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?"

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.

A Scene from Renewal

Trifecta: Week Seventy

Congratulations to the Weekend Winners, good work!
I found a bit of one of my  Works Chaos in Progress that had the word of the week in it.  I cleaned it up a bit, cut a lot of excess.  So, here we go...


On to the weekly prompt. Pay attention to the third definition, as always. Good lucky!

LUCKY (adjective)

1: having good luck
2: happening by chance : fortuitous
3: producing or resulting in good by chance : favorable

Please remember:
Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.
You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.
The word itself needs to be included in your response.
You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above.
Only one entry per writer.
If your post doesn't meet our requirements, please leave your link in the comments section, not in the linkz.
Trifecta is open to everyone. Please join us. 



Sheriff Denny Clark pulled into the farm yard.  Nate Foley was waiting for him, angry and impatient.

“Mornin', Nate.  What’s the problem?”  he asked.

“The problem, Sheriff, is somethin' killed more than half my best layin' hens.”  The old farmer led Denny to the chicken coop.  Feathers, blood and torn birds littered the yard.  “Whatever kilt 'em didn't do it for eatin'.  These animals was killed for the fun of it.”

Denny squatted to inspect the remains more closely.  Nate was right.  The birds had been torn apart, one after another.  Whatever?  He was inclined to lay bets on whoever.  The local wild life may take a chicken once in a while, and that's exactly what they did, take.  One may find a few feathers or bones, but those remains showed obvious signs of feeding.  These didn't.

“You didn’t hear anything, Nate?”



“Nope.  Take my hearin' aids out at night.”

“Dog didn’t raise hell?”

“Ain't got no dog.  Last one I had thought the chickens was his.  It were his lucky day, the grandchild was here, took 'im home." 

“Got a count on how many you lost here, Nate?”

The old man figured a minute.  “ I’d say 'bout three dozen.”

Denny nodded, “I'll grab some bags, take a few to Doc Kelsey.  See if he can come up with anything evidential.”  Denny popped the trunk of the squad, he returned with several plastic bags and latex gloves.  He brought a camera to document the scene.  He took a dozen pictures, then bagged eight birds for the Kelsey, the local veterinarian. 

“Make sure you show all that to my insurance agent.  Only about twenty left.  That won’t pay bills for long.  Kin I get rid of the mess now, Sheriff?”

“You gonna burn ‘em, Nate?”

Nate Foley nodded.  “Yep, gotta burn ‘em.  For sure.”

Doors

I've combined two prompts.  Again.

StoryDam Writing Prompt

Prompt:

Free write for ten to fifteen minutes about what is inside of you whether it is metaphorically or physically. Or… write a story about the above choice, will you find the key to open the door to your past, present, or future?

Word Prompt: Key

Sentence Prompt:

I held the key but didn’t know where it would lead…

Did she really want to know what was behind the door…

Of course this may lead you in a completely different direction. Follow your heart and write what you think, feel, know!

Trifecta; Week Sixty-seven

JUGGLE (transitive verb)
1a : to practice deceit or trickery on : beguile
  b : to manipulate or rearrange especially in order to achieve a desired end
2a : to toss in the manner of a juggler
  b : to hold or balance precariously
3: to handle or deal with usually several things (as obligations) at one time so as to satisfy often competing requirements <juggle the responsibilities of family life and full-time job — Jane S. Gould>
Please remember: 

• Your response must be between 33 and 333 words. 
• You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post. 
• The word itself needs to be included in your response. 
• You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above. 
• Only one entry per writer. 
• Trifecta is open to everyone. Please join us. 

There is a door inside my head.  Or rather, there are doors.

One is the door of responsibility, the one that opens on orderly shelves. Where bills are paid on time and promises are kept.  The one that has my time scheduled minute to minute. Everything is tidy and perfectly spaced.

Around the corner is the door of dreams, where I have a whirlpool bathtub, and I can sleep until I feel like waking up. A place where I can all my own food, spin my own yarn, and make my own soap.

The door of imagination.  Packed behind that door are the voices of the page. The immortals that have a book for me to write. Or the stories of the widow and her late husband's dog.  And the tales of cats with more than mice on their minds.  

I want to unlock all the doors at once, let their contents loose.  I want to juggle it all into a manageable, glorious adventure.  

I just want it all.

Old Acquaintances

 This image and These words from "Some Night" by FUN: I found a martyr in my bed tonight
She stops my bones from wondering just who I am, who I am, who I am

Tiger Eyes – Master Class 2013 #5

Congratulations to Carrie!  

In keeping with “changing it up,” when I asked Carrie for a line from a novel, I asked her to give me the last line. That’s right class, this week, you have to END on the prompt, not begin with it. Carrie chose Judy Blume’s Tiger Eyes, which ends with:

Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

and on to the story...

Liam hunched through the afternoon downpour.  His footing was sure on the rain slicked rocks as he climbed the rise toward the abandoned chapel. At the foot of the cracked and weather warped granite steps he stopped to survey ruin. The walls were mostly intact, the turrets not all crumbled. 

He mounted the first six stairs. Before he could reach the topmost step, a rush of air pushed him back. Leathery wings spread wide, framing a bestial face. The features were the same shade as the walls of the chapel. The cheeks and forehead were similarly marred by the erosion of years and weather.

"Thou shalt not enter this holy house, Liam Braden."  Its voice was as eroded as its face. 

"Ye're not serious, are ye?  Tis my family land, gargoyle."

"Thou art unclean. Thee may not enter."

"Unclean?  I'm soakin' wet!"  Liam attempted to side step the creature.

A rock hard hand gently blocked his move. "I am sworn to keep the unclean out of God's house. Thou hast partaken of human flesh, Liam Braden." 

"Ah, that. Well, they was already departed this world. It's not like I slew them meself." 

"And thou hast committed murderer." 

"Self defense."  Liam countered. 

The wings spread as the monster stood to full height. "The murder of thy Father and Mother were not self defense, nor the killing of thy siblings!" 

Liam sighed, "No, but I was under a compulsion.  It was not me fault."

It was the gargoyle's turn to sigh. "A geas set upon thee as the price for the dark gift thee chose to cheat death.  Thou cannot deceive me."

"Alright. Ye've got a point. But, honestly, how holy can this place still be?  None have worshipped here for centuries. And besides, I helped me father raise ye to the tower. T'was meself that named ye. Cedric."  Liam grinned.  "Ye were marvelous! All grim power and stony strength."

"Thee was a good boy then, Liam.  Cedric, yes, I remember."

"Then let me in, old friend. We'll reminisce."

Cedric pondered a moment. "My strength is not what it was, I am lonely. Against my judgement, I bid thee enter Liam Braden."

Together, they walked into the nave. Liam was surprised and unexpectedly pleased to see the stained glass behind the pulpit was intact. The weak light of the dreary day muted the once vibrant hues as they tinted the decomposing body that lay across the podium.

He glanced sidelong at the creature next to him. "Ye've been entertaining?"

"Badly behaved youngsters.  They thought to practice the black mass.  In fact, summoned a demon before I could rouse myself. I had to put a stop to that."

"And the others?"

"Fled. This one chose to martyr herself for her demon."  Cedric gazed sadly at the corpse. "A wasted effort. I sent it back to Hell anyway."

"I see."  Liam eyed the remains hungrily, "Perhaps I was sent to help ye cleanse the house.  I could, oh, dispose of that bit a mess for ye."

"Ghouls!"  Cedric rolled his stony eyes. "Alright then.Maybe that's the way its supposed to be."

Siren

Write at the Merge Week 5

This week, I give you a French phrase (you are not required to use the phrase verbatim, but you can) and a photograph:

La Douleur Exquise (French): The heart-wrenching pain of wanting someone you can’t have.

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

Trifecta week Sixty-two

MOUTH

1a : the natural opening through which food passes into the body of an animal and which in vertebrates is typically bounded externally by the lips and internally by the pharynx and encloses the tongue, gums, and teeth
  b : grimace <made a mouth>
  c : an individual requiring food <had too many mouths to feed>
2a : voice, speech <finally gave mouth to her feelings>
  b : mouthpiece
3: something that resembles a mouth especially in affording entrance or exit: as

  a : the place where a stream enters a larger body of water

  b : the surface opening of an underground cavity

  c : the opening of a container

  d : an opening in the side of an organ flue pipe

Please remember:

• Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.

• You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.

(I've attempted two prompts in one this week)


He wasn’t immediately aware of the music. It started low, worming its way into his conciousness slowly, until he found himself humming along with the melody. Swaying to the soft beat.

He smiled, an involuntary twitch of lip. He stopped his work and leaned back in his wheeled desk chair to listen more closely. The harder he listened, the farther away the music became.

A frown crossed his brow. He rose and went to the small window of his office. The window wasn’t made to open. The door, however, was.

Soon he found himself on the sidewalk in front of the building. He cocked his head, honing in on the direction of the haunting notes and in a semi-daze, he followed.

The journey through the city went unremarked. He almost noticed the rural land he passed as day became evening, then night. By morning, he’d entered a wooded tract and was following a small, forgotten river.

It was afternoon when he reached the mouth of the river, where it emptied into the sea. The trees still clinging close to the banks, roots reaching out to the water. He didn’t feel the cuts on his arms from pushing through brush. He didn’t care that his shirt was in shreds, or his shoes waterlogged and muddy.

All he knew was the song. Sad and sweet and full of unfulfilled promises.

He found its source. A monstrous gatehouse of stone. Empty windows in its upper reaches, watching his approach.

Without hesitation he climbed ancient, lichen covered steps. Higher, the melody quickening the closer he came. At the top of the stairway, a room. From the fading light of the window he saw the singer. A woman, of sorts. At his gasping entrance, she silenced.

His heart broke at the quiet, his arms reached out, pleading. She turned swiftly to the window and leapt to the sea below, her jeweled scales flashing in the last rays of sunset.

With a cry of pain, he followed.

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.”

The New House

Katherina fell in love the minute she saw the house. A small bungalow tucked between two old oaks on a quiet cul-de-sac.  The living room had a dining nook at one end with a little bay window looking into the back yard flower garden. The kitchen was tiny but efficient. She chose the larger of the two smallish bedrooms for herself.  The other would be Sam's room.

The next month was a whirlwind of paper signing and packing. She'd acquired more than she had realized in her five years at the apartment.

Finally came moving day. Or days. Lugging boxes from her upstairs flat to the borrowed pick up, then up the long walk to the bungalow. Her best friend, Jesse was there to help.

Together they spent a weekend moving boxes from room to room. Katherina quickly discovered she wasn't nearly as organized as she had thought. Just as the friends believed they'd made progress, they found items out of place. Bath towels in the pantry or toothpaste in the fridge.

"Jesse, for real, are you getting enough rest?  You're putting stuff in the weirdest places, girl!"

"Not me, lady.  So its either you or you got spooks. I vote for the spooks." Jesse looked at her friend thoughtfully. "I'm serious. Haven't you noticed anything odd about this place. "

Katherina rolled her eyes, "The only odd thing I've noticed is where you store pasta."

"What?" Jesse found Katherina pulling a box of spaghetti out of her sock drawer. "See!! I so would not put spaghetti with socks.  But someone...no,something is. This place is starting to creep me out. I feel watched and I keep catching shadows out of the corner of my eye."

Katherina laughed at her friend, "I think you're just over tired and probably hungry.  I know I am, I'm starving!"

Jesse remained unconvinced, but jumped at a chance to get out of the little house. "Ok then, lets go out to to dinner and celebrate your new home. I'll even buy."

"I will certainly take you up on that offer. Besides, I think everything is good enough here to call it ready to live in.  And just in time, I turned my apartment keys in this morning."

Jesse asked, "Sam is at your mom's?"

"Yep. I'm going to pick him up tomorrow after work. I really miss him, but all the activity would've just been too much for him."

                    ********

After dinner with Jesse, Katherina spent the rest of the evening hanging her clothes in the closet and setting up Sam's bed and toys in the second bedroom.

Finally about midnight she lay down in her new bedroom, the busy days catching up with her.

As she began to drift off to sleep a loud crash brought her upright and awake. "What the.." She turned on the beside lamp and slipped her feet into slippers. Cautiously she padded down the short hallway to the living room. She could find nothing to account for the sound.

"Must have been dreaming."  She headed back to bed making a mental note to thank Jesse for giving her the heebie jeebies. She didn't see the shadowy figures watching from the kitchen.

Bexel and Prigue watched her pad back to bed.  Two shadowy demonics in training.  They'd been excited for the chance to terrorize their assigned victim.

"Harumph!" said Bexel.  "This one's a skeptic.  We'll have to work harder to get a rise from her."

Prigue nodded, "That and she's so tired she's not even paying attention.  Just wait 'til she brings little "Sam" home, though.  Then the fun will start!"

When Katherina left for work the next morning, the pair of amateur evil-doers began plotting.

                    ***********

It was late by the time Katherina and Sam arrived at their new home.

"Good thing we ate at Gramma's, huh sweetie.  You can explore a little, then it's bedtime, I've got your bed all set up for you."

Sam had been settled into his room and Katherina was sound asleep when Bexel and Prigue decided it was time to introduce their presence.

They stepped boldly into Katherina's room.

"What d'ya wanna do first, Bexel?  Levitate her? Just throw stuff around?"

"Hang on a minute, there's something weird here..." Bexel eyed the figure lying under the covers.  "What's that shadow over her chest?"

Suddenly the room erupted with twin beams of angry green fire.

"OH NO!!! Don't look Prigue!!!"

Too late.  "Eeep!"  Pfssst.  A light dust of black ash floated gently to the carpet where the demonling had been.  Bexel retreated quickly to the hallway.

Sam yawned smugly as he stretched and flexed one long clawed paw.  He closed his eyes, twitched an ear toward the door and waited.

Bexel gathered his nerve and peeked around the doorjamb.  Sam simply opened one slit of an eye.

"Ack!"  Pfssst.  Another small pile of ash.

Katherina stirred, "Sam, sweetie, you miss Mommy?"  She ruffled his fur and scratched his ears as he curled into her.  "Making sure the house is free of vermin?"

Sam purred contentedly to himself.  "It is now."

Silhouette

photo courtesy of Cabochons By Bev

Anne Marie MacClarren wandered though the markets. She hadn't been to London in decades. As she held the heavy silk of her skirts out the stinking mud, she silently questioned her choice to visit now.


She had lost any intent to purchase anything offered as she passed tables of smelly fish, rancid fowl, and moldy produce. Not at all appealing, the vendors no more appealing than their wares.

One ramshackle booth was piled with likely stolen trinkets and crudely crafted jewelry. She took a moment to look over the clutter. Upon occasion, a true treasure could be found in such a pile if one knew what to look for.

A pendant caught Anne Marie's attention. A slice of muddy green stone, edged with a thin band of copper and hung on a ribbon. The shadowy image of a woman in the center.

Her breath stopped as she recognized the silhouette.

The dirty young woman behind the table saw her interest. "That be a special charm, milady, I can make a good deal..."

"Where did you get this? Where is the rest of this stone?"

"Its one o' a kind..."

"Do not lie to me. Where is the rest of the stone?" Her breath was coming in gasps. She could feel panic tightening her chest.

The vendor took her distress for anger. She produced three more slices of the stone from a tattered basket behind her. Each bearing the same figure.

"Just these,lady. These are all 'ats left! The rest was sold ."

Anne Marie ripped them from the girl's grubby fingers,"How many! How many more are there! Do you have any idea where they are!"

"There was 13 my da' cut. I been sellin' 'em some days. I dun know who buys. I just collect my coin for 'em."

Anne Marie muttered an ancient curse as threw more than enough coin for the three pieces at the shaken girl.

The young woman scooped the coins up, a bit braver than she had been. "Crazy foreign woman," she muttered.

Anne Marie grabbed the woman's wrist. "I'm not the foreigner here, girl. My blood was old in this land long before you fathers knew this isle existed." She threw the girl's arm down and turned from the stall.

She left the narrow street and its overpowering smells. When she reached the tiny room she had taken for the night, she laid the slices of stone on the table.

The image was unmistakable in each piece.

******

She'd returned to her homeland after years of wandering, hiding from the voice that was always in her head. Years searching for a way to free herself from Lillian's grasp. Years to find the answer now tucked in her pack.

She had barely touched the ground of her birthplace when the witch confronted her.

"Annag, you've finally come back to me. There was no other choice, you know. You must always come back to me."

Anne Marie almost lost the nerve she'd summoned at the old witch's voice. "I am called Anne Marie now", she told the woman.

Lillian sneered, "Anne. And how precious, Marie, for your dead mother Mara. Come, Annag of no clan MacClarren, I have chores for you. You must remember who you owe your life to, girl. Everything will be alright now."

Those last words triggered the desperation, the hatred and fear. She reached into her pack, her fingers gripped the dull green orb.

As she pulled it out, balanced on the palm of her hand,the chant she'd learned began to flow from her terror dried lips. The words in a language more ancient than the old Gaelic of her childhood.

Lillian looked at her with mild curiosity. "What game do you pretend to play, child? What gibberish is this?" Then her eyes widened in shock, her jaw opened to utter a scream of denial as the stone began to glow.

There came no scream, the old witch was still, frozen by the power of the conjure. The glow became a pulse, and with each beat Lillian began to fade.

When the words stopped, Lillian was gone. Anne Marie held the stone in shaking hands. She felt drained, almost as faded as the witch had been.

She finally looked hard at the surface of the orb. It was dull green once again. But as she studied it closer, she could see the ghostly image of a woman, her eyes wide, her mouth open in an eternal silent shriek.

*******

Anne Marie could still hear the voice. "It will be alright." But it never was. It was never alright again.






you can read more about Anne Marie/Annag here and here and here too