I'm not sure how many parts I'll get in, but I figured in the spirit of Halloween I would share snippets of some of the short shorties I've written over the years.
Since my first Halloween post talked about my FROZEN, I felt it would only be appropriate to start with the short story that started it all, FROZEN the short story.
Happy Reading!
They say many
years ago, before my great, great, great, great grandparents were born, the
young at heart and kids of all ages celebrated Halloween. On October
thirty-first of every year, individuals would dress up in costumes either to
party with friends or, to go door to door and collect candi from neighbors. Candi,
what a foreign name. It’s unknown to our generation, but from what I’ve been
told, it holds an alluring sweetness. After The Great Takeover, production of
any sustenance not needed for survival was unnecessary. Although the joyfulness
of Halloween is extinct, the premise of collection or ‘Trick or Treat’ still
remains.
..... Halloween is now a day for
obtaining provisions to support our family throughout the year. I’m of age this
year, so it will be the first time I’m allowed to participate in the food and
materials scavenge. My name is Verick Cedar. I reside on the planet formerly
known as Earth. The Great Takeover, which occurred sometime in 3100 left the
entire planet’s surface merged together. The Xecerptavode (ex-serp-ta-void), an
alien race, infused our land, drained all the fresh water, and forced us to
live in destitute conditions. Because of the relocation and meshing of the
grounds once separated by water, the spiritual barrier between the living and
dead, ley lines, were also destroyed. Without intact ley lines, spiritual
nights like All Hallows’ Eve have become the salvation for humans of the planet
once called earth.
Thanks to the Goddess, Pomona, this one night she and
our ancestors rise from the dead to entomb the xecerptavode in stasis, while
our people attempt to gather food. Even though Pomona is a powerful Goddess,
she is unable to hold back all of the spirits of the dead. The xecerptavode,
who have lost their lives on this planet, also rise in spirit form to assist
their imprisoned descendants. For this reason, collection of necessities can
become fatal. Although this is my first year of ‘Trick or Treating’, it very
well may be my last.
My father is depending on me tonight, I see it in his
gaze. For months now, he has coached me on what to expect. If it wasn’t for the
chronic, gurgle of warm bile swishing in my stomach, I may have tried to back
out for one more year. I believe my mother is right, sixteen is still way too
young. Granted, next year, I will begin the tradition of picking a wife,
courting her and wedding her by eighteen--that is, if I live through this
night.
I’ve barricaded myself in my four-by-five foot room
with the mattress. It leaves me little freedom to pace, and I continue to kick
the dried seaweed and kelp that has leaked from my bedding onto the floor. Resting
my arms behind my head, I mull over the pending adventure of the night. Thea
and Rylee, my younger sisters, scurry past my door singing. Their angelic
voices squelch all doubts. I can do this! I have to do this! If I do not do
this for myself, then I shall do it for them. With a slight nod, I flip my
mattress away from the flimsy fabric used to close my bedroom off from the rest
of the residence. More brittle algae spills to the floor, but I do not stop to
refill my bed.
My sisters come running toward me, arms open wide, as
I emerge from my room. Rylee, the younger of the two, bounces into my arms. As
I pull her close, her wavy blonde hair brushes my face. Thea, our middle sister,
wraps her arms around my leg, and both girls giggle while I try to walk with
their bodies attached to me. It’s one of our favorite games. Their giggles turn
to hysterical laughter as I pretend to struggle under the extra weight I’ve
picked up. We make our way into the kitchen, with a grunt here, a moan there,
and laughter that rings throughout our small household, reminding us of better
times.
Mom and Dad are in the kitchen. The creases seem to
fade from Mom’s face as she watches us make the six long steps from my room to
the kitchen. Her eyes water and she turns back to stirring dinner--stone soup.
Dad looks up from sharpening a knife. I count three more knives on the table.
Mom says I look like him. We both have green eyes and the same shade of
reddish-blond hair. Dad’s face is set in an unreadable expression. His brother
was my age when he lost his life on All Hallows’ Eve. Thea releases my leg, and
Rylee slides from my arms, as we join Dad at the table for supper.
There’s little speaking between us as we eat. It’s
cool outside and the soup has done little to warm my insides. I wanted to place
my spoon back on the table after the second mouthful, but I know I need my
strength, regardless of whether my stomach can handle the mineral slosh. After dinner,
Rylee and Thea give Dad and me hugs, and then Mom ushers them into their windowless
bedroom--it’s best they’re asleep before I leave. If it wasn’t for my sisters,
I believe my mother would come scavenge with us. My Aunt Ella, Uncle Etan and cousin
on my mother’s side will be making their way to the house, along with my
grandparents from my dad’s side. The grandparents, my mom and aunt will keep
the children safe tonight.
While we wait for the others, Dad pulls out a hand-sketched
map of the ground we will cover tonight. I’ve seen this map before; however,
this will be the first time I must pay close enough attention to the precise
legend scribed on the side. For generations, my family has used this map,
marking on it new paths to follow and old avenues that may lead to death. I
commit to memory all of the lines marked with a red X. Those are lines that we no
longer used, and are marked in blood to represent the death of a family member.
The rusted tin door rattles from a light rap. I can’t
hide my fright as I jump from the noise. Dad’s eyes focus on me for only a
second before he leaves to let everyone in. As the door creaks open, I notice
the sun has begun to fade. The hairs on the back of my neck rise and a cool
sensation brushes my skin. Our human spirit ancestors will be erupting from the
shattered ley lines soon, so will the xecerptavode ancestors who died on this
land.
My aunt kisses my cheek as she breezes by me to lay my
cousin in the room with Thea and Rylee. He, too, is asleep. I’m greeted as one
of the men this year. My grandfather reaches his hand out and we shake. Next
Uncle Etan welcomes me. Then as tradition dictates, the eldest family member
retrieves a small statue of the Goddess Pomona. We take turns. First, the
women, then in descending order, the men, all ask the Goddess of fruit and
seeds for safe passage tonight. Being last, I gaze at the miniature statue
longer than everyone else. I give one more silent plea for a safe return to my
mother and sisters come dawn.
My father, Uncle Etan, and I say our goodbyes as the
last sliver of the orangey-pink sun slithers behind the dusty horizon. In the
children’s books Thea and Rylee read, it’s claimed that once upon a time ample trees
and bushes graced this planet. The stories talk of lush foliage that at this
time of year would turn pretty shades of red, orange, yellow, and brown. After
the fresh water dried up, most vegetation died. Due to the xecerptavode’s
chemical makeup, our atmosphere has been altered, resulting in an end to
precipitation. Other than the plants that can survive on salt water—which are
very few, you cannot find shrubbery in sight. We do, however, maintain
underground farms, which consist of mutated plants from the old world.
“Verick, I need you to pay close attention.”
My
father’s voice pulls me from the melting sun.
“Yes, Dad. Go on, I’m listening.”
He gives me an uneasy gaze. Perhaps he’s second
guessing my participation tonight. I stand up straighter and square my
shoulders.
“Last year we headed east first. We seemed to have had
luck that way. If you get lost make sure you take the southwest route back,”
Dad says, as he taps his finger on the map.
We never return home on the same path in which we begin
our journey. In years past, nomads wait on the direct paths back to our slums.
For a proper one night’s sleep, they’ll rob you of your goods and return
missing items to the xecerptavode. Out of the corner of my eye, I see other
families are on the move. To fill my empty hands, Dad thrusts the handle end of
the knife he sharpened earlier, along with three burlap sacks towards me. As we
begin our trek, my heart frantically throws itself against the wall of my
chest, trying to be free, to flee back to the comfort of our home.
The first few miles need to be jogged. There’s a lot
of land to cover and time is slipping by. Before we make it one hundred feet
from the house, we come across our first xecerptavode spirit. It is still
materializing, so we slip pass it. That is a sign our ancestors are freezing all
living xecerptavode in the midst of activity. I pray the semi-transparent alien
we skim by will not make its way to my home. By now, Mom will have the
jack-o-lanterns lit. It takes days of preparation to carve the jack-o-lanterns
for every window ledge and doorframe for the three households. All of the
pumpkin innards have been stored and will be a part of the celebration feast
upon our safe arrival home. The gourd itself may not ward off unwanted souls
but it will deter them.
I’m panting as we finally make it to the fork in the
road Dad spoke about earlier. To the right, nothing but dry soil as far as the
eye can see. I believe that path was the one that led to what ultimately took
my uncle’s life. To the left, the peaks of castles appear. All xecerptavode
tribes occupy stone castles. I say ‘tribe’ loosely. Besides being able to give
birth to offspring, every xecerptavode is able to regenerate a carbon copy of
itself. This only occurs when any part of their body separates from the host.
That is why we have not been able to kill them, and how the human race lost The
Great Takeover.
We hesitate only a moment. But that is all the time
needed for a crazed spirit to spot us. With a horrid shriek, the fully formed
body hurls itself at us. I’m frozen, and cannot move, no matter how much I will
my body to do so. I can’t shield my ears from the screech threatening to
shatter my eardrums. My eyes are no longer in my control. They’re permanently
fixed on the creature closing the distance between us. And my feet, though I’ve
given the command to move, have betrayed me. The mutilated embodied soul is
inches away from me, when the air whooshes from my lungs as something pushes
against my abdomen. I fall, hitting the ground as my father comes between the
attacker and me. In one fluid movement, Dad strikes a match and throws it at
the soul. Bluish-green flames fill the space around us as the spirit is
vanquished back to the other side until next All Hallows’ Eve.
To see more of Verick's story and other Halloween short stories, please head over to Smashwords and download your FREE copy. Yep, all of my short stories are free and you can get them here: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/281956
~Short Stories by Elle A. Rose consist of four short stories that will pique both the sci-fi and paranormal reader. Come along as Verick experiences an alternate tradition of Halloween, share a day with Cyrene in the life of a soul collector, travel through the rabbit hole with Cam and Matt, and hitch a ride with Frankie, Delilah, and Sweetoo as they stroll through the Isle of Toothsome.
