Pythian Games

          I had had to find some way to entice the little cretin into my parlor.  I had waited for the right sign, the right opportunity.  And there it was, an obsession with baked sweet potatoes, right in front of my eyes.

I had to figure out all the other details as well.  There was that pesky detail of getting rid of the body.  I wasn’t actually certain I could do that all on my own, but I knew someone who could help.  Bonnie.  She was always so good with those things.

          So I made a phone call, set up some hypothetical questions and got some interesting answers.  Bonnie also put forth several questions of her own, which led me to believe she might be needing some help of her own at some point.  I’ll have to let you know if that turns up anything at some point.

          Next I had to gather my materials.  Not actually as easy as it sounds.  I had to first locate the appropriate place in which to carry out my so-called dastardly deed.  I personally think I am a very civic-minded person and I was just doing my duty by getting rid of that horrible pest.  In our city, it was very unusual to find an abandoned building that has been abandoned.  Usually squatters took them over.  Heck, I can understand their point of view and everything, but right then, I just wanted them to move along and be gone.  It took me nearly a month to find one, one so dirty and broken-down that not even the homeless would look at it twice.  And it was in a terrible part of town, where even the dealers were afraid to be out for too long lest they be carried off and done away with in some manner.  The good thing about this place is no one sees nothing, never.  So when I started bringing in the bits and pieces I needed to construct my plan, no one saw a thing, nor remarked upon it in any way.  I was merely another shadow, meant to be ignored.

          Then I had to order the fish.  Can you believe it?  A huge town like this and no one had piranha to sell me.  It was another three weeks before the fish got here from this guy in Texas who sells them on ebay.  Only one of them was dead when that shipment got to me.  Why, if he shipped them same day delivery, and I paid another $300 extra to expedite everything, did it take the jerk three weeks to get me my fish?  I guess we won’t know that this time around.  But if this trick pays off, I may be paying him a visit real soon myself.

          Now, I had to go find the venomous twerp.  She was known to frequent a certain café, with this rough looking hulk of a boy.  He must have been her age, of course, but he looks like he was fed steroids his whole life.  Sheesh.  I had to get rid of him too.  But that was fine.  Any friend of hers definitely deserved to die.  My day came, my day to shine, when I saw them walking, him a step or two out of sync behind her.  I bebopped up to them, ignoring his warning growl when I got too close for my own good.

          I smiled, that gap-toothed grin my mother had always told me was just so darned cute.  ‘Hi, Shari.’ I chirped, as if I was one of the brainless masses who worshipped her.  She just eye-balled me maliciously, while her incredible hulking dolt simply cracked his big fat fingers one by one.  I didn’t wait for my cue, because I didn’t think there’d be one.  “I am having a party at my club house,’ I so deftly informed her, schmoozing innocence and charm, ‘and I wanted to know if you and your friend here would like to come.’  I batted my eyelashes sensually at the brute; my sister had always told me guys went for that like fish to a worm on a hook, whatever that meant.  Knuckles stopped cracking and he almost smiled at me.  I kept my focus on her evil highness though.  I am good.  ‘I know you love sweet potatoes, so my sister made a big batch in the oven this morning.  Just for you.’

          Her majesty had not yet spoken.  I was starting to sweat then.  I didn’t think she was going to fall for it.  Then all of a sudden, wham, she bit, and bit hard.  She was going down.  ‘Ok.’ Shari all but snapped.  ‘We were going to go out for a movie, but this sounds like fun.’  She looked me up and down, her eyes harsh and critical.  ‘Take us there now.’

          Those idiots followed me over to Brooke Street, with not a warning thought in their heads.  They stepped over the trash, through the boarded-up door.  They followed me right in.  They never knew what hit them.  The silenced nine mil took them both out.  I even felt sorry for the big lout.  It wasn’t really his fault he was so stupid, but I couldn’t leave him lying around to get me into any trouble.  So, he got shot.  Three in the chest.  Two in the head.  Not one problem there.

          Her I took my time with though.  How could I resist?  She had been the bane of my existence for so long now.  I tapped her twice in the chest, just enough to let her bleed.  She screamed.  Oh ye gods, did she scream.  But no one cared, least of all me.  On a street where gunfire was more common than children’s laughter, no one even looked up from what they were doing.  It didn’t take her long to see that either.  She didn’t completely shut up.  She blubbered.  She begged.  She pleaded.  She finally shut up after the last round hit her bulldog’s head.  Then those insane blue eyes tracked my every movement, never flinching, even when I brought out those yummy sweet potatoes, covered with melted butter and a hint of brown sugar, the way I knew she liked them. 

          I made her eat four of them, smearing it all over her tidy round face.  I took handfuls of it, rubbed it in her hair, all over her trendy new store-bought clothes.  I made sure to poke as much as I could down into those bullet holes too.  I didn’t bother to tie her up.  I shot out both her knees the second she started to try to get away.  Then I had to reload.  Switching out the clips was not all that hard, I tell you.  I felt so good, so strong, as I dragged that craven harridan by the hair over to what I had dubbed the pool of madness.  I had spent so much time throwing all my mad into the thing, it seemed a fitting name.  It was full of my nice sweet piranha, which I had spent some time training to hate the scent and the taste of sweet potato.  I picked her up, with too much difficulty, and dumped her in.  I didn’t even stand there to watch.  I had to take care of the bodyguard too.  Him I just could not get into the pool.  I could hardly even drag him.  So, I didn’t.  I just left him there.  Dogs or something would come and carry him off.  Or not.  I didn’t care a bit.

          As the fish snacked at their leisure, after that initial feeding frenzy died down a bit, I cleaned up all my mess, making sure there was no hint of me at all anywhere.  I had been so careful.   I knew I had.

          I walked off, without even looking back.  I am telling you now, because you don’t have anywhere to go and you won’t be telling any tales, not by the time I am done with you.  It feels good to relive things like that, every now and then.

          Now, as for you…good-night.

written by Raven TK

http://ravensinthewritingdesk.wordpress.com/

I must find a place. I must find a place. There has to be a place where they cannot follow me. They cannot follow me—Outside. It is Forbidden, I know. But I have been left with no other choice. I must. I must go. I must run. I must flee. I will not become one of their many brides.

Moira crept silently through the camp. She took nothing with her, not even shoes for her feet. Her dark, black eyes absorbed every detail of the night. The camp fire had burnt down low, embers silent now, wisps of smoke barely visible still drifting slowly upwards. She picked her way, so carefully. The snores from the others caused her heart to pound in her chest. She did not pause to say her good-byes. She was the last female of her kind, and she would not remain to be privy as other creatures were stolen and forced into servitude. Nor would she remain where she would be forced to fulfill her own ‘Higher Purpose’ in the eyes of the Tribe. Once clear of the boundaries of the camp, once free in the Wild Wood, Moira ran. She leapt forth into Wolven Form and ran for all she was worth, the prayers in her heart begging the Goddess Mother to take mercy upon her and allow her to reach her destination unharmed, to allow her to leave this place, to disappear into another place, to become a different creature all together. Anything. Just so long as she escaped her current fate.

Moira ran, for hours, maybe longer. Just when she knew the Time was near, she heard the noise. That special noise she knew so well. The worst of her Tormentors. Elsin. There was a certain quality to the noise of leaf litter being disturbed as he flew past that alerted Moira to his presence. Moira turned inside herself, drew more personal power to the forefront, and added more effort to her all out dash. She could smell the Portal. She could feel its hum. It drew her, like a beacon of utmost security. Urging her tiring body on, she sped forward.

Something clipped her left shoulder, causing her to trip over her own feet, tumbling her through the dust. But Moira simply focused her gaze in the direction of her goal and gathered herself into another powerful gallop. She didn’t know if it were only Elsin behind her, or the entire Troop. It didn’t matter. Not now. If she so much as hesitated now and they caught her, she knew she would be bound in chains and forced to remain in the Hallowed Chamber until she died. Moira swallowed the bile rising to her throat at that thought and added yet another burst of energy to her sprint. Branches from trees began to drop in her path, nearly on her head. In her Wolf Form, Moira sailed over the obstacles, wincing as rising twigs grazed her as she went. A hail of rocks descended upon her, beating her back, her legs, her tender nose. But it was too late.

There is was, the Portal. The silver Looking Pond the Old Mother had always spoken so fondly of as she had whispered tales to Moira over the years before her Passing. Only the Old One had known the secret of this pond; she had told only Moira, and only once, when her Time of Passing was upon her. The Old One had wanted to give Moira the choice of freedom that she herself had always been denied. Moira headed for the raining water fall. Larger rocks and sticks now pelted her, drawing blood, and hisses from Moira.

Moira took one deep breath and offered up a silent prayer before diving into the Pool, aiming at the Hidden gate within the Falls of which the Old Mother had told her, shifting from Wolf Form into Hawk Form. But Moira never made it to the Falls. A small boulder crashed against the back of her skull in mid-shift, causing her to lose. To lose consciousness. To lose her mind. To lose all sense of safety, courageousness, security, her sense of self…. The last thing Moira saw was Elsin standing on the bank of the pool, glaring with satisfaction down at her, smirking and triumphant.

As consciousness descended upon Moira, she tentatively reached out around herself, afraid to open her eyes to see the Tribe there gloating over her in her chains. But to Moira’s surprise, she did not feel chains binding her. The ground upon which she rested was not earth or leaf covered; it was hard icy cold stone. Moira was wet, freezing with the cold, and suddenly aware that she was alone. Her eyes snapped open and she jumped back, away from the hole in the stone floor so full of dark blue-black water, pressing her spine against a rock wall. There was little light available, but Moira’s eyes adjusted adequately enough that she could see. She was in a small stone room, with the water-filled hole in the center. There was a small crack large enough for her to squeeze through in the wall closest to where she now stood. It didn’t take Moira long to decide that with only one way out that would be the way she needed to go. Unless she wanted to return through the water. Moira let all thoughts of the chase and the crash stay at the foot of that well. Her head ached, but so did the rest of her body. She was soaking wet, covered with oozing cuts and nefarious bruises. Tentatively she squeezed through the crevice and made her way to whatever life awaited her.

Moira slipped out into a thick woods, heavy with low-lying foliage. There was no heady scent of decay that she had grown used to with the Tribe. Here there was lush life, flowering plants, the scent of musk trails, large and small. Moira, unfamiliar with the animal’s scents in her new home, chose not to follow any of the marked trails. She struck off on her own. She could hear the sound of running waters nearby, and moved away from them. Moira needed to find a safe place to dry off and sleep. The weariness was edging over her, through her, into her brain and throughout her body. She sighed softly, more quiet than any whisper. A slender slip of brown moving hesitantly through the underbrush, Moira made her way out into the world. There was no sign of Elsin, no sign of the Tribe. That did not help Moira to drop her guard. She had to find shelter, and quickly.

http://breakonthroughtotheotherside.wordpress.com/

By Anita Marie Moscoso

Based on The Soul Food Cafe Prompt:

Rear Vision Mirror Memories

Have you ever been on a road trip, and ended up driving down those dirt roads that lead into the dead empty towns with boarded up fast food places with names like “ Chicken Basket “ or “ Hank’s Hamburger Haven “ and have you noticed  there’s always a gas station with those funny tin signs advertising a brand of cigarettes or beer that no one’s seen on a shelf in over 50 years?

No doubt on these trips you’ve seen the houses too, the odd gray houses sitting up off the road.

You’ve probably even seen curtains hanging in the windows and you weren’t  sure but you think you may have seen someone looking back out at you as you drove by.  Maybe you’ve even seen one of those old time drug stores with the Soda Fountain in the back but you know, you wouldn’t stop there on a bet to check it out because you’ll tell yourself you don’t have the time…you’ve got somewhere to get to.

There, you’ll reassure yourself that sounds good. But that little voice, it’s  the real reason you don’t stop because it’s screaming at you, “ don’t you dare stop! Hey are you listening to me? I don’t care if you run out of gas! You will not stop in this town because if you do you’re going to have to get out and push. Don’t you even think about stopping here, is that clear?”

Then when you hit the other end of “ Main Street” (which will only take about three minutes) and you’re back on that long empty dirt road that some joker of a map maker called “ interstate 101 or Highway 19” you’ll have forgotten you were afraid. 

After a few more minutes that empty little town that scared you half to death will be long behind you and it’ll be like you were never there at all. 

That’s what the town of Bocksbohne is like; once you leave it you’ll never be sure you were really there.

One summer Audley Frame was driving to Seattle and somewhere along Amorita Pass high in the Olympic Mountains she passed through a town called Turnsole (clearly marked on her map) and after a few miles she was on a dirt highway that lead straight into Bocksbohne.

That’s what the white sign with the peeling black letters read. Welcome to Bocksbohne 

It wasn’t suppose to be there according to the map, it had no reason to be there out in the middle of nowhere but it was there all the same and before she knew it Audley Frame was speeding passed a drive in theatre with a rusted swing set and a fallen over carousel under a weather-beaten movie screen. Across the street from the drive in was Chieko’s Drugstore and further up from that was little brick building with a sign in its window.

She slammed on her brakes and was snapped back in her seat by her seatbelt and she hardly noticed the pain because all she saw was the sign. It was a simple sign, the background was flat black and the letters were neon orange and the sign simply said: 

Help Wanted. 

The window was caked with dust and grime and right there in the center of the window screaming in brand new orange neon letters was the word: 

HELP. 

Not HELP WANTED

Now it just said  HELP.

Audley’ s foot came off the brake and she let her car roll forward and she turned to watch the window as her car tried to pull itself away from building.

Now the sign read   “ HELP WANTED INQUIRE WITHIN “.

The letters were blood red and the ink was so fresh it had smudged a little on the filthy glass window.

“ Red Ink” she heard herself say, “ it’s red ink.”

Then her foot found the gas pedal and Audley’ s car roared passed buildings and houses with broken windows and doors that were falling off of their hinges. She ignored the rusty children’s toys abandoned on the sidewalks and she hit a few curbs and before she knew it she was out the other end of Bocksbohne and when she looked into her rearview mirror she saw her dark brown hair had turned white. 

She put her hand to the mirror and turned it down, she had no intentions of using it until Bocksbohne was behind her. 

Far behind her.

Then crickets start to sing and a peeper’s chorus of frogs begins.  Hoot owls call.  One by one, stars appear.  Peace gently washes over the hills.  Wrapped in the dark soft blanket of night, the countryside rests.  Now magic can begin.  Pixies slip out from behind the ivy leaves to dance in the silvery stardust.  The Princess of Twilight smiles, waves her hand and blesses the fairies in their ring.  She gathers the deep stillness around her shoulders, snugs it close like a traveling cloak, and drifts off to sleep.  

Tommorrow she will weave her spell of beauty once more, and gently pull the day to an end, tugging the drawstrings of her silken purse.

by Kerry Vincent (c) 1992

Docia sat quietly, looking all asleep, lying back in the field behind her darling Mother’s house. Everyone else lay deep in slumber. Only Docia came out. The Moon Herself was only a small sliver, being eaten away by the greedy night sky. It smelled of fresh rain. Little night birds flickered here and there, chirruping softly amongst themselves, as if making the attempt to leave the girl in peace. It would not have mattered a bit to Docia had they been screaming and shrieking in their loudest voices. She was off in her head, dreaming the little dreams that seemed to bring so much dread.

Along the path she oft traveled lay planted green things. Trees and bushes, flowers and herbs. Moonseed. Yew. Sages. Toadflax. Oleander. Tansy. Indigo. Kochia. Belladonna. Bird rape. Wisteria. Daphne. Larkspur. Iris. Rosary pea. Lupine. Horsetail. Corn poppy. Foxglove. Golden chain. She tripped up the path, skipping and softly humming a shy tune to herself, moving ever onward to her own Holy Grove. A towering clot of trees comprised of willows, sycamores and ash encircled her own private place. The wands of the trees, branches intertwined and embracing one another, obliterated even the smallest hint of any sky. Once inside the Grove, Darkness closed the Circle, allowing no entrance nor exit to be found.

The space within itself was not all that grand. With the Door closed, Docia would find herself sitting before a roughly hewn bramble of weeds manifesting itself as a chair. It was not here that she sat; she at upon her knees, kneeling at its feet. There was a Silence there that demanded like in return. The only sound Docia heard, more than she cared to admit, was the sound of her own heart, thumping along happily within her chest. There was no wind, but always the scent of balsam burning, crisped embers dancing in the distance, teasing with their messages neither sent nor received.

On this night, the slender creature stood before the throne and began to dance, a chanting sort of song thrumming out from her throat, wending its way into the wood and the dirt, scratching at the surface and then beneath. Her body swayed as she traversed the circle, traveling from left to right, back and forth, arms sweeping out in arcs above her head. She bowed to a fire in the centre of the stand, one that is not there and that did appear. She commenced her dance again, this time from right to left, her voice growing stronger, leaping out of her throat, demanding as any tiger’s growling roar. Back and forth, she continued, pounding the earthen plate beneath her, walloping her intent out through her feet, using her body an instrument, a tool, as she carried forth her yodeling and roaring out her summons into the Beyond. Sweat poured off her body in rivulets, soaking through her white gown, causing her body to seem to glow with an energetic sheen. The raven wing lanks of her hair whipped out as her body thrashed and gyrated, clinging to her cheeks, covering her eyes. She stopped, just for a moment, threw her head back, opened her mouth wide, and screamed in revolt and respite, annihilating the turgid silence of the encompassing Wood.

A huge shuddering cannonade blasted through the fervid copse, knocking Docia to her feet, forcing her to bow and scrape, to kowtow to He who entered then. The ground rumbled and shook, shaking off the turgid melodrama from above. Docia gratefully collapsed, snuffling dust in through her mouth and nose as she pressed her forehead, the length of her body, to the ground, anticipating.

The smell hit her. It was always that overpowering manly-gone-bad stench, full of rotting wood, animals in must, festering flesh, with just a soupcon of crushed bone that smacked her full in the chest, which would have driven her down at his feet had she been so reckless as to stand at all. She could feel more than hear his footsteps, gentle, soft, as if tip toeing over each unbent blade of grass, caressing the trunk of one tree as he negotiated his own circuitous route round the bends of the Circle. Docia squeezed her eyes shut, struggling to breathe as shallowly as possible, even as she strove to ingest as much oxygen as she could after her rigorous endeavors. His cold cruel laughter wafted passively over her body. Docia urged her flesh even lower, ever deeper, and praying to become one with the grass, with the rocks, with the soil. She was completely unprepared when He grabbed her by the back of her head, digging into scalp and hair, dragging her inert body up to its feet. He shoved her forward, against the side of his throne, where the force of the grasping vines and wood slammed the air she had been trying to vainly to garner right out of her, causing her to huddle against it, clamoring and gasping for breath that did not come.

Again came the icy brittle laughter. Docia looked up warily into His eyes. She saw no anger in His eyes to match the anger in hers. Her degradation spoke volumes as she sucked blindly at the air about her, clinging to the throne with one hand and her own abdomen with the other.

Docia bared her teeth in a rictus grin. He chuckled at her dilemma again. ‘Well?’ his deep gravelly voice bellowed so reservedly in the silent din. Docia’s only reply was a great whooping panting as she fought to find her breath. His somber reviling chortle traced fingertips of anxiety up and down her spine. The sensation was delightful; else she would not journey on with their bargains. “What have you brought me this time?” he growled.

Docia crawled, hand over hand, stumbled to her feet, still meek, still subservient. “My lord,” she susurrated in obeisance. She inclined her head towards in deference. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back into his stance, looking down his nose at her. “I have but one request at this time.” Docia had to pause to suck more oxygen into her aching sobbing body. “The young lady,” again Docia had to stop to catch a breath, “four houses over from Mother’s.” She had to shove her hair back off her cheek. “She has a lover from Montrose who would be perfect for the plucking.”

The Dark One smiled thoughtfully, stroking his thinly bearded chin. “His name is Stanton Ashby.” Docia informed him, almost guilelessly, great round eyes aglow with eagerness, with glee. He rumbled in the back of his throat in possible agreement. He eyeballed her, almost wistful.

From the inside pocket of his grey silk suit jacket, he withdrew a small yellowed white flower. He held this five-petaled flower out to Docia, a look of expectation evident in his entire posture just for that split second before it dissipated into his typical languor.

Suddenly shy, hesitant, uncertain, Docia reached out, careful not to let her skin brush against his lest she become contaminated by his…profane nature. With nimble fingertips she plucked the posy away, stepping back from him as she did so. As soon as she lifted her eyes back to his, she felt more than heard a terrible concussion.

Docia awoke, startled by the warning shriek of the normally timid night birds. Curdled within her clenched palm lay a blackened little floret, ready for delivery. Docia lifted the skeletal blossom to her lips, stuck out her tongue, and swallowed it whole. With a smile of quiescent beauty, Docia stood, brushed the fragments of her slumber upon the lawn from her pale blue nightgown, and daintily wandered back into the house.

 by Raven TK

http://ravensinthewritingdesk.wordpress.com/2008/02/26/walking-the-wicked-way/

This was written as a gift for Anita Marie

The curtain swept up and applause thundered as the cast of Dick Whittington and His Cat took another bow. The stars of the pantomime stepped forward, the handsome Principal Boy and Puss In Boots, whiskers twitching in response to the shouts from the children.
“Good house tonight,” The Principal Boy murmered to his companion as he swept off his feathered hat.
“Best yet,” agreed the cat, voice muffled through the make up. She flashed a wide Cheshire Cat’s grin. That had been her last role, in a London production of Alice in Wonderland. Appropriate, since her own name was Alice - Allice Enderby. But to everyone in show business she was known simply as the Cat Lady.
The curtain came down again and the cast wandered off stage, congratulating each other of what was proving to be a successful season.
Dick Whittington, or Martin Romaine as he was known in the record charts and the tabloids, pinched the Principal Girl’s bottom and got a frosty look in return.
“Being Number One in the charts means never having to say you’re sorry,” he winked at her. She marched off, her rigid spine registering her intense dislike of him.
“Actually,” he complained to Alice, “being Number One in the charts means nothing here. How come I’m being treated like just another performer when I’m the star?”
“Because you are just another performer,” Alice said. “The people in this troupe have all been in the business a long time, and we’ve worked together many times before. We’re hard to impress.”
Romaine pouted, and Alice turned away from him. The pretty boy pop star was very trying company, but his name on the playbills did bring in the crowds.
“I can’t abide him,” the Principal Girl, whose name was Rosie Allen, said. She wiped off her make up, revealing a face much older than it looked in the footlights. But her figure was still trim, and her voice, which had also once topped the charts, was still strong and clear. “He thinks women should fall at his feet just because he’s famous.”
“He’s just spoilt,” Alice said. She and Rosie shared a dressing room in the small theatre, as they had done on many occasions before. “Nothing like a dose of good old fashioned panto to put these little prima donnas straight.”
Rosie glanced at her, piling cream soaked tissues into the waste bin. Alice was still in full make up.
“How do you get that spirit glue off?” she asked. “I’ve always wondered - it must play hell with your skin.”
“It does,” Alice said. “That’s why I do it at home. It takes ages.”
“Better you than me - well, I’ll head back to my digs, before the landlady closes the kitchen and refuses to cook for us. Lucky you, living in your own motor home.”
“I like the freedom,” Alice agreed. “Not having to put up with cranky landladies.”
“I might try it myself,” Rosie said. She blew a kiss from the door. “See you tomorrow night.”
Alice called goodnight to the stage door man as she left the theatre. He barely looked up, used to seeing her with a face full of Puss in Boots make up.
Her motor home was parked on a camp site near the river. It was a good camp site, better than most, with showers and washing machines, and power outlets that the campers could plug into. It was good to open her door and just switch on the lights. She could run her computer and TV and laughed to think of the others suffering in uncomfortable digs.
It was a good life, she mused, as she made herself a cup of tea. Shge had found her niche in the theatre. “Get me the Cat Lady,” casting agents said. There was none better, no one else who could play a cat as well as she did. No one else had that rich throaty purr, such a ringing “me-ow!” that could reach to the back stalls, no one else could slink and pounce so convincingly. Of course, life hadn’t always been so good, but you found your way, you found your place in the world, if you were smart. The days of the freak shows and the pointing fingers were well behind her.
Her ears pricked sharply as she heard a noise at the door. She had not locked it when she came in - silly girl! - and now it opened. To her surprise she saw Martin Romaine peering in to her small home.
“Aha,” he said. “So this is where you hide out.”
“People usually knock,” she said icily.
“Oh come on,” he said, inviting himself in. “I’ve always wanted to see inside these things. It’s cosy, isn’t it? Where’s the bed?”
“Where’s your entourage?” Alice countered. “And the hoard of groupies?”
“Oh, I gave them all the slip. Oh, come on, Alice, I can be a normal person sometimes. How about a cup of tea? I’ll help you take off your make up.”
“What do you want, Pop Boy?”
“Just to get to know you better. I know you must be very beautiful under that fur - how do you stick it on, by the way? - and those golden eyes of yours are just amazing.” He reached out and touched her arm. “Maybe you needn’t take it off,” he added. “I find it very sensual.”
“Actually,” Alice said, “it doesn’t come off.” Her hand snapped out at him, each nail sharpened to a claw. Martin screamed as the claws raked down his face and across his chest.
It took a lot of make up the following night to cover the scratches, but Martin Romaine never told anyone how he had come by them.
Even the tabloids wouldn’t have believed it.

Alex edged closer to the rusty wrought-iron gate. He could barely see it in the blackness of the moonless night; it stood out as darker in the darkness around him. A delicate breeze sifted past him, just enough to make the leaves rustle on the trees. The sound should have been normal and reassuring but instead it was ominous. Everything seemed ominous right now, in the deep of the night.Alex put his hand on the gate and pushed. It didn’t move. It was too much to ask that the gate be unlocked and open. He clicked on the miniature flashlight his mother had put on the keyring with his house key. “So you won’t have to fumble around in the dark,” she had told him, “You’ll be safer this way.” Alex had rolled his eyes at the time, but now he was glad it was here.

Carefully, shielding the tiny light from the view of the huge old house at the end of the driveway, he played the beam over the iron curlicues on the gate, looking for the best foot and handholds before he climbed over it. He frowned.  Up close, he could see tiny skulls and skeletons hidden in the fancy rusted iron flourishes. There were faces, too - and not of anyone he’d ever care to meet, especially on a darker-than-dark night like this one.

He turned off the light and stood there for a minute. If he turned back now, he knew the guys would never let him forget it. He really didn’t want to put up with the razzing…and he needed to be part of their group.

Jeremy’s voice came back to him. “All you have to do, man, is go in and get the scarf I’m gonna tie to one of the tree limbs on that big old oak by the house. Then come back out and show me that you got it. Then you’re in!” Jeremy had smiled then, his brilliant white teeth shining. Oscar and Joe had nudged each other with their elbows and grinned, too. “Unless you don’t think you can do that. And if you’re scared, I understand, man. There’s only been a few of us that did it, right guys?” Oscar and Joe had nodded, looking important. “And hey, remember, I have to go in and hang up that scarf every single time! So, you know, you’re not the only one. I’ve done it again and again! But you know, we’re the best.   Everybody knows we’re not afraid of anything, and nobody - nobody - messes with us!” He had nodded emphatically at that, and Alex had nodded too. 

He had liked the idea that no one would mess with him. He was the new guy, and well, sometimes that wasn’t easy. He was always the new guy and he knew how it went. This looked like an easy in with a crowd that would keep him safe. And when school started again, that would be important.

He had questioned Jeremy, though. “What if the dude who owns the place has a gun? Some people shoot trespassers, don’t they? And dogs? Are there any dogs?”

“The old guy who lives there is a distant relative of my dad’s. He’s grumpy, and he likes to be alone, but he won’t do anything. Just don’t go and mess around by the house, and you’ll be fine. I mean, it’s not like you’re stealing or anything. You’re just going to get a scarf that belongs to me. And he doesn’t have dogs. Doesn’t like animals.” He had smiled sort of strangely at that. Then he said, “So what is it? Are you in?”

And Alex had said yes. And now he was skulking around this creepy gate, looking for a way over it and onto the property to retrieve the scarf that Jeremy had tied there earlier in the day. He knew where it was - they had all come by in the afternoon and Jeremy had pointed it out - a faint smudge of red dangling from the oak tree nearest the house. “Just jump up and yank it down, and come back out! And poof! You’re in!”

It had seemed so much easier then. Even though the grounds were overgrown and looked like a snake factory and the very old house looked haunted and ready to tumble down, the light of day had made the idea of sneaking in and getting the scarf seem do-able. Even when Alex was sneaking out of the house after everyone else had gone to bed, it didn’t seem so bad. But now, in the dark, dark night, Alex was ready to forget it and go back home to his warm soft bed and plug in the night light he had told his mother he didn’t need anymore and listen to the radio until he fell asleep.

He slumped against the gate, smearing rust on the back of his shirt. He stood there for a few minutes and then, before he could think about it anymore, he grabbed the bars of the gate and swung himself up on them. Avoiding the spikes on the top, Alex clambered over and then he was panting, standing on the other side on the overgrown gravel drive.

Alex looked around. He was almost half-way done, he told himself. He just needed to run down the drive, grab the scarf, run back and get out. Then he could go home. And tomorrow, he could give the guys the scarf, his golden ticket to acceptance when the new school year started.

Except that he didn’t run. He was too frightened. There was something about this place…there were no animal noises here and it just seemed spooky somehow. He crept down the drive, staying to the sides near the cover of the bushes, placing his feet carefully and trying not to make any noise at all. He slowed his breathing to quiet that down too, but he couldn’t stop his heart from pounding so hard that he was sure someone could hear it three feet away. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up, and every primeval instinct in his body was telling him to get out of here NOW!

The walk down the drive seemed to take forever. Alex startled and froze at each little sound he heard - the wind in the trees, a car out on the main road, something in the bushes nearby. When he finally reached the end of the drive and stood near the oak tree with the scarf, he was drenched in sweat and shaking with fear and he really couldn’t say why. He stared at the house looming in front of him. Was that a flash of light he saw in the windows? No, but now he noticed that the breeze had stiffened and had blown up clouds. He could hear thunder booming in the distance. He needed to finish this; get the scarf and get away.

He could see the scarf dangling a few feet away and just out of arm’s reach. One good jump and it would be his.

Alex gathered himself and leaped. As his hand wrapped around the fabric of the scarf and he pulled, something else wrapped around his legs, catching him and freezing him in mid-air.

Alex let out a screech that hurt even his own ears, feeling foolish even as he did it. It must be the guys, waiting here to scare him when he came in to get the scarf. He looked down, expecting to see Jeremy or Oscar or Joe with their arms around his legs, grinning up at him, laughing at him for screaming.

But it wasn’t. What he saw made him scream again, this time until the breath ran all the way out of his body…

Dirty fangs in a hairy, filthy face. Arms the size of small trees. Eyes that glowed red in the night.  And then the smell hit him, too. How he could have missed something that rank he didn’t know. He gagged, and the thing holding him chuckled in a raspy bass voice.

“Well, what have we here? An interesting little morsel?! Come with me, morsel, and let’s get acquainted!” The thing was carrying him towards the house as it spoke. Alex started wiggling and flailing his arms and trying to kick at the thing, screaming all the while.

Inside, the thing dumped him on the floor in a room with a single oil lamp and piles of rubbish everywhere. Alex instantly scuttled backwards until he hit a wall and huddled there, shaking, his eyes never leaving the thing that had grabbed him. He whimpered with every breath and could feel a growing dampness in his jeans pooling underneath him.

The thing watched him, an evil smile on its face. “So, little morsel, what do you think? What are you imagining right now? Because whatever you are imagining, I can make it come true. Your dreams, mind you, not your wishes. And only certain kinds of dreams at that.  I believe your kind calls them nightmares?” He laughed again. “But first things first. I am forgetting my manners in my eagerness to get to know you better. I am Corrock. And you are…?”

 Alex just stared at the thing. He pushed himself against the wall as if he were trying to push through it.

“Manners, morsel, manners! What is the matter with you? You’d think you never saw an ogre before! But then perhaps you haven’t. I forget how uneducated and ignorant you modern youth are. The old ways, the old beings, have been forgotten.” It shook its head and stared Alex right in the eyes. “I am an ogre. One of the last of my kind. I am bound to this estate and may not leave it. So my prey must come to me.” He looked around the room and licked his lips. “I must say, I am ready for a change of diet. The local animals bore me.” He  looked around the room and Alex, following his gaze, could see piles of bones. There were squirrel skulls and deer skulls  piled in a little heap nearby. He noticed the smell in the room for the first time and gagged again. Bile rose in the back of his throat.

Corrock laughed. “Good. The more scared they are, the juicier the flesh is when I finally get around to tasting it. I like it well seasoned with fear!”

Alex gasped and managed to croak, “M…my…my parents. They’ll know I’m gone. They’ll come and find me!”he finished in a rush.

“By now there should be note in your room, in your handwriting, about how you didn’t like it here and have run away. So sad, another runaway who disappears. Oh my. He must have fallen in with the wrong crowd. Too bad, but it does happen,” said the ogre in a grieving tone.

“A..a…a note?” His voice was hoarse from screaming.

“Didn’t you wonder how the scarf could get here, without Jeremy, as he is calling himself these days, being caught by me? Jeremy and Oscar and Joe are mine. Think, morsel, did you ever go to their homes? Meet their families? No, you only saw them in public places. And had school begun, you’d never have seen them in school.” It laughed, moving closer to Alex. “They bring me the young and the foolish, the lost and the desperate - anyone they can fool, in short - to stave off the pangs of my hunger.”

“Many, many years ago, when I was first imprisoned here, these cocky young toughs decided to rob the place. I caught them, of course, and since I wasn’t very hungry at the time, I made a bargain with them. They would bring me prey - tender, juicy young prey by preference, although I am not really picky - and I would let them live. It has worked well. They supply me with treats that I would not get otherwise and they are allowed to live - and live many more years than they should live by nature. In fact, they not only live, but have a glamour that allows them to seem any age they choose. I have been repaid many times over, and they get to live. It was a bargain well made.” He smacked his lips in satisfaction and anticipation. The saliva dripping from his fangs glistened in the lamplight.

It was reaching for Alex who was cowering away when the sound of a door opening and closing stopped it. Footsteps echoed through the house and then Jeremy, Oscar and Joe entered the room. “Oh, you aren’t done yet!” said Jeremy. “I thought you’d be finished by now. We’ll wait outside.” He smirked at Alex. The trio suddenly seemed much older than they had. As the glamour that surrounded them faded away, they began to age before his eyes and now appeared ancient and evil. They all grinned wickedly at him with dirty, broken teeth in straggling and stained grey beards and Alex wondered why he hadn’t seen how evil they were from the beginning.

The ogre said, “No, no - I think you should stay. You never stay for dinner. It’s not very polite you know. You really should stay while I dine.”

The three moved uneasily and their smiles died.  “I insist,” hissed the ogre.

“Right, sir. Whatever you say,” they mumbled, trying to move to the door without seeming to.

The ogre turned back to Alex. While it had been talking to its three henchmen, Alex had been feeling around on the floor nearby. Now he had a squirrel skull in his hand and before the ogre could reach for it again, Alex hurled the skull at the oil lamp.

The skull hit it with a smash and the oil from the lamp flew everywhere, bursting into flames as it did. Some of it splashed on the ogre, who roared in pain and rage. He whirled around, trying to reach the fire and put it out. Alex scrambled to his feet and ran toward the window, grabbing another bone as he went and throwing it against the glass.

The three in the doorway had rushed over to help their master, but when the glass in the window shattered they shouted and ran to stop Alex from escaping. In the confusion in the room, Jeremy got tangled up in a bone pile and fell to the floor, while Oscar got too close to the flames from the lamp and caught his clothing on fire. Joe was the only one left to pursue Alex and he was the farthest away, with the most obstacles in between them.

 The bone had broken the window, but the hole wasn’t big enough for Alex to get through without slicing himself so badly that the ogre’s work would be done for him. He swerved at the last minute and then ran through the door where the ogre’s three cohorts had been standing a few minutes before. He could hear Joe shouting and then a crash that suggested that Joe had fallen into the remains of the window. He pelted down a dark and dirty hall - there was a door at the far end. He could see the window in it lighting up with the lightening from the storm that was almost on them.

He raced to the door and yanked on the knob. It opened, and he nearly sobbed with relief. He was out onto the porch, dodging holes in the rotten boards, and then leaping down the steps in one leap; he was running for his life and he knew it. He listened for the sounds of pursuit behind him, but the shouts were still coming from inside the house. On an impulse, Alex swerved off the  drive and into the bushes. He would find a tree and use it to get over the wall instead of going directly to the gate like they would expect.

The storm broke overhead.  Rain poured down, drenching Alex in moments, and lightening flashed with thunder right on its heels. In the flashes, Alex navigated through the heavy growth. The rain masked the sound of his travels, but he knew it would also hide the sounds of anyone chasing him. He opted for speed instead of stealth and made for the wall as quickly as he could. There was a tree just the right size right by the wall and Alex swarmed up it as quickly as he could, expecting to feel arms pulling him back down at any time.

He leapt from a tree branch to the top of the wall which he straddled, getting his balance. He looked back at the mansion. As he did, a slash of lightening came down from the clouds above and struck the oak tree that loomed beside the house. In the light from the lightening bolt, Alex could see one large and three small figures illuminated on the porch. And then the blazing branch from the tree came crashing down through the rotten porch roof onto the figures and setting the whole building ablaze. Alex could hear screams and roars echoing as he slipped from the wall, landing in the overflowing ditch beside it. Staggering to his feet, he ran all of the way home as if he could still feel the hot breath of the ogre behind him.

An article about the fire appeared in the local paper a few days later. There were some inquiries being made, it said, about all of the charred bones found in the ashes of the fire. Some in particular had been disturbingly strange. Alex could tell them why, but he wasn’t sure they’d ever believe him…

-She Wolf (c) 2008

by Lori Gloyd

Inspired By The Alluvial Mine Project: Divining Rods

*****

Laurel-Ann perched herself on a large granite stone under the dying oak tree. Pale brown leaves, dried and curling, fell around her like a papery snowfall. Waves of heat shimmered from the ground. She grimaced as she fingered the brass tubing of the divining rods she held in her hands. I never should have come up here, she thought, but Great-Aunt Maybelle had called and so nagged her that she found herself jumping the next flight to SeaTac and renting a car. The drive up to Pierce Valley on the Road was slow and winding and gave her plenty of time to think.Her ancestors in the old country, she had been told, received the Gift of dowsing and used it serve their communities. It was an honored profession and, presumably, it had been passed down the generations, first to the farming New Englanders and then on to the NorthWesterners when then came to the mining camps.

Great-Grandpa Horace had helped the miners find their veins of gold but when the mines played out, Horace settled on farming and used his dowsing skills to sink wells into an ever-changing water table. The Gift had been passed to his daughter Bernice and then to Aunt Sally. Both had been dead for several years.

It was said that Laurel-Ann was the One with the Gift, but she did not want it. The Gift was no longer the honored profession of her ancestors. As a child she had endured the whispers and the side-ways glances. Once, she flattened a classmate, Lewis, who had called her “Water-Witch” and had beaned her with a loaded water balloon. As soon as she was old enough, she left Pierce Valley to make her way in the big city down south.

But now drought had come again to Pierce Creek, which had become a mere trickle, and the farmsteads of the Valley were thirsting for water. The community leaders, some of whom as children had taunted her in school, had come to Great-Aunt Maybelle and pleaded for her to help them. Maybelle could not. She did not have the Gift. Cousin Rodney tried his hand at it until, unfortunately, he dowsed the septic line at the Mayor’s farmstead and filled the entire lower Valley with noxious odors when they drilled the well.

It was then that Maybelle called her.

“Honey, we need you– they need you. You must put aside your feelings and help these people. You have the Gift. You are the One. “

Maybelle pleaded and then argued with Laurel-Ann for nearly an hour and then finally ended the call with “Mind you, ‘For of those to whom much is given, much is required’”.

“Oh, all right, I’ll come!” Laurel-Ann always caved in whenever Aunt-Maybelle quoted the Book.

When Laurel-Ann arrived at the farm, she was quickly whisked away by Rodney and Maybelle. They rattled up the Road in Rodney’s old pick-up towards to the Mayor’s place.

“He’s worst off,” said Rodney. “If we can make him happy, I figure we’ll get clients lined up from all over the Valley.”

“Rodney, we do NOT charge for our services”, said Maybelle. “Never have, never will” she warned. “And don’t make that face, Rodney…..Here we are. Laurel-Ann, honey, you just go have a seat under the tree and compose yourself. You remember how Aunt Sally taught you, right now?”

“Yes. I remember.”

“Good, here are Aunt Sally’s rods.” Laurel-Ann took the rods and slid out of the pickup. She crunched through the dead leaves to the tree and sat down on the rock.

A few minutes later, Laurel-Ann heard the sound of voices. They were coming. A lot of them. It seems half the Valley had shown up to watch, including Lewis who had never quite forgiven her for beating the daylights out of him up when they were kids.

Laurel-Ann sighed and lifted the rods. She felt the thin rods resting lightly in her hands. She stood up, shifted one way and then another, taking a few steps forward and swinging around. She heard murmuring from the crowd. She glanced up and glared at the crowd.

“It’s alright, honey, just relax. You can do it,” urged Maybelle.

Laurel-Anne refocused and tried to remember what Sally had taught her. She felt the rods begin to vibrate. She felt compelled to turn to the left and head away from the tree.

The Mayor shouted, “Hey, where’s she going? I need that well sunk here, not way over there. It’ll cost a fortune to pipe that water from way out there.”

“Ah, don’t worry Harold”, chimed Lewis, “she’s not going to find a thing.”

“Yes, she can!” Rodney turned to Lewis and the Mayor and began to argue with them.

Laurel-Ann tuned out the exchange. Her attention was fully focused on the divining rods in her hands. They were crossing and un-crossing. She turned and stopped. They crossed again. Then the rods pulled downward. She felt the power coming up from the earth through her feet, through her body, down her arms and to the rods. The rods began to get warm. She had found water.

“Hey, look at her. She doesn’t know diddly-squat.” shouted Lewis.

“Shut up!”

“Losers– all of you!!” With that Rodney rushed towards Lewis and shoved him in the chest. “I said, Shut up!”

Laurel-Ann’s attention was drawn back to the group. The momentary glow of her success faded away as she saw the two men struggling with each other. She threw the rods to the ground and stomped towards the Road.

Maybelle called to her: “Laurel-Ann, where are you going?”

“Home. I don’t need this. It’s exactly what I said it would be.”

“You can’t leave. They need you!”

“They don’t deserve anything! They deserve to rot!”

Lewis gave Rodney a huge shove that sent him sprawling to the ground, and then shouted after Laurel-Ann. “See? Look at her run away. WITCH!”

Laurel-Anne broke into a run and headed down the Road, the jeers of the crowd in her ears. The last thing she heard was Maybelle yelling: “You can’t leave! Much is required. You are the One!” Laurel-Anne covered her ears and continued running.

When she was out of ear-shot, Laurel-Ann slowed down. Breathing heavily she finally stopped. She was at a low point in the Road, where a dry gully cut across it. In the rainy season, the Road was often washed out at this point. She sat down on a large boulder on the side of the Road.

Maybelle’s words echoed in her mind: “To whom much is given, much is required.”

“No! Not from me!”

A rumble from the mountain echoed through the Valley and large drops began to spatter on the hot pavement. Good, they don’t need me afterall. They’ll get a good soaker and that’ll be that.

The wind picked up and the rumbling grew louder and more constant. That’s not thunder she thought. The leaves swirled around her as the wind turned into a gale. The rain began blowing sideways, stinging her face and arms, and the rumbling grew louder. Laurel-Ann got up from the boulder and turned around, looking for some sort of cover.

That’s when she saw the enormous wall of raging water come crashing down the gully towards her.

No one ever knew what became of Laurel-Ann– not that they gave her much thought. Their water problems were over, it seemed, at least for a while. The rains returned, the water table rose, and Pierce Creek flowed.

But Maybelle knew: to whom much is given, much is required– one way or another.

L. Gloyd (c) 2006