started packing.

The same afternoon they left for the forest.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Second_Spanish_Republic

http://vc.bridgew.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1265&context=jiws

El Duende Pt 1/3

by in fantasy, Fiction, Mystery and tagged , , , , | 7 Comments

El Duende.jpg

Pedro opened the door and went out to the barn. He had his goat inside now that winter was coming. He milked it, as he always did, and went back into the house. His father was sitting in front of the fire place, and his mother was in the kitchen.

Here’s the milk, said Pedro, holding the bucket up to give it to his mother.

Put it on the floor, I’ll take care of it, she said and kept on cutting vegetables for the potaje.

He went into the living room to his father. He was sitting reading a book. He was always reading when he wasn’t working. Pedro sat down on the old bench beside him.

The goat is old, he said. We’ll soon need another.

There is no money, hijo. How will we get a new goat with no money?

Pedro said nothing for a while.

New times are coming, Padre. We’ll soon be better off.

A year after news came to the little village. The king had left the country. The second republic had been established. Times really were changing.

Lola was a peasant’s daughter, from a village nearby. She and Pedro met on a village party, she was there with her cousin. She was the most beautiful thing Pedro had ever seen. Less than a year after they got married.

They lived with Pedro’s parents, and loved each other deeply. Pedro got a job as the shoemaker’s assistant, and soon he could afford a new goat for his family.

The next years old landlords were loosing land to the poor peasants. People were less hungry each day. It was a time of hope, but there was also violence.

One day Pedro went out to the barn, as he used to. There was a full bucket of milk under the goat. It had had milked itself. Yes, all by itself.

Lola! Cariño! Come! Look at this!

Lola came running. Pedro was pointing excitedly at the full bucket on the floor

Look! Look!

She had a confused expression on her face.

So you milked the goat… Like you do every day..?

That’s just it! I didn’t milk the goat! It milked itself!

She looked at him for a moment. Then she started laughing.

Hahaha! Milked itself…. Hahaha! ¡Que graciosos eres!

She left, still laughing.

A creature was watching him from a pole in the ceiling. A little man, with pointy ears and a little green hat on his head. Pedro lifted his head. For a moment their eyes met. The little man seemed to be laughing. He turned into a bird and flew out of a hole in the wall.

Pedro rubbed his eyes. Strange things were happening today, he didn’t know what to believe. He went out through the door.

Down the road people were shouting. He walked down the road to see, faster and faster until he was almost running.

Three bodies had been found in a field, executed in the darkness of the night.

https://unklethan.wordpress.com/2014/06/26/requiem-por-un-campesino-espanol/#more-599

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Duende_%28mythology%29

Nightmares of Cambodia

The Apple Grove

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On this date one year ago I published my first post here on fictionspawn.com. It was dark and violent. Here it is.

Fictionspawn Monsters

The Apple Grove

A boy and a girl are running through the forest. Down a slope, looking back as if someone is after them. She stumbles, he stops and runs back for her. He takes her hand, about to pull her up. Then they burst into laughter.

They had been on a boat trip and disembarked on an island. They had come across a large apple grove by a house in the woods. Bountiful apples, tempting as hell. They jumped over the fence and helped themselves greedily. Then they had heard: Who’s there? An angry voice. They had ran.

Ole got Tina on her feet. They ran down to the boat and cast off. He started the engine and they set off away from the island full speed. They looked at each other and burst out laughing again.

A sudden slam.

Tina was lying in the water. The boat was upside down…

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Freak Show

by in Fiction, Horror, Monster and tagged , , , , | 34 Comments

freakshow.jpg

Mr Arnaldo owned a travelling show with five attractions. The bearded woman, the man with the giant foot. the monkey boy and the man with eleven fingers. They were not the interesting part. They had something new now. Something horrible.

The other monsters were humans. There wasn’t really any doubt about it. But the fifth one was… different. It was humanoid, but only to some extent. There was something to it. Behind it’s eyes. In the shadows that surrounded it. They hadn’t let it out of the cage.

The bearded woman was Mr Arnaldo’s wife, and she wasn’t really bearded. He let his beard grow, they cut it, and glued it to her face. The monkey boy, on the other hand, was real. Well, he wasn’t a monkey boy, of course, but he was very hairy. They had bought him from his parents a couple of years ago, they were happy to get rid of him. Shameful, they had been. So now he was travelling with them. He didn’t like the shows much, but he was OK the rest of the time. They didn’t give him food and roof for charity, either.

The man with the giant foot and the other with eleven fingers was just that, a man with a giant foot and one with eleven fingers. He’d given them a job, that’s all. They weren’t really that interesting though, the monkey boy and his bearded wife pulled in more costumers. He didn’t pay them much anyway, it’s not like they could find anything else.

Ever since the two headed girl died, things had been going slow. The others simply weren’t enough two pull the business. That’s when they’d found the creature.

It was perfect. It was like a human, somehow, but there were shadows moving around it. It’s red, glowing eyes gave it’s intense stare an evil, dark and horrible depth never before seen. They were going to be famous.

Today it would be shown for the first time. Mr Arnaldo couldn’t wait. They had sold out all the tickets.

Come and see our horrible freaks! The man with the giant foot! The Monkey boy! The eleven fingered troll! And the beautiful bearded woman!

Loud applause from the public.

The four of them walked around for a while. People applauding, having fun. Shouting things. Ugly things. Dirty things.

But, my dear spectators… That is nothing. He’d lowered his voice now. We have something you’ve never seen before!

In the centre of the stage there was a cube with a clothing covering it. He walked over to it.

Now, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the great attraction! You think what you seen until now is disgusting? You think they are horrendous monsters? Behold, a creature from the darker depths of dungeon dimensions. A demon of horrible hells. The horrible! The Dark! The Evil! Rangooooorrrr!

He pulled the cloth off. Inside they saw something moving. Something dark, as if it was inside a shadow, darkness moving around though light should enter. It was moving around, as in fear. Fear of the light. Fear of the people. They could catch a glimpse of a face. A horrible, evil face. A sigh of astonishment went through the crowd.

Amazing… Horrendous…. It’s a devil… They whispered, they were to shocked to shout. Then someone started applauding. Everyone soon followed. Loud shouts.

Fantastic! Amazing! Hurray!

Mr Arnaldo was bowing to the applause. People stopped clapping. He looked at them. At their faces. Some looked scared. Others amazed, as if they were waiting for the next great part of the show. They were not looking at him. They were looking behind him.

He turned slowly around. The dark creature was no longer inside the cage. It was standing behind him. He screamed. The crowd suddenly understood this was not part of the show.

Panic broke out in the crowd. People started running away, but the creature suddenly was everywhere. It started killing. People were ripped to pieces by the dark shadows moving around them outside of time. A bloodbath.

Mr Arnaldo was paralysed. He wanted to move, to run.. He could not. He watched as his costumers were all ripped to pieces.

This is not good for business.

The creature lifted him up. Laughing. He screamed as his body slowly dissolved into little, dark flying creeps, disappearing in the air as the flew away.

Then it all stopped.

There were only three people left. A hairy little boy. A man with a giant foot, and another with eleven fingers.

I guess we’re unemployed, Maxmillian said after a while.

I guess we are, said Jack thoughtful. There are better jobs.

There should be, answered Maxmillian. He looked towards the village. There couldn’t be much people left.

https://thingssaidanddone.wordpress.com/2010/09/26/strange-and-bizarre-the-history-of-freak-shows/

https://www.fictionpress.com/s/2969551/1/Freakshow

Liquid Ink

Fate by elbycloud

by in Reblog | 12 Comments

Featured Image -- 4291

Short Stories from Elby Cloud

Clang! The sound reverberated throughout the hall as Faith made her way down the ladder. Her metal foot was slippery on the iron rungs. She resisted the temptation to point her toe as she descended; she physically couldn’t and the effort caused her calf to cramp above the prosthetic. The sound was a reproach. Before, in the other life, she would have reveled in the acrobatic opportunities of the ladder, trying tricks like reaching her legs into the splits while she hung suspended from her trustworthy hands. She would have gloried in her strength and her fearlessness, entertaining herself on this long climb down. Now she had a syncopated reminder to stick to the route, no deviations.

At the bottom she spotted the plinth right away. She walked to it, carriage proud in spite of the limp. She placed her hands on the indentations on the side of the pedestal…

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Revive Pt 2/2

by in Fiction, Horror, Monster, Science fiction and tagged , , , | 14 Comments

Revive 2.jpg

First part here.

His brain didn’t work the way it should. It was… Diffuse. Strange. Like if there was some kind of fog, some kind of… death. He felt nothing. He wasn’t sure if he was even alive.

He saw the village further down. Remembering something. Some… person. Eyes. A touch. Soon it was gone.

He arrived between the houses. People were walking by, some saluted. Others ignored him. He didn’t understand. He didn’t care. They were things, moving, walking.

Martin saw a strange man walking down the street. He jumped aside, as the other almost bumped into him. Hey, Jones! I didn’t recognise you. Jones the gravedigger just passed by, like he didn’t even see him. He walked strangely. He must be drunk, said Martin when he was a bit down the road. So unlike him.

He came to a house. It looked familiar, somehow. What was that, deep inside him? Feelings? Memories? He needed to feel something. He needed to remember. Something to show him he existed, that he was alive. Something real.

He entered. His shady eyesight made it hard to see. Some sound from within the house, from the next room. It was hard to tell what it was, his ears were full of noise, a background noise without meaning. Or was it his brain? He tried to think about it, but his thoughts were slow, too slow. They didn’t make sense.

Darcy came walking into the hallway. He was standing there, looking at her. She used to be his wife, but he could not really remember. She looked at him.

What’s wrong, darling…? She said. He said nothing. The expression on his face was…. Strange. Dead, somehow. Empty. Scary. What’s that you have on your head? There were cables and metal tubes sticking out on one side.

No answer. He just stood there. Something was wrong. She took a step back. He followed her. She started running.

He caught her. Held her down. She tried to fight him, but he was too strong. He needed to feel something. Anything. He bit her. Bit her in the face. She screamed even harder. Started hitting him. He could feel the punches. A little bit. Not pain. Not even molest. Just the recognition of something hitting his skin. It felt good. Alive. Real. He started hitting her back. In the face. Again and again. He felt something. A strange pleasure of violence. Some of the life he vaguely remembered was still in him. She didn’t move any more. He punched her face a while longer. It wasn’t the same when she didn’t move. He started biting her head.

Martin came running in the open door. He’d heard the noise, and came to see what was happening. Darcy! Is everything… He stopped. Her husband was lying over her. Chewing on her. He backed out.

Help! Help, someone!

The creature got up on his feet. Walked towards the noise. Out the door. Martin ran away, screaming. The other villagers came out of their houses.

He’s killed Mrs Jones! He’s killed her!

But it’s Mr Jones? How could you? One of the villagers exclaimed in disbelief.

That’s not Mr Jones… Said another. It’s a monster! Kill it!

The villagers picked up weapons. Axes, spades, whatever they had at hand. They were many now.

He looked at them. Their weapons. They were after him. They wanted to hurt him. Fear? Maybe. Something strange deep underneath the clouds in his mind. Fear. Danger. He turned, ran. Down the slope, over the fields, into the forest.

The farmers came running after him. Shouting. Dogs barking. A dog reached, him, barking around his legs. A small one. He tried to kick it, but it was difficult when he was running. Another dog, a big one, came. Bit his leg. He fell. Two others started biting his arms. Fear. Definitely fear. A farmer arrived, stabbed him with a trident. Another hit his head with a big pickaxe. Pain. He was alive. He was beyond doubt alive.

Now he was dying again.

http://www.hplovecraft.com/writings/texts/fiction/hwr.aspx

http://observer.com/2016/05/were-closer-than-ever-to-bringing-the-dead-back-to-life/

http://theweek.com/articles/474803/7-bizarre-tales-people-coming-back-from-dead

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Resurrection

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/tag/death

Tears of Blood

Revive Pt 1/2

by in Fiction, Horror, Mystery, Science fiction and tagged , , , , | 43 Comments

Revive

Freakinstone was a scientist, and he was crazy. Good old spickedly mad, as they said in the village. After the great destruction, science was still evolving, but at a personal level, like in the old days. He had learned from his father, and he had access to a lot of old technology from the great metal disposal area close to his old castle.

He used electronic devices to get dead things to life. A mix of chords and circuits of copper and liquid biochemical substances had already gotten several species back from death.

He’d started out with a beetle. Insects were easier, their cells seemed to regenerate faster, and there were more cells that were expendable. The battery assured energy. He pushed the little button. It didn’t move, just lay there. He had to have done something wrong. Somewhere in his calculations there had to be some kind of failure. He picked up his papers when he saw a movement in the corner of his eye. He stopped. Stared. Did the little creep move a leg?

It happened again, now he saw it clearly. The insect moved another leg. It started walking.

Success. He had made it. The greatest technological pass ever. He had conquered death.

He had moved on to small reptiles, lizards. They moved around, but were quite clumsy and stupid. He had some control over them as well. The first mouse was a great breakthrough. He needed them fresh, so he killed them himself when the electronics were already attached. They moved around more freely, and even though he had his remote they were harder to control than the reptiles, and much harder than the insects. They had more will somehow, if such thing even existed.

He needed to complete his work. He needed a human. A human for him to control. It would be very practical to have someone to do all the work around here, so he could focus a hundred percent on his science.

He dug up a body from the graveyard. A child, easier to carry. Several nights light could be seen in the tower of his castle. He worked without stopping until it was ready. He turned it on. It started moving a little.

Hello little one! He said, cheerfully. How do you feel?

Ghhehehehennnsnsnam…. A strange gurgling sound came from the recently revived child. It sounded like it was in pain. Horrible pain. It didn’t move. No eye contact. Some shaking was all the movement he could see. This was no human. It was a vegetable. He turned it off, disappointed.

He looked through his papers. The problem was clear. The brain had been too damaged from rot and other processes. He needed a fresh body.

He felt bad, but he would do anything in the name of science. He attached the fresh corps to the information circuits he had made especially for the human brain.

He looked out of the window. The daylight was starting to lighten up the sky. Down at the graveyard the gravedigger had already started working.

He grabbed a knife and left the room.

The gravedigger was always there alone, digging graves. Freakinstone went down, walked slowly towards him.

Ah, Freakinstone! Said the gravedigger. Nice to see you. Could you believe someone dug up a dead body the other day? It was the Jeff and Alice’s kid, who died from a heart failure. Some people are just crazy, aren’t they? They… What’s up? You look strange… What are you doing with that kn… nooo! Aaaahhh!! Help me!!! Ahghhh!

Freakinstone turned the gravedigger’s carriage, poured out the dirt to empty it. He got the dead body into it, and hurried up to his old castle. He had to get started fast, before the body started to rot.

After some hours of work he was ready. He pushed the power button he had placed behind his ear.

The gravedigger made some complaining noises. He opened his eyes. A strange, dead stare. He wanted to get up from the bench.

Hello! He said. I eh… You had an… accident! That’s it, an accident. Now you need to rest. No. No-no-no! You need to stay down and rest!

The gravedigger grabbed him by the throat. Lifted him up. Lay him down on the same bench he had been lying on himself. Choked him to death.

He stood there for a moment. His eyes were blurry, like if the room was full of smoke. Or was it his brain? He didn’t know. He couldn’t think straight. He felt nothing. Knew nothing. Or at least not much. Some blurry memories, but he wasn’t sure what they was. He wasn’t even sure if he was dead or alive.

He left and headed for the village.

https://tgifrankenstein.wordpress.com/2017/04/16/how-mary-shelley-named-her-antagonist/

https://milliebotreads.wordpress.com/2017/05/26/judging-a-book-by-its-cover-frankenstein/

Hitchhiking (Fear of the unknown)

The Old Tree

by in Fiction and tagged , , , , | 22 Comments

The Old Tree.jpg

The old tree was standing on a hill. The wind went through it’s leaves, the birds jumped around on it’s branches, there were insects piercing into it’s trunk. It didn’t care. It was just the way things were. It had water. Earth. Sun. It was all it ever needed.

On the hill it had been standing all it’s life, as natural was. It was part of the hill, and almost as big under ground as over ground. Under ground sometimes a little creature touched it’s roots. Sometimes some worm dug into them. It didn’t care. It was all part of being a tree.

Today a man came along. He was measuring it’s trunk. Looking at it. He even made a cross in it’s skin. It didn’t hurt. Things didn’t really hurt when you’re a tree. It was good being a tree.

The next day the man came back. He cut the tree down. It didn’t really hurt either, but it was not good. It was not good at all. When the man pulled up the root, cut it into pieces and carried it all away, the tree’s life was over for ever.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plant_perception_(paranormal)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plant_perception_(physiology)

Under Ground

The Way Things had Always Been

by in Fiction and tagged , , , , , , | 22 Comments

The Way Things had Always Been.jpg

Stop the thief! Stop the thief! Ragon reacted fast. He lifted his spear, jumped over the wagon between him and the market stairs. In mid air he stabbed the thief in the throat. She fell dead to the ground.

Ragon was a soldier. He protected law and order in the city. His job was mostly to kill people. People who murdered or raped. People who stole. People who kissed in public. Sometimes he did a mistake, but that was just the way things were, the way they had always been. No one questioned it. No one objected.

Marakara came running. Thank you soldier, he said. Thank you! He got the apples out of the dead thief’s hand. He could have bought new apples and it was uncomfortable to see the dead body on the ground, but the law was the law. Things were as they always had been. There was no other way. He never questioned it. He never objected.

One day a stranger came to town. A man from rocky mountains far away. His name was Tornag. He questioned. He spoke with words put together in ways no one had ever heard. Arguments no one could deny. Reason. People listened, started questioning themselves. Soon they objected.

Then things started to change.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conservatism

https://room5.wordpress.com/2009/06/03/the-way-things-have-always-been-done/

Anthropocentrism

Bloody Mary by Alyssa Palombo

by in Reblog | 10 Comments

Skewed Lit

Bloody Mary photoshop

It got quite boring after a while, hanging around all these mirrors, waiting for someone to call. This afterlife business wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, that was for sure. She sometimes wondered if death—the other side, Elysium, beyond the veil, heaven, hell, purgatory, the underworld, whatever—was like this for everyone. But that couldn’t be—after all, in all these years she’d spent running from mirror to mirror whenever she was summoned, she’d never run into anyone else.

The first time she heard her name, she’d thought it was him, the last voice she’d ever heard. She went running, hoping that it was, so that she could have her revenge. It wasn’t him, though—it was some total strangers, people she didn’t know and had never seen before.

So she waited.

In those early days after her death, whenever she heard her name, she thought that, if it wasn’t him…

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Ceremony Pt 2/2

by in Fiction, Horror, Monster, Mystery and tagged , , , , | 9 Comments

Ceremony 2.jpg

I’m so glad you could come, he said. He looked happy. In peace.

Did you do this? I asked him, though I knew. I liked to get a confession before I got started..

Of course. Isn’t it beautiful? Justice, my friend. You of all people should understand.

I looked at the body parts on the wall. This guy was sicker than any criminal I’ve ever found.

You killed an innocent little girl… I said it between my teeth. The anger was rising inside me. Hate.

No one’s innocent, John… No one.

I stood there, waiting for his move. Trying to look as defenceless as I could, so he would underestimate me when he decided to kill me. One of us was going to die tonight. It wasn’t going to be me.

I waited. Nothing happened.

He put his knife on the table. Bad move. A bit too bad. No time to think.

I did this to…

I attacked. Punched him in the face. He fell back, landed on the floor. I grabbed his knife.

You know you’re going to die, right? I said.

No answer. He was just looking at me, as if he wanted it. Maybe that was it. Maybe he wanted me to put him out of his misery. It bothered me. Not much punishment in that. I preferred the ones who begged for mercy. At least I was going to make it painful.

He didn’t scream. Whatever I did he never even moved.

When I had had enough of the torture, I lifted the knife. He looked at me.

Good luck, John, he said. Still smiling, the sick son of a bitch.

I cut his throat. His messed up face was still grinning, yet it looked more sinister now with his face all messed up and the empty, dead eyes, the open wound underneath it.

I needed to get out of there. The cops could be there any moment. Some neighbour might have heard the noise, though it probably was quite usual in this neighbourhood. This would be hard to explain. I turned around, took one last look at the macabre symbol on the wall. The face of the little girl was smiling as well. There was a strange glow from it. I got out of there fast.

Running down the road I felt different. Like I had changed somehow. I still had the same urge for justice, the same urge for avenging anything wrong in this world. I still felt like the good guy of justice I always had considered myself, but I saw things differently now.

Everyone was guilty. Especially the little girls.

https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/evolution-the-self/201402/don-t-confuse-revenge-justice-five-key-differences

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Evil

Empathy

Ceremony Pt 1/2

by in Fiction, Mystery and tagged , , , , , , , | 27 Comments

Ceremony Pt1.jpg

I stood in the middle of the room, watching the horrible symbol in front of me. A little girl had been cut to pieces, hung up on the wall in a sinister figure. What was it? Some satanic summoning? A sect of some kind?

I hadn’t seen this symbol before either. Her head was in the centre, her legs and arms made a circle. Her hands and feet were placed outside the circle, making a square. There had been two other murderers following a similar pattern. First a young man. Second a woman. Now a child. Sick. I wanted to throw up, but I couldn’t leave DNA on the scene of the crime. The cops would think it was me.

It wasn’t the first time I had mixed myself up in a crime investigation. The laws were not strict enough. They deserved to suffer and die. I did the sacrifice of being the executer. The torturer.

The first murder I read about in the newspaper. The second I had gotten there before the police. I have my ways. That’s when I had understood the gravity of the situation. The woman had been spread out on the floor in many pieces. Her fingers had been laid out in some ancient letter. I had been studying it for days, trying to find out what it meant, where it came… without luck.

This was worse. The face of the little girl seemed tor have died in horrendous pain and fear. The painstaking cutting of the pieces was… I shivered. This was even worse than I had expected. I got the little bottle out of my pocket, opened it with shaking fingers. I needed to calm down. The whiskey poured down my throat. It felt good, but it wasn’t enough.

Someone had called me at home. It had been a strange phone call. They told me to go here. Why did they want me here? How did they know I was looking for them? Who were these sick bastards?

I took photos. I needed documentation to have something to work on. Experience from my days as a journalist comes in handy when your finding psychos.

Ah, you made it! A voice behind me. I spun around.

A man was standing there. He was about forty years old. He had a white medic coat covered in blood. Literally, I knew it was white only by a small part of the collar. In his right hand he held a knife. The big kind, to cut meat. That wasn’t the scary part.

What really freaked me out was his friendly smile.

To be concluded tomorrow.

https://johndavisfrain.com/2017/06/05/microphone/

https://precinct1313.wordpress.com/2017/05/30/precinct1313s-heroes-from-the-dark-side-rorschach/

Dystopia Pt 1/3

The Old Man who Knew

by in Fiction, Mystery and tagged , , , , , , | 44 Comments

The Old Man who Knew.jpg

There was a great carpet dwelling above the world. Inside it. Around it. It was conscious, yet not intelligent. Awake, but it did not think. One, a spectre of selves, everywhere and nowhere. No one knew how it worked, not even itself. It was pure observation. It knew, but did not calculate. It felt, but did not care. It was existence. Reality. Nothing more. Nothing less.

The old man sat by the window, looking out on the valley he’d lived in all his life. He knew everything about that valley. Every little rock, every old tree stump. He loved it. The valley was the best place on Earth for him.

He walked out on the porch. Watching the little lake. He knew the little lake. He the kinds of fish swimming in it. He knew how to catch them. He knew how which berries there was in the forest on the other side, which mushrooms he could eat and which ones he could not. He sat down on his old stool, as he had done so many times before.

He knew a lot. He knew how the flowers bloomed at springtime. How the hills exploded in colours in autumn. He knew how it felt to love and he knew the pain of hate. He knew the arouse of glory, the deep sorrow of loss. He knew. He knew a lot.

A cat came by. He knew the cat.

Hello, little cat, he said cheerfully. The cat came to him, stroking itself to his leg.

You’re a friendly little chap, aren’t you! Said the old man. The cat purred, enjoying the old man’s company.

He did not know if the cat was a he or a she, but knew it was not important for him to know. The cat was his friend, and friends were good to have.

He was old now. Very old. He knew life was coming to it’s end, and he wasn’t sad about it. He’d lived. He’d had a rich life, with sorrows and laughs. He wouldn’t have been without any of them. Even the painful ones.

Today he was looking out on the field in front of his house. Something dark was hanging over the grass. Over the trees. And he knew. He knew his time had come, he’d lived for a long time now. And he knew there was nothing to fear. As death came, he closed his eyes and accepted. Time had come.

A little frog opened it’s eyes in a swamp in Amazonas.

https://kavarastories.com/2017/05/31/knowledge-unconsumed/

https://yashmody.wordpress.com/2016/12/26/self-consciousness-vs-self-awareness/

Fate