Quote For The Day 7-26-2015

“The terms we use for what is considered supernatural are woefully inadequate. Beyond such terms as ghost, specter, poltergeist, angel, devil, or spirit, might there not be something more our purposeful blindness has prevented us from understanding? We accept the fact that there may be other worlds out in space, but might there not be other worlds here? Other worlds, in other dimensions, coexistent with this? If there are other worlds parallel to ours, are all the doors closed? Or does one, here or there, stand ajar?”
Louis L’Amour, The Haunted Mesa

Quote For The Day 7-25-2015

There’s a kind of beauty in accepting the possibility, if not the plausibility, of everything imaginable.”
Kate Racculia, Bellweather Rhapsody

Quote For The Day 7-24-015

Truly the universe is full of ghosts, not sheeted churchyard spectres, but the inextinguishable elements of individual life, which having once been, can never die, though they blend and change, and change again for ever.”
H. Rider Haggard, King Solomon’s Mines

JSW Prompt 7-23-2015

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Come on!  Tell me a story!

JSW Prompt July 23, 2015 Response

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He crouched in the dark, one knee down, toe of his boot pressing rocky floor, his other boot poised to propel him forward when the moment arrived.  And it would arrive.  He just didn’t know when.  But knowing when wasn’t his job.  Getting in and out safely, prize in hand – that was his job.

His eyes adjusted slowly to the dark, allowing him to pick out the rough rock walls of the tunnel, the scattering of broken stones and bones across the ground.  Bones left as a warning.  How nice.

If he could have snorted silently, he would have. The bones were a challenge, at least for him. He’d already left two dead behind and he’d leave more if needed. Life meant little to him less’in it was his own.  And even then, only marginally.  So what if they planned to kill him if he failed?  He would not fail.  He never failed.

The rock around him started to shake and heave.  He sprang forward, running through the darkened tunnel, leaping stones, avoiding jagged protrusions on the walls, ducking low-hanging stone. Arms out for balance, he stumbled, rightened himself and ran on, counting silently.

Ten, nine eight.  Around the first bend. Drop to his knees and shoot through the narrow opening under a rock fall then back to his feet and running.  Gathered himself and leapt across the snake pit, rolling to his feet on the far side.

Seven, six, five.  Dropped into the rock chimney and slid, boots and gloves against the walls to direct his fall.

Four, three, two.  Almost.  Hitting the ground, he ducked out of the chimney and ran, reaching the next turn of the tunnel as the chimney collapsed behind him.

One.

He slid into the cavern, freezing for a moment to listen, sense.  The silence was empty, vibrating around him the way a tuning fork vibrated to a touch.

He was alone.

He rose and walked to the pedestal, staring at the two-fisted size gem resting upon a velvet cloth.  Warily, he circled the pedestal, searching visually for the small catch able to release the stone.  Reaching the front of the pedestal, he moved closer, removing his right glove to ensure a better feel. Fumbled for a moment and then pulled the catch forward and up, freeing the stone.  As he worked, he felt something brush his hand but ignored it.

Rolling the gem into his left hand, he let go of the catch, hearing the crack of stone. Pulling his hand back, he frowned at the black glove encasing his flesh.  The moving back glove……

He shrieked, shaking his hand violently to dislodge the black mass…

Spiders!

SpidersspidersspidersspidersSPIDERS!

Dropping the gem, he brushed frantically at the creatures with his gloved hand, whole body shaking with the feel of tiny hairy crawling feet.

Falling back against the wall, he drew in long panicked breaths, fighting the shivers consuming him.  S-pi-d-er-s.  Threw away both gloves and ran his hands frantically through his hair, brushing away imaginary spiders.

Garden spiders.  Freaking garden spiders, but he didn’t give a damn.  Just the thought of them touching his skin sent him into violent spasms, fighting for breath. Stomped the ground around him with both feet to squash any that dared come near. Scratched his hands through his hair again, hard.  Wiped at his clothes over and over but the feel of them wouldn’t go away.

Spiders.

Just on your hand, just on your hand, he repeated over and over, trying to wish away the feel.  Hand, hand, hand!  It as no use. He still felt the anguish of their legs on him. Coming to his feet, gem forgotten, he started to run.  Where, he didn’t care.  How, he didn’t care.  All he needed was to get away.

JSW Prompt June-22-2015 Response

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It all started the day the cat ran away.  That’s when the house started shrinking.  Don’t ask me how; I don’t know.  But each hour the rooms seemed to get a tiny bit smaller; walls closing in; ceiling encroaching on head-space. My girlfriend told me I was going crazy.

Going?  I thought I was already there.

The day grew darker.  The house got smaller.  I walked in circles, thinking as long as I walked I could keep the walls from crushing me.  My feet wore a path along the carpet.  And then my knees.  Hands and knees.  Belly crawl. Slithering like a snake.

Now I lay here, stretched between kitchen, hall and living room, wood from the door frames pressing into my shoulders, back and legs.  Trapped.  Out the window of what used to be my living room, I watched the sloping meadow beyond. The sky looked grey and angry.  Was it angry at me?  The cat?

I dozed.  Woke.  Dozed again.

When I woke this time, I realized the door frames no longer ground into my body, threatening to cut me into a multitude of sausage-like pieces. In fact, the constrictions around me felt, if anything, looser.  A surge of joy washed through me.

The cat must have come back.  The house was expanding!

No, not expanding.  I was shrinking.  Shrinking like the house, smaller and smaller and smaller.

A huge grey paw reached in through the broken living room window, claws like saber blades.

 Searching.

Quote For The Day 7-23-2015

“Heroes are made by the paths they choose, not the powers they are graced with.”
Brodi Ashton, Everneath