Searching

'Don't worry,' they said.  Friggen government idiots.  Damn, not here.  'We can fix the global warming,' they said.  Anybody listen to me?  NOoo, course not, just an old fart.  It has to be right . . . no.  Crap!  'Persistent Solar Reflective Layer,' they said.  They couldn't say fog?  At least the dummies got the persistent part right, persistent like the wart on my ass.  Ahha!  Found it. . . no.  Where the hell is my goddam car?!




The End

Monster

So there I was, buried under a railroad track.  I may sound calm now, but I can tell you that wasn't the case then. 


I felt the rocks pushing into my flesh for the first few days and that was pure agony, but it was actually worse when the numbness set in.  Then the pains of my joints and insides from not being able to move nearly broke my mind.


It might be in your mind by now as to why I was there in the first place.  A few of the more thoughtful of ya'll have gone a step further and are wondering how in the hell I could be telling this at all.  If neither of these have occurred to you, well no shame there, higher education isn't for everyone, is it?


No need to deny it was mostly my own actions that put me there.  Nobody ends up where I was without fault, plenty and enough for anyone to put considerable effort to settling it.  Too bad I hadn't put that much thought into the start.


It wasn't a particularly beautiful day and I can't say I noticed all the pretty nature things around.  The sun was in the sky, the ground was underfoot, trees were all around, and blood was on my hands.


Someone else's blood, as circumstance would have it.


I had to admire the strength and precision of the attacker, demonstrated upon the dead body splayed over this log.  The girl had been opened like an axe splits kindling.  My back country post-mortem told me the liver was gone, likely other soft organs, but with the damage I couldn't really tell more.


Not that I needed to be all that exact.  It did this, the thing I was hunting.  There was a trail of the maimed and killed just like this across the state, starting at my parent's house.  I'd been after the monster ever since.


And now I was close.  This was a fresh kill; she wasn't even reported missing yet.  I was in its head, or it was in mine, and either way this was almost over.  I dropped my pack and commenced to stalk down a monster.


It killed, it fed, it rested, then it moved fast and far.  To my mind it acted like a criminal, not an animal - strike once and move, careful not to be seen, even cross jurisdictions between attacks.  It knew what it did was wrong, but did it anyway.  Like a criminal it felt guilt, and I knew all about that myself.  


Time was I acted a lot like that.  I blamed tequila, meth, or my Daddy, but I always knew right from wrong and too many times I picked wrong.  Time; I did plenty of that, but it was prison that saved me from worse.  I met a lifer named Peanut Grimes who taught me the secret of guilt.  Guilt was there to keep me from doing bad, not weigh me down afterward.  If I keep carrying it around, it gets easy to do more bad things, easy to tell myself, 'go ahead, ya done worse.'  I didn't recall if old Peanut said anything about revenge.


Just like I thought, it hadn't gone far.  It was getting more sure of itself and figured the body wouldn't be found until it was long gone.  It hadn't counted on me; I soft-footed right up beside where it was hidden in the brush.  There was my sister, Lily, curled up in the dirt like an animal.


"Lily," I whispered, "can you hear me?  Wake up."  I touched her shoulder gently.  We'd have more time if I didn't scare her.  She stirred and slowly started to come around; the monster would be deep asleep for awhile longer.  Then she rolled over on her back and opened up her eyes.


I couldn't help myself from looking at her naked body, but I looked away fast as I could.  She'd grown up since I'd been gone, a woman any man would be happy with.  "You're going to hell for that, Joshua Lowe," I said out loud, then I had to snicker at myself.  I took off my jacket and covered her as she blinked up at the trees above us.


"Lily, it's Josh," I said a little louder.  "Time to wake up, little sister."  She didn't look at me, but tears began to run out of the corners of her eyes.


"Go away," she said.  "Go away before I kill you, too.  Please?"  She trembled and sobbed; my heart turned over for her.


"Don't worry, you hear?  It's gonna be okay, I promise."


"Liar.  No, it won't be okay.  I killed. . . so many, so many.  Mama, I'm sorry."  I couldn't answer right away, so I scooted around and put her head in my lap.  We cried together for a little while, if you want to know, but I didn't dare let it drag on.


"Lily, listen," I said.  "You're sorry for what you done, I know, but we can stop it."  She blinked at that, swallowed, and rolled her eyes to see my face.


"Anything."  She shuddered and closed her eyes.  "I don't want to kill again."  So I snapped her neck.


Wasn't that easy, of course.  Her eyes popped open again and gave me a look straight from hell, which wasn't too far off, I reckon.  It worked her mouth, but couldn't get much more going until it fixed her neck some, and I wasn't about to give it the time.  I got up on my knees, pulled my heavy hunting knife, and chopped at her neck.


My Granddad used to tell me stories about the monster before he passed, how only kinfolk could kill someone the monster was in, that it had been in our family a long time, like a curse or something.  I never really believed the old coot, not until I came home for crazy Aunt Darlene's funeral and found my parents ripped apart like Thanksgiving turkey.  


According to Gramps it was worse for kin with blood close to our origins, accounting for a lot of nuts and jailbirds in our family tree.  The unlucky ones, like Lily, went plumb scary movie werewolf from it.  Worst of all, if you did manage to murder your kin, or kick off like Aunt Darlene, the thing inside just hopped to someone else in the family.  


I'd been thinking on this the whole time I was hunting it.  As far as I knew, I was the last, aside from some distant cousins I might not know about.  If I kept Lily dead enough, it might give up on her and come after me.  Then it would be stuck with me and I had some ideas about that situation.


The human head don't just pop right off, but four good whacks with my knife got it done.  Then I emptied the can of lighter fluid over my jacket on her body and fired it up with my Zippo.  I propped up the head so it could see what was going on.


"I can keep this up all night, bastard.  Can you?"  It tried to make Lily speak for it, but without lungs or vocal chords it failed.  I was sure it could still see and hear me, though.  "I'm takin' her head with me. Come get it if you can."  Then I ran.


From there it was pretty straight forward.  Back at my backpack I pulled out a fifth of tequila, some sleeping pills, and started a party.  Lily's head in my pack, I ran about half-a-mile to the railroad main line.  I followed those east to where a line of machines were laying a new spur track.  Of the construction projects nearby, this one would best serve my purpose.


The workmen were gone until tomorrow morning, so I got to it, popping pills and swigging tequila.  Before I passed out I managed to bury me and Lily's head deep in the gravel bed.  I didn't wake up until, well, y'know.


So, there I was, buried under a train track.  I didn't like it, but the monster hated it and that was good.  He made me suffer for that, and that was bad.  We even chatted kinda like cellmates, after a fashion.  It bragged how much more powerful I would make him, how nothing could stop him when he got free.  I practiced cussing at it.


What worried me, when I was sane enough to worry, is that I thought it was learning how to shift the gravel.  Like now, it takes over and flexes just so, and sometimes I think I hear shifting gravel.  Of course, I may be worrying about nothing.


Oh hell.  I just saw daylight.


The End

Predator and Prey (a Tale of Ravenmont)

The travelling prophet and pulpiteer Jukner stood on a short dais before his multi-colored tent and preached.  "Before me rose a dark angel," he spoke impressively, "tall as a mountain and terrible to behold.  Under his feet were ashes and above his head he bore a great, flaming sword."


Glimmer lamps lit the warm summer's evening, casting a web of shadows from spectators and passersby.  Many other such holy men lined the cobblestone street, each adding to the babble with their own sermons.  In Ravenmont, City of Bells, itinerant blackcoats, prophets, and pulpiteers could only hold their services along the Way of Gods where the great temples stood.  


"And he said unto me, "Prophet, do you not see the smoke?"  And lo, smoke from the sword rose to the heavens until the sky was dark and full of storm."  Jukner slowly lowered his arms to the pulpit.  "This is how I know the smoke of storms and woe will precede the cleansing fire that ends the world.  Around the land there are wars, rogues, and all manner of evil, as the dragons of Elder Day." he said, waving expansively.  "Do you not see the smoke, my flock?  These signs cannot be ignored, and through me the Gods give warning."


The city bells rang out Hawker's Curb and Jukner bowed to his small gathering.  "Our time is at an end.  Blessings to you all," he intoned.  "Please give what you can.  Largess to the servant honors the master."


Of the few who had stopped to listen, only three remained as the holy man presented the bowl.  A richly dressed bald man graciously waved the other two before him to the pulpit, and the youth in rags did the same for the third, a bent, elderly man in dark business attire.  Murmuring thanks, he shuffled before the holy man.


"Prophet Jukner, let me not bandy words," he said in wavering voice.  "Other Gods have forsaken me and now I am ill unto death.  Will your gods welcome me and give me back my health?"


"I have no doubt, sir.  In these End Times any who seek comfort in my Gods will be welcome," said Jukner with a kind smile.  He touched his robe.  "Allow me to give you a list of what we may need for ceremonies."


"No need, prophet," the elder said quickly.  "I must attend an important meeting now."  He dropped a handful of gold decas in the bowl.  "Will this be enough?"


The holy man easily controlled his surprise at the ease of the man's surrender and eyed the coins as if tallying them against a list.  The elder saw this and added more, nodding hopefully.


"Oh, no, my son, that is more than we will need for this, I'm sure.  You should. . ."


The elder waved aside Jukner's slowly spoken objection.  "I shall return when I can, no more than two hours.  Can you be ready then?"


"The Gods are always ready, my son," the man intoned.  "As their servant, I promise my best effort."


Happy, the elder shuffled to a waiting rickshaw.  The boy stepped up next and dropped two grimy copper pennits into the bowl.  Jukner hid his disgust at the pennits and inspected the boy more closely.  He liked his boys taller, not so skinny, but this one seemed strong enough.  He smiled at the boy.


"Prophet, sir, I was wondering," said the boy.  "Did the angel say more?"


"Yes, my son, but by city rules I am not allowed to speak publicly beyond this hour."  He gauged the youngster's disappointment then leaned down and lowered his voice conspiratorially.  "They cannot stop a seeker.  What is your name, boy?"


"Fenner, sir, like the marsh rats."  


The man took a deca from the bowl and gave it to the boy.  "Go and cleanse yourself, then return here and I can tell you more before the Gods."


"Thank you, sir!"  The boy's face was lit with hope as he ran toward Old Town and the bathhouses there.  Jukner judged he must not have been on the street long; this might turn out more fun than he'd hoped.


Then the last man stepped up and shook the bowl, looking at the coins with interest.


"Juk, if you've been doing this well, I should charge you more."  He wiped sweat from his creased and lumpy scalp.  "Warm, isn't it?  


"Evening, Goodman Brecke.  Warm enough to cut my take," Jukner said as he counted the donations.  "I will admit tonight wasn't bad, but time to be moving on and let the Twenty Gods have peace from me.  Have your boys pick up the stand tomorrow."


"Speaking of boys," said Brecke with a smirk, "that little street rat's a bit young, even for you, eh?"  He chuckled.


"What do I owe you?"  Jukner didn't acknowledge the dig; no need to risk giving the weasel more than he already might know.  He would need to leave town before Brecke tried to take advantage of what he knew.  The two men haggled briefly over the fee for tent, dais, and other dressings, but Juckner made sure the rents-man got the best of it.  That might keep him quiet until Juckner was well clear of Ravenmont.


As soon as Brecke left, the holy man set to packing his mule and gray mare.  He'd learned long ago to travel light and move on without regrets.  Staying in one place too long could expose his hunger for boys and stealing from believers.  He wouldn't return to the City of Bells again. Too bad he wouldn't get a chance with the youth, but there would be others along the road. 


From behind a darkened tent across the Way, three men surreptitiously watched Jukner's preparations.


"Just as you wanted, Trinsk," whispered Brecke, "ripe for the picking, eh?"


"Good work as usual, Goodman Brecke," said the old man, looking considerably healthier.  "You will receive your payment in the usual fashion.  And, of course, you remember the cost of any betrayal of this business?"  


The very thought made Brecke tremble; he nodded quickly and hurried away.  Councilman Trinsk turned to the third man and motioned him into action before rushing off himself.


As Jukner finished his preparations a grey-bearded servant came running. 


"Sir, are you the Prophet Jukner?" he panted.


"Yes, but you'll need to come back later, sorry."


"My master sent me.  He was stricken and now lays near death.  He said you'd remember him and your promise?"


"Ah.  Sorry to hear that."  Jukner balanced the opportunity to fleece the old fellow a little more against possible risks, like Brecke making problems.  Self-preservation was overcoming greed until the boy came back.


Unable to resist both temptations, Jukner agreed to attend the old man if young Fenner could come along to lead the horse and mule.  The servant eagerly agreed and led them through the dark boroughs to an impressive estate overlooking Belltower Bridge.


Jukner felt both excited and nervous.  This was a huge opportunity, but men this rich often had small armies protecting them.  He started to regret the decision to come here but backing out now might do more harm than good.  The servant turned away from the well-lit front of the manor to a darkened side wing entrance.


"I apologize for this secrecy," said the servant as he worked a key in the lock.  "My master has many enemies who would take advantage of his illness, should they know."


"Of course," said Jukner.  Though he couldn't grasp why, his apprehension rose.  The door opened, revealing impenetrable darkness beyond.  "Are we not expected?"


"Just a precaution, sir.  After we close the door, I have a lamp just inside and I will take you directly to my master."


"No, the dark isn't my fear," said Jukner.  "I see no grooms or guards.  Is that usual?  I fear something already might be wrong."  He found it wasn't hard to sound a bit fearful.  He made a decision.  "Just in case, I shall return upon the morning."  He turned to his horse.  The boy stepped close and put a hand on Jukner's wrist.  Soft and warm, Fenner's touch shot a bolt of lust into Jukner's groin.


"Please, sir.  If we did this, I could prove myself to you, prove myself worthy of being your apprentice.  Then you might let me travel with you?"  His wide, pleading eyes nearly erased Jukner's fear.


"And from the mouths of babes shall come wisdom unbidden."  Confidence returned, Jukner moved to the open door.  "Come, then, Fen."


They followed the servant through the short, darkened entryway and into a softly glim-lit interior hall.  The servant replaced the lamp and guided them through the manor.  The boy oohed and aahed at every expensively furnished room and hall.  Jukner carefully catalogued items worthy of stealing later.


Finally they reached the top of a plushly carpeted stair ending at a heavy, polished wooden door.


"Here is his sick room."  The servant looked quite woeful.  "He is sensitive, so we keep it dim and quiet.  I will fetch glims.  Anything else you need, sir?"


"Brandy or other strong spirits and clean water."  Inspiration surfaced; a quick escape with loot might be the best course of action, and here was an opportunity.  "I may well need other clerical items from my mule.  The boy and I will fetch my satchel and meet you back here."  


"No need, sir.  The sick room is fully stocked with whatever such you may need.  Let yourself in; my master wanted to speak with you right away.  Just mind your footing until your eyes become accustomed, please."  With a bow, the servant set off.  Young Fenner scampered down the stairs and stood ready to open the door for Jukner.


With an internal shrug at the missed chance, Jukner tugged his robe into better lines and descended to the door.  The boy's admiring gaze and the blind trust of this old rich fellow helped Jukner back in control.  He knew the right moment would present itself.  At the holy man's nod, Fenner opened the door and Jukner swept in.  The was indeed dim, and Jukner stopped within the rectangle of illumination from the door.


The door slammed behind him, followed by the clack of bolts being shot home.  Only with rigid self-control did Jukner keep from jumping at the sound.  He could now easily see it wasn't a sickroom, but some kind of work place.  Then light filled the room and Jukner knew real fear.


He was in a Wizard's Sanctum and right across the room behind a metal grate stood the purportedly deathly sick old man.  Jukner recognized his peril, but also that panic would not help him get out of this.  He raised his chin to simulate outrage and spoke in his most pious tones.


"What is this about, sir?  Why do you risk the wrath of my Gods?  Why. . ."  Wizard Trinsk snapped his fingers; Jukner choked and was unable speak.


"Quiet, you fraudulent pederast.  No god would have you until now, I suspect.  Face the altar."  At a gesture pain lanced Jukner's hands and feet, rising up his limbs like spreading flame.  "Or else."


Screaming silently, Jukner turned to the carved slab of stone and the pain was gone.  Above the altar he saw a bas-relief of a dragon breathing fire.  Fear returned uncontrolled; dragons were the worst of the outcast Gods.


"Step forward, hands on the altar," said Trinsk and Jukner leaped to obey.  The wizard began a cant, the voiced musical code of magic, then finished with  "Breshkareth, I beg you attend."  Thick, red smoke immediately poured from the carving to the altar.


"This is your choice?" said a deep, hollow voice.  Jukner shivered and shed tears, but could not make a sound.


"Yes, my master," intoned Trinsk, "he is."


The smoke lunged for Jukner, tangible and strong.  He felt it slither under his clothing, probing everywhere.  A tendril pushed between his lips and ruthlessly pried open his jaw; another shoved between his clenched buttocks.  


For just a moment it paused, as if savoring Jukner's terror, then invaded his body and mind.  It poured into his body without mercy, but he hardly noticed the pain as Breshkareth attacked his mind.  Jukner watched in his mind's eye as the dragon cruelly excised and consumed everything that made Jukner human and aware.


After a time the smoke was gone and Jukner's body stopped quivering.  Trinsk entered the room to place a blanket around the shoulders, but was waved away.  What once was Jukner stood straight, blood dripping as it turned to face Trinsk and raised it's arms.


"Before me rose a dark angel," Breshkareth said in a voice not human, "tall as a mountain and terrible to behold.  Under his feet were ashes and above his head he bore a great, flaming sword."


The End
  


  

Hard Writing

So, I'm two stories behind with another on deck.  I knew a story a day wouldn't be easy, much less all of them horror, but I'm not giving up.  In fact, I will strive to catch up at least one that I'm behind and do one for today, as well.  Wish me luck 8)

Left

WARNING:  Adult-ish content - language and sexual situation

"Oh, badass," said Len as he slapped the Corolla into park.  "Check it out."


Having been painfully awakened by the tire-screeching stop, Megan refused to answer.  Instead she rubbed where her shoulder had struck the dash and lit a cigarette.  As usual, Len totally failed to get it - he scrambled out of the car without acknowledging her discomfort.  Resigned, she got out, too.  No need to broil while he ransacked the trunk for his Nikon and tripod.


The disused road was barely paved; WV County Road 8/3 declared a rusting sign just ahead.  All Megan knew was they were somewhere between Ohio and Pennsylvania.  If they'd stuck to the highways they'd be back in Greensburg by now, but Len always insisted on taking the long way after a show for just this reason.  She had respected his desregard for most other people when they first met, but not so much now that it extended to her.


She leaned the butt of her khaki short-shorts against the front fender and tried to enjoy the smoke, but the smell of decay struck her between puffs.  Apparently the road wasn't entirely abandoned; something small and furry and maggotty was flattened on the asphalt near the other shoulder.


"Oh, God," Megan muttered then raised her voice. "Len, how long?"


"As long as it takes," he snapped distractedly as he tried to get the tripod low enough on the shoulder to catch the road kill in the foreground.


Cursing under her breath, she shaded her eyes to look up.  The sun blazed down from an otherwise empty sky; there was no possiblility of relief.  The only thing that looked cool was the blanket of forest covering the hills around them.  With another curse she flipped the cigarette butt at the faded center line and lit another.  For a moment she considered thumbing down the next car that passed, leave Lenny in the dust.


They both had too much invested for that to happen, she was sure.  House, furniture, her job, his photography business - it was all too twisted together to abandon.  Still, she fondly considered the possibility of freedom until the cigarette scorched its filter.  Instead of lighting another, she leaned back over the hood, propped her left flip-flop on the front wheel and pulled up her spaghetti-strap tank top to let the sun warm her belly and breasts.  If Len wasn't interested, maybe someone driving by might enjoy a show.


Megan's pose had almost become a nap when the trunk slammed shut.  Pique mostly passed, she resolved to let the bad feelings go for the day.  She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and blew it out slowly, hoping the stress would go with it.  A shadow passed over her face and a warm hand gently caressed her left breast.


"Mmm, like what you see, baby?" she said with a smile and opened her eyes, but Len wasn't there, nobody was there.  She sat up with a jerk; Len was still fiddling with his Nikon on the trunk.


"What I see is a dumbass trying to get us arrested," he said, rolling his eyes.  "Cover your tits up."


Absently, Megan pulled her down her top and stood up.  She peeked under the neckline, checked the front, even looked over the road for anything that might have fallen and touched her like that.  The caress had been so real, so warmly sensual, that the girl could hardly believe she'd imagined it.  The only explanation was a dream, and that's what she decided it was when Len summoned her to the rear of the Toyota.


"Yeah, baby?" she asked cheerfully.


"Look at these shots.  They are gonna kick some ass."  He turned the laptop so she could see the screen  The first two were basic candid shots showing the decaying structure and the trees behind.  The third was different - the tumbled rock and weathered wood structure was the same as the first two, but the angle was different, showing the road kill in the foreground and emphasizing one taller tree in the background.  


The fourth was a better framed version of the third, but with something so different it took her a few seconds to actually make it out.  The blurred figure of a nude woman with glowing eyes kneeled over the dead animal in the foreground.


"Shit!  What the hell, Len?"  Despite the temperature she shivered.


"I know, right?  Definitely a show piece."


"Whatever," Megan said.  She crossed her arms.  "That thing is just creepy."


"It's just an old house," he said sharply.  "Get a grip."


"No, the girl."  As she watched him glance at the screen then give her a puzzled look.  "Right there," she said, "right there."  She tapped the screen.


"What?  What are you talking about?"


"Just look and tell me you don't see that girl."


"No girl, Meg.  Tree, house, dead thing," he said, pointing at each as he named them, "but no girl.  What's wrong with you?"


Before she could answer something licked her bare toes.  She gave a wordless yell and hopped away from the car.  Len's cruel laughter instantly changed her fear to anger.


"Why the hell are you screwing with me?"  Her fists balled unconsciously.


"Screwing with YOU?  Are you fucking kidding?  You've been a bitch all weekend!"


The fight didn't last long.  In minutes Megan was watching the silver Corolla speed away, Len's left hand out the window showing the bird.  Rage bouyed her courage until she figured out her cell phone was still in the car, but after a few tears she pulled herself together.  A thought made her smile; it looked like she'd get to practice hitchhiking after all.


"You are Left," came a hoarse whisper behind her.  


Megan spun around, hands up protectively.  Her heart was slamming in her chest but almost stopped when she saw the woman from the picture standing just inches away.  For a brief moment Megan seemed to sense everything around her; no cars in sight, how far away the crumbling house was, the sound of birds squabbling in a flowered bush near the house, the smell of carrion and something else, something musky and exotic.


What Megan couldn't see clearly was the woman right in front of her.  Taller than Megan, she was blurred, like rising heat waves distorted her body.  In that instant of hesitation the woman tenderly took Megan's wrists and drew her into a hug, humming a lullaby.


Somehow struggle seemed useless so Megan tried to think it through.  This all had to be some kind of bad dream.  Len couldn't leave her like this, and the blurry mystery woman was pure imagination.  Except she'd just thought about leaving him first and the woman's nude form felt very real againt Megan.


"There, there," the woman finally said.  "Don't be 'fraid.  I be Diane and I be Left, too."  Diane stroked Megan's hair.  Intense awareness of their shared contact swept disconcertingly over Megan.


"Please let me go," she pleaded.  "I won't run, I promise."


"In good time, little one, take comfort.  For now we be close or you cannot hear me words.  Here, I show you.  Hold you tight to me hands."  Diane stepped back until both women were at arm's length.  Like rising heat and smoke, Megan could barely see the other woman's body.  Fear of being left alone prodded Megan and she hugged Diane close again.


"What are you?" she whispered into the woman's dark hair.


"I be Left, like you.  Long, long ago a mon left me for dead, as your mon left you."  She nuzzled Megan's cheek.  "You would not see me unless you be wantin' what I found then - freedom."


"How?"  Sudden hot desire made Megan forget the road beside them, her abandonment, everything else but Diane's body and what she seemed to offer.


"I can show you," Diane answered.  "Will you lay 'pon the Earth with me?"


"Yes," breathed Megan.  She let the woman lead her off the road's shoulder and pull her down into the grass.  Between kisses and caresses Diane stripped Megan, then knelt between her thighs.


Megan closed her eyes and gave herself to sensation - gentle, roving hands; soft lips; questing, insistent tongue.  On waves of orgasm she felt herself moving in a strange direction with nothing to hold on to but Diane; it was scary, thrilling, and after a long time, satisfying.


She opened her eyes to see other nude women around them, but Megan could now see them quite clearly.  Most bore scars and all looked underfed. Diane rose lithely and joined the surrounding circle; Megan could see her just as well as the rest. Then she noticed the rest of the world had turned more or less blurred.  She rubbed her eyes and several of the woman laughed.


"Do not worry," said Diane, holding out a hand to help Megan to her feet.  "Your eyes be telling the truth, little one.  You be with us.  We walk outside the touch or sight of the living.  No man or animal can hurt us, nor we them.  We were left behind, left for dead, left with no escape; we are the Left.  Now nothing in that world can bring harm to you, not even him."


The circle of women parted, allowing her to see Len standing on the shoulder by the Toyota.  His blurred form was holding one of her flip-flops and screaming her name, though she could hardly hear him.  The women watched Megan with sharp eyes.


"He came back," Megan said in wonder.  The other women stirred restlessly.


"But did he come back for you?" asked Diane, "or for his own wants?"


"He came for me," she answered confidently and faced Diane.  "Can I go back?"


"Only the dead are in all worlds, little one."  The circle closed tighter and some of the women reached out to stroke Megan's skin.


A memory intruded on Megan's mind, the image of Diane hungrily kneeling over the dead, stinking thing in the road.  No harm, the woman had said, to animals.  What did they eat?  Only the dead - or the Left.  


Panic came too late to save Megan; the Left dragged her, screaming and struggling, into the surrounding West Virginia woods.


The End

Basic Mistake

Final Passage

On the day I go
Let me ride
If the dark must win
Let me ride

Choose my final roads,
Pass 'neath leafless trees,
Follow kind shadows;
Oh, but if you please -

Let me ride there.


Naerev looked up from the poem when she heard cheers. The carriage had rounded Silver Urn Hill and come into sight of Alfa, the last village of her Passage. With deliberate care the girl put away quill, ink, and her secret vellum journal. As soon as her attention was off writing the dim, grey, rippled sky whispered to her, a sibilant babble of many tongues.

"Shh," Naerev said with no little petulance. "There is a party, so leave me be!" The voice withdrew immediately, but her raised voice caught the attention of the horse.

"Mum?" he asked, proud neck bent so he could cast a wise and mild eye on Naerev.

"I'm sorry, Bareth, it was nothing," she said. "Could you slow down a bit, please? I'm not ready for the party yet."

"Mum," he replied with a nod and snort. His plodding slowed even more.

Gazing out at the trees with no leaves and fields with no crops, she choked down tears for her dying world.

But as in every village along her Passage, the Passage Day Party cheered her. Feasting and dancing, singing and gift-giving; three full days of celebration and always the center of attention was Naerev.

The girl did her Passage duty well. She told all the old stories - how the Original Crew traveled between worlds on ships of fire and steel, what happened when a broken Q-bridge pulled their new world into the chaos between nothing and everything, and when the first Teller faced the Between, sacrificing herself to make the sky. Though she dearly wanted to, she did not read from her journal; trainers had forbidden such new tales on the Passage.

And the time passed too quickly; too soon the Elders were silently helping Naerev into the carriage for her Final Passage. Everyone else hid in their houses, sad eyes peeking at her. The Elders urged her to remember her training and raise the light to save the world.

Now on the final path, she remembered how her mother cried the first time Naerev told her about the talking sky. The child she was then did not understood why until years had passed and her training was fulfilled.

The gift to hear Between was rare now, so rare the last Teller had taken her Final Passage years before Naerev was born. Now the sky was low, and so dim no plants thrived. Now Naerev was the Teller on her Final Passage, youngest Teller since records of such things were kept.

Too soon Bareth stopped and whinnied. "Mum?"

Naerev stepped from the carriage reluctantly and stood beside the horse, looking at the barren ground ahead. A faint path wound through the stones and freakishly twisted grass. Barely visible beyond was the towering Lander. To her it looked like a monstrous needle piercing a village-sized mushroom cap.

"Bareth, will you come with me?" Naerev placed her pale left hand on his nose. "I'm afraid and don't wish to be alone." Though the day was but half gone, twilight pressed in all around.

"I would, for you." He nuzzled her hand. "My mind would leave. I could not stay." He hung his head low. "I am sorry."

She stamped her foot. "Why me? Why do I have do this? Why should I die?"

"You should not die," said Bareth. He place his cheek to hers to catch her tears. "And still you must. We have a path. I walk this road. You save us all. To each a path."

The girl looked back at the carriage and wished she could hide behind the red velvet drapes. Other wishes raced through her thoughts and she clung to the horse's neck. Patient as all his race, Bareth waited. After a time her thoughts slowed and peace finally came.

"Bareth, you won't forget me, will you?" the girl asked.

"No, I will not." He neighed long in sorrow. "All will know you."

Clutching her journal, Naerev turned from the horse and marched up the path. Bareth watched until her pale form passed from his sight, then hung his head sadly and waited.

Before long the sky lifted and glowed brighter. Murky ripples of Between faded to pearlescent swirls that disappeared into a sky brighter than Bareth had ever seen. He huffed the smell of warming soil, shivered at the freshening breeze on his back.

Though he knew she wouldn't return, Bareth waited though the night, catching naps on his feet between rain storms. Only when the sky lightened with dawn's glow did he turn the carriage about, a carriage now an empty hearse. Then he began the long Honored Return through Alfa and Beeta and all the other villages of Fallen.

The End?