Hi Everyone! I decided to start a blog to share the sometimes crazy thoughts, plots, rants and ideas that pop into my head. From time to time, I may even throw a book review in the mix. Your feedback is always welcome and I look forward to the conversations we shall share. Welcome to Reflections from Elle. Let's talk!
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Monday, August 25, 2014
Words on a Page
I wonder about this at times. Like when I sit down to start a new story, will the reader really see the wonderful world that lives inside my head? Will my thoughts come through as a bunch of words on a page or will the reader dive into the depths of the vision with me?
While I write, I watch the story play out like a movie in my mind and then try my best to reenact the movie through words alone.
I guess you'll have to decide: Elle's world or just words on a page.
Thursday, August 21, 2014
TBT
Today is my 4th wedding anniversary. Thought I'd share a few pictures of that wonderful day for TBT.
Mr. and Mrs. Rose
Aug 21, 2010
First Dance
Have you seen the movie "Hitch"? Q-tip, throw it away. No, really, the Usher song was on and I did the whole dance. Love that movie!
My family. Love them all!
Sunday, August 17, 2014
Saturday, August 16, 2014
The Rabbit Hole
Last year, the writing group I attend did a Halloween anthology which I contributed an entry titled 'The Rabbit Hole'. As we move on to this year's anthology, I will now be adding 'The Rabbit Hole' to my own short story collection, 'Fantasy Tales'. It's offered on Smashwords for free if you would like to check out the other 2 stories. Until I add it to my collection, I'd like to share it with all of you.
Happy reading!
Happy reading!
The Rabbit Hole
By Elle A. Rose
(sci-fi)
“Where did you get these tickets?” I ask Cam.
They’re printed on the cheapest of cheap sheets of paper. I can see my fingers’
silhouettes through the flimsy material.
“Some clown on a
street corner handed them to me. He said, ‘this is the best haunted house
around,’” he replies, stuffing his shoulder length brown hair into a ponytail.
“It sounds cool—what else do we have to do tonight?”
He’s right, it’s
Halloween night, and there is nothing to do. There’s no way we’ll be caught
going to a dumb costume party since we passed the age of trick or treating
years ago. Plus, we’re already here. Lanterns dressed as scarecrows hang on
either side of the cave entrance. The heads glow bright with fire dancing
behind their hollowed eyes and gaping mouths. Every few seconds the lifelike
effigies twitch like a body being electrocuted.
We drove miles
to find this place. For a while, I thought Cam had the wrong directions. He’s
good for that: tell you to go left when you should’ve continued straight, mix
the numbers up of an address. And I doubt he could tell you if he was facing
north or south, even with a compass in his grasp. As I was about to give up—egging
a house would have been funnier than riding through Hickville—we spotted the
sign for this place.
“Good evening.”
Cam and I jump as a creepy-looking butler guy drags his hunched over frame from
the depths of the cavern. “Welcome to the Rabbit Hole, we’re so pleased to have
you.” His words remind me of the way Alfred Hitchcock used to speak. The
slithery tone sends the hairs on the back of my neck to attention. Cam must be
weirded out too because he takes a step back. This is going to be great. I love
when they hire real actors for these gigs. “Gentlemen, if you’re ready, your
driver awaits.” Creepy guy passes us each a plastic flashlight with pumpkin
cutouts molded to the lights. When mine flickers to life, a toothless, smiling
jack-o-lantern, bobs about the dark walls.
“Oh, here do you
need these? How much does this cost?” My voice bounces off the dark wall of the
cave, with as much excitement ringing in it as there is adrenaline zipping
through my veins.
Reaching out to offer the thin tickets to the
butler, he says, “Keep them, we will make our collection at the end of the
course.” As he speaks, a van pulls up and four teenagers pop out of the back.
“Ah, more souls,” breathes creepy guy. “Boys, if you will kindly move along,
the ferry will transport you to your destination.
“You ready, Matt?”
asks Cam, with a hard swat to my back. He fist bumps the air and flicks his
lantern to life too.
“Hell yeah!” I whoop and stuff the tickets
into my pocket.
“Boys,” the
butler calls. His words coil around us like a boa constrictor. “This is a very
old cave. It’s been said one with a keen eye can find relics like gold coins
still lying around. And mind the walls, they do move at times.”
The new group of
teens draws creepy guy’s attention back to the mouth of the cave, and Cam and I
edge our way into the pitch black tunnel. After a few feet, the ground seems to
slope downwards. Our stupid flashlights do little to help us see.
“Did you hear
that?” whispers Cam. His shoulder bumps mine and we stop walking. “I think I
heard someone crying.”
“Nope. It was probably the group behind us. We
weren’t the only car out there. Maybe someone in front of us,” I respond and
start walking again.
“I’m freaking myself out and we haven’t made
it to the house yet,” Cam chuckles and catches up to me. We trek along for a
while in the dark. Every once in a while fake bats fly overhead. Their glowing
red eyes appear to be searching the night for a way out.
“Is it me or is it getting hotter?” I say as I
remove my jacket and tie it around my waist. We’re still on a downward descent,
and I swear with each step it’s getting warmer.
“I guess,” Cam says. His sight is focused on
something in the distance. “I think I see one of those gold coins old dude was
talking about.” His weak light dances across a small gold speck on the left.
He’s right. Bending, he smacks the ground with the back end of his flashlight
to release the coin from the ground. The light from the cheap gadget flickers
and with the last blow fades away. “It’s cold,” he claims and flips it back and
forth before tossing it to me. I almost miss it as the shiny metal vanishes in
the darkness around us. But when the heavy coin hits me in the chest with a low
thud, I grasp it before it tumbles to the ground.
“You think it’s real?” I doubt my own question,
yet still try to examine the coin with the one light we have left.
“No way. I bet
it’s chocolate or something on the inside,” Cam states and yanks the coin from
me.
“How about you
bite it and see?” I joke.
Cam reaches out
and tugs on my elbow and I jerk away. “Stop touching me and let’s go,” I urge.
“I didn’t touch you,” he snaps.
“Okay, whatever. I felt you.” I go to walk
away and he grips my arm again. “Let go.”
“Matt, it’s not me.” Whipping around, my arm
breaks the hold only to spot something moving back into the jagged wall of the
cave.
“Did you see that?” the words tumble from my
lips like jars falling from a shelf in an earthquake.
“Matt, what are you talking about? First I’m
touching you and now you’re seeing things,” Cam laughs. The sound bounces off
the walls before it cuts off in almost a strangulated gasp. “I felt it, too,”
he yelps and jumps. Around us, arms and legs begin to emerge, some from the
walls, and others the ground. I dare not look up to see if they’re looming over
us too. A rotten, sulfur, old-trash, dead vermin scent fills the air and we
both gag. The robotic hands reach for us, trying to haul us towards the wall.
“Come on,” I holler. Now I hear it. Cries
ring, haunting us, chasing us, and we race forward, seeking an exit.
With ease I zip pass Cam. In
school, Cam is always picked last in gym, because he becomes winded too fast. I
blame it on the fact that he’d rather sit and play a video game than go out and
shoot hoops.
“Matt, stop,” Cam calls from behind me. “I
think we’re in the clear,” he states between gasping for air. I slow and try
not to laugh. Are we a bunch of babies? We let ourselves get spooked by nothing
more than props.
Screams echo behind
us. We both bolt upright and edge closer together. “I bet it’s another group.”
Why I say this out loud, to calm me or Cam, I have no clue. Sweat drops down my
face and I wipe my jacket across my forehead. The heat is still rising. After a
few steps, Cam stops and picks at something in the wall. It’s another gold
coin. Repeating his actions from last time, he rams his broken flashlight into
the rock wall until the coin falls into his hand. More stone falls and what
looks like pale fingers wiggle their way through the hole from where the coin
has vacated. I don’t know why but I reach out to touch them.
“What are you doing?” whispers Cam in my ear.
He’s closer than I thought, and just as the lifelike, ice-cold fingers stroke
mine, I jump back.
“I don’t know,” I stammer and rub my hand on
my jeans.
“They’re coming
again,” Cam says in an eerie voice. I don’t have a chance to question who ‘they’
are as the rotting smell wafts past my nose. Something brushes my foot and we
take off running again.
Exit to ferry flashes in a neon green light as we
round the next bend. My nose, lips and throat burns from the intense heat. Cam
again is a few feet behind me. I catch a glimpse of the moon beckoning me from
the depths of the cave. I don’t hear Cam’s footsteps anymore so I spin,
flashing my dim light back into the cave. “Matt, I found another gold coin,”
says my friend from the darkness. “That smell came back and I saw those dead
body parts again,” he states with a smirk and drops the coin into his pocket.
He strolls towards the opening and I notice he has ditched his flashlight. Mine
still works so I slip it into my pocket and follow him out. “I’m gonna sell
these coins first thing tomorrow,” he declares and pats his leg.
“No, you’re not. I’m telling you they’re
fake,” I say and laugh.
A corn-stalk
archway lined with a string of small lit plastic jack-o-lanterns comes into
view. Please, wait for the next ferry reads the half hanging lopsided sign
over the arch. I need to duck to keep from smacking my head on the jagged end
of the dangling sign. Even though we are outside, it’s not any cooler. The
sounds of a horse and carriage draw my attention from the sweat running down my
back to the muddy road before us. Two white horses pulling a flatbed with bales
of hay covering it come to a stop.
“Evening, guys,”
giggles a small brunette from the cab. She’s dressed in a pair if blood-red
heels, black fishnet tights, and a red-leather mini-dress fairy costume,
showing ample cleavage and wings sprouting out her back. “Wipe the drool from
your mouths, boys. Pay the footman and hop aboard,” she purrs, while adding
another coat of her glossy crimson lipstick. Damn, I think the temperature just
went up a few degrees.
When we don’t
move, the fairy slips her shades down the bridge of her nose and glares at us.
She must be wearing red contacts too. Cam and I push our way to the back of the
cart.
“Hey, isn’t that the guy who substituted when
the English teacher was out,” says Cam as we come to a stop in front of the
steps.
“I think so.”
“Mr. Knox, right? Were you our substitute
teacher a few weeks ago?” Cam questions. The man dressed in a leprechaun outfit
doesn’t respond, but instead, shoves an empty pot in our direction.
“How much?” I
say and pull my wallet out.
“To access the
hayride, three gold coins will have you on your way,” he says with a wicked
smile, flashing all of his teeth.
“Aw, man. I
wanted to keep these,” pouts Cam as he digs the props from his pocket.
“I told you so,”
I say and elbow him in the side before jumping into a huge pile of spilled hay
on the wagon. As Cam joins me, I lean forward and say, “Did you see his teeth?
They all have pointed ends.”
“Yeah, they’re caps or something. They didn’t
look like that in class.”
“I’m not sure if
he is the same guy.”
“Of course he
is,” counters Cam. “He’s acting. Just like hot chick up there.” His head bobs
in the direction of our fairy. I turn and find her glaring at us.
“While riding
the hayride, please keep hands and feet inside of the carriage throughout the
voyage. I’d hate for you to lose a limb…on my watch.” With that, she flicks the
reins and the horses jerk the buggy forward. I glance back to see if the
leprechaun joined us, but he’s gone.
After a few
feet, we make a sharp right and slip between a path cut out in the middle of a
cornfield. Our ride races between the dried stalks. The crops tower over us.
From time to time, I catch a glimpse of the moon above us. I grasp at the other
bales to hold me upright.
“This hay is
making me itch,” whines Cam, as he rakes his blunt nubs he calls nails over his
arms. I go to speak when I spot what looks like a person running parallel to
the wagon, only meters away. “Do you see that,” my hand juts out pointing at the
figure in the stalks. By the time Cam twists to look, it’s gone.
“No, what?”
“Nice night for a ride wouldn’t ya’ say?” booms a
voice from next to me. My heart leaps into my throat and I fall into Cam as I
spin to see where that voice came from.
“What the hell?”
stammers Cam, as he begins to push me off of him, only stopping when he notices
who has somehow joined us on the cart. Before us sits a man in a genie costume.
His bottle rests still on his knee as if we aren’t being jostled across this land
like Jello strapped to a rollercoaster.
The
genie leans forward, pale blue lips grinning at us and says, “If you had one
wish tonight, what would it be?” As he speaks, the buggy jerks right, and we
skid to a stop.
My attention
shifts from the genie to what has brought the ride to a halt. The horses neigh,
jumping about, and our driver stands, yelling a foreign dialect. Orange flames
sprout from the ground licking at the dried stalks. They’ve formed a sweltering
barrier, blocking our entry to this turn on the maze.
“One wish—what
would it be?” murmurs the genie. His sight is still trained on us. In the new
light, his lips appear to have deepened to a dark purple. Being burned to death
doesn’t seem to be a concern of his. Our driver yanks at the reins pulling,
trying to redirect the horses. “I could make this go away, if you like,” he
states and spreads his arms wide. The fire reacts to his movement and
stretches. The walls on three sides of us now glow in bright orange flames.
Before Cam or I
can respond to the genie, the fairy regains control of her beasts, and we begin
to shift backwards. A few steps away from the dead end, we take off racing down
another path.
“Maybe I can be of help later,” claims the
genie as he stands and jumps from the speeding carriage, disappearing into the
crops. My friend’s wide-eyed appearance can only mirror my own. We take a quick
left and hit a bump, losing a bale of hay. Every attempt I make to grab
something to keep me from flying off the flatbed slips through my fingers as we
zip down the narrow lane.
“Do you think she knows where she’s going,”
says Cam as we finally give up and hold each other to remain on the ride.
“She must. It’s all a part of the act,” I say,
but when we make another sharp turn, I question if the fairy still has control
of the buggy.
“Whoa, there!”
yells our driver. We’ve made a left here and right there and now the cart
slows. She gives another command, stands and pulls hard to stop the horses.
Curiosity tugs at me and as we roll to a halt, I get on my knees and peer over
the front of the cart to see why we’ve stopped this time. Sweat drips from my
forehead blurring my sight and I reach for my jacket to wipe my face. My hand
searches for a moment or two, before I realize it must have become a victim of
our fast ride. With the inside of my shirt, I scrub my face clean and finally
spot why we are no longer moving.
Paul Bunyan, or
at least an actor dressed as him and his blue ox stand in the path.
“Clear the way,”
calls the fairy. Her red heel stamps the floor boards and she places her hands
on her hips. In response, Bunyan lifts his axe, hoisting it over his head, and
heaves it in our direction. Our driver lets out a loud scream and dives to the
floor. As the axe spins like a pinwheel towards us, Cam and I spring from the
buggy. A loud thud echoes in the darkness as the axe’s blade wedges itself into
the wood from where Cam and I just vacated.
“Get back on the
cart,” yells the fairy. Her voice sends chills up my spine. We ignore her and
hide behind the hitch. Paul’s heavy footsteps seem to make the ground shake as
he storms towards us. “Get back on,” calls a faded voice in my ears.
“What do we do?”
questions Cam. The lumberjack yanks his axe from the flatbed and stares at us.
Only feet away from us, he lifts the weapon again.
“Climb under the
cart!” I scream as the blade whirls passed us. We both cringe when a huge hand
swipes the air inches away from where we sit. “Go that way,” I point towards
the left front wheel. Mud soaks my jeans and sticks to my hands as we crawl.
When we make it to the front of the cart Cam starts to slide out when the ox
sticks its painted blue nose in his way. It grunts and nips at Cam.
“Back up, back up, back up!” he wails. I do
but stop when something grabs my leg. A whimper leaves my lips as I’m hauled
from under the cart. Cam’s paled face vanishes and I fight to be free of Paul
Bunyan’s grasp.
“Get on the damn cart,” yells that voice again.
My world spins. Movement sounds
behind me as I’m pull upright to face the lumberjack.
“Hurry,” calls a
female’s voice.
A whip cracks. My stomach turns when Paul
Bunyan leans closer. His warm breath slams into me like a sack filled with
rocks. I feel the cart against my back shake and start to ease forward. From
behind, someone tugs at my shirt.
“Go!” hollers Cam.
On command, the carriage begins
to move and a tug-a-war commences. Each man yanks on my tee-shirt. The cheap
material starts to tear. I’m not sure what’s louder—my heart banging in my ears
or the fabric shredding with each jerk.
My heart stops
when Cam lets go. For an instant, I believe they will leave me, but, instead,
Cam places his hands under my arms and wrenches me away from Paul Bunyan. We tumble
backwards into the itchy hay, both breathing heavily as the cart dashes down
the path, away from our attacker.
“That can’t be a
part of the attraction. Can it?” Cam breathes and throws his arm over his face.
“It was too real. Man, I’m shaking.”
“No kidding.” Neither
of us moves until the ride slows again. Like puppets, we both shoot up, as if a
puppeteer has ordered us to life. “Now what?” I question. The stars have
disappeared in the wake of the new light. Stretching out before us, sits a
large house.
“End of the
ride, fellas,” states the fairy.
Cam and I stare
at each other, and then the huge mansion. Strobe lights flicker through some of
the windows, and from time to time figures dash from one room to another.
Screams, chainsaws, cackling, and loud music fill the air. Our driver throws us
an impatient glare and Cam and I slide off the buggy. Without any answers as to
why a lumberjack attacked us, the cart whips around and speeds off into the
night.
“I’m not sure I really wanna go in there,”
whispers Cam.
I’m thinking the same thing. How
the hell did I let him talk me into this?
“Come now, boys,
the fun has just started.” The deep voice makes us jump. As we turn, we find
the genie standing next to us. “There’re two ways out of the house,” he says
and begins to push us forward. “Give the command and I can release you from
your entombment. Or, find the exit. Your choice.”
His words fade
away as flames of light blast out of the small holes in the ground leading up
the aisle to the doorway.
“Where did he
go?” Cam says and spins like a dog chasing its tail.
“I don’t know,
man, but let’s just get this over with.”
I’m not sure,
but I think the siding of the house is pulsating, and damn-it it’s only gotten
hotter. As we approach the front steps, the door swings open. At first,
flashing lights and smoke fill the opening. When we near the door a hunched
dark shadow drifts through the smoke toward us.
“Ah, there you
are,” exclaims the creepy butler from the cave. “I hear we almost lost you in
the maze. It would’ve been such a shame.” His old wrinkled hands clasp, and his
crooked form leaps for joy. “So few of our guests make it this far. That group
behind you‒” he shakes his head and heaves a heavy sigh. “Well, enough of the
gloomy news. Please enter.” Cam and I glance at each other. My best friend is
sweating as much as I am. His hair has fallen from the ponytail and is matted
to his scalp. Dressing up for a costume party doesn’t sound so bad anymore.
If we were little boys, I think at this
moment, holding hands would be acceptable. Instead, we fist bump, square our
shoulders, and step forward.
“Wonderful! We’re
so delighted you’re willing to join us tonight,” says butler guy in that eerie
voice. “Take caution in the choices you make, and remember, the sign marked exit is your only way out.”
A maid saunters
by carrying a tray with glasses filled with a red liquid. Flames dance on top
of each of the drinks. She, too, is dressed in a very short costume with high
heels.
“I think we should go in the opposite
direction that she’s headed,” I breathe.
“Wise choice, young man,” the butler voices
and steps back and bows. “Welcome to our home.”
As he speaks an
ear piercing siren blares, causing Cam and I to cover our ears. The house goes
dark and when the lights come back on, creepy guy is gone.
We enter the threshold
at the same time and automatically make a right. “Let’s find the exit quick.”
Cam nods and
turns down a long hallway. All of the doors are shut. “I say we divide and
conquer. You take the doors on the right. I’ll take the doors on the left.” In
response, Cam reaches out and clutches the handle near him. “One, two, three!”
Both of our doors swing open. My room looks like a plain ordinary drawing-room.
There’s no one in here and everything seems neat and in order. Behind me, Cam
yelps and slams the door. The sound of a barking dog, scratching and ramming
the flimsy wood rattles the entire wall.
“Matt, I don’t know what the hell that was,
but it wasn’t a dog,” Cam states in a shaky voice.
A tremble moves down his body and he leans
against the wall to steady himself.
“Come on, buddy, this will be over soon.” It
takes him a moment to regain his composure. When he’s ready, we walk down to
the next door. Running feet slam into the floor above and as we open our next
doors, screams echo in the house. Behind door number two, I find a small
projector room. An old black and white film plays on the screen. It appears to
be a horror movie. The light from the hallway spills into the room and the
viewers moan and groan, twisting in their seats. Hollowed eyed zombies, whose
heads all seem to bob sideways, face my direction. The same smell from the cave
wafts passed me as I gaze into empty eye sockets. Their mouths all gape open,
hanging by thin strips of skin. As one, they begin to rise from their seats and
I shut the door. My heart thuds in my ears.
“Matt. Look at
this.” For a moment, I dare not drag my eyes from the portal in front of me.
The handle rattles a few times, but when it stops, I set my sight on Cam’s
room. He’s left the door open and has stepped into the room. I follow, unsure
if he should be in here.
Bubbles. They
fall from the ceiling like rain. Stepping inside, my skin tingles as hundreds
of bubbles land and pop on my body. “Where do you think they’re coming from?”
my friend asks as he spins, arms spread wide. I go to speak when something
plops on my head. Without a thought, I reach up and find something cool and
mushy in my hair. Another plop lands on my shoulder as I remove the mystery
object. It squirms about in my grasp and I need not see it to know what has fallen
from the sky. Dad has taken me fishing plenty of times for me to detect a
worm’s movements without seeing it. Yet, the next one that falls on the bridge
of my nose sends an alarm off in my head. “I think it’s time to go, Cam.”
The instant I
stop speaking, thousands upon thousands of worms descend from above. Unlike the
bubbles, they hit the ground in a soft thud, squiggling about the floor. Cam
thrashes wildly, trying to make his way through the thick curtain of
creepy-crawlies. I dare not open my mouth to speak. Worms now slither down my
entire body and visions of them entering my mouth make me gag. It feels like
I’m walking on jelly as I step backward into the hallway. The small contents of
my stomach roll like waves as I shake the writhing creatures off of me. Through
the wiggling pinkish-brown veil, Cam’s fingers emerge. Flashbacks to the cave
blind me for a moment before I grasp his hand and haul him from the room.
“Get them off of me. Get them off,” he
shrieks. His long frame slams to the ground, rolls from side to side kicking. His
voice causes the other doors in the hall to rattle.
“Shh, Cam.” I
need to say this a few times to get him to stop. Worms now litter the hallway
and my best friend sits with his back on the wall.
“I can’t do
this,” he says. It’s low and I need to stoop to his level to hear him better.
“Yes, you can.”
“Are you asking
for an out?” the genie’s voice makes us both jump.
In this light, his skin has taken
on a red hue. I didn’t notice them before, but he must be wearing fake nails,
which are so long they have begun to curl. As he hovers closer to us, I gag
again from the rotten smells pouring from his now blacken lips and brown teeth.
“No, we’re not wimping out,” I sputter. This place is crazy but there is no way
we won’t make it through this dumb funhouse. Without another glance at the
actor, I yank Cam to his feet. “Come on, this was your idea. We can do this.”
Again, Aladdin’s
friend disappears without a sound. I stare at Cam for a second. His appearance
looks like he did last year when he caught the flu. “We need a different plan
of attack. No more entering rooms unless you think you see an exit. I’m not
sure, but I have a feeling the way out could be anything, from an open window
to a hole in the wall. Remember it’s Halloween, and these guys are only here to
scare the pants off of us.”
“Yeah, they’re doing a really good job of it,”
he chuckles.
His voice sounds hollow and is sucked
instantly into all the other noises thudding in this house.
Three doors down
a guy and girl emerge from one of the rooms. His clothes mirror our own and the
girl is barefoot. From where I stand, I watch their chests heave in and out
like they’ve been running a marathon. Their deer-like eyes canvas the hallway,
perhaps judging if we are a threat, before running our way. A chainsaw buzzes,
numbing all sounds around us. “Run!” yells the guy, as he and the girl wiz
passed us. Our heads jerk from one end of the hall to the other, just in time
to see the couple skid around the corner. We should’ve heeded their warning.
From the room they exited comes a set of boots, laced with chains that run all
the way up leather covered legs, around a thick torso crisscrossing over a
giant man’s shoulders. His face is masked with black leather and he grips a
chainsaw over his head. When the giant spots us, he grunts and revs his tool.
We need not be told again to run.
My good friend
and I race back in the direction we came. The guy and girl are nowhere in
sight. We zip by the front door, which now seems to be guarded by a troll and
head for the room the maid carried the flaming drinks into as we entered. The
chainsaw is close on our heels as we trek into more unknown territory. Soon the
thumping of loud rock music washes out the buzz of the chainsaw. A disco ball
hangs from the middle of the room and a checkered dance floor thrives with
bodies swaying to the hypnotic beat.
Cam’s elbow jabs
me in the ribs and he says, “Is she biting his neck?”
As he speaks, the couple closest to us stops
bobbing to the music and the woman jerks her head up. Blood drips from her
mouth and she hisses at us, revealing fangs. The guy stands motionless, staring
off into space. She releases the man and he crumples to the floor, with blood
seeping from two puncture wounds on his neck.
“Fresh blood,”
hisses the creature. She steps over her dance partner and glides nearer. Cam
and I step backwards but stop when we bump into a barrier. If I had to guess, a
male body has stopped my movement. I flinch as a nose brushes my skin. A shiver
runs up my spine as the person behind me inhales.
“Oh, you smell wonderful,” is nothing more
than a whisper in my ear, but the words are deafening.
“I saw him
first,” wails the lady and lunges toward me. My eyes close and wait for the
impact.
The sound of a
chainsaw rips through the music and hisses follow. I sense the air around me
shift and my eyes open. “He followed us,” Cam states. Around us, bodies lay on
the floor, seeping blood. “Back there.” I turn and see where everyone else has
gone. In the archway lurks chainsaw man, revving his weapon. The dancers have
blocked his entry, hissing and flashing their fangs.
“We need to go now, while they’re not
looking,” I say and pull Cam.
On the other side
of the room, I spot an opening. I’m not sure if I’m ready to face what could be
waiting for us, but I can’t say that chick isn’t really going to bite me. We
make our way across the floor as fast as possible without stepping on the
people sprawled on the ground.
I’m happy I
still have my flashlight and after a few flicks, the toothless pumpkin bounces
off the steps before us. We don’t speak as we navigate our way into the
basement, dungeon, or whatever clever contraption is waiting for us. As our
feet hit the bottom step, a green light illuminates the area. Cages with bones
dangle from the ceiling and caldrons boiling foul smelling liquids kick the
temperature up almost twenty degrees.
“We have new
patients,” calls a voice from an unforeseen corner. “Nurse, we need two
gurneys.”
Shoes
slapping the cement ground, and the high pitch wail of a squeaky wheel follow,
“Of course doctor.”
My flashlight drops from my grasp and Cam and
I hit the floor, crawling into a dark corner. “Oh, pooh, they’ve run off on us,”
huffs the nurse. From where we hide, I can see her white loafers and white
fishnet stockings. She taps her foot and spins around. I move back a tad when I
catch my reflection in the gurney’s wheel base. “They haven’t gone far. They
never do,” promises the doctor.
I fear if we
speak, they will hear us, so I tap Cam on the shoulder and point across the
room. There has to be another way out. He nods and we, hugging the dark
crevices of the basement crawl along the wall. If it wasn’t for the size of the
caldrons, I’m sure we would be spotted. When my arm brushes the outside of a pot,
I bite back a cry. The skin sizzles and the muscle tense in protest, yet I keep
moving. The nurse and doctor taunt us, calling for us to come out of our hiding
spot. As we round the second wall, wrapped hands break through the darkness and
yank Cam to the middle of the room. My best friend gives a muffled scream and I
jump out of hiding ready to attack.
A mummy drags
Cam towards the doctor and nurse. Both wear white masks over their mouths and
the nurse jumps for joy as they near. No one has spotted me yet. Cam fights to
be free, kicking and flaying about. His motions do nothing to slow the mummy’s
gait. Going unnoticed, I release a thick bone from a cage that hangs overhead.
It’s wet and smells of rotting flesh. I have no time to gag from the smell as I
swing the bone, slamming it into the back of the mummy’s head. Cam falls to the
ground and rolls to his side, avoiding being crushed by the mummy as he tumbles
forward. In the corner, I see a white light and it looks like another set of
stairs leading upwards. “Come on, this way.” The doctor and nurse charge as Cam
springs to his feet. We hit the stairs and dash toward the light.
“Darn, we’ve lost them, Doctor,” echoes behind
us.
Up we climb. One
floor, then a second, but then again it’s hard to tell, there are no doors,
nothing but the shining light at the top of the stairwell. Breathless, we reach
the landing. Either the doctor, nurse, nor mummy breaches the staircase, or
anyone else for that matter. A door with the number thirteen scratched into the
wood greets us. Cam and I look at each other, then the door, and then back down
the stairs. The bright light above us burst, sending shards of glass showering
down on us. No discussion is needed as Cam turns the knob and we almost fall
through the doorway. This hallway looks like the one on the first floor, except
all of the doors have the number thirteen carved in them.
This time we go
together to each door. Behind gateway number one, we find a weeping bride. Her
white dress and veil both drip with red goo and a silver candlestick lays at
her feet. She looks up and shrills, “Why didn’t he love me?”
We dare not
enter that room and shut the door. At the next room, we can’t get the handle to
twist.
“If it won’t open, I’m not going to push it,”
says Cam as he moves on to the third entrance. Soft music flows from the other
side of this barrier. It calls to me. My insides feel a pulling that I can’t
ignore and I’m propelled forward. When the door creaks open, I enter, leaving
my misgiving in the hallway. A blonde haired woman sits, playing a harp,
singing a beautiful song. “This isn’t cool, Matt. Let’s go back,” says Cam and
pulls on my shoulder. At the sound of our invasion, the blonde stops playing
and spins to face us. Her eyes flash a crimson-red and her pouty lips pull into
a sneer as the blonde hair falls to the floor revealing red-eyed snakes
writhing on top of her head.
Snakes are Cam’s
biggest fear. He whimpers, backing into the door. His movement causes the door
to creak shut. The soft click of the latch sends Cam into even more of a panic.
“No, no, no,” he
cries and jiggles the handle.
“Yes, my pets,
we have company,” coos Medusa. More snakes slither from under furniture, and
vents. The ones on top of her head hiss and spit venom.
“Matt, help me
get the door open.” He places his foot on the door jam and pulls hard enough to
yank the knob from the fixture. Cam tumbles to the ground, landing between the
snakes and myself.
Medusa cackles and raises her hands over her
head before saying, “Bring him to me, my pets.” On command, the snakes glide
forward circling Cam. I reach to pull him back when a snake lunges toward me. While
the creatures that corner my best friend rise to an attack pose, the others fan
out creating an impenetrable line to cross.
“I want out! Let
me out,” screams Cam. He pulls his knees to his chest and lets out a loud wail.
“Is this your
wish?” From the far corner of the room, the genie has propped himself on a
desk.
“Yes, I want
out.”
“Then your wish
is my command.”
“No! He doesn’t
mean it.” My gut tells me this isn’t what he wants. This isn’t want anyone
would want.
With a snap of
his fingers, Medusa and her pets vanish. In their place, a barrier of fire
soars, scraping the ceiling and further blocking me from Cam.
My arm shields
my face from the heat as I try to brave the flames. “Cam, tell him no.” The
room is filling with smoke and I choke.
“I can make you
the same offer,” a voice from the fire says. Although my sight is becoming
blurry, I believe I see what looks like the genie’s face dancing in the flames.
“Go to Hell,” I
yell back and drop to my knees gagging.
“You have no idea,” he laughs. The barrier
drops, and I spot Cam standing, stuck in a ring of fire. He stands motionless,
staring at the wall. I push myself to my feet and step forward. To my left, the
genie slides from the desk, and snaps his fingers. “Have it your way.” With
that, the door behind me bangs open and a huge gust of wind sends me toppling
into the hallway. I sail into the wall and slide to the ground. From where I
sit, I watch with dread as the flames incasing Cam dissipate and the genie
lures him to his side. The door slams shut and I jump to my feet. As I reach
the entrance, the stupid knob on the first try falls to the floor.
Over and over I bang my fist on the door. My
foot slams into the wood until my ankle aches, and still the gateway will not
open. Around me, everything goes quiet. Too quiet. When the door across the way
squeaks open and a green-faced creature dressed as a witch emerges, I know I
must run. She walks with a slant, and drags her broom as a caveman would carry
a club. Her crooked walk doesn’t slow her down and I dash into the closest
room. I don’t think before I shut myself in what could be the next line of
torture, but relief washes over me when I find stairs leading down. My steps
echo in the stairwell as I take two steps at a time. On the last step, my heart
thrashes in my chest as I peer through the opening. From here, it looks like
the hallway Cam and I first ventured down. At the top of the stairs a low
thump, thump, thump, bounces off the walls. The lighting is dim and I can only
guess it is the witch following me.
On the count of
three, I dash out the archway and race down the hall. Feet away from the
atrium, a chainsaw buzzes. I fear who or what may be coming to block me in the
hallway. Going on a whim, I run to the door I believe to be the drawing room. I
barely get the door shut when heavy feet sulk by. I need to find somewhere to
hide in case those creatures come in here. With a quick glance, I realize I may
have picked the wrong room to look for a hiding place. The only thing that sits
in this room is an easel. But when I look again I notice there is something
drawn on the canvas. Could it really be that easy? Here all along, had I paid
attention the first time I would have seen the drawing. A picture of a window
with the word Exit, sits taunting me.
On the top corner of the canvas, a green arrow points to the window behind the
drawing.
Racing to the
window, I pull, push, and yank the damn thing but it won’t budge. In complete
frustration, I rip the canvas from the easel and slam it into the glass. Shards
of glass flutter away like a bird whose cage door was left open. Cool air
finally brushes my skin and pulls me to the opening. It’s pitch black out and I
have no clue what I’m jumping into, but I don’t hesitate as I leap through the
abyss. I soar for a moment before I smack something hard, ending my descent.
Although it’s dark, my world spins and I find it hard to keep my eyes open.
“There’s no loitering,
here,” huffs a deep voice. Is he talking to me? My head feels like someone
drove a nail through it. “Keep it moving,” he barks and kicks my foot. I try to
open my eyes, but someone is shining a bright light in my face. Rolling to my
side, I inhale grass and dirt. “If you don’t get up, I’m taking you in.”
“What?” I
murmur. What is he talking about? Where am I? As I roll onto my back, I realize
no one is shining a light in my eyes. It’s the sun. One at a time, my eyes
slide open, straining to adjust to the bright light. Looming over me is a
police officer. Now that I’m awake, he straightens and steps back. I rub my
eyes and try to focus them again. I could swear he looks just like the
leprechaun Cam thought was our substitute teacher. Cam, where is he? I look
around trying to find him or figure out where I am. “Mr. Knox?” I venture.
“Where am I? Where’s Cam?”
The cop glares at me and I wonder for a moment
if I have head trauma. I’m sure his eyes flash red before he says, “If you’re
not gone by the time I come back from my rounds, I’m taking you to the
station.” I don’t speak as he storms away.
It takes me a
moment to get to my feet. At this new viewpoint, I pinpoint the community park
where I shoot hoops. From here, I can see my car parked across the way. In my
hand is a small balled up sheet of paper. My heart leaps into my throat. It’s
the ticket from the haunted house. Digging through my pocket, I search for the
other ticket. I had both of them. I’m positive. Yet when I come up with nothing
I can only scratch my head. As the sunlight catches the thin paper in my hand,
I notice there’s something on the back of the ticket. Perhaps next year, with a smiley face glares at me. A shiver runs
up my back and the ticket drops from my grasp, being swept away by the wind.
Come and
become a part of the main attraction. You’ll never leave, sears my brain as
I walk to my car.
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Spotlight
Hey everyone!
Myself and 'Frozen' have been spotlighted on the Bookcrastinators in Wonderland blog page. Here's the link. Make sure to check them and me out.
http://bookcrastinators.com/2014/08/author-spotlight-elle-rose.html
Thanks Besty and Melody!
Myself and 'Frozen' have been spotlighted on the Bookcrastinators in Wonderland blog page. Here's the link. Make sure to check them and me out.
http://bookcrastinators.com/2014/08/author-spotlight-elle-rose.html
Thanks Besty and Melody!
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Friday, August 8, 2014
Zombies
Two nights ago, I had the craziest of dreams. Okay, please
understand I always have strange dreams but this made me wake up the next day
and question what I ate before bed. I didn't even do any midnight snacking
either!
My dream started with the preexisting
knowledge that zombies were roaming our streets, throughout the world. No one
knew where they came from, but we all understood that you could outrun them and
you could do the typical head-shot to cease their attack. Now these zombies
didn't attack you to eat you, no, this unique species only bit you to make you
a zombie too. The transformation was immediate and those new recruits bore pale,
droopy, decaying skin, with the huge chunk of flesh missing from the
bite.
With all of this information, I found
myself living in my first apartment. Even though all the other rooms looked
like my first place, my bedroom was that of the one I grew up in at my parents'
house. I found myself stressed, trying to figure out where I could go to live
zombie free. It was said that there were a few pockets of land that humans
lived without fear. While I sat and thought about my travel plans, friends of
mine came over with their son (These are real people that I know in real life).
The only thing that was somewhat weird (only once I woke up and thought about
it) their infant son was a talking parakeet. I used to parakeets and when we
sat to talk about finding the zombie free zones, I pulled out the cage for the
kid to hang out in. He and I bickered back and forth (I don't remember about
what) but I do recall breaking, on accident, the bird size Ferris wheel. He
became very agitated pacing the floor and yelling at me as I struggled to put
the toy back together. Once he was settled and his toy was working again, it
was decided which path we would take. Before we set out, I wanted to collect my
brother.
Somewhere along the way I lost my friends
(I believe they just kind of faded away from the dream) and it was just my
brother and me. He and I walked for a while before we came to a house in the
middle of the woods. For some reason we entered it, it reminded me of the house
we grew up in. The stupid backdoor even stuck as I jiggled the handle to open
it. Once in what should have been the backyard, we found ourselves walking into
what looked like a deserted ghost town. There was only one person in sight. She
informed us that if we wanted to become a part of their zombie free town, we
had to show how brave we were. All of this was communicated silently (I have no
clue how that worked. All I know is she opened her mouth and pointed towards a
peninsula and her directions (in her own voice) filled our minds). My
brother and I wandered to where she pointed. By the time we made it to the
ridge of the peninsula, we had a massive round 2 seat raft in our possession.
Before us, bright blue water churned with 15-20 feet waves smashing into each
other. On the cement sides of the water sat hundreds of people sunning,
dancing, cooking out, and playing games. When they saw us, they began to cheer
and goad us on. My brother and I didn't need to discuss it even if this was the
promise land we were hoping for there was no way we were not going to meet the
challenge. We took a running start and jumped off the edge, landing hard in the
raft in the water. Boy what a crazy ride! We spun backwards, smashed into the
cement walls and water sprayed us in the faces. We held on for dear life!
I hate to say, the ride must have
been too much for my poor heart because I woke up then, gripping the sheets
waiting for the next crazy twist or turn that was coming. Sigh, as I laid there
in my bed letting my heart slow down, I thought about how weird and strange
that dream was. If it wasn't for the fact that I dreamt it, I would have never
believed someone could have had such a crazy adventure.
Sunday, August 3, 2014
A Novel...One Day Maybe
Here's a short story I wrote a while back. From time to time I think about making this story a novel. It's kind of raw, and a lot of information (hopefully to one day spread throughout an entire book or series). Comments would be great. I would love to know if I really have a story here.
Without further ado: A Grim
Without further ado: A Grim
Tale
By Elle A. Rose
Copyright © 2012 By Angela Watkins, Elle A. Rose
All rights reserved
The characters and
events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons,
living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Blood has a distinct
scent when it burns. Take the aroma of rusted sheet metal, boiling in a
cast-iron pot, with seawater, and you have the smell of caramelized blood. This
fragrance drifts passed me as the body of the recently deceased sizzles in its
inferno tomb. I move swiftly to the driver’s side door. The car, which moments
ago swerved off the side of the road, is being swallowed by orange and blue
flames. In general, from the time of death, whatever the cause may be, it takes
the soul twenty seconds to a full minute to leave the body. It depends on how stubborn said spirit is
before it realizes that it must exit its host. My job is to be there moments
before the time of death. You see, I am a vampire, or another term, which
coincidently most do not refer to in the same sentence is, the grim reaper. I
and others of our kind are dispersed to a scene or accident where just before
the human is expected to die, we step in.
Draining the body of its blood moments before its death, we then wait
for the soul to emerge from the corpse, to collect it if you will, for its
final destination.
With the understanding
that its body’s remains can no longer house its spirit, I feel a tingling
sensation move across my skin as the soul and host detach.
“Where
am I? What happened?”
I don’t know the soul’s name, and I really do
not care to ask. I’ve grown numb to this job.
Over eight centuries of this burden has become routine.
“You’re dead. See your
car?” I direct his attention to the object he once called his automobile. He turns and gawks at the wreckage. The
emergency crew is now on the scene, working franticly to get the fire under
control.
“That’s your body
burning in the car. You were drunk driving and crossed over the lane and almost
hit that van.”
I point towards the other vehicle that is
pulled over onto the shoulder. They’re safe. They’re the ones who called for
help, although there was no saving this kid. I can’t say if I care either way,
if the other motorist lived or died too, it’s just a job. “Come on, it’s time
for you to go.”
“Wait!
What do you mean? What’s going to happen to me?”
I should’ve figured
with the amount of time it took him to exit his body, he’d be full of
questions. A firefighter brushes by me in a hurry to help with the fire. Since I‘ve covered myself in the shadows of
darkness, they cannot see me standing here waiting for John Doe to grasp that
his time is up. “I mean that you’re dead. Seconds before your car smacked into
that concrete wall, I joined you in the vehicle and drained you of your blood.
Indubitably releasing your essence before your body was smashed and burned.” I
like to think of that being the kind way out. I know of some who will wait
until the body is damaged before they drain the corpse of its blood.
“So you killed me?”
This kid must have killed a lot of brain
cells. It doesn’t surprise me. He was pretty drunk before he drove his car off
the road. “No, I helped the process along. You were going to die tonight
regardless of my actions. I just like my blood body temperature and not boiling
hot.”
Time is of the essence,
I reach out to snag his arm. He is going to make me late for my next
appointment, and I don’t want that. Only two types of creatures can touch a
spirit, vampires and faeries. We both have jobs to do. I believe the vampires’
job is unpleasant, since we are the ones to welcome the souls to the afterlife
of Hell. Yes, vampires, aka, grim
reapers, are the transporters of all those individuals that are condemned to
Hell. Well, at least the souls that we make it to in time. Faeries, aka,
angels, are the spirit gatherers most human beings would want to be collected
by. The faerie gets to give the
welcoming news that the individual has lived a life which has led them to those
pearly white gates. I’ve been asked over
the centuries, ‘how do I know I’m not making a mistake in the collections’ and
my response is: ‘I am only sent to the location.’ I know nothing, no name, or
reason why. All I recognize is the calling or draw which propels me into
motion. Once on the scene, I follow the
scent of death. There is always a trail, a trace of death that begins to be
emitted from the body seconds before the demise occurs. That’s one of the
reasons vampires move so fast. We need to be able to step in quick enough to
extract the blood from the body. Part of the eternal torture of Hell is the
burning sensation. That phenomenon starts once the system is drained of the
crimson liquid. This kid doesn’t know it yet, but as the last bit of that
lovely substance dries up, he will start to experience the burn from the inside
out. Damned spirits tend to moan in pain and as the burning increases, their
cries become louder. I try to get them to the gates of Hell before that point.
The hollow sound of their screams can leave a feeling of someone scraping the
meat and flesh from your bones.
“So,
you aren’t an angel?”
We are moving at a fast pace. A human body
would not be able to keep up with the speed in which I’m traveling. But as a
spirit, they’re no longer limited by the unconditioned muscles humans rely
on. “No, I’m not. I hate to break the
news to you, kid, but you are not headed to heaven. Do you feel that burning
sensation? That’s the first step in your eternal damnation.”
“But…wait!
Why?”
He tries to pull away from me when he notices
that his feet do little to stop his movement. The soles of his feet glide over
the dirt and tree stumps as he is forced to continue on the path that I’m
leading him. The gate is close by. I can
sense the pull towards the fiery passage. Coming to a stop in the middle of the
forest, I wait for the doorway to materialize.
The gatekeeper can always recognize the arrival of a new soul. Only appearing in the darkest of locations-
which could be an abandoned building, unlit parking lot, dark alley or in this
case, the middle of the forest, the entrance can be revealed.
Gatekeepers and their
companions, hell hounds, are more sensitive to the light than us vampires.
Death occurs at all times of the day, including while the sun is out. Because
of this, vampires in the olden days would wear black cloaks to help keep our
pale skin from burning. Many pictures of grim reapers depict us as skeletons
under those hooded robes, but I believe because our skin is so pale and we move
so swiftly, that most images the human eye could detect appear as a bone. Therefore, black clothes are vital to
keeping us protected. Any amount of sunlight on our skin will leave our pale
flesh blistered and peeling. We’ve since done away with the robes, wearing all
black, like a hoodie, jacket, and pants will do the trick now.
Feeling the rays of sun
on our skin, would probably compare to what my John Doe is experiencing. He has
started to moan and rock as we wait for the gate to appear.
“Please,
can I go back?” he whispers. “What will happen to my body?”
I glance and find him rubbing his hands up
and down his arms. His semi-transparent eyes give a ghostly appearance. “You
cannot go back. There is nothing left but charred remains.”
“My
mom, what will she think?”
I shrug my shoulders. I’m sure his mother will
think the same thing all mothers think.
The warmth from the
gate draws me forward. I slam into the invisible wall and a hiss escapes from
my lips. I’m not allowed to enter. Even
the bowels of Hell do not allow me passage. The two Hell hounds perk their
ears, but do not move from their seated positions; not until they’re given the
commanded. Undisturbed by my movement,
Eskil, the operator of this entry bows.
“Evening, Cyrene. How
be you tonight?”
“Well, Eskil. And
yourself?” As he contemplates my question, he brings his blackened fingernails
to his stubby chin. The act of his nails moving across the stubble sounds of
steel grinding upon steel.
“Yuh got a busy night ahead of you? Don’t know if I’ll be seeing you again,
though. I’m being pulled towards the south.”
“Yes, the weekends tend to bring out the
casualties. This one here is my first of the night. I’m being pulled towards
the west after this.”
“Reckon you better be getting on your way. No
one ends up happy when they go unclaimed.”
“I think you’d be right
on that.”
Eskil gives the quietest of sounds, and the
two Hell hounds shift into action. Both massive two hundred pound beasts, move
from their seated position and come forth to guide the soul towards its new
home. Besides the soul, the Hell hounds are the only ones able to cross the
invisible line. Although Eskil craves for the coolness of the night air to
brush his ashy skin, and I want to experience the heat that is being released
from the depths of the gates, neither one of us can cross that line. John Doe sees the huge hounds shuffling
closer and turns to flee. One of the hounds gives a grisly howl and the spirit
stops. John Doe then turns on the silent command to face the passageway, and
the hounds, one in front and one behind, march the boy forward.
“No,
please! I don’t want to go! Take me home! Please! I’m sorry!”
“You’ve got a talker on your hands.” I say.
“That we do. Those are
always the fun ones.” Eskil rubs his hands together in anticipation as he watches
the boy cross the threshold. Without another word the gate slams shut and the
warmth disappears.
I turn on my heels and
head towards the west. I must move as
fast as possible. The next death will occur soon, and I don’t want to miss it.
No spirit collector wants to miss the separation of a spirit from its body.
Father Time is always working against us, then again, so is Mother Nature.
Besides the bickering between themselves, they also try to keep us from
collecting the souls. Any spirit that is not gathered within the minute or so
that it takes to depart from its body, will enter into Purgatory, as some would
call it. In other words, they become a ghost.
Left in limbo in the area in which they lost their lives, that
apparition will not enter Heaven or Hell. It doesn’t transpire often, but the
humans that happen to occupy those locations after the body has been removed
are known to have visits from said ghost.
It typically occurs
when a great number of deaths take place all at once. Take for example, the civil war. In
Gettysburg alone, there were so many casualties that neither vampire nor faerie
working side by side, were able to reach all of the bodies in time to collect
the souls. In that case, as with the rest of the civil war, Father Time seemed to
be pushing time forward, making the surroundings move faster if you will. You
see, he likes to have the restless apparitions moving about the earth. Making
the occasion move faster or slower depending on the situation leaves soul
collectors nothing but hard work. If we don’t make it in time to gather the
soul, the ghost is left to terrorize the living. Father Time recognizes
poltergeists put the living on the edge, and when such fragile beings as humans
are on guard they are more open to hurt one another. Father Time since the Beginning has been
racing to the finish line. He wants nothing more than for the world to turn on
itself, so once there are no living breathing objects left, and he can rest.
Mother Nature is his
worst enemy. She loves everything living…including vampires- if you want to
consider us living. She refuses to sit back and watch Father Time ruin her
world. Because of this, she and her minions work constantly to keep the world
moving smoothly. Her fleet of minions or shape shifters will stop at no cost to
keep humans alive. Taking on a form that will best suit the scenario, her
shifters will try to defuse, block, or divert death. These are only in
instances where Father Time has had his hands in things. If it is a natural
death, her creatures will back down. But
take for example, the John Doe I just deliver to Hell. Let’s say before getting
into his car and driving drunk, he was at a house party, where of course he was
drinking heavily. A girl walks up to him and asks him to go home with her. Now
this is some stranger that he has never met, and if he had gone home with her,
he never would have seen her again after that following morning. The girl would
have been one of Mother Nature’s shifters. Most likely before the minion
changed into the pretty girl trying to coax John Doe into not getting into his
car and driving drunk, she was a fox running through the woods. Since the boy turned down the invite, he was
then set in my path. However, Father Time seeing he was a stubborn soul knew
that I would be slowed down. Alas, I may have collected that one soul, but in
the mist of the sluggish departure, I must now work harder to make it to the
next soul so that it will not be stuck in Purgatory. If Father Time
accomplishes what he has set out to do, the question for us vampires is: Where
does that leave us?
Being a vampire is punishment. Of course we
are not allowed into Heaven, or Hell, and because we are in a flesh and earth
bound Purgatory there is nowhere left for us to go. Without the warm substance
we drain from our departing souls, we will be left to walk the earth as the
living dead. The thought of going without blood forever is torture enough, but
to know that we walk this land of the living because of the act of kindness is
the biggest punishment of them all. You see, everyone has a path in life, and
once your path has been marked with death, once that final decision is made
that will end your life, there should be no stopping it. Nevertheless, there
is. My un-souling came five days after I wed my husband.
Our neighbor seemed to have thought a few
acres of our farming land were his. The men bickered for two days. Come the
third day, things became physical. In the mists of the quarrel, the neighbor
lunged forward with a pitchfork in hand, and I having sensed the danger my
adoring husband was in, stepped in the way at the last possible second. Hence,
I became a grim reaper. Everything
happened so fast. There were two moving objects, one was the pitchfork going
towards my husband’s chest, and the other was a black blur. As the manure
riddled prongs began to pierce my chest, the vampire paused, sensing that a
chain of events was about to occur. After falling to the ground, pitchfork
nicely wedged in my heart and lungs, I was lifted into the hands of what felt
like cold metal. Moving quickly, the vampire, Dugan, transported me to a new
location where the exchanging of blood commenced. Because it was during the
day, Dugan was not able to shroud himself in the cover of darkness and my, like
so many other births of reapers was public, which leads to legends of vampire
attacks.
Being older and wiser, my reaper knew it was
best not to change me on the spot. He relocated me, but not too far away, to
make it easier for those who loved me to find the body. As the exchanging of
blood continued, he explained that I’d committed the worst crime known to
mankind-the shift in history, some call it the butterfly effect. The butterfly
effect being that history is already written, and if for some reason it is changed-as
a result of stepping in front of a pitchfork at the last second that was meant
for someone else- you have in effect changed the course of history. The Powers
that be have to then work in overtime to make sure this history that isn’t
already written remains correct. Once the change was complete, I was then
enlightened on my new role in my life of the undead. You can say it was a rude awakening to the
real universe. My husband of five sun rises remarried in less than twelve
settings of the sun, and I was stuck walking the earth as a blood sucking, soul
snatching, Hell greeting beast.
Besides welcoming souls
to Hell, this undead life hasn’t been too bad. With seniority, I don’t have to
travel as long of distances as in the beginning and have been located in the
States for the last five hundred years. Willem, my mate of two hundred years
and I share a small underground residence. He also is a reaper, having pushed a
young slave out of the way of his father’s pistol, he, too joined the ranks of
the undead. Our underground house dwelling is modest, but necessary so we can
walk around without all black on. There are times when we are both drawn to the
same occurrence, however, most days we have to go our separate ways, and
sometimes weeks will pass without seeing each other.
I’ve found my next
destination. Still holding the cover of darkness around me, I watch as the next
death transpires. I always find it a shame when an elderly person dies of
something other than natural causes. I know the next demise will be of an
elderly lady. The trail of fatality is shining bright and leading its web
towards her. It appears that she has just left the local corner market. There
are two men waiting at the end of the dimly lit street for her. I can hear
their murmurs. The guys have tracked the old lady for two weeks, and tonight
they plan to rob her of everything on her person. Once they have her keys to
her house, they’re going to shoot her and then raid her apartment. These are times that I would like to be a
corrupted soul snatcher, like Dracula. Choosing the souls I’d like to drag to
Hell would be nice. No one knows how he, like so few others are able to break
from the internal commands we receive. Although, I wouldn’t go around trying to
turn others and taunting the living, yet, I would definitely choose to snatch
the souls of these two men with the gun before having to take the old lady’s
soul. However, on second thought, I’m bringing her to the gates of Hell, so
perhaps she isn’t as she appears either. Besides, like the barrier that keeps
me from entering the warmth of Hell, the same barrier holds me in place as I
wait the next death.
The street light has
caught the reflection of my insignia, reaching up I place my hand over the
small piece of silver. Centuries ago, when there were more farmers than
townspeople, us grim reapers used to walk around with what most call a sickle;
it was part of our disguise. To the untrained eye, we carried farm tools, but
it was actually a replica of our fangs. As times have changed, we have done
away with the sickles and now we wear such insignias as necklaces, bracelets or
anything else we can find on the internet that resemble fangs.
Other things have
changed with the ages. Vampire hunters aren’t as prevalent. As the world
revolutionizes most don’t believe mythical creatures exist, which leaves less
and less men of the cloth wearing garlic around their necks hunting us. Outside
of smelling really awful -garlic for some reason has the strongest smelling
aroma, and makes us gag- it has no real effect on vampires. We just don’t like
the smell. Garlic or no garlic, men of
the cloth are the only ones who can end a vampire’s life…with a stake. The
stake must be blessed in holy water and the man must be of the purest heart and
soul to accomplish the task. So all-in-all, most attempts to stake a vampire
fail. But those that succeeded… well, it only begs the question, what happened
to that vampire? We have no souls to become a ghost stuck in Purgatory, and we
are not allowed into Heaven or Hell. Some believe when we are staked, we become
reincarnated. I only wonder if you need an essence for that.
Another change that
doesn’t partially go with the shift in the world, but with a vampire becoming
reestablished in the world, is after a few decades we no longer need to carry
our caskets around with us. You see, while the transformation to a vampire is
processing, our systems go into a sort of hibernation. This usually gives the
family time to bury our bodies. Once the change is complete, most vampires need
to dig themselves out of their grave and find somewhere to hide, or locate
black clothing to keep them protected from the sun. It’s an instinct to bring
your casket with you. Besides the clothes on your back, the casket is the only
thing you enter your new life with. That is, if you’re lucky enough to be
buried. That was another ‘pitchfork’ in the heart for me. Thankfully Dugan
wasn’t called to his next reaping right away, so he waited to see if someone
would claim my body. Realizing no one would, he moved me to his dwellings and
clothed me. He no longer needed his casket since he had a proper shelter, thus
as I moved into the world alone, he allowed me to take his for protection.
Vacant buildings weren’t as prevalent as they are now, and unless we are
removing a soul from a residents in which is occupied by the living, that
invisible wall blocks us from entering. Furthermore, all holy grounds are
completely off limits…even if a death occurs on the premises. As a result, most
vampires aren’t left with many places outside of the casket to seek shelter in
the beginning.
I’m commanded forward
to the shuffle. I watch as the taller man on the left pulls out the gun. I
reach the elderly lady seconds before he fires. Sinking my teeth into her neck,
I draw her warm blood into my mouth. As
I drain her essence, I hear the booming click of the gun. The woman gasps as
the bullet enters her body. Dealing with weapons is a part of the job, but I
hate it. I let out a sharp hiss as the bullet exits her body and enters mine.
It comes with the territory. Letting her body drop to the ground, I step back
into the darkness and attempt to pull the bullet out of my abdomen. This is why
vampires heal quickly. Outside of my own death, I have, over the centuries been
shot more times than I would like to count. I was thankful when sword fighting
lost its attractiveness. But buses,
knives, cars, axes, baseball bats and even a fishing pole are some of the
weapons that have battered my body over the centuries. Not to mention those
times I‘ve arrived late and found myself jumping off of tall buildings or boats
and other such things to make the draining before their lovely blood makes too
much of a mess for me to lick up. Ironically, there has never been another
pitchfork to pierce my skin. The Powers that be have a sick sense of
humor.
Digging deep into my
side, I find the bullet and yank it out. The tissue and skin around the wound
begin to heal. Hissing again, I throw the metal on the ground. My Jane Doe has exited her host and is
staring at me. Her murderers have begun their retreat.
“Aren’t
you going to stop them?”
Her voice is a high pitch wail. She turns and
stares down at her body, and the blood that’s left, as it slowly leaks out onto
the sidewalk. “No, not today, but maybe
one day I’ll get the calling to.” I glance through the new hole in my shirt and
I find the puncture is completely closed. “Come on, it’s time to go.” My Jane
Doe faces the direction in which the men ran and spits a saliva-less spit
before turning back towards me.
“Well,
now what? I’m assuming I’m dead.”
“That you are. Follow me.”
We need not travel as
far this time to the next gateway. I can sense it materializing. Making a
right, we head for a dark alley that smells of urine and has a hobo sleeping
under a box next to the garbage bin. As we walk past the bum, the old lady
mutters an ungodly word and attempts to kick him. Her foot goes right through
his leg, and he feels nothing. I stop and once again and I’m greeted by the
warmth of the depths of Hell. Ormand is the operator of this opening. He, too,
is flanked by two hell hounds.
“Must be those weekend
things or whatever you call them. This is my six emergence of the night.”
“How are you this fine
evening, Ormand? Yes, it is a weekend, but I have a feeling it shall soon slow
down. I do not sense the calling of another as of yet. This is my second of the
night.”
Ormand nods at me, and flashes a toothless
smile towards our Jane Doe.
“Burning yet?” he
questions with an unworldly beam. He then gives a slight click of his tongue
and the two hounds stand and position themselves.
Jane throws her nose in
the air and says, “I need no assistants
from these mongrels. I’ve known this was coming for some time.”
She attempts to push past the beasts whose
muzzles stop at her shoulders. With her head held high, she marches into the
gates of Hell.
Ormand smiles at me and says, “It wasn’t too
long ago that I saw Willem, perhaps he’s close by.”
Gatekeepers have no way to tell time, other
than what information us vampires pass onto them. He may have seen my Willem,
but it possibly was not on this evening. It could have been months ago for all
I know.
“Perhaps. There are no
other calls for me as of now, so I shall go home and await his company.”
Ormand steps back,
pulling the gate closed, and I draw the shrouds of darkness around me. Heading out of the alley, I head home and
await Willem or my next calling, whatever happens first.
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