Dark Fiction: Good Luck!

By Casey Douglass

Image from Oliver Hale @ Unsplash

Mr “Lucky”: 8:27pm:

The bass throbbed through the walls. He half wondered if it actually made the air in the toilet smell worse, somehow massaging the particles and releasing their full stinking potential. He wasn’t surprised by the smell, or that some other enterprising souls had got into the toilet before the main act started. The support band were decent, but worth missing the end for some bladder comfort.

His trainers squeaked on the sticky floor. The urinals were all occupied, the two cubicles were too. A guy was waiting outside the first stall, the other had no queue. He sidled over and waited near the latter.

A toilet flushed. Another followed. The door in-front of him swung open. He exchanged a brief nod with the man who emerged. As he entered the cubicle, the door of the other one swung open as well. He heard a voice chuckle and exclaim: ‘Good luck!’ to the waiting man.

He shut the door behind himself, and heard the companion door close on the other side. He then heard an ‘Ughhhh!’

He grinned at the stained wall as his mind conjured up several images of what the unfortunate occupant next door was confronted with. The ‘Uggghhh’ had sounded quite nuanced. It was half “I’ve caught my scrotum in my zip” and half “Help me I’m dying!”

By the time he had pissed, flushed and left the toilet, the other stall was still occupied. He heard no sound coming from inside. He chuckled as he exited the room, merging with the darkness of the dance floor. He was eager to tell his mate about the poor soul who had clearly had a messy surprise, and how, if things had gone the other way, it might well have been him!

Mr “Poor Sod”: 8:25pm:

The guy in the toilet stall ahead of him was taking an eternity. He looked down at the gap underneath the door, wondering if he could see in which direction the denizen’s feet were facing. If they were facing the toilet... Shit, now he had mental images of the guy inside wanking over the porcelain bowl. The door that led back to the club swung open and another guy walked in. His nose wrinkled as he entered flavour country. The watcher tried not to smirk, and then realised that he’d been waiting for so long that he couldn’t even smell the noxious aromas any more. Damn it!

The newcomer appraised the occupied urinals and then settled a few paces to his right, in front of the other cubicle. No chance of switching queues now! The other guy had been in his a good while too, but he just knew that it would be the one to open first. This evening just gets better and better.

The other cubicle door flew open. He sighed. He half hoped the other guy would beckon him to go in, seeing as he had been waiting already. The guy just waltzed in, the thought probably didn't even cross his mind. Selfish prick!

The door in-front of him opened moments later, a grinning man gliding out, his eyes a bit wild, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. Great, it wasn’t wanking but drugs... He hoped there wasn’t a fucking needle left in there!

‘Good luck!’ the departing stranger chuckled.

The guy watched him open the exit and flounce out into the booming music. Must be a full moon, he thought, as he bit back an acidic reply. He tentatively entered the cubicle, his eyes scanning the walls, floor and the toilet itself. Everything looked very clean, surprisingly so. In fact, it all looked pretty damn good! Maybe his night was going to improve from here on out. Stranger things have happened!

He closed the door, turned, unzipped his jeans and began to urinate.

His head throbbed.

He looked down to make sure he was hitting the target.

He yelled.

Mr “Pissed Off”: 7:59pm:

The journey to get to the club was a long, expensive one. Not only did he have to grease official palms in two liminal zones, but the etheric passport renewal and body rental had cost an absolutely colossal chunk of karma. As was always the case, the body barely responded to orders from a seventh dimensional brain. It was this that caused most of the trouble.

The bouncer at the door had thought that he was drunk already, so he’d had to shimmy a trans-dimensional shortcut open and flop into the bar area. As was just his luck, he solidified on a big skinhead’s foot. The hand that had latched onto his throat felt like it was trying to squeeze his innards out through his ears. A different bouncer saw the altercation and a brawl began, giving him the chance to slip away.

His eyes hadn't adjusted to the dark just yet. He accidentally brushed against a woman as he picked his way through the crowd. He earned himself a stinging slap on the cheek for that one.

A hot fiery feeling began to bloom in his chest, the urge to incinerate the whole fucking club with a bit of spiritual flame. But no... he was better than that. He had to be, especially if he wanted to be let back home again.

Someone jabbed him in the side, darting fingers reaching for his wallet. He sent a crackle of electricity into the thief. A splash of hot urine christened his shoes.

He began to pant. He just wanted to see the band. Was that too much to fucking ask?

The support band was up on the stage, wailing and hammering and doing a fine job of making everyone look forward to the main act.

Just wait, he told himself, the night will be worth it. Just, just, a little mischief first, something to ease the pressure.

He angled himself through the crowd and jostled his way to the restroom.The air was thick. That was the only way to describe it. He switched his nostrils to plane of existence six and breathed in a nice meadow dew fragrance. Who needs air freshener when you have etheric senses!

The restroom was empty, so he made his way to the first cubicle, locking the door behind him. He looked down at the white toilet and rubbed his chin. Maybe a little infinitude? Or a bog monster? Or an etheric leech? So many choices, so many options. He heard footsteps entering the room. He opted for the infinitude, it was quieter.

His fingers danced, his third eye opened and the slightest flash of purple light fuzzed the air above the toilet rim. He clicked his fingers and the haze blurred into a vertigo-inducing drop. Even though he was expecting it, he still had to throw out a hand to catch himself on the paper dispenser. Toilets, all the way down, is the best way to describe the view. Some relatively normal, others gross and overflowing, others not made for backsides that any human might imagine. Toilet after toilet falling away and sweeping down, making the viewer’s mind think that it was about to tumble out of the world. He felt his rental body’s gorge rising, but closed his eyes just in time.

He became more aware of the noises all around the cubicle now, activity in the one next door, urine hitting urinals on the far side of the room. He saw the cubicle shake as the the stall next door was opened. He turned and opened his own, his eyes falling on a twenty something guy who looked about ready to punch someone.

‘Good luck!’ he smiled, a small chuckle escaping at the same time. He left the restroom and headed back into the throng, hoping that the rest of the evening would flow that little bit more sweetly.

THE END

***

This story was inspired by something that genuinely happened to me at a music concert. I was Mr Lucky above. I walked into the toilets and heard "Good luck" said to the guy next to me. I then heard the "Uggh!" and had to bite my lip to stop myself laughing out loud. I wanted to create something a little bit strange and a little bit funny around what might have happened to the guy in the next stall. This story is the result. Thanks for reading :).

Battle Quest Book Playthrough – Caves of Fury - Part 4

Battle Quest Book Playthrough – Caves of Fury - Part 4

By Casey Douglass

Welcome to Part 4, the final part, of my adventure through the Caves of Fury. If you’ve yet to read a single instalment of my barbarian’s tale, you can find part 1 at this link, with each part leading to the next, until finally bringing you back to this one again. It’s worth a read. It’s a tale of paranoia, inadequacy and bastard goblins, to name only a few elements. You might not like it if you’re an advocate for goblin rights, but if you are a normal, warped human being, you’ll agree with me that they are bastards.

Part 3 ended with my barbarian floating unconscious on a raft in an underground swamp, a drowning bastard goblin nearby, and little hope of getting much further. The barbarian had only two Strength left of the six he started with, and only one treasure to his name, secreted in his loin-cloth inside the ingenious hidden pocket. Between you and me, I think he is quite ready to get this adventure over with, his luck has been terrible from the start. Let’s see if his tale ends with triumph or a whimper...

The barbarian slowly regains consciousness and finds the strength to stand. Not feeling like being a floating-lure for any underwater leviathans, he steps back onto the stepping stones to continue his trek across the swamp. There’s no sign of the drowning bastard goblin, which makes him smile. ‘Good!’ he thinks as he pushes forward into the deepening mist, the thrumming of mosquitoes and green vapours his only company.

In the same manner as the previous tunnels, the stepping stones actually split into three paths. Who’da thunk that would happen? Remembering my resolve to not keep choosing the middle path, I went with the left one this time, hoping for something evil to be waiting at the other end. Why not? It isn’t far down this path that the barbarian spies an inscription on one of the stepping stones. This is surprising in two ways. Firstly, that it’s there at all, that someone took the trouble to mark a stone in the middle of a dangerous swamp. Secondly, judging by the inscription's length, I realize that I’ve been imagining these stepping stones as woefully tiny, which irks me a little. The message has lost some of its letters to erosion but it says:

‘O, foolish one! It was one of the oth r brac es that you should have c osen. The mag c power of fores ght would have been g ven you there.’

Oh for fuck’s sake! A chance at gaining a bit of magical power goes begging! If I can believe the message of course. Not much in this place has been truthful, so why start believing the rock graffiti now? It could be the equivalent of seeing a “Call Bianca for a good time!” scrawl in a public toilet cubicle, a mystery very possibly, or more likely some false advertising at the minimum. None the less, my barbarian ponders whether to retrace his steps, but on turning sees that the previous stepping stones have vanished. That figures. Pushing on sees the stepping stones ahead meet up with the other two paths again, but no option is given for backtracking down one of those other paths at this point.

It’s just after the paths have joined that he hears quiet footsteps coming up behind him. He wheels around and his mouth falls open. It’s the bastard goblin again! He swings his sword at the wretched thing’s head. It screams for him to stop, yelling that it hasn't done him any harm! The gall of the little prick makes his sword falter. Hasn’t done him any harm? He almost caused him to drown! The goblin snivels and says that the barbarian encountered his wicked twin, and that this one is the ‘good’ one. How convenient! It’s a little like when politicians say that “they are different” to the ones that have come before. Be wary in both cases.

You’ll be amazed to know that this goblin also has advice to give, don't they all? He urges me to step off the stones and to wade the rest of the way to shore, saying that it’s shallow enough here. Bollocks to that! There’s no way I’m going to believe this goblin, even if it isn’t the same one. For all I know, it might have found out that I let its brother drown and be out for revenge. I’d rather die due to my own choices than to being deceived again. I choose not to take his advice.

I push on, not hearing any sign of discontent or disapproval from the goblin behind me. All seems okay, but after a few stepping stones, the next one ahead bursts into flame! Then the next and the next! The book describes the flames as being two metres high! These are less like stepping stones and more like Bunsen burner nozzles poking out above the water. I try to step off to the side but some force is keeping me on the path. My only option is to run ahead through the flames.

I push through, the smell (and pain, let’s not forget the pain) of sizzling flesh gives me uncomfortable flashbacks to the wizard’s scorch and my hungry stomach. Thankfully, survival is the up-most thing in my mind, ahead of how tasty I smell. I make it across to the shore and collapse on to the ground, trying to get my breath and thinking about finding some mud to soothe my burns. I’ve lost another Strength with all of that messing around. Only one left and then I’m dead.

As I rest, I find the goblin standing beside me again, but I don’t have the energy to throttle it. The book describes his eyes as having a friendly aspect to them. I guess it’s still the ‘nice one’. He warns me to rest awhile, and that when I’m ready, there are four monsters that live here. Two carry swords set with diamond, the other two have swords set with ruby. Shouting Cragcliff’s name summons the first two, shouting it twice the other two. I’m not sure I want to be shouting Cragcliff’s name at all if I’m honest. I notice that saying his name three times isn’t mentioned, so he isn’t related to Beetlejuice in that regard.

I ponder a little, trying to outfox the conundrum of who to summon, as it appears I can’t just keep my mouth shut. I opt for the diamond bearing creatures as ruby could signify some kind of fire monster, and I’ve more than had my fill of being roasted. I yell Cragcliff’s name. The goblin trembles and runs away. He doesn’t want to see what happens next. I wait for five minutes, ten minutes, and nothing happens. Mosquitoes still buzz and whine but everything else is silent. Until that is, the water glugs, and it comes.

The water bubbles near the shore, a creature slowly rising from its gloopy surface. It has black tangles of weed and slime draped over its body, and is holding a large sword. The book points out that it is holding said sword with webbed fingers, and that this might be a handicap for it in combat. Funny that the book is being so helpful all of a sudden. I decide to fight it and am overjoyed to see that it is another creature that only needs two wounds to slay it.

It’s a fight that lasts for fourteen dice rolls. There is much clanking of swords and plenty of instances where my shield is raised as the swamp creature just stares at me in disgust. Of course. I should be used to that by now. On roll thirteen, I wound it with a massive sword slash, trimming the weed on its left side and carving a deep furrow into its hip. It mews and bubbles, which is a sound I didn’t really expect if I’m honest. But regardless, one wound down, one to go! I might be able to do this after all!

Roll fourteen sees it run me through with a glugging bellow of rage. Well... shit. My barbarian looks down at the sword pushed through his abdomen. He knows it’s protruding from his back too as his legs are numb, suggesting some kind of damage to his spine. He puts his hand into his loin-cloth to hold his treasure one more time. His one precious diamond that is, not what you were thinking. 

It had all been for nothing in the end. He laughs. The funniest thing is that he lost more Strength in his dealings with devious bastard goblins than he did in fighting the more obvious monsters. He’d have liked more time to reflect on that, on another day, in other circumstances, but now, on this day and in these circumstances, he spat out his last words before he died: “Bastard goblins!”

The swamp creature nodded as it let his body fall to the floor with a glug.

***

That’s the end of my playthrough of Caves of Fury. I really enjoyed writing about it and injecting my own take on things into the narrative. As I said at the beginning, I didn’t think it would go on for so many parts but it did, and it’s a shame it ended in the way that it did. That being said, I do enjoy bitter stories and unhappy endings so I can certainly find enjoyment in that. I hope you did too, if you followed along from the start.

Battle Quest Book Playthrough – Caves of Fury - Part 3

Battle Quest Book Playthrough – Caves of Fury - Part 3

By Casey Douglass

Welcome to Part 3 of my adventure through the Caves of Fury, a Battle Quest book where turning to certain pages means you can control the path of your treasure-seeking barbarian warrior. If you are joining the series late, part 1 can be found at this link, with other links finally bringing you back to this instalment, once you’ve brushed up on the tale so far. I’m good like that.

Part 2 ended in a prison of stalactites and ‘mites, with my barbarian beheading a monster and lifting his first piece of treasure: a lovely glittering diamond. It helped put his run-in with the crotchety old wizard who’d scorched his chest into perspective at least. Finally, he has something to show for his labours, beyond his wounds and feeling knackered. Let’s see how his tale continues...

In a turn up for the unlikely, our plucky barbarian finds himself at the edge of an underground swamp. It smells of rot and decay, and its main feature seems to be a massive lake, its surface algae-covered and perfectly calm. It seems to share a few elements with the watery cave in which a certain hobbit meets a certain Gollum, but there’s more greenery and less fishezes, at least, that are visible. The other difference are the stepping stones that stretch across the lake, appearing to go all the way to the other side.

Seeing no other route, I step onto the first stepping stone, waiting for something evil to grab my ankle and pull me down into the water. Not even a ripple! I step onto the next, and the next. It’s all going very well isn’t it? It’s as I get to the tenth stepping stone that it all starts to go wrong. A shriek sounds behind me on the shore that I’d just departed. The fright almost sends me into the water, which at this stage, I have no idea how deep it is or what’s in there.

Carefully, I turn and see an irate goblin waving his arms, shouting at me that if I step on the next stone, I'll drown! He says that every tenth stone is a trap and that I should jump straight over it to the next one! Now, I wasn’t born yesterday. I know how tricky these goblins can be. For a start, they hate anyone taller than them, which is pretty much everyone. Another factor is that they lie more often than they tell the truth, but when they do tell the truth, the disbelieving of it usually leads to disaster anyway. You can’t win is what I’m saying.

I try to reason things out. Firstly, every tenth stone being a trap seems a bit arbitrary to me. Why not the seventh or fourteenth? Then again, I can understand why letting someone walk on nine stones might build their confidence enough to not be so careful for the tenth. Also, why more than one trapped stone? It doesn’t sound like the person who made the trap is particularly confident that it will achieve its goal first time around. Another thing, if the goblin is trying to get me into a trap, what kind of trap would need me to actually jump on it to trigger, rather than merely stepping on it? His having to shout at me isn’t a very efficient way to catch out the unwary. Consider me very wary!

The book gives me the option of using a trance spell to wheedle the truth out of his nasty goblin mind, but I don’t have one, and even if I did, I’d imagine his brain is full of yucky goblin pornography and strange, secret perversions. Another thought occurs to me. Why should he shout at me at all, as I would have been bound to step on the trapped stone anyway? It’s a bad situation. I decide to trust him, but vow to myself to wring his scrawny neck if things go badly, and if I later get the chance. I make the leap over stepping stone ten.

I’ve almost landed on stone number eleven when it recedes out of sight under the murky water! I plunge into the lake, the weeds and other growth starting to pull me down as they attach to my body. The book tells me that I lose One Strength. Fucking great... another one down! As I splutter and struggle for air, I reflect on how, if I’d not jumped, I’d probably have been able to stop myself from falling in. Bastard goblin!

Through the glugging of the water in my ears, I hear laughter and see a small raft coming towards me, the grinning face of the goblin looming into view. He pokes me with his paddle and teases it just out of reach, enjoying the spectacle. An idea flashes across my mind, something that might get me out of this. I yell that I’m one of Cragcliff’s bodyguards and that I’ve lost my way. The look of fear that washes over his face is a beautiful thing to behold, well, if your concept of beauty looks like a constipated goblin-face. Then it happens, the thing that I should have predicted. He wants to know the password.

I’d sigh if I wasn’t struggling for air. The book gives me three options as usual, and as usual, I choose the middle one: GARLON. (Sadly, Googling the meaning of GARLON didn’t return any humorous or naughty double entendres as to its meaning, I guess I got lucky with the other password attempt in part two). Wouldn’t you know it, it was the wrong password, yet again! It’s a pity that there wasn’t an option to whisper the password, and when he leaned in closer to hear me, drag him in with me!

The goblin swears at me and calls me a dog as the water drags me below the surface one last time. The little idiot doesn’t realise what I’m doing though. I have a palm to the underside of his raft and slowly pull myself underwater to the opposite side, feeling the clutching strands of vegetation unwind from my legs as I go. I ever so carefully pull myself up and clear of the lake, trying not to tip the rickety thing too much and alert him to my presence. The little thug is too busy craning his neck over the other side, trying to see if I’ve drowned yet. I see red and give him a mighty shove, sending him not just overboard but well beyond the row of stepping stones too.

He squeals like a flying pig that isn’t quite sure why it’s flying. He then squeals like a pig that’s fallen in a lake and can’t swim. Can pigs swim? (Google: Yes they can!) Weariness claims me and I collapse to the deck of the raft. I smile at the sounds the goblin is making and wish him a slow death. The book tells me that the struggle to keep afloat and to not drown has cost me another Strength. I have only two left now. It’s not looking good. On the plus side, my scorched chest feels soothed by the water. I just hope it doesn’t pick up a nasty infection from the algae. It would be just my luck after all. My last thoughts are two in number: I’m not choosing the bloody middle option for passwords or paths any more, and secondly, I really wish I’d strangled that goblin, just like I’d wanted to. I pass out.

That’s where I’ll leave this session, my barbarian unconscious and floating on a small raft in the middle of an underground swamp with a drowning goblin nearby. If this was a TV series, the camera would slowly be pulling up to show more and more of what's around him, which knowing my adventurer’s luck, would be a host of strange creatures circling in for the kill. The music to accompany this would be slow and synth-based, maybe a single deep tone wavering with menace. I quite like the sound of that actually.

***

If you enjoyed reading about my adventure so far, join me again soon for Part Four of my delve into the Caves of Fury, coming out next weekend.

Battle Quest Book Playthrough – Caves of Fury - Part 2

Battle Quest Book Playthrough – Caves of Fury - Part 2

By Casey Douglass

Welcome to Part 2 of my adventure through the Caves of Fury, a Battle Quest book where your choices decide the fate of your own hulking barbarian adventurer. If you haven’t read the first part, it’s the best place to begin. If you don’t, you’ll still be able to understand what’s going on, but are you strong enough to begin something on Part 2 when the beginning post is just a click away? I know I wouldn’t be able to. Just saying.

At the end of Part 1, I saw my barbarian take a wound from a nasty ape-monster thing, then take flight, running haphazardly down the tunnel, squealing and generally not very happy. I hoped he’d knock himself out and have a bit of a nap, but I doubt anything so pleasant will have happened to him. With how his luck was going, he’d wake up tied to a roasting spit being turned by cannibal goblins. Anyway, let’s open the book and see...

He’s still running down the tunnel. That’s quite a few days if I take a “real-time” view and imagine he’s been running since I closed the book. I guess fear gives you quite the energy boost. The tunnel he is careening down eventually splits into three. I opt to take the middle one again, what with my always liking the middle path; walking between extremes. It’s not long after taking this route, that I come to a cave that branches off from one side of the tunnel. An elderly robed man is sitting with his back to me. A table is in front of him, containing all kinds of objects, from a skull and a large leather-bound book, to strange glassware bubbling with garishly coloured potions.

Without turning, he speaks. He thinks I’m the new novice Cragcliff has sent him, but just to be sure, he wants the password. Shit. Why are these types so paranoid? I don’t know the damned password, and I don’t have the password scroll to look it up. Well, I mean I do, I can see it in the pile of stuff that comes with Caves of Fury, but I’m too honest to cheat. Where’s the fun in that? The book gives me three options for the password, and I choose the middle one: TAGEL. If it works for tunnels, it can work for passwords. Maybe. (Out of curiosity, I just Googled TAGEL, the first result was for a Cornish dictionary that gave the word’s meaning as “fleshy appendage”. This amuses me more than it should. I mean, fleshy appendages, tunnels... it’s all very rude if you think about it).

‘TAGEL’ I exclaim, trying to sound confident. The man turns and looks at me for the first time. He sees that I don’t really look like a novice and demands to know who I am. I try to tell him that I mean no harm, that the sword on my back is purely decorative and these muscles are just water weight, but he blasts me with a spell. An arc of violet light hits me in the centre of my chest. I scuttle away, embarrassed once again, and a little unnerved by how hungry the smell of my own roasted flesh is making me. I’ve lost another Strength from my counter! Only four left now. One third of my health gone and nothing to show for it! Well, a wounded arm and a scorched chest that will be the subject of all manner of jokes at the next Adventurer get-together.

I soon find myself in a cavern, my rumbling stomach finally getting the message from my brain, that it’s entirely inappropriate to lust after your own cooked flesh. This place is full of stalagmites and stalactites, and I occupy myself by trying to remember which is which, “uppy from floory” or “downy from roofy”. Whichever is which, it feels a bit like being in a stone cage. This feeling is enhanced by the snarling monster looking back at me from between the ‘tites and ‘mites to one side. It’s even holding them in massive fists, like someone who was on probation who happened to get caught one too many times thieving and is now looking at hard jail time. I get the fleeting impression that we are two food-scraps stuck between a dragon’s teeth. I can fit through the “bars” though, this monster can’t. It’s another muscular ape creature thing. I didn’t do well against the last one so I take the option to skip this fella.

As I move through the cavern, another creature hisses at me. Is this some kind of prison for the monsters that misbehave? It’s starting to feel that way. I get the impression that the book really wants me to have a go at beating one of them. This one is half-gorilla, half-humanoid. Mmm. Sharp claws and drool too. Interesting. The glimmering of a diamond catches my eye. Fuck it, let’s do it! I turn to the correct page and almost squeal with delight. This monster is slain in two wounds!

The joy doesn’t last long, as I really don’t fancy my luck. Losing to a creature that needs eight wounds to die has a bit of honour to it, but two? If I don’t manage that, what sort of barbarian am I? What sort of dice roller? I push through the feelings of inadequacy like an arachnophobe rushing through a cob-web strewn attic. I’ve not lost yet after all. I roll the dice and see the all too familiar result of my shield being raised at the creature’s face. Oh hell, not again! (See part one for how excruciating this is for me). Roll two has the same result. Can I just throw away my shield book? Please?

Roll three sees an epic sword swing from my good self, one that cuts a nasty gash in the creature’s side. Oooh yeah! Roll four... well let’s just say a shield is involved again. Roll five... sigh. On roll six I lop off its head! I take a few moments to fully process that I’ve actually slain a monster. Get in! I watch its body gurgle on the cavern floor, then quickly pick up the diamond before the thing’s blood reaches it. My first treasure! I proudly put it in my loin-cloth, as it has a secret pocket that not only hides my ‘valuables’, but also makes me look like I have more than I really have... ahem. I set my Treasure Counter to one! A glorious moment!

I decide to close the book at this point, to make that moment of triumph last as long as it possibly can. All too soon I’ll be back in the Caves of Fury, and it would be nice to once, just once, end a session with a win. There’s plenty of time for the wheels to all fall off later. I just hope that my barbarian doesn’t pick at his chest. He’s very hungry and he's been doing all sorts of running, fighting and over-thinking after all.

***

If you enjoyed reading about my adventure so far, join me again soon for Part Three of my delve into the Caves of Fury, coming out next weekend.

Battle Quest Book Playthrough – Caves of Fury

Battle Quest Book Playthrough – Caves of Fury

By Casey Douglass

More than six years ago, I did a little playthrough of one of the Battle Quest books that I happened to come across while having a sort out. Sadly, I didn’t make it out of the Tunnels of Fear with the three diamonds I’d managed to liberate, but it was a fun way to spend some time. I’ve decided that I’m going to go through the process again, but with Caves of Fury this time around. I will inject my own, probably warped, sense of humour into the perils that are inflicted on my character. I will be letting the events play out as the book dictates however.

Caves of Fury is a choose-your-own-path type of book by Stephen Thraves. It was published by Hodder & Stoughton in 1992, with illustrations by Terry Oakes. It comes with two wooden battle dice, two counters to keep track of your character’s Strength and Treasure levels, and a variety of cards and see-thru plastic things to decode cryptic clues, if your character is lucky enough to find the item ahead of the time it is needed. All for the very reasonable price of £5.99.

The lead-up into the action describes you, a famed barbarian warrior, being summoned by an old lord. This old lord immediately got on my nerves, making me follow him up a steep cliff moments after arriving on shore after an arduous journey by sea. I’d go so far as to call him a pompous prick, but there was treasure to be found so I kept my mouth shut.

At the top of the cliff, the old man points at a sheer-sided island in the distance, telling me that it is the Island of Fury. This island, apparently, is owned by one Cragcliff, a ruler who delights in filling its dangerous caverns with treasure to lure in the foolish and the greedy. I was about to suggest that this place sounded like it was performing a valuable service by weeding out the idiots who lived nearby, when the old man says it has claimed four of his sons. Foot in mouth avoided. Technically, the youngest did come back but he was mute and maddened by the experience, so I wasn’t really going to quibble about his “Loss Count” either.

The wind is really howling up on the cliff and I’m starting to wish I wasn’t standing there wearing only a loin-cloth. You’d be amazed at how little protection a sword strapped to your back offers against the elements. Nevertheless, I turn my back to the distant island and give it a try. Nope, still fucking freezing. The old chap is babbling about how he wants someone to go to the island and steal as much treasure as possible. He admits it won’t bring his sons back but thinks that the feeling of having deprived Cragcliff of his treasure will give him some kind of bitter joy.

He sniffs and looks at me silently for a moment before asking if I’ll do it. He tells me that I can keep any treasure that I’m able to bring back with me. I look over my shoulder at the island, trying not to focus on how far the goosebumps are rippling down by body. It looks stormy out there, moody my old Mum would say. I turn back to him and nod. I could do with a good adventure. I lost a month to trying to get an Adventuring Permit a short while ago, and it has played merry hell with my income for the year to date.

The next few pages of the book yank me out of the story and explain how to play, telling me to set the Strength Counter to 6 and that when it gets to 0, my character is dead. It then warns me to set my Treasure Counter to 0, half implying that I’m the sort of cheeky chap who might set it to 2 and give myself a head start. I’m almost offended. I’m told about how the dice work, how the blue one represents me and the red one the monster. It then explains how the battles work, how all monsters fight to the death but if my character gets wounded, he loses one strength and has to flee. Doesn’t sound very heroic to me but okay. I just want to get started.

So I get started. I row away from the shore in a little row-boat, bumping along on the waves. It’s still bloody cold, and now I’m getting wet too. Joy. As I near the island, I see a number of chasms looming in its side that I can choose to enter. This is the first decision that the book has given me, wanting me to flip to a certain page depending on the choice that I want to make. I opt for the middle chasm, as I’ve always been a fan of taking the middle way, the path between extremes.

As I near my chasm of choice, much howling and screeching arises from deep inside, as if the creatures on the island have sensed that I am here. Well, scream and howl all you want beasties! It’s the silent stuff that I can never see coming that makes me uneasy. A stealthy goblin stole some of my gold once. It wasn’t the loss that bothered me, just the fear that he could have slit my throat while he was at it. I look over my shoulder and then feel foolish. I’m in a row-boat for goodness sake! I make it to the shore and I’m given the option to rest awhile if I’d like to. The rudeness of the old man is still fresh in my mind, making me trek so far without a care to my well-being, so I opt to rest.

I rest for a very lazy and languid ten minutes. Why only ten? Well the noises coming from deeper in the chasm do start to niggle at my courage and resolve. You see, I’m a barbarian very much in touch with his emotional side, and I know when I’m bullshitting myself. Most of the time anyway. Ten minutes seems the ideal length of time to rest, yet not let my mettle weaken too much. Every time my eyes close, the screeches get louder too! They know I’m here and they are deliberately robbing me of rest! Paranoia is something I also dabble in, as you can probably tell.

I stand and stretch as the thought crosses my mind that it will be even colder once I go inside. Unless, I think hopefully, it’s some kind of hell-spawn pit with fire and brimstone. That would actually be quite nice, under the circumstances. I could dry off if nothing else. I enter the chasm and all the screeching and wailing falls silent. Now they definitely know I’m here! This isn’t paranoia! All I can hear as I move forward are my footsteps, steps that echo back louder than I’d really like. It almost sounds like I’m being followed by a pirate with a wooden-leg. I soon realise that I have a stone stuck in the sole of one boot, which is a bit of a relief.

As I move deeper, the cavern I’m inside merges with two more, likely the paths that I didn’t take when I made my choice for the middle chasm. The whole thing narrows into a tunnel as I wonder what pitfalls I avoided in the other two. I hope they were nasty, just so that I can feel a bit smug. Flickering torches begin to appear on the walls, setting me to pondering the question of if they are magically induced or kept going by minions. I briefly ponder what the economy of a dark lord might consist of. Underlings don’t come cheap. It’s while my head is full of, well, overheads, that I practically stumble on the first monster of my adventure.

An ape-like thing snarls at me, all narrow-eyes and flared nostrils. It has a big “Fuck-off!” sword next to it, but it’s holding a big “Try it punk!” diamond in its claw. That type of diamond is the best! I decide to fight it for it, ignoring the option to avoid it. I turn to the applicable page and catch my breath. It needs to be wounded 8 times before it will die! I could understand if it was some kind of land-based octopus, having to lop off each tentacle first, but even that might need 9 wounds if we include the killing blow. Actually 8 might work if you don’t mind waiting for the loss of blood to kill it. Does an octopus have blood? Ichor? A snarl brings me back to the ape thing. Focus.

I loosely hold the dice in my right hand and roll them on the floor in front of me. This is real life me, not barbarian me. Meeting a snarling creature and promptly bending down to roll wooden cubes in front of it isn’t that conducive to survival. Unless, I guess, you find yourself up against a monster partial to a bit of gambling. The first roll tells me that the creature bashes my shield with its sword. I’d expected to be wounded and to run away on my very first roll, so this was a bit of a result.

Roll two has the exact same outcome, another shield bash, sending shock-waves up my arm. The next roll results in my shield being raised as the creature just stares at me. So much for the rule of three that Hollywood abuses in almost every blockbuster. Where was that third strike on my shield? Blasphemy! It’s on the fourth roll that I wound it with a darting sword strike. Haha! How do you like that ape monster!

The fifth roll results in it staring at my shield again. I wish I was a bit more proactive, that shield is coming up so often its embarrassing. Next, I land another wound. Just six more to go! I still don’t think I'll achieve the kill but I’m persistent if nothing else. Roll seven sees it looking at my shield again. I feel myself beginning to blush. Roll eight is another deft sword strike from my good self. Five wounds left for the win!

Roll nine is my shield and its face again. Damn it! Roll ten just shows our faces glaring at each other. Should battles to the death be this awkward? Roll eleven has my shield raising in-front of its face. Again. Roll twelve gives me something new, our weapons actually clash! I listen to the sharp “ting” of metal echoing away down the tunnel. It lasts for far longer than I expected. Roll thirteen sees my shield raised in its face again. Of course it is. Roll fourteen is the same thing... yet again!

This creature must think I’m such a coward! Roll fifteen sees me wound it once more! Just four more wounds needed! Then it happens. Roll sixteen sees it cut an angry gash along my right arm, sending my hulking barbarian running down the tunnel, screeching that he doesn’t want to play any more! Shit.

I reduce my Strength Counter by one and use it as a bookmark to hold my place. Not the best of starts, already weakened, no loot and a character already struggling with paranoia and afraid of what the monsters he is fighting must think of him. I hope he doesn’t run into a trap in his panic. Best case scenario he runs into a wall, knocks himself out and has a nice little nap. Otherwise, part two will be pretty damn short.

***

If you enjoyed reading about my adventure so far, join me again soon for Part Two of my delve into the Caves of Fury, coming next weekend.

Book Review – The Mammoth Book of Kaiju

Book Review – The Mammoth Book of Kaiju

Review by Casey Douglass

Kaiju are back in focus once again, due in no small part to the Pacific Rim sequel hitting cinema screens around the country. If you are in the mood for yet more monster-created destruction, The Mammoth Book of Kaiju is a fairly hefty tome (580ish pages) that manages to squeeze in twenty seven tales featuring all kinds of leviathan-based shenanigans.

Blurb: Now, for the first time, a definitive anthology that gathers a wide range of larger-than-life short fiction with creatures that run a gargantuan gamut: the stealthy gabbleduck of Neal Asher's Polity universe; Gary McMahon's huge sea-born terror; An Owomoyela's incredibly tall alien invaders; Frank Wu's city-razing, eighty-foot-high, fire-breathing lizard; Lavie Tidhar's titanic ship-devouring monstrosity; a really big Midwest US smack-down related by Jeremiah Tolbert . . . and many more mega-monster stories to feed your need for killer kaiju!

I did dabble with the idea of giving a short opinion on each story, but with twenty seven to do, I think I`’ll just mention the ones that really grabbed me.

The Lighthouse Keeper of Kurohaka Island, by Kane Gilmour creates a world in which only first-born teenagers can see the world as it really is. That tropical storm devastating an island is actually a kaiju fighting with another creature, but the adults just can’t see it, save a select few who never lost their ability. I really liked this tale as the idea of people not being able to see creatures of this size was something that I hadn’t encountered before.

Postcards From Monster Island, by Emily Devenport is a tale with a different tone. An ill person finds themselves trapped in a city being “ravaged” by strange creatures. The difference with this tale is that they are not as hostile as they first seem. A refreshing change from the usual murderous tone of kaiju actions.

Seven Dates That Were Ruined by Giant Monsters, by Adam Ford. This tale is exactly as it sounds, following a truly luckless individual as they try to find love, but are thwarted each time by bloody monsters kicking off and ruining things. There is a comical element to this story and I quite enjoyed the way the existence of monsters is normalized. A little like opening the fridge and finding a baby kraken in the bottled water. Instead of screaming, it’s a case of “Oh bloody hell, not again!”

Running by Martin Livings. We live in a world were people love to do extreme things, like running ultra-marathons across deserts or parachuting from space. This story sees a group of runners that want to get in on the earth-rippling ground-shaking opportunity a walking kaiju presents. Again, a very novel tale that made me think about something that had never occurred to me before.

The Kansas Jayhawk vs. The Midwest Monster Squad, by Jeremiah Tolbert. This story is set in a world in which kaijus are created as part of the daikaiju economic stimulus plan, a plan for a post-scarcity economy in which there is a surplus of human labour. These kaiju roam particular areas and fight their neighbours, the damage they cause creating jobs and industry as they go. This tale follows a group of friends who want to get as close as possible to the action, but I must admit that I found the backdrop to the tale a little more interesting than the relationships between the humans.

The Mammoth Book of Kaiju is an eclectic read. Many tales feature stronger sci-fi elements, others are set in more traditional fantasy worlds. What unites them all is a love of the massive, the powerful, and the way that humans react when their status is reduced to that of a flea on a dog’s back. A few of the tales were a little too “weird” for me to really connect with, but I still valued reading them none the less. The Mammoth Book of Kaiju probably has at least a few tales that anyone would enjoy, and I would say that I thoroughly enjoyed at least twenty of the twenty seven tales. If you like large monsters, you should definitely check it out.

I bought this book with my own money.

Book Title: The Mammoth Book of Kaiju

Author: Various

Publisher: Robinson

ISBN: 978-1-4721-3564-3

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Dark Fiction: Gobbling Goblins

Gobbling Goblins

A Digby and Nurn Tale

Written by Casey Douglass 

 

This is another story featuring unlucky adventurers Digby and Nurn. The first tale, The Sword of Infinite Possibilities, can be found here. Anyone that has already read the first one will probably notice that Nurn speaks in a normal way in this one, I decided to drop the simpleton aspect of his character. Oh, and it's quite adult in nature.

‘You’re going into goblin country then lads?’ the moon-faced shop proprietor beamed.

‘Unfortunately,’ Digby sighed. He didn’t like sighing. It often meant that the next bigger in breath carried with it a choking dose of whatever odour surrounded him, which at this time was stale sweat, polished wood and tobacco.

There was a clatter of clanking armour and the rattle of toppling swords from somewhere near the window.

‘Hey!’ the moon bellowed. ‘Watch what you’re doing over there you clumsy sod!’

Digby’s chin lifted as he looked up at the ceiling. He hadn’t intended to, but when you roll your eyes as forcefully as that, you have to expect some momentum. ‘Nurn you’re drunk! I told you to wait outside!’

A helmet rolled and teetered along the floor before resting against the side of Digby’s boot. A small hiccup sounded from behind the racks. ‘Sozzy!’

Digby looked back at the merchant. ‘I want a box.’

The moon ratcheted up to full beam. ‘A box! Yes sir! Right away!’

Nurn popped up beside Digby, his legs and body seeming to dangle from his head. ‘Abotts?’

‘A box.’

‘Oh a boksh! Wash that for Digs?’

‘To preserve our innocence.’

‘Howz a woonen box gonna do that Digshee?’

‘It’s metal.’

‘An wasss it protectoring us from?’

‘Goblins.’

‘Goshlins?’

‘Yes Nurn, remember? That’s the whole reason you got drunk in the first place!’

Nurn swayed and rubbed his forehead. He muttered and shook his head. ‘Goshlins. Goglins. Oh, Digs, shit! Goblins!’

Digby caught Nurn’s arm as Nurn tried to retrieve the flask from his pocket. ‘Don’t you dare! We’ve got an early start!’

‘But they’ll de-de-deffffial us!’

‘Hence the box Nurn!’

Nurn twisted out of Digby’s grasp and made a run for it. It wasn’t a straight dash. Digby watched as Nurn seemed to hit almost every display and cabinet along the way. The valiant effort ending as Nurn’s head thunked into the door frame, followed by the deeper, skittles-falling-down noise of his body crumpling beneath him.

‘Peace and quiet at last,’ Digby muttered.

Nurn woke moments after his head bounced off something hard, something that rang out with a clang. He also realised that he was moving.‘Arrgh bloody hell! Stop! Stop!’

Whatever it was stopped. He squinted against the glaring light of the sun as a silhouette loomed over him.

‘You’re finally awake then,’ Digby said.

Nurn rubbed his head. ‘Where are we? What’s this?’

‘Don’t freak out Nurn, we can’t afford it here.’

‘Here?’

‘Goblin territory.’

Nurn sat up and swivelled around, his eyes wider than a cow’s backside. ‘Goblin territory?’

Digby’s hand clamped over Nurn’s mouth.‘Yes Nurn, and I’ve been dragging your hungover arse for three hours. You know very well that we need to cross this area to get to the big city where we can offload this fucking sword and actually make some decent money. This box nearly cleaned us out.’

Nurn blew through Digby’s fingers and nodded. The hand floated away. ‘Okay Digs, okay.’ He put his hands on the side of the box and lifted himself out, swaying a little as his legs woke up. ‘Not really a box though is it? Looks more like a coffin.’

‘I know. We need to bundle into it at the first sign of trouble.’

‘And that’ll keep ‘em out?’

‘The shop-keep said he was optimistic about our chances,’ Nurn replied, doing a passable impression of the man.

Nurn kicked the side of the box. It gave a dull boom. He appraised their surroundings, seeing little but a dirt track and towering trees that butted up against it on either side. Something chittered deep in the foliage. He shivered. Saying nothing more, he moved to the strapping that stretched ahead of the heavy box and began to drag it through the dirt. The sooner they were out of goblin territory, the sooner he could relax.

As is often its way, the sun, once it reached its highest point, seemed to fall out of the sky with alarming swiftness, the shadows cast by the dense forest almost visibly sweeping the brown leaf-strewn ground ahead of the two weary men.

Digby had been walking behind Nurn ever since his companion had taken it upon himself to drag the box. He watched the nervous glances that Nurn shot into the denser, darker areas of green, scouting for goblins ready to pounce on his head. ‘I think we need to stop now and make camp, we need to prepare.’

Nurn halted, letting the straps slide from his hands. ‘If you say so.’

‘You don’t sound optimistic.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Me either.’

Nurn turned, his mouth hanging open. ‘What?!’

‘I’m just being honest. We might be okay, we might not, who can say?’

Digby watched Nurn stomp to the side of the track, wrap his arms around a tree and quietly begin to weep into the rough bark. He knew that he probably shouldn’t have been so blunt, he was just tired of babying Nurn. Why should he be the only one to have to shoulder all of the responsibility while Nurn got drunk and generally got in the way. He moved towards his friend. ‘Look Nurn, I’m sor-.’

The goblin hit the ground between them with a clumsy thud, its feet whipping out from under it on the leafy surface. Digby lunged forward in an attempt to grab hold of its neck. It rolled and babbled, its small frame and oily green skin soon covered with leaves and pine needles. It shimmied to one side as Digby’s fingers grasped thin air. It paused for a moment, its tiny mouth opening under its hooked nose, hobnail teeth glinting. It reached down and began to play with its green penis, shrieking in glee. 

It exploded. Not in that way, but by way of a heavy log being smashed into its body. One minute there was a masturbating goblin, the next, a different kind of wood occupying the space where its body used to be, a green smear leaking out around the edges.

‘I fucking hate goblins!’ Nurn screamed. ‘Dirty little fuckers!’

Digby was still looking down at the log. ‘I didn't know you had that in you!’

‘Yeah, well...’ Nurn muttered, his usually cherubic expression showing hints of red and dark anger.

A great chittering began in the trees, like a flock of birds all practising their ventriloquy acts at once.

‘The box! Get into it now!’ Digby yelled.

They both ran to the metal shape, heaved the lid and consecutively entered. The lid slammed shut above them. Digby, who happened to be laying on his back, reached around Nurn and fastened the locks. Nurn, who was laying face down on top of Digby, did his best to shift around so that Digby could finish his task.

‘Okay. Okay. They're all secure,’ Digby said near Nurn’s ear.

‘Now what?’

‘We wait it out.’

Nurn blew threw his clenched teeth. ‘Fucking goblins!’

The goblin assault on the metal box went on for hours. Just as it sounded like it might be abating, the clangs and bangs started up again, almost deafening the two travellers.

‘Digs, is this thing airtight?’

‘No, there are some tiny holes in different places along its edges.’

‘Oh. That’s good then.’

‘We’d be dead by now if it wasn’t.’

‘Mmm.’

A thud inches from Nurn’s head made him flinch.

‘How long do you reckon we’ll be in here?’

‘Depends.’

‘On...?’

‘Well, some more travellers might come and chase them off. It might rain, they don’t like water. Anything could happen really.’

A shrieking cackle sounded off to the right somewhere.

‘If anything could happen, what’s the worst that could happen?’ Nurn asked.

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘Balance I guess.’

‘Well...anything that results in the box being opened would go badly for us. Or, they might muster enough brain power to push us off a cliff or something, maybe into water... or...’

‘I think I’m balanced now.’

‘Or they might get help. Sorry, I know you said you’d had enough but shit, I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘Help?’

‘Yes. Maybe a troll or something. They’d have to lure it here, keeping well out of its way, and they would have to resign themselves to not having complete bodies to violate after it had cracked the box and torn us apart.’

‘Shh Digs! It’s all gone quiet!’

‘I know.’

‘Digs, what’s that sound?’

‘That bellowing roar? Like someone gargling a mouthful of boulders?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘A troll is coming.’

‘That’s why you floated it as an option?’

‘Mmm hmm. I heard it in the distance awhile ago.’

They both listened as heavy footsteps vibrated through the ground, making the walls of the box hum and creak. Then they stopped, all falling still once more.

‘What’s it doing?’

‘Nothing good for us.’

With a tremendous bang the box shot sideways, its two occupants grasping each other tightly as it jolted and flipped along the ground. Neither screamed, shouted or cried, it was enough of an effort to not throw up. The direction changed with a twisting sense of vertigo as the box bounced off something, before it came to rest with both passengers lying on their sides. A roar sounded again, supported by tinny goblin voices cheering from on high.

‘Oh blow this!’ Digby shouted. ‘I’m not going through another round of that!’ He began to squirm.

‘What are you doing?’ Nurn cried.

‘I’ve an idea.’

Digby groped behind himself and, with a small ‘Aha!’ slammed his hand against the box. A flap in the wall behind him swung slightly on hits hinge. ‘Stay here!’ With that, he rolled backwards and disappeared from Nurn’s sight.

‘Digby!’

Nurn heard the troll roar, then, Digby’s yell. The footsteps thundered in an uneven rhythm this time, a new sound now emerging. It sounded like mewling. Nurn screamed as the flap half-lifted, Digby’s voice hissed: ‘Out! We’re running, right now!’

Nurn rolled out and ran. He ran like he’d never run before, his friend and companion panting and dashing next to him. He risked a glance back and saw the massive troll swarming with green bodies. He made a mental note and then put all his effort into keeping up with Digby, who was beginning to stretch his lead. The sun dropped further, the twilight of dusk urging them on, and they obliged.

After some time, Digby slowed his pace, checking around and behind and noting that they were not being pursued.

‘Alright Nurn, we can probably just walk quickly now.’

Nurn blew out a lungful of air, partly to relax, partly in anticipation of sucking in more sweet oxygen. His heart hammered like a drunken blacksmith at the anvil.

‘What the hell happened back there Digs?’

‘A calculated risk.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I remembered that trolls wear trousers.’

‘And...?’

‘I rolled out of the box and managed to wend my way around the dumb beast. When I got behind him, I yanked his trousers down.’

‘I’m still not getting it.’

‘I was betting that the randy goblins would soon overcome their fear if they were turned on enough, if they were given a big enough target. Between the big arse and hanging low fruit between his legs, they frenzied and launched at him. That’s when I snuck around, got you out, and you know the rest.’

‘Wow! Just wow!’

‘I know. Crazy stuff.’

‘I wonder who’ll win?’

‘Well, he was popping them like zits, but I saw a fair few latching onto his, err, delicate parts. I’m not going back to find out!’

‘I don’t blame you! But what are we going to do now?’

‘We keep moving and hope we don’t meet any more. There’s nothing else for it, we have no other options.’

‘Do you think we’ll make it to the city?’

Digby stole a look at Nurn. ‘I’m sure we’ll be fine.’ He saw Nurn smile.

‘That’s good Digs, that’s really good.’

They shuffled on as the night approached, the moon beginning to rise in the distance, its pale cratered face looking down on a forest in which the shift was changing, the daytime creatures winding down, the night-time denizens licking their razor teeth. Oh, and a troll with a very sore backside.

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Dark Book Review - Mogworld

I take a look at Yahtzee Crowshaw’s Mogworld over on Amongst Geeks, the latest website that I am contributing articles to. Mogworld is a comical fantasy novel that pokes fun at a lot of gaming's tropes and rules. A great read. You can read my review here.

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Dark Distractions Anthology Volume One is Out Now!

I am happy to announce that nearly every one of my short story and flash fiction posts on this blog from the last couple of years (spanning March 2012 to July 2014) is now bound up in this handy Kindle eBook. Dark Distractions Anthology Volume One is available from Amazon now and is the most simple way to kick back and read my dark fiction in comfort.

"Unlike some first time authors who rely solely on details of gore and bloody scenarios, Casey Douglass opts instead for story and character progression. And it works so well, you’ll be lost in those characters. Whether it’s a short piece of flash fiction or a medium size tale, you feel as if you’re in the world they are in." Dave - Horror Cabin.

Amazon.com = $0.99

Amazon.co.uk = £0.99

It is also available on Amazon sites in other regions by searching for my name or the title.

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