Category: fiction

Story Jots # 12 – Signal Red

I’m bitten…

I will become one of them any minute. It can’t end like this. I promised. That day he took them from me. That monster, Roșu. I called him Red. He was the first one and started all of this. I called him that because it was all I could see when I thought of him. And it was all he wanted. Nothing, but red. Red everywhere. To feed his parasitic reign. An eternal starvation for existence and undying life sustained by the veins of human prey. Prey fooled by his dark fluence of sultry words and reverie. Like it did when he stole my family. It was his bloody thirst that started this hunt. Started my journey to find and destroy him. But, now I need him. I must stay alive a little longer. I have to signal Red. For a choice. A choice my loving husband and dear daughter never had. If he gives me that choice, it could be my last chance.

to be continued…

The Red Journal – Emotional Handicap

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Need a recap? Please visit The Red/Black Journal Page

Saturday, 8:00 A.M.

Any second now Ethan would be pulling into the curb with his third degree primed and ready to go. This made Sarah’s head pound even harder as she stood outside her apartment building anxiously awaiting the barrage. It had been just over twenty minutes since she had returned home from Scott’s loft apartment. In that short time she had managed to grab a shower, put on some clean clothes, and throw some food down her throat. It was a piece of whole wheat toast that was not doing its intended job of settling her stomach. The more she thought about how the follow-up conversation would go after her brother-in-law’s stern text, the faster the tiny vein in the middle of her forehead would involuntarily throb. As the wince left her tired eyes, she spotted the Monte Carlo appearing from around the corner. Another throb. 

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Story Jots # 11 (a) – Red Door, Blue Cadillac

Well, we’re home. This is me. 

Hey, sweetie. You awake? 

Oh, right. Of course, you’re not. You had that last drink now, didn’t you? With a little something extra from me. I knew you couldn’t say no. None of you do. My looks are a curse, I swear. Anyway, let’s go in… shall we? 

A man lifts a young woman out of his blue Cadillac and shuffles her half-limp body along with the weight of his own toward the front door of his house. She is wearing a short black dress that sparkled each time a streetlight caught her sequins a certain way. She was semi-conscious. She had no shoes, no purse, no phone, and because her makeup had long melted away you could tell she was half the age of the man she was now draped over. With her petite frame shifting over his shoulder with a step, her head drifts next to his. The man smiles and whispers something into her exposed ear.  

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Story Jots #10 – Dying Truth

Hope was something she had let go of a long time ago. They all did. The only thing left was her and the few remaining days she felt she had to live. Her food was gone, and without a fire to boil the blankets of snow, consuming it to survive would only prolong the inevitable. Dead of winter had no mercy where she laid in wait, awaiting help she knew was not coming. Before long she too would be left frozen in time like everyone around her when their will to stay alive vanished. Those rotting bodies beside her were the only morbid company she kept. Her body ached and her mind continued to play tricks as she would awaken from unconscious drifts only to find herself still clinging to a cold pointless existence. She was scared but was getting used to the fact that she would die soon like those before her. Being the last soul alive it was now about preparing for it. Allowing the elements to take over and finally start to accept that this unforgiving place would be her prison forever. That was the dying truth.

Story Jots # 9 – A True King

The king of Canyon City was a cruel and unjust man. Corrupt and evil to the core. His people were growing weak, tired, and hungry by the day. Every ounce of what they had to give was being bled to feed his greed and selfishness. This undeserving king has been drunk with power for longer than most want to remember, and the everlasting drawn-out pain of his royal reign has aged everyone unfairly. No one cared anymore. They did as they were told because there was no option, but to concede to a vicious ruler. Who stole everything. Nothing much was left and before long, his people would wither and blow away like the dust across the barren land they called home. This was destined to become the last chapter of their existence until a rumour was heard. Whispers of a forgotten king. An uncrowned king with the blood of inheritance, the blood of the people. But will he fight for his people? Will he fight for his rightful throne? Will he fight to become… a true king?

Story Jots # 8 – Quarter to Death

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Leroy Dink. “Dinks” was the Willy Wonka of arcades. He was strange, odd, socially awkward, and moody. Unlike the chocolate factory, there was no need for a golden ticket to get into his whimsical haven for kids. Nope…if Dinks liked you and you had money to spend, you were welcome. If Dinks didn’t like you and you had money to spend, the money was welcome. Oh, and another thing about Dinks. If he really wasn’t fond of you, well, let me just say this. There’s no free men when he makes you play for your own life.

Story Jot # 7 – Dark Twins (Continued)

Here’s the original Story Jot that started this tale. For continuity, (Please Click Here)

Aeryn: Sister, you’re injured. We should stop. That is a lot of blood coming out of that wound. 

Adria: It’s fine. We don’t have time to stop. Those humans won’t be stopping, so we cannot afford to. Let’s keep on moving. You know the plan.

Aeryn: I know the humans are on us, I remember the plan, but we just need to slow down enough so we can heal you. Come, take hold of my hand. 

Aeryn moves close to her sister who by now has no use of her entire left side. She could barely keep herself in flight. The gunshot wound she received from a shower of bullets sprayed at them during their escape was looking more and more serious. As soon as Adria got ahold of her sister’s hand, both began to glow. They flew in a trance-like state with their eyes closed as Adria’s wound began to heal and her skin slowly started to grow over. Colour came rushing back into her face and body and the blood stopped right away. She was healing. 

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The Red Journal – Shots in the Dark

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Need a recap? Please visit The Red/Black Journal Page

Friday, 11:50 P.M.

Officer Dusty Salad had been given strict orders to bring Detective Sarah Wilson directly home after the Burnside Country Club investigation wrapped up. No stops, no detours, just straight to 126 Maple Road. The address of Detective Ethan Frost and his wife Susan. Only, Officer Salad was not following the orders he was given. He was not on his way to 126 Maple Road. No instead, instead, he was driving his police cruiser in the opposite direction. And, in two short minutes, with the key party to those orders in the backseat, would be pulling up to Lochlan’s Pub. A bar located a few short blocks from the precinct that catered mostly to cops. It was the perfect place to blow off a little law enforcement steam and a place Sarah was a regular.

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James Harbour

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Chapter One

It’s Been Addressed

The town of James Harbour was only a few short kilometers up ahead. Jake Fox, a police detective, travelling from the mainland, was hoping his assumptions were correct. This narrowing of the main road had to mean the god-forsaken bus ride would soon be over. It had to. For the four-hour ferry trip and the longest eight-hour drive ever from where the ferry finally landed him ashore had finally taken its toll. His whole body ached, and his neck made a crunching noise as he tilted it slightly to look out the tiny window next to him. Now, he was beginning to realize how remote this community was going to be. A complete contrast to the big city he just left behind. ‘Geez, can you believe people choose to live here?’ He mumbles under his breath. Jake Surveys the landscape some more. He couldn’t deny the beauty of the place. Snow-capped rolling hills, and rugged unforgiving mountains sheltered the tiny hamlet on three landlocked sides. Everything protected from the mood swings of mother nature. The picturesque backdrops he was starting to enjoy suddenly changed. They quickly went from the perfect desktop screensaver to a hillside you would see in Mordor from the Lord of the Rings. The Greyhound bus had begun its descent down a steep winding road. On the left, ice walls and cold black jagged stone. On the right, a thousand foot drop to the Atlantic ocean and some more cold black jagged stone. The further down, the more barren the place became. Jake’s grip got tighter. He looked straight ahead and at the very end of the road, he could barely start to make out what looked like a sign.

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Story Jots # 6 – Peephole Under the Stairs

Honey, have you met our neighbour?
 
What? 

Our neighbour. The guy across from us in the adjoining apartment. Have you met him?
 
Ah…no, I don’t think so. Why? 

Oh, nothing. I was just thinking today about how strange it is that we’ve been in our new place for three months now, and the both of us have yet to lay a single eye on him. Don’t you think that’s a tad odd?
 
No, not really. Maybe this guy likes keeping to himself. He could work shitty hours opposite us or something.
  
Yeah, I guess. But you would think we would have seen him coming or going at some point. His front door closing here or there. 

Baby, you are being weird and nosey. Who cares? Look, I am completely cool with not getting to know our neighbours. I hate those annoying stop-and-talks. Besides, shit’s tangly when people get too all up in your business. That’s the whole reason we moved. We hate people remember. 

All I am saying is that I find it odd. I haven’t seen him in the laundry room, I’m there almost every other day. Both of us check the communal mailboxes coming in and going out, no sign of him there either and his mailbox is right next to ours.

Ah, there’s that weird and nosey again, babe.

Plus, it’s not only his door, I also have yet to hear anything coming from his apartment. Nothing. It’s always quiet over there.

And, there’s the nosey.

I am not weird, Bradley. Or nosey. Why are you being mean? 

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