Dark Woods

Dark Woods

Finally a new story.

Last week I mentioned a cabin we stopped by in the forest. There’s a lot of cabins in Norway, as you can imagine. It was abounded, and quite a few things were lying around. There were some black hand marks on the wall beside the chimney, and underneath the cottage I found a newspaper from 1978. The front page spoke about the police investigating a couple of priests who had taken part in an exorcism. The subject, a young woman, had been through four others intents before that one, by other people. When we left the place two ravens was flying between the trees a bit further away. So far it’s all true.

We went up the path. We could not see the ravens any more, but we could hear their screams deeper into the woods.

We walked for quite a while. Too long, really.

We should be to the car by now, said Johnny. It wasn’t that far away.

They walked a little further.

We’re not getting anywhere.

I guess we’ll have to turn back, said Jess. We must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. She took her phone out. No coverage.

They walked back for a while. A long while.

They heard the two ravens again. They were closer now.

Another scream. Different. Almost… Human.

Jessica shivered. What was that?

I have no idea. We should have been back to the cabin by now… Johnny was looking up at the sky. It was getting darker.

We need to get out of here. It’s getting late. She was looking at her phone, trying to find get contact. Nothing.

It was getting cold, too. They weren’t prepared to stay out at night. They saw a light between the trees. Look! They walked off the path, through the woods.

It was the same cabin. There was a light in the window.

We need to go see who’s there. Maybe they can tell us how to get back.

They went over, and up the stairs. The door was open. Hello? Said Johnny. Is there anybody here?

No answer. He stepped over the threshold.

Johnny, be careful!

He stopped for a moment. Listened. He could hear the burning sound from the chimney. The ravens scream between the trees nearby. Come on, there’s a fire. I’m freezing.

Inside the fire was burning vivid. Twelve lit black candles. There were a lot more black marks on the walls than before.

They walked over to the fireplace, held their hands up to the fire. Jessica looked over her shoulder. She didn’t feel good about this at all. On the wall the black marks had spread. Letters could be seen.

DIE.

She touched johnny’s shoulder, breathing heavily. Johnny turned around. Oh my god, he said. Oh my god. We need to get the fuck out of here.

A woman was standing in the door..

Pale face. The back dress of a widow.

Then she was gone.

Did you see that? Said Jessica. Johnny was as white as the woman.

Yes. Come on!
They ran out, into the forest. Through the darkness. Ravens screaming, and an other voice. Laughing. Vailing. Ravens laughing and screaming.

Jessica stopped.

Johnny? No answer. Johnny, where are you? Her voice was shaking.

A voice further ahead. Johnny! She ran towards the sound. She was back at the cabin. The light was burning vivid in the windows.

Inside the cabin Johnny’s voice was pleading for mercy.

Leave him alone! She leaped up the stairs. Got in the door. There was no one there. The candles. The fire. The writing on the wall.

The door slammed shut behind her. The lights went out.

A cold hand touched her neck.

A raven was laughing all around her.

http://www.ancient-origins.net/news-mysterious-phenomena-unexplained-phenomena/ancient-practice-exorcism-rise-again-001211

I couldn’t fond anything about the exorcist incident from the newspaper in English… Here’s a little bit in Norwegian. https://no.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eksorsisme

A Story Come True

The Ghost of Dusterville

The Ghost of LasservilleThe fog lay dense over the little village. There was no one in the streets. Silence.

Something moved between the houses. Something dark. Something evil. A scream was heard.

People came running out of their houses. Down the road. A ghost, they said. There was a ghost right here.

The next night the ghost was seen again. This time several people saw it. What do you want? They asked.

Bllooooodddd…. Answered the ghost and disappeared.

The ghost wants blood! We need to get it blood, Or else we will all be doomed!

They got a goat, brought it to the village square. The ghost didn’t appear.

This is stupid, said Ronald the blacksmith. Ghosts doesn’t exist.

But we’ve seen it! We’ve seen it!

It’s probably someone who wants to fool you, said Ronald.

You are so closed minded, said Hans the farmer.

You never believe in anything. Said the stable boy.

Whatever, said Ronald. I’m going home.

Look! There it is! The ghost appeared between the houses. First it could hardly be seen, but slowly it materialized. Then it disappeared.

You see? You see?

Ronald left.

The goat was sacrificed.

The ghost stood there, watching them in all it’s evilness.

I don’t wwwwaaaant goat’s blood, you stuuuuupiiiiidddd villagers…

The tailor fell to his knees. But what do you want? Tell us, please don’t harm us!

The ghost rose a bony hand. It pointed. At Rebecca.

He wants Rebecca! Said the shoemaker. Rebecca looked at the others. She didn’t want to die, but she didn’t want the wrath of the ghost upon the villagers either. She cried.

Tomorrroooowwww…. The ghost disappeared.

The next day the villagers had gathered on the square. They had brought the young girl for the sacrifice. The ghost appeared.

Rebecca was pulled out. She was crying. The Tailor had a big knife in his hand.

Oh, ghost! We give you this sacrifice to…

Ronald came running out from behind the ghost. He had a spade in his hand. The ghost turned around, but to slow. He hit it in the head. It fell to the ground. Lifted it’s arms to defend itself. Ronald lifted the spade again.

No! No, please don’t kill me!

Kill it..? Said the stable boy. Aren’t ghosts already dead?

Ronald pulled the filthy cloth off it. On the ground lied the tailor’s son.

What the… People looked from the boy to the tailor and back to the boy.

Rebecca ripped loose. But Peter! Why,…?

I hate you. I always hated you. I wanted you dead.

The tailor stood there, said nothing. He felt rather stupid. Everybody did.

Good thing we didn’t kill her, then, said the stable boy after a while.

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

https://thestoryshack.com/flash-fiction/suspense/tim-cote-the-ghost/

Prophetic Poetry

Johnny

Johnny.jpg

I wrote this little story in class at a creative writing course many years ago. The original Spanish version can be found below. Versión española debajo.

Johnny left the tavern. Fucking Indian. He’d won all his money. The cards had been against him all night long. He had nothing left. He walked down the main street and out of town. The full moon lit up the dry landscape. A beautiful night if he’d been more lucky.

He went up the hill to his camp. He ate the last can of beans. Cold. Fucking Indian. His face was left printed in his mind. The satisfied smile. The feather on his head. The feather… The feather! There, behind the bushes he saw it again. The Indian was walking on the path, a bit further down. He hadn’t seen him. This was his chance to get his money back.

The Indian was walking away from the village. Johnny knew not where to. He neither cared. He wasn’t going to make it there. He followed him. Closed in slowly. Got his knife out of the belt. Closer. He saw a sudden light. An aura around the Indian. It was stronger then the moon. Soon the it lit up more than the loon. Our hero stopped. The light blinded him completely until it shut off abruptly. A falcon flew up towards the moon. Johnny could swear he heard the laugh of the Indian, mocking him. A feather fell slowly towards the ground.

Este pequeño cuento escribí hace ya muchos años en un curso de escritura creativa. Esta es la versión original.

Johnny salió de la taberna mosqueado. El puto indio, pensó. Le había ganado todo su dinero. Las cartas habían estado en su contra toda la noche. No le quedaba nada. Bajó la calle principal del pueblo. La luna llena iluminó el paisaje seco. Una noche bonita si hubiera tenido más suerte.

Johnny subió el monte a su campamento. Se comió la ultima lata de alubias. Fría. Puto indio. Su cara se le había imprimido en su mente. La sonrisa satisfecha. La pluma en la cabeza. La pluma… La pluma! Ahí, detrás los arbustos lo vio otra vez. El indio estaba andando por el camino, más abajo. No le había visto. Ahora era su oportunidad de recuperar el dinero perdido.

El indio se alejaba del pueblo. Johnny no sabía a donde iba. Tampoco le importaba. No iba a llegar. Lo siguió. Se acercó más y más. Sacó el machete del cinturón. Más cerca. De repente vio una luz. Un aura alrededor del indio. Pronto iluminó más fuerte que la luna misma. Nuestro héroe se paró. La luz le deslumbró totalmente hasta que se apagó de golpe. Un halcón subió hacía la luna. Johnny podía jurar que escuchó la risa del indio otra vez, riéndose de él. Una pluma caía lentamente hacía el suelo.

Lost Faith in Humanity

Lost Faith in Humanity.jpg

He had lost faith in humanity. People just didn’t seem to understand. They didn’t want to understand. They didn’t want to come to conclusions, they didn’t even want to get along. Irrational madness everywhere. There was no hope.

He went for a walk to clear his head. The night was as dark as his mind, no stars, not even street lights. The power seemed to be gone, at least in his street.

He walked down to the river. The lamp posts were still working down there. He sat down on a bench, watching the river. He was tired. He’d been trying to find a solution. He knew there was, if people could just open their eyes. All this hate, all this closed-mindedness, all this… strange moral foundations. He didn’t see any possible way any more.

Presidents threatening with nuclear attacks, and people seemed to think it was OK. No one seemed to care about anybody but themselves. Sacrifying other people’s lives and homes was no problem, but they sure would not scarified their own. Incapable of putting themselves in the place of others, they were constructing their own doom. Fundamentalism everywhere. Christian fundamentalists. Muslim fundamentalists. But that wasn’t the real problem. It was greed and egocentrism.

As he was sitting there, watching a plastic bottle tangled in some kind of rope floating down the river, he heard a voice behind him.

Such a beautiful night, is it not? It was a woman.

I guess it could be, he answered without turning around. He just kept looking apathetic at the bottle disappearing down the stream.

May I sit? The woman asked. Her voice was strange. Metallic, yet soft. He thought he could hear a longing, a sadness of lost loved ones. She had a strange accent he’d never heard before.

He glanced at her. Shrugged. Sure, why not.

He didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything. The world could end for all he cared. People sucked anyway, and this one probably did as well.

She sat down beside him.

I can help you, she said. It doesn’t have to be this way. He looked at her. She was looking straight forward, into the thin air, as if she was talking to someone else. There was no one else there.

Er… He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. She was beautiful, this girl. She looked young, yet wise, experienced. Green eyes with a yellow shine to them. Her lips was full and red, her skin pale, as if she hadn’t been in the sun for ages.

She leaned towards him. Trust me, she whispered. She touched his cheek, moved his head a little. Kissed him. Her lips felt good. Her tongue entering his mouth just a little bit. He met her. She had her hand on his chest, stroking him. She started kissing his cheek. Her hand moved down on his abdomen. She kissed his neck. He felt something sharp. Teeth? They entered his skin. He moaned in a rush of pain and pleasure, spreading out under his skin, throughout his body. Beyond orgasms and dopamine. Deeper, more real. Beyond life. He disappeared into darkness and beauty.

He came to himself. She was sitting over him, one leg on each side of his lap. She looked different. More beautiful than anything he’d ever seen. A goddess. She bit her lip. Blood.

Drink. Her mouth next to his as she spoke. She kissed him again. Blood poured into his mouth, down his trout. It felt good. Tasted good. His mind wandered off again. He was somewhere else, he saw himself from outside, his life, mankind, everything. Nothing really mattered. This time he didn’t come back.

Come. She took his hand. The world had changed. The darkness was no longer dark. The world of humans was no longer important. And he was hungry. Thirsty. Thirsty for blood.

Let’s find someone to eat.

https://draculvanhelsing.wordpress.com/2017/04/07/donald-trump-trumps-history-teacher-and-bashar-assad/

https://mcdulac.wordpress.com/2015/04/05/flash-fiction-hipsters-versus-vampires/

Tears of Blood

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

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/

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

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)

Ceremony Pt 2/2

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

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

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

Aether

Aether

The Void Project was going several times light speed through the emptiness of the Dipole Repeller. A void of emptiness in space. No stars. No galaxies. No matter of any kind.

We’re loosing speed, Captain! First pilot Rebecca Larson was switching switches, pulling levers and pushing buttons all at once. This was bad.

She was of the best pilots of the old solar system. She’d been travelling the galaxy and she had been part of the Andromeda V project, an intergalactic journey of importance.

This was different. They were crossing total emptiness. Not so many centuries ago people had believed in a lot of restrictions. Light speed as an upper limit of velocity was one of them.

They were proving that exploiting the energy of the void was the fastest way of moving man had ever known. The dark energy was inexhaustible. They were accelerating at an enormous rate, literally being sucked through space. Until now.

What? What do you mean we’re loosing speed? That’s impossible. We should be increasing velocity  faster than ever.

I know, but we’re loosing speed. Fast. We’ve…. Stopped.

Captain Naufrago watched the screen in front of his first pilot in disbelief. It was true. The ship didn’t move at all.

We’ve stopped. I can’t believe it. We’ve fucking stopped

There was no way to get a ship started in the extreme emptiness of the void. They were stuck half way through. No one had ever been in more trouble.

C-captain… Said Rebecca. Captain Naufrago looked out of the huge energy field window in front. There was something there. In the total darkness ahead, something was moving. Eyes were staring at them. Eyes big as galaxies. Pupils dark as black holes.

The instruments showed nothing, there was nothing around them at all. Still they could see it. Feel it. It was watching them. Something was there, and it was big. Vast as the universe itself.

Graaaargghhhssssss…

A strange sound of horror. The vessel was vibrating. Sound should be impossible in the total lack of substance they were in, but still, there it was. Darkness. Evil. They knew what it was. It was nothingness. Aether. Where gods could not exist, were souls were devoured by madness.

A hand stretched out towards them. It had fingers impossible to count, claws of unseen dimensions. Terror of depths never known.

It took hold of their ship.

No one spoke. No panic, no intent of defence. There was nothing anyone could do. The walls started crunching in. All hope was lost.

Fire!  Water  Air (Earth)

https://www.nature.com/articles/s41550-016-0036

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aether_(classical_element)

http://hubblesite.org/explore_astronomy/hubbles_universe_unfiltered/blogs/qna-what-fills-the-empty-space-between-galaxies

https://www.forbes.com/sites/bridaineparnell/2017/01/31/dipole-repeller-discovered/#355319d1586ahttps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aether_(classical_element)

http://newatlas.com/dipole-repeller-void-pushing-milky-way/47648/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dark_energyhttps://arxiv.org/pdf/1702.02483.pdf

http://atlasoftheuniverse.com/superc.html

Air (Earth)

Air (Earth).jpg

Ronny was falling. He had a parachute on his back. He loved parachuting. He was going to pull the string quite soon, he just wanted to feel the wind in his face and the sensation of flying a little longer.

Hey!

What the…. Something was talking to him. Just beside his head.

Hey! You! Yes, you!

Who… what…. Who… There really could not be anyone there, he was ten thousand feet up.

You’re fallin’, aren’t you! Said the strange voice with genuine interest.

Where are you?

Right beside you, said the voice. Under you. Even inside you, really!

You are…. Air? Ronny almost had to laugh. This was just silly.

Bingo! I’m what making your clothes move so funnily right now, my friend. Air is the name. At your service!

But how come you talk? I never heard you talk before?

That’s because you didn’t listen. I’m quite a talker really. I shout when the storms throw your boats around, I whisper when the wind makes the leaves move in the trees…

This had to be the biggest discovery in history. But would anyone believe him? This could be his great chance, but he needed proof. Air kept chatting away.

…I even talk on a silent summer day, if you just listened close enough.  I talk a lot! Just ask Earth. There he comes. Hey, Earth! Tell hi…

Aaaaaaaaahsplacrash!!!

Tell him what? Asked Earth. Air was looking at the broken body on the ground.

Nothing. Never mind.

Earth looked at the stain on his skin, frowning in disgust and annoyance.

You talk too much, you know that?

Thanks, but it’s too late now. He can’t hear you.

http://www.thewhitegoddess.co.uk/the_elements/air.asp

https://keerthanagaganna.com/2017/05/31/trace/

Fire!