Pesticide

This is a story I wrote last year about unexpected consequences at an abandoned pesticide factory. You can see the sketch read some of my thoughts behind it here.

Fictionspawn Monsters

pesticide

Dale and Mary were making a story about an accident in an old pesticide laboratory. Many years had gone by since then, and the place was still abandoned.

Several workers had died of intoxication from the pesticide emission caused by the explosion. The hole area had for many years been considered a no go zone, because of the high level of toxicity. Now the danger seemed to be over, but the plants, the animals, everything was dead. Once green cultural landscapes and forests, the accident had left the place a toxic desert. The lake was a lifeless pool.

They passed by the old industrial worker’s houses, up to the pesticide factory. The buildings where beautiful, with the characteristic aesthetics of old industry. They didn’t make factories that way anymore. Big windows and decorations. Red brick walls. They walked around the area for a while, taking photos. The factory had all…

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Weekend Wolf

There are at least two sides of every story… This one’s great.

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H. L. Sailer

I’ve got a bad rap, you know? Murderer, monster, beast. They come, and they try to kill me, and then they end up dead. Self-defense isn’t a crime, you know? But that doesn’t stop them.

Generations have been sprouted and bred just to kill me.

Ridiculous.

I’m just a guy trying to make a living in the forest. Ain’t nothing wrong with that, is there?

But here she comes, a little girl wearing a red hood. Why is it red? Hell if I know. Is it supposed to tempt me or something? What am I, a bull?

Nah. I’m much more complex than any farm beast. I’m a creature of the forest. King of the forest, actually.

And it’s best not to mess with me. I’m sure the kid will figure it out soon enough.

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The Troll Who Went To War: A Fable

A couple of weeks ago I wrote a story about a troll. I like trolls a lot, and I found this one the other day. A great story by Chris Lindsay, and it even has an illustration by one of my favorite illustrators Theodor Kittilsen.

21st Century Films

Theodor_Kittelsen_-_Skogtroll,_1906_(Forest_Troll)Long ago, a troll lived in a cave on a mountain. He had a head shaped like a pumpkin, a nose like a banana, skin as hard as a rock, and he was ten feet tall. His name was Thug, and he loved one thing more than anything else: He loved trees.

After the sun went down, Thug came out of his cave and talked to the trees. He ate the acorns on the oak trees and said, “You make me feel smart.”

He touched the soft bark of the birch trees and said, “You make me feel gentle,” and he smelled the needles of the pine trees and said, “You make me feel calm.”

Thug didn’t have a friend in the world, but he treated the trees on his mountain like friends.

If a tree had any dead branches, he pruned it by biting the branches off with his…

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Jennifer’s Adventure

The last couple of weeks have been highly irregular here on Fictionspawn Monsters. I’m on my way home now, and I’m already reading and writing more and more. Here’s a nice little story with a beautiful illustration, both created by Eduardo Suré.

Family Bedtime Stories

watercolor - white tailed deer - 2017 3x2 Eduardo Suré; White-tailed Doe, 2017; Watercolor

Jennifer walked alone quietly through the state park’s woods and ate her favorite leaves. Food for white-tailed deer had been plentiful during the spring. It continued to be so in summer, but cooler days warned her the woods in which she lived were about to become dangerous. Hunting season was about to begin.

Jennifer had learned about hunters years before. It had been early fall. The morning had been cool. She and another doe had gone to enjoy the variety of grasses a meadow nearby offered. They had been out in the open when her companion’s tail went up as a warning that she had sensed danger. Jennifer had heard an odd squishing sound that had come from her companion’s direction. The other doe had been struck by an arrow, had stumbled, and then had fallen. Jennifer had run into the cover of trees…

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The Strange Nest

I’m at my Grandma’s cottage now, with my girlfriend. My Grandpa died many years ago, but don’t worry, he was a good guy. We’ll be fine.

Here’s another story about another cabin I wrote last year.

Fictionspawn Monsters

the strange nest.jpg

They had gone on a trip with Andrew’s dads canoe, and stopped at a cabin in the woods. The door was closed but unlocked. They went in to have a look. An adventure! Mary was  thrilled.

Inside the hut was furnished and neat. It looked as if there had been someone there just recently, and they cleaned before they left.

There was something odd, though. A kind of strange nest in the corner. It was different from any nest they had ever seen. Cool! Said Andrew. He went over to the nest, took a fork from the drawer just underneath and poked it. A strange sound from inside the nest. He jumped back. Laughed. He went closer again. Looked into a hole in the side of the nest. Put his nose in front of it. Sniffed. Something came shooting out of the hole. Into his nose.

Aaaaah!! What was…

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Witchcraft

Fictionspawn Monsters

witchcraft

She was out in the forest looking for plants and mushrooms when Jim came along. He was tall, strong and handsome, funny and friendly.

Hello! He said cheerfully.

Hello! She answered. She was happy to see him. She always was.

She was the most beautiful girl in the village. Jim had had his eyes on her for quite a while. She had the most beautiful smile. He loved the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed. She always wore clothes that gave you a hint of the perfect curves underneath.

They sat down, talked for a while.

He was timid, and she liked it. She started stroking his cheek. His shoulder. Moved her fingers down to his belly. He turned over and kissed her. First a small kiss on the lips. Then more and more passionately. She moved her hand to his pants. Slipped it underneath, grabbed his cock. He…

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The Witch Doctor

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the witchdoctor

Anderson was the director of Major Oilcompany Corporation. They had found oil in the deep of the Cameroon wilderness. A tribe was living there. They called them selves the Magobgies, but Anderson didn’t really care.They had to be removed, of course. Not really a problem.

Paying off the right amount of higher politicians they got their way. No one would mingle in their affairs. The oil would be theirs. As it should be. Progress was the way. The tribal communities belonged to the past. Capitalism was the future. They went in to start the work. They had workers, government soldiers and a private American security company.

The chief refused to leave. Some of the tribesmen picked up their spears. As if to protect their territory. Anderson was amused by their naive innocence. It wasn’t theirs anymore. It was the territory of Major Oilcompany Corporation. They had bought it. Paid for…

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The Bezoar

Friday has become the day I reblog some great post I find out there in the wordpress jungle of fiction and poetry. This blog has a lot of them, it was hard to choose. Enjoy.

Fitful, Fearful, Phantasmal

Was it delusion?

Few among us would argue that it wasn’t
But be assured, their ghastly footsteps came by a dozen

In that seclusion

With wooded life glaring at me on despairing knees.
Leaf unto limb they crumbled underfoot from behind me.

First they snickered

Not contempt nor trickery did the sepulchral spooks bring.
Though frightening, they were there to rid me of something.

Hungered they bickered

One hooded, gangly creature to another, then bargained
Selecting which to do the honors, in feral jargon

Whether to rip

A fatal gash into my belly or down through my throat.
My shivering heart beat my last rites and braced to be smote.

Through my lips

The chosen wraith plunged with his boney, necromanced hand
Into my esophagus, stomach, and gastric glands

Pulled a bezoar

Backwards, scraping slurry, silt, sludge, and scales past my teeth.
The twelve danced gleeful at the vile, oozing mass…

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His Grandpa’s Cabin

I’m on vacation, so I will be reblogging a bit more than usual. Yesterday I didn’t publish anything, because I was on a hike in a Norwegian forest. We found an amazingly sinister abounded cottage which you will hear more about later. Today I’ll reblog another story about another cabin. Quite sinister as well.

Fictionspawn Monsters

his-grandpas-cabin

When they arrived at the cabin night had already fallen. The stars were shining bright, a falcate moon was slowly going down in the west. A small owl was calling in the deep darkness of the forest. The cabin was small and wooden, and even in the dark the place was beautiful.

This is amazing! exclaimed Claire. And so silent!

Come on, let’s go inside! said Thomas. It’s cold out here.

He found the key under the stairs, unlocked and opened the door. He went in, lit a candle. Claire followed. The cabin had only one room, small and cozy. There was a big fireplace in one corner, an open kitchen with closets and shelves, and a big old bearskin in front of the fireplace.

Who’s that? asked Claire, looking at an old photo on the wall. He seems sad…

Thomas looked up from the still unlit wood in the…

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Temple of Death

This story was on the “top posts”- list of my blog for a long time. Reblogged today, and here’s a little text about the idea behind, and the pencil drawing:
https://fictionspawn.com/2017/01/03/temple-of-doom/

Fictionspawn Monsters

Temple of death.jpg

Rabe, Sink and Torkey stood in front of the huge metal door. The door was marked with symbols of an ancient civilization. Some symbolized death, the sculls and bones made that part easy to see. An other seemed to prohibit entrance. The third one was more diffuse, they had no idea what it meant. It was black and yellow, circle shaped with three triangles pointing into another smaller circle in the centre.

Probably some kind of old religious symbol, said Rabe, archaeologist and leader of the expedition. Most likely a warning of some curse or something. Everyone knew curses didn’t work, there was no reason to worry.

The door was securely locked, but Sink was an expert in explosives. The door went down. A dark tunnel lay open in front of them. They could smell a strange stench from inside.
What if… started Sink.
What if what? Torkey looked at…

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THE ACCUSED (sci-fi flash fiction)

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The Surrealist Junkie

***This was a short piece I wrote one night for the Sci-fi London flash fiction competition***

BLAME

The Decider’s ship descended through the snowstorm, coughing up a wave of ice. The haggard ship was built to withstand such conditions, its birdlike feet adjusting to the shifting shape of the ground. Seconds after landing a pole emerged slowly from the top of the ship, and reached higher and higher into the blizzard. Once fully extended it was around twice the height of the ship. Then the pole began to open out in an action much like that of an umbrella. Once opened it formed a perfect half-sphere dome which slowly lowered until it covered the ship so it looked like some colossal snow globe. Next gill-like vents on the side of the ship opened, and began pumping seething hot air into the inner globe, and soon enough, the ice started to…

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Lake Fear

A fishing trip takes an unexpected turn…

Fictionspawn Monsters

lake-fear

Ronny loved fishing. It was in fact his favorite thing to do. Every weekend he took the car and went somewhere to get some fish. He loved all about it. The waiting. The suspense of getting the fish on the hook, getting it out of the water. The fight, when the fish was jumping around on land, trying to get back into the water. The kill. He loved the kill.

This weekend he had gone further away from home than ever, he had been driving for hours and hours. He found a great spot on the side of a small, deep lake in a mountain valley. He put up his tent and went to sleep, exhausted.

He got up early. The place was beautiful. High mountains on every side, waterfalls running down the mountainsides. The water was crystal clear and he could see how the bottom went almost straight…

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Weeping Woodlands

Recollections At Fall


Beyond the urban sprawl and the fringe of concrete civilisation was heard a thunderous reverberation

A harsh demonic grating of electric saws and frenzied verbal agitation

A rude intrusion to our peaceful activities in the shade of a sprawling tree

Soon peace pervaded and a tutored voice within carelessly registered another indiscriminate human spree

This is the fashion of the day the slash the burn the endless acts of deforestation

The wanton human lust the reckless race the insatiable desires to be appeased without hesitation

Lost in reverie I was soon overcome by drowsiness and lulled into slumber

Rudely awakened by the tinkling of anklet bells and a melodious number

As if in a trance I visioned Aranyani the elusive goddess of the glade beckoning me to the wilderness

Mesmerised I followed eager to keep pace with her agile gait in unwarranted recklessness

Deep in the weald in a clearing…

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The Evil

This is the origin of my avatar. It’s a story about dark forces from forgotten times.

Fictionspawn Monsters

The Evil One.jpg

The night was dark. Lightning and thunder shook the village. The little family were sitting in the hut, scared as always when the thunder gods attacked the earth. People said they brought someone with them when they left, and maybe it would be their turn this time. The little child cried. He could feel his parents’ fear.

A knock on the door. Another one. Then a third.

Who’s there? Asked Simil. No-one answered. Silence. He got on his feet, picked up his new bronce axe. Moved closer to the door.
Simil, darling. Don’t… Said his young wife. He tried again. Who’s… The door splintered to pieces. His body was ripped open. His young wife screamed. The child didn’t even breath. The shadow creature who entered was no god. It was too dark. Too evil. They both knew they were next.

Hey! It’s great! Said Hans. He stuck his head out of…

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