Posts Tagged ‘short fiction’




For those of you that loved “Not only the Dead“, a new tale of emotional terror is coming to you very soon care of your friendly neighborhood ‘serial thriller’.

As a writer, I enjoy delving into the realms of the human condition that people can relate to. In my lighter works, such as the first installment of my coming of age  ‘things taken’ series, Whispers of the Wakinyan, our heroes are pitted against monsters.

In Not only the Dead and its upcoming predecessor, The Artist and the Carpenter, our protagonists would beg to fight a monster or be given any opportunity to gain closure, because their battles originate from places unseen.

The dark.

The unimaginable.

The deeply personal.

Enjoy this “flash teaser”.

                                  Not a chapter, not a paragraph, but only a glimpse…

My mind apparently brushes over something unsettling, because about half way into the drive, the hair on my arms begins to stand on end and coldness begins to spread from somewhere deep inside my gut. Like many emotions that I hadn’t understood at the time:

I push the feelings away.

                    Knowing that one day,

                                        I will have to face them all,

                                                    Like a collection of unwanted children,

                                                                   Who as broken adults,

                                                                               Demand to know

                                                                                            Why they were not embraced.



We lay on our backs side by side as people have done since the beginning of time. The cool night air wrapped around us like a benevolent force designed to make those trapped beneath it value the warmth of each others bodies more than anything else.
We certainly did. With each passing moment we squeezed together closer and closer. Our tiny blanket placed beneath us to keep the blades of grass from our skins and the cold grip of the soil from leeching the heat from our bodies. We looked at the stars in wonder as they glowed electric.
“Are you really going Isaiah?” Tricia asked.
I turned to her. The starlight accenting her delicate pixie’s face. Tears crept down the sides of her face. She felt my eyes on her and tried to compose herself.
“I am. It’ll still be a while though; I have to finish school. And then I plan to return for a while to write my dissertation. ” She seemed to brighten at this, which was a relief. ”Then I will choose my team, make preparations, and go I guess.” As I said the word ‘go’ I saw the hope on her face wither and die.
On the Eastern horizon a brilliant crescent of light cut through the dark of night and shot over us like a boomerang of pure energy. I grabbed Tricia’s hand and squeezed. She smiled wide like she did when we were kids, not a care in the world; or at least not a care powerful enough to distract from the wondrous event that occurred every night at this time precisely. A giant blue orb drifted in from the horizon, completely blocking the stars and the inky void of space as it engulfed our tiny planet. Earth with it’s azure oceans and clouds of various colors stared at us from above. So large it seemed as if we could reach out and manipulate the atmosphere with our fingers.