Tag Archives: fiction

August 7, 2013

Tecumseh’s Pariah – Friday Fictioneers

Tecumseh’s Pariah

I haven’t returned to Tecumseh, Michigan since. That hydrant and its sour-sick memories still haunt me: the night 16-year-old me staggered home from partying and crossed the abandoned tracks.

The sudden rush of a steam engine. The scream of a whistle. Hot, sooty wind.

I cowered behind the hydrant—felt it suddenly twist and grasp at me with steely arms. All I could do was scream.

The police found me, jeans wet and hysterical. No one believed me. “Been drinking?” they asked.

I became “that kid”, the one who pissed himself over ghosts.

Sometimes all you can do is leave.

47 Comments | tags: creepy, fear, fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, ghosts, Tecumseh, trains | posted in Dark

August 5, 2013

Alone on a Boat – Part 9

By David Stewart

Part 9 of a collaborative story between myself and Sharmishtha Basu where the main character Angelique is neither on a boat nor alone. At least at the moment.

Here’s what has happened so far: Our heroine Angelique has been kidnapped and brought to a temple in the jungle by two men. They are going to sacrifice her to get through a door to steal a large diamond. However, a huge tentacled monster attacks them before they can. She runs away and finds other monsters, but comes across an old man named John who is Australian but now lives alone on the island. He takes her back to his cave for the night so they will be safe from any monsters or creatures that are around.

But then, a huge multi-headed snake, a naga, attacks in the night, and John has to take her through a secret tunnel into the temple of Lakshmi, where there is gold and gems everywhere, including a huge lotus made of diamonds. Gold nagas stand guard and John says they will attack anyone who tries to steal the treasure.

Sharmishtha has posted all the previous installments here.

Alone on a Boat – Part 9

Angelique lay down to sleep surrounded by millions of dollars worth of gold and gems, not to mention the priceless diamonds that formed the lotus blossom in front of the goddess Lakshmi’s idol.

She was glad when the flare burned out and darkness hid the unobtainable wealth from her. She had meant what she had said to John about not wanting to be rich, but still, now that it was all here in front of her, images of what she could do with such riches kept creeping into her mind.

“There are only about four hours until dawn,” John said out of the darkness. “I’ll keep watch until then.”

“I thought you said this was the safest place we could be—that no monsters could get in here.”

“That’s true,” he said, “but still.”

He is watching because of me, Angelique thought. In case I try to steal something. It gave her an odd feeling.

She woke up to see a long sliver of daylight slicing across the temple floor. John’s figure was silhouetted against it.

Angelique got to her feet and went over to him. “The men who kidnapped me were trying to get in here,” she said. “They seemed to think that only human sacrifice would let them get through this door.”

“Perhaps they were right,” John said, still looking out. “I don’t know how to get in through these doors. However, if you come in the way we did, it is easy to come out this way. The doors push open from the inside. They will not stay open, though. I once came out and left them open. They were shut tight when I returned.”

“What do we do now?” Angelique asked. “Are we safe from monsters now?”

“I don’t know. Yesterday I would have said yes—that they do not come out in the daylight, but then again, I would have said nothing could have found us in my cave. I will try to lead you down to the shore and then you can get away in your boat. I think we can get there in a few hours by a path I know.”

At that moment, the sound of a helicopter broke the morning stillness. It came into view a minute later, a civilian model with Thai markings on it. It landed in the clearing of the temple courtyard, the rotor whipping at the overhanging branches. As soon as it on the ground, the door opened and a muscular, tanned man in his 50s jumped out.

“Dad!” Angelique shouted and ran towards him. He hugged her tightly.

“Are you okay?” he shouted over the noise of the rotor. “I got your distress signal and rented a helicopter as soon as I could. Then we followed the GPS signal. Where’s the boat?”

“Down in a cove. How did you get here so fast?”

“I was in Phuket,” her father said. “Just a few hours away.”

“Were you following me?” she asked.

“Not following, just staying close. Just in case. What happened anyway?”

Angelique led him a little ways from the helicopter and explained everything that had happened, about the two men who had kidnapped her and brought her to the temple.

“How did you get away?” he asked.

She hesitated. “Something attacked them. A creature. Then I ran into John and he helped me.” She introduced John to her father and the two men shook hands.

John had been standing with his back against the temple door while she had been talking to her father, and she suddenly realized that he had been trying to push it closed. Before she could say anything, her father looked up at the temple.

“What is this place, anyway?” He took a step towards the door.

“Dad, don’t. Let’s just go.” It was no good. Her father seemed to have forgotten she was there. He took another step, looking around in amazement. He hadn’t seen the gold and jewels inside yet, but it was only a matter of another few steps.

“Dad, please. Let’s just get out of here. Back to the boat.”

She knew it was useless. Her father’s greatest fantasy was to be the real-life Indiana Jones. He took another step forward and she saw his eyes suddenly widen.

“Mother of Mary,” he said softly, and she knew it was too late.

(to be continued on Friday on Sharmishtha Basu’s blog)

9 Comments | tags: adventure, Andaman Islands, collaborative writing, fantasy, fiction, hinduism, kidnapping, Lakshmi, monsters, mythology, Sharmishtha Basu, temple, treasure | posted in Dusk

August 4, 2013

Much Ado About Kudzu – Visual Fiction

By David Stewart

Kudzu.

The Scourge of the South and an emerald-green kraken that spreads its leafy tentacles out to overwhelm everything.

It is unstoppable.

* * *

“I think I have a way to stop it,” Dr. Freddie Combs said. He was sitting with a group of scientists at the Kudzu Fight Council. It was, somewhat ironically, located in Alaska. The feeling was that kudzu was so dangerous it was best for the Council to employ scientists who were deathly afraid of it. There was no chance of them sympathizing with the enemy that way.

“What’s your idea?” the Director asked.

“Special giant rats,” Dr. Combs said. “All they eat is kudzu. We set them loose in Kentucky and Virginia and soon all the kudzu will be gone.”

“Giant rats? Are you crazy? No one wants giant rats running around. And how do you know they only eat kudzu?”

“That’s all they’ve eaten in our lab tests.”

“What else have you offered them?”

“Nothing, but—”

“Next!” the Director said.

“I saw we just give the affected area up for lost,” another scientist said. “Let’s build a wall around the area, let the people inside deal with it.”

“Kudzu grows over walls.”

“Well, maybe we could put the giant rats on top of the wall . . .”

Another scientist stood up. “I’ve developed a new strain of kudzu that bursts into flames in hot sunlight. We just need to cross-breed it with the kudzu and the problem will solve itself.”

“These are all terrible ideas,” the Director said. “Do any of you have a half-decent idea?”

“I have one that is fool-proof,” a tall, dark scientist named Dr. Brawn said. He had a crazy look in his eye, which in scientific circles is referred at “that Nobel look”. The rest of the room hushed.

“Super kudzu,” Dr. Brawn said. “It is twice as strong as normal kudzu and as smart a brilliant dog, or perhaps a slightly dim 5-year-old. It is also fiercely territorial, so it will easily wipe out the normal kudzu for us.”

“But then what do we do with all this super kudzu?” the Director asked. “The problem will be worse than before.”

“No, because it is be intelligent,” Dr. Brawn said. “We can negotiate with it, then send it to go fight our enemies. We can turn it into an ally.”

“Does . . . it grow as fast as normal kudzu?” the Director asked in a shocked voice.

“Three times faster. However, it does have a critical weakness. It is vulnerable to bullets. One shot will kill 100’ of super kudzu.”

“That is a good feature,” the Director admitted. “Fine, we’ll try it. I can’t think of anything better at least.

“Excellent,” Dr. Brawn said. He patted the place on his chest where his Nobel Prize would soon hang. “This can’t fail. Trust me.”

* * *

Four months later, the continental United States was abandoned. Mexico was considering building a huge fence to keep out the super kudzu scourge. Canada had nothing but its cold weather and even that wasn’t an effective barrier anymore, thank you very much global warming. People tried to shoot at the rampaging super kudzu, but after it began to mimic a whimpering puppy, they found they just didn’t have the heart.

Finally, all the survivors who could afford it gathered in a huge underground bunker on the island of Newfoundland and waited, hoping that the kudzu would die out or simply go away. They waited for years. Their phone and Internet went out because no one wanted to go outside to maintain them.

After three years, the debate began: to go outside or not. Some argued that the super kudzu must have killed itself off by now. In any case, it couldn’t have made it over the water to the island. Some questioned why they were in a bunker at all, but more pessimistic individuals shushed them, reminding them of how quickly North America had fallen.

“It’s probably crossed the Atlantic Ocean by now,” some said.

One boy, though, had had enough. “I’m going outside,” he said. He ran for the hatch and began to spin the wheel to open it.

Outside the sun shone brightly and a single tendril of kudzu crept slowly up the stonework towards the soon-to-be-opened hatch . . .

(You can find more information about kudzu here)

12 Comments | tags: creepy, fiction, invasion, Kentucky, kudzu, photograph, visual fiction | posted in Visual Fiction

July 31, 2013

Old Rusty – Friday Fictioneers

By David Stewart

Old Rusty

Old Rusty went to heaven yesterday. A man couldn’t have asked for a better giant bee companion.

It wasn’t just his honey-making superpowers. That paid the bills, but he was also a real sweety—the way he liked getting scratched behind the wings and how he got all excited about the annual apiary box social.

I can see him now on one of his grizzly hunting trips. He wouldn’t kill ‘em; just play with them a while. Nobody could make a grizzly wet itself in terror as fast as Rusty.

Somehow, a dog just isn’t going to cut it anymore.

39 Comments | tags: bees, death, fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, giant, mourning | posted in Light

July 29, 2013

Alone on a Boat – Part 7

By David Stewart

Part 7 of a collaborative story between myself and Sharmishtha Basu where the main character Angelique is neither on a boat nor alone. At least for now.

In case you’re behind on the story, our heroine Angelique has been kidnapped and brought to a temple in the jungle by two men. They are going to sacrifice her to get through a door to steal a large diamond. However, a huge tentacled monster attacks them before they can. She runs away and finds other monsters, but comes across an old man who is Australian but now lives alone on the island. He takes her back to his cave for the night so they will be safe from any monsters or creatures that are around.

Sharmishtha has posted all the previous installments here.

Alone on a Boat – Part 7

The only light in the pitch blackness was a tiny, blinking red LED on the emergency distress beacon. Nowhere near enough light to see by, even if she wanted to.

Angelique lay in the sticky darkness, the hay crackling under her whenever she moved. She tried to lie perfectly still.

She heard a faint rustling at the entrance of the cave, like the branches of the bush that hid the entrance being moved aside. She wondered if John, the old man, had gone outside. The sound came again and then a long, drawn-out scraping sound, like something being dragged across the dirt.

She wanted to say something, but she was too afraid to move or make a sound. If it was John, then there was no problem, but if it was something else… She heard it come closer. There was a long hiss, like air escaping from a tank.

Pop! The cave was lit with an explosion of smoky red light. In the sudden glare, Angelique saw a grotesque, multi-headed monster looming over her, fangs bared. She screamed and rolled to the side, shielding her head with her arms. There were sounds of struggle, but she did not dare to look up.

“It’s okay. It’s over.” It was John’s voice and he sounded shaken. Angelique looked up to see him standing over a thick cylinder of flesh and holding a bloody machete. A flare sputtered and popped on the floor.

“What is it?” she asked, backing further into the side of the cave. John had cut the thing in half, but still a few of the heads twitched spasmodically.

“It’s a naga, or at least the thing the nagas of legend are based on,” John said. “I’ve only seen one before this, in much different circumstances. I keep a few flares here for emergencies and when I woke up and heard the sound, I thought I should use it. I’m glad I did.”

“Why was it coming after me?”

“That’s what troubles me. The situation is obviously much worse than I thought, if these monsters are able to find us here. There is only one place where we can be safe now. Quick, before the flare dies.”

He held out his hand to her and she took it and stood up. John crossed to the back of the cave and pushed away a large boulder that was resting against the back wall, revealing a small, dark opening. He picked up the flare and motioned for her to enter. He followed and pulled the rock over the entrance.

“This is both the safest and most dangerous place we could go,” he said as he took the lead and began to descend the tunnel. “It is safe because no monsters will ever find us here.”

“Why is it dangerous?” Angelique asked after a moment.

“Greed. Even I was taken by it once; it took years to let go the fantasies and dreams of luxury and power that could be.”

“I don’t have any dreams of wealth,” Angelique said. “I just want to sail around the world, then have a comfortable life. I don’t want to be rich.”

John gave a low laugh. “You say that now. Normally, I would never take you here, but we have no choice if we are to live through the night.”

They came to a large door and John pushed it open. “We are here, the temple of Laxmi, goddess of wealth.”

Gold glittered everywhere.

(to be continued on Friday on Sharmishtha Basu’s blog)

9 Comments | tags: adventure, Andaman Islands, collaborative writing, fantasy, fiction, hinduism, kidnapping, Lakshmi, monsters, mythology, treasure | posted in Dusk

July 24, 2013

Chute Malfunction – Friday Fictioneers

By David Stewart

Chute Malfunction

I fell like a wingless bird into a sea of sublime white.

Come into our embrace, the cottony pillows called to me. We will catch you. Come dance on our hills and valleys. They reached out to caress me, as gentle as a mother.

False saviors, every one. I plunged straight through and the green plains of my death spread out below me.

No fear.

Strange. The novelty of a soon and inexorable end washed it away.

Suddenly, my body was jerked upwards. I looked up at my expanding orange salvation, as gauzy and ethereal as the perfidious clouds beyond.

32 Comments | tags: accident, clouds, death, fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, parachute, sky diving | posted in Dusk

July 22, 2013

Alone on a Boat – Part 5

By David Stewart

This is Part 5 of a collaborative story between myself and Sharmishtha Basu. First of all, my apologies for it being posted so late in the day. I committed to posting my part every Monday. However, this weekend has been a bit busy and I am so tired that it wears at the creative engine a bit.

Sharmishtha has posted all the previous installments here.

Alone on a Boat – Part 5

Angelique ran.

Unseen branches and leaves stretched across her path, slapping her and entangling her arms. She forced her way through, just trying to get as far away as she could from the dark temple behind her and the screams that still echoed through her mind.

There was a sudden splash and she plunged up to her knees in cool wetness. She was standing in a stream and along its course, she could see a narrow slit of sky and a full moon rising over the trees.

She had totally lost her bearings in the dark jungle, but a stream had to lead down to the coast and that was where her boat was. She set out, splashing through the water, and feeling with her sneakers for large rocks on the bottom.

If it wasn’t for the glimmer of the moon on the water, Angelique would never have seen the edge of the small waterfall that plunged into darkness. She stopped and listened, trying to determine how far the water fell. The jungle seemed to have gone silent and only the faint tinkle of the stream could be heard.

As she was hesitating, trying to decide the best course to take, a strange, melancholy whistle came from the water below her. It came again and she looked over, trying to see if it was an animal. She saw a point of pale luminescence in the water, by the base of the falls and as she watched, it grew and spread out over the water. A bubble formed on top and expanded and stretched into the grotesque form of a slimy homunculus. It continued to grow and then slowly began to move up the waterfall towards her.

Angelique was gripped with terror and turned and ran back up the stream. She was vaguely aware that she was running back towards the temple, but at that moment, the only thing that mattered to her was to get away from that luminous goblin that was slowly climbing up the waterfall.

Time lost all meaning as she splashed through the water, tripping and stumbling on stones and trying not to fall. Suddenly she ran into something wide and yielding that was stretched across the stream. For a moment, she thought it was a huge spiderweb and it was all she could do to keep from screaming. It wasn’t sticky though and she realized that it was a net.

A voice came out of the darkness near her, speaking an unknown language.

“Hello?” she said after a moment.

“Ah, you speak English,” the voice said. “Come out of the water; you will damage my nets.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see them,” she said.

“I wouldn’t think so, nor do the bats that get caught in them.” Angelique had the idea that the speaker was an old man. A moment later, he uncovered an oil lamp and she saw her guess was right.

“Now,” he said. “What are you doing here at this hour? A lost tourist, perhaps?”

“I was kidnapped,” Angelique said, “and taken to a temple by two men.” She told him about the tentacle monster in the temple and the luminous creature on the water.

She saw the man’s face become serious just before he covered the lamp again and they were plunged back into blackness. She felt him take her hand.

“Come,” he whispered. “This is no night for mortals like us to be outside. Great and dangerous forces have been awakened. We must hurry.”

(to be continued…)

6 Comments | tags: adventure, Andaman Islands, collaborative writing, fantasy, fiction, kidnapping, monsters, mythology, treasure | posted in Dusk

July 17, 2013

Moon Cycle – Friday Fictioneers

By David Stewart

Moon Cycle

No one ever told me just how big space is. I mean, I can see the moon every night. It’s right there. So why is it so hard to reach?

I had an epiphany one night after I’d taken some mysterious pills I found on the road: why not make a bicycle-powered spaceship? It’d save on rocket fuel and once you’re in zero-gee, it’s like going downhill the whole way.

I made it through the atmosphere, but now I’ve been pedaling for a week and the moon doesn’t look any bigger. Maybe I should stick it in a higher gear.

62 Comments | tags: bicycle, fiction, flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, funny, idiocy, moon, science fiction, space | posted in Light

July 15, 2013

Alone on a Boat – Part 3

By David Stewart

This is Part 3 of a collaborative story between myself and Sharmishtha Basu. It’s a bit difficult to name stories that are written in this way, since the authors have different ideas of where it will go (my last story written like this was simply called “The Adventure” since I had no idea what was going to happen.) Anyway, you will notice that the main character, Angelique, is now neither alone, or on a boat. But that’s life. Here is Part 1 and Part 2, if you missed them.

Alone on a Boat – Part 3

Angelique lay on the cabin floor with her hands tied behind her back and felt the boat slow. They must have reached the island. Now the two kidnappers would take her ashore, and if they had been telling the truth, they would kill her.

She thought of what her father had said before she had left, when he had pulled her aside during the farewell celebration. “You’re a strong girl,” he said. “You can do this. But know that at some point, you will get into trouble. It’s inevitable on a voyage this long. At some point, your engine will break, or you will be robbed or you might get lost. I hope and pray that when it comes, it will be minor. Still, be expecting trouble, be resourceful, and most of all, don’t be afraid to call for help.”

He had given her an emergency distress beacon. It was in the drawer by her bed—five meters away at most, but could she get there without them noticing? Slowly, she crept across the floor and opened the drawer. The drawer was packed with small items, but her probing hands soon found the plastic rectangle that was the transmitter.

“What are you doing?” Tom was standing in the doorway, frowning at her.

“Just . . . water . . .” she said. He strode across and put his hand into the drawer. A second later, he pulled out a jackknife with a triumphant look.

“Nice try, but we’re here now. Come on, get up.” Angelique forced herself to her feet, the small emergency transmitter clenched in her fist.

The light was fading as they came out on deck. The boat was anchored in a small inlet. Henry was already lowered her small dingy into the water.

When they got onshore, Henry led the way into the jungle, shining a flashlight ahead of them. Bats were flying in the trees above them and bird cries echoed through the dusky foliage.

“It’s gotta be around here somewhere,” Henry said. He was cutting through the underbrush with a machete, leading them further and further in. Mosquitoes whined and bit Angelique, delighting in her inability to fight back.

A few times, Tom and Henry stopped and stood close together, talking quietly and shining the light on an old scrap of paper that Tom carried. Hours went by and the forest descended into pitch blackness. Weird sounds came from the darkness.

Henry was chopping at vines over his head when there was a loud ting! of metal hitting stone and sparks flew from the machete blade.

“We got it,” Henry said, his voice trembling with excitement. “Here’s the southern arch.” He shone the light up and Angelique saw an ivy-covered arch of carved stone. Just above her, the face of a fierce Hindu goddess glared down at her.

Tom unscrewed the cap of a water bottle and tipped it up for her to drink. “Your part’s almost here, but I figured you’d be thirsty anyway. Call me soft-hearted.” He laughed.

Angelique looked into the eyes of the man who was planning on sacrificing her soon—ending her young life, all for the sake of a treasure. She spat the water back in his face.

(to be continued…)

8 Comments | tags: adventure, Andaman Islands, castaway, collaborative writing, fiction, Indian Ocean, kidnapping, sailing, solo voyage, treasure | posted in Dusk

July 13, 2013

Super Soldier Mosquitoes

By David Stewart

In general, I really like living in the future. Except for all the car-sized mosquitoes buzzing around. That is not as cool.

It all started with the super soldiers. Of course, here in the future “super soldier” has become a catchphrase for anything cool. “Hey, that was a real supersoldier movie last night.” “That girl is really supersoldiering.”

Except this time, it really had to do with super soldiers. The problem started with the drones. After drones became commonplace, every country had them and suddenly war became very easy and not that costly. One country’s robots fought another country’s robots and every else sat home and watched it on the evening news. The public began to feel that the government was making war too frivolous, now that they could have a war whenever they wanted to. The military just felt left out.

However, by that point war had progressed far beyond human capabilities, so they turned to super soldiers. Using cloning and genetic manipulation, they made a whole new type of soldier. They were egalitarian about it: there were super cooks, super MPs, super aircraft mechanics, every kind of soldier you could think of.

This was all well and good, but no one really knew what the effects of all this new cloning would be. Some thought that the super infantrymen would go rogue and start shooting up civilians, while the super cooks would take the Food Network by storm. Instead, one super soldier got bitten by a mosquito.

It turns out it wasn’t an ordinary mosquito. Its mother had bitten a cow that had been eating genetically modified corn and being pumped full of steroids, so the blood was a real stew of steroids, hormones and Franken-DNA. Then when the young mosquito took in that sweet super soldier blood, it started to get bigger. And bigger. The first time a monstrous mosquito swooped down and sucked all the blood out of a running back during the Super Bowl, it made quite an impression on people. Stocks in Raid and Amalgamated Swatters, Inc. went through the roof.

It hasn’t really affected daily life much. In the cities, there are anti-aircraft RAID guns set up, and most people have catapult-sized fly swatters on their cars.

What I really miss is hiking and camping. Now, if I want to go camping, I need to bring along a Kevlar tent and a dog I don’t really like, and just hope for the best.