If I did not have a gun, this man would worry me. With the gun, I was only on professional high alert.
Perhaps a description would be useful in this, a reference point to the creature—once human.
He had the usual marks—dark green veins around his mouth. Had the standard shadows at his feet dancing and snapping at things. Each time they touched me I got cold.
He also wore a black suit. Continue reading
In a town like this, you learn not to drink from the water fountains. This lesson, among many others, came with living in a Dark Zone. We are one of the towns you hear about in horror stories. We have a curse from someone or something always popping up around once a month.
For most of us, life is short. But you can manage to survive longer if you bother to be smart about what you are doing.
You must be self-reliant, because it’s not like you will get much help. The thing about Dark Zones is that we can’t communicate out of it to anywhere but other Dark Zones. If the type of phenomena we regularly experience ever reached the attention of the mainstream media, it would change the world. If a single person escaped after being pulled in, we might have the entire country’s military come down to purge the place like a zit on the fabric of reality.
But we can’t, so they don’t. Continue reading
(In case you haven’t read it yet, here’s a link to part 2.)
Whatever the woman was hearing shrieked, and her mouth shot open, and her eyes darted. She stared around, panicked. Her foot hit the camera, and it knocked over sideways in the dirt. The lens cracked, but the light continued to shine.
Her voice refused to come to her. Gone was all sound from the room until broken by the other’s human speech.
“Okay, gave you the chance. I’m lowering myself down, I’ll bring you back something shiny.” Continue reading
(In case you haven’t read it yet, here’s a link to part 1)
“Now we’re talking. Careful with the camera then. I’m doing first contact here. A huge step.”
“I’m sure someone already beat you to that.”
“Not on a live web feed.”
A rumble, somewhere, shook the ceiling. A few tiny rocks plopped down and made the water again ripple. The sensation of something stalking them was prevalent. And not altogether impossible. It was egg-like. There could be a mother. Continue reading
(Due to some time distortions, and several Gods, I am getting this out to you a little late. Hope you enjoy it all the same, and I should be able to get thing back to relative normal soon.)
Somethings should not be on camera.
I call this story:
—
“Are we live?”
The light shined weak against the skin.
“Yeah, this is live. We’ve got…ten viewers already.”
“Okay, wow.”
“Getting a clear image is hard. The camera doesn’t like it.”
“No, I’m betting it doesn’t.” Continue reading
Salina Johnson’s camera captured something. Not that she was aware of it. But there it was, hidden between the desktop and the browser. In the pixels. Squirming through the hard drive, looking out, watching, with blinking, cold eyes. Continue reading
The sound annoys. Irritates me. I can’t stand it. I shout for it to stop. I beg the air, I scream, and it does not stop. Clanking, crushing. Cracking. So much noise. It makes me want to take my skin and yank it down over my ears. Fill my drums with liquid until they pop.
I can’t stand it—I just can’t. The cabinet slamming covers the sound well enough. Back and forth under my forceful hands. Back and forth. Enough force to break something. The last push hurts too much, so I slam my hand on the side of the wood, letting the wet handprint slide down on the mahogany. Continue reading
Here is a story in the always tricky second person point of view.
I hope you hadn’t just eaten, because…
You are hungry. You have this feeling in your head like you might fall over if you’re without food for too long. You desire the sweetness of meat, the richness of cream, and the salt and gristle of many things. Continue reading
The book opened and laid on his knee. The paper was faded, old, and crinkled. A coffee stain on its binding from back when there was coffee.
“It says many things about what you described,” the man said.
“A ‘book’ does?” asked the boy sitting at the man’s feet. Off in the corner of the room a machine puttered along, producing heat.
“Yes. There was once a time when books told everyone all knowledge. We had one great book we used to read.” Continue reading
At the end of it all–a conversation. It’s called:
“Does the last human want a drink of water?” she says and holds this strange, warped glass toward me.
I can’t grab it of course. My arms and legs pinned to the table. Only a sheet and space separating my heart from her claws.
“I’d like food, actually.”
“Oh, I’m sure you would,” she says. “I’m sure you’d like a lot of things.” Continue reading
Do you shoot to kill? Or do not shoot at all? This is a flash fiction called:
The twelve stood in a circle, and in the center was a person who was not human. Not alien either. Not anything understood by anyone, but there all the same.
The twelve looked nervous and wanted to find an exit. No exit existed. The walls remained white and without a door. They did not remember how they arrived in that spot, nor who the others around them might be. Continue reading
I believe it was Chuck Wendig who said a writer must have another artistic outlet beyond writing. And I’ve been listening to a lot of podcasts.
So, I thought I’d make my own. But, as you all know, I am not one to do things in the normal way.
So instead, about 35 days ago I began recording. A semi-improvisational project based around on-the-fly observations of the world around me. Continue reading
I don’t know if you guys have read–or in my case are reading–Stephen King’s Bazaar of Bad Dreams. But if you haven’t, I seriously recommend it. Every chapter, at least so far, starts with the King himself talking about the inspiration for the story–and that alone is beneficial. If you are a student of the literary arts, it’s worth the price of admission just for that.
And when I started reading, I, of course, got to the first story, a little tale called “Mile 81”. It’s a horror story. One so well-crafted that by the end of it I learned so many new things about how to do horror well, my head spun.
And though some of this may be common knowledge, I thought I’d share some of it with you. Continue reading
A story about a dark outcome. A story hopefully never real.
A story called:
—
We drive because an airplane would be too slow. The takeoff would not happen in time, and that wasn’t an option when we knew what was coming.
And we did know, but no one else did. We would sound like maniacs on the street if we tried to tell them. Continue reading
Oh yeah, this is going to be weird. Strap in folks.
I call it:
—
Let’s paint a picture shall we? Let’s go with a living room. It’s a tad hazy at first, though. Since I didn’t give you any specifics. Or you just subbed in a living room like the one you have, or what a friend has. But you can see a living room now. You should see it clearly. Continue reading
Coolerbs Writes 