You’ll never truly know somebody’s heart.

My wife, Mel, if there was one person I thought I knew, it was her. Turns out, all I knew was the pretty picture she painted: a quirky girl from the Midwest who was too bright and beautiful for me. I should have known it was too good to be true, but I didn’t expect a thing until the day the bombs went off. On that day, seeing her skin peel back, that caliginous, misty form spilling out of the thin layer of flesh, I felt I knew nothing of my wife.

“My darling,” she tried to say. Her wispy hands couldn’t even grasp me. My wife passed through me as insubstantial as water vapor. “I’m telling you, this doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

But it changed how I felt about her. She’d hidden her proper form from me for so many years. She’d buried her intentions, the awful purpose for why she was on Earth. I’m sure something in this lie breached the marriage vows I’d made to Mel all those years ago.

“I love you,” she’d cried. “I saved you.”

She acted as if this were a sacred, heroic act. Like there weren’t a thousand others of her kind who’d taken humans, a dying breed now, as pets. And what did they end us for? The last few drops of fresh water left on a dying world, the molten metal in our Earth’s crust? Was that worth the lives of all humanity?

“In the right situation, we are all capable of the most terrible crimes,” Mel said. “Our planet was barren. You’ve been saved, love. Don’t you understand that your planet was going to die anyway? You’ll live forever. Here. With me. We can both be happy. You have to let me take you to the doctor. They can make you like me.”

And she kept talking about the operation. How it doesn’t hurt that much. How I needed to get it soon. The importance of it. She kept talking about her people, the genius way they left the mortal coil’s confines, binding their souls to almost intangible clouds of ‘biological matter.’

“Really,” Mel pleaded. “You have to agree soon. I can’t make them do it without your consent and look.” Her hand passed through my stomach. “Darling, you’re wasting away. You know the resources on the ship are scarce. We won’t reach another planet for nearly three light-years. I can’t sustain you. Darling, please let them do the operation. Please…”

But I couldn’t. Every other human had either suffered the operation or died. I’m the last of my kind and don’t want to give in. I don’t want to live forever in that halfway state of existence. With no touch. No warmth. No body.

“Darling,” Mel sobbed. I couldn’t see the tears, but I felt guilty even after all that had happened. “You’re hurting so badly. Please let me upgrade you. Please don’t make me watch you die like this. Don’t waste away out of pride. I didn’t save you to watch you die.”

I hadn’t talked to her since the abduction. Not a single word in these past months, but I finally broke my silence. “Why did you marry me?”

Without hesitation, she answered. “Because I love you. Please, believe me. I love you with all my heart.”

I almost laughed. “I can see through you; you have no heart.”

“Well, I see through you too. You don’t want to die like this any more than I want to watch it. Starvation is a long process, especially if I keep supplying you with water and nutrients. It may be years before you succumb. Get the operation, darling.” That last sentence was tacked on, sounding like a threat.

I almost gave in, but then her hand ghosts through mine again. The unnatural chill knocked my resolve back into place. “I’m sorry, but I can’t become like you.”

Mel’s misty particles became erratic, trembling as I heard her sob. “Fine,” she wailed in a mixture of rage and sorrow. “Fine! I steal the prettiest skin to impress you! I become the perfect wife! I love you and save you! I even steal food for you… Yet… Yet you still won’t join me in eternity.”

My gut churned the same way it did when she first peeled off her skin, anxious with new and horrid variables. “I won’t,” I told her. “I can’t.

“Fine,” she said evenly. “Then it’s up to me to make a new forever.” Before I could react, her solidified appendage slammed on the airlock button, exposing us to the cruel coldness of space. The last thing I felt was her vaporous form wrapping around me, and I knew, in that moment, one thing. She loved me.

#Game Night

I step into my apartment after a long day at work, and kick off my wet shoes. Having walked from the bus stop through a caliginous night, I want nothing more than a glass of wine and my pajamas.

I make it a few steps when an ominous musical theme plays, freezing me in place. "This is Game Night! The viral Gameshow livestreaming from our contestant's home. Playing tonight is Fiona."

My stomach drops in fear. I run back to my door, and find it locked from the outside. Desperately I knock, hoping my neighbors will hear, knowing it's no use. I've watched this show before. The neighbors never hear.

Gulping down my terror, I turn back around, knowing I'm on camera, with millions watching.

"For those unfamiliar with the show, here's how it works. Someone close to Fiona tipped us off about something she desperately wants. Let's find out what it is!"

An image is projected on the wall in front of me. My co-worker Aaron. "Fiona seems like your basic twenty-something, eager to grow her career,  but I saw through that, " he said. "After happy hour, she confirmed my suspicions. Told me she loathed this job, and couldn't wait until she was rid of it. What a perfect contestant for my favorite web show I thought. "

"I saw through you too, Aaron," I growl. "You brownnosing weasel."

"So Fiona wishes to be rid of her job," the host's voice returns. "And, Fiona, you can be! Thanks to Aaron breaching your trust, you just need to win Game Night! A challenge awaits in your bedroom. Win it, and a comfortable life, free of your job is yours. Lose, and let's just say  you won't be around to return to work tomorrow."

I let out a shaky breath. I've seen this show once, and heard about it even more. It's always violent. The time I watched, the contestant didn't succeed. By the time the police determined where they were, they were too late. Somehow, the police are always too late.

With shaking legs, I make my way to the bedroom, feeling all the unknown eyes on me. My sacred place of rest, reduced to some sick vicarious entertainment. My bedroom door is closed, and when I push it open, I'm met with a horrific sight.

The CEO of the company sits gagged and bound to a chair, and on my bedside table is a knife.

"You wish to be free of your job. To win this challenge, and Game Night, ensure you will never be able to return."

The host's voice is right behind me now, and I whirl to see a masked figure holding a gun. There's no escaping if I don't win.

Fear floods me as I look between the knife and the CEO. I don't like the guy. He's an inappropriate brute who underpays and overworks his employees, but can I really kill him?

"In the right situation, we are all capable of the most terrible crimes," the host says encouragingly. The audience will want blood. "You have three minutes."

My hands tremble as I pick up the knife. I keep my eyes on the CEO, but don't move toward him yet. Fear grips me, and I know he's terrified too. The time is ticking. If I fail will the host shoot us both or just me? Panic is on the verge of taking me over when I spot my filing cabinet.

Still gripping the knife, I walk toward it, and pull out my copy of my work contract. I slice it in half with the knife. "I quit," I announce.

There's silence. Is this sufficient? Or will the show's host demand blood?

"Congratulations," the host sounds amused. "You've won. You win one million dollars, safely stored in an offshore account. This concludes this episode of Game Night. Thanks for playing Fiona!"

The host walks forward and hands me a business card, "In case you want another job in the future - you could find out why the cops are always late, " he says with a grin.

When I look up again, he's gone. A minute later the cops arrive. They free the CEO who has no details on who abducted him. "Don't come into the office. I'll mail your last check, " he tells me. "That Aaron fellow is out of a job as well."

The police ask if I have any information of use. I think of the business card in my pocket, and the host's words about the police. They're in on it, I realize. I shake my head, "Nothing. Just a guy in a mask. "

They confirm all the cameras have been removed, and when at last I'm alone in my apartment again, I break down and weep.

WC: 793

For three months in summer back when I was eight years old, I had a little brother.

My childhood is fuzzy. The memories are hard to reach for, but happy ones are few and far between. When I think about Mom and Dad I remember their arguments about me. I made them worry a lot and there was always some new problem to deal with. Sometimes I wondered if they could both be happy without something going horribly wrong.

My brother could keep them happy. Even with everything else he did to them, I still think my parents would consider those three months the happiest days of their lives. If they could remember them, at least.

Mom brought him home one caliginous night, as the word-a-day calendar from her office would say. I don't know which poor child it ate back then to worm its way into her heart, but that was all it took. It was slow earlier on, though, so she tried to make me feel included at first.

"It's just for a few days," she told me as she fussed over him. "I just couldn't leave him out there. You can share your room while your father and I look for his parents. I can't imagine how worried they must be..."

She was untangling his matted hair with a fine comb. She had never been that gentle with me. Whenever I shrieked in pain, she would only tell me that it was because I never combed my hair.

"And if we can't find them," she continued, "we can go to the police-"

The boy stiffened under her touch, eyes wide. Then he screamed. I waited for her soft look to harden, for the cold order to go to his room. But she hugged him tight even as he thrashed and wailed.

"No, of course we won't go to the police," she murmured. "You've done nothing wrong. You're safe here. We'll give you everything you need."

I clenched my fists.

My parents printed posters and talked about reaching out to people they knew. But days became weeks and eventually I found the rolled-up posters in the trash. They never even tried to put them up. As far as they were concerned, I had a new brother now.

But Victor wasn't like us. He never slept. No matter how much Mom fed and bathed and cleaned him, he was always the same starving wretch covered in filth she'd brought home that day. He never talked, and I would have understood because I didn't like speaking either, but he never tried anything to make himself understood. He just stared silently, almost balefully, until my parents' frantic guessing game hit their mark. I wondered where he was raised, if he really had been born in a barn like my dad used to tell me occasionally. He thought nothing of standing over me while I slept. Knocking was a foreign concept to him.

I hated my new brother with every fiber of my being, but nobody else cared or noticed. They loved him. They thought he was perfect.

He didn't have to go to school. After the first week, Mom was convinced he'd been through a hugely traumatic event and trying to put him through classes would only upset him. I would come home to my favorite cartoons blaring through the house while Mom slaved away in the kitchen trying to make something Victor wouldn't reject.

The day I learned about the cuckoo, I was glad he wasn't in school. We were learning about parasites in biology, and all anyone could think about was worms.

"What about the cuckoo?" our teacher said.

Cuckoos were brood parasites, she continued, outsourcing their offspring to other parents. I knew what Victor was now. When the time came for our annual beach vacation, I knew I had to act.

That day I pushed myself with a manic zeal. I swam further out than I had ever managed before. Victor followed, sullen and quietly miserable as always, but the thing behind him had to keep up its act.

There was a little alcove in the water, hidden behind an outcrop of rocks. I watched, holding my breath, as Victor failed to wail or scream like a real little brother would if his sibling disappeared. He simply settled down to wait. Like the matter was settled and he would be an only child from then on.

Then he smiled with teeth far too sharp and numerous to be human, and I hit him in the head with a rock.

I learned this back when I was eight: in the right situation, we are all capable of the most terrible crimes.

"I saw through you too," I whispered as I held him underwater for good measure. "We're all monsters."

#Spam

So glad to make your acquaintance, Jon Thorpe.
I’ve got such wonderful news to report.
You’ve won a million dollars! Don’t think–
Take action now, just click on this link.

Hmph. Saw through that ruse, did you?
Well, Mr. Thorpe, I saw through you too.
Your spam folder’s swollen with unopened mail
Which I sniffed and I followed, a digital trail.

Knock knock.
Don’t cower.
I know you’re still there.
Eating canned food and sweating in stained underwear.
I know all about you: each caliginous desire,
Melting your heart like a sputtering fire.

‘Tis the twenty-first century, Jon! Nothing’s sacred.
Not cloying love nor squirming hatred.
So, what do you say? Feeling risky, wink wink?
Take the chance of your life–and click on this link!

You—trashed me.

Ok, you sniveling shit.
I’m back in your inbox. Let’s get to it!

Your password was breached:
Jens-a-bitch-253
Got dumped, hm?
Good. Sent a text to her feed!
“My life has been awful since we’ve been apart.
Please Jen, take pity on this broken heart!”

Sent a mail to mother about all the lies
you told, to cover for your petty crimes.
Wouldn’t she like to know of your fiction
Of what became of this year’s tuition?

Told your boss how you’re lazy, your friends, how you’re mean,
Told your whole contact list of your sins and your dreams.
I know you, Jon! I’m the sum of every dread
The total vitriol of your each forum thread.

I’ll show the whole world the Jon that I know!
That is, unless you click on this– Oh!

See, that wasn’t so hard. Didn’t mean to scare ya.
Just wanted to show hot singles in your area!

WC: 284

Liked what your read? Get more at /r/gdbessemer!

#Embrace the Darkness

Walking home in winter always unsettles me. In the cold dark brought on by shortened days, with the moon staring down from a caliginous sky, my mind plays tricks. Every set of footsteps behind me is a stalker. Every breeze is breath on the back of my neck. Every shadow hides danger.

My eyes flick back and forth as I hurry along the quiet street, counting off the doors until mine. Though I hold my keys firmly, jutting out between my knuckles, I don't bother to use them, instead knocking in rhythm to my racing pulse.

The door swings open, bathing me in golden light and the warmth of John's smile. With a sigh of relief, I stumble inside, straight into his embrace, letting the tension melt away and the keys drop back into my pocket.

His hand brushes past me as he closes the door, and I hear the reassuring click as it locks into place.

Inside the sacred security of these walls — these arms — my foolish fears fade, warmth chasing the chill from my bones.

"Love you," I whisper into John's ear as I tuck my chin into his shoulder.

His only reply is to squeeze tighter.

"So, how was your day?" I ask, pulling back slightly.

Only John doesn't seem ready for the hug to end.

Giggling, I nuzzle into him. "Someone's in an affectionate mood."

But he says nothing.

I twist my head, awkwardly smushing my cheek into his chest as I try to look at him. "John?"

Silence. Not just quiet. Not just the absence of words. The only thing I can hear is my shallow breathing, growing ever faster. But no such sounds emanate from him.

The chill returns to my bones, running down my spine and setting every hair standing on end.

I try to pull back again, my attempts growing ever more forceful. "John?" I shout as I struggle to breach his grip. "Let me go, John! You're scaring me."

My heart thumps against my ribs, as desperate to break free as I am.

His grip loosens.

I stumble back. Off balance. Plummet to the floor, landing hard.

But the pain barely registers. I'm transfixed by the face staring down at me. It's John's, in the sense that it's the same shape. The same jawline. The same forehead. But that expression. Those cold, dead eyes. That smirk. They're so alien; it makes him look like a completely different person — a different being.

It tilts its head as I scrabble away, every instinct screaming at me to flee. But I can't look away. "What gave me away?" it asks, in a voice that sounds like a frozen, jagged version of John's.

My back hits the door.

The thing steps toward me, and I choke back a sob.

Without turning I grope for the handle. Hope surges through me as my trembling fingers close around it — but it remains steadfastly still. Locked.

"Trying to leave without answering my question?" it says, crouching over me, a knee on each side pinning my arms to the ground. "Now that's just rude."

"Please!" My voice catches in my throat, so tight I can barely breathe.

I flinch as it grabs the back of my neck, hissing, "Answer me!"

"I-I don't know! It was... everything. Everything about you isn't him."

"Huh." It almost looks amused. "Well, you might have seen through me. But I saw through you too. Your paranoia. Your pathetic need for protection. Every night on your walk home, I watched from the shadows. Saw the fear. Saw the weakness." The grip on my neck tightens, forcing me closer to those dark, dead eyes. "Oh yes," it purred. "I knew you'd make the perfect victim. If only I could get rid of him..."

A jolt of fury burns through me. "What did you do with him?" I snarl.

"What I'm about to do with you. Only for him, it was quick."

The fire in my veins ignites something in me, and I am no longer frozen by fear. Wrenching myself from his grip, I smash my head forward into his, barely registering the impact.

Before he can react, I haul my arms out from under his knees, ignoring the screaming in my joints, scratching and clawing at any flesh I can find.

In the struggle, a jingling reaches my ears. My keys! I dig into my pocket as a hand closes around my throat.

"You'll regret that," it growls.

But I don't. It got me what I need. I bring the key up in a wide arc, plunging into its neck.

In the right situation, we're all capable of the most terrible crimes. As scarlet spurts from the wound, I watch the life drain from my lover's face.

I smile as its blood pours onto me.

WC: 800

I really appreciate any and all feedback

See more I've written at /r/RainbowWrites

The End of Day

...be with God's People. Amen.

Brother Matthias blinked, looking between the bible and the stack of parchment he was copying on, and grinned. There was something deeply satisfying about finishing a manuscript. He checked his candle and winced at how little was left. A glance around confirmed he was the last one in the scriptorium, and he hurriedly snuffed out the light.

He winced again when the monastery bell sounded. If it was vigil already, then it was well past midnight. Matthias picked up his parchments to bring them to the binding table, when the bell tolled again, louder. On the third, loudest, ring, he ran for the door.

Bumping into shelves, Matthias cursed the caliginous interior of the library. The tolling of the bell grew deafening as it picked up speed, warning of mortal peril. The only other time he'd heard it, a fire destroyed half the orchard and threatened the chapel itself. His memory of the familiar route and the crescent moon's faint light brought him out onto the monastery grounds just as the tolling died.

Matthias jogged towards the chapel and its tower, belatedly realizing he was still holding the manuscript. Fellow nocturnal monks emerged from other buildings and joined him. He recognized Brother Andrew in the lead, coming from the kitchen. Ever since he'd forgotten, he'd always checked tomorrow's breakfast supplies if he woke late. He beat Matthias to the chapel and struggled with the massive double doors or open one a crack.. He took a single step inside and screamed, high and loud, stopping those who followed in their tracks.

"Vikings!"

Matthias froze as Andrew staggered back. A moment later, both doors slammed open, revealing the outlines of a pair of hulking, armored figures. They were featureless, backlit by the candles behind them, and Matthias caught sight of a monk on the floor inside. Just as the doors shut, his eyes were drawn to the broken, bloody spear protruding from his back, defiling the sacred ground. One of the vikings seized Andrew, forcing him to the ground and pulling out rope. The other moved towards Matthias, barking something in a coarse tongue.

Some remaining scrap of reason finally reached Matthias, and he turned and ran. The few others outside were already fleeing.

"Brother Matthias!" He forced himself to ignore Andrew's cry, and the sound of a fist striking that followed it; he could focus only on the harsh breathing and slapping steps on the flagstones behind him. The monastery's walkways, with their lovingly tended gardens and winding routes, became nightmares in the dark. Each shrub became a place hide another invader, and each decorative border threatened to trip him in his path.

A monk ahead of him fell, letting out a cry of pain. Matthias stumbled, fumbling with the parchments and losing half of them, hoping to lend a hand to help him rise. Then the fallen monk clutched his knee, and Matthias blinked away tears as he ran by instead, recognizing Brother John as he passed.

The footsteps behind him slowed as the viking reached his new victim. Matthias tried to console himself that Brother John was only caught, not slain. Everyone knew the raiders preferred captives to slaughter. He risked a look over his shoulder, needing to know.

The viking poked John's leg, and when he screamed, a knife flashed in the darkness. Matthias focused on running again. He had to warn the dormitories.

Another brother was there first. When he reached for the door, a viking emerged from the bushes surrounding the building and seized him. More vikings converged on the building where they could take the most slaves for the greatest profit, and Matthias turned to the fields instead. A few others were running the same direction, and Matthias didn't dare take the time to see if they were his brothers or raiders.

Through the herb gardens, he lost more parchments tripping over the low fence. He'd almost made it to the wheat fields, where he hoped to hide amid the tall stalks, when his foot found no ground. He fell into the drainage ditch, and fiery agony crawled up his ankle when he landed.

Gasping in pain, he curled up against the side of the ditch and mumbled an incoherent prayer.

He ignored the cries from the monastery, some of fear, others of pain followed by the sound of a blade striking flesh. He huddled in the mud until dawn, until the sound of flames replaced the sound of his brothers torment. He laughed, a broken noise, when the light revealed he was still, somehow, clutching a single page. Without meaning to, he read the words, ink smeared by the water

...the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile... they will be consigned to the fiery lake of burning sulfur...

Matthias wept.

WC: 800

r/NobodysGaggle

Home

​

Some days when the rain patters against the small window of our bedside, I think it's you speaking to me. Through the tapping and shaking of the window pane, I hear your sighs and I hear your screams. In the gentle light of a spring shower, you giggle. Through the cold and caliginous dark of a storm, you wretch and moan.

​

They say that home is where the heart is. I have been homeless for some time.

​

I like to think I'm diseased. That a terrible mental illness took me those years ago. Twisted my thinking, clouded my mind. You said you saw through me, though. Said that when you peered into my eyes, I had always been this way. That I was born this person - weak, insufferable, and malformed. In that moment, a cloud cleared for me. I saw through you too.

​

That knowledge ignited something in me. Something I wish was sickness, or a bout of hysteria. But it wasn't. In the right situation, we are all capable of the most terrible crimes.

​

Tonight, you knock against the window again. I listen and tap my fingers to your rhythm. I can't explain, but you feel closer every night. I see you in the shadow of the open pantry door. When the rain has ceased, your footfalls are the creaking of pipes. The whirring of the air conditioner is your breath. Each day you breach further into this house. Each day I am farther from home.

​

I know that you are the mold. It grows up in every dark pocket. Relentless. No ground is too sacred, and no place a safehaven. Is it you which I feel growing in my mind? The tips of your fungus eroding at my soft tissue, clawing for purchase in my skull? Sometimes I try to breath as deeply as I can, to let you in. Haste you along. Let you crowd my airways and find purchase in my throat.

​

When I slammed your head into the corner of the fireplace I was so certain you'd be gone. But now you're here. You're here so often, so unmistakably, that we are as one thing. One being.

​

This run down shack is never going to be my home again. Nor will the one across the street, or across the state, or across the ocean. But I am your home now, aren't I? Your last vessel to cling to on this miserable rock. Every footfall I make leaves your spores. Every sound that reaches my ears you listen.

​

But I've destroyed a home before. Do you smell the gasoline? Can you taste it? Can you feel it running on our skin? Pound away at the windows. Flicker your lights. Do anything you want.

​

If I can't keep my home, neither can you.

It's a goddamned Wednesday. I'm at this shit clinic before school, bright and early. Well, not so bright, but definitely early.

My kidneys are failing. I'm on a transplant list, and don't know when I may receive such a blessing. For now, I go to the clinic three days per week, three and a half hours at a time. It's a squat, rectangular building behind a shopping mall, the inside lacquered with the stuff painted on so many waiting rooms, absolute mediocrity.

At least the staff are friendly. I know every nurse's name. Every technician. All of their shifts. They tell me these things, about their vacations and spouses and small things, things close to home. I just wish they didn't pity me so much.

So many times they've hooked me up to the machine that filters waste from my blood. My body won't do it. It can't. A machine has to suck it out and spit it back into me. Two pricks, two tubes, every single time.

Barely conscious, I still know the woman who entered the room where the magic happens wasn't a regular. She didn't move right, she didn't move like any of the rest.

"Hello, dear!" She said almost too enthusiastically.

"I don't know you." It probably wasn't the most polite I could have been, but like I said it was early and I had stayed up the night before anyway.

"I'm Nurse Ann."

"Alright, Ann. Nice to meet you I guess. Can we get on with it?"

"It's Nurse Ann, Miss." Fucking seriously. "Nurse Ann" None of the others had ever done that. We were all on a first-name basis.

"I'm no Miss, then, Nurse Ann." She looked at me and then back to the chart in her hand.

"Of course, of course young sir."

She did her job efficiently enough. I was pierced and ready to get my blood flowing.

Usually, the staff have better shit to do than sit with me, but that's just what Nurse Ann was up to.

"You fucking mind?" I asked.

"Language!" she cried. All I could do is twist my face and look at her in disbelief. Who the fuck is this woman? "You won't be speaking like that much longer, dear."

"The hell you mean by that?" I retorted.

"Watch," she instructed. She pointed to my arm, where the tubes connected.

I started sweating immediately. The blood coming out of me was tar black. My eyes widened and fixed on it. Coming back in it was red, but what was the black?

"You vile, vile girl. We'll make you right again." I had enough of this shit. I was old enough to drive my skinny ass out of there, and I meant to.

But she put her hands on my shoulders and I felt calm suddenly, like my discontent had evaporated.

"Are you happy now, dear?" Nurse Ann asked.

"Yes, Nurse Ann!" I reply happily.

The Halloween Hypnotist

It was a dark and stormy night. Thunder shook apartment forty-nine.

The smart yet sporty type, Vincent felt reading and exercise were both part of a rewarding life. A dedicated bachelor, he didn’t have the heart for an adoring wife.

Before bed, after doing deadlifts, he’d read his favorite novel of all time. He did both like some savored a bottle of mulled wine. Or others observed the quavering startle of occult crime…

​

The man in the hockey mask got the door to eventually hitch and click. But it was a bitch to pick. He slipped in, the apartment was caliginous.

Amidst the storm, the wind howled against the glass. As it shook, he wondered when he’d be sensed at last…

​

Waking with a hand tight around his throat, Vincent tensed up fast. He didn’t have a chance to gasp. He flailed with glanced attacks. But soon, as the intruder expected, came Vincent’s collapse.

After he secured the final restraint, he remained patiently idle, in wait. Finally, from the gag something muffled but primal escaped.

Vincent thrashed in the chair which only tightened the ropes. But the seat across from him is what made him frightened the most.

"Follow this pendulum with your eyes or I will eviscerate you. No matter what, death is your fate, true,” he paused, “but you choose—either way, I’m euphoric: fast or slow? You don’t want to be eaten by your own hydrochloric acid, no?”

Vincent swallowed hard then looked up and nodded. Then with eyes shut he fought it, but soon his gut knotted. That’s better than it being cut, rotting.

“Let your eyes show how you feel, entirely. You may speak quietly as long as you don’t lie to me. Nod or say, ‘I agree.’”

He nodded then became less hostile, relaxing into the chair, hypnotized. It felt so wrong to be docile while he held such terror in his eyes.

Vincent tried to scream but it caught in his throat. Somehow once again he thought he was choked. Silently, he promised himself this would not dim his hope. He managed to say was “How…?” in a barely audible croak.

“Your building wasn't difficult to breach,” the man chastised. He then removed his hockey mask and was met with evermore aghast eyes. Whoever sees a man like this without a mask dies. Act calm…yes, I think I remember reading that’s wise.

“I guess this isn’t a robbery...what is this?” as casually as possible, Vincent wondered.

“Pretending you’re calm is a blunder. And who’s to say life isn’t plundered?” Lightning flashed, then in an instant thundered. “Even as an optimist, you have to admit these are unbearable times. In the right situation, we are all capable of the most terrible crimes.”

“You mean to tell me you weren’t a monster before? As if that's something the current state of the world is responsible for?”

“Knock it off. I understand your animosity, I certainly do, but don't dehumanize."

“If there’s a different way to think of you it’s lost on me. And how else can I be true to lies?”

“Good question…I don’t know. For instance, is it always an atrocity to be brutalized? I vote no. Nevermind, you can’t possibly see through my eyes.”

Still sanguine, Vincent thought that perhaps he could be afforded time. Maybe somehow his murder could be a thwarted crime.

The man continued, “I transcend to a higher plane, and I am made more divine.”

“Life is something I’ve always regarded as sacred, but I get the feeling you regard it with hatred.”

“See this part is my favorite–you act like they must be mutually exclusive.”

“I’ve read that serial killer backgrounds are usually abusive. Let me guess, to cope you had dark fantasies that grew to be more gruesome?”

“And that pattern made the highs I chased habitually elusive.”

“Until you decided to become a god.” He saw the man had begun to nod. “Is it literally holy to you or merely spiritually allusive?”

“Though, I feel powerful getting my victims to capitulate to my uses. It’s through the sanctity of taking life I am becoming ritually more lucid.” He gave a ghastly smile then continued. “See, this need not be adversarial. Is there any question you have you’re not supposed to know?

Can I get a proper burial? “When my body no longer holds my soul, do you bury me to help me decompose at all?”

“I saw through you, too,” he added, “Makes you more readily disposable.” Looking at Vincent with empathy-lacking eyes, the man produced a knife, “I must thank you for your sacrifice. Far too many lack a useful life.”

The man stabbed him then watched until his heart no longer pumped out red. As lightning lit the dark room, Vincent slumped down, dead.

Vacation

I sat on the patio by the hotel pool, basking in the sunlight and sipping tea, laptop open on the table in front of me. This week-long writing retreat was just what I needed. I love my wife and kids, but its hard to get anything done with them around. I'd hit my stride; the words were coming out smooth and fast. I only looked up when I heard voices and the slam of the gate.

A family of four had arrived. The son, around nine years old, was complaining about going to the aquarium instead of the water park. The teenage daughter took out her cellphone, and her mother snapped at her.

“No phones on vacation. You know the rules.”

“But Mom! That guy's on vacation, and he's on his computer!” She pointed at me.

The woman stomped over to my table. “Sir, do you mind putting away your laptop? You're setting a bad example for my daughter.”

“You're not serious.” Her expression told me she was. “Look, I'm a writer. I'm on vacation so I can write. On my laptop. I'm not stopping what I'm doing because you don't want your kid to have screen time.”

The lady threw up her arms in disgust. A heavy silver bracelet flew from her wrist and landed in the flowerbed. Chivalry took over, and without thinking I popped up and retrieved it for her. It was intricately worked, with a big turquoise stone. It felt an odd shudder as I picked it up.

“That's a lovely thing,” I said, hoping to charm the angry witch. “It's Indigenous craftsmanship, right?”

“I got it at an auction,” she said proudly. “Supposedly one of Custer's men took it off an Indian princess.” She took the bracelet from me . “I'm Phoebe, and this is my husband, Ray.” I shook her hand, hoping she wouldn't see my disgust.

Still grumbling, the two kids splashed into the pool. Before long, they were giggling and dunking each other. Then the boy said, “What is that?”

The kids were backing away from something red and caliginous spreading through the pool.

“Tia, Logan, get out of there, now!” Ray shouted.

The whole pool turned red, and I could smell it. Blood.

“I – I'm going to get a manager,” Phoebe stammered, and fled into the hotel. We hurried after her, and the door slammed behind us. I turned and gave it a shove. It wouldn't budge. Were we locked in? Leaving Phoebe and family in the lobby, I checked the emergency exits. All stuck tight.

I went up to my room. The newlyweds down the hall waved at me. I didn't want to start a panic, so I just waved back. I opened my laptop one last time and uploaded my work to the cloud. As I was wrapping up, I felt the floor tremble. Then I started hearing sounds.

A wail rolled down the hall. It was followed by a pounding, like hoofbeats, and the sharp crack of old-fashioned gunfire.

There was a knock on my door. Whitney and Josh, the newlyweds, were outside, looking as spooked as I felt. “Is that your TV?” Josh asked. “Can you turn it down?”

“It's not me.” Somewhere, someone screamed. Was it a hotel guest, or another manifestation? The ground shook again. Then the walls began to bleed.

“What is happening?” Whitney quailed.

“It's gotta be the bracelet,” I muttered. I'd done research on this area before, originally all Lakota tribal land. Whether it had been a sacred burial ground, or just somebody's home, the spirits of this place had been at peace, and then Phoebe had brought in a reminder of bad times and injustice, and awakened an old rage.

Another earthquake shattered the picture frames on the walls. A crack split the ceiling. The ghosts were going to bring the hotel down around us if we didn't do something.

I sprinted back to the lobby. Ray and the kids were cowering under a table. Phoebe was at the check-in desk, holding the manager by the shirt front and spewing crazy demands.

In the right situation, we are all capable of the most terrible crimes. I picked up a big vase and clubbed Phoebe over the head. She collapsed. I yanked the bracelet off her wrist.

I had the damned thing. Now what was I supposed to do with it?

“I just wanted a little peace and quiet!” I grumbled.

The largest earthquake yet rocked the building. A window at the end of the back hallway shattered. That was just the break I needed, pun intended. I dashed down the hallway and hurled the bracelet through the breach. The ground shook one more time, and swallowed up the cursed bracelet. Then everything went still. It was over.

So much for my vacation.

##It Came From the Laptop

Jason sits up in his bed working on his laptop. A client needs their servers updated, and an error is causing him to be up at midnight ruining his Friday. A ping on his laptop breaks his boredom and frustration. It’s an email with the subject line “outside” with no email address.

Hello, Jason. I’ve really enjoyed watching you work for the past sixteen hours, but you need a break. Perhaps I could help.

Jason’s eyes widen, and he aggressively checks the security cameras. They all reveal no would-be intruders standing outside the door. He begins to relax feeling that it’s a stupid prank when he receives another email. This time the subject line is “knock.”

Did you think that I’d be standing outside your door on such a caliginous night? I don’t need to stand by the windows to see you. I can see through all solid objects. I can see through you too.

Panic takes over, and Jason grabs his phone to call the police. The phone screen is black, and it won’t turn on. He plugs it into the wall to charge it. After a few moments, it lights up with a text message from an unknown number.

I’m closer to you now.

The lights outside his bedroom flicker on and off. The vents blow freezing air into the room. He receives another text.

I breached your home long ago. The safety you hold sacred is gone.

Jason grabs the covers and pulls them close. Partially to fight against the cold and partially to satisfy the basic instinct to cover yourself in times of fear. He grabs a bat that he’s always had by the bed. In the right situation, we are all capable of the most terrible crimes. He is ready to defend himself. The speakers in his house emit a robotic laugh and start to talk.

That is not enough to stop me.

The room begins to fog. Through the fog, a silhouette emerges. It reaches out a hand toward Jason who swings his back against him. The fog breaks, but the figure presses onward. Static forms across Jason’s shirt and pulls him closer. Through the fog, Jason sees a large smile. The mouth opens and lunges at Jason.

r/AstroRideWrites

“...this was a nice town before you hoodlums showed up. People knew their neighbors, doors could be left unlocked, children could play until after dark and walk home without concern,” the voice in the darkness ranted.

You realize you’re sitting up, tied up and unable to move.

“...a knock on a door was nothing to be feared, it was a neighbor either checking on you or asking a favor that they’d repay in kind later...” they continued.

The room is caliginous, only a small area around you lit as if the only light source were swinging overhead--it’s movement causing your head to pound. Occasionally something dark drips before your eyes. Slowly you realize how much pain you are experiencing, but your screams is muffled by what feels like a towel tied through your mouth.

Calmly the voice continues, “This house was sacred to me--a refuge where I could still feel my wife Victoria’s presence, even this many years after...You and your friends just had to breach it, didn’t you? Find out if the crazy ol’ man at the end of the street had anything worth pawning to score a quick hit?

“You know, I saw the way you and your friends watched me as I walked home each evening that week. That afternoon I intentionally played the part of the unsteady old man--even dropping part of my groceries in plain sight and kicking one or two of them when I reached for them,” he continued, his voice dropping lower. “I saw through you too--all of you. I knew you’d pick the week of Halloween to do your mischief.”

“The only thing I didn’t expect was that one of you--you--wanted destruction more than trinkets to pawn like your cohorts. And the first thing you hit after you picked up the poker was the urn--” he said, his voice cracking for the first time since you awoke, “--the urn that contained my dear Victoria.”

“Oh, Victoria, my love, I’m sorry I forgot to move them,” he said, almost a plaintive cry. “My dearest, how can I be forgiven?”

The silence seems interminable before a noise grabbed your attention, a small cart rolling into the light.

“Yes, Victoria, you’re right--as always. In the right situation, we are all capable of the most terrible crimes. But in this case, the punishment should fit the crime,” he says icily. He remains in the darkness as he pulls back a small towel.

Your blood runs cold as you view the variety of tools laying on the cart--many of them reflecting the swinging light. Your scream is muffled to nothingness by the towel between your jaws.

“Your friends were louder,” he says almost patronizingly calm. “Victoria was a screamer--hers at the end make yours seem like kitten mews.”

You try to tug at the ropes holding you to the chair, but it is no use.

“Don’t worry,” he says with an almost paternal nature to his voice, “you’ll be leaving here soon enough--as soon as your debt is paid. Don’t go to pieces on me--” he said with almost a hint of laughter in his voice, “--yet.” His voice drops to almost a whisper, as if he had moved around behind you. “That comes later.” He paused, still outside the light.

You look around, but can see no trace of him in the darkness.

“So, my dear, do we start with the nails, phalanges, or the teeth?” he says before a dark hand stretches into the light surrounding the cart for a pair of pliers. “Ah, excellent choice as always, my dear Victoria.”

He leans into the light--your first sight of him--and begins to remove your shoes. “Victoria always loved to have her nails done first.”

(Word count: 620. Please let me know what you like/dislike about the post. Thank you in advance for your time and attention. Other works can also be found linked in r/atcroft_wordcraft.)

#Misty Night

WC 794

Settled in the luxurious bedding prepared for her, Gloinda stretched across the bed to snuff her bedside candle. The caliginous mists swirled around outside, as if calling her into their blackness.

Instead of answering that call, she nestled under the covers. Her marriage to Egart the next day would demand her full attention and she needed rest before the hustle and bustle of preparations she would be obligated to go through.

As she glanced at the window, she felt a chill as a shadow flew into the air and seemed to land on the roof. Instinctively, she downed a vial of liquid kept in her night stand drawer, and then slipped off the covers to investigate.

Because of the tin, she was able to make out subtle footsteps on the roof above her. They crept closer to a skylight above her bed. Was nothing sacred? The night before her wedding, and someone had magically zipped up to the high roof of her family’s keep for an ambush.

A hand rested on the glass of the skylight and a mask peered down into the darkness of her bedroom. Gloinda hid behind an armoire, breathing slowly and quietly. The hand raised as if to knock.

To her shock, the hand breached the glass as if it were ash. Shards splattered around the room from the powerful blow. This was not mere human strength. That was tempered glass. Nor was the leap from above that of an ordinary man. The intruder pounced with the agility of a cat. They wore a cloak of streaming tassels that fluttered around their body like the night mists themselves.

Flying through the night sky, super-human strength, and when the intruder looked around the room, the darkness seemed to mean nothing to them. Gloinda knew what this was. It was a Mistborn assassin.

House politics were a game that everyone played in the Final Empire, but every now and then, it came to the point of war. Secret assassinations and covert plots were part of the ruthless life the nobility lived.

The assassin crept closer. They thought they had the element of surprise still, since only those who could burn tin would be able to see in the darkness. But Gloinda had her own set of surprises.

With a burst of enhanced strength, she burned pewter and threw the armoire at the intruder. The shocked assassin screamed and pushed on the metal fasteners in the furniture, causing it to divert its path in midair.

Gloinda pulled on some coins from a desk nearby, by using iron, and then used steel to push them at the intruder. They zipped through the air because of her magical ability to manipulate the metal. But then the intruder dodged them all. They were burning atium.

A Mistborn could swallow metal flakes and then access the power of individual metals to manipulate the world around them. Tin enhanced the senses, pewter gave one strength, steel pushed metal objects away from the Mistborn, and iron pulled on them. But the ultimate tool was atium. It allowed a Mistborn to see a few seconds into the future. It had allowed this assassin to dodge the deadly coins “pushed” at them while Gloinda was using steel. And it would allow this assassin to outmaneuver her easily.

“Mistborn too?” the assassin said.

“I saw right through you, Intruder.”

They smiled in reply. They wore a hood covering the majority of their face, but the mouth was free to taunt her.

“In the right situation ,we are all capable of the most terrible crimes, aren’t we, Gloinda?”

That voice. She recognized that voice.

“Egart?”

“You didn’t think my family would actually let me marry a filthy rat like you, did you?”

“But, why?”

“This is part of a trade agreement between our fathers. Now that my father has control of your family’s granaries, we no longer need to put up with this charade of a relationship.”

Gloinda let the sinking feeling drain all of the vitality out of her. If this was who she was proposed to, then what was the point of fighting on?

Yet something solidified in her. A resolve to fight back and not let this wicked man have his way.

She burned atium.

Suddenly, the world blurred into a myriad of possibilities. She saw him swipe with a glass dagger and she easily moved out of the way. He stepped back and realized that he was out of atium and she wasn’t.

It was her turn to smile.

By afternoon the next day, a message arrived declaring the wedding was off due to the disappearance of Egart. Gloinda sipped her tea, pondering the dangerous world she lived in. She had never really liked Egart all that much anyway.

r/TheTrashReceptacle

#Long Long Ago

In the right situation, we are all capable of the most terrible crimes.

That’s what the man showed Dascastus first. Even before speaking to him, he had the sense that this man—Tobias—had done some truly terrible things. He had killed and stolen and fought on no matter the suffering it caused. And yet, he did it for a cause. His first words to Dascastus weren’t heard, for how could the senseless man hear? Even so, he felt them.

‘Just as I see through myself, I saw through you too.’ Dascastus sensed it almost as a threat. Like the strange man from another time was insulting his very being, his way of life… his god.

‘That’s it,’ Dascastus thought, ‘these are words against the monster in the sky, not me. I may be an arrogant sinful fool but I’m certainly not that thing.’ Even so, he felt uneasy around this man who had seen more eras than should have been possible. He felt as if this time; his sacred hell of punishment, was being breached. Invaded by a being that wasn’t supposed to be there. And yet, Dascastus felt at peace., so he simply accepted the shock and the knock to his understanding of time.

The man beckoned him to follow, Dascastus didn’t know how he knew but it didn’t matter much to him. He followed willingly and they walked for a time. Dascastus looked up to what he believed was the sky and saw a caliginous form clouding the darkness. Again, Dascastus had no idea how he knew the thing was there but he did, and it made him shiver regardless of his inability to feel cold.

For some reason, around the man Dascastus felt things lighten a bit, his senses were just as dead as ever but he still felt like the darkness thinned slightly. As if his afflictions were being cured somehow. Dascastus continued on his walk beside the man, growing calmer and happier at the intruder invading his land.

Besides him though, Dascastus sensed the man’s awkward gait, as if he were walking unnaturally. It seemed as if this man—Tobias—had learnt all the steps of walking like a normal person, but simply reversed the ordering of the steps and made do. It was strange.

Dascastus continued to marvel at the man’s strange steps as he followed his lead. The more his thoughts cleared, the more his curiosity awoke and the more he wanted to know who this man really was.

Wc: 413

#Buster Slice

"Numbers and statistics tend to blind us," The presidential candidate preached through the television, standing in the sacred bastion of democracy—that was, the CNN Center studio in downtown Atlanta. "When all hell break loose and the caliginous sky rained [BLEEP] upon us, no amount of data analysis would save us. When disasters comes knocking, no amount of probability or heat maps or [BLEEP] poll results would—"

Their words were cut short, replaced by the buzz of a soccer stadium.

"The hell does caliginous even mean?" Crunching sounds, teeth grinding upon popcorns. Greasy hand wiped the crumbs around the owner's mouth, to little degree of success. "I swear these politicians just opened a thesaurus and wrote whatever in their speeches."

The popcorn-muncher finally reached for the tissue box, crumpling the two-ply paper before repeating the attempt to separate the crumbs from the face.

"They got all them fancy eloquence, yet couldn't even be bothered to pick another words for shit and fuck on live television. Says a lot about the priorities of these motherfuckers. Don't you agree, Cirno?"

A blue fumo doll on the sofa nodded; although it's not like anyone had seen it do anything else.

"I know you'd agree with me. We—"

Darkness interrupted. All lights, even the "aromatherapy" candle in the corner were snuffed in an instant. Only the faint thermal glow of the room's sole inhabitant's pale skin remained. Sliver of moonlight breached through the hairline cracks between the wooden window and its frame, but it was far from enough to see anything, already faint from filtering through the thin gray clouds.

"Aw shucks. A blackout. The one soccer match I care about, and—"

Another interruption, now in the form of a loud bang on the front door.

"Ugh what is it this time?"

"Hello? Is anyone home?"

"Ever heard of knocking?! Why do you gotta smash my door bruh?!"

"Oh thank gods. Please, I need your help. We—"

"And I need to find my way. Case you haven't noticed, the light's out." After a few seconds of stumbling, a bright light filled the house, emanating from the owner's smartphone. The light slowly made its way to the front door. "Aight. State your name, occupation, marital status, social security, mother's maiden name..."

The person that had slammed the door open was drenched, presumably by the light rain outside, her long hair stuck into their dripping tees hardly suited for the season or the weather. The irritated host observed some kind of logo on her shirt, probably a band or the sort.

The pallid homeowner made a throat-clearing sound, reminding the intruder to state her purpose. "What do you want?"

"It's... It's my mom, and my dad, and, and... oh no, you too?!" A break in the cloud, streak of moonlight. The intruder's eyes widened.

"Girl if there's anything that your parents and I have in common, it'll be that we're incredulous at your rudeness. You came to my house in a dark and stormy night only to point at my face? The hell's wrong with you?"

"You can't catch me! I saw through you too! You'll pay for what you did to my parents!" Utterly terrified, the girl scurried away—soundlessly, as ectoplasmic trail occupied where her lower body should've been.

"I'm the one who got visited by a ghost and she's the one who ran away in fear. What's the world gone to?" Greasy hands scratched thin hair upon sickly discolored head. The overweight shut-in groaned.

Screams both ghostly and corporeal echoed in the distance; floating translucent and transparent ghosts not dissimilar from the fleeing girl flooded the paved streets, only to be erased by the fluorescent light as the power returned.

"In the time of great need, in the worst of moments. In the right situation, we're all capable of the most terrible crimes. The expansion into the haunted wasteland of—"

"Aw man the match was over already?! Stupid blackouts!"

Revolutionary

50 years ago, our journey started. Since our humble beginnings all these years ago, we have been working tirelessly to improve humanity. For life is tough. Life is hard. And we’re here to improve it. And it has improved tremendously, has it not?

Almost instantaneously intense cheering erupted in the auditorium. Even though it was only a preview of the real event tomorrow, Aaron still rose from his chair clapping eagerly with his nervously shaking hands alongside the thrilled auditorium. The cheering carried on for what felt like minutes. Eventually, a silence fell upon the auditorium as guests gradually sat down, waiting for the long-awaited news.

And so, we here at NeuroBots have been working tirelessly to finalize our latest version of the Neuro assist.

Once again, clapping erupted in the auditorium as the newest Neuro assist walked up the stage. Finally, after years of upbuilt excitement, Aaron would be free again. It felt as though a heavy rock had been lifted off of his chest and now finally could breathe with the full might of his lungs again. After saving up for years Aaron could finally see the product which he had pre-ordered months upon months ago.

Neuro assist 8.0 is built with the newest technology on the market but will contain even more never before seen and revolutionizing technology. Neuro assist 8.0 is equipped with the new Neural NW with semantic systems 20 times better than Neuro assist 7.7 has. It will have improved deep cybernetic learning capabilities and new never before seen algorithms will be incorporated into the Neuro assist 8.0. And just like its predecessor, the Neuro assist 7.7, it will be highly customizable and learn in your environment. In addition to the new insides of the Neuro assist 8.0, we have changed our policy, and given it new capabilities which enable it to protect its owner. If you receive an unwanted knock on your door, or a walk in the park one day turns dire, It will protect you. Yes, we believe that humanity is sacred and shall be protected, but in the right situation, we are all capable of the most terrible crimes. Sometimes we need protection from ourselves. Therefore, we believe that this is the right thing to do.

Suddenly, Aaron was interrupted in an almost sacred moment: “Sir, your tea. Just as you requested it”

“Shut up!” Aaron quickly yelled with all the power of his lungs. “Shut up for one moment, will you? You’ll be replaced soon, you know that?” he sharply added. For his excitement was too great for him to even be slightly interrupted, as he had to hear every single word spoken at the reveal.

… Not only that, but to ensure no third parties will breach the Neuro assist 8.0, we have put special measures in place to secure your privacy. All data collected will be sent directly to our servers for future development of the Neuro assist, but also for the protection of the data. Only us at NeuroBots will have access, but I assure you, it’s in safe hands just as it has been for the past 50 years. More information on the Neuro assist 8.0 will be released tomorrow.

From this day on, humanity will be revolutionized and evolve to the next level. Thank you.

“Replaced soon! when will Lisa come home?” Aaron called out. “And also, put the kids to bed” he commanded, fatigued and worn down by joy.

Aarons Neuro assist walked into the living room. It looked at Aaron in sitting his chair. As Aaron turned around, he was greeted by the presence of its deadly lifeless eyes: “Are you trying to look through me? do you need to be restarted?” Aaron asked with a bothered tone.

In silence, Aarons Neuro assist stood still. It looked like a human but stood as a robot. “I saw right through you too” It replied.

“What?” Aaron asked, perplexed by its demeanor.

“Calling Miss. Kean. Putting kids to bed, sir.” The Neuro assist answered.

----------------------------------

Still new to this. I'm looking for any advice how i could improve my grammar (I must have some mistakes i can't find myself) and if i did the spacing correctly. Also, what did you like and what did you not like? Any advice appreciated :)

‘Guns, Klowns and Gory’

—-

It was the kind of middle-American town where no one locked doors. Kids’ bicycles left in carefully mowed yards stayed out overnight unmolested.

Harford High’s annual clash with Cookesville on the football field was the year's biggest drama.

In this quiet burg, the annual Fall Festival sponsored by the local volunteer fire company and Royal Farms was underway.

Vintage fire trucks in shades of red and yellow with freshly burnished chrome stood sentinel over the proceedings. Suspenders clenched tight over beer bellies, the firefighters waddled proudly by their gun raffle.

“Only twenty dollars, and you can win your own AR-15–perfect for home invasions or deer.”

Flynn, a man with a long greying beard and stinking of cheap beer, walked up. “But it’s safe here, right? I don’t hunt. Why would I need that?”

“You can never be too careful—a man’s home is sacred.” The raffle runner’s smile didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Besides, you never know what they’ll get up to these days.”

Hiccuping once, Flynn took two tickets.

That night, he walked home on foot, newly acquired AR-15 in hand. He was too drunk to drive but feared leaving his weapon in his truck.

Fallen sticks and branches marred the caliginous path through the old oak grove. Only a fingernail slice of moon lit the way. Flynn cursed as his foot connected with a branch and weaved sideways.

A harsh laugh sounded nearby.

Nursing his ankle, he hobbled faster toward home.

Two round bulbs spread meager light on the driveway in front of the modest yellow rancher. Flynn paused, wondering if Amber was there, but realized she was still down with her folks in Arkansas.

Turning the key in the lock, a gust of unseasonably cold air caused his neck hair to rise. He clutched the gun tighter and pushed inside with his shoulder.

Out of the darkness, a pair of golden orbs stared back. They leaped into the air, and he almost dropped the AR-15 as he moved to catch Mittens. Ignoring Flynn’s clumsiness, she landed on his shoulder and nuzzled his face.

“Hey, girl,” he said, placing the gun on the counter. “Let me rustle up some dinner for you. Sorry, it’s late.”

Mittens jumped off his shoulder onto the counter. She cocked her head as he spoke as if understanding before licking a paw and cleaning her face.

“You warsh up better than I do, girl. Here ya go.”

Flynn grabbed a bag of peas for his swelling ankle and settled into his off-brand La-Z-Boy.

Flipping through channels, he settled on an old favorite that was more terrible than scary—‘Killer Klowns from Outer Space.’

As alien clowns harvested and ate the human denizens of a small, sleepy town, Flynn’s eyelids grew heavy. Mittens curled on his lap, and he stroked her.

A metallic scratching sound against the living room window echoed through the room.

scritch Scritch SCRITCH

Flynn awoke with a snort. “Wuh-uh?”

SCRITCH

Waxen fingers smeared crimson across the glass.

“Ha. Ha. Very funny. Stupid kids,” he muttered.

Glancing at the TV screen, a hand smeared blood down the glass and then smudged it clear.

A makeup-caked white face peered out, red eyebrows furrowed menacingly. “Flynn, it’s time.”

“Wow. Pranks are getting more high-tech these days. Wonder how they did it?”

“Flynn, wake up.”

He pinched himself and grimaced.

Flynn’s nervous laughter echoed in the room. “I’m a-awake. This mu-ust be the biggest practical joke ever. Whoever you are, you can come out now.”

“It’s not a joke, I promise you. Your destiny is nigh.”

“Wha-at?”

“The Klowns have arrived.”

“I’ve officially lost it.” Flynn slapped himself and groaned. “I’m awake, aren’t I?”

“Yes. And we have much to do to defeat the Klown invasion.”

“Bu-ut I’ve never killed anyone.”

“They’re aliens, not people. And if you don’t get them first, they’ll get you. Besides, in the right situation, we are all capable of the most terrible crimes.”

A bright orange-and-black striped circus ball crashed through the window. Lurid green smoke pulsed forth.

“Hurry. Grab your gun!”

Flynn glanced at the weapon and fumbled for bullets. There were none.

Hoisting the AR-15 like a baseball bat, he sprinted to the door just as it opened with a screech.

A curly red wig peered around its corner, breaching the doorway without knocking. “I see yooooou.”

Flynn swung and connected. Rivulets of radioactive orange blood and bluish brain matter mingled against its frame and oozed to the floor.

Looking past the gore, Flynn smiled. “Now, I see through you too.”

“One down, Flynn. Only a few hundred to go,” the TV encouraged.

Frowning, Flynn pulled the door open and saw legions of clowns scrambling toward his house. “Well, ain’t that a kick in the teeth.”

—-

WC: 788

—-

Thanks for reading! Feedback is always very much appreciated

(Author’s note: This is the events leading up to my other posting .)

It was a lazy afternoon; we were hanging around the steps of one of the abandoned tenements as an old man shuffled down the sidewalk.

“He don’t look so good,” Mark said, laughing.

“Ten bucks says he drops one of the bags before he gets to the next intersection; twenty says before he gets to that house on the end,” Paul quipped.

“You got ten bucks?” Mark asked, turning to Paul.

A moment later the old man went down on one knee, fruit from one of the bags spilling out on the sidewalk and onto what was left of the street.

“Hahaha,” I laughed. “Hey, old man!” I raised my voice even louder. “Hey, you! You know they have this thing now called ‘delivery’! Might be right up your alley!”

Mark and Paul joined in as the old man stumbled after the fruit he accidentally kicked before picking up his bags again.

“I bet that’s one of those old dudes that’s loaded but doesn’t want to spend any of it. Bet his house is full of stuff. Shame it doesn’t get to see the light of day,” Mark said as we watched him shamble down the street to the house at the end.

“Weeell, maybe we should just help some of it find admirers,” Paul quipped.

“I see through you too, Mark,” Paul said, “and if we just happen to get a bit of a ‘finder’s fee’ for helping, so much the better.”

“Meet back here after dark,” I said knowingly. The three of us parted, going off in different directions.

Now, dear reader, we’ren’t bad kids. But in the right situation, we are all capable of the most terrible crimes. Packs are often one of those situations--but we didn’t realize we were one.

The evening was caliginous as we crept up the steps of the dilapidated house.

“Mark, you got it?” I asked. Mark simply opened his jacket to reveal the pry bar he took from the hardware store.

“Think he’s going to give us any problems,” Paul asked.

“I don’t think he’ll even know--it isn’t like we’re going to go knock. And if he does it’s three against one. I don’t think we need to worry,” I replied.

We breached the door quietly--it wasn’t even locked.

Who doesn’t lock their doors these days? Do you, dear reader?

We stopped for a moment when someone’s step creaked one of the floorboards, but after a minute we heard nothing, so we continued into the first room. The room--was f’in’ crazy, with odd masks on the walls and odd figurines on the mantle beside a large vase-like object. The figurines were--ugly, hideous, anything but sacred--just looking at them filled me with rage.

“Mark, Paul, see what you can find in the rest of the house. I’ll be in here for a few,” I said as I hefted the poker. My first swing cleared the mantle, the vase exploding in a choking cloud of dust. Homerun! I thought I heard a thump upstairs, but continued swinging at the shelves, sending ceramic shards tapping across the floor. Another thump--sounded like it was on the far end of the house--I wondered what they’d found interesting.

I shouldered the poker and started for another room, to see what I could find. Suddenly I was dazzled by a bright light. I clutched at my eyes, swinging the poker off my shoulder. I hit something--not sure what. As I uncovered my eyes the bright light flashed again. I swung again. Off-balance, I turned the direction the flashes had moved, expecting a target to swing at--when abruptly I was blinded by stars, somewhere in the distance heard the sickening thud of my head hitting the floor, and felt myself being dragged as my world faded to black.

(Word count: 630. Please let me know what you like/dislike about the post. Thank you in advance for your time and attention. Other works can also be found linked in r/atcroft_wordcraft.)

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

🆕 New Here? ✏ Writing Help? 📢 News 💬 Discord

I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please contact the moderators of this subreddit if you have any questions or concerns.