What Really Happens When You Die: Ena’s Song 

A great story with an amazing dialogue.

Featured Image -- 4531

Shallow Dreams & Broken Hearts

The night was young, almost too young for the kind of excitement I craved. But I found the perfect dark corner booth left of the bar and adjacent to the low bar-stage. The music stops abruptly as I get comfortable and a burly man comes on to announce a young new act named, Ena. She is young, but not that young. Strands of loose hair danced across her eyes as she got comfortable on the lone stool under the spotlight. She tuned her guitar slightly and allowed a spell of silence to still the air before breathing “Take me home where I belong, I can’t take it anymore” into the room.


Ena’s voice is raw, softly distinct and nearly stripped of all emotion, except for how she dragged the vowels of each last syllable with a tired wail. She sang of a tortured heart, of innocence lost at childhood and…

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Tiny Little Fanatics

Tiny Little Fanatics.jpg

Lemuel woke up by the sun burning his skin. Slowly his eyes were adapting to the bright light. He wanted to rub them, but his arms was stuck. His head hurt, and couldn’t remember shit from last night.

He looked down. Lifting his head something was tied to his hair as well. He saw little ropes going over his body, tied to little poles on the ground.

What the hell is going on here? He said out loud. Hey! Is there anybody there? Help me!

He was lying outside, on something that looked like a beach. What had he been doing last night?

It’s awake! It’s awake! He heard tiny little voices. They were cheering with excitement.

Who’s there? He said. Help me, I’m stuck!

Something was set up against his arm. He looked down as much as he could. It was a ladder. A tiny little man came climbing up.

Howdy, Giant! He said. You’re big!

Who are you? Said Lemuel. Where am I?

The question is not where you are, monster man. It’s what you are. And you, my giant, are a monster. And monsters must die.

He walked a couple of rounds on his chest. There were others coming up the ladder as well.

Let me loose! Said Lemuel. Why have you… Hey, what are you doing?

The other creatures was pouring liquid out of cans on his chest. It smelled like gasoline.

Stop that!

Stop that, stop that! Mocked the little man as another came over to him with a torch, gave it to him.

Monster from hell, godless giant! You are about to meet your maker, whoever he is.

The other little men ran down the latter, only the one with the the torch remained. Oh, Lord, he said. We are giving you this horrible creature you cannot have created, and therefore must die. Behold the flames that will devour it!

Lemuel was getting very, very uncomfortable. Stop it! Stop!

The little man threw the torch down on Lemuel’s chest. It immediately caught fire. The little man’s shoes as well, they were wet of gasoline. Ouch, ouch, ouch, he said, running around. He jumped down on one side. Lemuel did not hear the noise of little bones breaking and a scream of pain when he hit the ground, because he was screaming himself. His chest was on fire, and it hurt. A lot.

Aaaahhh!! Put it out! Put it out! Help meeee!!!

The little men started singing a song, seemingly to their god or whatever they were worshipping.

Lemuel was twisting and pulling. Suddenly one of his arms was free. The other one, too. The fire had burned the ropes off.

He rolled himself over on his chest to put out the fire. The little men holding their ceremony tried to run away, but he was too big, the distance too long. Hundreds got crushed and burned under his flaming chest. He ripped off the rest of the ropes.

Some of the remaining little men were running away. Others tried to help the injured ones on the ground. The rest hid in a little church they had built of sand.

He gave the church a good kick. It crumbled, as sand castles so easily does. The little creatures seemed to have forgotten their dead and injured. the ones running away had forgotten their fear. All of them started rebuilding their little temple.

He seemed to be just outside of town. He really just wanted to get home as soon as possible.

Stupid little fanatics, he said as he walked away. This was the worst hangover ever.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gulliver%27s_Travels

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

Under Ground

UFO roadkill

This is another early post here on this blog, but the idea is several years older. More on the story behind here.

Fictionspawn Monsters

ufo

Mikkel and Mona had gone camping in the periurban park outside of their town. They sat down on a hill watching the stars. I’m a bit cold, said Mona. I’ll go down to the tent to get my jacket. She left.

Mikkel was sitting there, watching the sky when he suddenly saw a light.
An UFO! He laughed at himself. He didn’t really believe in that kind of stuff. But the light got bigger. And bigger. He got to his feet. It was moving straight towards h… Plan! It hit Mikkel hard. He fell over. His leg was broken. He had hurt his back, too. Pain.

The UFO stopped. It hovered in the air. Two creatures came out. They were big, almost double his size. Tentacles. Inside the crystal bubbles on their heads he could see huge fangs. On their hands they had huge claws. They came towards him. Slowly…

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A Story Come True

A Story Come True.jpg

Henry finished his story. It was a short little piece, a story about a murder. Dark, even darker than the ones he used to write. He went out to get another drink.

He went into the living room, poured another Jim Beam, bare with no ice, and sat down. He’s quite drunk, as he usually was at this hour.

He heard a loud noise from his office. He was a big guy, and quite a fighter. He brought the bottle in one hand just in case. In the other he brought his glass. He went in to have a look.

The room had changed. It was over grown with vegetation. A tree seemed to have grown it’s way into the room from outside. Huge roots came in from the torn down wall. Green leaves of different kinds. Flowers. Butterflies and other insects flying in the air. On the other side he saw a garden. Green and beautiful. He lived in the centre of the city, all cars and pavement. Until now.

He looked at the glass. Put it down on his desk.

What the fuck…? He said out loud. This was the strangest thing he’d ever seen.

He walked in, looking around at the plants. A squirrel could be seen in the tree tops. The forest was like a wild growing garden, just like the one he had been writing about. He moved further in. He walked for a long time, the trees got bigger, the plants greener, the flowers more and more colourful.

He heard a girl singing. He knew who she was. He walks closer, slowly.

She was sitting on a sling chair in the garden. She was as gorgeous as her voice. Familiar, like an echo from a dreams, or a distant memory. Beauty. He just stood there, perplex. Then he remembered. She’s about to die. Murdered for her perfection.

Thunder. The sky darkened.

He ran towards her. She looked at him, coming out of the bushes. Her expression was surprised, a bit confused. Then it turned into fear.

What do you want? She asked. Who are you?

Come with me! We have to get you out of here!

She stood up, moved away from him. Leave me alone!

Come! He shouted. Come with me! We have to get out of here! The alcohol made his voice loud, his movements hash and sudden. She starts running.

The sky was dark now. The beautiful sunlight coming through the leaves high in the trees was gone. Flashes. Thunder. Rain. She ran into the dark bushes, where her death awaited. It was all his fault. Why did he write this story so dark, so sad, so evil?

What had he done?

He runs after her. She screams for help. No! Stop! He shouts. He hears laughter in the darkness. His own voice. He catches her. She falls. She tries to get away, but he needs to stop her, save her. She breaks free. She falls. Her head hits a rock in the small river.

She was dead. He’d killed her. Again. The monster of his story. It was him. He held the dead body in his arms, his tears mixing with the rain, as the blood from her head.

The darkness took over. She faded in his arms, disappeared.

He was back in his office, sitting on his chair. The big tree invading the room was gone. The garden was gone. He looked at the sheet on the table. The murder. He ripped it to pieces and poured himself another whiskey. He didn’t want to write any more today. He just wanted to get drunk.

https://mythsofthemirror.com/2017/02/02/28104/https://mythsofthemirror.com/2017/02/02/28104/

https://randomsbyarandom.wordpress.com/2017/06/07/writers-quote-charles-bukowski-2/

Liquid Ink

El Duende Pt 3/3

El Duende Pt 3.jpg

Part 1 Part 2

The war was over. La Republica had lost. Repression had once again taken control of Spain.

Pedro and Lola hid in a cave far into the woods. They had brought Pedro’s hunting rifle, his father’s shotgun, ammunition and some food. Not much more.

They knew about this cave from before. It was an old abandoned gypsy cave, quite a cosy place under other circumstances. A wooden door in the entrance, and a small window in the earth wall.

Five men came. Two of them had uniforms of the Guardia Civil, the other three seemed to be peasants. They were looking for Pedro and Lola. They were moving up towards the cave, slowly, from tree to tree, from rock to rock. They seemed to know where they were hiding.

A bird flew down from one of the trees, landed in the bushes and disappeared.

Pedro took position at the door, Lola in the window. The men came closer. They loaded their guns.

Don’t shoot yet, whispered Pedro. I want to speak to them. Maybe we can get to some kind of agreement.

Lola held the rifle to her shoulder, looking firmly through the sight. They will not bargain, mi amor. If we surrender we are dead.

The five men kept moving closer, signalling between themselves with their hands.

One of them started screaming. Aaaaaahh! A snake! A snake bit me!

They stopped for a moment. Silence. Only the bitten man’s moans could be heard.

Another man started screaming. Bitten as well.

It’s crawling with snakes!

Lola fired. Hit one of them in the shoulder. The ones still able to fight started shooting, retreating down the way they came from. Pedro could see them moving further down. They seemed to be heading back to town.

Pedro and Lola needed to get out of there fast, they would be back. They got out and ran further into the forest behind the cave. They kept walking up towards the mountains.

That night they slept outside. They had left the food in the cave, and they did not dare to light a fire. They were cold and hungry.

Early in the morning Lola woke up to the sound of Pedro’s voice. From the depths of her dreams, reality slowly came back. A horrible reality she didn’t want.

We need to go.

They kept moving up the forest covered mountains. Walked without pauses, without rest.

At mid day they heard dogs barking. The men had gone to get reinforcements. They were many more now, looking for them.

The dogs were coming closer. They could see them. Behind them they heard men shouting. Pedro and Lola started running. It was difficult in this rough terrain. Spines and branches cut their legs and arms. The dogs were right behind them.

Out of the bushes a rabbit appeared. It ran just in front of the dogs, teasing them. Then it ran off down a dry river lair. The dogs followed. Pedro and Lola climbed up the hill, hid i the bushes. They could see the dogs far below. They were following a deer now, and the men were following the dogs. The rabbit could no longer be seen.

They kept walking up, crossing the high mountains. There were no trees now. The path was steep, and they were tired.

Downwards it was easier, but they were even more visible. All night they walked. In the early morning a man appeared. He had a gun in his hands. For a moment they all froze. Lola held her hand tight around her weapon.

Bonjour! The man said with a friendly smile. Ca va bien?

A French hunter. They were out of Spain.

The man signalled them to follow him. They looked terrible, their clothes were torn. Cuts everywhere. The man knew why they were there, and wanted to help them.

Pedro turned around, looked towards where they had been coming from, as to make sure no one was following. He saw a little man sitting on a stone. A little man with a green hat on his head. The little duende waved, laughing, and jumped down behind the rocks.

A bird flew up and disappeared over the mountains.

https://libcom.org/history/women-spanish-revolution-solidarity

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/spain/11519691/General-Franco-to-be-officially-defined-by-Spain-as-a-dictator.html

https://www.papermasters.com/pans-labyrinth-requiem-spanish-peasant.html

https://www.britannica.com/event/Spanish-Civil-War

https://lizzieeldridge.wordpress.com/2017/04/14/the-second-spanish-republic-and-the-crucifixion-of-goodness/

Fiction: ‘The Shoemaker Who Made Toys’

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

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…Third part

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.

Third part

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

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

El Duende Pt 1/3

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.

Part 2 here.

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

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

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

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…

View original post 422 more words

Revive Pt 2/2

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

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.

Part two

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

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