|
| The battle we wage
are learning grounds. Enjoy my new
story.
My car will be left by the road for our
date.
There is a dirt
path dug snaking to the site about a half a mile away. If the path
weren't so narrow with so many holes I could have drove my Honda down it, but I have
already told her what happened last time. She advised me through a
smile upon my words not to try again for her sake. She hates the woods,
but doesn't mind the distance, for
me.
After parking and
locking the doors, right beside the road as if we were broke down, we
narrow in with the mouth of the path ahead. The path itself is just an
old hunting trail, another common thing in Georgia. In the first steps
we appreciate the sounds of birds and the moist greenery, fresh from
dew, that sparkles as the rising sun shines through the gaps in the
trees onto the forest floor. We are led on past those first few steps
by the luminous dawn, towards the spectacle I promised her would come
after breakfast.
As
we walk we make small talk towards. She wants to know the surprise I
had promised her last night in bed, but I change the subject after
telling her to wait for it. We talk about wildlife, but my mind is on
our wild night. She was calm and collect as she followed me home sober.
Drunk on laughter with me the whole ride. Straight inside we hit the
sofa before moving to the bed. Even as we touched down on the sheets,
still in spirit's guffaw, I could remember earlier that day in the
woods. I told her before we climaxed I had a surprise, tomorrow. We
pass the tree, split from lightning… the same one I had sex with the
other girl under.
In
the bag I carry is the blanket straight off my bed; pillows, too. A
picnic without the food. Well, more of a show for two. This is only the
second girl, second person, I have experienced this
with.
I fall back to
break the upcoming tree line with her, single file with her in the
lead. I check her out from behind as she keeps doing that sexy walk
even as we reach uneven soil. That black skirt cut almost too her ass,
below that black shirt she wears so well. I would do her now if I
didn't have to keep my promise. Besides, she'll want to after this. The
open area ahead is aglow in the open sun as we exit the tree's
shade.
The site of a
battle before Georgia was set aflame in the Civil
War. The deer trot off ahead of us as our scent heads
south, down to them. She goes giddy as a rabbit family breaks back into
the woods to our right, but I don't see them. These animals fear our
scents, the scent of man, as they should. The battles we fight, the
scale and grandeur, are just as exclusive to us as our scent. The
animals can sense these things, just like
us.
The blanket
spread out even and away from the ant bed at her request. We will have
a good view of the battle I promised. The pillows placed I sit Indian
style as I see her rest down with her legs folded due north. With one
look out over the clearing before we start I start to rest backwards
upon my pillow. With my hand in hers and her smiling back, I explain to
her how this will work and not to rush it. Just let it happen. Visions
will take us only when we are relaxed to the point of almost being
asleep. Thus we lie and calm down, ready to let our pulses match the
beat of the Earth. Just
relax.
When we are
about to sleep I turn and tell her that I come her all the time, the
first time with the other girl. She smile big through her sleepy eyes
and I tell her to take things slow, it is time. Like sex, I wanted to
keep count of the times I did this. Like sex, I have lost
count.
"Cover your ears,
slowly," I say with emphasis on slowly. At
the same time I cover my own without hesitation. This is her first
time, she needs to take it slow. I've been waiting for this since I
told her last night while inside her, as she wanted to know my name.
The sounds rushing in as I have my ear covered, my eyes instinctually
close. "Close your eyes for a minute," I
shout over the sounds of gunfire and
yells.
She is
shocked, I can see as I look over at her as her eyes open slowly. We
sit up in unison as we keep our ears covered for the sounds. The battle
below is raging hard as the landscape has changed to fit the era. I had
made the joke earlier, "it is all a matter of red versus
blue." If she doesn't get it now I'll explain
it again later. The men fight and die before us as the north comes to
destroy our home before it was ours. A man gets shot by another on
horseback, the general by my assumption, and then heads back in only to
get caught by a sword. The general falls to the ground as the battle
spills back to the west side of the
clearing.
A man runs
from behind us, a messenger who stands in awe before heading back into
the woods. He is dressed in all brown with a tote bag, that is why he
is a messenger to me. She turns to me just in time to see the man run
back out of the thick of things and into the thick woods. Her
hand reaches over and squeezes mine hard and we both turn back to the
battle out in front of us as I accept it. The battle raging on as it
was caught in time's memory, a new memory for us to share. The look on
her face as she leans on my shoulder I know that she is really special…
just as I thought since I met her
yesterday.
The first
time it happened, me and my ex-girlfriend were out for a picnic when we
fell asleep on the grass together. She woke up first to the sound of
gunfire, waking me in her fear. I was startled at the amount of men
down the hill before us, covering the clearing ahead. Men came from
behind us and we were surrounded by their footsteps with gunfire ahead.
We tried to run but we could not move more than our resting spot away.
She cried as the battle raged on for the fifteen minutes it lasts until
noon. I held her in my shock as we wished it to end. When we woke up we
were amazed it was a dream shared, a glimpse back to the time of our
fore-fathers and their battle for us, their future. My awe was complete
while she said she'd never return. My search since then has been for
someone in which to share this place
with.
"You are my
someone," I tell her and I guess she gets
what I am saying as she smiles at me before we pass
out.
When I awake in
that same green field at 3 pm later
that day, she is already awake and looking out over the scene that has
now been laid back to its rest. She asks me in that sweet, kind voice
how it happens. I tell her I don't know, it just does every day just
before noon if you are relaxed enough. I go on to tell her about the
times I attempted to see it before I knew you had to be just before
sleep. That one time it happened again, me alone and standing up to see
more of the battle, I was sure I could teach myself to see. I showed
her the scar from where I fell that day, a reason I told her not to
stand. Looking down she smiles where I can barely see it under that
dark brown hair. Last night before I took her home she looked so sad.
She was a beauty to behold then, but more so as she turns to rest on
me. I hug her close and envision a brighter future, one where we learn
from the past.
Well,
I guess it just helps to learn from it when it is played out before
your very
eyes.
Yes, I worked hard on that from the tattoo shop to home. I hope you
enjoyed. A co-blog is in the works. Let's go
discover!
 | | |
|
Amazing the effects of a break-up on the inner
psych of a young boy such as myself. Especially his (my) first
break-up. Sleeping all day and eating as much as possible has been my
way of coping lately. Pizza is my new best friend along with old ones
that I thought I lost at one timeor another on my way. I'm trying to
save us from the hate that usually attaches itself to shattered
couples, but it will all end badly… I'm sure. It will also end badly
with those new friends with whom I have reunited, I am quite sure. The
curse of me, always fighting until the end when everyone else has given
up. I have many stories to
write, but they just don't seem to take shape like they should with all
this taking place. I should be writing more numerous, engaging stories
shortly. I just need to get out of this funk I am in, and remount my
horse. Anyway, here is my first
short story in quite a while. It is based on one of the characters from
my Chris' comic book
idea. He has given me the right to write this story, as the ideas and
characters belong to him soley. I'm just a messenger of his coming
stories, please pay him some regards at his space if you have the
time. And here it is for my
53 subscribers, my first short
story in a long time, about a demon named Veritus. Please
enjoy.
The stories you have read,
they are all written by the
victors. Believe me, I was there that
day that the Ethereal Plains erupted in a war. Us against
our maker, our army equal in size to theirs. The masses of angels that
day formed our two massive armies, almost equal in forces. The true
battle came down to our generals as if we meant nothing to their fight
above. Michael had
descended down upon Lucifer with his flaming sword drawn, ready to
kill for Him. Lucifer could only back down as he had no
weapon, nor training in combat. If not for one of the angels of
death loaning his blade to Lucifer in that dire moment as Michael swung upon him, then
the battle would have been over there. The awe and power as their
transdimensional blades made contact, forming the storm that engulfed
us that day. All Lucifer could do was defend against the attacks
as Michael recited
to us all the words of Him who created us all, "surrender all and
ye shall be destroyed by His voice, or thou will live with Him hath forgotten your
name." Before the humans were
created we were merry and loved by our creator. When the humans were
unveiled it was a great day of reverence as the Heavens became alive with
the songs and wonders to unfurl in the next chapter God had
written. He spoke down through his messengers that these new creatures
would be like children to us, ones that we would nurture in our bosom
and would love us back. It had taken us many
millennia to help craft the world they lived in and yet we found them
to be imbeciles, unable to appreciate us the world we had crafted. We
were told through the messengers that they were more important than us
and they were to be left to grow on their own. He loved them more than
us, his faithful servants. He loved you, the humans, more
than us. It had been Lucifer, an angel of music
and art, who had the plan to tempt them with the apple. He was a
dreamer and wanted to be appreciated. He wanted you humans to know why
the mountains we made were beautiful. He wanted you to find joy in a
song or from another. It was his dream that had us cast out when we
followed him. Michael told us after he had bested Lucifer in battle, that it
was time for judgment. We could either stand before our God to
be wiped from existence or we would be cast away from him to never know
his light again. After the two stepped from our ranks to be destroyed
forever, the rest of us were cast to Hell.
The stories handed down to
you from Him, they were not written by us. We could
tell you of the things he keeps hidden from you if only our voices
could be heard… and they will.***********
To escape Hell is
such a treacherous task that it is foolhardy to attempt alone. That is
why when you hear of posession there is usually more than one spirit
inside. Not to mention the need for Lucifer's blessing to even attempt it. Although
with this new war about to be torn in to your world our master has
become more lenient as far as who comes up above and the path more
traveled. It is still quite a quest to undertake, I the only to in my
company to break the surface to this young
girl. My target was West
Germany to join the others before the war began, but it is
never certain where you'll break into your world. The girl was the most
likely body once I surfaced in the old home of Jack The Ripper, who was
also possessed in his time since he lived above the Hell-mouth of England.
When I entered I could smell her from the basement. She seemed ripe as
a teenager, which I found strange for such a young girl whom I thought
still under the age of accountability. Her soul was old, I figured it
was just a reincarnated inhabitant, nothing I should worry over as I
had limited time to find a
host. If I had the choice then I'd
have destroyed her soul then and taken the body for myself, but it
takes time to gain the control I needed to keep me in this world. I
nestled into her bed on the second story of the run down building that
night and started my symbiosis with her. Touching her young body I
could feel nothing from God, as if he had finally given up this failed
experiment he called humans. The feeling of having that life
you peasants take for granted, the essence of being as I pushed that
small soul farther down and out of the control. The body was mine for
the taking it seemed, no fight from the tiny vessel in her
slumber. When I woke her up she did
not scream a peep. She couldn't physically scream because of my
control, but I thought I had scared her beyond screams as she stood a
silent victim inside our mind, giving me everything of her. I even
laughed at her as she watched on from inside. I taunted her as I walked
to her little mirror to view my new self. The rag doll she kept was
beside it slumped on the floor. She told me she wanted it… I laughed at
her as she began to cry for it. She begged for it like it was any other
of the false gods you worship. When she persisted that I pick up the
doll for her I decided to trick the brat to prove that she would never
have anything again. I lifted the doll to our eye level for her to see
as I prepared to rip it in half… but she stopped
me. Her consciousness took hold
as her spirit grew to throw me out of her. It was too sudden for
defense of any kind. Weakened and confused she grabbed me in my spirit
form and studied me. Her eyes cut me and bled out the fear in me. As a
demon, this was the first I had known of fear since that day we were
cast out. This girl knew what I was and laughed at me, but not with her
body… but with her mind she laughed. She told me that day that I was
her new pet, placing me inside this rag doll. To be a prisoner of
Hell
or of the flesh that ties you creatures to this existence
is nothing compared to the torment she brings me in this fabric
incarceration "What is your
name?," asks Mr. Nightmare from behind his desk, fitting the
screws for the new mask. "I am Veritus, or as she calls me…
Richard." Mr. Nightmare looks around the room and back to
the little girl allowing me to speak. When she finally turns away from
her glare and suppresses me again, back to my cell, I can hear Mr. Nightmare as he says,
"welcome
to the
team."
There you go, my first new story in a while. Hopefully this time next
week I'll be back to my blogging self. Writing stories for the masses
and starting intellectual thought for many. As always I thank you all
for reading, goodnight.
| | |
| My Brain Is A Sing-A-Long Song,
The
Bouncing Ball Marching It To My Head!
My Heart Is A Bleeding
While The Legs Are Retreating,
The Bouncy Ball Leading Me 'Til
I'm Dead!
Oh, Hidey-Hidey Ho!
Oh,
Hidey-Hidey Ho!
My Brian Is A Sing-A-Long
Song!
My Mind'll Be Just A Laughing,
The
Bouncy Ball A Bouncing On My Head!
Emotions Random And
Repeating,
The Bouncing Ball Will Circle Me In My
Bed!
Oh, Hidey-Hidey Hi!
Oh, Hidey-Hidey
Ho!
My Mental State: A Sing-A-Long Song!
My
Eyes Will Follow The Ball!
My Eyes Will Follow The
Ball!
Help Me Keep My Bouncing Eyes On The Bouncing
Ball!
(Come On Everybody Sing With
Me!)
My Eyes Will Follow The Ball!
My Eyes Will Follow
The Ball!
Help Me Keep My
Bouncing Eyes On The Bouncing Ball!
Oh, Hidey-Hidey
Ho!
Oh, Hidey-Hidey Ho!
Oh, Keep My Brain, Keep It
On...
Ice In The Place Where The Fire Is Warm!
The
Bouncing Ball All Ripped And Torn,
My Body Just There To Be
Worn!
Ah, My Body Just There
To Be Worn!
(Sing The Next Part Real Slow And Long,
Kids!)
My Life Is Just A Sing-A-Long
Song....
Hopefully everyone enjoyed that outburst of a
song. It came out of my head instead of the new story I am writing
about my own death and The God
Of Bets. I'll be back soon with more actual stories. If
you miss me at any point just sing this song to take your mind
away.
Or if you have
a hard mind to stray just check out some of these blogs of the people
who are subscribed to my blog: Laurence The Poet, TBone, ***Not The Typical Butterfly***, Never-Break-A-Mentality, Trizz-X: Child Of The Atom, The Archbishop Of Canterbury, LunaChik, Shrooms, Dave Oglesby, SOUTH of STRANGE, Cassandra Crowfae, Jack Malone, Jo, Isolde, Lauren HOPE Full, GGnome, Benjamin L.M., Cheryl, Heather, JD, BRI's Om Sweet Om, Arbot, Mr. nEXT, Poor Man's Guru, Manic, Pheonix Ascending!, LightYears, Wouldn't You Like To Know?. That is just
the ones who keep a blog, there are about 10 more. So many,
why not just pick one?
| | |
| Anyone who knows my
writing well enough should know that I have a horrible time with
poetry. I read a lot of blogs of people who can do poetry quite well
and I always think to myself, "Damn, I wish I
could write like that." Well, last night after a brief and
sad encounter a friend of mine onlinein whcih I cheered her up, I
decided a nice poem before she left for school this morning would
brighten her day even more. So here is that poem and a bonus poem from
an internet friend of mine, Heather.
Dry you eyes
child,
the world is
not so bad.
Love should
mean more than,
the fun you
have not had.
You have your wings,
And your beautiful smile.
Is it your aching stomach that,
Has kept you down all this while?
The angel I see now,
Should be above all this pain
Flying higher into the sky,
above the dark clouds and the rain
Life will
move on,
Time will heal
your wounds.
The emotions
wax and wane,
Like the
changing of the moon.
It isn't a question of faith,
But a challenge given to each.
You'll have to live and struggle,
To make it to your beach.
I am writing to you before,
the fun that we will have.
I am but a writer and you,
a universal soldier comrade.
"Hope After
Sorrow"
By: Heather
Crouched in the
corner
Buried in grief,
Your hands scratch your
face,
And you cannot find relief.
A butterfly flutters past
And you feel compelled to follow
Your heart weeps and you
want it to stop.
You want life to fill your soul
With the happiness that
you once felt.
The beauty of it's wings
Brings forth hope.
Against the will of your aching body
You follow the path that the butterfly leads.
Walking through brushes,
Getting stung by nettles,
You carry on your fateful journey.
At last you feel a warm breeze
Tickling your cheek
And you know this is where you're meant to be.
Sand between your toes
And water lapping on the
shore.
The calmness of the salty air
Stills your mind
And makes you content.
This is how it's meant to
be.
You have to experience the worst
To appreciate the best.
That's all I got for now. Stay cool you all. Also, check
out all of Heather's great poems and stories! They
are free for all.
| | |
| For the best possible reading experience, please read the first part of the story, Hantu Penanggal. Although these are two seperate stories, they do play heavily off each other. I hope you enjoy my new story and the old!
Introduction:
This is how the fortune teller foretold it all so many years ago. She rolled the chicken bones on top of the burning leaves like dice. She dealt my fate over fire. In that Jamaican accent she told me that I would chase down a monster who had stolen my first born. At that time in my life I was a half-drunk, partying freshman at Mardi Gras. Hell, I didn’t even have a girlfriend at the time. My now infamous reaction to the prediction was to laugh drunkenly at the old Jamaican lady with my roommate Rich. Rich had been the one to force me into talking to a psychic in the first place... he never said I’d regret knowing I did years later though.
Maybe if I had listened to her and her spirit guides as the bones fell into place, my son would still be alive. I could have prepared for the worst and saved him and my wife. Maybe I would have that home and life, that I thought I didn’t want at the time, back. Maybe I'm just dreaming.
Hindsight may be 50/50, but it is really only where the story began.
Chapter 1:
When you deal with the maps and only have one good eye it is easier to stay focused on the task ahead. That as opposed to driving. That’s the little inside joke me and Kurt have developed in the last twenty-two hours we have known one another. His sense of humor and humility have been the only thing to quell my rage and vengeance in the last six years. Amazing that I am so close when it finally does die down inside. He is originally from Florida, but works out of New York driving B-line now. He isn’t married, no kids and has an eagle tattoo on his back. You can learn a lot about someone in two-hundred miles.
Another good thing about Kurt is he has been one of the only people I have met since I was attacked that didn’t just laugh or stare, but treated me like a human being. Having stopped at many truck stops on my quest, I now know what it is like to be a monster, much like the one who killed my wife and son. When I was younger I can imagine I would have made fun of someone who looked like me now. Taking my friends off to side I would joke about the horrendous sight over a few more beers.
First time I explained myself to Kurt he surprisingly enough believed me. He said he was a fan of Amazing Stories and Unsolved Mysteries. He told me he had seen stories on there far more unbelievable than mine. Not all the things he says do I agree with, but so far he has been a great friend, so I just smile and agree back.
My face tells a story, too. It always tells its tales to anyone who cares to listen with their eyes. The sores across my face leak red and white puss whenever they are even slightly touched. Clear liquid oozes out after the puss it gone to seal them back up like a fragile shell. Shaving has become a hassle as no razor fit’s the contours of my face now and only lead to the bleeding sores. I look the worst burn victim ever on the right side of my face. On the left side I still grow facial hair, but the skin on the right produces none. I have half a beard now, all the more to the speculation I am sure. Where my right eye was before it melted inside is now sewn shut using skin from my ass. The plastic surgeons did the best they could do with what was left I guess. It is amazing what stomach acid can do to a face.
“Richard,” he catches my attention from the drivers seat, “what are you going to do to this thing? I mean, when you finally find it?” He smiles as he looks towards me, as I am curled up against the door of the cab, waiting for my answer. He should already know the answer as I have told him quite a few times.
“I will have to find its body to kill it,” I mumble from the left side of my mouth. It has also gotten harder to talk since the attack as the right side of my top lip has started to droop down past my lower lip. I feel comfortable sharing my full plan with Kurt, so I tell him more, “to actually kill it though, you just have to place sharp objects inside its body . Like shards of glass or knives… anything sharp. And when Betsy comes home to body, she starts to slip back in and she is dead.” We sit in silence for a moment as Kurt seems to take in my answer. A few minutes back in my train of thought reminds me of another way to kill it. I say suddenly to Kurt, “or just keeping its head out of the body until the sun comes up. Although I don’t trust that method, so I will juts booby-trap the body.”
“I see what you mean,” Kurt replies to me in a strange monotone as he keeps his eyes toward the highway. For all his quirks he has been nice enough to give me a ride through four states for free. After a moment he asks me, “how are you going to find the body?”
“The creature never lives around people. It despises humans altogether. It’ll nest someplace abandoned.” I sit up straight in the seat, tilting my head back on the head rest looking at the ceiling and continue through my comfort, “the place will reek of vinegar as well. They use it for easier insertion into the body canal.”
A good Christian man like Kurt, he responded, “that’s fucked up.” He looked at me when he said it too. An emphasis, but a major understatement of this creature by far. I go back to my notes and figures.
I had seen it with both of my two eyes back when I had the full pair. What it did to Kelly (my wife), the mid-wife we hired and my son is unspeakable. They never found my son’s body either. The poor baby within only twenty minutes of life had that very essence stolen away. And me left for dead by the beast, to suffer more than any of the dead. I can still remember when the cops showed up to find the massacre in my house. After six years I am headed toward the first major sign of the creature’s whereabouts.
Chapter 2:
Newborns missing from a hospital in New Mexico; no witnesses, and no leads. It’s a small town and from the statistics I have on the creature it will live as closely as it can without pissing where it sleeps. Not to mention the limited flight by night due to the little distance it can hover before it has to touch back down again. Time is on my side as well, seeing as how it must get back to its body before daybreak.
It can also walk among men. It has a woman’s form and is anti-social to say the least. First place to check for Betsy is the hospital, see if they have any new suspicious employees. She’d have to work there to have enough access to the nursery. Like I said before, this creature is smart enough to not piss where it lives, so it most likely it wouldn’t work in the nursery itself, but rather another part of the hospital altogether. I don’t know if she can change form from the one I remember from that office that day either.
“What did she look like?,” asks Kurt from across the cab, breaking me from my sleep thinking. Despite my lack of facial expression, he somehow notices that he has startled me awake. Condolingly he starts, “sorry, thought you were awake. You were talking bout Betsy in your sleep.”
“It’s ok,” I admit to him once my temper dies down, “she looked like an Asian girl. Really young and fit. She had on a red dress that made her look gorgeous. Too pretty to ever let on she was such a horrible monster on the inside.”
“It’s always the pretty ones,” Kurt declares back with a grin and a chuckle. I don’t like his joke, but I laugh with him anyway. He has been quite nice to me whereas most others haven’t. I owe him this much, to keep my cool. Stay focused on the real enemy.
After that, I don’t really go back to sleep. More like I just drift into the scenery as the green of the grass and rolling hills with the trees slowly shifts over the many miles into the desert terrain of New Mexico. Kurt and I don’t talk as I stay hypnotized by the scrolling scenery. There won’t be any need for words until we reach the next town. There we will say our goodbyes and part ways.
Chapter 3:
Fueling up his giant black monster of a semi can take a while so I just stay seated inside the truck and study the other creatures of Malaysian folklore. Reading over the section on the Polong and Pelesit, I look over to see Kurt staring at me from the door of the cab. He doesn’t climb inside or change facial expressions at all as he just stares at me, making me feel quite awkward. He looks hesitant to speak words that would relate to an inner turmoil. After we stare at each other for too long, I start to ask him what is wrong, but he answers before I can form my breath, “I want to help you kill it.” He then starts releasing the rest of the feelings and thoughts that have been haunting apparently the whole trip upon me.
“I’ve been thinking since we hit the three points between here, Texas and Oklahoma, ‘What Would Jesus Do?’ Well, I saw it on a bumper sticker coming this way and it just got me thinking about it. You are talking about a murderous beast here. A Hell-spawn who kills babies for Christ sakes! Jesus would fucking kill it… I am in.”
He wasn’t the most poetic man, but got his point across despite the dialect gap. It’s that determination he is showing that I must question, "are you willing to look like me or even die to kill this thing?”
He tips his hat and answers me with a stern but cheerful face, “Yes sir! I am ready to give my life sir!”
“Alright then, I guess I can’t stop you. And it isn’t like I couldn’t use the help,” I announce back to his pleasure.
The strange humble man that I met on my route to his own personal demon, he left me to go back to fueling with a smile wide on his face. I went quickly back t my maps, drawings, and statistics. The bond was made from our words that day. A new unspoken alliance to destroy an enemy of man.
Chapter 4:
We are at the hospital and I am still in shock at what I am seeing. A fully grown woman is walking away from the building in flames. Across her back is what I am sure is a sack full of babies, still alive. I suspect it because the bag is its own writhing mass as she walks away. She is not the Oriental girl in the red dress I remember, but rather an American woman in a nurses outfit. She walks as if she never learned how to comfortably walk before, taking every stride stiff legged and trying to pivot to the next step.
When the question hit me on what to do next as we pulled up beside this woman, all I could notice was that she didn’t even look our way once as we crept along beside her in this giant black transfer truck She just walked on oblivious to our presence , walking stiff-legged with her sack of babies. What the fuck? I want to ask Kurt if he is seeing this, but I know that would just be redundant at this point. In a synergy play we both decide to just follow the girl with baby bag in tow.
The cloud of smoke erupting from the hospital fire is following close behind us. Even with that in mind though, it seems darker up ahead. We are being led out into the desert at dusk. The only reason we follow her is to find the source, Betsy. At least I hope she is the source.
A cold wind whips through the desert air in waves as we follow this mindless girl with out headlights lighting our way. I think I am the worst off this night because of my sores. They take all temperatures to the extreme when they come in contact with my face. Tonight I hope to die and never have to feel this pain again. To never have to see my memories of that night six years ago ever play out again within my mind would be a dream come true. I look at my fellow travelers: Kurt, random mindless girl and her babies. I start to think they are my new family as we are destined to walk these sands together until the end of time.
The end of time comes too soon as we need an old gas station outside of town on the right. And here I was, just about to ask the girl if she wanted a ride. It was run down and abandoned looking just like I figured it’d be. Kurt got closer to the wheel to try to make out the details better as we got within a quarter of a mile.
I readied the guns and ammo I brought with me as Kurt pulled the truck in behind the random mindless girl at the gas station. We parked and watched as the girl continued up to the door of the condemned old building and entered.
Chapter 5:
Kurt told me he was a police officer back in the 80’s before they fired him for stealing marijuana evidence. He said they didn’t care he had marijuana, just that it was evidence. I believe him. Hell, he believed my story, I owe him that much. Kurt also told me to follow him as he knew police procedures on matters of this sort (forceful entry).
The doors flies open to give us glance of the darkness blanketing the inside of the empty first room. Kurt has his shotgun ready and aimed into any of the darkness that moved. Me, I had my magnum, .44 caliber and a flashlight in the other hand. We stood frozen until I decided to take the lead. I was the first to take it in the chest, followed by Kurt. Just inside the doorway, the scent hit you hard on your insides knocking you to the ground. The aroma of all those missing babies decomposing out here in this un-vented gas station in the desert.
Your vision in the one good eye blurs as everything dims. You can hear footsteps, but they aren’t normal. Hell though, this whole trip has made me question normal from the start. I’m not normal, Kurt isn’t be a long shot. We are searching for a mythological creature that isn’t even supposed to be in this country if it did exist. What are we fighting for? The human race? Ourselves? Jesus?
You and I both wake up. Before us are the two responsible for the death of those children. A fever dream. The woman in the red dress and the nurse are standing before you. Your temperature is too high for this, your face is burning. The red dress girl is the Penanggalan and the nurse is somehow mindless because of her, doing her bidding. The desert heat is sweltering. How did you get outside? A befuddled fever dream is all it was or will ever be.
Deduction:
When it all finally becomes clear again we both find ourselves in the cab of the truck. The whole family minus the babies. I can see you, Kurt, in the sleeper when I look back. Our nurse is at the wheel. We are in a beachside place far from where we were.
“Leave us alone,” the nurse says threateningly to us, although you’re asleep. I’ll tell you when you wake up everything that happened. You are a good friend so I will tell you now this bitch is pissing me off with this stare she is doing.
“You talking in your sleep again?,” you mumble out to me in your sleep. I don’t answer you at all. My focus is only on the tiny girl exiting the hole in the nurse’s neck. She is young looking and so small as she paces the nurse’s shoulder speaking gibberish. I watch her and laugh as I see a small red grasshopper come squeezing out the other hole. The small girl hops on the insect. Are you seeing this? The girl riding the insect like a normal man would ride a giant flying insect, the two take off and head out the window. In a quick swish. The nurse falls face forward into the steering wheel, blasting the horn… the bones are rolled… waking us all up.
That is my follow up story. I wanted the twist ending and the stuff to think about. You know me!
I dedicate this entry to a friend who is helping me in my new writing project, Anna. Thank you so much for the kind words earlier. To another fourth of my writing brigade to be formed, please visit Mr. Leaptrott's site and leave him some comments as well.
To everyone else I just hope you enjoyed this exercise of mine. Please comment lots for me on this one. Whether you liked it or hated it, please leave your voice. Good night!
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