As I Read -a tale to keep you up at night

by J. R. Wagner

Fifty Six.  Fifty six entries for my latest writing contest.  When will I find the time to read fifty six entries, I thought?  The October deadline made selecting the subject easy.  Horror.  I sat in the comfortable chair beside the fireplace, tea (earl grey, of course) steaming in a mug beside me and began to read.  

I decided I would read each story quickly and give it one of three marks Y (yes) N (No) and (M) maybe (as if you couldn't see that one coming).  I read through the first ten then got up and brewed a new cup of tea.  I tossed a few logs on the fire before sitting back down and picking up the next story in my pile. N. Y. N. N. M. N. N. 

On I read.  The sun had long since set and despite the fire, the room was getting cold.  I stood, stretched, made my way to the kitchen appeasing my dog's incessant need for attention by giving him a good scratch behind his ears, brewed another cup of tea and took up my spot by the fire.  

I picked up the next story in the pile.  Despite being only two pages (500 word count limit), it had a weight to it that made me question whether I had inadvertently used the card-stock paper by accident.  I began to read.

As I Read

Melissa New

J. R. Wagner is a busy man.

Writing me into the story...cute, I thought.

He is particularly busy on this night.  He turns page after page searching for the best entry while the fire glows yet, for some reason, is unable to keep the cold at bay.

Creepy.  I like it.  My dog starts pacing in front of the fireplace.  His nails clicking on the stone floor.  He ignores my commands to lay down so I attempt to ignore him altogether. Stupid dog. I pulled my sweatshirt from the back of the chair and shrugged it on.  Getting cold.  I find my spot in the story.

Something doesn't feel right, he thinks. There is a tension -almost palpable- in the air. The house is quiet except for the knowing anxiousness of his dog, Max.

My dog's name isn't Max, it's Sorin.  Regardless, my palms begin to sweat as I continued.

The motion sensing lights click on illuminating the woods behind his house.  Probably just a deer, he thinks and continues reading.

How could anyone know I live near the woods? I must have mentioned it in an interview or something, I think. 

Click.

The motion lights turn on.  My heart rate quickens. Probably just a deer...

He's no longer comfortable in his chair, with his back to the window -exposed to whatever waits in the dark beyond the range of the lights.  He turns and looks out into the darkness.  He looks with his eyes but he does not see.

How could I not?  I turned my head and looked over my shoulder into the night.  Nothing. Black.  This is silly, I thought. I certainly found the winning story.  I should probably finish it, I thought. Not much left.

Sorin begins to growl and moves toward the front door.  He crouches there, growling as if the door were alive.  The author stands, no longer able to discount the fear. 

At this point, I was legitimately panicking because my dog is named Sorin and he is growling at the door.  I stood, happy to leave the darkened forest beyond the window and stood beside my dog.  Truth be told there was something comforting about standing beside a large German Shepherd when a possible stalker was outside my door.

The dog suddenly goes silent.  The author realizes his protector has released its bladder on the floor as it moves behind him, cowering.  He steps forward, checks the bolt on the door and moves toward the coat closet to retrieve his weapon of choice -a hatchet. As he steps, he slips in the puddle of dog urine and strikes his head on the baseboard.  He curses and slowly stands ignoring the indentation in the drywall above the baseboard as well as the puddle of blood on the floor below.

Things are blurry at this point yet a certain clarity comes over me as I realize what an idiot I was being.   I made my way to my kitchen counter holding on to pieces of furniture for stability until my phone was in my hand.  Who am I going to call? I thought.  911? What will I tell them? A story scared me?  The ever growing pool of blood on my counter told me I needed to call someone.  I lifted my phone and let out a cry at what I see.  It was a FaceChat screen and the image was my bedroom.  The smaller window showing the caller's face is black.  The image pans until it stops on my sleeping wife.  At this point, my instincts took over and I bolted up the stairs to the bedroom.  I shouldered open the door and ran in screaming like a wild man.  I was not the only one to bleed that night.

  

~In the book world, word of mouth is king~

Coming soon....

the second book from The Never Chronicles

Available now from J.R. Wagner...

A tale of perseverance, strength and redemption.

www.TheNeverChronicles.com

In bookstores

 

March short story contest -FREE entry.

By J.R. Wagner

An Unusual Day for Herbert Crump -guest post by Carlie MA Cullen

by Carlie M A Cullen


“What’s this? Don’t remember seeing this ‘ere before?” Herbert scratched his head.
Herbert was a poacher. He didn’t have much money and meat was too expensive to buy. His cottage was adjacent to huge woods which teemed with wildlife. ‘Rich pickings’ he called it and he was a master bowman.

He was in the East woods as dusk began to fall; he hadn’t been that way for a while hence his surprise at what he found. He crouched down to examine the perfect circle of unfamiliar toadstools; these were bright red and seemed to glow. His Ma told him of fairy rings in the woods, but he never believed her. “Never tread in a fairy ring, you never know where you’ll end up” she warned him.

“Load of tosh!” he said derisively and stepped right into the centre. He chuckled as nothing happened then with a whooshing noise the ground opened beneath him and he shot downwards, landing on a pile of straw.

As he gawped around the huge cavern his eyes widened and jaw dropped, for everywhere he looked huge sparkling emeralds stuck out of the walls. Now this really is rich pickings, he thought wandering to the nearest wall. He pulled on one and found it easy to dislodge. Soon he’d filled all his pockets.

He needed to find an exit and looked up to find the entrance completely closed. The cavern had three passages, but which one to choose? After deliberating for a minute, he decided to take the one which led in the direction of his cottage and set off.

Laden down by the emeralds’ weight he made slow progress, but after a while, he heard noises from ahead. He continued cautiously, pressing himself closer to the wall, stopping near a large open space containing ugly little men and women with pointed ears and squashed faces the colour of toads; a strange mixture of green and brown as if an artist hadn’t mixed the colours properly on his pallet. They’d been eating and calling to each other when abruptly a deafening silence settled over the area.

“We’ve a thief among us,” a voice cried out. Herbert peeped into the area and spotted someone wearing a crown pointing in Herbert’s direction. He tried to make his escape, but lady luck wasn’t on his side. Within a heartbeat he was surrounded with spears pointed at him. They weren’t big, but didn’t want to find out how sharp they were. Herbert was forced into the cave and made to kneel before the King.

“Why are you stealing from us, stranger?”

Herbert was quaking in his worn down boots. “I-I’m a poor man without money to eat proper. I dunno ‘ow I got ‘ere, but when I saw the emeralds I thought it’d give me enough money to live in comfort.” He said honestly, his voice quivering with fright.

“But you’re greedy. You’ve taken more jewels than you need so you must face a challenge. If you defeat the beast, you may keep all the jewels and we’ll send you home. If not . . . well it depends on whether you survive. The gems disappeared from his pockets filling a basket beside him.

“Take him down,” the King ordered.

At the end of another passage, Herbert’s eyes nearly exploded outwards at the most peculiar creature he’d ever seen; part saber-tooth tiger and part lizard. The fangs on the beast were huge, the tips black. He was left without weapons and the Goblins backed away.

I’m its next meal, he thought, petrified. The beast prowled toward him, sniffed the air then its paw lashed out. Herbert jumped back out of reach. I need to use my brains here. He began to circle the beast watching his every move, a paw lashed out again; Herbert wasn’t so lucky – it ripped into his arm and blood began to seep from the furrowed wounds. The tiger paused to lick the meat and blood from his paw giving Herbert an opening; he dashed forward and leapt onto its back clasping both hands around its neck, pulling back and squeezing with every bit of strength he possessed.

The beast roared, twisted, bucked and shook its body. It twirled, jumped, rolled and thrashed in every direction, but still Herbert desperately clung on. Eventually it sank to the floor closing his eyes. Herbert climbed off, shaking, his arms throbbing from the effort. The Goblins escorted him back and regaled the King with an account of the battle. Staring at Herbert he pronounced,
“You’ve done well, thief, but you haven’t won as you’re injured, nor have you lost. We’ll send you home, but heed my warning - never come here again!”

Herbert was taken back to the hay bale and with a whooshing sound, he found himself back in the fairy ring. He jumped out, running home in fright, not daring to look back.

When he arrived, he wearily removed his jacket and placed it on a chair. Going to the sink to bathe his throbbing wounds, he found they’d disappeared entirely and the pain slowly subsided. He stared in disbelief examining every part of his arm, but nothing remained.

Deciding to go to bed, he grabbed his jacket intending to hang it up when he thought he heard a clunking noise coming from a pocket. He put his hand in and pulled out 4 large emeralds, more than enough to give him comfort for the rest of his days.

 Carlie M A Cullen is the author of newly released novel Heart Search, blogger extraordinaire and loyal friend to many -both human and mythical.

A day at the office

By J. R. Wagner

What? A bear.

The inexplicable disappearance of Karma Radwyn

by J. R. Wagner

She punched the glass.  Not once, but repeatedly as the tears ran down her cheeks. With each strike she envisioned the face of a different girl behind the mirror.  Carolyn. Nancy. Amanda. Heather.  By the third girl, the mirror split.  By the fifth, a fist sized hole of shattered mirror replaced where her face had been reflected moments ago.  Bits of broken glass ripped apart her knuckles. She went on. Sobbing, cursing, bleeding, punching. The pain was there, but she was projecting it onto her victims as if they were feeling the throbbing of her wrist (certainly broken), the tearing of her flesh (what was left of it).

She couldn't help the anger. Couldn't control the pain.  Not physical but emotional -the worst of the pair. What made it the most infuriating was the reason behind their malice.   There wasn't one.  Karma hardly knew any of these girls before Monday.  She'd never had a problem with any of them -in fact, she didn't even realize several of them went to her school.  So why did they direct their hate at her? This she couldn't understand, would never understand and none of them, not one was willing to offer an explanation.

Small bits of shorn flesh mixed with broken glass meandered down the streams of blood toward the bottom of the mirror. The sound of the impact like a hand slapping the surface of a still pond.  On she went. Punching. Screaming. Raging.

Was it because she wasn't like them? Skinny, blonde, tan.  When Karma saw the girls she knew in the hallway,  she tried her best not to wince at the ridiculousness of their appearance. Orange skin from either a bad spray tan or time in a tanning booth. Hair so light she could see clear through to their scalps. Makeup so thick she wondered if, when they blinked, their eyelids would become stuck. So skinny they look malnourished.  She truly pitied them. Was that it? Her pity?  Had they seen it in her expression as they passed in the hall?  Could they have been so perceptive?  She doubted it.  They were too self-involved to notice anyone -especially someone like her.  Quiet, intelligent, creative.

A large piece of glass slid away from the lower left section of the wall-sized mirror and crashed to the floor.  Karma was in the old section of the school so she wasn't concerned about someone hearing the crash (or her screams and curses). The school had gated off the old section to 'preserve its antiquity' and only allowed people inside during parents night. Karma was on the school newspaper and frequented a basement supply room where new building met old to retrieve various items during one of their after-school brainstorming sessions.  She had seen the alcove before but never bothered to pay it any attention until, by chance, she dropped a large roll of paper.  Rather than coming to a stop on the floor, the paper rolled, picking up speed as it went, until it reached the semi-circular alcove. As she stooped to pick up the paper, Karma noticed something on the wall.  Line-of-sight from the hallway would have prevented the causal visitor to the supply room from noticing the cast iron ladder bolted into the wall just above her head.

As the echo from the glass receded, a sharp pain surged up  Karma's arm to her elbow. Despite the pain, she cocked her arm back to throw another punch.  Something made  her pause.  She thought it was a result of the light of the slit-like windows reflecting off the broken glass so she stepped to the side where the mirror was still in relatively good condition. There it was again.  A flicker in the distance -like a candle.  Impossible yet it was there.

It grew brighter revealing a passage.  That's it, she thought. I've driven myself to madness.  The enormity of the situation sent a surge of fear and anger through her body.  Without my mind, I am nothing, she thought.  She charged at the broken mirror head-first, hoping to knock out whatever hysteria had taken over. With powerful thighs, Karma pushed herself forward...and was gone.

As always, find interviews, writing samples, videos, contests and more on my re-vamped website.

www.TheNeverChronicles.com

In bookstores 6-5-2012