And here we find things; Usually Strange

Void- Capter 1 - Enter the Void

The bar was filled with a warm light and gentle music, creating an air of sophistication and class; kind of an old fashioned swank. It was late, The population was minimal. Only a few wealthy looking men and their (most likely) mistresses remained, chatting idly about money or drinks or….whatever it is people with relationships of such a nature talk about. A handful at tables, even less at the bar itself.  Bartenders were tired; patrons were drunk, but not rowdy. Just intoxicated enough to be impressionable. Easily manipulated. The kind of atmosphere a certain someone was looking for.

                A young woman no older than twenty five walked in. She wore a bronze colored dress that was absolutely covered in sequins. It wasn’t gaudy, but it certainly could be if it was paired with equally glittery shoes, but this woman seemed to be a bit more keen on style than that. She was a bigger person, defiantly not the model type. No stringy arms and bony legs here. That’s not to say she was obese. She was one of those people who wore weight well.  This caught the eye of a certain business executive, head CEO of a law firm. He was with a “call girl”, as she liked to be referred to as. With a sly smile, her pulled his wallet from his breast pocket, slipped a fifty from the fold and passed it to her. Maybe it was a waste, he hadn’t yet used her for her intended purpose, but his desire for her had died. He was much more interested with the newcomer. More curves than this twig could ever hope to have. He callously ignored her protests and told her she could keep the change as he left their table to go sit next to the girl with the girl who’d just come in. She looked so…innocent sitting there alone at the bar. Her blonde hair curled around her full features. Cutesy. He liked it.

                “Hey… can I buy you a drink?” Suave as ever. That’s how he saw himself, anyway.

                “Oh, I’m not much of a drinker; I just came for the atmosphere…. And I do like what I’m seeing.” A well placed hair toss, a causal lean forward. Yes, his eyes wandered down there.

                “Is that so? Well, I know a place that’s quite a bit nicer than this.  It’s not far. If you’d like to see it.”  So direct. She had him hooked like a fish on a line. This was going to be even easier than she expected It to be.

                A smile, flashing those perfect white teeth and she sealed the deal. “I’d like that.” And so they left.

                As they left the bar they were seen by few, and no one cared to pay much attention. The bartender just shrugged, he’d seen that guy leave under stranger circumstances. The call girl had left in a huff, ignored. The few customers left were too busy ogling at each other and drinks with overly classy names to care about a philandering middle aged man and his newest acquaintance. Nobody cared, so nobody knew.

The Candle and the Letter Opener ((A Short Story))

Yeah. ANOTHER ONE YAAAY. Wrote this one February 10th 2010.

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Snow fell outside. Heavily. Relentlessly. It’s been this way for nearly two days now. The door was so covered by snow it couldn’t be opened.  The power had gone out, and candle light cast eerie shadows about the place. Being stuck indoors for so long did not sit well with Darius. Cabin fever was quick to set in and when it did so with a power strong enough to drive him mad.

Lilith didn’t seem to mind being snowed in. His Lilith. She was everything good Darius wished he could be. Lilith. She would take care of him. Everything would be alright.

“Darius, would you like a cup of tea? I got the wood burning stove to work, so I can boil water.”

Tea? Tea would help. Yes, yes it would help. Help the nerves. Tea would help.

“Y-yes. Tea, yes please.”

“Dear are you alright? You sound a little jittery.”

Jittery? Was he? She could tell? No, he was fine. Just fine.

“Yes. I’m just fine.Just fine…” His voice trailed off. Breath. Inhale, exhale. Lilith pokes her head around from the kitchen. Her face looked so gentle in the warm light cast from the fireplace.

“Alright then. Blackberry?” She smiled. Were her teeth always that long?

Or that sharp?

Darius blinked. The teeth were gone. Lilith stood in the doorway, looking puzzled as to why he hadn’t answered.

“Um… Yes. Fine… Blackberry. Fine.” Lilith left. What had just happened? Lilith was no monster. This must just have been his imagination. Of course. That’s what it was. A;; just in his imagination. No sense in getting all worked up over something so absurdly impossible.  Just breath Darius. Breathe. That’s right. Calm.

Tick…..Tock…..Tick….Tock….

The clock hadn’t stopped. How was that? The power was out! Just… Ignore it. Just breathe.

Tick…..Tock….Tick Tick Tock… Tick.

Something shattered in the kitchen. Someone screamed.

Lilith!

Darius sprang from the chair and he was seated in and dashed towards the kitchen. There was a hideously misshapen creature bent over, picking something up from the floor. Was that a skull? Darius gasped. Lilith touched his shoulder.

“Darius dear, relax. I just dropped a cup, it broke and startled me. That’s all.” Of course. There was the cup. In several pieces. In Lilith’s hand. No monster, no fangs, no skulls. Just Lilith and a silly broken cup.

“Darius are you alright?” She was looking at him. It was that look, the concerned one. He’d seen it before. But… Had Lilith always had such bright eyes?

Had they always been orange?

“Why don’t I light a candle and you can settle down in the chair. Grab a book. When the tea’s done we’ll read something nice together, alright?”

Lilith, just plain old Lilith. Pretty Lilith. Breathe. Breathe.

“Yes. Yes, that’s a good idea.” Darius shambled back to the chair, trying to keep his wits. None of this was happening. Just imagining things…. Breathe…

The matchbox. It was normal. The candle too. Lilith lit them. Placed them on the coffee table by the chair. A book. A normal, ordinary book.  A love story. Breathe.Read Darius. Distract yourself.

Tick…Tock…Ticktickticktick….tock.

The clock. Why was it ticking so irregularly? It shouldn’t be ticking at all! It shouldn’t work, it shouldn’t be on, it shouldn’t be happening! No, no, Darius, it’s alright. Don’t let the clock bother you, you’re imagining it. Wait… Something moved.

There!

It was there, coming from the kitchen! A horrible, awful, terrible creature! It’s eyes were glowing a horrible orange. Claws! It had fearsome claws and fangs! Wickedly sharp fangs. Fur, ragged, torn fur, black and brown. What was it holding?

A skeleton? Who’s skeleton? Lilith’s?! It steamed, or was that smoke? An unholy vapor hung around the beast and it’s victim. It was moving closer, closer, closer….

“NO! STAY BACK!” Darius scrambled off the chair. The creature approached him, it had dropped the skeleton, which it the floor.  Was the skeleton bleeding?

Breathe, breathe, kill the beast! It’s coming to devour you! It lunged! Arms outstretched!

“NO!” Darius groped around for anything he might use to defend himself. Yes! A letter opener was on the table just beside the candle. Armed, just in time. The beast was upon him.

“Die, die, DIE!” he screeched, thrusting the letter opener deep into the chest of the beast. There was no noise save for the clock. The creature had fallen. It lay in a crumpled heap over the bloody bones it had carried.

Tick….Tick….Tick….Tock…

The ticking faded into silence. Darius steadied his breathing and blinked his eyes.

Tea. Why was there tea on the floor…? And a tea tray littered with shattered cups…. At his feet lay a body. A body? Lilith….No….

“Lilith…” His voice was scarcely more than a whisper, strangled and contorted with horror. His Lilith….Oh God, his Lilith lay at his feet, dead. His Lilith…. Darius crouched over her and sobbed. In the little house, a candle had flickered and gone out. Outside, the snow had stopped falling.

The Girl With the Pushpins ((Short Story))

Another sometime last January one. I have a lovely picture to go with it that Alexus (if you haven’t seen her tumblr yet, you should. SewAlexus) that she gave to me for my birthday. I’ll add that sometime. 8U

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She was quiet, she rarely ever talked. No one would know her name if it weren’t for the occasional substitute teacher who called her name. Sarah. That was her name. Sarah James. She was always in the back of the class, trying to stay out of sight. But no one could help make the occasional glance behind them. There she’d be, something in her mouth, something in her left hand. Red push pins. The one in her mouth had the point sticking out. The on in her hand was wrapped in her index finger, her thumb slowly, repeatedly poking the point. She’d avoid eye contact with everyone, except for one boy. Chris. He wasn’t an unfriendly boy, he was pleasant, and even said hello to her on occasion. To her, he was perfect. Everything.
Hers.

But unfortunately for her, he didn’t feel the same. She’d written him a love note once. Anonymously. He looked around the room bewildered, and he couldn’t figure out who it was from. He looked around the room and caught the eye of a prettier girl. One with long red hair and bright green eyes. She batted her eyes, smiled. The most adorable pink found it’s way to Chris’ cheeks. That stung. It stung more than any pin breaking her skin.

Not much later after that moment, a week or so, the girl, the one with the red hair, and Chris, her perfect Chris, started spending moment after waking moment together. It was wrong. He was her. If she couldn’t have him, no one could. Anger was red as her pushpins. As sharp and cold as well.

“Do you know me?”
“Um… Yeah, I think so. You’re uh…Sarah right?”
“That is my name. Do you remember a note you got about a week ago?”
“…Yeah.”
“You didn’t know who it was from, did you?”
“No, I thought Grace gave it to me”
Grace. Red hair. All smiles. Empty smiles.
“ No, not Grace.”
“…. Was that… from you?”
“I love you” Sarah whispered, eyes blazing, voice wavering, intent clear.

Fifteen hours later, a body was found, strangled, propped up outside the school building. Nine red pushpins stuck out from his chest, under his right shoulder, in the shape of a heart. Grace was crying, teachers were shocked. Only one who seemed to be unsurprised, was Sarah, the girl at the back of the class. The girl with the pushpins.

A Letter (( Short Story))

Again, old, sometime last January.

Uuh… So there’s no real explanation to this…. 8I;; Uh… Enjoy?

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Joyce sat alone in her home, as she’d done so many nights before. Her parents were at work, and wouldn’t be back until late the next morning. Sometimes it really sucked having doctors for parents. For lack of anything better to do, Joyce was mindlessly browsing the internet on her laptop while the television droned on, about what, she didn’t even know. She remembered A popup window appeared on her screen, interrupting her reading of a fan fiction.
“G”

That was all it said. G? Whatever that meant. Joyce closed out the window, and continued reading.

“H”

There must be something wrong with this site. Joyce closed the window and went back to browsing the internet for anything interesting to do. Hmm, that game site’s not bad. After five minutes of mind numbing gaming,
“O”

Why did these windows keep coming up? They weren’t even advertising anything. This was getting annoying. She closed shut down her computer. Her phone buzzed beside her. Who was texting her at eleven fifteen?

“S”


S? Who’d sent this? There wasn’t a number, well not a real one… Just zeros. As soon as she deleted the message, another one came.


“T”

The messages stopped. The t.v shut off. Why’d it do that? It wan’t raining out… Must have come unplugged… She went to check. G. H. O. S. T. Ghost?
Strange…The t.v was plugged in… Suddenly the lights went out, the tv flickered on, then went black again. The air was quiet, something sinister hung about it. Joyce turned around slowly. This was creepy. This was weird. It wasn’t even storming outside. She went back to the couch. Her phone had a new message. Why hadn’t it vibrated? Her brow furrowed. The message was blank. Her phone found it’s way back to the couch, and the hand that held it found it’s way to the television remote. Click. Click. Nothing. Joyce hadn’t looked up yet, but when she did, she screamed. A face. It was defiantly a face. And a body. A ghostly body, it flickered, like static interfering with a screen. No face. Just horrifying imprints where eyes, a mouth a nose, where they should be. It moved, forwards, towards her. The radio fizzed on. “Don’t, don’t speak, don’t speak, nooo” It clicked off. Don’t speak? Ghost? The radio turned on again. A different station, different song. “Turn around, bright eyes,” Off. Turn around? Joyce squeezed her eyes shut and turned around. She dared not turn back. Something screamed. The ghost? It sounded like a an awful mix of a metal knife being scratched across a porcelain plate and static. The it was quiet. Her phone buzzed. “It’s gone.”
And that was it. The lights came back one, the television as well. Her computer stopped getting pop-ups, and left Joyce with nothing but a sense of confusion.

Ethal’s Reprise ((Short Story))

Another oldie, though not quite as old. Wrote this sometime last January, just before my birthday. *This story is a prequel to the first one* : D Enjoy~

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Ethal and Celesie had yet another day to spend alone with the sitter, their parents gone for all the hours of sunlight. On a Saturday. It was days like these Ethal wondered if they were even at work. Who worked all day on a Saturday? In another room, she could hear her sister asking the sitter something.
“Do you think you could drive me to a friends house?” Friends. Ethal seemed to scare other children away, but Celesie attracted them like flies to a piece of rotting fruit. The smile in her sisters voice was so clear it hurt her ears.
“Of course dear, just tell me w-”
Squeeeak squee squee squeeeeeeeek.
That dammed guinea pig. Wilbur. Celesie had just gotten him as an Easter present. Ethal had asked for a snake. Obviously, her parents hadn’t been too keen on getting one. Cute and fluffy seemed to be more their taste. Like Celesie.
Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaak!
Strangled, suffocated, burned alive, anything. Ethal wanted that thing dead. It’s incessant squealing and constant whining bore through Ethal’s skull more painfully than Celesie’s ignorant questions.
The door clicked shut. They hadn’t bothered to tell Ethal they were leaving, as was to be expected. She would have ignored them if they had anyway…
A cry, louder than all the others barraged her ear drums, leaving her head ringing.
Ethal grimaced and spun around, facing the cage, glaring. Wilbur shrunk back. She left the room, hoping to avoid being assaulted by his wailing. Heavy footsteps pounded the stairs, and the door to her room slammed shut. Hoping a book would distract her, Ethal started to read.
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.
A rare, radiant maiden named by angels. Sounded like someone she knew.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Once more, horribly loud. Even from her room, with the door closed, she could hear it. Louder, more insistent. What did it want? Spoiled brat had all the food it could possibly digest. Celesie made sure of that. He quieted, then started up again. Ethal could barely hear her head pounding over his squealing. That was it. She flew down the stairs, patience completely gone. Wilbur continued to squeal. Ethal shook his cage. “Shut up, you annoying rodent!” He went silent. Ethal exhaled, and slowly made her way back to her room. As soon as her back was turned to Wilbur, he cried again. That was it. Ethal couldn’t take it any longer.

Celesie came home later that day with the sitter to find that Ethal had made dinner. “Sit” she told her. A plate with a nicely prepared meal on it was placed in front of her. Celesie beamed. Her sister was always doing the nicest things for her. The food was warm and comforting. Potatoes, peas, and the sweetest meat she’d ever tasted. “Ethal, what is this? It’s really good.” She prodded the meat with her fork, smiling brilliantly at Ethal.
Ethal’s face was expressionless, and without taking her gaze away from the food, she replied,
“It’s pig.”

Ethal and Celesie ((Short Story))

So. Here’s the first (and best I might add) short story I’d written. I wrote it sometime in December ‘09, so it’s…pretty old. An oldie but a goody! So yeah. Enjoy~

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Ethal and Celesie were two sisters. They were young, Ethal, ten and Celesie, seven. They lived alone for most of their days. Their parents were often away on business trips or work. They had a sitter, (so, technically they weren’t alone) she was an older lady with a kindly face, the type a grandmother might have. Neither of the girls ever knew her name. She didn’t speak much. Celesie had a fondness for her, and she, for Celesie. Ethal however, was a difficult girl for anyone to have a fondness for.

Ethal was average height for her age. She had long black hair, nearly waist long, dark brown eyes, nearly black, and a slender frame, nearly as nice as her mother’s. Her face was pale, round, and almost pleasant looking. Such a girl might have been pretty. She might have even been beautiful, if it weren’t for her ever present scowl, her crossed arms, and the terrible, terrible glare peeking out from under the long bangs covering them.

Celesie however, was much the opposite. She had fair hair, so blonde it was nearly white. She had fair skin, the color of porcelain, a little splash of rosy pink on the apples of her cheeks. Her ever present smile, her innocent air, and her clear, happy eyes, these were all that made her pretty. Like a well crafted doll, the kind that you would find in a high end store, boxed and wrapped and adorned with a ribbon.

Though they were sisters, Ethal could not bring herself to love Celesie. Celesie was a nit, a pest, a bother, too innocent and sweet for her own good. She was the obvious favorite. Unbearably perky, sickeningly adorable, inhumanly virtuous, annoyingly curious. Each day that went by, each time sitter gave Celesie a hug, every frilly dress her parents bought for her, all the things her relatives said at parties, “What a sweet girl, such an angel, she gets more beautiful each time I see her,”. It made Ethal sick. What was it about the naïve smile her sister had, or the shallow happiness, or the insufferable innocence of her questions that everyone found to endearing?

One night, the sitter was sleeping on the couch. Celesie didn’t seem to mind, she was outside, catching fireflies. Ethal watched her from the porch. Her eyes narrowed. Her sister seemed to glow, her dress blindingly white against the blackness of the evening.
“Look Ethal!” A grin, and cupped hands approached. That grin. Those perfect little teeth, white as pearls, even as the keys on a piano. Those hands, dainty and full with the pudge of childhood. They opened to reveal a lightning bug, back side blinking soft and yellow.
“Isn’t it cute? How do they light up like that?”
“How should I know?” Ethal flicked the bug from her sister’s palm, and watched it take flight, unsteady, but not harmed. Celesie frowned. Even that seemed delicate and sweet.
“Why’d you do that? I was only holding it…”
“It’s an insect. You should know better then to play with them. “
“I suppose… Um Ethal?”
“What?” A sharp reply.
“Um… why are you so upset all the time?” Upset? She wasn’t upset. Not at all. Was she? Dissatisfied, annoyed, angry maybe, but not upset. But let the little angel think that. This could be an opportunity. Feigning a sob, Ethal took her sister’s wrists, and brought her closer to her face.
“Oh Celesie, it’s just awful. See, I lost something I loved very much.” Love was unsteady. It wavered, it forced itself out of Ethal’s throat and left a horrible taste on her tongue.
“When I was even younger than you, I went passed the basement. The door was open, and my arms were full of things mother had asked me to bring to my room. As I went by I dropped something. My favorite toy. A little stuffed bear. He fell down the steps, and I…” Another fake sob, “I’ve been to afraid to go get him. The basement scares me. It scares me terribly.”
Celesie’s face was graced with lines of concern, sympathy, and compassion. Ethal’s stomach rolled.
“Oh Ethal! I’m so sorry! It must be terrible to go all that time without something you love!” It was as if this explained everything to Celesie about Ethal, as if all the bad things she’d done were justified.
“I’ll get it for you! Mother and Father said the basement has nothing to fear in it.”
“Oh Celesie, you’d to that for me?” The older girl pulled her sister into a hug. It nearly burned. “Dear sister I can’t thank you enough. You’re so brave to want to go down into the basement for me.” So brave indeed. She had not a clue as to what would happen next.

Ethal brought Celesie inside, and told her to go wait by the basement door. Quietly, she slipped into the kitchen, opened a drawer, and took out a knife, the one her father normally used to slice fish in half. Slipping the knife into the back of the ribbon tied around the waist of her dress, Ethal peeked into the room where the sitter was sleeping. A pillow lay disgraded on the floor. No need to make a mess…. The pillow was picked up, and pressed firmly against the sitter’s face. She convulsed, perhaps she’d woken for a moment, but it was a short moment indeed, and she slipped into a permanent sleep.

One down, one left.

Ethal joined her sister by the door to the basement.
“Don’t worry sister, I’ll get your bear for you.”
“I’m sure you will dear sister.” The door opened by on of the hands of the elder girl, and the slight frame of the younger tumbled into the darkness, pushed by the free hand. The angelic head met the cold stone of the stairwell. There was no cracking of bones, just a dull thump as the child reached to bottom. She lay crumpled at the bottom, unconscious, but still very much alive. As planned. Etahal met her sister at the bottom, tugging the limp body onto her lap, as if Celesie were a doll. An angelic, perfect little doll.
“Dear sister, that was brave of you,” Ethal crooned. Slowly, deliberately, the knife was exposed, and brought in a deep circle around the pale neck of the younger. “That was so brave of you indeed.”

Ethal sat there, her sister bleeding onto her lap, her white dress stained dark red. A hand caressed the fair hair, streaking blood into their curls. And for the first time in her life, Ethal smiled.