Saturday, October 8, 2011

Poppet, Nevermore

Nightmare Fuel, Brain-Child of  Bliss Morgan
Day 8 Prompt


Prompt Artist Unknown


Poppet, Nevermore

Great care was taken as he surgically cut out her eyes. The thump of his heart was a drum in his ears.

"Don't worry, my love. We will be together soon."

His hands were steady as he placed them in a bed of soft cotton. He gently moved the mask into place. His poppet was finished.

Opening the old, tattered tome, he spoke. Old words he knew not the gravity of.

He waited, wondering if he'd done everything precisely right. The offerings, the directions, the colors. Everything he'd spent months preparing for. The doll exhaled, its voice a slow whisper.

"What is this?"

The eyes peered mercilessly from behind the white mask. Hunger leaked from its lidless expression. He stumbled over his words, unsure how to tell her what he'd done.

"I've kept you alive, my love."

Simple. She didn't have to know the intricacies. In fact, he knew nothing of the consequences of his actions, but she did. This bodyless soul. She already felt it growing inside her.

"I need to feed."

"On what?"

"The living."

He swallowed, lump growing in his throat. Threw on his coat and hat, pulling it over his eyes as he walked against the rain. His thoughts churned violently, landing where any rational man's would. Prostitutes.

"Need a date, handsome?"

"Yeah, let's go to my place."

"You good for it?"

"Here."

Her eyes widen at the roll of money. She stuffs it in her stocking and they quickly head to the house at the bottom of the hill. He nearly drags her inside. High heeled steps wobble, unsure.

Slammed door shakes the pictures as he drags her, screaming. Into the room with the poppet. His wife.

"Kill her, so I may live."

He takes the athame from the table and plunges it into her chest many times. Afterward, there's quiet. Like the calm before a storm.

The poppet changes slowly, growing larger. Taking form.

She steps forward to touch him, not a doll anymore.

The mask is bound to her face, but she's a poppet nevermore.

Monday, October 3, 2011

The Granddaughter



Nightmare Fuel (Awesome brainchild of Bliss Morgan)
Day 3 Prompt

Prompt photo courtsey of Beanhugger on DeviantArt
http://beanhugger.deviantart.com





“Potions for sale!  Cure what ails you.”  


Thin lips curved into a slight smile as the little village came into view.

“Where’s your grandfather, child?” 


A gnarled finger pointed at her with contempt.  


“He’s a day’s travel behind me,  Miss.  I’ve got all of his wares here with me.”  


The old woman’s eyes squinted tightly as she studied the girl. 


“These roads are no place for children on their own.  Your grandfather needs a talking to.”  


“Thank you, Miss.  Is there anything I can get for you?”  


She wrung her twisted, knobby hands. 

“Yes, child.  Give me the tonic for my Rheumatism.  Have you eaten today?”  


“No, Miss.  Not yet.”  


She thrust the milky glass into the woman’s hand.   The sound of coin clanked as it fell into the glass jar affixed to the side of the wood.  


I’ll bring you some food, child, and tell the others you’ve arrived.” 


Looking away, her small cheeks reddened, “You’re too kind.”  


She hobbled away, slowly shuffling toward the inn. 

Lurking in the shadow of a crumbling building, a man with a dirt-smeared face motioned to her and disappeared behind the structure.   She briefly glanced toward the inn, making sure that the old woman was not approaching.  She snaked down onto the ground, her tiny bare feet hardly touching the grass as she ran.

“Were you successful?  Samhain approaches and I will need another host.”  


 “Yes, before the sun rises in the morn, meet me on the road east of the city.  Travel until you reach the thick forest.”  


The man’s hands shook, his voice soft.  She placed a small sack in his hand, glass clanked against itself from within.  


“This will save your wife from the illness.  Your service will not be forgotten.”  


He bowed his head and spun on his heels, rushing back into the main area of town.

She smiled, happy with herself, quickly returning to her post.  The old woman appeared with a basket of food large enough to feed a family. 


 “How much, Miss?”  


“You’re hungry, girl.  Take this gift I offer you.”  


Her cheeks screamed red in protest to this woman’s kindness.  If only she knew the truth.  The woman left before she could argue.

A stream of people came and went, almost completely wiping out her inventory.  Many questioned her about her grandfather’s whereabouts but no one pressed the issue.  It was amazing what a soft smile could hide.

When the moon began to rise and she’d made her last transaction.  Drawing the rich red curtains tight, she prepared for her journey.  She’d leave before daybreak to meet the man she’d caught in her web.   Carefully unrolling a scroll, she studied the incantation.

She didn’t sleep at all, hoping that the man would live up to his end of the bargain.  Nervous, her mouth puckered as she whistled her secret signal to the horse.  Slowly, he carried her east.  Through the city and the foothills, past the good road.  When she reached the forest they waited.  She pulled the heavy curtains open wide. 

Just as promised, as the sun’s golden light shone through the thick trees, they emerged from the west.  Whimpering protest came from within the old cart.  


“ I've brought her.  She’s a slave from the castle, so don’t take her there.  No one in the villages will know her face.”  


She took his hand as she stepped down, trying not to show her excitement as they approached his offering.  


“She’ll do.  Thank you.  We’ll be back next year.”  


One side of her mouth snuck in a smirk. 

The man put the girl in the carriage, bound and squealing.   She whistled, drawing the curtain closed and they traveled into the night.  Eventually, she untied the slave.  Offering food from the basket with a soft smile, she was lulled into a sense of safety. 

Many nights she’d prepared.  The scroll was no longer even necessary anymore.  As the moon rose straight above her carriage, she gave the horse the signal to stop. 


“Let’s rest awhile before we try to find your home.”  


The girl nodded, almost flopping onto the blanket stretched across the floor.  Her breaths grew longer, until they spoke of blissful vulnerability. 

She stood, going through the motions familiar to her each year.  Calling through the thin veil to the Other Side, she chanted.  Only when she was sure they could hear her plea, she left the body currently occupied.  The evacuated body dropped to the floor, lifeless.  Hovering, the smoky wisp caressed the slave girl’s face.  It pooled around her mouth, disappearing as she inhaled unknowingly.

The slave girl’s eyes opened wide and she stood. 


"What a pity, that was a lovely body.”  


She used all her strength to push the limp, crumpled form from the carriage.  With a whistle, she was on her way.



 Image Source:

Sunday, October 2, 2011

"Hallo-Month" Rejoice!

So, Rachel had this lovely idea (check out her post here) about posting some creepy-crawly Halloween time stories.  I thought it was a wonderful idea so I'm carrying it over here.  This is my favorite time of year.  People don't cock their head quite as far when they look at me during times of approved cosplay.  Tonight's musing is brought to you by a box of wine and some very awesome music.  This is a bit out of my comfort zone, but I'm going with it.  I can't stay in this little box forever, can I?

-------------------------------

The carriage twisted and turned through the rutted, muddy road.  Rising up from the swampy sludge, mist puffed around the horses' feet.  Trails seemed to carve out of the heavy, sticky fog.  It seemed the horses had to work harder to get through it.

"Clarence, are you sure we'll make it?  The storm is closing in."

He sighed, a tiny puff escaping his steam-powered eye.  Curious this contraption was.  Looking into his eye, sprockets and gears could be seen in a flurry of movements in every which way.  An artificial pupil widened as another tiny puff released.  His hard, angular face was chiseled with time and battle scar.  He reached across to comfort the woman,

"Don't worry, Amoransa, we're close to the cabin now."

She took his hand into her own, trying to ignore the fact that they were being thrown about.  The horses' pounding gallop echoed in her head.  She stared at Clarence, wondering what would have become of her had he not rescued her.  Trying to slip him a smile, the world seemed to freeze in time.  

They tumbled off the road, the carriage rolling many times.  Every time they turned over time seemed to move even slower still.  She reached out to him when they finally stilled.  The aftermath of broken wood and glass crowding around her.  Blood spattered his clothing, and he struggled to free himself of the mess.  He shook his head furiously, rubbing the prosthetic eye.

"Amoransa!  Where are you?"

He dug himself free and kicked the door open enough to get outside.  Pulling herself out, she quickly checked herself for injury.  She seemed to be without a single mark.  Waving her hand in front of him,

"I'm right here.  Clarence, are you alright?" 

Panic set in as he looked for her.  His eye was malfunctioning and his stomach sank as he closed the lid around the useless device.  

"Amoransa, don't jest.  I can't find you."

He continued his frantic pacing, blood pooling on the fabric of his suit in many different places.  Dizzied steps forced him to kneel as the driver shuffled down the side of the hill and into view.

"Clarence, let me help you."

The kind-faced man helped him up.

"Did you see my fiance, driver?  She must have gotten thrown out."

The driver widened his eyes, "Let me help you sit down sir.  When you boarded in the city, you were alone, sir.  Maybe your head has been knocked about too hard."  Clarence squinted his eyes and shook his head.

"You can't be serious.  We were on the way to stay in my uncle's cabin for a getaway.  She was right here in the carriage with me."

The driver just shook his head.  "No, sir.  You were alone, I'd swear to it."

Clarence put his head in his hands and tried to think.  This was not right.  Not right at all.  

She stood in front of the two men, screaming.  Before Clarence, everyone had ignored her.  Like she didn't exist.  He was different, she thought.  Why was he acting this way?  Had he found out that she sipped the laudanum?  She tried in vain to get their attention a few last times before crumpling onto the ground to sob.

The driver and Clarence rode off on the backs of the horses after many hours of arguing, leaving her in the cold, wet swamp.  She threw stones at them and cursed as they passed.  Both of the men briefly looked back as she wailed, a cry of desperation and fury.



Friday, September 23, 2011

G+ (Google Plus) and Me

Just, wow.  In less than 24 hours I have connected with more kindred, writerly souls than I ever linked-up with before.  All the support and even the chatter has motivated me in ways that I haven't been in a long time.  I am in awe of the kind words, encouragement, and just plain love going out to the NaNoWriMo'ers all around the world.  I feel as though I'm a part of something.  Something big, important.  Lifting one another up, what a novel (heh heh) idea.  I can't wait to keep up with you all, patting you on the back, crying with you as we curse the dwindling clock.  Sappy though I may be, my heart has been touched in ways it hasn't since we all held hands across America when I was a kid.

I got a ton done on the front of organizing and outlining my new NaNoWriMo project.  Got two character bios completely finished and the main outline about 3/4 of the way done.  Now to hop back in and try a bit more before the night-night meds claim my thought processes.

Scrivener, please extend our Beta PC version to last until after NaNo!  I'd be lost without you now, you've reclaimed the office wall that used to hold Post-It's and replaced it with clean, un-jumbled space.

Good night, G+eniuses!

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Dear Camp NaNoWriMo,


You saved my life. Okay, well that's a bit dramatic. You saved my writing. That's a little better, but it doesn't show how much they really saved me. Trudging along with this mighty goal was so intimidating, but you and your FANTASTIC community made me get my ass in gear. What an inspiring group of people. You are the only reason I finished my book. Since you are also the reason I have blisters on my fingers and wrote 26 thousand words in 8 days, I did curse you a little. I'm sorry for that. I do love you, dear WriMos. Even when you scold me for being dramatic. Who ever said that people that write fiction aren't dramatic? It certainly was not me. And in other news...I got my first rejection letter today. You know what? I kept it. It's hanging above my computer to motivate me to get on with the editing. I'm sure that they will start coming back to me like wildfire, but getting a letter means that I finished this thing. If I only ever get rejection, that's okay too. I have had the time of my life on this epic adventure. Everyone had to start somewhere, and my start is hanging above my computer. With no personal reply.

Friday, August 26, 2011

Grandma drops in unannounced.

(Doorbell)
(What the hell? Enter: My 86 year old grandma)

Me: Oh hai, Grandma.

Grandma: It's 4 in the afternoon, why are you still in your pajamas?

Me: Because I was up all night writing?

Grandma: What? What were you writing?

Me: My book, Grandma. Come in.

Grandma: Ohhh..your "book". You know, I wrote a book about genealogy once. I could edit it for you.

Me: I don't think you'd like it. It's not your type. (Since you are adamant about how sex and demons are evil and all)

Grandma: You know, you should get a real job as a substitute teacher.

Me: We are fine, Grandma.

Grandma: Well, if you just came to church, those people would buy your book just to support you.

Me: I don't think they would like it.

Grandma: It's not one of those trash books is it?

Me: No, it's not trash.

Grandma: Well, I could edit it for you.

Me: That's okay, really.

Grandma: What did you say it was about again?

Me: It's an multidimensional love story about a girl who...

Grandma: You know...you would feel better if you slept when normal people do.

Me: ...

Grandma: I just came to check (up) on you, did you know that there are 10 soda cans on your end table?

Me: ...

Grandma: Okay, see you tomorrow.

Me: What's tomorrow?

Grandma: We can start editing your book.

Me: What? No, it's not done.

(Bangs head on door)

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Being Human: It takes one to know one

So I have an obsession with this show. Yes, we all realize that being a hermit and almost never leaving the house is unhealthy. That's why I love Sally. Although I am not a ghost, I'm a writer. I use that term loosely being as though I've just started pursuing this dream. My first novel, Burning Truth, is actually a work in progress now and no longer notebooks of scribbled ideas. It is starting to FEEL real, this dream of mine. Inside this world of otherworldly creatures I've lost myself. Like Sally, living in a reality that I'm really not a part of. Is it normal to spend most of your day inside your imagination? To forgo sleep just to keep trudging on, curious what twists and turns will come the way of your imaginary friends? Maybe it is and maybe it isn't. Who knows. All I know is that I'm having a blast. I can't wait to share Aveline and her story with you.