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Thursday, April 30, 2015

In the Beginning - Swaddling Clothes

Part six, the first five parts are down below.

“What’s that?”

Nicole’s voice shocked Chester revelry. The silken cloth slipped through his fingers, the golden emblem’s touch ended cool memories. He inhaled sharply, casting a look over his shoulder that implied she caught him in an act of masturbation rather than recollection. He gathered his calm to respond forlornly.

“It’s that mantle your father put on me.”

Nicole offered the first touch of mingled intimacy and caring he felt from her in weeks. Her body was firm and soft in all the right ways against him. He leaned back against her as she spoke into the cup of his ear.

“You looked lost in it. What were you thinking of?”

“I was thinking of that day.”

“The last day you attended the church.”

“My parents weren’t fond of the teachings after that day.”

“I know.” He voice seethed then mellowed as she remembered she was bound to this man. “The girls are all tucked in. Tell me what you remember.”

“I remember it being the only piece of clothing I ever truly chose for myself.” Tears choked Chester’s voice, real unguarded emotion for once. “I remember being so enthralled with your father. The adults were all terrified of him but the way he spoke to us kids was entrancing.

“I thought it was wonderful. This prophecy of his, the world changing based on the actions of people of our generation. That’s what my parents hated. I don’t know why they sent me a tub with this in it. They must not have known it was still in the attic. I know they fled the church after that. My dad fumed all the way home about madness, and blasphemy and pyramid schemes. I never looked back to the church after that.”

“Not them, never them,” Nicole whispered enticingly. “What did you feel.”

“I remember the cool, smooth silk of blessed water flowing over me and pooling in that cloth, weighing me down into the pool. It pulled me into something deep, something important, something so much bigger than myself. Your father’s hands were rough of skin, gentle of touch and filled with love and compassion. Even then my soul screamed at the madness of his preaching but his voice was a gentle wave guiding me towards a better shore. I felt that and I felt…”

“Felt what?”

“Free, for the only time in my life I felt truly free and powerful.”

“You can feel that way again.” Her fingers traced his shoulders in a way that made him shiver.

“I should burn the rag.” He clutched at it.

“No,” Her fingers slid over his hands, causing his grip to loosen. “We will need it for our children.”

“Do we really want to bring them into this madness?”

“We must, the world must have at least two children from us. One boy, and one girl…”

“To lead the sides.” He whispered in lust and defeat.

Nicole nodded. They both knew there was no time like the present. They slipped to the floor together.

#shortstory #novel #author #writer #writing

Thursday, April 23, 2015

In the Beginning - The First Sign

Part Five, the first four parts are down below.

Nobody told Chester that collecting the girls for the “prophecy” would be so hard. They all came willingly but each had to look like a kidnapping, making it that much harder. Chester was tired of religious nuts and following orders. Still, every time he almost walked away he thought about Nicole’s ass. He was pretty sure there was something about a kid in the lunatic ravings of her father.

He thought about that now, getting her pregnant. With the last girl settled in he stumbled upstairs. As he fell through time and space he had the old wish, the one from his fast food slinging days, that he would wake up as anyone but him. He hit REM before the mattress.

When Chester’s body woke the inhabitant found himself under Nicole’s careful scrutiny.

“I felt something, is it finally happening?” She worried her lower lip.

“It is only the first of the seven signs.” The interloper responded in almost Chester’s voice.

Chester woke in a bed far too large, between sheets far too luxurious. He was not the sharpest tack in the box, but Chester’s mama didn’t raise no idiots. He was someone else. How was he going to tap Nicole now?

Chester screamed when he peered into Templeton’s face in the mirror. Nicole had some daddy issues but this was surely a deal breaker. So great was Chester’s horror that it took him a good five minutes to realize, he might be able to throw a monkey wrench in this whole prophecy thing.

Chester quickly discovered that walking a day in another man’s wingtips was not worth it. Templeton was old as time, so breakfast was grapefruit and bran. Chester thought he might sneak something with flavor but the battleaxe of a maid kept close watch.

The rest of the day was too busy for Chester’s liking. Most of it he spent helping people pray or listening to their problems. Man, these people wouldn’t shut up about their sins. Their faith took the joy out of everything Chester loved. Praying was worse, Templeton had arthritis in his knees. Then there was choir practice, three dozen tone-deaf kids later and Chester was looking for a bell tower.

When he finally had a moment with another prophecy nutjob Chester got to ask some questions. Why did disliking the answers surprise him?

“Why do we need to separate the men and women?”

“Purity, father.” Jojo the zealot answered as if being quized.

“Like… how the Aryans wanted purity?”

“No! Of course not. Purity of the soul by removing temptation of the flesh.”

“How will we reproduce then?”

“You know that, father.”

“Okay, but can’t we do Christworld without the celibacy camps?”

“Do I need to report this doubt and possible blasphemy to the others?”

That took some getting out of. It involved a council and some hellfire preaching and threatening like Chester knew Templeton to deliver. When he finally fell exhausted into another man’s bed he had a simple thought. I will play my part if I can just stop being anyone else.

#shortstory #novel #writer #author #writing #serial

Friday, April 17, 2015

In the Beginning - I Spy

And now part four. First three parts are below but must be read from the bottom up.

The sign read Throwback Investigations and Jackson Clancy, Jack to anyone that didn’t want a punch in the face, was one. Hard-boiled with a soft spot for dames with amazing gams and urchins with more spunk than brains. Ex-cop drummed off the force for doing the wrong things for all the right reasons. Oh, and broke as an off color joke in the PC age. All that and a little bad luck led him to peeking inside that window as rain sloshed over his brown fedora and overcoat.

The day before he sat in an office occupied by himself, a bottle of bourbon, and some dust bunnies, only the latter gaining substance. If he didn’t get work soon he might have to go dark side. He almost jumped out of his skin when the phone rang.

“Throwback Investigations,” Jack growled through a throat grown rough from years of going rounds with tobacco and cheap booze.

“Find out why this asshole kicked my dog!”

“You sound about nine. Too young for language like that. Way too young to hire me.”

“Grandma sent fifty bucks for my birthday.”

Fifty bucks wouldn’t even keep the lights on. Jack didn’t like the idea of taking money from the kid, and for such a stupid case. Still, how many pounds of discount ground chuck would that buy?

“Spill the address and the info. I’ll swing by and talk after I know.”

So Jack stood in the rain, watching this guy Chester, who looked like a dog kicker, through the window. The dog kicker might be a satanist with all the black candles burning around the house. Though, the gold leaf crosses on them were right side up. Then there was the dame. She had legs that made Jack want to see her kick anything. The two seemed to be a couple, a long term one from how they argued.

Things took a turn for the strange when Chester dragged another girl into the house. The first girl, the hot one, seemed pleased to see Chester mid kidnapping. What kind of sick, deviant sex game were these people into? If Jack could prove the younger woman was there against her will the reward would trump the kid’s payment. Jack would still find out why the dog got kicked though.

Jack’s cell rang. He looked at the ID and shuddered. It was never good news when the priest called.

“Father O’Reilly. I assume you’re the one that sicced the kid on me and you’ll actually be footing the bill instead of him.”

“You assume correctly. Have they started the kidnappings yet?”

“One just arrived. I assume I’m not saving her so this job is costing triple the normal fee. What do I do, and what do I need to know?”

“Find out exactly what they’re working towards and report back to me. All you need to know is they are very, very dangerous. Before you ask… especially the moll.”

#shortstory #author #writer #novel

Monday, April 13, 2015

Mounting Costs

So this is a sequel to At Least it was Free which is down there somewhere if you haven't read it before. It is also based off the same prompt as the last story.

“April showers bring May flowers, at least, that’s what my black suited ‘agent’ used to tell me.”

He flicked the razor with a practiced hand. Crimson sluiced off the blade, pattering on the floor as he closed the weapon.

“Nothing to say? Okay, I can talk enough for both of us. The first one wasn’t in April though. So that never made sense to me. Over the years half of the retrievals did come in that all important month. Like this one.”

He tilted his head and let an absent smile play over his lips. The patter of thick drops against a window in the next room soothed him. He slipped the razor into the right front pocked of his slacks.

“Do you like the suit? It’s new. It cost me a fortune. I don’t like how dark this grey is though. My last one was lighter. My kid likes the color though, says it makes me look like money. I think that’s a Johnny Cash reference but I don’t ask. I’m embarrassed to admit I’m not hip enough to understand an eight year old. Anyway, things keep going like this and I’ll end up dressing like my benefactor soon. I wonder what happens then?”

He paced in front of his one man audience. It was always frustrating when silence filled the room. It left him alone with his own thoughts. That was never good because he thought about what kind of husband and father a man like him made. He filled the quiet with his story.

“So anyway, the flowers actually came at the end of the job, not in May. That’s okay, the first one was the best because it made my dreams come true. They are always the same; these little silver things. After that first one though? They just weighed heavy on my conscience. Like I didn’t need them, I can’t spend them, and I don’t want them. Still they seem to bring good fortune. Well, to me. So about the April showers.”

The click of his thick soled heels sounded a bit too much like death to his own ears. He stopped and stared into those wide, unblinking orbs.

“Number five was in April, that time it rained blood and I had to collect from a politician. Six was a few years later and it poured nickels and dimes. I got that one from a tobacco company. Thirteen was when the sky opened up with toads and I visited a priest. Can you imagine? A priest! It went on like that. Yours was number twenty, so I don’t have too many left, and as you know it is showering locusts out there. I wonder why that is? Still, I have to collect or the good luck ends.”

He leaned down and stared into the glassy eyes as milky cataracts began to mist them. He shook his head. He did always hate this part.

“And that, officer, is why I had to murder my arresting officer.”

#shortstory #dark #horror #author #writer

Thursday, April 9, 2015

In the Beginning – The Conspiracy

Part three, the first two parts are in the couple of previous posts.

“April showers bring May flowers, at least, that’s what my partner used to tell me. If only I knew at the time what he meant.”

The young priest urged the FBI agent on the other side of the screen to continue. Whether or not there was sin, the older man needed to unburden himself.

Agents Jackson and White did not relish the assignment, but the bureau did not give options. A week in close quarters made Jackson start fantasizing about pistol whipping his long time partner. Tasked with discrediting a religious extremist out of Harlow the two hacked the preacher’s accounts.

That was all normal and good. They were field agents devoted to high tech operations. Also normal, but not good, was Agent White’s perversion. Jackson knew too many men stepped out on their wives. He wouldn’t hold that against his partner. White was also a deviant. Every mistress he found fell between the ages of fifteen and almost eighteen.

Jackson should report the violations. He couldn’t though. Officers at any lever were a brotherhood. To turn his back on that was unthinkable.

“Look at this one buddy!”

Jackson was up for any good news. “Is Templeton trying to find us again?”

“What? Oh, no. He’s gone dark. It’s this girl. DirtyNico16. She has a filthy mind for a teenager.”

Jackson sighed and looked over his partner’s shoulder. How did he always get drawn into White’s games? He might have to consider that not reporting his partner wasn’t loyalty but some sick, voyeuristic need.

“I think you’re on the wrong trail this time. That picture looks at least five years old.”

“I might make an exception for this one.”

“Why don’t you go meet her and let me do some work then?”

“She won’t meet. The little bitch is a tease. Getting me all worked up then turning shy on me. It’s driving me crazy. I might have to find some other girl to take it out on.”

“Why don’t you do that?”

“You sure? Okay buddy, you man the ship. I’m off to the hunt.”

Why had Jackson encouraged his partner?

Screams from upstairs greeted Jackson when he got home. A normal man might freeze but Jackson was an agent. Limbering his gun he sprinted up the stairs to his daughter’s room.

“May! I’m coming!”

What he saw when he burst through the door sickened him. He wasn’t sure if his daughter was a willing participant or not. He did know a man protected his family.

Father O’Reilly felt the agent’s horror. What to say? He knew about the preacher, Templeton. There were rumblings in the religious community about this nut and his prophecy. What can you do? The priest thought, Protestants always espoused lunacy.

He was about to impart this wisdom to the agent. He never got the chance. Just before Jackson placed his service weapon to his temple and painted the inside of the confessional with blood, thunder, and the smell of sulfur he uttered last words that chilled the priest.

“And that, father, is why I had to murder my partner.”

#shortstory #author #writer

Thursday, April 2, 2015

In the Beginning – The Forum

Okay, this is part two of an ongoing story, you should go down one post and read part one first if you haven't already.

“No… NO!”
Templeton checked his login to Username: New_World_Prophet Password: say3thth3l0rd Where were these posts coming from? It was time to seek assistance.
Hellfire and brimstone boiled from him at the screen. Vengeance may be the lord’s but he was mad enough to spit. He drew the cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number he hated to interrupt.
“It’s me. Do you have eyes on?
“Yes. Something strange is happening. I logged into the throne…
“It is not an end times site. It’s a forum for those who participate in a particular hobby.
“Of prophesizing what the world will be in the next age of man. What we will endure in the coming change and how transcending it will alter our society.
“That is not the end times! Now listen. Something strange is happening and I need to know if your friend is involved. Someone logged in as me and posted some very blasphemous statements that contradict the prophecy.
“Of course I tried to delete them! It is like that writer site that girl you went to school with was always on. There is no option to retract. I guess they think you should stick to what you say.
“The girl was obsessed with her imaginary worlds, and don’t you dare start comparing what I know to what she imagined. Wait, there’s a new one posting now. Now listen to me…

Nicole turned on bare toes, who walked barefoot on the beach in late winter? She peered at Chester before issuing what could only be a command. Daddy’s princess still assumed obedience would come naturally.
“Show me your phone.”
Chester turned it, showing her the mindless matching game on the screen. The game was a cover, to hide how intently he stared at her posterior while she spoke.
“Okay. Daddy thought you might have been hacking his account.”
“Let me guess, crazies for god? No, wait, the throne cometh dot com?”
“This is no laughing matter.”
“I think it’s hilarious.”
“He said if it was you to stop being childish. Your destiny is sealed and you need to get used to leading men into their future, even if you find it distasteful. You will be the tool of the new age.”
“Your dad’s a tool. Tell him maybe the devil, or God himself finds his prophecies asinine and might be hijacking his user name for the greater good. To show people what nut jobs modern day prophets are.”
Nicole glared at her date, the look of death indicating he had gone too far. Would have gone to far if not for his importance in the impending change. Chester choked on a laugh and continued.
“Better yet! Tell him to check and make sure he isn’t getting hacked by the NSA. They could be doing it to make him look like what they want him to, to the general public. I hear that’s what they did with the video of the whackos in Waco.”
“Daddy? Listen to me…”

#shortstory #novel #author #writer #religion