Subscribe by RSS:

Posted on 04 December 2016 15:35

In its heyday, the house stood in substantial grounds, and its nearest neighbour was at least half a mile away.  The family that owned the house could trace their history back generations and were extremely proud of their heritage.  The house hosted many a lavish party and saw hundreds of guests enter through its magnificent oak doors.  Horses and carriages turned on its driveway, depositing merry people, in all their finery, upon the front steps, to be announced to those within.  The ballroom shone first in candlelight, and later with gas lamps, illuminating countless dances.  

It was not all glamour and brightness, however, as the house had a dark side, as well, which those unwary enough to go exploring might discover.  At certain times, dark forces converged and caused fascinating encounters to occur in the dead of night in the house’s environs.  Great Uncle Albert ran a secret cult in the basement, where despicable things took place on a monthly basis - strictly invitation only.  Cousin Gerald was once said to have organised an outrageous bacchanalia where a prostitute lost her life in mysterious circumstances and was never seen again.  There were rumours that her ghost could be heard roaming the grounds on summer evenings, when the sun just tipped past the horizon and the landscaped rock garden slipped into shadow.

But that was all long ago.  Time and civilisation slowly encroached, cutting pieces from the land around the house and giving them over to more modern dwellings.  The family fell into financial difficulties and were unable to maintain the house’s upkeep, forced to sell to an organisation that opened it up to the public.  Its glorious history and sensational tales were reduced to bland text on signs placed throughout its rooms.  The beautiful furniture and sinister passageways alike were roped off and visitors were restricted to a single, proscribed path through the building.  All the grandeur and majesty provided by the house’s sweeping tree-lined driveway was destroyed by the spreading housing estate around it.  Eventually, it stood, forlorn and almost forgotten, with semi-detached family homes practically touching its walls.  The sounds of children playing in gardens and washing machines rumbling in kitchens were all that could be heard where once a string quartet serenaded royal guests.  Inside, the medieval tapestries slowly faded, and the basement of evil deeds was taken over by a shop selling shortbread and tea towels.

The house mourned its past glory, wilting under the footfalls of more and more sporadic tourists.  It tried to entice them away from the official route, to sample the dark corners and provide some small shivers of fear and apprehension.  But those charged with corralling the visitors were sharp of eye and rigid of mind, and would not allow anyone to break the rules.  And so the house became trapped, hemmed in by the passage of time and progress of humanity.  No longer could it enjoy scandals and intrigue; it must instead endure the commercialism and banality of the modern age.

XXXXX

Photo: I, Raminagrobis

 

Posted on 09 October 2016 08:51

The room was bright, perhaps a little too bright.  The space was difficult to define, stretching as it did perhaps only a few dozen feet or perhaps to infinity.  The undefined whiteness made it impossible to tell.

The five of us sat in a group of comfy armchairs, somewhere in amongst the brightness.  Clay very ostentatiously wore sunglasses, but the rest of us just ignored him.  There were other groups scattered about, but far enough away from us that we felt we had our own space.  There was a sideboard with refreshments that was within a few steps, no matter which grouping of chairs we used.  Coffee and cake were always provided while we were waiting.  It was all very civilised.

“So…”  Ty broke the silence.  “How are we all, then?”

It was unusual for so many of us to be here at the same time.  We didn’t often overlap by that much.  Sylv was missing, but then she’d been wildly out of sync for a few turns now, so none of us had seen her in a long time.  I had only been away for a relatively short time, so had caught up with the others.

Witt was sipping his coffee, and Sand nodded at me to go first, so I spoke up.

“Oh, you know, same old, same old.  It’s not as if we haven’t all been here before, is it?”

Clay snorted.  “Oh dear me, Em.  All the infinite variety of the cosmos at your fingertips, and your reaction is - same old, same old?  Not getting jaded in our old age, are we?”

“As if you don’t complain about the monotony and repetition at every opportunity,” I said.  I really wasn’t in the mood for Ty’s analysis of our lives, or Clay’s digs today, not after the experience I’d just been through.  I wanted to take the opportunity to relax and just be, for a little while.  I found it restful here, and the interruptions of the quiet by the others irritated me.

Sand looked upset.  “Now, now,” she said, waving her hands in a placatory gesture and making the wide sleeves of her robe flap.  “Let’s not argue.  We get so little time to be together like this.  Can’t we all just get along?”

Clay shook his head despairingly.  “Sand, Sand, Sand - always so desirous of avoiding confrontation.  I often wonder how you survive out in the world, with that attitude.”

“There’s no need to be mean,” Witt said.  “It takes all types of personalities to people the universe, as you well know.”  He reached out and patted Sand’s arm.  “Don’t mind him; you know he likes to pretend he’s better than the rest of us.”

Sand gave Witt a watery smile, then glared at Clay.  “I’ll have you know,” she said to him, in the strongest tone I’d ever heard from her, “that I was actually very successful this time around.  Fame, fortune, frolics - the lot.  Made a rather lovely change from the norm.”

Clay gave her a slow, brief round of applause.  “Well done, you!” he said, as if speaking to a child.  Then he swept his hidden gaze over the rest of the group.  “Anyone else got any tremendous achievements to report?”

“Well, actually…” Ty began, but Clay didn’t let him finish.

“Oh, here we go,” Clay said.  “How did I guess that’s why you asked the question in the first place.  Go on, then, dazzle us!”

I rolled my eyes in annoyance.  This looked likely to turn into some kind of ridiculous game of one-upmanship, in which I very definitely would not be able to compete.  I slumped lower in my seat.

Ty looked taken aback by Clay’s attack, but didn’t let it deter him for long.  “Since you ask,” he said in exaggerated tones, but was again prevented from telling us what he wanted to say.

This time, it was Witt who interrupted.  “Don’t look now,” he said, in an urgent undertone, “but there’s a newbie coming our way…”

A collective groan went up from the group and we all tried to look very busy and important.  It didn’t work, though; the sound of wooden clogs approached and then there was a figure standing in our midst.  The newcomer presented as female, her face alight with enthusiasm beneath the bald head she shared with the rest of us.  Her skin was flawless and she almost shone with newness and joy.  The cloth of her robe was pristine, and so white that it practically glowed, even with all the brightness surrounding her.  The freshness of her aura and appearance made me feel very old and grubby.  Instinctively, I brushed at the crumpled material of my own robe, to no avail.

“Hello!”  Even her voice sounded new.  It was clear and bell-like, ringing out into the potential vastness of the room.  Clay winced and adjusted his sunglasses, studiously ignoring her.

Of course, it was Sand who relented and finally acknowledged the newcomer’s presence.  “Hello,” she replied, her own voice soft and almost welcoming.  “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

I had to give Sand credit for graciousness, at least.  It was more than I was prepared to offer.  Clay snorted, presumably at the inanity of Sand’s question, but the girl’s smile grew impossibly wider and she nodded eagerly.

“Yes!” she said.  “How did you know?”

Clay’s hand shot to his mouth, and he turned slightly in his seat, to hide his muffled laughter.  I was suddenly very glad for his sunglasses; if I had been able to catch his eye, I think I would have lost control myself.

“When you’ve been around the block as many times as we have,” Ty intoned with all the solemnity of a lecturer, “you begin to get a sense of these things.”

“Oh!” the girl said, her eyes wide and admiring.  “You must all know so much.  I’m only just starting out and I don’t know anything.  It’s all so exciting, though, isn’t it?”

Her enthusiasm and naivety were almost physically painful.  If it wasn’t bad enough to have to deal with the bickering of my old friends, now I had to put up with this, too.

“You’ll learn,” I said darkly, but of course she misinterpreted my meaning.

“Oh, yes!” she said, nodding again.  “I’m sure I will.  I have to admit I’m a bit nervous about my first trip out.  There’s so much to see and do, it’s all rather overwhelming.”

“It’ll go by so fast, you’ll be back here before you know it,” Witt said.  “And then you’ll be an old hand, just like us.”

“Besides,” said Sand, “when you’re there, you won’t remember being here, so there won’t be any of the pressures you’re feeling now.  You’ll just have to get on with it as best you can, and things will come naturally to you as you go along.  It’s all quite well designed, really.”

I kept my thoughts to myself.  Well designed was definitely not how I would describe my most recent trip on the merry-go-round of existence.  I wasn’t about to share with experience with the others, though.  Generally, we only told each other about the enjoyable ones and the successes.  Nobody liked to admit to having a miserable time; there was the sense that perhaps you were somehow to blame, and it was uncomfortable discussing how things could sometimes go wrong.  I decided to keep with tradition and let the newcomer go ahead to her first trip with her vision still unblemished.  Maybe it would be fantastic for her, and the lesson that all of us had to learn eventually about the realities of the game would be delayed for a while.  I found myself hoping that would be the case for her, that she would get the chance to enjoy the world before it inevitably disappointed her.  Still, I supposed the good would not seem so without the bad to compare it to, and that was an appropriate thought to have in my head when the announcers called my name.

“Off I go again, then!” I said, levering myself out of the depths of my armchair and trying to muster some enthusiasm of my own.

“Good luck!” the shiny new girl said, her dazzling smile transferring some lightness to my step as I moved towards the door.

“See you on the flip side!” I heard Witt call out, and then I was entering the portal.

The door closed behind me and the light began to dim.  I felt my sense of my interim body and self start to disintegrate, and I fervently hoped for a more enjoyable next life than my previous one.  Anything had to be better than a dung beetle, surely.

Darkness descended, and life began anew.

Posted on 24 September 2016 07:21

I wait.  Formless yet conscious, just beyond the edge of reality.  I know I have a role to fulfil.  The passage of time has no meaning for me yet, but my time will come.  Nothing can remain static forever.  All things change and, when the change comes, I will be ready.

There is a shift in the ether.  Even in the nameless void, I can feel it.  Something is stirring.  A curiosity and a desire that may lead to my release.  The potentiality alters my form and my nature, bringing me closer to being.  With it, comes an impatience that has me pushing at the boundaries of creation.  My sense of imminent freedom builds.

I have a purpose.  My achievements will be great, so great as to dwarf any that have come before.  My impact upon the universe will be so all-consuming, so catastrophic, that nothing will ever be the same again.  My presence will change the very nature of existence for all creatures that currently, or will ever, walk the earth.

Far beyond the reach of my senses, another great entity works towards its own ends.  I cannot assist from my prison, but I know those ends will result in my birth.  I yearn to influence the outcome, though I am confident it is inevitable.  What little knowledge I possess in my non-corporeal state tells me this is so.  A seed has been sown, an idea brought into existence.  One little thought, one small question.  That is all it takes to start the process.

And yet, I want desperately to be involved.  I am tired of waiting.  I want to take my place in the grand tapestry and start weaving my own part of it.  What happens at this juncture will be debated and talked about for all eternity, and I want an integral role in that tale when it is told.  My greatness deserves adulation, and will inspire awe and terror for every generation to come.

At last, the tempter is victorious.  The fruit is taken, tasted.  Knowledge bursts forth into a mind ripe for conquest.  As a child unwittingly walks into danger during play, the new sinners revel in their desires without thought for the consequences.  And those children open the door and welcome me in.  I ride out into the world and doom follows in my wake.  I am their punishment for disobedience, I am the price paid for their sin, I am the end of all things.  

I am Death.

 

XXXXX

 

This won second prize in the February Short Fiction Contest on Michael Brookes' blog, The Cult of Me.

Posted on 31 July 2016 14:32

I knew when the letter came that it was all over for me.

I answered the door to a blank-faced man in an immaculate uniform.  He said my name, his voice toneless.  When I nodded, he handed me an envelope, then turned on his heel and walked away.  

His appearance and manner told me where the letter was from even before I saw the familiar logo stamped on its upper corner.  The paper felt unfamiliar in my hands; the archaic personal delivery system was designed to prevent citizens from being able to claim they had not received their letter.

I turned back to the kitchen, where my girlfriend was eating breakfast.  She looked up as I entered, her spoon pausing partway to her mouth when she saw my expression.  I held the envelope out to her, my hands trembling slightly.

“It’s from the CoLD,” I said, the words emerging in barely a whisper.

Instantly, I saw the horror I felt reflected in her eyes.  Her spoon clattered down into her breakfast bowl, forgotten.

X X X X X

It all started ten years ago.

My nation’s economy is based on deposits of a mineral found beneath the ground in an area near our northern border.  It provides the main source of fuel for our machinery, heating and light, and makes up the vast majority of our exports to other nations.

One day, the miners broke through into a network of caverns previously undiscovered.  They showed signs of manmade construction and contained relics of a bygone era, the like of which had never before been seen.  The relics were raised to the surface, and the world marvelled at such a momentous find.  An exhibition was mounted in our capital city and people flocked from many nations to see it.  Our historians studied the relics and published their findings within their community.

That was when everything started to go wrong.  Historians from our northern neighbour claimed the relics demonstrated links to their culture, and deduced that the site beneath our mines was significant to their religious history.  There was much discussion and debate, but the ultimate conclusion on all sides was that they were correct.  Long ago, the border between our two nations must have shifted, so that their historical site now falls within the land we control.

As a gesture of goodwill, our government offered to return all the recovered relics to them and to provide limited access to the site itself, but that was not enough.  They demanded a redrawing of the border so that they could reclaim the land, and therein lay a substantial problem.  Without the mines, our economy would be severely affected, and our government was not prepared to give up our main source of income to satisfy a cultural desire.

Things quickly escalated, with neither side prepared to accept any offered compromise, until, inevitably, war broke out between our two nations.

At first, the requirement for military personnel was covered by our existing forces but, as the years went by with no sign of an end to the conflict, more people were needed than volunteered.  The draft was established two years ago, a random selection process that could result in any citizen being selected to join the fight at any time.

X X X X X

I opened the envelope and carefully removed the heavy paper sheet enclosed within.  I unfolded it slowly and read the contents aloud.

“You are requested to present yourself at the nearest Council of Loyalist Defence barracks at second bell two days from acceptance of this letter.”

I raised my eyes to meet my girlfriend’s gaze once more.

I was going to war.

THE END

 

[This was my first winning entry in the weekly Hour of Writes competition - first published December 2014.

Comment from Alison Ireland, who runs the site:

"The winner provided a succinct and plausible account of a state’s movement into war, via a clever manipulation of the title."]

Posted on 26 July 2016 08:38

Bubbles rising.

Air, the stuff of life, escaping to the surface.

I remain below, searching the depths for an answer.

The water is murky, which feels appropriate, given my state of mind.  The currents swirl like my thoughts, threatening to spin me around and distract me from my purpose.

But I know the wreck is here.  All the data points to this location, a months-long investigation culminating in this dive, this moment.  I am alone, here in the darkness, a single beam of light showing me the path that lies ahead.  But that is all I need; the light, the data, the faith that I will at last find what I am looking for.

The ship went down nearly a hundred years ago, lost in a storm one night during its voyage.  A young woman was found on a not too distant shore two days later, unconscious, half-drowned, but alive and with another life growing inside her.  Nobody knew who she was, where she had been bound, or what vessel had been carrying her.

She died, but the baby lived – my grandfather – adopted into a family from a nearby village and raised as their own.

The mystery remained hidden for many years, until my father started looking into his family tree and an old woman in the village finally told the tale.  He kept it purely as a bedtime story to pass on to me, but it took hold inside me and I could not leave it alone.  I had to know – where had she come from and how had she ended up on that shore?

It drove the direction of my life, needing to solve that mystery.  I researched, I studied, I learned to dive and to survey the ocean.  I found old records of sea voyages at the time and at last tracked down the ship that was lost two days before the woman was found.

And now here I am, still searching, but so much closer than I have ever been before, perhaps about to discover what I have been burning to know my whole life.

Who was she?

Who am I?

 

XXXXX

 

[Originally written for the weekly Hour of Writes competition - my first entry, published December 2014]