Scott's Brain

Welcome!!

2006-07-07T13:38:00.000-07:00

Welcome to my online fiction repository. My latest is a longish short story called "Power in the Blood". Click here for part one. It's pretty much done.

Check the links on my sidebar for five more short stories, an unfinished script, and an ongoing serial in the form of a diary.

Hope you enjoy!

Power in the Blood - Pt. 5

2006-07-07T13:35:00.000-07:00

Fran looked at the window and then back at the boy sobbing near the foot of her bed. What felt like a cold breeze blew through her. She fingered her rosary and stepped up with the cloth. “Well I had hoped you two would be done after he was… after he left.” She held out the wet towel as one would meat to a rabid dog.

He took it in his right hand. “Thanks sister. I think we’re done now, he and I.”

She watched him wipe the blood away, trying to see where he was bleeding. She suspected that its source lay dying elsewhere. “Why come to me?”

A smile threatened the corners of his mouth. He fought it down, his soul screaming for her to run away. “You always seemed to care so much for us. I thought you could help me. I’m afraid that I’ve done something bad.”

“I love you children.” She squatted so she could look into his eyes. “I’ll be glad to help you. You just tell me what you need.”

His eyes flashed. The nearness of her and that scent buried any idea of waiting. “I need you.”

The hunger there scared her. She knew what the boys whispered about her. It flattered her and even excited her in a way she tried to deny. But she didn’t think this was that sort of hunger. “Just wait now.” She stood and backed away as far as the room would let her. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you Reginald, but whatever you’ve done can be fixed.”

“Fixed.” Anger crept into his voice. “I don’t need anything to be fixed.” He stood in a fluid motion. “I’m just fine.” He pulled her into a lover’s embrace. “More than fine.” He looked into her eyes wanting to see her fear more clearly.

Heat from his body felt like it was practically burning her skin, even through their clothes. Mentally she chanted the twenty-third psalm and felt His presence. “You’re not foine, not a’tall.” Stress brought out her brogue. “Ya need help. He can help you.” Her eyes went to the crucifix.

“Him?” Hatred suffused him, more powerful for the moment than the hunger. He spun the petite woman onto her bed. “He can’t do a thing for me, or for you.” He reached down to rip the front of her smock away and touched the gold there. Skin sizzled and he hissed in pain. Swear words, more ancient than the Latin heard in these halls filled the room.

“Perhaps I was wrong.” She sat up, tears filling the corners of her eyes. “Maybe it is too late.” She began to sing the Kyrie and genuflecting. As she did she felt as though she had become a deep well. That space in her began to fill with something both whitely hot and as cold as she imagined space would be.

Reggie watched as light began to fill the room, washing out the candles’ illumination. A new level of agony coursed through his body. His consciousness swam back to the surface and gained control. Where Sister Fran and the bed had once been there was what he would call an angel. She was both beautiful and terrible in a way that no words he had could describe. The light consumed everything and the pain and the music swelled to a peak and just when he thought he could take no more everything went black.

------------------------

Father Tim ran down the stairs in his robe and slipper. The Mother Superior had called him unable to say anything other than, “Come to Fran’s room quickly.” A group of nuns stood outside her door praying fervently but apparently none had dared enter.

“Sister Mary Louise, what’s going on here?” He put on his sternest face. Being awoken at two in the morning did not put him in his best mood.

She genuflected. “Father, we heard the most… unholy noises coming from Fran’s room. I called Herself and she called you.”

He looked around for her and didn’t see her. Sister Katherine was many things but brave wasn’t one. “So no one has called the police yet?” He was satisfied by the shake of her head. He wanted to make sure of what had gone on before involving the authorities. There had been no whiff of scandal in St. Andrews for over a century and he’d see that it would stay that way.

As noisy as the sisters said it had been there was no sound coming from behind the dark wooden door now. He tried it but it wouldn’t budge. He put his shoulder to it and practically fell in. Candlelight made seeing any details difficult, but he was fairly sure they were both dead and that it had been peaceful. Fran was cradling the boy, more beautiful in repose than any of the great masters had accomplished.

Welcome!

2006-06-27T08:30:00.000-07:00

Power in the Blood - Pt. 4

2006-06-27T07:50:00.000-07:00

Neal found a little more sense. “Fuck this man, it ain’t worth losing my spot on the team.” He turned and started loping back towards the school’s lights.
Even Don paused as the noises got louder. But he fingered the pistol stuck in the front waistband of his pants and focused on his anger. That pussy would pay for messing him up. The three moved through the trees like uncertain specters through a child’s fever dream.

---------------------------

Reggie’s sight cleared and even as it did he wished himself blind. Lisa lay in a twist of crimson cloth, her throat torn open and her face twisted in a look of horror. He couldn’t deny the taste in his mouth or the joy it had brought him. He wanted to puke it all back up again. He wanted to be lying there in her place. But the power that hummed in his brain and filled his body couldn’t be denied.

A branch broke off a few feet to his left and he heard voices. The moonlight had come back full strength and he felt naked and ashamed. He could do nothing about the body. The thought of being caught and denied access to this was too much. He leapt ten feet straight up to a nearby branch and crouched. The part of his brain that was still Reggie was amazed and the whisper that grew ever louder promised this and more.

---------------------------

The silver disk in the sky painted the death scene. Don pulled his gun free, taking an inch of skin from his stomach in the process. Joey nearly fainted and merely vomited between his shoes instead. “What the fuck!” Don looked around for Reggie, thinking whatever had done this had also gotten him. It wasn’t out of any sense of concern, but he figured that it would give him some lead time to run.

A sound like falling into dried underbrush came from behind him and he turned to see what he thought was Joey crouching over. His brain registered a second later, that it was Reggie standing on the crumpled body of his friend. He watched as the boy, who seemed no larger, pulled Joey’s head from his shoulders and sucked at the strange fruit in his hands.

He stepped back and pointed the gun. “Don’t make me shoot you.” He thought maybe if he could make it to the shadows at least he could run.

Reggie stepped forward and bathed in the light of the moon seemed to be carved from carnelian. His face, hair, and remaining clothes stained rust. “Oh, shoot me. You know you want to.” Came the unnaturally thick, low voice.

“You killed her…” Don tried to focus the will to carry out his threat. “and Joey.”

“I sure did. It was a shame about Lisa.” His left hand moved faster than Don could see and pain shot up Don’s right arm. Somehow he was holding the gun and something else. “You and your boys? Not so much.”

Don realized that the other thing was his right hand. He saw blood fountaining from it. He watched, his body held prisoner by something, as what was Reggie came forward and drank deeply from it. Things quickly went black for him. The last word he heard was “Delicious.”

---------------------------

It was easier to see now. His latest victim lay crumpled like an empty sack. The one called Neal had lost its important fluids into the dirt. He needed more food. The changes taking place in this new body were using up energy almost as fast as he could provide it.

His right hand dipped into a pocket and pulled out a once clean square of linen. Even through all of the contamination he could still smell the good sister.

No! Reason and conscience clawed at the back of his brain. He remembered stories of people buried alive and of the marks left on their casket lid as they struggled from freedom. His struggles were as useless and no less painful. For right now he wasn’t in charge, the thirst was.

Running through the night air on feet that would have tripped over one another only days ago, part of Reggie exulted in the power and speed. He didn’t make a sound, at least not one discernible to his ears. Thoughts about what he had done in only the last few minutes and the changes he had undergone over a week fought for his consciousness.

He didn’t love the girl, Lisa he tried to remind himself, but she didn’t deserve that end. He deserved this power though. After a life of abuse, defeat, self-loathing, this was his time.

No. He screamed at himself. Not at that cost.

He chuckled, not quite out loud. Human life was cheap. That’s what everything around him said, no screamed just as loudly as that voice inside his head. This new life was much dearer.

The clearing from wood’s edge to stone buildings was free of witnesses. Fran lived at the school, as did most of the staff serving as dorm parents to the residential students. The building they were housed in was an old rambling thing built from native stone, the oldest on campus. His senses lead him to the right side of the building. His eyes crawled up to window.

Pale light struggled to make its way out, blocked by grime and wire mesh. In spite of the greensward surrounding the school it was still in the middle of a dangerous city, now even more dangerous. There was no one around to see him scramble up the rough wall. Fingers and toes found easy purchase and in seconds he could see her.

The rich smell came through her pores and found egress through a crack left open for night breezes. She kneeled at the foot of her bed, praying to the bloody man above.

He could easily smash the glass to get to her, but that would bring a great deal of undue attention to the scene. “Sister.” He called weakly through the opening. When that wasn’t sufficient to rouse her, he tried louder. “Sister Fran.”

She turned to the window, a look of confusion running across her face. She was so beautiful. Her wimple had been removed, revealing flowing, dark auburn hair. “Reggie?” She cranked the window open further. “Come in. What on earth are you doing climbing up the building? You could get killed.”

He crawled through, any broader and that would have been impossible. “Thanks Sister.” He saw that the only light came from candles placed on nearly every flat surface.

She took in his appearance. “Dear Lord, what happened? You’re covered in blood.” She turned to a tiny sink in the corner and wet a towel.

He leered at her, while her back was turned. “I got in a little scrape with Don in the woods.” Innocence painted his face under the bloody mask when she turned back to him. He wanted this feast to last a little while. “He had a knife. There was so much bl… bl… blood.” He sobbed and crumpled to the floor, letting a little of his remaining humanity to the surface.

Part Five...

Power in the Blood - Pt. 3

2006-06-27T07:49:00.000-07:00

Her proximity brought with it a familiar odor that jolted and intoxicated him. “Thanks. It was… nothing.” The last was almost interrogative.

She sat down beside him. “Anyway, this is going to sound weird and if you don’t want to that’s okay, but I wanted to ask you to the school dance.” She held up a hand. “I know I’m nothing special to look at and maybe you already have a date, but how about it?”

Reggie put his hand over hers. “I think you’re very pretty and you smell great and I’m.. it.. it’s great that you asked. I’d have never gotten up the courage to do it.”

“So that’s a yes then?’ She looked like she’d just won the lottery.

He nodded perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “Absolutely!”

“Good. I’ll pick you up Friday night.” She stood and gathered her books.

He raised an eyebrow. “You have a car?”

“I sure do and maybe after the dance we could hang out and I could thank you properly.” She winked and swirled around, walking away.

Confused by the promise and his sudden turn of fortune, but willing to go with the flow, he tried in vain to return to his studies. Everyone around him noticed that for the rest of the week he was actually chipper, or as near as he ever got.

-------------------------

Lisa picked him up in a little blue VW. As he got in he reeled from her perfume. “You have to tell me what perfume you’re wearing. It smells fantastic.”

She looked at him a little oddly. “Well thanks, but I’m not wearing anything. I’m allergic to most perfumes.”

“Oh… Well you smell great and look even better.” His face warmed and he smiled. She did look great in her short, white silk dress. He had on a dark gray suit that was his general go to attire for weddings, funerals, and as it turned out school dances.

“Thank you again. You look pretty awesome too.” They drove to the dance and entered into a world of blurred color and sound.

Neither of them danced well. They managed to get through a few quick numbers without embarrassing themselves too much. Slow dances found them clinging to each other as though they were drowning.

Reggie had real difficulty at most social functions. His brain was always blipping from girl to girl to worrying about how dorky he looked to the next girl. Pretty standard for teenage boys or so he guessed. Not with Lisa though. He couldn’t keep his hands, eyes, or attention off of her.

Lisa’s eye sparkled. She laughed at his jokes and seemed to get all of the lame book and movie references he made. “I don’t know why we never went out on a date before.” She said as they sat drinking stop sign red punch.

“I do,” He winked “because I’m blind or stupid or both. Thank you for opening my eyes.” He almost winced, because even in his head it sounded cheesy, but the look on her face told him that she disagreed. She kissed him quickly, but equally softly eliciting a few whistles and laughs that neither of them heard.

They danced the last dance together and were the final couple to leave the floor. All the other kids had left, some for bed, others for one of the after parties where they’d drink their parents liquor.

They walked slowly back to Lisa’s Bug. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Li…”

She put her hand on his chest. “Shh. I want this to be a special night.” She pulled a backpack out from the front hatch and motioned him to follow. They went back behind the school where the Cross Country team practiced. It had been roped off because parts of the track had been washed out during a rainstorm last month.
Woods, part what had once been a full blown park, crouched on the other side of the track field. After a few minutes of tramping through the underbrush thick from neglect, they arrived at a clearing. “I found this spot while taking some pictures for the yearbook.” She pulled a blanket from the backpack and spread it out. “Sit down.”

Reggie could hardly believe this was happening. He was about to make out with this cute girl. He did as he was told, head swimming.

She straddled him, causing her dress to ride up revealing lacy underwear and stockings. Moonlight made her clothes shimmer.

“You’re an angel.” He whispered. Unbidden and for the first time tonight, thoughts crawled from his subconscious. Ways that this angel could be sullied, humiliated. He pushed them down, or tried to.

She shook her head. “Not tonight. No good girls here.” They began kissing with the passion and sloppiness of two amateurs. Hands, eager to explore places only dreamt about, went where they could. Reggie found himself growling softly and his fingers moved to the hem of her panties seeking what lay beneath.

She stopped him. “We can’t go all the way. I’m sorry, I’m a little… messy.” Her embarrassment was evident even in the moonlight.

Clouds began to mask the light. Reggie shook his head. “Messy? You’re beautiful.”
Frustration flitted across her face. “No, I’m on my period.”

Reggie understood. “Okay, that’s okay. We’ll do whatever you want.”

Relief brought her smile back. “Let’s drink a toast and cool off a bit.” She turned to her backpack and dug around. “I brought some special punch.”

He rocked back and tried to bring his hormones under control. A thought bubbled up like sewer gas. Little whore led me on. Brings us out here and then this? His hands began to shake a bit. He held them up and saw something on the fingers of his right hand. It was hard to see in the pale white light, but he could smell. Under the odor of her arousal, was the scent of blood. His fingers found their way into his mouth and he tasted her. The blood’s character was different, but he felt that same hunger ignite. He wanted more. “Thirsty, yeah I’m dying over here.”

Lisa tried to scream as he grabbed her from behind. She tried to say her Pater Noster, but the hands around her throat and the wailing and gnashing of teeth stopped her.

-------------------------

Don and his running buddies Joey and Neal heard the animalistic noises coming from the clearing. They had tried to follow the lovers, but got lost. He looked at the jocks and winked. “Guess our boy is gettin’ lucky. That’s okay, I don’t mind sloppy seconds.”

Joey didn’t feel good about this whole thing, but he’d been friends with Don since kindergarten. Backing out now wasn’t an option. Those noises reminded him more of his dog eating a squirrel than anything else. He clutched the bat to his chest like a talisman and followed.

Part Four...

Power in the Blood - Pt. 2

2006-06-27T07:48:00.000-07:00

Don tensed to strike, but was stopped by an adult voice.

“Problem boys?” Sister Fran, the youngest nun and one that most boys at Andrews spent a good deal of time fantasizing about, asked already knowing the answer. She had only been teaching here or anywhere for that matter for eighteen months though and still held hope for them.

“No ma’am.” Came the answer in chorus.

“I’m afraid that I don’t believe you.” She pointed her slim, pale finger at Don. “I saw what you did, Donald. Perhaps you think you’re immune because of your status on our football team. I can assure you that that’s not the case. You will both report to Coach Feaney at days end and he will extract an apology.” Her look said that she would brook no disagreement.

Reggie screamed inside his head. This will only make it worse! Don’t do this to me! But he only nodded, taking in the set of Don’s jaw and anticipating a visit to the hospital.

She stepped up to Reggie. “And as for you Reginald, you are a fine boy. You don’t have to take this from the likes of him.” She produced a plain white cotton handkerchief from her skirt pocket and handed it over.

He inhaled before he blew and caught a whiff of something that wasn’t quite perfume. He felt hungry, aroused, and confused all at once. Sufficiently cleaned he nodded thanks and tucked the cloth in his back pocket.

“Now, I’ll be watching you both for the rest of break time. Don’t make it worse on yourselves.” She straightened her already immaculate smock and turned. Both boys watched her walk off.

Don turned first. “You’re a fuckin’ lucky twist. After we deal with the coach I’ll deal with you. And come graduation I’m dealin’ with her.” A short punch to Reggie’s stomach signaled the end of their conversation.

Reggie managed to keep his breakfast down and when he regained his breath he finished classes for the day. The whole was filled with gut churning dread. The Sister’s words echoed over and over in his head and she was right. He should have stood up to the bullies years ago, but entropy was a powerful force. He tried to placate himself with fantasies of what he might do should he gather the guts to overcome it, but neither that nor the weird fragrance from Fran’s handkerchief helped.

-------------------

Afternoon arrived and per his nature Reggie was there on the dot. Don had come early and the coach, a man in his fifties built like a fireplug and the only non-clergy teaching staff, stood in front of them. His “office” was the gym and at present it was dominated by the boxing ring.

He ran his nicotine stained fingers through thick, white hair. “Boys, it has come to my intention that there’s a problem between you two. We’re gonna solve that problem right here and right now.” He looked at Don. “Sister Fran wants you to leave this boy alone and wants you off the team if you don’t. Neither of us want that.” He slapped the athlete on his thick chest hard enough for both boys to wince.

His gaze shifted to Reggie. Water pale eyes bored into him. “She tells me that you won’t stand up for yourself. Inexcusable. We’ll settle this the old fashioned way. You’re gonna beat the crap out of each other and then after that there’ll be no more.”

Back to Don. “You so much as lay a finger on him after today and I’ll bury you under the field myself. Now dress out and glove up.” He pointed to two pair of boxing gloves on his desk. The boys knew better than to argue.

A few minutes passed and they were squared of in the boxing ring. They had both been taught the basics, as had every male at Andrews. Reggie took a defensive posture, waiting for the blows. They didn’t come.

“Come on, you big pussy. I’ll give you one freebie. After that I’ll give you a pounding like your daddy used to.” Don stood with his red gloved hands at his sides.

Coach called from outside the ring, voice echoing in the expanse. “Go ahead boy. Take it.”

Reggie brought his hand back for a big haymaker. He focused every ounce of his rage, hatred, and fear behind it. It split the air and missed Don by a quarter inch, spinning Reggie around and causing him to fall.

Don nearly doubled over from laughter. He toed Reggie. “Get up ya fag. My turn.”

A second later and Reggie had latched on to Don’s leg. Don thought he was going to beg until he felt a sharp pain in his calf. Reggie had bitten him.

Hot, blood squirted down Reggie’s throat along with the chunk of meat. He had just intended to throw Don off his feet, but the bite came without a thought. Don fell all right and fell screaming. Reggie climbed on top of him and began to beat him. With every blow that fell Reggie felt stronger. It didn’t go on for long before Coach pulled him off. He was certain that he was being shaken, but all he could feel was the satisfying joy of hitting and the warm stickiness on his face.

----------------------------

The week finished out and Reggie was surprised that he was still enrolled. Apparently the coach had bought some trouble for trying to settle things in the ring. Don after getting out of the hospital hadn’t came back to school. As good as he was on the field no one really liked him and he wasn’t missed. Reggie had been exonerated and everything was nearly back to normal. Almost.

People began to give Reggie some space. No one picked on him, though he did hear whispers of “Freak” and “Lechter” behind his back. If it bought him peace then he could live with that. Hadn’t he lived with worse? There was just one thing that disturbed him a little. The memory of Don’s blood warmed him. He buried those unpleasant thoughts under a ton of work as the semester passed.

Under just such a burden in the library and steadily trying to dig his way out, he was interrupted by Lisa Taylor. A fellow bookworm, he had noticed her only peripherally. She was pretty enough with her milky skin and curly red hair, but in a way that was disguised by glasses, braces, and gawkiness all of which would pass to reveal a real beauty one day.

“Hey Reggie,” she chirped. She sat her stack of books down near him.

“Oh, hey Lisa.” He looked up from his work. “’Sup?”

She smiled warmly. “I just wanted to thank you for something. This is going to sound awful and if you tell anyone I’ll deny it.” She came around the desk and crouched by him, her hand on his knee. “I think what you did to Don was great. He’s been making me miserable for years and I’m glad he’s gone.”

Part Three...

Power in the Blood - Pt.1

2006-06-27T05:54:00.000-07:00

A grunt escaped Reggie’s mouth as one last kick landed in his gut. He felt the cool pavement on his face and heard the cursing only as white noise. His body struggled to block out all sensation. Something lifted him up and the last thing he remembered was the world turning red and the taste of metal in his mouth.

------------------------------

He woke up in his bed at home, every part of him aching. Surrounded by the plain, but fastidiously clean wooden furniture and the trinkets of his quickly retreating boyhood, he was at peace.

Mom sat at the foot of his bed hands folded in her lap, saying the rosary over him. Worry painted her face careworn face. She was old well before her time, sad but still beautiful, like Botticelli’s virgin. “Who did this to you son?” She leaned forward as if his reply would be barely audible.

His voice came out strong and clear. “I can’t say.” It hurt his jaw to talk, but pain had become his friend a long time ago. Years of getting his ass kicked by bullies and more than once by his father had given him intimate knowledge of its language. The boy who had delivered this beating was almost as fluent. He didn’t think he had any broken bones. As he sat up all he felt were bruised muscles. The mirror behind his mom revealed mussed brown curls, a few bruises on his face and a rainbow on his upper torso. “Can you leave so I can get dressed?”

Dorris, no stranger to beatings and the silence that followed, knew that further questioning would be pointless. She shook her head. “I’m sorry Reggie.” The thin wooden door closed behind her.

A clean school uniform lay draped over his chair. St. Andrew’s was the best school in the city and he was one of its brightest students. He loved the knowledge that it gave him and he saw the brutality as a small price to pay. It made him angry, but he used the anger, the humiliation, the pain to help him focus and push through. Eighteen more months and he would be free of its bonds. College beckoned him, a cool and soothing mistress.

The ritual of showering and dressing gave him time to get his mental armor on. Visions of the violence he would do to his enemies given the chance got his adrenaline pumping. He knew realistically he’d never have the guts to carry a knife and use it in the precise ways he imagined over and over again, but it was nice to think about.

Toothpaste and dried blood mixed in his mouth as he finished the last steps. The taste had an electricity about it that he enjoyed. He remembered getting nosebleeds as a kid and relishing that coppery smell and the brilliant redness of it. If that made him some kind of freak, he lived with it.

Ten minutes later he was out the door and pounding the pavement. Chain link fences topped by razor wire flanked him. Beat up, spray painted cars crowded him as though vying for their own slice of the sidewalk. Today he managed to avoid being hustled by vendors, protected by an aura of danger that he was oblivious to.
The school sat an island of carefully tended green surrounded by wrought iron fences. It was protected by reputation more than anything else from the encroaching rot of the city, but graffiti on one gate post showed how tenuous that was. Once inside, throngs of children chatting and laughing swallowed him and he lost himself in the anonymity of a crowd. No one stared at him, not that he noticed. There was no laughter, at least not to his face.

English, Math, Latin all came and went. The last brought sweet Margaret and her pink silk panties. Boys were almost always guaranteed that preview to Paradise that more than one had actually entered or so the bathroom stall said. That view was afforded by the seats in concentric circles radiating out from Father Tim, the center of their universe. Lost in thought of what lay beneath the plaid kept the droning from driving him to sleep. So lost was he that it wasn’t until the laughter was fairly loud that he looked up.

“Enjoying your reverie, Master Stevens?” Father Tim stood at his right shoulder. “Penance for lust can be quite severe. Perhaps you need to go straight to Chapel after this class and seek out Father Donovan?” The smugness on his face had once been love for these boys and girls.

Reggie felt the heat crawl up his neck and over his ears, the blush making it to the roots of his curly blond hair. Margret and her friends were laughing. He wanted to stand up and call her every dirty name he could think of. Expose her for what she was. The boys around him laughed, thankful it wasn’t them. He wanted to lash out and remind them of their own sin. Instead he sat in humiliation, as the teacher regained control of his class.

------------------------------

The Chapel sat at the end of the marble floored hall, lurking in the shadows. Donovan always creeped him out and he had a feeling that the old man would be all too interested in the lurid details of Reggie’s fantasy. Instead he headed outside. There he could find fifteen minutes of cool air and maybe a smoke. Strictly speaking it was against the rules, but it was one of the many unenforced ones here.

An oak supported him as he thought of smashing Father Tim’s head again and again into the brick walk at his feet. That and the cheap tobacco smoke warmed his core. Once again though, his meditations were interrupted.

“Enjoy yourself you little fucker?”

Reggie looked up into the face of one of his more frequent and violent tormentors, Don. It actually required him to look down as Reggie was close to six foot four inches and Don was a more average five ten. Both boys weighed in at one-eighty, though and Don’s weight came from muscle. “Sorry?”

“Tryin’ to get a look at my woman’s cooze.” He stepped up and poked a finger into Reggie’s sternum. “Are we gonna have to have a repeat of yesterday’s lesson?”

From a place that Reggie often wished he could plug up, he said “I wasn’t aware that the pussy in question was owned by one man.” He immediately regretted that as Don’s beefy hand grabbed him by his hair.

“What was that?” His other hand punctuated the question with a slap. “I didn’t hear you.” A backhand to the face.

Impotent rage bubbled up. Tears formed from Reggie’s anger and shame. “No.”

Don released his hair. “Damn shame. I was lookin’ forward to kickin’ your skinny ass again.”

Reggie straightened and ran the back of his arm over his nose. Mucus and tears stained the navy of his jacket. “I wasn’t aware that you needed a reason.”

Part Two...

Welcome!!!

2006-02-21T12:52:00.000-08:00

Welcome to my online fiction repository. Check the links on my sidebar for five short stories, an unfinished script, and an ongoing serial in the form of a diary.

I'm going to add to the list of short stories from those I've written over the last few years. Won't be many new ones as I'm working on this novel thingie. Hope you enjoy!

Day Twenty: Evening

2006-02-21T12:51:00.000-08:00

I’ll tell you one thing I’ve grown proficient at on this island and that’s digging. I decided that an old fashioned tiger trap would be just the thing to catch one of these buggies. I assumed that more than one went out but it couldn’t be much more than that or I would have seen one. I also assumed that they would “patrol” similar routes given their limited, but probably still quite good maneuverability.

What I didn’t have a clue about was the frequency of those patrols or their purpose. I dug a sizable pit trap near the tree where I saw the first one since I felt pretty safe in assuming that it would pass that way again. There was definitely risk involved since I didn’t know if they monitored the area and there was a good chance they did.

The steep sided hole would serve to disable the four-wheeler and I would drop on the soldier from above, before he knew what hit him. Or that was the plan anyway.

Naturally it went the way that most plans do. Digging the hole went smooth enough and covering it with branches was easier than I thought. By nightfall I had a five foot long trench, three feet deep and two wide. The sides weren’t as smooth as I’d hoped, given the sand I was digging in, and getting the displaced sand spread around enough to be unobtrusive was also something I hadn’t thought nearly enough about.

My theory was that darkness would cover a multitude of my sins. It didn’t. The driver showed up that very night. I know, I know, that should have been a tip off. It wasn’t. I plead stupidity. He stopped two feet short of my trap. I tensed on the branch above, grasping my knife and hoping that he’d come closer. He didn’t. I’m sensing a theme, are you?

He looked up and his voice hissed through the dim light. “You didn’t really think this would work, did you?” He moved for his gun and I decided to jump.

What the fuck, I was probably dead anyway, right?

I hit him hard. His gun and my knife flew into the underbrush. We were both practically knocked out. That shit is harder in real life than it looks in the movies. I guess I recovered faster and got on top of him. My hands hunted for his throat and found it. Strangling a person, particularly one who’s fit is not easy.

He kicked me off and made his way to his feet. His breathing was ragged. Mine probably was too. We circled. I realized that I had lost track of where the pit was and he had the advantage of those goggles. They of all things had stayed intact.

I guess he decided that fighting me, even with his advantages, wasn’t the way he wanted to go. I’d love to think it was because of my prowess or menacing size. It was probably because he was closer to his scooter.

Have you ever gotten in your car, put the keys in the ignition, and thrown the transmission into drive instead of reverse? Well you, this guy, and I all have something in common then. He accidentally drove into the pit. Hit it just right too. Snapped his neck in the process.

I lugged his corpse and equipment to my hole on the beach. It was a bitch. I’m sitting here writing this with his corpse at my feet. Now life is going to get real fun.

Welcome!!

2006-02-01T12:24:00.000-08:00

Welcome to my online ficiton repository. Check the links on my sidebar for five short stories, an unfinished script, and an ongoing serial in the form of a diary.

I'm going to add to the list of short stories from those I've written over the last few years. Won't be many new ones as I'm working on this novel thingie. Hope you enjoy!

"Old Friends"

2006-02-01T12:17:00.000-08:00

Dmitri checked his reflection in the mirror and chuckled at old wives’ tales. He ran slim, pianist’s finger through his slick blond hair and winked a blue eye at his own wry smile. A vibration originating from his wrist alerted him to the fact that Piotr was late. They met like this four times a year and had a gentleman’s agreement that if the other hadn’t arrived by the appointed hour then the meet was cancelled. The last of his Glenfiddich slid down easily and he paid the tab, tipping very well. He looked in the mirror again and checked to make sure that not a piece of his finely tailored black suit was out of place. Black leather gloves snugged on to protect his nimble hands from the bitter Scandinavian winter. It didn’t even occur to him to worry about his friend. If anyone could take care of himself it was the big Russian.

He stepped out onto the brightly lit street and hailed a cab. A car pulled up and he flowed into the back seat. “Take me to the Crown Plaza please.” His Dutch was as flawless as his teeth.

The driver attempted to pass the time, in the time honored cabbie tradition. “Did you hear about the big dog that they caught trying to break out of the Rijks Museum two nights ago?”

Dmitri’s eyes narrowed a bit. “Big dog? No I didn’t. Tell me.”

“Yeah, they caught this big black dog that must have gotten closed up in the museum somehow. It bit three guards and one of them is in intensive care. Almost took off his arm.” The cabbie shook his head. “Crazy world.”

“Yes indeed. Tell me, what did they do with this dog?” He leaned forward a bit until his nose almost touched the glass panel separating the two.

“I think they are going to put him down. He’s being held at the zoo right now. The paper says they’re keeping it knocked out until they make sure it isn’t someone’s pet. An animal like that, they should kill it. Too dangerous. But hey maybe it’s some rich guy’s toy and they don’t want to piss of the wrong patron.” He chuckled knowingly.

“That would be bad, indeed.” The cab pulled up in front of its destination and he handed the driver several bills. “Keep the change.”

The driver’s eyes got big. “Hey man you ever need a personal driver? I can show you all kinds of things in this city, things that aren’t in ANY of the guides.” Greed oozed from his pores.

Blue eyes blazed from the back seat. “You never saw me.” He stepped out of the cab and walked towards the alley beside the high-end hotel. That boy still has a taste for expensive paintings. I told him that would be the end of him one day. He glanced up at the bloated moon and concentrated. No transformation occurred but his feet left the ground and he sailed down the alley faster and quieter then his feet could carry him. In a few moments he was at the zoo and standing beside the bars on the outside. He glanced around and saw that the cold and the late hour had driven everyone to the warmth of the city’s many bars. In an eye blink he was on the inside and could smell the rich scents of this place’s many denizens intermingling. His nose was looking for one scent in particular.

Buried in all of the sensory noise he caught the distinct odor of unwashed werewolf. He made his way through the winding trails of the large park like a spirit. As he past the large primate house, he heard shrieks of fear as the apes sensed a fearsome predator nearby. These howls brought unwanted attention from the otherwise complacent guards. Footsteps pounded and lights flashed as the two men on patrol broke into a run. Rather than fly, which could become tiring if done to excess, he slid up to a kiosk and stood in its lee until the portly ex-cops wheezed by. The scent of their sweat and the blood racing through their veins peaked his hunger but his preferred prey smelled of jasmine and roses not beer and bratwurst, besides there was no time for eating. He continued towards the holding pens where they had Piotr locked up. After a few minutes more of silent jogging through the cold night, he reached the zoo’s Vet house.

The building was a wide single story house that had been converted into the facilities necessary for tending to the various animals housed here. The only way in was through a large glass door. The only problem with that was the fact that lights were on and it looked like someone was home. You owe me big my friend. The door was locked naturally but one did not live this long and not pick up a few skills. It opened under his silent ministrations and he glided through into the warmth of a lobby. It was laid out like a typical doctor’s office with some overstuffed hotel furniture and inexpensive carpet. Everything was done in soft caramels and tans, including prints of the savannah that adorned the walls. He saw a door marked “Employees Only” to the right of a sliding glass partition where an underpaid receptionist would sit. His ears told him that no one waited directly on the other side so he pushed into the hall beyond. At the end of the hallway, which was lined by doors, light spilled onto the grey tile. A single feminine voice drifted from the open door to him, transcribing notes into a tape recorder from the sound.

His feet tread softly to the edge of the opened door and he peered into a lab. A women with heavily curled chestnut hair tied in a ponytail sat with her back to the door. Upswept hair revealed creamy, white flesh between it and the beginning of her brilliantly white lab coat. Piotr lay on the table hooked to a myriad of tubes and wires keeping him dormant. It angered him slightly to see his friend in such a state. In days gone by he would have ripped this lab to shreds in outrage, but in his maturity he saw that they were merely doing what they thought was right. He stepped into the lab and caught the scent of the lovely technician wafting on the over-conditioned air. She turned in her seat, no doubt to check on her patient, and saw the tall, slim man standing by the doorway. Her lips parted as if to speak, but azure eyes flared quieting her. “Be still my child.”

The vision in the white lab coat shook her head violently and her own eyes filled with an all too natural fire of their own. “Child? Excuse me, but who are you and what the hell are you doing in my lab?”

This one had a strong will and his simple trick would not easily work on her. “I meant no disrespect miss. I merely meant to try and put you at ease. My name is Dmitri Nabokov and the beast here on your table is mine.”

“Nabakov, the pianist?”

He bows slightly. “The same.”

Her right hand traveled towards the phone and the red button marked “Security”. “So Mr. Nabokov what brings you out this late? Couldn’t you have simply come earlier in the day? After all, the zoo is closed.”

“I came here right after a concert and checked in at the gate. You may feel free to call your Security and check. They let me in after all.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

Short nails buffed to a mirror shine stopped inches from the phone. “Ah, I see. So why did it take you this long to come and claim your pet?”

Dmitri’s jaw set firmly. “Look Ms.?”

“Doctor Middelman.”

“I’m sorry, Doctor Middelman, but I am not used to being interrogated. I just want to pick up my friend and take my leave.”

Her face softened a bit and her hand moved away from the phone when she saw the affection in his face. “I’m sorry Mr. Nabakov…”

“Dmitri please.”

“I’m sorry Dmitri. I know how hard it is to lose a pet. And you may call me Tania.”

“Thank you Tania. My little friend here accompanied me to the museum the night he got lost. He is very well trained and my celebrity status allows me a few quirks. The staff let him wander the grounds. I have no idea why he wasn’t found earlier. Well in any case the important thing is that he has been found now and is in good health. He is, isn’t he?”

She stood and moved closer to the table. “Perfect health. You take very good care of him. I’ve been trying to place his species of wolf. He’s quite large. What do you know about him?”

Dmitri again shrugged. “I know little about such things. I saw him and decided that I wanted him.” He reached out and took her hand from the metal table. “Another thing my celebrity allows is for me to take what I want in most cases.” His eyes began to glow again but with less intensity. His pale lips brushed her hand and he heard her breath catch in her throat. Her hand turned in his and he repeated the kiss on her wrist letting his front teeth graze the tender flesh there. Pheromones filled the air, pouring from her skin. Piotr whimpered in his sleep breaking the spell.

Tania took her hand back, straightening her coat unnecessarily and clearing her throat. “Yes, well Mr. Nabokov, let me get him ready.” She began to disconnect the tubes and wires from the beast. Once the task was complete she looked back up at Dmitri. “Shall I call security and have them help you with him?”

“That will be unnecessary. He should be awake and hale in the next few moments. He’s always had a strong constitution.” He moved around the table and closed in on the pretty Vet. “Before I take him with me there is one thing I must do. I have wanted to do it ever since I first saw your lovely neck.” He gently took her shoulders and brought his face to her butter-soft skin. Inhaling her aroma deeply he bestowed the lightest of kisses on a pulsing vein. He produced a card from one of his pockets and handed it to her. “Please call me and perhaps next time I am in town we can have dinner?” He clapped his hands and barked at the wolf in Russian. Piotr scrambled to his feet and they exited the lab and walked into the crisp night.

“You certainly took your fucking time back there.” Growled Piotr.

Dmitri bowed as they walked. “My apologies. I could never resist a pretty girl.”

“Always have been a showoff. And that neck kissing thing? You sure you couldn’t find a way to work in some line about not drinking wine?” The two laughed together as they crossed the fence, the echoed joy following them into the night.

Day Eighteen: Evening

2006-02-01T12:12:00.000-08:00

About a month on this island has certainly brought out the hunter in me. I found a “comfortable” spot in a tree and waited and waited and waited. Late last night I heard a metallic grinding noise. It was soft, but out of place amongst the night sounds that I’ve grown accustomed to.

The bastard must have been wearing some sort of spy goggles, because he didn’t need headlights and the engine noise was silenced somehow. The small four-wheeler moved through the trees without a hiccup. Moonlight helped me see that it was a man dressed in some sort of dark colored paramilitary outfit. I saw what I think was a pistol under his left arm and some sort of long barreled weapon strapped across the front of his handlebars.

At that moment I expected some big plastic bubble to come along and scoop me up.

Obviously that didn’t happen and I spent the rest of the night waiting for him to come back. Somehow I fell asleep and sunlight peeping through the canopy of leaves worked better than any alarm clock I ever had. After cursing myself for a good five minutes, I climbed down with a minimum of creaks and groans from abused muscles.

I know now that I’m not alone. Today brought no revelations other than a few new tire tread marks by last nights lone ranger. That makes me think a few things:

1. What else have I missed in my time here?
2. Was I put here by these people or to find these people? Or was it a “happy” accident?
3. How do I introduce myself? Or should I?
4. They must know I’m here. Why haven’t’ they introduced themselves? Rude if you ask me.

I’ve spent the better part of today huddled in my protective circle thinking these thoughts. I think I know how I’ll proceed, but it will take some luck and a little prep-work. And some more luck.

Welcome

2006-01-05T08:16:00.000-08:00

Welcome to my online ficiton repository. Check the links on my sidebar for four short stories, an unfinished script, and an ongoing serial in the form of a diary.

I'm going to add to the list of short stories from those I've written over the last few years. Won't be many new ones as I'm working on this novel thingie. Hope you enjoy!

“Dead Man’s Shoes”

2006-01-05T08:03:00.000-08:00

Trudi, Triple B or TB to her friends pulled the laces on her new eighteen hole Doc Martins tight. Well, OK they weren’t exactly new, she had picked them up at ‘Steve’s Seconds’ stall in Camden Market yesterday for a quarter of what a new pair would cost as an early twenty-fifth birthday present. They were in great shape and whoever had them before had really kept them polished. They went great with her new leather jeans and corset, although a few nights in the pit would take that shine right off though so she’d have to be careful.

At five feet ten inches and almost two hundred pounds she more than earned the first “B” in her nickname. She didn’t work out in the traditional sense but her work as a delivery driver kept her in good shape and she was also blessed with two assets that most men couldn’t keep their eyes from. Her platinum hair supplied the second “B” and her last three boyfriends had given her the third as she kicked their asses out the door for cheating on her.

She admired her reflection in the ancient full-length mirror that took up the corner of her tiny bedroom. Her mass of curly hair was tied back with a black silk strand. Ice blue eyes stared back at her made stark by kohl applied with a technique somewhere between a pharaoh’s daughter and a baseball player. A full mouth smiled, lips coated in black gloss. All of this stark makeup made her already milky skin look even paler. To complete the ensemble she pulled on a sleeveless black leather duster that came down to mid-thigh. The jacket’s weight was enhanced by the twelve-inch Bowie with spiked hand guard that her last boyfriend, Larry, had given her. He had even sewn the sheath into the duster’s lining along it’s left side to allow for a good cross handed quick draw.

The door from her bedroom lead into the man room of the three bedroom flat. It served as living room, kitchen and, dining room. One of her five flat mates, Kali, was lying on the couch smoking and waiting for TB. The lithe, petite Pakistani girl blurred into motion and planted a huge kiss on her more massive friend. “You look delightfully dreadful dearie.” She giggled at her alliteration.

The kiss was purely platonic, though they had shared a bed a few times. It just hadn’t worked out for them and they were better as friends than lovers. Kali wore a leather harness with countless layers of black silky scarves attached to it. Each piece would gradually be discarded throughout the night as she found someone to give it to. Her plain face was made exotic by henna swirls applied by Katrina one of the other girls in their little circle. The patterns covered every square inch of her body, no doubt.

“Thanks, sweet." TB tugged her jacket snug and smiled. "Ready to hit the party?”

“ Please, yes. I am about to die from boredom.” The two ladies headed out into the crisp autumn air.

This particular south London neighborhood was an unsavory one but TB had convinced most of the dangerous ones to leave her mates alone. They still stepped quickly to the old motorbike that was Trudi’s main form of transport. Ben, her boyfriend before Larry had helped her rebuild the old WWII bike from the ground up. It looked old but it had plenty of power. Kali crawled into the sidecar kicking TB’s emergency breakdown kit into the foot-well. The bigger woman kicked the bike to life and they roared down the unlit street.

The smog-like cloak fell away behind them as they headed into the heart of the Essex countryside. Kent, a bartender friend of theirs, had found an old barn that he rented for a few quid and there was going to be a bonfire and plenty of music and liquor. It was about a half hour outside of town so both girls settled in for the ride.

Once on the country roads she slowed down and took the flask that Kali offered. The wind had cut through even her leathers and she needed some warmth. Just as they crested the top of a hill she saw a car in the ditch. Its nose was pointing down and she could just see the light from its headlamps diffused by the murky standing water. The bike came to a stop and she dismounted.

“Wait here love. I’m gonna see if they need a hand.”

“Why don’t we just keep going? I don’t see anyone. Let someone else stop.”

“Don’t fret. Shouldn’t be too long and if nobody’s here we’ll keep going.” Kali handed her the small but powerful torch out of the breakdown kit. It flared brightly and lit the way to the side of the car.

Once closer she could see that it was a blue roadster, brand new. The engine was still running but there was no one inside. She was able to rest one hand on the roof and open the door. A few seconds later and the engine cut out and TB pocketed the keys. In the increased silence, a noise caught her ear. It sounded like sobbing. She couldn’t be certain because the growling of her bike interfered. The sobbing sounded like it was coming from some trees just beyond the far ditch bank.

The short hairs on the back of her neck began to stand, but she had to find out what was going on. A few steps carried her back to the motorcycle. “I’m gonna go check this out. I think I heard someone crying over by those trees. They could be badly hurt. Do you wanna run to the party and get somebody with a van to come back here in case someone is hurt?”

“Hell no. I am not leaving you alone. I wish you would just ride to the party and come back with more people. I am scared.”

“Don’t worry Kali. I’ll be OK.” A peck on Kali’s cheek and she ran and jumped the ditch. Farther from the noise of her bike she could here it was indeed someone crying. It was a weary sound, like a child would make at the long end of a jag.

With the torch in her left hand and the pistol in her right she kept going. The cries seemed to be coming from a break in the trees. The grass there had been mashed flat as though something heavy had been dragged through it. When TB got to the clearing beyond the trees the sight revealed by her torch almost made her retch. A figure in soiled rags hunched over a very dead man and was making a meal of his lower intestine. Just beyond this creature was a young lady in a black skirt that had been raked up above her waist and a silk blouse ruined by mud and ripped by rocks as she had been dragged by her feet.

The creature looked up as light broke the trees and snarled at her. It was vaguely humanoid but what really caught her eye was its teeth. They looked as if they had been filed to points and they where reddish-black. Slowly the thing rose from its squatting position and began to move in. Yellow eyes gleamed back at her catching the bright light. Shorter then she was by at least a head and more wiry, it didn’t look much like a threat but she found herself unable to move from sheer terror. It seemed to rely on this reaction because it never moved quickly.

It reached the halfway point when TB came to her senses. Whatever this thing was she had fended of bigger and uglier men. The knife practically flew from it’s sheath, a move that Larry had made her practice ad nauseum because he thought it was “dead cool”. She had humored him at the time because he may have been a manipulative wanker but he was amazing in bed. The steel gleamed in the harvest moon’s light.

Her opponent seemed unfazed by this presentation and continued its slow approach. She circled around heading towards the lady, keeping the beast in front of her. Halfway to her target she realized that she ad been muttering an almost constant stream of obscenities the whole time. Finally she put herself between the two. “Alright missy I want you to run through that line of trees that I came through and wait by my bike. I’m gonna feed this thing some steel.” The last sounded like a line from a bad movie but it popped out unhindered. As she said it the thing leapt snarling with its long bony fingers out stretched.

TB ducked under its assault and stepped forward and at an angle away from it, sweeping the blade in an arc. It landed and the spiked hand guard caught it in the small of its back. The blow lacked power but the spikes ripped pale grey skin and drew perfectly red blood. The pain made it snarl and it whipped around as did TB and they faced off again this time just outside of arm’s reach.

She decided to use her superior size and try to bulldoze the thing into the ground. It proved faster than she had guessed and folded up and rolled to the side. As she passed the crouching horror it caught her foot and tripped her. Tucking into a roll prevented her from hurting anything as she fell, but she landed flat on her back and lost her knife in the process.

Not a second later and the thing had jumped on her chest and tried to seek her throat with its sharpened teeth. Hot, fetid breath filled her nostrils and she heaved the thing off screaming in fear and anger. It was shocked at something fighting back with this much vigor and landed on its back a few feet away. She came up to her feet and hurried to the spot where it lay. In the struggle her hair had come loose and framed her face. Anyone who saw her like this eyes blazing, makeup running down her pale face as she shrieked at the top of her lungs might have a vision of where the banshee legend came from. Her right foot came back and she drove the toe of her spit-shined boot into its rib cage. A rotten cracking sound and a wet snarl gave her an idea of the success of her effort.

Pain didn’t seem to slow this thing down to much as it struggled to its feet and began to stalk her again, but this time it kept the distance a bit more respectfully. TB glanced at where she thought the girl was and saw her still lying there motionless. The creature took this opportunity to leap on her again. Claws raked at her eyes and she felt a warm stickiness flow from a cut in her scalp. Fingers caught in her hair and ripped it free from her scalp.

She screeched at it again and slammed both fists into its gut. Foul air and spit blew from its mouth, the wetness splattering on her cleavage. The twin blows knocked it back a step and she through another kick, this one aiming for its crotch. Man or not she was determined to put it down for the count. Something squished and gave under the hard leather assault and the thing screamed, doubling over. TB brought both hands down in a double fisted club on the back of its neck. It fell and lay on the ground writhing in pain.

TB ran for the girl, scooping up her blade on the way. When she got there, she could see that the young lady was still breathing fast and shallow. She scooped her up and put her over one broad shoulder. An odd shuffling gate behind her let her know that it had gotten up and was coming her way.

Kali’s voice cut through the night. “Watch out TB!” The blond giantess spun around only to see that the thing had changed tactics and was heading towards her flat-mate. The weight of this girl seemed nothing and she broke into a trot after it closing easily. Blood had flowed into her left eye and her torch was long gone but the moon had come out from behind a cloud and she could see the hideous thing with little difficulty. Once within striking distance she through her foot out and caused him to stumble and fall. Determined not to let it get to her friend she jumped and landed with both knees in the small of its back. Bones cracked and gave way under her weight and a thick groan came from it. She brought her blade down again and again into the base of its neck and after a moment of that began smashing its skull with the knuckle spikes. She didn’t stop until the crunching had taken on more of a squishing sound. Blood and brains coated her fight hand and its metal extension. Weary from the exertion she stumbled to her feet and saw the look of horror on Kali’s face.

“What the hell was that thing?” She said. Her voice shook and tears flowed down her cheeks.

TB’s own voice was unstable as she replied. “Hell if I know but I hope it’s dead. It was eating…” before she could finish the sentence her last meal made a messy exit from her mouth caused by adrenaline, revulsion, and the charnel smell that clung to her. Once it was finished she shook violently and was calm once more. “Let’s get to the bike and civilization.”

Kali helped her big friend limp back to the ditch as the adrenaline wore off. Her burden seemed to gain weight with each step. They found a place to cross the ditch a little further up and made it to the bike finally needing to carry the limp girl between the two of them. They secured her in the sidecar and Kali rode behind TB. The three women rode slowly into the night and away from the horror behind them.

In the moonlit clearing the body of the young man began to stir. After a few minutes it managed to get up under it’s own power, even though it had to hold its guts in with one hand. It’s free hand found the black silk rope and the zombie sniffed at it. Satisfied, it tucked the strand in a pocket. Feasting on the remains of the other zombie it felt its flesh begin to knit back together. The meal’s last memory was of the blond woman and the pain it had brought. The rode was long but the creature knew by the sent of exhaust which way she had gone and it began its slow steady walk to find her.

Welcome!

2006-01-05T07:47:00.000-08:00

Welcome to my online ficiton repository. Check the links on my sidebar for three short stories, an unfinished script, and an ongoing serial in the form of a diary.

Day Sixteen: Morning

2006-01-05T07:22:00.000-08:00

Looks like I’m not crazy after all. I went on my little walk and approached the base of Moe from what I believe to be the west. Been a loooong time since scout camp, but I think the sun sets in the west.

Anyway, I’ve found tire tracks. They’re about the size of an ATV tire. I only found one set and only a short stretch of tracks on some muddy ground, but I’m sure they were fresh. I’m gonna sit tight here for a few days and see if I can wait out whoever this is.

Day Fifteen: Evening

2006-01-05T07:21:00.000-08:00

I slept most of the day away and that worries me. I’m sinking fast into a blackness. The edges of my mind feel like they’re disintegrating. I’m not even sure that that makes sense. My hands shake until I pick up this damn pen. I feel like I did when I came off a three day bender.

I saw a plane or something fly over the island last night. It was pretty high up and I doubt seriously that they saw my fire. I say or something because the lights looked spaced weird, but I’m no expert. It flew in a straight line, no weird UFO shit.

I want a decent meal, a soft damn bed, and a warm body to lie next to. Even the whore that was on the boat with me when I was snatched would do. I picked her up in a little port town about three days before I wound up here and she probably had something to do with my being disappeared. Cute little island chick, hot for a rich white man and a damn good lay. Far as I know she’s at the bottom of the ocean right now and good for her.

I’ve got no plan but to wait and that’s no plan at all. The people that are watching me (yeah I know you’re watching you sons of bitches) are laughing laaaaaaaaughing their asses off watching me getting sad, angry, worried, psycho. I won’t die and I damn sure won’t kill myself. There’s a little voice in my head that wants me too but fuck that voice. I’m gonna live.

Okay I feel better now. Had to get that out. You probably think I’m going over the edge and maybe I am, but I feel like I’m in good shape. I swear I heard engines of some kind from the direction of Mount Moe. Part of me wants to check it out but I’m scared that I’m just going bugshit and won’t find anything. Of course anything is better than just sitting here waiting.

So in the morning I’ll take a little walk and see just how crazy I am.

Day Fourteen: Afternoon

2005-11-21T10:28:00.000-08:00

The stakes are in the ground. Nothing like having fuck all else to do to make you productive.

Here I sit like a spider in its web, waiting for either a fly or a bigger spider to come along and make things interesting. I’ve theorized on who might have imprisoned me here. I’ve seen evidence that someone is watching me and playing games with me. I know that I’m not alone here, but that doesn’t do me any good unless I can find out who it may be.

All afternoon I would sit for a while, pace, sit again, until finally I gave up. I’m an animal in a zoo. The thoughts that I’ve been abducted by aliens, that I’m in a coma somewhere, that after a fifth of Chivas and a few too many lines of coke I am having one corker of a bad dream have all crossed my mind, all of that and more. Any of those ideas are possible and even preferential to the truth.

I have little doubt that I am alive and conscious. I also have little doubt that I will go insane if I have to stay here much longer. I have to maintain my sanity at all costs. If I lose that then all else is truly moot. I need to go for a walk.

Evening.

I went for a stroll. The camp site that Josh and I had made is gone. I don’t just mean that the structures we had built are gone but there is no sign that anything had ever been disturbed.

Maybe I’m not going crazy, maybe I am already gone. It could be that I have the location wrong. I'll search again tomorrow.

Day Thirteen: Evening

2005-10-17T13:56:00.000-07:00

The holes are finished and by God I’ll leave this island a fitter man than I came on. The punji stakes will have to wait until lighting is better. So I relax with water sans scotch and rocks and my constant companion.

I was never a writer in my former life. Perhaps that’s a sad thing as there were events well worth preserving if for no other reason than to show the young, up and coming criminals what not to do. And of course there was the occasional triumph. In either case I have developed quite an appreciation for the written word.

This entry is not at all about me though and should illuminate why I am beginning to think that if anyone I know is responsible for my current situation it is Janos. It was early in my association with him, when I was still a glorified errand boy and learning the ins and outs of his operation.

My trainer called me one day out of the blue. “We need you to pick someone up and bring him to the Castle.”

Well of course I complied as was expected and no questions asked. The Castle wasn’t really code speak for anything, though we used that from time to time, Janos really lived in a castle he had had moved from some other part of Europe to the mountains outside Saint Gallen, Switzerland. I used to think to myself that it had come from Transylvania. It was right out of a Hammer film.

The someone in question was a certain Chief of Police or something similar. He’d been on Janos’ payroll for quite some time and had decided that he needed a bigger piece of the action. I pulled up to his house in a limo and he got in. I was playing a role so I said nothing and just drove. Periodically I’d look back and see Herr Schwein sweating and drinking bourbon.

We pull up to the Castle and I escort him to the door, still not saying a word. After a few minutes waiting in the foyer and smelling body odor and sweat laced with alcohol, we were ushered in to the dining room. Janos was seated at the table tucking into a buffet. He gestured at his guest and told him to have a seat. “You too Karl.” He motioned me to a nearby couch. Janos’ butler brought the man a plate of food and then left the room. We three were the only ones there.

After what seemed like an hour of silence the man joined in. “Good food isn’t it?”

The greedy bastard nodded.

“You know they say that human flesh tastes a bit like pork.”

He looked at his plate. Looked at Janos. Looked back at his plate and spewed the food in his mouth into his napkin.

Janos chuckled. “Please, please. You think me such a bad host? Or worse a cannibal?” He put down his knife and fork and nodded at me.

I stood and moved around behind the unfortunate. His eyes stayed on his host and he started to speak. Janos flicked a finger and I pulled my thirty-eight and put it against the back of his skull.

“No. You shall remain silent. You lost your right to speak when you got greedy. A lesser man would kill you and be done with it. Someone else might kill your family in front of you, that trophy wife, your lovely daughter from your first marriage.” Schwein’s eyes began to bulge. “Calm yourself. They are alive, for now.” He slumped a bit. “Your daughter has been leant to an Arab friend of mine and I have your wife here, visiting my apartments below.”

The officer stood and I cocked the hammer back.

“Don’t be foolish. As long as you cooperate, they should both enjoy a couple of weeks in their new surroundings and return to you safe and sound. You will sign the piece of paper in front of you, a letter admitting to all manner of filthy things that you have done to women and boys that have come through your jailhouses. I will keep this letter and should you get greedy again I will not only make the arrangements for your women more permanent, but I shall forward this letter to the newspapers in your district.”

He signed it and quickly. I took him back to his home and dropped him off. Janos was true to his word and the man never did get greedy again. He told me later that the man’s family had been whisked off for a two week pleasure cruise and came back from it refreshed.

Well, on that note it’s time for me to put down the pen for tonight.

Day Thirteen: Morning

2005-10-04T11:05:00.000-07:00

My bowl of oatmeal lies on the sand before me scraped clean. I worked pretty late into the night and collapsed from exhaustion. I woke up hungrier than I’d been in time out of mind. The camp is slowly taking shape with half of its eight pits dug and ready to receive the stakes that will fill them in time. Today I will finish digging the rest of them, but for the moment I am happy to sit and contemplate my bowl and let my mind drift with my pen in hand.

It strikes me that there is only one person I can think of in my list of enemies that would have the necessary influence and odd, mean streak to put me out here and toy with me. Why I didn’t think of him before can only be chalked up to how disassociated I have become because of this whole ordeal and in all fairness, because I didn’t really consider him to be an enemy. If this is anything other than a fever dream and if I am really on this island and not rotting in a hospital somewhere covered in my own drool and shit, then my captor can only be Janos.

Before my visitor arrived I was telling you about my impending trip to Europe and all of the riches I hoped to gain there. My first three months there was everything I had hoped it would be. There were parties, women, and the drugs, oh my god the drugs. Vegas was in many ways a kiddie pool compared to where I found myself. Unfortunately my excesses caused my nest egg to dry up faster than I had anticipated and the sheep I was there to fleece were savvier than I had been led to believe.

So I dried up, addiction to any substance has never been an issue so that was fairly easy. Giving up the girls was harder, but like an athlete re-entering training I felt that it was necessary. My only vice during that time was skiing. I stayed at it for twelve hours a day, cross country mostly. All the while my brain was buzzing with plans. My dealers and other connections along with my growing knowledge of the surrounding country helped me decide to rebuild using my talent for sales. I started with selling heroin and rapidly moved to cutting edge designer chemistry.

During a trip to East Germany I ran afoul of some competition and they put me in a dark hole for what seemed like weeks, but was probably only a few days. After I stewed they brought me out and took me to their boss, Janos. He’s an older man, I’m guessing middle fifties, but I honestly never knew. He always looked the same no matter the situation. He wore the same dark suits and ties with complex patterns drawn in what looked like arterial blood on a dark background and always used a cane.

He and his men convinced me to join their ranks. It wasn’t hard. I knew a good thing when I saw it and breathing was a very good thing. He knew a good salesman when he saw it, or so he said. Success followed that partnership. It was a large time and for six months nothing could touch me. I learned a great deal about the power of money. I helped buy and sell politicians. I sold drugs, women, art. The only thing I never did was commit murder. Make no mistake, people lived and died at my word. Being one of Janos’ lieutenants carried wait in the European underworld. Unfortunately it also meant that when the law caught up with Janos’ the lieutenants took the biggest fall and fall I did.

It was the longest stretch I did in jail and it was also the hardest. I sang until I felt like my lungs would burst. I didn’t care if it meant that I would die. I preferred the thought of a knife or a bullet to those gray walls. Eventually the deal I cut got me out and the boom never lowered. At first I was confused and after a while I got scared and tired of waiting. After doing some digging it turned out that Janos had another fall guy set up. That suited me fine. I assumed that he didn’t have any particular hard feelings since he had gotten off and proceeded to live off money I had stashed all over.

After that I vowed to work alone or stay the top dog in any organization I was part of and to stay well clear of drugs. They had caused more trouble than they were worth. Besides, with my savings and the judicious use of resources I had learned in prison I could afford to pick my jobs.

I’m now beginning to believe that Janos has a longer memory than I credited him for, or perhaps he’d been unable to exact the sort of vengeance he liked to carry out until recently. I think I shall write more on that theory later today. My shovel calls and she’s a harsh mistress.

Day Twelve: Afternoon

2005-09-08T10:13:00.000-07:00

Well yesterday’s events make me want to rip this journal into small pieces and toss it and myself into a bonfire. Something really strange is going on here and I want to know what it is. Let me begin with the swim lesson that we had yesterday.

Josh is either a really fast learner or a big liar. Probably the latter since I know he’s lying about his name and what happened on the boat. We went out into chest deep water and paddled around a bit. It got close to lunchtime and Josh said, “I’ll race you in.”

“You’re doing really well, but do you really think you can beat me?” I said, amused at the idea. He seemed to still be a little clumsy.

“I’m pretty sure I can. Tell you what, let’s bet.” He grinned in a way that looked very boyish. Unsettling on a man that I was sure was homicidal.

“Bet? Hmmm. Well I’m fresh out of cash and don’t need any coconuts.”

“I know what. I win, I snap your neck like a twig. You win, I tell you why you’re really here… Will.”

I’m not sure what the look on my face was. I do know that my gut twisted into several large, hairy knots. I also know that this man took off towards the beach like he was Mark Spitz.

I summoned every ounce of skill and strength I had left. We had been in the water for well over an hour and I was a little fatigued even though I hadn’t been doing much. I was focused enough on closing the distance to the beach that I had no idea where Josh was in relation to me. The water was pretty stirred up and the undertow was fierce. I finally got to the point where I could move more quickly on my feet and surge up.

The water was ankle deep and I was running hard before I took enough stock of my surroundings to see that he was gone. There were no footprints on the sand. The water was calm enough. It is possible that he got sucked out to sea, but I doubt it. He was too good a swimmer and too strong. Plus, I’m certain that he would enjoy claiming his prize.

I spent more than two hours scanning the water and the beach for any sign of him. I thought maybe he had come ashore up our down from where I had, but a hundred yards in both directions revealed footprints of nothing more than crabs and birds. I was angry. I screamed, threatening things that were he around I couldn’t live up to. Then I began to get scared. Fear crawled up my legs and out from the twists in my stomach. I was here for some purpose and he knew why and was gone. Or did he? He’d lied about so much else. But he did know my name. Of course that could be because he found this journal.

That brings me to yesterday’s entry. With that last thought I hurled myself at the hole where I stashed my diary. Once free of its wrapping I saw the above words printed in thick block letters. I was faced with two possibilities that I could see. Either he had found it that morning before our swim practice, or someone else had. I wasn’t sure which scared me more.

I spent the rest of yesterday dogging out my old shelter and restoring that camp. No sense in hiding it anymore if I was being watched and the business kept me from any rasher action. Today I built the makings of a bonfire and have been sketching out ways to turn this camp into an encampment. Whoever’s out there can watch me all they want, but I’ll do my level best to make sure if Josh or anyone else comes to call, I’ll have first warning and hopefully first blood.

Day Eleven (in a different hand)

2005-09-08T10:12:00.000-07:00

Keep writing and we’ll keep reading. We’re watching you.

Day Ten: Evening

2005-08-25T12:55:00.000-07:00

While looking around yesterday I discovered him swimming. Well okay so calling it swimming might be overly kind. He was flopping around like a five year old in the deep end. In fact I watched him for a while thinking that he might actually be drowning…alright I was hoping.

I’m actually a pretty good swimmer. Going down to the Y on weekends is better exercise than running from your drunk and hung-over parent and I came close to getting my life guard certification.

We were working on our shelter when I asked him about it. He said that he felt that he needed the exercise and he had nearly drowned in the storm. The calmness of the little bay encouraged him to try and rectify that. I made the offer to help him learn, mentioning my experience and he agreed.

This morning we had our first lesson. I showed him the basic techniques and he seemed to be a most eager student. I know that if I let him live more than a couple of weeks that he would soon be very able in the water. His strength and coordination are excellent so if I am to move ahead with my newest plan it will need to be very soon.

I’m much smaller than him, but in the water I can move faster and might be able to turn that to my advantage. The undertow off our little beach is considerable and the possibility of a rip current might do my dirty work for me. In any event I need to seize any chance that comes up in the next few days. Returning to the solitude that I had before this man showed up would be welcome. He’s not a talker, but his very presence puts me on edge.

Day Nine: Morning

2005-08-15T13:23:00.000-07:00

Against my will, I finally fell asleep last night. Paranoia can’t keep you awake indefinitely. Whoever this “Josh” person really is, he’s an early riser. He’s gone off somewhere.

His story had at least as much bullshit as mine did (you can’t con a con). I’m sure he can smell it on me too, which leads me to believe that we’ll only be dancing around each other until one of us decides it’s worth it to take a chance. I doubt I’ll wait more than another night and might do it today if the opportunity presents itself.

He did say that near as he can make out we are somewhere in the Philippine Sea. That would be about right if he was being truthful. I’m going to take a bit of a walk and if I run into him then maybe I can get the drop on him.

Day Eight: Evening

2005-08-09T10:03:00.000-07:00

The man looks to me to be about six foot seven inches, a good head taller than me, and of some mixed race descent. His hair is basically stubble and jet black. He’s positively huge and I sincerely hope that we don’t end up having a direct one on one conflict. He’d break me in half without popping a bead of sweat.

He came up to me on the beach and I let him speak first. I’ll do the best I can at reproducing our conversation.

“Hello.” He spoke in flat tones, giving me no clues as to his origin.

I pasted on my best hopeful look. “Oh my god! It’s good to finally see another person. My name is Robert Peterson and I’ve been alone here for too damn long. Good to meet you.” I stuck my hand out and waited.

He looked at me and looked at the boat. A smile spread across his face like an oil slick. “Well by god good to meet you too, Rob. Name’s Josh and me and my crew just landed here thanks to that storm. Well I’d say we, but they’re dead thanks to all the bashing that we took and I’m it. So it’s good to see you too.” He took my hand and gave it a firm, but controlled shake.

“I was going to go on board and have a look around, but if it’s as bad as you say I’m glad that I’ve been saved the trouble.”

“Yeah it’s pretty fuckin’ grim. So how’d you get here?”

I looked out at the ocean. “Lifeboat from a cruise ship. I was at sea for days. Thank god it was well stocked with provisions so it wasn’t much of a hardship. The worst thing has been being by myself.”

“Cruise ship huh?” His thick brow wrinkled. “Must’ve been way off course. No cruise lines come within quite a ways of this speck of dirt. Damn shame too, cause it’ll be a bitch getting out to the shipping lanes in what we have. We might have to end up eating one another.” He smiled and I took a sharp blow to my confidence, so the sick look on my face wasn’t entirely pretend.

“Oh I hope it doesn’t come to that. There seems to be enough fresh water, fruit, and animal life around here that a man could do okay for a while. A gun would help though. Do you have one by chance?”

“Nope. No guns for me. Last gun I used put me in the hole. We might be able to rig something up trap-wise though. I used to be a Wilderness Scout leader.”

The idea of this man alone with a bunch of young boys was more than a little unsettling. “Well that’s some luck. Okay Josh….Josh right?”

He nodded.

“Well Josh, if you can bring whatever you can carry that might be useful I can take you to where I’ve been camping and maybe we can make a more permanent shelter than I’ve been able to.”

He smiled again. “Got my pack right back by the tree line. We can go get it and head on. I’d rather not go back on board. Probably smells pretty ripe in there by now.”

We get our stuff together and I took him to a spot where I had made camp last night. We decided to sleep there and make a new camp tomorrow. He’s snoring and I’m pretty certain that it’s real. Now that he’ll be where I can see him maybe I’ll get an opportunity to take care of him at my leisure. Don’t think I’ll be getting much real sleep until then so I won’t wait too long.

Day Eight: Morning

2005-08-02T10:18:00.000-07:00

I am sitting on the beach, beside the broken yacht writing this as a cool breeze comes in off of the ocean. I got to thinking yesterday about how I handled my first few gigs and my life in Vegas. I never pussied around. I never backed down from a fight, unless it was one I knew I couldn’t win and even then I still fought, but I fought smart. Why should now be any different?

I’m going to have to face this person and this way I can face him on my terms.

The smell from on board has abated. I may try and go back on even thought the very thought of it makes my brain itch. There might be some useful supplies or information, but I don’t really want to try it with the possibility that he might catch me in a tight place.

So let me tell you more about me, since I have the time.

I spent about three years in the greatest city in America. I dealt cards, drugs, and used cars based on order of honesty required (descending of course). All of this was like finishing school for me. I needed to know more about human nature if I was to get where I wanted. By the end I had built up quite a nest egg and I began to think of the best ways and places to use my skills.

As fun as Vegas was I had begun to tire of the heat. So at the advice of some companions I decided to head to Switzerland and learn how to ski. They also assured me that I could continue my studies with some of my fellow American tourists. I had learned just how big of a fish the tourists could be and the idea of nouveau riche Americans abroad with their beautiful daughters sounded like just the ticket for me.

With a month’s preparation I was able to build a pretty air tight identity and soon I was flying to what I hoped would be a glorious year in Europe. It ended up being less glorious than I anticipated and it took much longer than a year for me to extract myself from the mess I had gotten myself into. I’d go into it more but I think I have a fish on the line now.

Day Seven: Afternoon

2005-07-26T12:29:00.000-07:00

I don’t know much about the tropics. I supposed that it would always be hot, but up until today it was pleasant enough. The breezes have stalled completely and I feel like I’m being cooked slowly.

Didn’t write at all yesterday, I hopped around the island trying to decide what the Hell I was going to do. I didn’t want to run into my friendly neighborhood maniac and I felt like the more I moved the less likely that would be. Now I’m not so sure. It’s a big place and maybe if I lie very still he could walk right past and I’d never notice. By the same token though he could do the same. Damn I’m beginning to freak myself out.

Well I have to pass the time or I will go crazy. That’s why I’m writing in this stupid journal isn’t it?

So why did I become a criminal? I’m lazy I guess. My dad (and no I’m not gonna put the rap on my parents) used to tell me that I would never amount to anything. And he should know because he was a drunk bastard that worked a dead end factory job. If anyone knew something about being nothing that was Joey. I’m lazy not in the sense that I hate to work hard. You can’t steal from Le Louvre without hard work. I’m lazy in the sense that no way was I going to work twelve hour shifts for some pinhead from Pittsburgh making just enough to buy a six pack of Iron City and go home to beat the kids and fuck the wife.

I was pretty good at getting my way in school and could talk myself out of any situation that I got myself into. Eventually I learned that if I planned carefully enough I didn’t even have to get into a bad situation and I could still have the run of the place. My guidance counselor predicted that I would be state senator, if I didn’t rot in jail for embezzlement. I decided not to go either route. Politics was for people who felt the need to be seen and in order to be really effective at embezzling you still ended up working for the aforementioned pinhead.

So that my dears is why I became a crook, sheer desire to make a great deal of money while owing the least bit of allegiance to anyone. I am my own man and that’s the way I intend to die.

My first take was petty enough now that I look back on it. I really did it just to test the waters so to speak. High school graduation was in my near future and I needed enough money to go off and get a good start, someplace with sun and beautiful women. Seed money was what I or any other good businessman needed and I knew where to get it.

I was a good honest-looking kid and I knew that I could work that to my advantage. I went from door to door in the richer neighborhoods collecting money for orphans to earn my Eagle Scout badge. It never bothered me that I hadn’t seen the inside of a Scout Lodge (if there is such a thing) or that I had never met an orphan. I have never been burdened by a conscience when it comes to money that belongs to rich people. Most of them didn’t earn it and they usually put it to poor uses.

The old ladies that lived in the neighborhoods I worked were more than glad to help a clean cut white boy out. A few of them were also glad to invite me in and give me the grand tour of their bedrooms. The less said about that the better as most of these ladies were old enough to be my grandmother, but suffice to say that one such encounter led me to the combination on a safe and that safe gave me more than enough money to get well lost on. So bless those ladies and their lust and greed. They served me more than any college education ever has.

My nineteenth birthday found me in Vegas. I had committed grand larceny a number of times, started learning the art of forgery, discovered that I didn’t have the taste for killing or second story work, and was well on my way to being one of the world’s top ten con-men. And all of that landed me here of all places. Don’t get me wrong, when I leave it’s back to the life I love, but I’ll make sure that I burn a few bridges to see that it doesn’t happen again.

Before any of that happens though I have to deal with Mr. Happy and my thoughts have lead me to a merry little place that has helped me decide how. I’d tell you but it could be that Mr. Happy will get an opportunity to read this and I can’t take that chance.

Day Five: Morning

2005-07-12T13:54:00.000-07:00

I decided to do the best I could to camouflage my camp. My makeshift tent had been turned into a sand igloo by the storm winds so I packed what I needed for several days survival and pulled out the supports one at a time. The sand collapsed the tent and buried everything under at least a foot of sand, still protected by the parachute.

I added some more sand and I think you could walk right over it without noticing a thing. There’s not much down there anyway as I’ve got my tools and food. Much of it is my extra water and I can get that from the lake if I run out.

I’m going to move around as much as I can and see if I can get the drop on whoever this is. I’m not much in a straight up fight and if he was able to do what keeps playing in my mind’s eye then I hope I can drop the biggest rock I can find on his head from the top of Mount Larry.

Right now, every branch I hear creaking in the wind and every snap of a twig feels like someone about to get the drop on me. Before, when I know I was alone I wasn’t the least bit lonely. Now all I want is to be the last person on this island. Alone with my thoughts and this journal.

Day Four: Midday

2005-07-07T12:20:00.000-07:00

Forgive my shaky hand, but this has been a morning I have never seen the likes of. I went down to the boat just before dawn. There was barely enough light to see and I figured that would give me enough coverage. It was dead calm and clouds were thick. That combined with the heat and humidity made it feel like a June walk through the cotton fields near Dad’s house.

When I got to within ten feet the overpowering stench hit me in the face. It was rotting garbage plus some mixture of pus and the shits that you get after eating bad Mexican food. Most of the desire I had to get onboard left, but I had to know what the situation was and to see if there was anything worth salvaging.

I had no flashlight (they hadn’t been that nice) but I was sure that the windows to the salon would let in enough dirty gray light to be of some help. The knife tucked in my belt for safety, I climbed over the railing on the port side as that was closest to the sand.

The smell probably got worse as I got closer to the door leading down but my sense of smell had been overpowered to the point where it was tolerable. I approached the small door leading down. There was nothing to see on the deck. All traces of what I would see below had been washed away in the storm.

I gripped the handle with my left hand and resisting the urge to jerk I opened it as quietly as possible, the knife ready in my other hand. I was right about the light. It painted the carnage in shades of gray. Oh, the blood was black enough, the nature of that made evident by the body parts lying around like children’s toys.

I had managed to keep the bile down to that point and I continued to hang on until I could get to the starboard and puke. I had killed and I had stolen, but this was something beyond any hardening I had achieved.

Once I was done I saw the crater. Alright so maybe crater is too big a word, but something heavy had dropped off of this side of the boat and judging by the footprints it was a person. And one healthy enough to survive a good drop and a fifty yard run to the woods.

I gathered myself quickly and ran up to the open pilothouse. All of the electronics had been smashed by a table leg I found on the floor. The length of wood was heavily scarred by the use and caked with blood. Everything pointed to me having some new company and judging by what I saw here, it was probably the bad kind.

Not knowing if this individual could see me and hoping that he or she had continued to run deep into the island I went back to my little roost and stayed there until I had wits enough about me to write this whole thing out. I hope I’ll be able to write more later when I return to my camp.

Day Three: Early Morning

2005-06-30T12:14:00.000-07:00

Well that was on hell of a storm. No hurricane or if it was then I just caught one edge. Thankfully I was able to reinforce my structure a little and battened down the hatches. Nothing vital got more than a little damp. A couple of trees blew down above the line of vegetation, but hey more firewood for me.

I’m going to go check out that cove, with the possibility of moving my camp up there. It’s probably better protected from wave action. I’ll pack some gear along and plan on spending the night.

Early Evening…

Well I made it here quicker than anticipated. I followed the tree line pretty closely and the rain from last night packed all of the sand down.

Glad I came when I did. There’s the wreck of a boat, about a forty footer by the look of it. Don’t know how long it’s been there but I’m sure I would’ve seen it from Mount Moe as big and white as it is. The first third of it has snapped off and the mast and sails are gone. I don’t see any signs of life.

I found a nice little spot to lay low until tomorrow morning. If there’s anyone hurt or dead down there I can’t help them and I’m not going to risk going down there this close to dark.

I’m not sure how to feel about this. If it’s a coincidence then it means that I must be pretty close to a shipping lane and that’s good. However I don’t really believe in coincidences, so that’s bad. In any case if there is anyone alive on that boat then I don't think I can afford for them to stay that way for too long. I don't need any extra help right now and no sense in splitting rations. Now maybe if they can cobble together a sat phone or bake a nice cream pie...

Anyway it’s been years since I’ve done any wet work let alone with just a knife, but I bet it’s just like fucking. Of course I was never much good at either one. I'll just have to wait and see what tomorrow brings.

Day Two: Daybreak

2005-06-29T10:20:00.000-07:00

It seems that living on a deserted island, busting my ass to just survive and going to bed just after the sun goes down makes Jack an early riser. For the life of me I couldn’t sleep past sunrise. The seagulls were flying overhead and some waves that would have the Beach Boys hanging ten made it even harder. My lifestyle to date has meant that I would be going down just about now. Oh well, one must adapt and so I have.

Speaking of busting my ass, I spent yesterday afternoon and early evening playing Sir Edmund Hillary. This island apparently has a volcanic history and an impressive little mountain range no bigger than it is. If I had paid attention in my world geography class that might mean something. I’m reasonably sure that means that I’m in the Pacific, but I know that’s where I was when I was boarded so that isn’t much help. Of course since I don’t have a boat it’s all rather moot.

Anyway, back to the volcanoes. They’re extinct as fair as I can tell and covered in an abundance of vegetation. I’m sure some of it’s edible, but I’m equally sure that some of it’s poisonous and I have enough food for now. I got to the top of what I’ll call Mount Moe. It’s the biggest of the three “mountains” and gave me a view of my kingdom. The island is roughly teardrop shaped and my camp is about two-thirds down the right side if the point is the top. If memory serves and the sun rises in the east then that would put the point at roughly northwest.

The crater is closed up and water has collected in it creating a small lake that I’ll guess is about forty yards across. It’s clean water and could serve as an alternative should my barrels run dry. There are no fish and in fact I haven’t seen any animal life other than an abundance of birds, insects, and a few lizards.

Mount Larry and Mount Shemp (I always hated that damn Curly) are second and third running south from Moe. I’ll give them a closer look as I get the urge. Near the point of the tear there looks to be a small cove. The air is so clear here that judging distance is difficult, but I think I could make it there in half a day if I followed the coast, maybe less as the crow flies. The vegetation in the interior of the island isn’t that thick but the ground is pretty rough thanks to the Stooges.

Things are so quiet here that it’s starting to get a little creepy, especially at night. I’m an old city boy and am used to the noise. There are animal noises, but that’s nothing compared sleeping above a Parisian street.

In the silence I’ve continued to think about what in my life has brought me here. It’s probably the first “vacation” I’ve had since I was a kid. I can be relatively certain that no one is going to arrest me, shoot me, or otherwise try to make my life interesting. I don’t have a gig to plan or a deal to make. I’d say that this isn’t really all that bad, but it is. I’m a creature of action and I need to get out of this place or I can be certain that I’m going to crack.

Later…

I went away for a bit, did you miss me? Anyway, there’s a line of clouds moving in and based on that and the wave height I might be in for a bitch of a storm. My luck it will be Hurricane Charlene.

Day One: Afternoon

2005-06-28T09:59:00.000-07:00

Well I spent the rest of my morning contemplating who would have the balls to put me here (not the first time that crossed my mind, but the first time I dug deep and thought about it) and came up with a short list.

Charlene – Hell hath no fury and that pre-nup scorned her pretty damn good. Considering the sway that her dear old dad has, getting the muscle to do it wouldn’t have been difficult.

Juan – My last partner and probably the best damn security expert I’ve known. He was probably more than a little hurt that his cut on our last take was short seven figures, but I had bills to pay.

Ivan – Not his real name, not that anyone knows what that is, but he’s the last reason I ever want to work with the Russians again. He stuck it to me and so I stuck back. He may figure that it’s his turn.

Now there are at least five or six other people or groups of people that would like to see me staked out on an ant hill, but most of them are too busy or straightforward in their desire to see me dead to pull some weird stunt like this.

Saw an airplane after lunch put I don’t have anything to signal with. Priority for later today is to build one of those signal fires. I’m starting to feel like I’m on Gilligan’s Fucking Island, but just my luck, no Mary Anne. Fortunately my captors did leave me an axe and plenty of matches and there are plenty of trees to chop down, but I’ve never chopped anything in my life.

Oh and on that note the things “benefactors” left me:

Food – This in the form of high end freeze-dried hiking grub.
Water – Three large drums and there is a stream that I’m sure will provide what I need should that run out. No Dewar’s though. This is Hell.
Tools – Axe, shovel, big ass knife.
First Aid Kit
A parachute – Used this to make my shelter.
Paper and pens
One copy of Robinson Crusoe – They have a sense of humor and that’s part of my inspiration for this diary.

Today I’m going to explore and get a sense of what’s in the middle of this island. Hopefully no huge, rabid boar gods but I’m carrying that Arkansas toothpick just in case.

Stranded – A Diary

2005-06-27T10:01:00.000-07:00

Day One: Early Morning –

If you’re reading this then I sincerely hope that means that I’m sitting next to you on a comfortable sofa with a glass of full bodied red wine and that you are a full bodied red head, but I’m guessing that that will probably not be the case. With that in mind some introductions are in order.

My name is Will Carter and I’m an international businessman of sorts. Well hell, since I’m probably dead I guess I can be honest, I’m a criminal that has made the kind of living that most men dream about. I’m also going to go out on a limb and suppose that this document was discovered in situ, but to cover my bases and since writing this is likely the only thing that will keep me both occupied and sane I am writing it from a shelter I built on some God forsaken island.

I know only that this is an island and that I have been here for no less than a couple of days based on the scruffiness of my face. When I came to the first time and had a few minutes to think about my situation I went a little batshit. After I recovered my wits sufficiently I took stock of my surroundings, built a shelter and did a lot of thinking.

The men who put me here wanted me to think. They wanted me to live for at least a couple of weeks based on the supply of food and water they left me. Maybe they wanted me to suffer. Maybe they merely want me to be alive when they come back for me, if they come back for me. Who knows, maybe they didn’t want to feel responsible for my eventual death. I don’t know who they are since before attacking my yacht and knocking me out they didn’t feel the need to introduce themselves.

So here I am writing to keep sane, to keep from talking to myself too much, to note the passage of time, to leave something behind.

There are worse prisons I suppose. The warm breeze is nice. The food isn’t bad. I have a fire if I want one and all the paper I’ll need to keep this journal or whatever it is going for a while. But this is a prison and I’ve never stayed in a prison long enough to get comfortable. One way or another, I’ll get out of here.

Western Script

2005-06-10T10:15:00.000-07:00

FADE IN:
THE BUCKING BRONCO SALOON
Whisky Pete is sitting at the bar drinking a shot of red-eye and Bob the Bartender is polishing a glass.

PETE
Dang it Bob, I think you’re waterin’ the rye again!

BOB
No, I’m not. If I did that then I’d be strung up come Sunday mornin’.

PETE
Yeah, I guess your right.

He drinks the rest of the muddy brown liquid and scrubs his mouth with the hem of his ragged sleeve.

PETE
I guess I’m just madder’n a wet hen.

BOB
What’s got you so et up?

PETE
You know I been workin’ for Joe Dillon out at the Bar Q Ranch?

BOB
Yep.

PETE
Well about fifteen head of cattle disappeared last night and he thinks I done it.

BOB
Awww hell, if he really thought you’d rustled his steer then you’d be deader’n my granny.

Pete pulls at his beard.

PETE
‘Spose so, but he said weren’t no use in my comin’ back ‘til they was found.

Bob pulls the bottle away.

BOB
So how you plan on payin’?

Pete grabs the bottle back.

PETE
Don’t you fret about that. I got money enough to drink this rotgut. I told that snake boss o’ mine what happened and he thinks I was drunk. Now I ain’t never drunk when I’m watchin’ a herd.

BOB
I can swear to that. So why does he think you were drunk.

PETE
Well the story’s crazy and I know that as sure as I’m sittin’ here. I’ll tell ya ‘cause ya know I ain’t crazy.

FADE OUT:

FADE IN:
BAR Q RANCH (THE PREVIOUS NIGHT)

PETE (VOICEOVER)
I was watchin’ the cattle just like I had ever’ night for the last week. The moon had set and just a little light came from the stars. I had dozed off a bit but I woke up when I heard the cattle start to low.

Pete, seated on his horse, jolts awake.

PETE (VOICEOVER)
I slapped leather sure that it was a coyote or somethin’ that they had smelled. Even Tarheel started to act nervous and after a minute I couldn’t keep my saddle and have hopes of hittin’ anything so I slid of and tried my best to see what had them riled up.

Pete slides to the ground and probes the darkness, gun drawn. A branch snaps in the near distance.

PETE
Who’s there? Whoever it is you better…

A dark form seemingly covered in hair comes into the frame and smashes Pete on the side of the head, knocking him sprawling in the dust.

FADE OUT:

FADE IN:

THE BUCKING BRONCO SALOON

PETE
So that’s it.

BOB
What’s it? A big hairy man knocked you out?

PETE
That weren’t no man. It had red eyes and big teeth.

BOB
Well I’ll tell you what, I can’t blame the man for thinkin’ you was drunk. I wouldn’t buy it m’self but you ain’t a liar.

PETE
Thanks for that much.

BOB
You sure it wasn’t just an Injun?

PETE
Hell no. Not ‘less their breedin’ with bears round here.

BOB
A bear then, maybe that was it.

PETE
Didn’t stand like a bear and if a bear hit me I’d be dead right about now.

BOB
So you gonna tell the sheriff?

PETE
I figure Joe’s done did that.

BOB
Well he surely didn’t tell Sheriff Joshua what you just told me.

PETE
So?

BOB
So if you ain’t crazy and weren’t drunk then somethin’ out there took ‘n probably killed Jo’s cattle. Maybe if you could find out what then you’d get your job back. As it stands now ain’t nobody gonna hire you if they think you were bein’ a fool.

THE END

Home Improvement

2005-04-05T05:25:00.000-07:00

Jack pulled gingerly into the parking lot of Marson’s. The blacktop resembled a freshly cooled lava field and the crunching noises caused by the weight of his Buick drove that point home. The battered tin sign that swung in the breeze had once been white with red type. The elements had faded the text to a dull rose and the white looked like smoker’s teeth. It now read “son’s Home Imp”, the first and last third oxidized beyond all legibility.

Jack had a hard time believing that the owner of Marson’s did enough business to stay afloat and wasn’t at all sure that he could be of assistance with Jack’s problems. But he had come highly recommended by one of the guys at the accounting firm. The young accountant got out of his car, straightened his grey tie, and buttoned his sport coat. He scanned the area and pulled his grey fedora down, his collar up and hunched his shoulders. Evidently the corrugated tin building served as the home office. Two rusted out pickups and a station wagon on four flats were the only other cars in the lot. He hurried through the glass door which was fogged by grit, grease and God knew what else. A little bell chimed, somehow a lonesome sound.

A cheaply paneled counter ruled the front of the office. The floor groaned as its only resident answered the bell’s call. “Coming.” As the owner of Marson’s swung into view, Jack had to struggle to keep his jaw from dropping. A ruddy complexion combined with a weight of at least three hundred pounds on a five-foot frame made this man look like a heart attack waiting to happen. A hooked nose dominated his face, which was complimented, or rather insulted, by thick rubbery lips, and blood shot eyes. A sweat-stained white Oxford cloth shirt strained at his middle and black suspenders worked hard to hold up black rayon slacks. “What can I do for you sir?” His voice bubbled up from the depths and the smell of his breath was accompanied by a great deal of barley and malt.

Jack adjusted his tie and began. “I was recommended to your establishment. I have a pest problem that I need some help with.”

The man’s smile revealed teeth that were too even to be real and that were hopelessly yellowed by nicotine.and neglect. “You’d be better served by Bug Busters. They’re just up the road.”

“Not that kind of pest sir.” He cleared his throat. “I have this neighbor problem…”

“I’m still not sure that I can help you sir. We’re in home improvement.”

“But I know I’m in the right place. Bob Singleton recommended you. He said he’d call ahead.”

“Ahhh, Mr. Singleton, he’s one of our finest clients. Come this way and sorry for the confusion. One must be discrete in these matters.” His arm gestured for Jack to come around the counter and fat rippled under his shirt’s surface.

The young man complied and they went back to a small rectangular office filled mostly by a metal desk covered in paperwork. An insurance company calendar from ten years ago showed a sun faded beach scene. Mr. Marson took a seat behind the desk and Jack perched on a metal folding chair. “My name is Jack B…”

“No last name is necessary sir. You will pay in cash, minimize the paper trail you understand. Tell me about your neighbor.”

Jack’s fingers tapped on his knees. “Well I live in a prosperous neighborhood you see…”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He blinked rapidly. “And well I’m not a racist, I need to get that out.”

“Of course, of course.”

“But this Negro family moved in next door a few months ago and I’m afraid that they are hurting the property values. I’ll want to sell when I get my promotion and I just want to get the value out of it that I deserve. I can’t help it that the market sees not being of a certain race as a negative thing.”

The immense blob of a man shook his head, neck rolls shaking. “Right. That’s not your fault at all. Just so you know it doesn’t really matter to me why you need our services so much. As long as you are able to pay. Did you bring the cash?”

Jack nodded. “Just like Bob said, ten-thousand in small bills. Look, that’s a lot of money. I need some sort of assurance that you can hold up your end of the bargain.”

“Your friend’s word not good enough?”

The young man paled a bit. “No of course not. It’s just that he wasn’t terribly… specific.”

“Oh that, part of the contract you see. He signed a non-disclosure. He can’t tell anyone exactly what we did for him or how we did it. Ever. If he did, well let’s just say that the consequences would be… unpleasant. You look like the trustworthy sort so maybe I can let you in on it a little. Maybe your neighbor’s basement floods or their car keeps breaking down. All of the food in their fridge goes bad at once.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Or perhaps your neighbor’s son breaks an ankle walking home from school. His wife spots someone following her home from the grocery store.” The man’s voice took on an edge. “Maybe when she gets home there’s somebody waiting for her? Bad luck is a terrible thing and we here at Marson’s engineer it. So, the money?”

“I left it in the trunk of my car. I’ll go get it.” He got up and left the office at a good clip. The sweet air outside filled his lungs and second thoughts began to bubble up. He had no idea what these people would do to his neighbors. And who was he to decide where someone could live. Jack opened the door to his car and tried to start it. A flat click issued from somewhere under the hood. He tried again and didn’t even get that much. Sweat broke out at the base of his neck. He couldn’t just walk home. It was getting dark and he was much too white to try going through these neighborhoods on foot.

“Wait. Why am I so nervous? I’ll just go back inside, tell him I’ve changed my mind and ask to use his phone.” He went back through the door and saw Mr. Marson waiting for him at the front desk.

“Car troubles Mr. Briggs?”

“Ye…wait. How do you know my last name?”

“Mr. Singleton of course. Something wrong with your car?”

Jack looked behind him and couldn’t see the parking lot through the murky door. “No. Why do you ask?”

“Oh I thought I heard you try to start it. I have sharp ears. So which is it, yes or no?”

“Look, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t need your services after all.”

Marson reached under the counter and brought out a navy duffel. “But you brought the money.”

Confusion blew through Jack’s brain like a swamp breeze. “But I didn’t…”

The fat man smiled with those nasty teeth. “I had one of my people get it for you.” He produced a thick sheaf and put it on the coffee stained counter. “Ready to sign?”

“I told you I changed my mind.”

“Oh but you didn’t really. People like you never change really. You were scared but you still want ‘those people’ out.” He held out a pen.

Jack blinked and the pen was in his own hand. His head ached like a bad tooth. ”No. I…I don’t want…”

“Don’t fight it Jack. It’s OK.” The man’s voice had deepened and taken on the quality of gravel in a grinder. “They want to run you out. Don’t let them. Sign.”

The young man’s hand moved to the space by a large X and he signed. The pit of his stomach boiled with acid. “I didn’t want to.” The ink was brownish red. Jack’s finger screamed in pain.

“Off course you did. You just needed help.” Several loud clicks came from the crude man’s body. His head fell forward and smacked dully on the counter. A sound not unlike a dentist drill came from somewhere in the small of his back and a hatch popped open. The creature that came out was blue-green and no more than eighteen inches tall and did indeed have sharp ears. It stuck out a diminutive hand and said, “Thank you for doing business with Marson’s Home Imps. You won’t be disappointed.”

Snipe Hunt

2005-04-04T09:48:00.000-07:00

I lay in my nylon tent listening to the drip of water from above. It had stopped actively raining about an hour ago, but I knew the residual drip from the trees above would keep me awake all night. Gary was out with the guys sitting by the campfire and they were laughing their heads off at something clever, no doubt a joke told by “Candyman” Curtis. He was the oldest of our little troupe and fancied himself as being quite the lady’s man, as much as a thirteen year old can be I suppose. I was grateful for Gary’s absence to tell you the truth. The boy was built like his Mom’s Frigidaire, he snored, and smelled a bit like cheese that had sat in the sun too long.

Part of me wanted to join them, but I knew that they were all just telling stories that only they would get. We had just moved to Batesville and although I had really clicked with these guys, I was still on the fringes. They had been nice enough to invite me to go camping and so far it had been a blast. It was a pretty good way to spend my eleventh birthday.

A voice, muffled by nylon and humidity, came from the firepit. “Hey Don, get your ass out here with the rest of us.”

After a moment of fumbling for my glasses, issued to me as a military dependent and actually thicker than a coke bottle, I unzipped the tent door. “Keep your shorts on Sean.” I snagged my jeans and exited my tent with all of the grace of a newborn faun. Once standing, I pulled on the damp denim to the whistles of Sean the snake-handler.

“Nice underoos, Don.”

“Shut it you fag.” I zipped up, put on my shoes, and walked over, my sneakers making little farting noises in the thin layer of mud. A chorus of “Ooohs” accompanied me. As I made it into the circle of light, I could see grins all around. Gary tossed me a tin of Skoal Bandits. I tucked one of the pouches in my cheek and pretended to like it. “So what are we gonna do? It’s too dark and wet to play D&D, and if I hear one more of Curtis’ stories about almost getting laid by Cindy, I’m gonna puke so hard that…well I’ll puke really hard.”

Curtis stood and hooked his thumbs in belt loops stretched by habit. “Funny you should ask that Donny. We were just talking about admitting you into our little club for real.”

The fact that they had been laughing for the last ten minutes made me wonder at what this indoctrination would include. “Okay. So I’m not in the club now?”

Sean swept back stringy brown hair from his eyes and grinned that lunatic grin that he always wore. His folks were serious hippies and I was sure that his brain had been fried from the womb on. “Oh you’re in the first circle, sure. To be a real Worrior though you need to catch a snipe.”

The little gang called themselves the Worriors after a game we all spent too much time playing down at the arcade; and as silly as that may sound, I was dying to be a part of them. At the mention of a snipe I groaned. “A snipe? You must think I’m an idiot. I know there’s no such thing.”

Gary spat a stream of tobacco juice into the fire. “You may have lived all over and read a bunch of books, Don, but you can’t tell me there ain’t no snipe. We’ve all caught one and my daddy has one hangin’ stuffed in his shed.”

“Okay fine so I have to catch a snipe. I guess you’re gonna give me a bag and then make a bunch of noise so that it’ll be scared into the bag.”

Curtis snorted and spit his own stream of juice. “Hell no. That would be stupid.” He reached down and picked up a long stick from near his foot. An easy toss and it clattered against my shoe. Someone had taken a long, straight branch and tied an opened scout knife to it with bailing wire. “You’re gonna stab it with that. No bag we got could hold out against its claws. It has to die.”

I forgot my intellectual superiority in the mental image of rending talons and blood. I picked up the makeshift spear and weighed it in my hand. Something was caked all over the drop point blade. Everything looked red in the fire’s light, but I had no doubt in my prepubescent mind as to what it was. “So I guess you guys don’t believe in cleaning your weapons after the kill?”

Sean barked. “Nah. Snipe blood is nasty. Touch that and you’d be sick for a week.”

I held the weapon nearer the butt. “So what am I supposed to do?”

The ringleader took his cue. “Well you were part right. We are gonna go and try and flush the critter to you. You stand where Gary tells you and wait. When you hear us start to holler, listen for something coming through the bushes. That’ll be the snipe. Stick it real good and then we can make you one of us.”

My stomach felt hollow, like I was going to puke indeed. I gripped the wooden shaft tighter so that I could focus and looked around at my new friends. No trace of the boyish camaraderie that we shared could be found in their eyes. This was deadly serious business. Gary came up beside me and clapped a hand on my shoulder. I never realized until then the origin of the phrase “jumped out of my skin”.

“Don’t worry Stick. All the snipes down these parts are babies. The mamas and daddies stay up in the mountains.” He walked off into the woods surrounding our campground and expected me to follow. I looked up towards the distant bluffs and hoped that Mama Snipe knew that. Holding the spear at port arms, I trudged into the woods after my large friend.

Clouds had rolled back while we were having our palaver and revealed a carpet of stars. The moonlight picked out Gary’s white t-shirt and made him easy to follow. A broad path lay before us. It was free of underbrush and in fact led us into the camp. After a hundred yards or so, he broke right into the woods proper. The leaves were still thick on the trees and every time I brushed against one I could only think of the bout of poison ivy I had the summer before. A few minutes in and I was completely lost. Gary was like a beacon and so there was no danger of losing him, but there was no way I was going to be able to find my way back.

“Gary.” My voice quivered just a little.

His only answer was a shush. He did seem to know where he was going and well he should. This land butted up against his family’s farm. They hunted here for dear, opossum, bear, God knows what else. We were at least a mile from their house though and might as well have been in Timbuktu. A whisper floated to me through the thick air. “Make sure you talk low. Don’t worry bout this man. The boys are just tryin’ to scare you. There idn’t anything out here that’ll hurt you. No such thing as a snipe you were right about that.”

I stopped. “So why are you telling me this?”

“I like you. So do the other fellas, but my Daddy always told me that it weren’t fair to pick on city boys no matter how fun it might be.” He stopped and turned to look at me. His face was almost a moon on its own. “They’re gonna whoop and holler and rattle the bushes and trees. Don’t you be scared, though. It’ll just be us. Sean brought some kind of costume to wear and he’s gonna jump out at you. Make sure not to stick him. When we did this to him he almost put Curtis’ eye out with that thing.” We both smiled and I almost laughed. He shushed me again. “They aren’t too far away so don’t let on.”

I nodded and he turned around. A loud crack came from the left and seemed to wash over us. Gary jumped and so did I. Whatever that was mustn’t have been part of the plan. My grip on the crude weapon shifted to put the blade ahead of me. The crickets that had been singing to this point stopped and the only sound was steady dripping. Wet undergrowth muffled our steps.

Gary came to a stop in a small clearing. We faced off and he tried to smile, but it just wasn’t working. “Ready man?”

“As I’ll ever be.” I didn’t want to know what that noise was and I was sure he didn’t want me to ask.

His meaty paw clapped on my shoulder for the last time. “You’ll do fine.” He left me there in the circle.

Moonlight trickled in and I could actually see a fair distance beyond the tree line. I really needed to pee and tried not to think about it. If the guys were out there I didn’t want to give them a free show. I began my wait. It wasn’t long before my patience was rewarded. The game began with a steady hooting. Even a city boy like me could tell that it was someone trying to pretend to be an owl.

After a few moments of that I heard a loud crashing through the brush to my right. It didn’t sound close at all. Behind me a screech pierced the air. If that wasn’t Sean then I didn’t know my friends. The scream took on a meatier quality after a second or two and was cut off by a wet ripping sound. Little hairs in the back of my neck stood up and I began to feel nauseous. This was a little too real for me.

“Guys?” my voice was barely a whisper. I began to wish that I had brought a canteen. After trying to work up some spit I realized that at some point I had swallowed the tobacco. That explained my nausea. The idea of throwing up in front of my friends was equally as unsettling as taking a leak in front of them was. With every bit of my will I fought back the rising bile. Another loud rushing sound helped distract me. Off to the left of the clearing came a scream that I didn’t think was human. I found my voice. “Guys, this isn’t funny anymore.”

A thud from directly behind me was my only answer. I turned and saw a ball at my feet; only it wasn’t a ball after all. Gary’s face looked up at me from the ground. His neck ended in a ragged stump. I couldn’t hold it back any longer and emptied my stomach onto the ground. I did manage to avoid my friend’s head, but it was a near thing. Firmly planting the butt of my spear into the ground kept me on my feet as I wretched again.

Laughter somewhere between a crow’s caw and Sean’s giggle assaulted me from above. I didn’t have to worry any more about peeing in front of the guys. Part of me actually believed that they were still there.

I crouched down and started talking to Gary. “You said it wasn’t gonna be real. I believed you man. I don’t want to be in the club any more. I don’t want to be a Worrior. I just want my momma.”

Curtis started to scream then. I knew it was him, because he sang in the choir. He had the prettiest voice and could really hit the high notes. The snipe brought his talent to a new level. I screamed along with him for what seemed like hours.

When I came back to myself and realized that I was talking to my dead friend’s skull and felt the tears streaming down my face I knew I had gone crazy. Stuff like this didn’t happen to real kids did it? A fresh breeze blew through the little clearing and dried my tears. It also took the smell of blood and vomit with it for the briefest of moments. My head cleared and I knew I had to run and so run I did. Branches slapped at my face. They tried to yank my spear from me but I clutched it to my chest. Red eyes blinked at me from what could only be a few yards ahead and I stopped as quickly as I had started.

The eyes were as big as the saucers my Mom used at tea. They were slanted like the eyes of a cat, but solid red like an Atomic Fireball. Hovering three feet off the ground, they began to circle to my left. There was a strong smell of metal and something sour. I spread my feet shoulder width apart and pointed my blade at it. My knees shook like I had just gotten off the world’s biggest coaster. “B-b-b-b-back up you piece of sh-sh-shit.” My teeth were chattering.

A hissing like a thousand copperheads came from the direction of those eyes. They continued to circle and I followed, pivoting. It ducked and weaved like a boxer. I picked a moment and thrust my spear into the dark with every ounce of my weight. The hiss turned into a scream. The snipe, for that’s how I thought of this, nearly wrenched the spear from my hands. I pulled it back and moonlight glinted off a dark fluid covering the last six inches.

A cloud covered the moon just as the snipe leapt at me. I got the spear up between us and heard something snap. Pain overwhelmed everything for a moment as I was crushed to the ground. Warm fluid gushed over my arms and chest. I heard a sound and thought of my Mom de-boning a chicken, before the next wave of pain hit.

The hunters found me in the woods later that night. They had heard all of the screaming and saw our fire. Bits of Sean were scattered around our campsite. I heard that it took three men to find every piece. His mother insisted that they needed to do that so he’d have a proper burial. Gary had been gutted and his head knocked clean off. They never did find Curtis. I died on the operating table and was gone for a good five minutes. There were no lights or anything, at least not that I remember. A couple of hundred stitches, gallons of blood, and a lot of prayers brought me back from beyond the brink. The snipe had pulled a good portion of the flesh from my right leg and no small amount of my stomach muscle free before it had decided that it needed to limp off. Oh they say it was a bear or maybe a wildcat, but I know better. I’ll be damned if my son ever goes camping even if it’s just behind a friend’s house.

This is my main page

2005-04-04T09:40:00.000-07:00

Table of Contents

Bitter Release Snipe Hunt