There's a Monster Under the Bed

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Bobby’s blankets lay on the floor again. The monster under the bed pulls them off every night as Bobby sleeps.

The monster lives among the dust bunnies and one shoe that's whisked away in the middle of the night. Bobby knows it’s a monster. He hears it at night grumbling and mumbling. He dares not get up to look. Bobby has no wish to join the shoe.

Even in the morning light it’s all he can do to dive under the bed and quickly grab the stray.

If only the monster wouldn’t mess with his blankets. Bobby knows if he pulls them off the floor at night he’ll drag the beast with them. Then the monster won’t be under the bed. It will be in the bed with him.

So, he shivers through the night because he's cold without his blanket, and he's afraid of the monster under his bed.

Mommy doesn’t believe him.
Mommies never do. They're stubborn that way. 

But Bobby has a plan.
It’s a great plan and he spends the day putting it into action.

He borrows the stapler and the glue from Mommy’s desk. 
He makes the bed himself, then glues the blankets tight and staples them into place. 

He smiles as he shimmies under the covers.

But Bobby should have taken the stapler and the glue back to Mommy’s desk.
Because he can hear the monster grumbling and mumbling as it walks around the bed, gluing and stapling.
Coming closer and closer.
Stapling and gluing.

Peculiar

I'm joining Tara on her inaugural hosting of  the 100 Word Challenge. I think I've missed writing within a specific word count. 

The cellar never bothered her. She wasn’t one to be spooked by dark corners or the peculiar smell of damp dirt. It was the perfect environment for jars of fruits and vegetables preserved for winter use. 

Recently, the trips left her rattled. Small noises emanating from the dark corners. The smell of damp dirt becoming more foul than peculiar.

She stubbornly shook off the idea she was being watched. 

She ignored the tingles down her spine, the raised hair at her nape.

Until she saw the eyes glowing from the dark corner. And the long claws scratching in the dirt.

Mission Canceled

This time I linked up with the Coldly Calculating prompt from Our Write Side.
I may have missed the "chilling" mark, just a little. 




Joe and Charlie huddled together in the corner. Ears tuned to the distant footsteps and mutterings of their pursuers.

It seemed they’d been slipping from one hiding spot to another for hours. Scurrying from room to room trying to stay one step ahead. 

“We need to move again soon, Joe!”

“I know, man. They’re closing in again. I can smell the stink of their torches.”

The pair looked around wildly, seeking another safe place to hunker down. They stifled gags induced by the overwhelming odor of the leader’s smoking brand. Their hearts lurched as she screeched to her minions, “They’re in there! We have them now!”

With moments before the hunting party cut off their retreat, Joe and Charlie darted across the floor to the door. 

“C’mon Charlie, down these stairs. We’ll lose them in the cellar.”

Coughing through the foul haze, the escapees stumbled down the steps.

“Where to now, Joe? We’re trapped!”

“Shut up! Here get under the stairs.”

The floor boards creaked overhead. Voices filtered down, “Where’d they go? Did they get out?”

“No, they’re still here. Up to the second floor! We’ll find them, they can’t hide from us forever.” Rushing footsteps faded farther into the house.

In the ensuing silence Joe and Charlie crept out from under the stairs. Listening intently for any movement they quietly climbed the steps and peered into the empty hall.

Joe whispered, “They're on the top floor now, Charlie. I think we lost them.”

“I don’t know Joe, it still reeks down here. I don’t think we’re outta the woods yet.”

“Shh, this way, c’mon.”

They stepped cautiously into a library. Over stuffed chairs cluttered the floor. Bookcases lined all but one wall filled by a  massive fireplace.

The pair jumped in unison at the scream outside the door, “Aha! We have you now!” Pounding feet filled the room.

Charlie shrieked, “Joe! What now?” 

Joe grabbed Charlie’s arm, dragging him to the hearth. He scattered ashes as he leapt into the flue, Charlie on his heels. Reaching the top, Joe pulled himself out the chimney and onto the roof.

“Hurry Charlie!”

“I’m stuck, Joe! I cant get through!”

“Give me your hand!” Joe pulled mightily, finally freeing his partner. Charlie’s release from the chimney resulted in an audible pop. The two slid down the roof and tumbled to the lawn.

“You could use to lose some fat there, Charlie.” Joe brushed himself off then sped ahead, Charlie right behind. As they ran for the street they heard the triumphant bellow of their hunter.

“THIS HOUSE IS CLEAN!”

Joe paused to turn around and make an obscene gesture before trotting on down the road. 

Charlie puffed to keep up, almost tripping over his forked tail. “What now, Joe?”

“I don’t know yet, Charlie. Hey! Look over there, that place looks likely!”

Charlie sighed, “Back to square one.”

Hunt for the Red Wolf

My offering for Master Class Monday at EatSleepWrite I chose the prompt; Red Wolf Hunting.




Madaline raced across the meadow, her scarlet cape fluttering behind her. The thud of her heart made it difficult to keep track of the footfalls closing the distance between herself and her pursuers.

Her eyes fixed on the treeline only a few yards ahead. A desperate burst of speed propelled her through the brush. She kept up her pace while grabbing the edges of the cape to keep it from the tangled mass of branches and undergrowth as she scrambled deeper into the trees.

The pursuit slowed once she reached the forest. She knew it was only a mometary pause. Stepping behind a large trunk, she pulled the fabric from her shoulders. Had it been fall the bright color may have been an aid, however among the bright green growth of mid spring, she may as well stand and wave at her trackers.

Behind her, she could hear jays and squirrels angrily announcing the trespass of the group chasing her. Bundling cape as compactly as she could, she jogged farther into the dense forest. She no longer travelled a straight course, weaving first one direction, then another. She used the chatter of the wildlife to keep apprised of the position of the hunting party.

The light was dim under the canopy of leaves, she'd been moving through the forest since just after noon. She guessed it was close to evening. Winged residents were making their last forays before taking to nest, small creatures of the brush and treetops had already disappeared. Those that foraged at night would soon be stalking. 

Madeline ignore the growing exhaustion of her flight and kept her steady pace as twilight sucked the last light away. Tiny singers of night tuned their throats and stretched wings. It was with relief that she climbed a grassy hummock barely visible in the brush and dark. Sliding down the opposite side, she found the overgrown opening and crawled inside.

She laid her head on her bundled cape and immediately fell asleep.

She woke abruptly, momentarily disoriented by the darkness, she scrabbled in the dirt of her burrow. Finding the cape, she tamped down the panic and cautiously approached the exit. The singers of early night had finished their set, stillness enveloped the forest. She silently slid from her hiding place, ears alert for unnatural sounds. 

Climbing to the top of the hummock she strained to see through the darkness. Her breath caught as she spied the low glow of a campfire. They'd come much closer than she'd been expecting. Using the darkness, she carefully made her way toward the camp.

Close enough to smell the burning embers. she shook out the bundle, releasing the cape Madeline threw it across her shoulders and dropped to the ground. She then crept forward on all fours, stopping a few feet outside the circle around the banked fire. six bodies lay close to the fire, two more leaned against trees, their watch thwarted by snores and drooped heads.

Madeline smiled to herself. The weak glow from the camp's center reflected in her eyes. Lifting her muzzle high, she howled. The ensuing panic excited her.

Time for the red wolf's hunt to commence.

Joiner

Linked up with EatSleepWrite for Master Class Monday.
This is my take on the prompt "along with the crowd"



Anne huddled in the corner of the cushionless love seat. Her head bowed, arms hugging knees drawn up to her chest. Her tangled red hair hung limply over her face. Discreetly peeking through the veil of hair, she inspected her surroundings. Cinder block walls stained with moisture, an uneven, crumbling concrete floor combined with thumps from above confirmed the hunch that she was in a basement.

Elsewhere in the cellar she could hear sobbing intermingled with angry tirades of creative cursing from fellow captives. Her ears perceived perhaps a dozen other women sharing her prison.

The smell of rotting fabric vying with the medicinal odor of an anesthetic was abruptly overpowered by the the foul odor of death and decay. Fingers parted her hair, a partially decomposed hand cupped her chin, forcing her head up. She summoned an appropriate shriek as she studied the creature in front of her.

The flesh gripping her chin was spongy, and she assumed was the same purple tinted grey-green as the mutilated face. No life shone from clouded eyes. No breath expelled from between decaying lips.

Her study was interrupted by the thwack of a two by four connecting with the corrupted flesh. "Get away from her! You back off or I'll make you deader'n you already are!" To Anne's surprise, the creature shuffled away.

"You okay, honey? Ol' Squishy there, he ain't dangerous, just nosy. An' he stinks."

Anne remained silent, now studying her new companion. Dark skin with darker eyes, small in stature but large in attitude. Finally she spoke, "I'm fine, thank you. Just what is...Squishy?"

"Zombie, I guess. 'Cept he ain't tried to eat nobody. I'm Meeshie. Who're you?"

"Anne." She sized up the petite woman, then asked, "How long have you been here? How many others are there, and anyone know why?"

Meeshie offered a hand, "Well, I been here about a week, I think there's fourteen of us, maybe fifteen now." Anne grasped the proffered hand, allowing Meeshie to pull her from her seat. "Why're we here? No idea."

Anne Marie stretched, working out the kinks of sitting folded for hours. "I was grabbed off the street, same for everyone?"

"Was you workin'? Not judgin', just askin'. And, yeah, I think most of us was picked off the street."

"Working, yes, you could say that." She glanced around, trying to catch sight of the other women. "Were all of you working?"

"Nah. Only a couple really. I was just comin' back from the quickie mart with a slushie." Meeshie chuckled, "My cousin keeps tellin' me they ain't good for me." She scrutinized Anne closely, "You don't seem very shook up about joinin' the crowd."

Anne ignored the remark and cast a glance at the ceiling where the sound of footsteps had resumed. "And no one knows who's up there, calling the shots?"

"Nope, hauled here with hoods over our heads. After, we ain't seen nobody but Squishy." Meeshie looked away, shifting eyes belying her bravado. "An' that's the spooky part, spookier than Ol' Squishy himself."

Anne Marie gave an imperceptible nod, "Spooky indeed," she muttered, wondering just who was walking upstairs and what were they waiting for?

The Draw

This is my response to the EatSleepWrite-Flash it Friday prompt.  



"Draw two cards." Caught by surprise, Casey stopped on her trip back to the plane's galley. The man hadn't spoken but three words since he'd boarded, those being yes, pertaining to the lunch offering, and thank you when she removed the empty tray.

"Excuse me?" As she waited for him to repeat his question she tried to place his age. He wore a black overcoat and a worn black bowler, dark glasses covered the top half of his pale face. The only visible color was the blood red of a thin tie.

"Draw two cards." He fanned the deck before her.

"Is this a magic trick?" She smiled as an indecipherable unease crept through her shoulders.

"Perhaps." His thin lips attempted a smile in return.

She glanced around the cabin, looking for a valid excuse to flee. She could feel his unseen eyes staring into hers. Holding her breath, she tugged two cards from the deck.

"And what have you drawn?"

Casey wrenched her gaze from the reflection of her own eyes in his dark glasses to study her cards. "A pair of aces."

His brows appeared above the dark frames. "A pair of aces? How unusual."

With increasing discomfort, Casey snapped out, "Yes, a diamond and a spade. So did I win?"

"Perhaps. It seems you have a decision to make, my dear. Riches or death."

She thrust the cards at him, "No, no I don't." 

He grasped her hands and wrapped them around the pair, "No, my dear, these are yours. You needn't decide now, but eventually you must." He maintained the contact for several minutes, still holding her gaze with his unseen stare.

The call of "Stewardess!" from several seats forward broke the spell. Casey pulled away roughly, tucking the cards in her pocket unconsciously.

She avoided him the rest of the routine flight. Comfort didn't return until the flight ended and her feet touched the tarmac.

She hadn't expected it to be her last day at work. Cost cuts and low seniority left her unemployed.

Another day in a month of days looking for work. Casey had skipped breakfast, and lunch was probably going to be one more cup of ramen noodles. She was blocks from her apartment when the sky opened up, soaking her in seconds.

The closest shelter was a school bus parked along a desolate side street. The door was open, she hesitated only a moment before hopping up the steps. She dropped into the first seat wringing out her hair as her clothes shed puddles around her waterlogged shoes. She leaned back, depressed and exhausted, she drifted into an uncomfortable sleep.

She woke to the sound of the doors closing with a hydraulic hiss. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" she sputtered, jumping from her seat.

"No problem, my dear." The driver turned his sun glassed face her way, "It is time to make your decision." 

Casey fell back to the seat as he started the engine and rolled away from the curb.

Blessing of the Garden Gate

My offering for Master Class Monday at EatSleepWrite
The prompt I chose was nonpotable blessings




Twas quiet here, not long ago.  Shadow prevailed and gave cover to ghosts of the despair.  Wraiths of grief wrapped chilled fingers of loneliness around the heart of one left behind.  Neglect squeezed and choked life into submission.

Then she arrived. Her dreams and memories carried in boxes of cluttered life. The man by her side not so sure of this final destination, pulled along by her need to come home.

Life and color slowly return, the man working hard to reclaim a space left to weedy decay. She spends her time splashing color on faded walls. Together they create home.

Warm, golden light now shines from windows once shuttered in despair. The laughter within spills haphazardly into flowerbeds beneath the screened opening as one of the blood resides within again.

The bright Fae of the night climb thorny stems to peek inside.  Wings shimmering with moon glow from a cloudless sky, they raise excited brows and whisper of better times. They've marked the return of Rose and Tulip, old bearded Iris.  They hail the arrival of Lily and Heather.
  
Malevolent ivy retreats in frustration, pushed out by carefully nurtured roots. It slumbers uneasily beneath the color splashed gardens, waiting for the chance to regain a foothold.

Barefoot, careful of the garden sprites, the woman contentedly surveys the work of her spouse. Multiple beds entice butterflies and honey bees. Songbirds settle into the regained peace. 

A vegetable garden flourishes where none have farmed for decades. Fruit trees replace the ones lost through age and neglect. Wild berries welcome eager hands that have grown since picking and stuffing them into giggling faces long ago.

Her gaze follows the spreading limbs of the oak that shaded her childhood. Beneath it an overgrown lilac was a green fortress for herself and her siblings. Trimmed and tidied it still provides a quiet space within to think and to dream. 

On sunny days her man sees the figure of a woman regarding his work. Her grandmother she says. The one who left behind bits of garden hidden amongst the weeds. He raises his brow, but accepts and hopes his efforts are acceptable.

From the corner of her eye she catches glimpses of the Fae. They duck under the ferns and dance around the lilies. Playing chase with the squirrels and flitting about the feeder with hummingbirds. She tells no one she sees them, just smiles to herself.

Flowers follow their season, bloom then fade, replaced by the next, finally relinquishing to colder months. The vegetable garden ripens and gives its bounty to enhance the table through winter. Always some seed or fruit is left behind for wildlife. And Fae.

Snow fall blankets the ground, insulating roots and bulbs. A protective cover of bright white sheltering the promise of spring to come. 

She looks for the tracks in the snow. Rabbit, squirrel, and sometimes prints unfamiliar. Frosty pictures are left on window panes, icy flowers, a reminder that spring is nearby.

With yarn in her lap she waits out the cold. Watching for the early signs, a blush in the undergrowth, tiny buds peeking from the trees. Daffodils pushing through the frost, not waiting for a designated date. 

Soon, the time for faery dances and color will draw her barefoot through the garden gate and all the blessings it holds.

The Vic

A new story with Willa, the realtor that "hears" houses.


Willa Baker pulled into the gravel drive, rolling over the clutches of weeds getting an early spring start on absorbing the stones. Parked next to the house, she fiddled about with the paperwork in no rush to exit the relative safety of her car. 

A loud slap on her windshield yanked a strangled squeal from her throat, heart racing she looked up to see a shingle slither down the pane to lean nonchalantly against the hood.

"Fine, you old bitch. I'm coming. Don't know what for...you've chased off at least two dozen prospectives." She ran her fingers through her dark, shoulder length curls before gathering her purse and briefcase. Taking a deep breath, she opened the sedan's door and cautiously stepped out. 

When no more shingles fell, she began her customary walk-about of the property. Starting from the drive, she made a circle from her car to the rear, reacquainting herself with house and yard while watching for evidence of vandalism or signs of breaking and entering. As usual, the place looked no different than when she'd first inspected it. 

Willa made her way around the other side of the house and down the front lawn to the street. Sighing, she slowly made her way up the uneven pavers, her mind appraising the house for the umpteenth time.

The old Victorian had seen better days. Neighboring homes stood well away, as though the peeling paint might disease their vinyl facades. Though the spring sun still shone brightly on the few boards still boasting their lavender hue, grey held sway and was gaining ground.

Plush green lawns held the wayward weeds and rocky soil at bay either side of the Victorian's lot. A ramshackle shed stood at the edge of an abandoned garden. The only clue of its prior existence was a gnarled rosebush stubbornly clinging to life. 

Boarded windows with shutters atilt gave the house an air of isolation. Passers by averted their gaze. Neighbors never mentioned it. Even the children shunned it, not worthy of imaginative adventures.

She stepped onto the porch, mentally running through the list of clients that had come to see the Vic. She turned to the faded red front door, eyebrows raised. "What are you gonna pull today, huh?"

The last young man that had come to see the old place had immediately begun planning renovations before stepping foot inside.

"That cupola will have to go, or be enclosed. The shed will need to be razed. It's a mess. Who paints a door red?" He continued his criticism up the porch. Willa knew this wasn't going to go well when the she had to fight to open the door.

He kept up his running monologue of changes from the front hall, around the kitchen, and all the way up the stairway. Willa could feel the resentment building. She wasn't shocked when they opened the first bedroom door to find the ceiling caved in and plaster falling from the walls. 

"You've got to be kidding me! You said the inside was in decent shape!" 

"Well, it is an old house, I didn't say it was perfect." Willa answered. She muttered under her breath, "Really, a little overkill, don't you think?"

"What?" She hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud.

"Oh, nothing, just chattering to myself." Though she knew it was pointless to continue, she asked, "Would you like to see the rest of the rooms?"

"NO."

Willa breathed a sigh of relief, hard telling what other surprises the old Vic had in store if they continued. She followed the young man as he hurriedly made his way back down the stairs and out the front door leaving it wide open. 

As he opened his car door, he looked at Willa, "Maybe if the seller drops the price, I'd be interested in the property. But the building is worthless, needs to be burned." As he finished speaking the front door slammed shut. Startled, he gave Willa a suspicious glare, jumped into his car, twisted the key, and sped away.

Willa stood at the end of the walk, her eyes sweeping from the wide porch to the square cupola. As she strode forward, she fished for the keys in her pocket. 

"Oh,hell." She reached the porch and tried the door. It was locked, with her briefcase, purse, and keys inside. "Give me a break. You're awfully fussy, you know. Cute trick in that bedroom." 

On her walk through the previous day, the interior of the house had been tidy and the rooms as neat as the long years of in-occupancy would allow. As they had been every time she inspected it after a disastrous showing.

Eight interested parties had come to see the house in the last month. Each one had evidently been deemed unworthy by the Vic. 

Willa glared at the locked door, "You know, if you don't come down off that high horse of yours, the bank is going to take you down itself. They're already getting antsy."

The door remained solidly closed. Willa turned as she heard a car pull into the driveway behind her own. "Great, last client of the day and I can't even show them your inside. Though that might be for the best."

She pasted an apologetic smile on her face as a young woman exited the car. "Hi, I'm Willa, and you're Tina?"

The woman clutched her purse nervously, her eyes bouncing from the house to Willa, across the yard and back to Willa. Finally, she shyly nodded her head. "Yes, I'm Tina. I came to look at the house?"

Willa thought, "Oh dear, this beast will make a meal of this one." Aloud she said, "That was the plan, but...I managed to lock myself out. I'd be glad to show you outside and the property." Willa waited a moment. "I can get another key tomorrow, if you want to come back then. I am so, so sorry."

"Oh, I see." Tina's head dropped, "Well, um, I guess I can just look around outside."

"All right, but there's not much to see." Willa automatically went into sales mode as she led Tina around the property. "The house has been empty for some time. There will be the need for some repairs, but the price is low enough to allow for that. There are some windows obviously need to be replaced, and the exterior will need painting."

Tina spoke quietly,"Is that color lavender? Is that the original paint?"

"Well, it was the last time someone painted, I expect."

"It's pretty, I wonder what the whole house would look like if it was repainted in that."

Willa raised her brows with hope. "I imagine it would be grand, Tina. And then add a nice contrast to the trim and shutters...it could be gorgeous!"

Tina smiled cautiously at Willa as they walked toward the back yard.

"Is that a garden? And a potting shed? What kind of rose bush is that?  Oh my, it has a bloom already!"

Willa jerked her head toward the weedy patch that was once a garden. A perfect red rose peeked out of the overgrown bush, a rose that hadn't been there and hour ago.

"May I look inside the shed?" Tina was already reaching for the door. "Look, lavender paint here too! And look! There's some left on the trim. I think it's green, oh, I like that!"

Willa was enjoying the young woman's enthusiasm, "Just like a lilac, and you're welcome to look inside, just don't expect much."

Tina pulled the shed door open and squealed with delight. "Look at the old gardening tools, and pots! This is perfect! Oh, I wish we could get inside, the house must be awesome!" Her timid nature evaporating with every step.

"I'm really sorry about that," Willa repeated, "I swear I'll get a key tomorrow." Tina barely heard as she trotted up the back porch and peeked through the window of the kitchen door.  

As Tina leaned against the door, she twisted the knob unconsciously. "It's open!  Can I go in? You must've left it open earlier and forgot. Now I can see the inside and you can get your keys." Tina scooted inside before Willa could answer.

"What're you up to, you old biddy? I've never opened that door." Willa muttered her suspicions as Tina explored the kitchen. The centerpiece of the room was a large work table, a worn Hoosier cabinet stood next to a huge one basin sink. Tina walked the entire room, gushing about it's personality.

From there to the dining room. The ornate oak trim shone as if it has just been polished. The peeling wallpaper didn't even seem faded.  Willa smiled at Tina while surreptitiously casting suspicious glances behind and ahead. The Vic had never looked better. 

From attic to basement, the old house showed only its best to Willa's client. Tina's originally shy demeanor had  disappeared by the time she'd investigated every room, closet, and corner at least three times. 

Willa cautioned Tina to think about the time and expense it would take to bring the old Victorian back in shape. "No need to rush. There aren't any other offers. Sleep on it, make sure you really want to invest so much."  

Her thoughts were running a different route. "This place must be getting to me, I'm actually trying to discourage the only client to get through the whole place."

It was no matter, her advice went unheard, "Oh no! I'm ready! I love this house, I want this house, and it needs me. I'll have to get started matching paint and wallpaper." Willa tamped the frown that wanted to take over her brow. 

An hour later, the offer signed and ready to be delivered, Willa finally convinced Tina to go home. 

"But this is home now," Tina whined. 

"Not yet. I'll turn this in first thing. Then we'll go from there, dear. There are hoops to jump through." Willa promised she'd call as soon as the everything was properly attended. 

After multiple reassurances,  the young woman had finally driven away, Willa sat alone in the kitchen. The Vic had been a difficult property and Willa wasn't convinced that the house was through playing games. She'd read resentment and anger regularly as she had led other clients through the Vic. Now, she felt arrogance infuse the space. 

"Happy now, you old beast?  Find your soul mate?" a loud flapping sound echoed down the stairwell. Willa arched a brow, "Fine. I'll leave. But if you chase her off after your performance today, I won't bring anyone else. I'll leave you to the wrecking ball."

She packed the papers into her briefcase, made sure the house was secured and headed for her car. Five more shingles lay on the hood. 

Puppy Love

I haven't written for so long, I feel all awkward-y.  And, there may be some cursing and a little bitty bit of graphic violence in here, just sayin...
And many thanks to (or laying of blame on) Tara R. from Thin Spiral Notebook for the inspiration.




Archie strolled down the sidewalk ignoring the lure of loud music leaking from the open doors of the clubs lining the street.  He'd occasionally glance up at the full moon shining down on the lines of night lifers waiting their turn to get inside. 

He let out a sigh, he just wasn't in the mood anymore. .

His spirits had been high as he left his basement apartment and bounded up the steps to street level dressed in his clubster's best.  Tight black jeans and ab hugging red polo, his black hair artfully tousled. He was primed for a hip grinding night of dance followed, hopefully, by a light snack before heading back to hide his head in bed.

At the top of the stairs stood a pale figure, obviously waiting tor him. That was where Archie's night began to lose its luster. 

"What now, Conner? Did I break another rule? Sleep too late, awaken too damn early?" He'd been in the city a couple months and had immediately stepped on the local brood's toes. Conner had become a regular bearer of criticism

"Gratch wants to see you. You haven't attended a meeting in weeks, and you're overstepping Pike's territory." 

"What? Bullshit!" Archie tried to step around Conner, who moved to block him.  "Okay. Look, I'll check in with Gratch in the morning. Right now, I'm hungry. Just let me get on with my night." He tried to sidestep again, "And just how much "territory" does Pike have? I haven't hit the same street twice since I've been here."

"If it's east of Talbot Street, it's Pike's. I know you're new, but at least pretend to be considerate. Play west tonight and see Gratch before you crash." Conner gave  Archie's outfit a contemptuous once over. "And, dude, wear shades. Your eyes are fuckin' glowing." Conner turned his back and strode quickly away. Archie could still hear him mutter about freaking lone wolf freaks that thought they could do as they pleased.

"You invited me, asshole! And my eyes don't glow!" Archie yelled at Connor's retreating back. He regretted accepting that invitation. Nothing here had been as Conner had promised. It was all rules and checking in and don't go here, or there.

"Bullshit." Archie stubbornly headed east, toward the rising full moon.

He was met at the entrance of the first club by one of Pike's clan. "Not even, jerk. Move on." Archie left. They'd guessed he wouldn't obey and were waiting for him. He'd be outnumbered and knew it wasn't worth the risk. 

He turned around and wandered more or less west. The neighborhood changed within a few blocks. He left the boisterous club life behind and found the streets lined with shops that closed before the night took over leaving only smoke filled dives and swaggering working girls. Each half block broken by unlit alleys. 

The moon had reached it zenith as he crossed yet another alley. A yelp caught his attention and he stopped to listen. 

"Get off ya little piece of shit!" A growl followed by cursing and another yelp piqued Archie's curiosity. He silently entered the alley. Careful to avoid the litter of trash, he made his way farther down the narrow space. 

In the dim light from an open door he saw two men digging behind a dumpster at the alley's end. A pasty faced blond held a broom, a sickly thin black man had his right hand wrapped around his left wrist. The smell of fresh blood filled Archie's nostrils. His pace quickened.

The broom wielder thrust his weapon under the dumpster and pulled. A tiny, dirty ball of fur tumbled out. With a growl it headed toward the man with the smell of blood wafting from him.  Before the creature could reach him, he aimed a vicious kick at its small form, rolling it across the alley to collide with the wall.  The broom made contact eliciting another yelp.

"Hey! What's the deal, dudes? You got to pick on a puppy?" Archie stepped in between them and the injured animal.

"Screw off, kid. The little bastard bit me. It's dead." 

Archie grabbed the growling pup by the scruff. "I'd say you provoked the poor thing. It had to defend itself, didn't it?"

"Go home, boy. This ain't your business."

"Well, I just made it my business. So back off and everything will be fine. No one gets hurt, especially the puppy."

The men looked at Archie, then each other. Blondie swung the broom, Archie yanked it from his hand, twirled it baton style then drove it through his throat. As pasty face dropped to the ground gurgling, Archie grabbed his partner before he could recover from shock and run.

"Oh shit man oh shit! I didn't see nuthin' let me go. Didn't know it was your dog so sorry man. Oh shit oh shit!"

"Oh shut up." Archie put the pup down as he grabbed slim's head, jerked it back and sunk his fangs deep into the jugular. 

He drank until the heart stopped then dropped the lifeless body. Turning his attention to the blond, he found the pup grunting and growling, furiously tearing flesh from the dead man's throat wound. 

"Slow down there,Turbo!" Archie picked the pup up by the scruff again, holding it at arms length as it snapped and snarled. "Dude, you'll make yourself sick gorging like that."

As the animal realized its belly really was full, it settled into Archie's arms. "Bet the Gratch's brood missed you when they decimated that lycan nest last week, huh? Damned intolerant jerks."

 "Hmm, Dude or is it Dudette?" His attempt to find out and was rewarded with a growl and nip.

"Okay then." Archie glanced at the west leaning moon. "We'll just wait until we can do a diaper change to check your junk."

With the satiated pup in the crook of his arm, Archie exited the alley. The tiny werewolf lifted its nose and howled mournfully. The full moon dipped a little lower as Archie made a decision. 

"I'm pretty sure rescuing you is another no-no. Well, they did say go west."  
 He grinned, leathery wings ripping through shirt fabric as he lofted into the air and pointed westward, following the moon.  "Since you won't give me a hint, we'll go with a gender neutral name, okay?"

"Wanna see the Pacific...Robin?"

The Awakening

Part 4 of Annag's beginning.  If you haven't already, read parts one, two, and three. 

 Lillian shuffled between the quickly made litter and the defiled clan house, directing the men of MacGoulan in the proper way to secure her human prize, and questioning Sionn.  

"You're familiar with the clan chief's sword, are you not?" she asked.

"Aye, I've seen it"

"Have you found it here?  Did Donnchadh die with his blade, is it with his body?"

Sionn tried to hide his disgust, "I did not search his remains, old woman! You said to burn it all."

Lillian smirked, "Before you light the fire, search for the sword. If you do not find it, search again after the fire has cleaned up the mess. Search every hovel here. Do not think to defy me, Sionn MacGoulan, don't for a minute think this same fate couldn't visit your home." Without waiting for an answer, she left him glaring after her as she returned to the litter that held Annag. 

The hairs rising on Sionn's neck convinced him to follow her commands. He watched as she directed his clansmen to accompany her, carrying the wounded girl with them. 

>>>>>

 Annag’s dreams were ugly and disordered. In them she ran, trying to escape the terror that began as her wedding feast. Trying not to believe Taog, her betrothed had been torn apart in front of her.

           Running from the vision of savaged flesh that had been her mother and the memory of her father being pulled down and slain.

           Fleeing the scream of her young sister before her head was ripped from her body.

          Trying not to see every one of her clansmen dismembered, bloodied.  Dead.

         Screaming herself to muffle the soothing voice that kept repeating, "It will be alright."

More frightening was the beast that walked beside her. A man with a wolf’s snout. Claws at the end of each finger. Together they walked from village to village, clan to clan. In each pace they left blood and death behind.

She raised her hands to wipe the tears from her face only to see claws growing from her own fingers.

She screamed in denial.

“It will be alright,girl.” Again the voice. Soothing. Compelling. Terrifying.

She’d cried out repeatedly in her fevered dreams. And each time that voice, those words “it will be alright’” mocked her.

>>>>>

Annag woke from the nightmare at midday. The sun blazing through the window across from her cot. She felt a strange relief, at least she was alone.

The room smelled of burning herbs and the taste on her tongue mirrored them. She tried to raise her head. Dizziness made that impossible. She could see the sky bleached white by the heat of the day. A wind gusted through the window, its breath drawing the last moisture from her mouth.

She lay back on the pillow, her mind sorting the dreams from reality. The burning pain on her back insisting far more of the nightmare was real than not.

Her solitude was too soon broken. The persistent voice from her dreams broke the silence.

“So, Annag, last of MacClarren, you’ve awoken finally.” Lillian filled the small space.

“Where am I? What has happened? I don’t remember, where is my family, where is Taog?” she asked the last question already knowing the answer.

“You are a guest in my home. For now.” The old woman appraised her. “What do you remember, girl?”

“Attack. By… wolves?” Annag closed her eyes as tears began to form, then opened them quickly as memories of blood and death swam behind her lids.

“Wolves?” Lillian snorted, “You know better, girl. The only wolves in this land are the one’s on two legs. How do you even know the word?”

“I don’t…”

“I do. Men that become beasts, the old stories. Wolf? Not really, just animals from a man’s black heart, made real by old magics.”

Annag tried to deny, she shook her head, “no, they are only tales to frighten children! Such things don’t exist, they cannot…”

“They cannot? Were you not frightened, ‘child’?” Lillian sneered at her. “Your clan is dead. MacClarren is no more. No father, chief. No mother. No precious little sister.” Lillian’s voice that had pretended comfort during the nightmares, threw aside the pretense. “And your MacGoulan boy? Ripped apart.”

“Stop! Stop it!” Annag tried to get up from the cot, Lillian pushed her back with the butt of her staff.

“You stop, girl. Stop puling like a babe. You are alive. And hard work it was to keep you that way.” Lillian eyed her sidelong. “What I really want to know, is how you survived, how you slew a dozen shape shifted men and only have a few scratches to show for it.”

Annag’s memories played in her mind. Her father’s blade. Where was her father’s blade. She almost asked the old woman, then hesitated. She had held the broadsword in her hands, where had it gone? Vague recollections of moonlight glinting on the iron. Surely she’d never left the clan house. But, where was the blade?”

She did not trust this old woman. Her answer was half truth, “My clansmen killed them before they fell themselves. I remember being wounded. I must have fainted, the beasts thought me dead already.”

Lillian weighed the words. “Perhaps. Perhaps that is so. We shall see, yes, we shall see.”

“Sionn! I remember Sionn, I want to speak to him, please.” Annag was ready to leave this place, this woman. She could go to MacGoulan, she had been betrothed.

Lillian laughed, “I think you don’t want to speak to Sionn, or any MacGoulan. The scratches you remember, the one’s healing on your pretty back? They carry… well let’s just say a sickness.”

“What do you mean? Am I dying? The babe, I carry a child!”

“Dead is what you’ll both be if you approach any MacGoulan. Those marks mean the beast is in you now, girl. You’re tainted.”

“No! You're lying, lying!” Annag stood up in spite of the dizziness, she wanted to strike Lillian. Stop the words that resurrected the dream. The dream of walking with the beast at her side, leaving death behind.

Lillian smiled knowingly at Annag. “Am I now?”

Don't be afraid to leave a comment, let me know what you think.  Concrit is welcome!

MacGoulan Arrives

   More of the Chaos in Progress, this scene is the morning after the attack on Annag's wedding feast. Pt 1 The Wedding Feast  Pt 2 Unexpected Guests



 The morning sun slid hesitantly through the broken doorway. Flies began to gather around pools of blood and stray limbs. The lazy buzzing a sharp contrast to the panicked screams and roars of rage that filled the house hours earlier.

The small party from clan MacGoulan approached the doorway with blades drawn. Nerves were on edge since entering the cluster of stone huts and encountering unnatural silence. The bodies of the clan hounds, ripped apart, littered the tracks between homes. Their calls of greeting had gone unanswered at the nearest huts.

Sionn reluctantly peered through the doorway of the clan chief's home, then stumbled back, his breakfast returning to his throat.

"They're dead! All dead!", he cried. "Killed same as the hounds, torn..."

Another man had braved a bit farther into the carnage. "Sionn, there's not just the clan dead here. There's animal...I think." He looked around, trying to understand the bodies. The clans people were badly mutilated, the bodies violently torn and shredded. The other dead were more simply slain. By sword or club.

Those dead were not of the clan. Sionn reentered the house. "What kind of men were these?", he muttered as he took in the misshapen faces. More of a muzzle than nose or jaw. Hands that ended in razor sharp claws. ‘Wulver, men that became beasts,” he thought. Nightmares made more chilling by the light of day.

Sean gasped behind him. "Sionn! There are children dead here as well! And this child, this one has no head. Sionn what..." A small moan from the back wall interrupted his morbid inventory.

Sionn drew his broadsword and made his way toward the sound. There he found the woman, her clothing ripped and bloody. A dirk still gripped in trembling hands, her red hair a wild flame about her head.

As Sionn reached for her she scrambled closer to the wall, trying to lift the blade against him.

"Hush girl. I'm Sionn MacGoulan. Are you of MacClarren? Can you say what happened?"

She tried to focus on him, his resemblance to her betrothed returned her voice to her. "Taog? Where is Taog! Where is my mother? Father!" She struggled to stand. As her eyes took in the scene around her, she fell back.

This must be Annag, betrothed of his brother. Sionn threw his arm around her, when he touched her back she screamed in agony. He turned her gently to see what caused the pain. Three deep slashes crossed her back. Blood still seeping weakly from wounds that were an angry red.

Sionn let her fall to the floor. She'd been clawed by the beasts. The old stories made it clear what to do. What had to be done. The wounds were a death sentence. MacGoulan would not abide her, betrothed of Taog or not. She was cursed and they wouldn't suffer her to live, within or without the clan. Though it grieved him, Sionn drew his sword. Grabbing a fistful of the girl’s red hair, he pulled her head back, baring her throat.

“Stop!”

The voice rang through the silence. Startled Sionn turned to the shattered doorway. A figure in long dress holding a crooked staff stood silhouetted by the sun. As she stepped into the room, he could see the wrinkled face of an elderly woman. He shook his head dismissively.

“She is tainted, old woman. And mostly dead anyway,” Sionn said. “She cannot be saved. Besides, you’ve no voice here.” He began to lift his blade again.

“Oh, but I do, boy. I so do.” She tapped her staff on the ground. A vibration began at her feet and traveled swiftly to Sionn. His arm numbed and the blade fell to the floor.

The other men backed warily away. “Don’t run off, now, children. I’ve more work for you.” Shedchuckled as the group looked nervously at each other, waiting for Sionn to tell them what to do.

It was the woman that spoke to them. “ First, bring that girl out of this filth.” When there was no immediately movement, she lifted her staff. Three men hurried to Annag’s side, lifted her roughly and scurried for the door.

“Carefully, children! Let’s not make her wounds any worse! And find a litter, you’ll move her to my home.” She turned to the other men standing amid the carnage. “The rest of you, gather what fuel you can. This must be burned. All of it. Burn the dead hounds as well.”

Sionn spoke finally, “Why not leave the girl to burn, also? She’s cursed. Whatever they were, she carries that taint now. I grew up hearing stories, I’d not believed them before, but, now…I say again, she cannot be saved.”

“I say she will be saved.” The woman’s eyes flashed at Sionn.

He snapped back, “And who are you to say this?”

“Me?” The old woman grinned unpleasantly. “Why, I am Lillian”

/>

Unexpected Guests

This next part is not as serene as the introductory chapter found here.  Annag's life is about to change...

The sun had just begun to set when the clan hounds began to howl.

“Well, my daughter. I’m thinking that MacGoulan has finally arrived to take you away.” Donnchadh took Annag by the shoulders. “I wish only the best in life for you, child.” He blinked back the tears that threatened to escape. “I will sorely miss that sunset hair.” He gave her a great hug then turned quickly away.

Taog came forward to take her hand. They would greet his clansmen together.

The hounds had continued baying, louder and more excited. The laughter and chatter in the house matched their enthusiasm.

Until one of the hounds screamed in pain. And the tone of the baying changed from greeting to terror. Then fell silent.

As Donnchadh reached for his great broadsword, the heavy wooden door burst open. A dozen bodies poured through the opening.

Annag didn’t want to believes what she was seeing. This was not the MacGoulan. This was the stories told late at night to frighten children. These were nightmares come to visit.

“Wulver!” she heard someone cry.

The beasts were upon the gathering in an instant. Taog pushed her behind him as the monsters came. She heard he screams of women and cries of men realizing they were too far from their weapons.

Her father’s blade swung hard at the first wave, one beast yelped in pain and turned away. Then targeted another man with only a heavy chair for defense. The pain maddened attacker ripped it from him, and his arm that had wielded it.

Other men had reached knives or swords, but they were no match for fangs and the claws that grew from hand-like paws.

Taog had no weapon, he made no sound when his throat was torn by gnashing teeth.

Her mother, Mara had joined Donnchadh, an iron fire poker her weapon. Six of the beasts closed on them. Annag heard her father roar his rage just before the hand that held his blade was severed by knife like teeth.

She watched his heavy broadsword fall to the ground. His body followed, pulled down by three of the creatures. She didn’t see her mother being torn apart next to him.

Annag’s eyes were still fixed on the blade. She’d made no sound. Her terror had stolen her screams. But her body lunged for the fallen weapon. Once it was in her hands, she felt her fear turn to anger. With strength she didn’t recognize, she swung the blade.

One beast fell, the wound in its neck pouring blood. She swung again. A second beast snarled in pain. As it backed away, one of her clansmen stuck a knife between its ribs.

She spun around hearing her young sister’s scream. She swung again, but was far too late. A moan fled from her chest as she saw her sweet  sister’s head fall from her shoulders. Her grief fuelled fury made certain the beast that was responsible was headless a moment later.

She felt fire skate across her back. She turned, blade singing through the small space. The beast that struck her was already down. The man that slew it lay dying from too many wounds, a small smile gracing his face in that final act.

Annag didn’t know how much time had passed since the attack had begun. She only knew that it was suddenly silent. No more beasts came at her. No more screams of her clan. No more growls of the unnatural beasts.

As she became aware of her rasping breath, her racing heart, her eyes took in the horror before them. Her family, her people, dismembered, mutilated, all dead. The silence was broken by one last scream. She fell to the ground as it escaped her exhausted body.