Friday, 29 June 2012

Dark Fiction - Ritual

Dark Fiction Image

Ritual

By Casey Douglass

As part of #fridayflash




Kenneth felt the plate crack in his hands, the noise itself muffled by the sudsy water.
‘Bloody hell!’ he shouted.
He held on to both pieces and lifted them from the water. They chinked as he pressed one on top of the other and headed across to the kitchen bin. He stomped on the peddle, the tiny mechanism launching the lid into the wall with a metallic clang. He dropped the two halves inside, swearing as one malicious corner scraped along his thumb. The lid closed with a thump as he assessed the damage.
‘Good afternoon Sir.’
Kenneth spun around to face the voice behind him. He let his hand fall to his side, his dripping blood forgotten. A stout fat red thing sat on the draining board, for all the world looking like a demon.
‘Correct! Bravo!’ Two taloned hands clapped rapidly, like the sound of someone popping lots of bubble wrap.
‘What..?’
‘Who would be more polite my dear boy but I’ll excuse your ignorance of etiquette, you look a bit frazzled.’
Kenneth moved nearer, a slight whiff of sulphur and scorched flesh hung in the air, the demon giving off the faintest shimmer of heat haze. He watched it lift a wrist and gaze at a small heavy looking watch.
‘What do you want?’
The demon prodded the watch with a long finger and clucked.
‘Too much heat! Oh sorry...to cut a long story short, from the moment of your birth, your every action, thought, desire and chance happening was preordained to form part of a ritual, known as the Great Completion. When it is finished, in...oh around five minutes, my master will achieve his desired result and the world will change to his will. Do you follow?’
Kenneth shook his head slowly but the colour draining from his face showed that he did, at least partly.
‘Everything I’ve done?’
‘Yes.’
‘Everything I’ve said...will say?’
‘Yes, including that!’
‘What will happen?’
‘And that! Oh I do apologise...the truth is I don’t know, I’m just here to play my part, to watch out for “the other side” if you know what I mean.’
‘God?’
‘Could be. Could be Angels, could be any “being of a higher frequency.” That’s how we have to refer to them now, political correctness and all that. I still call them robe lifters though, if I’m honest.’ He gave a wry smile and winked.
‘What now then? What will-’ Kenneth dropped to his knees, a trembling convulsion shaking his body as his mind cottoned on to some stimulus that his conscious mind refused to recognise.
‘Don’t worry, its almost time.’
A white feather fluttered down from the ceiling and landed on Kenneth’s head. The demon jumped down to the floor furiously waving his claws.
‘No no no! Bugger off!’ He snatched the feather and shoved it inside his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he gazed upwards. ‘They don’t learn!’
Kenneth’s vision began to blur, his head pounded like an anvil being smashed with a lump hammer. He cried out as the pain shot down his spine, causing him to fall flat out at the demons feet, consciousness and life drifting away with every passing moment.
‘That’s a good lad.’ The demon patted the back of his head tenderly.
Another white feather floated past the demon’s head, and another, then another. Within seconds the room was stuffed full of the slow drifting pillow stuffers. The demon opened his mouth to yell but inadvertently sucked in a great swathe of them, choking and tickling his fangs. He coughed and spluttered, his red cheeks now tinged with blue. The ground began to rumble, the cutlery in the drawers rat-a-tatting along with the bass beat.
‘Master!’ he shouted, ‘It’s not my fault!’
A wrenching force rippled the carpet tiled floor, a gaping tear slowly widening to the size of a small car. A flame lanced up from the hole, incinerating the snow of feathers in seconds, their blackened skeletal remains turning to dust as they hit the ground. The demon coughed out the last few that were lodged in his throat and sat down heavily, the rumbling beginning to subside.
A black figure slowly rose from the hole, levitating on a cloud of dark boiling ether. It spoke, it’s voice was whispered and slick like the lichen on a damp grave.
‘Drumax return! There was a problem with the ritual.’
Drumax nodded nervously.
‘My fault?’
‘No.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘A miscalculation by the overseer. All enforcers are being recalled to the circles for a full debrief.’
‘I thought the other side-,’
‘No! Part of the working was off by a fraction. There is now a chicken factory in Kiev with a few thousand bald chickens.’
Drumax let his mouth fall open, it was either that or smile, and he didn’t dare do that with the Reclaimer in front of him. He looked down at Kenneth, the body was beginning to stiffen. He shrugged, no point feeling sorry for him, occupational hazard, being a sacrifice and all.
He slowly got to his feet and joined the Reclaimer on his black cloud. As they sank slowly from view, the rumbling returned, slowly pinching the hole in the floor back together again. Just as it almost met in the middle, their conversation began again.
‘Fancy making a mistake like that!’ Drumax said. There was a slight pause before the other replied.
‘The devil is always in the detail.’
The sound of Drumax’s laugh was cut short by a loud slapping noise and a small whimper. The floor met with a thump, the ash covered kitchen and body looking like a picture in some ghoulish catalogue for zombie home improvements. The window was slightly open to the outside world, but all the neighbours would detect was the slight aroma of some strange barbecue lingering in the frazzled air. It was Summer, after all.

THE END

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Friday, 22 June 2012

Dark Fiction - Jump

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Jump

By Casey Douglass

As part of #fridayflash



‘Okay mate you’re ready to go!’
Lewis felt the slap on his shoulder run through his body, passing through his stomach and severely aggravating the butterflies already rustling inside him.
For the last couple of minutes, he had been staring at the tips of his shoes, trying not to look down past them, and concentrating on balancing while the straps and harness were swivelled and clicked into place. He felt trussed up and safe, until he glanced down beyond his feet and the small metal platform.
Bringing to mind something he had read in some self help book, he tried to look at the big picture one piece at a time, so as not to overwhelm his mind. He started with the river. His breath caught in his throat, pressing down on his gullet uncomfortably. The river looked like a muddy trickle of brown, running through the deep gorge with a meandering path, the section under him wide and strewn with large boulders from the steep walls around it.
His eye travelled to one bank, up the scree and over the dead trees laying lazily on their sides, and onto the sheer face carved from some kind of grey stained stone. His head slowly lifted as his view came to eye level, the same height as the suspension bridge he stood on. His mind began to rebel, the urge to step back and walk away making the skin of his forearms itch. He allowed his gaze to carry on up to the sky and the metal structure above him. Sunny blue azure and painted olive green metal, not the best combination. The slight breeze managed to whistle as it passed through the bolted structure, howling quietly through some hole without its rivet. The sun vanished behind the one cloud on the horizon and Lewis felt a chill.
‘When you’re ready!’ the organiser gave him another pat on the shoulder, then gestured with his head to the queue of about a dozen people all waiting for their turn. A solitary car droned past on the deserted road.
‘I’m all connected?’ his voice cracked as he spoke.
‘Yeah, and that bungee chord is strong enough to support a thousand pound in weight. You’ll be fine, everyone feels scared just before they do it. Then they do it and can’t stop smiling after!’
Lewis managed a wry smile, noticing the sensation across his lips. A voice in the back of his head shouted Murder but it was too late. Lewis spread his arms out wide, closed his eyes and fell slowly forwards, pushing away with his toes to make his feet clear the edge.
The wind smashed him in the face and filled his ears like static, a feeling like pins and needles, but ramped up, more like nails and knives. His eyes were ripped open, the lids fluttering and flapping like an old flag in a hurricane. Time slowed, seeming to hang and float just as he did. He opened his mouth, his every muscle straining.
Get out!’ he shouted, the sound barely leaving the line of his overbite.
You need me. Where would you be without me! You’ll regret this! the internal voice whispered.
No! You made me...cheat on the girl I loved! You...made me spend hours and...hours over petty 
things, thinking...they were all that mattered. You perverted...my mind!
You think you can get rid of me that easily. You think this plan will work? All I did for you was meant to make you strong, wake you up and stop you being such a damned pussy!
Lewis concocted a strangulated laugh.
And look at me now! A pussy wouldn’t be doing this!’
No...you have improved in some ways I’ll admit, but you are still done for.
The ground loomed nearer now, the white tips and ripples of the white water clearly visible further up stream. Lewis closed his mouth in concentration, he had to think.
Ah here we go...the plan! Last chance to go back Lewis...last chance.
Lewis brought to mind his passenger, the sickening stranger he had met in a dream one night, the festering old man who had somehow managed to seep into his mind and stay with him upon waking. There he was, Lewis could almost smell his body odour of old newspapers and faeces.
Very good! Quite accurate. Don’t forget the smell of blood too!
Lewis ignored the interruption and carried on with his task, imagining and visualizing to the best of his ability, which was very difficult with the ground rushing up to greet him.
You’ll be sorry!
Lewis’ vision flashed white and he suddenly found himself back in the dream, the crusty man leering at him with anticipation.
Out!’ Lewis screamed and hurled himself towards him. Their hands locked and they spun around and around, the old man laughing with giddy glee.
Weeeeeee!
Get out now!’
Weeeeeeeeeeee!
Damn you!’
Lewis felt a pressure tugging hard at his ankles, his internal organs feeling as if they were trying to crawl out from his mouth, his eyes bulging from their sockets. He blacked out.

Are you alright?’
Lewis opened his eyes with a flicker and saw the concerned face of the organiser hovering a few inches from his. He squinted as he slowly sat up, his head spinning.
What happened?’
You fainted I think. You shouted all the way down but when the rope kicked you back you went quiet. We pulled you up and you were sparko.’
How long was I out?’
Not long, a minute or two maybe. Look at my finger.’
Lewis watched as the digit moved left and right.
I’m cold.’
You might be in a bit of shock. Go and get a burger or something, that will help, trust me.’ 
 
Lewis felt a hand under his arm pull him upright. He swayed groggily for a moment.

Thank you. Don’t think I’ll do that again though.’
Some people only do it once and it’s enough, nothing to be ashamed of.’
Lewis nodded and slowly walked down past the queue, a scream coming from behind him as another punter launched themselves into the void. He tried not to meet the eyes of the people patiently waiting their turn, but soon saw that they were engrossed in their own fear and butterflies. Near the end, he passed a pretty woman in a tight pair of jeans. His hand shot out and slapped her backside. She turned and stared at him angrily, a largish man turning and eyeing Lewis with a threatening expression. Lewis smiled at the man.
What? You got something you want to say to me you pussy?’

THE END

Friday, 15 June 2012

Dark Fiction - Search

Dark Fiction Image

Search

By Casey Douglass

As part of #fridayflash



The klaxon wailed with a high pitched tone, making Tim jump as it always did. He opened his eyes to the blackness around him as he heard the tell tale signs of the mechanisms beginning to function.
A cold female voice sounded over the audio system, ‘C shift ready to begin in ten minutes. Engage exercise programme.’
The muscles in Tim’s arms and legs convulsed as the electrical current ran through his implants. He used to cry out but after seven years of this, now he valued the sensory stimulation, even though it felt like he was being filleted.
The darkness around him had turned a dull grey, a few tiny led lights slowly brightening to illuminate the small cell he was in. There was just room for his chair interface which he reclined on, the “reality grade” screen hanging just in front of his eyes, and the keyboard split in two and neatly resting under each hand on the chair arms.
Another wave of current passed through his body, the stimulation causing him to fill his waste removal pouch which whisked everything away with speedy silence. A tiny hiss of air freshener sounded behind him, the sickly smell of honeysuckle making him choke.
C Shift prepare for elevation.
Tim felt the current slacken in his body, the lights around him now shining full bright and white. The sound of the mechanisms was building now, the two flaps in the ceiling twitching with pent up tension.
Elevate.’
With a grinding squeak they slid back, a rush of ozone entering Tim’s nostrils. With a shuddering movement, he felt his chair begin to rise, the motion used to be silky smooth but now it was like riding a bucking bronco. He had requested a new one but all they had told him was “cut-backs” and a “double dip recession” meant it was unlikely to happen. I guess that’s what I get for signing my life away at the wrong time he thought at the time.
The head of his chair emerged from the holding cell. He turned left and right, noticing the many other heads and chairs emerging from their own cells all around him. He nodded to the woman next to him when their eyes met, her hair was blonde but dirty and plastered to her forehead. She gave a wan smile before looking away. Tim sighed quietly. She had only been there a week or so and they still hadn’t cut her hair. With a jolt the chair stopped moving, the twin flaps pushing closed around the base. He looked around him once more, the rows of his co-workers stretching as far as he could see in every direction, each illuminated by the light of their screens, each one a small beacon in the overwhelming dark.
C Shift start work in two minutes.’
The screen in front of him flickered to life, random characters and numbers zooming across it as it performed its diagnostic tests. He closed his eyes before the onslaught. Forty eight hours he thought. Another forty eight hours before they switch me off again. Why do I do it? Well, for Emma and Troy, I know that. Without the money this brings in, we’d be destitute. I’d sacrifice myself for them one hundred times over if I could, so I know that’s why I do it! Come on Tim, for them! He mentally repeated it again and again, the pep talk he gave himself before every shift, reaching down deep inside himself for that small flicker of belief and hoping that his love for them would fuel the flame and increase his endurance.
C Shift begin work.’
The screen gave a flicker and then flooded with words. Long words short words misspelt words and nonsense words. He flicked his fingers left and right over the keys, highlighting, correcting and transferring, a small number in a green box in the upper right of his screen proclaiming his resolution rate as acceptable.
A food tube appeared next to him, ready for him to suck on the end when he felt depleted but he was flying for now. The sounds of thousands of others around him, all tapping keys quietly built up into a kind of droning white noise that lulled him into a trance. He liked it when this happened, it took him less conscious thought.
He was well and truly in his rhythm when something jolted him awake again. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but something had plucked him from his zoned out state and shattered his mental routine. In a daze he stared at the screen, the resolution counter now having an amber background. The cursor highlighted two words. He closed his mouth when he became aware it was slack. He rubbed his fingers around his eyes and looked again. The resolution counter chimed and flashed red.
Number 2466-46, is there a problem?’ 
 
He pressed a button beside his chair.
Sorry, no problem here, just lost my place.’
You have sixty seconds to get up to speed again 2466-46 or you will be penalised. Understood?’
Understood.’
He gave his head a shake, trying to dislodge a mental agitation in the only way he could think of. Did they know where he was? His fingers began to flick over the keys again, a smile on his face as his resolution rating returned to green once more.
***

What are you looking at Troy?’
Err nothing Mum.’
I know you’re sixteen but I don’t want you looking at porn if that’s what you're doing!’
I’m not!’
Troy heard footsteps behind him as he looked down at his laptop.
Oh Troy.’
He felt his Mum’s arms envelop him as she stroked his hair.
We’ll find him!’
I know...I just thought I could try...to look on-’
I know. You’re a good boy, I know you miss your dad.’
Can’t you trace where the money comes from that he sends us?’
I wouldn’t know how.’
They both fell silent as they stared at the screen.
A web browser was open, displaying the search result: "Tim Gellar". Results found : 0

THE END 

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Wednesday, 6 June 2012

Pondering - Unhappy Endings

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I’ve liked unhappy endings in the books I read, the films I watch and anything else story driven for sometime now.

My earliest memory of enjoying one was an old episode of the Outer Limits. A human was being held captive by aliens and a woman in the cell with him was being slowly changed into an alien. She was upset and he confided in her that the rest of the human space fleet was beyond x planet, ready for another push. She stood up and thanked him, and the door immediately opened as she was led from the room. As she left she said, or he realized, I don’t remember which, that she was an alien disguised as a human all along, and she was reverting to her natural form. He’d just fucked the entire human race. The episode ended a few moments later.
I was about ten at the time, maybe a little older, and that has stayed with me to this very day. I think it was the first thing I had seen that ended on such a sour note that it shocked me.

So why do I like unhappy endings? I think some of it is that life is more variable than the hero always winning, and so an unhappy ending often feels more realistic. In any typical action film full of peril, the hero might do one hundred leaps, jumps, falls, dodges etc. If that was real life, he or she would probably be dead after dodge five. Or if they survived longer, something at some point would occur where their luck would run out. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not arguing for films or books to be the height of realism, I do like my physics bending, special powers happy endings too. It’s just that they don’t stick with me as long as the bitter ones do.

Another reason I prefer the darker ending is that it pays more homage to the people who may have died along the way. How many times have we seen hundreds of people killed in the course of a story, but when everything ends with laughter and parades, its suddenly all okay again, and we don’t need to think about them any more. A dark ending doesn’t mean everyone has to die, but you can bet that the ones that do will be remembered by the ones that didn’t.

On a purely gratuitous note as well, its nice to see the monster/demon/or whatever actually win for a change, instead of always being foiled at the last moment.