[Other Original] Angels and Other Abominations (Short Fictions | Updated 8/12/2016)

[Necrum]

Intro
I welcome you all into an exploration of the human mind; My mind to be precise. A dark place filled with hope and wonder, misunderstood mutilations and misanthropic monstrosities. This thread is a place to test my writings on a small scale. It is my hope to, in time, publish all of these works. Therefore I hold them under the strictest of personal copyrights! I will do anything and everything to protect my works, so please do not go copypasta all over them, these are not for you to spread around, but for you to enjoy. Some of the stories you will find here may be violent, as is prone to happen when dealing with the things that lurk in the shadows.

Angels are funny things, aren't they? If you asked anyone to describe an angel you would probably get a straight forward description of a man or woman wearing flowing white and gold robes, a pair of white wings, a beautiful face, and, of course, a halo. But, if you do a little research, the truth of what an angel looks like is usually horrifying! Monsters with the faces of four different beasts, some with no faces at all. These things we associate with the most pure aspects of the world and cosmos are only so because they are associated with God. Drop an angel from Heaven and what do we call it? A devil, a demon, a tempter, a trickster, anything and everything but angel. Take away the wings of a fly and you still have a fly. A fallen angel is still an angel. And not every angel has your best interest in mind.

What follows is a collection of stories. Perhaps you will find angels among them, but more often you will simply find abominations. I know they might be scary at first, but trust me, you're better off with them than the Angel...


I have posted this story in a previous thread, but have since revised it per some feedback and my own constantly changing perceptions. I will very likely amend it even further than I already have, but I present for your enjoyment the first revision of the story I started writing on the night of the...

Eclipse

[FONT=&quot]I stood in the middle of my gravel driveway, the cool rocks prickling my exposed piggies. I could scarcely make out the pale, twinkling stars above. Somehow the absolute darkness of the eclipsed moon extended beyond the grasp of terrestrial soil. A grim shadow hanging over my head, ever hungry to steal the soothing comfort of light. From in this shadow, I was blind to the artifacts of the full moon, only just seen the night before. A single cricket continued its song into the uncouth void. The rest, too fearful of the daemon.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]At first I didn't notice him. A black figure against a black air against a black tree line. My vision attuned in an attempt to pull stars out of the tar, allowing me a glimpse of his eyes before he turned away; Not in shame, but in hiding. Still, I could not trust my own senses. I could not believe that anyone would be out partying on a night such as the lunar eclipse, such a rare and wondrous sight![/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I must admit, it was difficult to track the figure in its spasmodic patterns. I soon came to realize that he was circling me: He would make it halfway around the ring before starting in the other direction, always give or take up to a dozen feet. He shifted back and forth around me for quite some time. Long enough that I almost forgot about the stars. I dared not look away from the figure.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Without any warning the figure stopped, now precisely opposite of his origin. His dubious intentions hiding just behind the thick blackness of the night. My throat clenched anxiously, protecting me from my own curiosity. The daemon began to stride through the gravel, his feet, if they were so, disbursing none in their path. As he approached me, I became painfully aware of my miscalculation. When I first saw the figure, I made the mistake of assuming he was of human height, and for that matter, human proportions. At a distance I couldn't tell if he was human, but I never could have imagined how chaotic the difference would be. He had the staples: two arms, two legs, a head with hair. He was not unlike humans, and yet he was. His fingers were crooked, and variable in size and direction. As if none of them shared the same master. His elbows hanged far behind the connecting wrists. As cliché as it sounds, the daemon's thighs started forward to the knee as any man, but crooking back at the shin as in a common goat. To my disgust there were no hooves at the end of this monstrosity; only a pair of very normal set human feet. The combination of inconsistent details churned in the depths of my stomach.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I knew exactly how this would end. I'd seen dozens, if not hundreds of horror films in my lifetime. I was screwed no matter what I did. Stay where I am, the monster would surely eat me. If I run, the monster would chase me on those nauseous legs whose movements made no noise.
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]I stood there for what felt like a thousand eternities and still the moon refused to return. Or perhaps it was that long, and I simply could not track time properly without the aid of the waxing moon.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]The daemon now stood mere inches away from me, his breath filling my lungs with a thick air, a rotten air, an air so vile no being alive or dead on Earth could possibly produce. It was like breathing in the stench of beached whales infused with the dense aroma of the New Orleans French Quarter on a miserably hot afternoon but worse still! My torso buckled, a burning stab in my chest, surely a reaction to the foul concoction. All I could hear was the wheezing of my own voice as I struggled to breathe the stifling air.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I tilted my head upward the daemon, cautiously. He towered well above me, as if some force had reverted me to childhood. I had not looked up at anyone since the seventh grade. I stand above all but the highest, and yet the daemon stood even taller.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Over the daemon's shoulder, I could see it at last. A sliver of silver amongst the inky void. And then it came. The first glimpse of light revealed the daemon's face. A myriad of razor sharp teeth lined the edge of the daemon's eyelids, every blink a sinister, snapping snarl. His pupils slitted like a cat, glowing a deep blood crimson from the surrounding iris. Of his nose I can say nothing, for there was little more than a flat surface where you might find one. Numerous lightly colored scales were pulled tight over the structure of the daemon's face, each one more grotesque than the last. His wild black hair was perhaps the most mundane of his features, but it was unkempt to the extreme.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]"Argentum aut anima vestra." The daemon's voice was startlingly deep. A tone almost beyond the range of mortal ears.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]"W-what?" It was the only question I could think of. The one word that now consumed my brain's every function. Every facet. Every-[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]"Sil… ver… or… your… soul." The daemon struggled with the foreign words, its native tongue betrayed by the alien structure of American English. The message made no sense, though. Silver? What use is silver to a daemon so implausible?[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]"Why silver? Why now? Why-"[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]"Luna sacrificium postulat." The daemon paused, lines of frustration were clear even on the scaly surface of the its face. "Luna… de… mands… sacrifice!" Suddenly, everything clicked in my brain. My subconscious calculation finally reaching the logical conclusion of an illogical situation.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]This daemon was a servant, not of the bowels below the terrestrial crust, but of noble Luna, hanging high in the aethereal void. On this, the night of the eclipse, Luna required something lost in the darkness. Her shine. Did return of the moon require an offering? Perhaps this daemon was merely a necessity, as the moon has not been properly worshipped in many centuries.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]My fingers were once the tools of music, an art of precision and focus; Here they turned to scrambling desperately at my pockets, attempting to find something of value the daemon could take in place of my one and only eternal soul. No crevice or fold of the cloth was left unchecked at least three times over. No matter how desperately I searched, the emptiness of my pockets never changed.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I turned my head back toward the daemon, now seeming only inches from my face. Under the increasing light of the moon, I could finally see it. The one feature I knew had to be there, and yet had eluded me until that moment. The daemon had spoken to me. Surely it had a mouth? I regret with all of my still heart that I had not been left unaware of its existence. The fearsome maw was filled with the same darkness that had until very recently filled the starlit sky. I could see not tongue, nor gum, nor cheek, nor uvula. All that was was teeth. Horrid, jagged teeth. In every crux and crevice, save the endless pit of shadow it descended into. The servant of Luna was her shadow, this daemon a physical manifestation of the eclipse itself.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]My witness to the shadow had cast both regret and hope in a single moment. This clear contrast to the night sky meant that Luna was regaining strength. If I could just delay the inevitable long enough to allow her full recovery, I might just escape with my life intact.
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]But I knew far better than that. The daemon was becoming impatient after my aberrant display of desperation.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]"Time… is… up."[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Panic consumed my very being, allowing me nothing but a shivering convulsion in reaction to the daemon's declared decision. I was dead, and nothing but Heaven above could save me. But Heaven has no sway in the shadows. And Heaven was too far from my reach now. And Heaven was no longer in my heart. And Heaven-[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]The daemon wasted no more time. It seemed I had reached the end of my perceived story. If only I had realized at that time how wrong I was. Perhaps I may then have enjoyed my transition. But I had not. And I did not. The daemon swung his arm with great precision and speed, or at least I think it was speed. Perhaps his fingers had been at my throat the whole time. The first finger penetrated my left jugular, my conscious mind aware of every cell separated in the process. As the finger reached my apple, I felt the others began to flow through the path cut by the pioneer. The blood began to gush down my sweaty shirt, the drain sucking all semblance of heat from my corpse. With every remaining beat of my heart, the splotch became bigger and more crimson. The silver light of the moon had nearly returned to its full glory, and in this revelation, I could see the unending guilt upon the daemon's face as he carved me from ear to ear.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]I didn't feel the rest of the gash. The icy touch of the air on my declining body had made me numb to even the gravel. I thought about all the people who would miss me, I wish now that I could tell them I am always wtching. Always leaving a prayer for their hopes, dreams, and wellbeing. If only. If-[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]A drop of warmth? Impossible. I was already dead, and the dead do not feel. In the eternity that had passed those few seconds, I had forgotten how to read my own senses properly. Warmth? How? Where? I could not perceive until another eternity had brought me to realize that my own blood had warmed the piggies. A final solace in the shoeless night, a recovery from cool touch of the gravel. In my final moment, before the daemon took me away, I became aware of every pebble in the girth of my driveway. Every subtle tilt of every subtle shard overloaded my senses with information that until that very moment I had ignored for its lack of relevance.[/FONT][FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The daemon smiled, and I felt comfort. I must have been mad, comfort. I guess I came to understand that the grotesque form was disconnected from the beast's true nature. The last breath of my life released with it a shining light, whose brilliance illuminated every star in the cosmic pit. The last thing I saw before abandoning my body was the absolute beauty of Mother Luna, her embrace sucking from me the light I had just exhumed.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]After that, there was nothing left for my body to see. The darkness seemed to return, only for a minute. When I finally saw once more, I was looking down on Earth, my home of twenty-five years. I now help Mother Luna, every night, every day, providing humanity with something greater, something to aspire towards, something to inspire artists, something-

[/FONT]

 

[Necrum]

In the Northwest we see a lot of rain. Rain which is always accompanies by a horde of wriggling crawling creatures we give the lowliest of names: worms. It's entirely outside their control of course, they don't decide when to be driven to the surface; it's all necessity for survival! And yet year after year I see the remnants of stomped worms litter the sidewalks, as if they somehow are undeserving to be on the surface by decree of a three foot tall snot nosed god. It was on such a rainy day that I decided to write a poem. Now I'm no poet by any stretch; verse is really not my style. But prose I can handle, and so it is a boon that such a genre for those as myself exists called prose poetry! And so follows my first and perhaps only poem to be in this collection.

A Day in the Life of The Unworthy Earthworm
A Prose Poem

[FONT=&quot] The Unworthy Earthworm awakens each day in absolute darkness. He doesn't know it's dark, of course, for all is dark in the life of a worm. For most species on the planet Earth, darkness is a bane, a veil to which any countless horrors could be waiting just beyond. But not for the Unworthy, whom instead derives comfort in the cover of shadows. Freedom is a luxury, and one I'd rather not risk my life on.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] The Unworthy Earthworm lives forever in the cold, though warm in some places, deep dark of subterranean Earth, a dank and meaningless existence. It makes no difference to the Unworthy, whom simply continues doing exactly as it always has, what it loves indefinitely: digging. Dig, dig, dig. Always forward, always onward, never ceasing. Why should I do anything else when there's so much dirt left?[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] The Unworthy Earthworm hates family reunions, in fact he hasn't attended a single one. He simply can't stand the idea of being near his freeloading cousin, the Uncaring Tapeworm. The Unworthy would rather earn his food the old fashioned way, instead of feeding on the consumption of others. The Uncaring always insists that he does more than just sitting in the belly of pigs waiting for gruel to flow down its illustrious esophagus, and then promptly decides that it's a waste of time. He'll never amount to anything as long as he relies on everyone else.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] The Unworthy Earthworm awoke today to a new sensation. It was a cold unlike that which the dirt provided. It was softer than the dirt, something the Unworthy had never imagined possible. The area around the anomaly gave way with less force, easing the burden of the Unworthy's digging. It was like a dream come true. But the Unworthy was blind to the rain that was penetrating the earth and its dire consequences. I have a good feeling about this.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] The Unworthy Earthworm is asphyxiating, the dirt collapsing on all sides of him as it engorges with the dense rainfall above, flooding his once and future home. Panic! The Unworthy rushes to dig up, wherever up may be he does not know. A primitive sense the Unworthy never needed suddenly deploys, and for the first time in its life the Unworthy can feel the Earth's gravitational pull. At first, the Unworthy follows the natural guidance, but then the primal instinct that thousands Unworthy before him honed through aeons of evolution whispers in his ear, and the Unworthy begins to dig against the cosmic force which keeps all life from flying endlessly in the void. I don't know why, but this way must be safe.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] The Unworthy Earthworm emerges from the lonely solitude of the depths below. An expanse far beyond the comprehension of the Unworthy surrounds the fearful worm. But all the Unworthy cares about is the now lack of dirt around him. Returning to his home, quite impossible so long as rain falls, is all he longs to do. But the water continues to pool, even here, even now. So the Unworthy crawls through the enigma that is the surface world. I'm wasting good digging time, perhaps I can find somewhere safer.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] The Unworthy Earthworm inches across the barren landscape he's been forced into, a mostly innocuous journey, save the occasional rough gravel scattered across the expanse. For hours the Unworthy inches across strange land, until he reaches an impasse: a wall as hard as any stone, though far more flat, the Unworthy has ever encountered. A slab of concrete, standing at a massive three inches tall! To you or I, it is a triviality, but to the Unworthy this terrible monolith is like an insidious R'lyeh, an alien structure pushing the Unworthy to the brink of madness. This is impossible, no worm could dig a wall like this![/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] The Unworthy Earthworm begins climbing the great wall as the cool touch of water welling up from his former safety works to cover the Unworthy's rear end. Though strange it may be, the wall is rough with outcroppings which the Unworthy can find traction against, allowing for a slow, steady ascent into whatever lies beyond the precipice of understanding. The Unworthy will never truly understand, though. For his place is not under the clouds which have driven him here, but beneath the unworthy dirt he was born unto. I can't wait to start digging again.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] The Unworthy Earthworm lies victorious. The only water he feels is the damp concrete below and the occasional rogue drop smacking him from above. This place isn't much better than the barren waste, but at least he is safe. If only it were so. For unbeknownst to the Unworthy, he has invaded the Realm of Man, a sacred place known only as a "Sidewalk", where Homo Sapien strides to and fro on a daily basis in an effort to reach an oft unimportant destination. Okay, so it wasn't such a good thing before, but I have an even BETTER feeling about things now.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] The Unworthy Earthworm doesn't get good feelings. The only feeling the Unworthy has is an instinctual aversion to danger. Generally, the Unworthy spends so much time underground, that this response never quite has the opportunity to be explored, except on occasion of bird attacks- which the Unworthy had always survived. And so, from two massive feet away came two massive feet. And with them a distant massive rumbling, a seismic shift under the slab of cement. I have a REALLY good feeling about THIS![/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] The Unworthy Earthworm awakens each day in absolute darkness. His severed remains crushed out against the walkway of the gods. He will never reach the other side of the great expanse. Never again feel the caress of dirt against his epidermis as he bores deeper and deeper into subterranean Earth. A valorous effort for survival, and we've stamped it out on the sidewalk. I miss home...[/FONT]

 

[Bay]

Oh cool, more stories from you. =D

I read Eclipse some months ago and gave some feedback, but I'm interested what revisions you did here. I noticed you changed some paragraphing here, and looking at the original version I pulled up in another tab, this new version does read easier. Besides some changes I suggested, you also took out a few other phrases here and there, for instance this from the original-

...It didn't look any more normal than the rest of this fetid abomination, but it was unkempt to the extreme. As if it belonged to metropolis sloth, a low class of human existence, living in their own filth for months. Never bathing. Never thinking. Never-

I kinda like the writing style at the end (never x, never y), but I can see why this part you took out as it got a bit repetitive over the daemon's description. Overall, though, this version reads smoother and I still enjoy the brutal death at the end, haha.

Now for Unworthy Earthworm. Interesting writing style you have here for this piece. Whenever the worm goes "I have a good feeling about this," I was like "until you either have children eat you or birds catching you," pffft. And oh, earthquakes. I admit, the "I miss home" at the very end does makes me feel bad for it a little. This I enjoyed a lot also and look forward to any more short stories you have!

 

[Necrum]

[FONT=&quot]Taking a break from a [FONT=&quot][FONT=&quot]l[FONT=&quot]engthier stor[FONT=&quot]y I've been working on, I [FONT=&quot]decided to [FONT=&quot]del[FONT=&quot]ve into my little book of ideas, which I always carry around with me to jot down little moments of inspiration and d[FONT=&quot]reams, in the hopes of writing a piece of flash fiction[FONT=&quot]. Someho[FONT=&quot]w I still managed to break 1000 wor[FONT=&quot]ds though, so I'm a bit mad about that, but this is just a [FONT=&quot]rough draft, so on f[FONT=&quot]urther revision I hope to bring the word count down. This idea was inspired by a description my Grandma gave of a house she was working on (she paints houses sometimes) where she said the plaster c[FONT=&quot]eiling looked like a bunch of wor[FONT=&quot]ms. I jotted that down as soon as she said it, and fi[FONT=&quot]gu[FONT=&quot]red it would be the perfect idea for a q[FONT=&quot]ui[FONT=&quot]ck[FONT=&quot]y story. This st[FONT=&quot]ory is also som[FONT=&quot]ewhat of a gift for my [FONT=&quot]Mom given that tomorrow is [FONT=&quot]Mother's Day. She'll be getting a revised copy on he[FONT=&quot]r Kindle tomorrow. This here is a straight transcription of my manuscript. Oh, and one last thing, the [FONT=&quot]reference [FONT=&quot]in the story to That Bitch [FONT=&quot]means Hurricane [FONT=&quot]Katrina, an[FONT=&quot]d is what [FONT=&quot]many New Orleans residents actually refer to the hurricane as. UPDATE[FONT=&quot]1: I reduced t[FONT=&quot]he word count to 962. Fu[FONT=&quot]ture [FONT=&quot]revisions will focus more on re[FONT=&quot]fining the text instead of dropping words[FONT=&quot].[/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT]

The [FONT=&quot]Wretched House[/FONT]
For my Mother

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]I will never, for the remainder of my days, forget the wretched house. It was a dreadful experience, and not one I wish to recount, but I fear more greatly the consequences of inaction than the journey into the bleaker parts of my memory. But you must make an oath to me: that you will haste immediately to the place of my disturbance and raze it to the ground it a flurry of purifying flame so that no one else ever discovers its secret!

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot] As a matter of course, I sometimes find myself in ghost houses. I never believed in such nonsense, but an abandoned house always has a quality to it that fills one with a deep seeded unrest. The empty walls almost echo the conversations so long passed. The air filled with the stale aromas of people that once were. The light casting from the windows, barely enough to illuminate the far corners of the formerly furnished room.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot] It was inside the very epitome of a ghost house that I found myself in the summer of 2012. Blisteringly hot that year, even by Louisiana standards. I'd had my eye on the place for over a month just to be sure it was truly empty. The last thing I wanted was to be jumped by some low-life squatter waiting to do god-knows-what to anyone trespassing on their territory.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot] How to describe the beauty of New Orleans architecture? It's something you need to see for yourself. A raised stoop edged with rising pillars like great spires toward the sky. The walls rippling down at a perfect interval. The black fence covered with a combination of faux metal and overgrown vines from head to toe. At the gate was a great fleur-de-lis split down the middle, the right half knocked over into the grass, which hadn't been mowed in years. The negligence of faded and chipped paint, shameful.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot] You must be asking yourself why I chose this house in particular, especially when there were so many better prizes left to plunder in the slowly recovering New Orleans after That Bitch wrought so much destruction. Truth be told, I'm not really sure what drew me there. It was an attraction like Mosquitos to a lamp. The house had gravity. It wanted me, and I wanted its secrets.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot] I broke in through the rear door with ease. The front was boarded up tight but the back was rotten to the core. The wood collapsed like eroding dirt. My axe was entirely unnecessary, but I carried it nonetheless in anticipation of any ne'er-do-wells I may have missed. The house seemed quite empty upon my arrival. I strolled up and down the hall, peaking into all of the rooms looking for any signs of life but to no avail.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot] There was, however, a curious detail I nearly missed. By chance, I decided to look up at the ceiling in hopes of spotting a strapped and hidden drug deal along the corners of the room. My eyes were drawn to the plastering. Typically, one expects to see either a level ceiling or a very bumpy one, but this one went far beyond that. The plaster was extruded from the surface like worms crawling out of the Earth, numbering in the thousands. They were most unsightly, and, had I found any prize to carry away, I might have left right then. But there was still the basement.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot] Most of the bedroom doors were missing, but the one hiding darkness hung firm and slightly ajar. I readied my axe and tipped the door open with my off hand, a long, drawn out whine echoing down the hall. Cautiously, I tip-toed down the steps into unknown depths.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot] The stairwell opened up into a large, spacious room with a support pillar in the center and two windows illuminating the basement with the last glow of daylight. As my shoe touched the cement floor, it smacked, wet with water or viler substances. I traced the edge of the room carefully, allowing my natural night vision to adjust. Some old leaky pipe must be responsible, I thought to myself.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot] Then, the unthinkable. I felt, on the back of my ear, a droplet of something wet. I recoiled only to realize I must be under the very pipes that drenched the floor. But when I turned mine eyes to the ceiling, I saw no pipe or leak. What hung above my head was the same thousand fold wormlike structures as on the floor above. Except... they moved. Oh God, they moved! Writhing about overhead, their undulations ever increasing as the light of day passed! I reached behind my head, desperate for an explanation for the moisture but when my hand drew forth I was greeted by a vile pus yellow! And all at once the things in the ceiling wriggled and shrieked as more of the substance spewed from their mouths in a rain of effluence!

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot] My axe hit the ground with a wet thud as I turned and ran for the door. I tried desperately to escape the torrent, but the worms were everywhere! Everywhere I ran the little monsters were vomiting, pelting my body with more and more ooze until finally I emerged free from that horrid place!

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot] I tried to tell some of my colleagues about the incident not long after it occurred, but they all thought I was crazy for even entering such a dismal place. No one ever believed me about those terrible nightmares, but you have to, you have to burn it to the ground, you must, for someone has taken interest in the property, someone who will sell it and you cannot let that happen they must die you hear me you must burn down the wretched house![/FONT]

 

[Bay]

Truth be told, I'm not I'm not really sure what drew me there.

Repetition of "I'm not" there.

I admit I like the description of the drenched floor, worms and pus at the end. Gives that creepy vibe well there. I like the reference to Hurricane Katrina and New Orleans, too.

Since you mention you want to have the wordcount down for this, I think getting rid of the second paragraph where the narrator mentions "ghost houses" would be a good start. While I like the description there, it does slow down a bit as this story is supposed to be the narrator visiting the worm house. One other part you can take out probably is the phrase "machine-like precision produced by human hands" from the next paragraph. I feel that phrase is filler text.

Overall, a pretty enjoyable Mother's Day read. I'm pretty sure your mom might like it, haha.

 

[Necrum]

Okay, I have cut enough words to make the count 962, and made a couple of simple fixes I missed when transcribing. The version of The Wretched House currently posted is the one I sent to my Mom this morning.

 

[Necrum]

Contains mild drug and alcohol use and cursing

[FONT=&quot][FONT=&quot]I have been working on this piece for some time now, and am very proud to say tha[FONT=&quot]t it's my longest wor[FONT=&quot]k to date with a [FONT=&quot]goal of 2000 wor[FONT=&quot]ds which I beat by over 500. This story ta[FONT=&quot]c[FONT=&quot]kles an issue that scares me personally which is alien abduction, [FONT=&quot]though [FONT=&quot]there really isn't much fear in the story itself. I see this as a [FONT=&quot]sort of catalyst for other stories I may write in the future,[FONT=&quot] but for now I give you the beginning signal[FONT=&quot]ed b[FONT=&quot]y[/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT]
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]The Beacon[/FONT][FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
​

[FONT=&quot]I[/FONT]​

[FONT=&quot]BEE – Bee – Bee – bee...

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]The sound echoed across the woodland prison that is the Columbia Gorge.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]Sweat dripped onto my knuckles from a cold can of PBR. THC was still buzzing around in my skull, questioning whether I'd heard the sound at all. Not much else to do in Evercrest but smoke bud all day. Makes the sawmill more tolerable, anyway. Especially when all you do for a living is sweep the continuous flow of sawdust that accumulates 24 hours a day 365 days of the year, minus Christmas. After a while it crushes your soul so that only the sweet leaf, and more potent substances, can put a little pep in your step.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]BEE – Bee – Bee – bee...

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]The sound again. There was no way I imagined it. My usual hallucinations never repeated, the right hemisphere always eager to exercise new and original ways of fucking with me. Whatever the source, it made me uneasy. Figured maybe I should ask Bill later.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]II[/FONT]​

[FONT=&quot]A couple hours later I rose from the porch of my trailer: four steps and an outstretched platform covered with cheap, plastic, green carpeting with a slanted metal roof. I put a lawn gnome giving the peace symbol on the outer corner of the porch when I first moved in. The local punks have since busted one of the fingers off, turning it into a more unpleasant gesture.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]The sound had subsided some time ago, but the unease hadn't. Normally I wouldn't visit Bill and Helen on my nights off. They were along my route to work. But I had questions to ask. And besides, I finished my last can of PBR. It was time to make a trip to the Jiffy.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]I double checked my wallet with an awkward butt touch and made certain to lock the front door on my way out. The jingle jangle of keys in my pocket was obnoxiously loud. I should really wear tighter jeans.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]I stopped off midway to the Jiffy at a small cemetery: Phoenix Gates. I don't often get a chance to pay my respects when I have to work.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]There were flat polished stones and fancy pillar stones spread all across the lot. None too fancy, of course. Most around these parts could barely afford burial, let alone a headstone. Two of the graves were marked by tall, ancient slabs of stone, each wearied by erosion and moss. The dates were missing so it was impossible to tell just how long the bodies, and the stones, had been there. I touched one of the twin monoliths, gently resting my hand on its torso. It seemed as if a distant sorrow was calling to me from deep inside the granite. Deeper than was rationally possible of the stone slab.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]I didn't linger for long; the looming threat of the sound never left the back of my mind.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]Helen and Bill only lived in a few short blocks from Phoenix Gate Cemetery. When I arrived, Bill was exactly where I'd left him: sitting on his porch polishing two barrels of hard steel. "Helen!" Bill screeched back into the bowels of the run down mess of a shack they called home. "We got comp'ny!" I always thought his bulbous pot belly was a hilarious contrast to the sticks hanging from his torso. A thin, meth-ridden husk of a woman stepped out of the hut. She smiled as she saw me, great chasms dividing each tooth from its sisters.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]Well I'll be damned," said Helen. "What the hell brings you here? You didn't pick up an extra shift didja?"

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]"You must not know me that well if you really think I'd ever work more work than I'm scheduled." Fat chance. "Nah I'm just on a food run and I thought I'd ask y'all about the sound."

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]"Sound?" Helen was bemused. I already could tell what she was thinking. Hell, I was thinking it myself.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]"God fuckin' dammit, woman! It wasn't no extra-torestials!" Bills face was a wrathful red.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]"Aliens?" I asked. I'd heard plenty about "supanach'ral hocus pocus" from Bill before, but most of it was the typical Bigfoot sightings so common of the Northwest.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]Bill turned his fury upon me next. "There ain't no god-damned aliens out there or anywhere!" Bill huffed, then took a deep breath. Seemed to calm him down a bit. If yer talkin' 'bout that beepin, all it is is them loggers up on the hill sendin' out their signal."

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]I wasn't particularly convinced. "Logging this close to Evercrest? I thought they were still around Carson."[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]"Ah you never know withose basterds. They'll keep trees fallin til the whole Gorge is dead." Bill was right of course, the loggers have been slowlu devouring as much forest as they could get their greasy paws on, and Washington was rife with trees. Firs mostly. keeps the Gorge green all year 'round.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]Bill set his shotgun resting against the wall and pulled a beer off a sixpack next to his folding chair. Miller Lite. He offered the remaining three cans in my direction, dangling them from an empty plastic rung. I declined. "I don't drink shit; only the best."

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]"Only the best my ass! Beebehawr drinkin' sonova bitch."

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]Helen stepped out of the doorway and looked at me like one of her dealers. Hungry and desperate. "I'm not crazy, right? I swear that weren't like any loggers I ever heard. You can't even hear those machines..." Bill just sipped his piss water. "We saw on, you know! A space ship, I mean..."

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]"It wasn' a spaceship! It was wunnathem stealth jets." Bill's face was red again.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]I interjected. "Bill, why don't you let the lady tell her story? What harm could it be? I'd really like to hear it." Helen beamed at me and revealed the remnants of her teeth. A side effect of the meth was that Helen's teeth were now worn down nubs of their former shape.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]Bill huffed and waved his open hand as he turned to stare off into the woods making himself oblivious to the test of the world. Helen leaned in and began the tale.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]III[/FONT]​

[FONT=&quot]Me and Bill were enjoying a cool winter night in the hot tub out back. Damn thing don't work no more, but this was a few years 'go when it was still brand new. The starts filtered through the trees like headlights passing a blinded window. There wasn't any moon that night, ya see. Everything in Heaven was for our eyes a feastin'.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]We had the light and the radio turned down so we could take in the wonders of nature without interuptin'. The wind and the frogs and the crickets and the trees and the bats and the last leaves of fall droppin to the ground. It was beautiful, that night.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]After a while, me and Bill became... distracted with each other. He has this way of nibbling on my ear that drives me cr-

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]God dammit, woman! He doesn't want to hear about our private time!

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]Er, of course, sorry. So we spent some time enthralled with each other, and right after our "big bang" we sat silently in the tub. But we weren't the only silent ones. Every single sound—the frogs, the trees, hell even the wind—was totally gone. It was more quiet than I ever heard in my life. Bill, the pushover, was completely out of it and didn't seem to notice. He probably thought it was real pleasant. But I knew somethin' was wrong. Real wrong.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]And not the kinda wrong you feel when you steal twunny bucks from a purse in the supermarket. This was wrong on a—what's the word?[/FONT][FONT=&quot]֫[/FONT][FONT=&quot]—medafisocal level. I looked all around the back yard frannicly, but nothin' out of the ordinary stuck out. But really I couldn' see a whole lot without the moon lightin' up the place. I looked up into the trees. The stars I had just been able to make out not more than ten minutes ago were cut in completely missing! It was difficult to make out with the trees, but the empty space formed something like a fat boomerang.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]Just like a stealth jet!

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]Fuck you, Bill, I ain't never seen any jet sit so still and silent and low! It weren't no jet, I tell ya! It was an alien craft watchin' us- probably wanted to see what a human mating ritual looks like, and what better subjects than us making love out in the open on a night dark enough to hide?

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]Anyway, I shook Bill awake, but he wouldn't budge, so I swooped up a wave of water large enough to soak his whole face. That definitely woke 'im up. Shoulda heard him cussin' at me: "Fuckin' hell, woman! You teyin' tuh drown me?" He kept goin' for a while too til he realized I wasn't lookin' at 'im. "Jesus Christ! Wut is that?!"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]At first I think he was on my side. Knew that nothin' on Urth could be so quiet 'n' still in the sky. He only started trying to rationalize it later. We sat there in wonder, staring at something our brains can't understand, for over an hour. It seemed a lot shorter than that, and I sometimes wonder if they didn't beam us on board and made us forget after they did things to us. Ya know?

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]Whatever the case, when the ship was done watching us, it took off without a sound, zipping away where we couldn't see it any more.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]IV[/FONT]​

[FONT=&quot]I returned home an hour later, bag of junk in hand, with Helen's story mulling about in my head. I tried to convince myself that the story was little more than the concoction of a drug-fried brain. But every time I almost believed that, the damn beacon echoed through my memories. How long was I out earlier? Would I have even noticed in my altered state?

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]Nonsense! No alien ever altered anyone in broad daylight from their porch where the whole damned neighborhood could see. Then again, Evercrest was a quiet community. At any given moment you could be left totally alone, far as the rest of the world is concerned. Most folks keep to themselves during the small hours of the day.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]None of that mattered as I stepped up onto my trailer's porch. I locked the door, I remember it so clearly. I had been extra careful to bring my keys. I locked the door.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]The front door was wide open.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]It was impossible! This town may be small, but no one but no one leaves their door open when they leave home unattended. Meth was rampant in these parts, and anyone would smile in your face as fast as they would sell you out for a hit. Anything and everything to get high.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]The main room was spacious enough to fit my tube TV, one and a half couches, and an entire kitchen, complete with sink and stove. All of it was in the same slightly disheveled state I'd left it in, so I slipped my hand behind the door and retrieved the aluminum bat I kept for emergencies such as this.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]Tip toeing through the minefield of plastic bags, courtesy of FritoLay, I slowly made my way to the treasure trove of my bedroom. Anything worth stealing would be foolish to keep in the main room. The hall progressed into darkness, each step toning it deeper. As I passed the washing machine I whipped an eye to the left to check my bathroom. Empty. The bedroom was directly in front of me now, behind a shadow so thick you could swim in it. Leading with the butt of my bat, I inched my way into the den. In place of wrappers, there were dirty clothes strewn about the floor and my queen sized bed. To the left was a great powerhouse tower of a computer whose sole purpose was the simulation of blood and gore, connected to thirty inches of plasma.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]I lowered the bat. The room was empty. No sign of life besides that of my own. Aside from the door, there was no indication that anyone had even been in my house. I was befuddled. But I knew my next shift would start in a few short hours, so I locked up, made myself a sandwich, turkey and American on white, and laid down to sleep.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]V[/FONT]​

[FONT=&quot]Black. My room was pitch black in the absence of the sun. The green LEDs next to my bed said "02:13am." A box shape roughly the size of a computer tower watched me from the small table on the right of my bed, staring at me with a single piercing eye like a sentinel.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]I can't remember what it was that woke me, because the sentinel made no noise. It was as if I could feel its presence radiating through my skull like THC. The sentinel was speaking to me, but I could not hear it. All at once my mind was flooded with images so quickly I couldn't even comprehend, but now my memory has set the images in order, or at least the best order it can process:

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]There is a field of wild golden grass and a figure stands in a small clearing and two squared holes pierce the Earth (if it is Earth) and the figure is slender and two gargantuan rock spires float towards the figure and the figure is pale and animals, mostly reptilian, standoff at great distance and the figure opens his black eyes and the figure's brothers or sisters are lowered into the pits and the figure clenches its four fingers into a fist and the spires plant themselves at the head of each pit and a drop of something that's not quite water leaks from the corner of the figure's eye and when I snapped out of it I was crying and I couldn't understand why but it was the last thing on my mind then.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The black of my bedroom had been replaced by a glaring spotlight directly above me. At some point I must have gotten up because I was standing erect. My bare feet were warmed by a polished metallic platform, the edge of which I couldn't quite see past, with exception of the sentinel still watching me. Hard to say how long I was standing there with no point of reference, but eventually the sentinel approached me and a figure I now take to be the same as my visions followed behind in the shadows. It spoke to me again with words rather than images. Words that sounded like gibbering nonsense to my ear but which my consciousness could understand.

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]"Our time here is over, young one. I must abandon this world. A---Z (I knew there was a name here but I don't know how to spell it) is coming, and I have no authority over her. There will be pain, but if you survive you will flourish. May we meet again, young one."[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]VI[/FONT]​

[FONT=&quot]In the blink of an eye I was alone, standing in front of two obelisks dedicated to those not yet forgotten. Phoenix Gates again. Three times in one day; it's not healthy spending so much time in a cemetery. I dropped to my knees in the grass, extending my fingers through the multitude of blades. There was comfort in their touch. Might have stayed there forever, except

[/FONT] [FONT=&quot]BEE - Bee - Bee - bee[/FONT]

 

[Ice1]

I feel your stuff moves a bit slowly, focusing a lot on the description, although maybe that's your intent. I also struggle a bit to empathise with the main characters in most pieces, because of the vocabulary you use. Especially for a piece that is meant to invoke dread and horror, it's a lot scarier if the words used immediately speak to us, and paint a clear image, instead of an overly flowery descriptive that takes away the scare. The words take away immediacy for me, and also make the main characters feel a bit distant.

I think a thing to keep in mind is to not only describe what is happening, but drench the descriptive in it. There's passages that I suspect should make me dreadful, but go on a bit with just describing what's there in a very flowery fashion, losing that dread because of it. In other situations that should be urgent, the phrasing is too neat and relaxed to allow me to feel the urgency the character feels. You do pick the right perspective for it, though, first person is great for a more immediate description. Be careful to not switch from first person present to first person past, though.

I do like how the internal thoughts of a character flow so well within the descriptive. I think you really nailed that down. You do also have some really nice sentences in there. I wish I had copied them to show you which ones, but I didn't think far ahead enough to do that, haha.

 

[Bay]

"Ah you never know withose basterds. They'll keep trees fallin til the whole Gorge is dead." Bill was right of course, the loggers have been slowlu devouring as much forest as they could get their greasy paws on, and Washington was rife with trees. Firs mostly. keeps the Gorge green all year 'round.

Slowly?

While I'm amused at the beginning of Helen's tale (where she kinda slip her and Bill getting intimate at first there lol) and she does get straight to the point, I think I get where Ice mentions you can get too descriptive. A couple lines like "The starts filtered through the trees like headlights passing a blinded window" seems a bit flowerly compared to her usual dialect, for instance.

To the left was a great powerhouse tower of a computer whose sole purpose was the simulation of blood and gore, connected to thirty inches of plasma.

I feel you can just say "...was a computer whose sole purpose (etc)..." Gets to the point faster.

But I knew my next shift would start in a few short hours, so I locked up, made myself a sandwich, turkey and American on white, and laid down to sleep.

Minor, but noticed a couple instances where you gave an extra detail of food/drink. First instance being Miller Lite and then next instance being Frito Lays (from the last paragraph with the tv mention actually). Guess what I'm saying is I don't need to know the beer is Miller Lite nor the sandwich turkey with American white cheese.

I feel there should be more of a reaction from the narrator upon being approached by a "sentinel'. We do get their reaction when being flooded with images and such, but before that I would like to see like the narrator's breathing slowed or some other body language when they realized someone/something's in their room. The part where A---Z is mentioned seems like a name being thrown there. Would like to see more confusing on the narrator's part over that.

One thing I really like about this piece is the worldbuilidng of the community here where it seems like drugs is fairly common from the appearance of Helen and Bill and references to meth. I didn't mind the slow lead up to the alien abduction there. Despite some parts that I feel could use some polish up, I really enjoyed this piece, too!

 

[Necrum]

Thanks for the feedback, guys! I think I see what you're getting at and honestly I thought about some of that stuff as I was transcribing. I pretty much posted exactly what I had written on paper so it does need a lot of adjustment for continuity and pacing, especially since it was written over a pretty large span of time. I will take these into account as I edit and revise for certain.

 

[Miz en Scène]

Among these I think Eclipse is my favourite, but I'm going to have to agree with Ice on this one that it's not much of a horror story in that it's not scary—if that's what you were going for that is. A lot of Ice's critique is spot on. Horror requires a sense of immediacy and pacing that your first two non-poem stories (Eclipse and The Wretched House) seem to lack, though I can't precisely pinpoint where exactly. It just feels like the writing could be tighter. Another thing I want to point out is that, for horror at least, the implication is always far scarier than the obvious. A lot of time is spent describing the disgusting things in The Wretched House that I think not much is left to the imagination. It paints a very vivid picture, but at the same time the reader is left with nothing to do. In horror, the implication is key.

Horror aside though, I want to go back to Eclipse. The Wretched House is very clearly horror, so I can't say much about that, but Eclipse, I think, works better as dark fantasy or a dark fairy tale (something like Pan's Labyrinth), so I'll look at it from that perspective. In short, your greatest weakness for horror is your greatest asset for fantasy. Fantasy thrives on this sort of verbose language where the narrator describes everything with some sense of wonder (in your case horrified wonder). Eclipse almost had a sense of religious awe to it in that the demon wasn't scary and I didn't get the impression that the narrator was scared of it either. It just felt like something that was divinely ordained and that had to happen. Your last line also lends to this interpretation because it doesn't indicate that what happened to the narrator was something bad. It's vaguely optimistic and it's certainly not an ending you'd expect to see in something meant to be scary.

Moving on, I want to say that I quite liked The Beacon, if only for the marvellous character voices you managed to pull off. I'm not an expert on the US Pacific Northwest (which I assume is where it takes place since I googled Columbia Gorge), and I have no idea what the accents are like out there, but you seemed to write quite a natural vernacular for your characters so colour me impressed because I don't see well-written vernacular that often. One thing you might want to touch up is that at times Helen's dialect seems to slip a bit when she uses words that seem a bit out of character. I dunno, I feel like she shouldn't really know how to use words like metaphysical or rationalize, but that's just me. Those things aside, it was a really solid story character wise. The plot, sorry to say, didn't do much for me, but I did enjoy the character interactions very much.