Hazardous Record

A small teaser for the Nano project. Inspired by a prompt from Master Class Monday at Our Write Side





Trey listened to RJ’s plan with only half of his attention. The third of their cohorts, Clarence, was in the corner of the tent unconscious. 

Their captors had left them to stew for more time than he’d expected. Probably hoping one or another would cook up some escape plan and create an excuse to beat them up again.  Trey preferred not to go that route. 

“Dude, are you even listening to me?” RJ punched him in the arm.

“Yeah, and I’m thinking.” Trey muttered.

RJ rolled his eyes, “Your thinking is interfering with the listening.” He got up and paced the small confines of the tent.

“Well, whatever we decide, we should wait for Clarence to wake up.” Trey walked over to check on his friend for the tenth time in the last hour. “He seems to be breathing okay.” Trey prodded him gently, He was answered with a groan and shift in position, but nothing more.

RJ looked on, “are you sure you want his opinion? He has a hazardous record in the planning thing. That’s why were stuck in here instead of back home at dinner with our families.”

Trey shrugged, “we could have said no. We made our own decisions.”

“I would've made a different decision if I’d know it meant traveling to a different dimension full of demons and spider people.” RJ gave Trey a look that dared him to disagree.

Rock You Like a Hurricane

sharing a piece of my nanowrimo project.  just because.  and remember, it's nano, quantity-not quality.




Andrew was coming in hard and merciless. Anne Marie was swinging a hammer with the rest. Boarding up windows, ready to ride out the storm.

As the winds blew in, the sky darkened. She’d come here to investigate the stories of zombies. She’d seldom followed up on this type of report, most were crap. But this particular area seemed to have more than its share of urban legends about them as well as a run of mysterious and gruesome killings.

She cursed herself for not looking at long term forecasts for the area. Hurricane parties were not going to further her research. She pounded a final nail and scurried indoors to wait out the storm.

The low rent complex she had chosen was mostly empty. The hold out residents were those with the glassy eyes of drug users that had no where else to go. Most were camped out in the building’s narrow hall. Curled up in pitiful balls, enduring various states of jonesing. The mostly conscious eyed her warily as she passed, her steps disturbing the perpetual dust and other debris that ever lined the worn carpet.

None dared to bother her since she had physically removed the few that thought her rooms to be an easy target for robbery and other amusements by assault. Anne Marie never feared the criminal fringes of humanity. A few broken bones and other embarrassing injuries had them walking a wider path when they caught sight of her. After all, they were merely human. Of course, she rarely feared the inhuman either. They could handled, though she found killing them to be the easiest and obviously most permanent answer.

She let herself into her rooms. The boarded windows made the space seem close in the darkness. With no power, she resorted to candlelight. The lazy flickering gave her a feeling of calm that electric lighting never could. As the storm gained strength, she settled into a comfortable overstuffed chair with a pile of pages, some computer printed, others were copies of notes from the local police, along with many newspaper clippings, all covered with notes scribbled in her own hand.

She was intent on her work, when she became aware of a sudden lull. The eye, she thought. Soon the other wall would arrive with another round of screaming winds and pounding rain.

Just as she opened another can of soda, she heard the crash of the outer entry door. The heavy footsteps that followed were muffled only a small bit by her closed door. Her hearing was more acute than most people, she could sort out the sounds of shuffling that would be the residents winding themselves into tighter balls as heavy footsteps moved along the hallway. Boots, she decided, well made, heavy boots.

The ancient broadsword that traveled with her had made its way to her hand. She stood in practiced balance, ready to defend or strike. Which ever she deemed necessary.

“Annie! Annie, me love! I know you're here, I can smell ye!” the heavily accented voice, funneled by the narrow confines of the hall, seemed to fill her room.

With a sigh of annoyance, she relaxed her stance slightly. She knew the owner of that voice. Had hoped never to hear it again.

Anne Marie could feel the boot tread stop in front of her door, “come on sweetling, let an old friend in. It’s positively monstrous out there.”

She could refuse to answer, but it wouldn’t stop him, just make him more determined to get a reaction from her. Giving irritation to her voice, she answered, “Go away, Liam, I’m not in a mood to entertain you, and I’m far too busy to be bothered with killing you right now.” She gave a short snort of regret, “I should have killed you last time. I was evidently in a far too generous state.”

He chuckled, “you'd not be the first lass that wanted to do me in, m’dear. Its my wanderin’ eye always gets me in trouble with the ladies.”

“Then please, wander your eye elsewhere, there’s naught here to see.”

“Hah!. Slipped into the “auld” English a moment there.” The doorknob jiggled as he tested it, knowing it would be locked. “You're too tense, girl. All worried about fitting in. Have you adopted the local drawl as well?”

Anne Marie growled under her breath. Her ability with language and dialect had served her well. She could pass for a local almost anywhere in the world. Yet Liam could cause her to make mistakes. That made him dangerous, perhaps more dangerous than those she hunted.

She resigned herself to his presence and returned the blade to its worn leather sheath. “Soft as a babe’s breath that was.” Liam’s hearing was almost as good as her own. “ I’m glad you've changed your mind about killin’ me right now.”

“Right now, but I could reverse that decision easily if you annoy me much more.” She turned the flimsy lock and opened the door. The point of the dirk she held to replace the sword drew a single drop of blood from Liam’s neck as she blocked him from bursting into the room. “Not so fast, I’ll need an inventory of your knives first.”

Liam rolled is eyes dramatically, “Annie, I’m here as your friend…”

“Now, Liam. How many and where.”

“Fine lassie. There's the blade is me right toe, the buck knife, a switchblade in me left pocket and three of them throwing stars from the Japans in the right. A tension triggered blade on one arm and the other,” he grinned with pride, “the other is released and pointing at a target right below your pretty bosom.”

Anne Marie side stepped with practiced ease, her dirk taking an extra layer off his throat out of spite. “You are a fool, Liam. I will kill you one day.”

“But not today, Annie, not today.” He glanced quickly around the small space, then made himself comfortable on a small love seat across from her chair. “Sit down, girl! Relax.”

Anne Marie returned to her chair, gathering the papers and clippings she’d dropped when Liam made his noisy entry. “Ive never been good at small talk, Liam, what do you want? I would like to finish my research, when the storm has passed I have things I need to do.”

“Company, Annie. You told me long ago that immortality was over rated. I know now what you meant.” The smile he gave her now held a hint of sadness and regret. “You're the only one left has known me most my life.”

‘You made you own choice, I warned you.” Anne Marie had limited pity for him. “Why don’t you track some of your blood? Become the obnoxious well to do uncle. And leave me alone.”

“I just don’t have the stamina to track my bloodline like you did. I have to say though, I was intrigued when I found you had left Renewal and your little great great great…how many? Granddaughter.”

Liam eyed the papers, “that’s why I'm here to help you out, sweetling. I have info ye need to finish your task and get back to stalking your descendants”

“I. Work. Alone.” She said each word quietly, yet the force made her meaning clear.

“Aye, I know, the lone gunman. Er, swordsman…woman, whatever.” Liam wave a hand in dismissal. “I still have info. I know some things ye don’t. So. You can hear me out, and let me help, or I can take my knowledge elsewhere.”

The elsewhere caught Anne Marie’s attention. “What do you mean, elsewhere? Who else would believe, much less be interested?” He was hinting at another hunter. She hated dealing with other hunters. They were, generally, ill equipped, undereducated, and mostly, in the way.

“Oh, there’s others. Here. Drawn by the same stories probably caught your eye, lassie.” Liam knew he had her attention now. “Scary murders, no suspects. Fresh bodies disappearing from the local morgue…”

“Bodies disappearing?” Anne Marie hadn't come across any news of body snatching.

“Got ye now, haven’t I, lass.” He didn’t even attempt to hide his delight. “Aye, girlie, bodies gone missing overnight. And often the theft, if that's what it is, is followed by another unpleasant crime scene.”

He snatched the stack of papers from her hand and started to study them. “For someone that pokes fun at me accent, you oughtta start writin’ in that language you're speakin’ at the moment.” He could make no sense of the characters scrawled in the margins of the reports and clippings. The alphabet used had disappeared over a millennium ago.

Anne Marie smiled sweetly, “ there's a reason for that. Of course, if your info is legitimate, I might translate some of it for you.”

Arrival

 Pick four numbers, each between 1 and 10.

Write them down so you remember.

The first number will be for your character, the second your setting, the third the time and the fourth will be the situation.

Then take the four elements and combine them into a short story.

All four you picked MUST be your main elements, but you can add in other characters, settings, times and situations.     




He looked through the large front window, a faint glow from behind the counter told him someone was getting started. As he lingered on the sidewalk, debating his next move, the door unlocked behind him. He jumped at the loud click of the thumb key. The door swept open, odors of brewing coffee, frying bacon, and oven fresh biscuits caressed him on their way out.

     "Good morning, sweetie! C'mon in, you’re just in time for breakfast." He stood a moment, assessing the owner of the invitation. Average in height, not chubby, but not thin either. He judged her to be about forty. Her light brown eyes lit by the first rays of winter sunlight. She smelled of flour and butter and soap.

     "Don't just stand there, son, get inside. Welcome to Katrina's Kitchen. I'm Katrina Crowe. But, don't you call me Katrina!  You call me Katie." She snagged one of his elbows and steered him through the door. She walked him to the counter where he sat hesitantly on a stool.  He'd been told he could find help at the restaurant in Renewal.  

     "What'll it be for breakfast, sweetie? Omelet, biscuits and gravy. Pancakes?" She danced around the dining area, flipping switches, filling the room with light. On her return to the counter she filled a mug with fresh, hot coffee and set it in front of him. "Don't talk much, huh?"

     "I guess I've just gotten out of the habit. Been traveling alone." He sipped the coffee, the mug pleasantly warm in his hand after the chill outside.  “Actually, I’m looking for someone. I guess a relative of yours. Caroline Crowe. A…friend told me to look her up.”

Katie raised her eyebrows, “A friend? Caroline was my grandmother. She’s passed 25 years ago.” She thought to herself, “who could possibly have sent this troubled man to see Gram."

 He looked startled. “I'm sorry, I had no idea…” he trailed off, looking confused.

“Well, Gram left me the diner, amongst other things. Maybe I can help you.”

“What? Oh, no he just said to tell her hello.” He looked around the room, anywhere but at Katie.

She took a leap, “ No one ever came to see Gram just to say hello. They came to Gram for help. I didn’t only inherit the diner.” She looked directly into his face, hoping he’d understand what she meant.

         Instead he changed the subject.  "You know, breakfast sounds good, but I'm short on cash. I can probably just buy my coffee." Sometimes that admission got him a free meal. Sometimes it got him an invitation to leave.


        Katie took the hint, “Down on your luck, huh?” She continued moving about the dining room, an unconscious routine playing out as she spoke. “I can spare a meal now and then, for someone I know. What’s your name, son?”

“Uh, Jonah. Pierson.”

“OK, I know you now. What sounds wonderful this morning?”








This is a piece of my Nano project.  Jonah was first introduced here I picked numbers 6, 4, 1, and 2.

A Postcard

He stood in the rain watching the house. He’d been standing there for hours. She knew she should ask him inside. But, she could think of no reason to do so. They had nothing to say to each other.

She pulled the red and gold brocade drapes aside to look again. Still there. She shook her head, causing the golden bells woven into her hair to jingle softly. She absently reached up to still them. The drapery dropped back, and she went back to the postcard she’d been reading.

Dearest Miss MacClarren,

I got your letter last Thursday. As you know, I operate a small eating place, so I can’t see how that could be of any interest to you. You make no mention of needing recipes, so I’m not sure I understand what you mean by “my abilities”. I think you may have confused me with someone else.

When you were here last year you asked about dreams. I know I told you I sometimes have odd dreams, but then I’m just a silly country woman. You shouldn’t think anymore of it.

The weather here is very nice just now. Maybe if you visit come to America again, you can stop by. I’d like that. You were very nice to talk to. I hope you are doing well.

                                                                                                      Sincerely,

                                                                                                      Bertie Harrison, May 1902

                                                                                                       Renewal, Nebraska, United States

She  called for her aide, “Henri, I need you to make some travel arrangements for me. I wish to go to America again.” 

Henri was used to his employers whims, he simply asked, “and when should we expect your return, madame?”

“I don’t know this time, Henri. I think this will be a longer trip than usual. It may be several years. I will see to it you are all taken care of. And, of course, you will see to it my home is cared for as well, yes?

”

“Of course, madame. You can place your trust in me,” Henri lifted his chin in pride. “What about the young man outside? Shall I have him removed?”

                                         * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The housekeeper had let the rain soaked man into the foyer. As he stood dripping on the floor, Anne Marie MacClarren greeted him coolly.

“Michael, you are wet. Why do you do this?”

“I am wet because you have been ignoring me, Anne Marie. I have written. You do not answer my letters. I have knocked on your door. You leave me standing on your steps. I thought if I stood in front of your window in the rain, you might finally feel some pity and let me in. And it seems to have worked.” 

“I have no pity for you. If you wish to stand in the rain, that is your choice.” Anne Marie said. “I only let you in because I am leaving. You may dry yourself, and then go home.”

“Leaving? Off on another hunt? What mythical creature are you after now?” he asked. “Anne Marie, when will you stop this foolishness and see that you need to settle down?”

Anne Marie was sorry she’d let him in. She should just have left and waved on her way by. “Michael, I have told you, more than once, I have no interest in ‘settling down’. Not with you, not with anyone. I have my work, and my freedom.” His shoulders slumped, she took a breath and continued. “You are a nice boy, go find a nice girl. I’m not what you're looking for.” She walked away before he could say anything else.

                                        * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It had been many years since she’d had such a determined suitor. She had chosen a good time to leave. He had become a nuisance and would be perpetually underfoot if she stayed much longer. She would miss this house, it was unlikely she would ever return to it. But, it wasn’t the first home she had left behind.

She packed the few things she would need for her trip to Renewal. After she found a place to stay there, she would write to Henri  with instructions for her belongings. Henri had been a faithful servant for a long time. He’d do as she asked. Perhaps she would just give the house to him. Her thoughts wandered in this way for a while before returning to the reason for her trip.

The postcard from America, with it’s hand painted picture of a mountain lake. She chuckled, there was no lake, or mountain near Renewal, Nebraska, United States. Only flat land and woods. And Bertie Harrison.

And Bertie Harrison had dreams. Strange dreams of monsters and magic. Bertie Harrison needed someone to protect her when the creatures of those dreams came to find her. Someone who had years of experience hunting those creatures.

                                  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

  

Written for the Puzzle Piece photo prompt for Story Dam.  I think i'm way over the word limit, the story just wanted to keep going.  This is a back story to one of my nano characters

Golem

This is a chapter of my Nanowrimo work.  It may or may not stay in the final story.  It's a bit of history of my main character, Katrina Crowe.  She has a special "gift", she counsels those with supernatural afflictions.


         Richard had been her first client, and her first failure. Maybe that had been for the best. There had been a few other failures over the years, but Richard had been the worst.

He’d come to see Gram of course, but she was too sick to try to help him at that time. So he had to settle for Katie. Fortunately, he knew enough about his condition to give Katie a head start.

He was a golem, a creation made of mud, conjured by a nice widow woman to be her house man. Her husband had died very young and she'd needed someone to look after the home repairs and yard work. She didn’t trust hired help. So after some unconventional research, she found an old book that described the perfect servant and explained how to ‘make’ one of her own.

She treated him well and taught him to love beautiful things. Not just material, but natural. He also learned to love living and people.

His problem was, fifty years after she had made him, she was dying. And according to all he could find out, at her death, he would cease to exist. Though he cared for her, he wasn’t excited about his impending demise. There were still things he wanted to see, things he wanted to learn.

Katie liked Richard, he was soft spoken and well educated. She felt he did deserve to have more life and asked Gram if there was anyway to help him. Gram had looked at her sadly, and shook her head. It was the way the conjure worked. No one else could redo it. In fact, she didn’t even know if the spell Richard’s widow woman had used still existed.

Katie spent weeks going through Gram’s notebooks. She scoured the library in the city. The Internet was in it’s infancy. Google didn’t exist. There were mentions of golems in one of the oldest notebooks, but nothing useful. There were books of myth or of the sci-fi/fantasy genre, they were useless as well.  Even Richard had no idea where his maker had found the spell for his creation.

Richard told her it was alright. She’d done everything she could. 

 It didn’t make her feel any better.

The day came when the woman was taking her final breaths. What family she had was at her bedside. Richard, only being ‘the help’ was allowed to make his final good bye, then was released from his duties. He sat with Katie the rest of that day

.

She watched as he took in as much of the world as he could. It was a beautiful summer day. Flowers in bloom, the sun shining, there was even a soft breeze.

They sat outside, close to the woods, away from the sight of people. Several times she saw him shudder, and seem to become fuzzy to her. Then he sort of pulled himself together and remarked on a bird song or falling leaf.

Suddenly, he grabbed both of her hands. He looked into her eyes and smiled sadly. “Thank you, thank you for your time.”

Seconds later, her hands held only dried mud.