Normally, this would be where I share with you the latest story I cobbled together for this week’s challenge over at Chuck Wendig’s Terribleminds. But this week, I can’t do that.
Nope.
Chuck gave strict instructions this week. You can go here to find out what they are, and then hunt down my entry. I believe it’s towards the bottom of page three.
Good luck to everyone involved. The prize is pretty awesome.
Also, it’s a horror theme, so… sweet dreams.
This week Chuck at Terribleminds had us roll for our titles.
The boat’s small outboard motor lost its place as the only sound when Jessica spoke.
“I still don’t think this is a good idea.”
Carl rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’ve made that pretty clear. But we need you, Jess. You’re the one who looked up the legends in the first place.”
“They’re just legends. I don’t see why we have to come out here.”
“For the truth!” That came from John, who sat by the engine to steer the boat. “You said yourself there are a lot of unanswered questions about Lindsey Swanson and how she died.”
Jessica didn’t say anything. She stared into the fog. It wasn’t uncommon for the vast lake near their town to be blanketed in swirling gray, especially in the morning, but usually strong winds from the hills came down to clear things up, and let those living on the edge of the lake see the faint outline of the small island in the middle of the lake. But today, there was no wind. It was calm. Quiet. And silent.
Jessica felt another chill go through her body.
“It’ll be fine.” Carl gave Jessica a smile. “You’ve got the knowledge, John’s got the boat, I’ve got the gear. Not to mention the military training.”
“You’ve been in ROTC all of a semester and a half, dude.”
“Shut up, John, it’s still military training!”
“Quiet, both of you.” Jessica’s voice was a soft hiss. “We’re here.”
Up close, the island loomed out of the mists. The mound was mostly wooded, and Jessica’s research indicated a cabin sat in the middle of it. John leaned away from the outboard engine.
“Any chance someone’s still living there?”
“As far as anybody knows, it’s been abandoned since the 1880s.” Jessica crossed her arms. “Reports of people coming out here are sketchy, at best.”
“Not so sketchy anymore.” Carl pointed. “Look.”
On the shore of the island, a few boats lay scattered on the rocks. Two were aluminum canoes, one a wooden kayak, the others larger craft like the one they were using. Jessica turned to John, whose face had gotten considerably more pale. Carl pulled out his phone and started taking pictures.
“Instagram,” he told the others. “No way we’re getting lost without a trace, or anything.”
“Stop it.” John eased the motor down as they approached the shore. “There’s nothing here. It’s just trees and stuff.”
Jessica picked up her backpack, which contained a few flashlights, a bottle of water, her camera, and a notebook with her research and notes. Neither Carl nor John had brought much besides the contents of their jeans, as far as she could tell. John guided the boat within a few feet of the shore, and Carl hopped out of the boat to pull it up onto land. The three got out, and Jessica handed out the flashlights.
“Just in case we need them.”
“I’m telling you, there’s nothing here. We should just leave.”
“Come on, John, we’re already here. We might as well take a look around.”
“And if there’s nothing here, there’s nothing for us to worry about, right?” Jessica gave John a smile that belied the creeping feeling under her skin. “Let’s head up the hill and have a look.”
The fog made travelling through the forest slow. All three of them watched their footing more than anything else. As they approached the summit, a dark shape loomed out of the mists. Jessica felt, simultaneously, vindication for being right and an even more pronounced sense of dread.
“Okay. So, there’s a cabin. Great. Can we go now?”
Carl ignored John, reaching under his shirt. “You said nobody’s supposed to be leaving here, right, Jess?”
“Yeah, but…”
Carl produced a pistol and pulled back its slide, checking its action. “Just making sure.”
“What? Carl, why did you bring a gun?”
“I’m being prepared.”
“Jess brings flashlights and water and God knows what else, and all you can think to bring is a gun?”
“Look, your pencilneck…”
“Shut up, both of you!” Jessica wanted to yell, and struggled to keep her voice down. “Let’s just look inside, take some photos, and get out. Okay? Carl, put the gun away.”
“But…”
“Do it.” She walked past him and reached for the handle of the cabin door. It swung open on its own.
“I’m going back to the fucking boat-”
Before John could finish speaking, Carl grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into the cabin. Jessica rolled her eyes and followed. Their flashlights penetrated the gloom, moving over smashed plates, rotted food, animal carcasses, and floors stained with blood.
“Is it just the one floor?” Carl asked. Jessica shrugged. She looked past the threshold within the room to the bedroom, then moved her light over a metal ring set in the floor. A gentle tug opened the trapdoor, and she moved her flashlight to peer into the darkness.
“Looks like a root cellar.”
“I’m not going down there,” John whispered. “You can’t make me.”
“Now, listen, you little-”
In turning to face John, Carl bumped into Jessica, sending her down the dark stairs in a tumble. There weren’t many stairs, eight or so at most, but Jessica still managed to strike her head on one of them. For a moment, everything was dark.
A sharp, loud sound she’d never heard before snapped her back to her senses. She tried to stand, but the ceiling was low. She smelled smoke, like something burning, and looked up to see a thin haze at the top of the stairs.
“John? Carl?”
The sound, again, accompanied by a bright flash of light. Gunfire! It was a lot louder than on TV. Something moved in front of the cellar door – Jessica couldn’t make out what it was, but it almost looked like the hem of a white dress.
John came down the stairs, like he’d been tossed. His face was covered in blood, his eyes wide and unblinking.
Jessica screamed, and the cellar door slammed shut.
To conclude The Cooperative Cliffhanger I chose to finish the story started by Jessica called Counting Down.
Time is relentless. The seconds never stop ticking away, inching us closer to our destinies. Anise reflected on this as her mental countdown towards the execution got shorter and shorter. Two minutes, ten seconds. She looked at the back of the man in front of her. Will this make any difference? What will happen next?
The sirens began to sound and the raggedy man broke into the grin she’d seen before.
“Hear that? They finally noticed we’re not where we should be.”
Anise stayed close behind the man her grandfather sent, breathing mostly through her mouth, lest the smell of the drainage pipe crawl up her nostrils. She cast her eyes upward, as if she could see through the stone to the courtyard they now bypassed.
“Does this mean the execution won’t happen?”
“Oh, it’ll happen. Just not now. You’ve bought those men at least another day. See? You’re saving lives already.”
Anise didn’t feel like she was saving lives. She didn’t know how she was supposed to feel. Above her, the hangman’s noose meant for her neck hung empty. Soon, men and dogs would be scouring the prison for her. This was the reasoning behind the man using the drain; the stink of living waste and dead bodies would hide her scent. Or so he thought. Anise wasn’t sure. Dogs had powerful noses. And they knew how to track.
“Just a little farther.”
“How do you know your way through here?”
“This isn’t the first time I decided prison life wasn’t for me.”
It occurred to Anise that it was possible the man was a liar. That he wanted to keep her for his own nefarious purposes. But if that was the case, how would he have known about her grandparents? Or her real name? She shivered, drawing her grandmother’s shawl closer around her shoulders as they walked.
‘Just a little farther’ was another fifteen minutes of slow, careful, smelly trudging before he stopped by a small alcove in the wall. He went first up the metal rungs sticking out of the brickwork, towards wan sunlight filtered through a manhole cover. Gently, he pushed the metal plate up and aside, hauling himself through the hole. Anise followed, finding his hand waiting for her to help her up onto the street.
The city had grown organically which meant the prison was situated in the middle of some residential areas. Anise winced at the full brunt of the sirens coming from the high walls topped with barbed wires. The man beside her took hold of her shoulder, even as the crowd moving to and fro around them looked at them or towards the prison.
“Come along. Let’s get you safe.”
Anise stayed close to the man as they moved through the streets. Everywhere she looked, Anise saw faces of people devoid of hope, dressed in clothing stained and torn by their hard lives, eyes downcast to avoid the posters of propaganda and any sentries on the rooftops. They wove their way through the byways and alleys to reach a ramshackle rowhome several blocks from the prison.
Other men and women waited inside, and they greeted Anise with quiet enthusiasm. None of them were her grandfather, and the more she looked, the more worried she became. Finally, the man who’d freed her pulled her aside.
“I’m sorry he isn’t here. We have to keep you separate for now. It’s too dangerous otherwise. But there’s a way you can help him, and help all of us.”
Anise nodded. She was lead upstairs and sat at the desk. A woman adjusted dials as she waited. When she couldn’t stand it, she looked up at the man and asked.
“What’s your name?”
“Call me Mickey.”
“Mickey… what do I say?”
“Whatever is in your heart.”
She took a deep breath. The woman nodded to Mickey, who bent over Anise to turn on the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt your regularly-scheduled government-mandated programming for a special announcement.”
He looked at Anise and smiled. Anise took another breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she began to speak.
“My name is Anastasia. Six months ago, I was a princess. I lived in the palace on the hill. The one that’s been dark since the Duke and his allies in the military stormed it. My mother and father did not survive this attack. I managed to escape, changing my name, moving from place to place until I was captured and sentenced to die.”
She paused.
“I was sentenced to die because I was born into the family that has looked after this kingdom for 300 years. From what I understand, we were a prosperous people. Not always happy, but prosperous. You were taken care of. Some went hungry but others helped. Now, look around. Look at the kingdom now. More are hungry. Fewer are around to help. Families have been put to death and the streets run with the blood of the innocent in ways that have not been seen in centuries.”
She looked at Mickey and the others in the room. A crowd had gathered. Some were weeping. She went on.
“If you can hear my voice, know that you are not alone. You are not forgotten. In their grab for power, the Duke and his allies have forgotten that the first office of a ruler is to care for the people under their rule. The Duke doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care if your children starve. I do.
“And mark my words. Your pain will not be forgotten. It will be visited upon the Duke and those that stand with him tenfold.”
Somewhere in the distance, something exploded. More sirens sounded. Mickey took hold of Anise’s arm, but she kept her finger on the microphone’s button.
“Please. For my sake, for the memory of my parents, your king and queen, do not give up. Never give up. We fight for a better tomorrow. All of us must fight. Mother, Father, I’m coming home!”
What follows is my contribution to The Cooperative Cliffhanger, Part One, over at Terribleminds.
She was pushing herself through the third squeeze she’d found when she heard his voice again.
“Your heart rate is elevated, Doctor Simmons. Everything okay?”
Simmons sighed. “I’m starting to regret letting the med-techs wire me up. Other than that, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“Okay. We’re not getting picture at the moment.”
Simmons grunted as she pushed herself another inch through the squeeze. “That’s because I’m moving through a subterranean rock formation barely wide enough for my body, Eddleston. You’re going to have to wait until I make it through.”
“I’m just telling you what the situation is up here. Howards wanted to remind you that champagne is waiting for you back on the Cousteau.”
“Did you hear that?”
“No. What?”
“That was me… urgh! …rolling my eyes.”
In truth, Simmons knew that they wouldn’t be here without Howards and his millions. He was, after all, the contractor with the wherewithal to pick up on what the military would have passed off as echoes in sonar readings from their subs. A man accustomed to having only the best, he’d sought out the world’s foremost speleologist, which is how Simmons met him. In truth, she admitted to herself as she reached the end of the squeeze that she preferred talking to Eddleston. A fellow academic, even if their fields weren’t terribly related, Eddleston at least was able to hold a conversation with her on cavern structure and other areas. She wondered often how an archaeologist knew so much about caves, and when asked, Eddleston just shrugged and said “I like to know where I might have to go.”
She took a deep breath when she emerged from the squeeze. The caves had been formed by lava flows, leaving the rock faces smooth and slightly spongy to the touch. She knelt and reached back to pull her backpack through the bottom of the squeeze, which had been wide enough for her feet. A meter up, it had been so narrow that her torso had barely made it through. She took a moment to readjust her suit, and make sure her helmet was secure on her head. The lamp on the helmet’s left side cast wan light through the cavern before her. She tapped the camera on the right side.
“Do you have picture now?”
“Yes!” Eddleston sounded more relieved than anything. “Thank you, Doctor. I’m sorry if I’ve been too intrusive; you must be used to exploring caves on your own.”
“It’s the first time I’ve been down a shaft carved with industrial lasers. I think we’re all a little unnerved.” She looked around, taking her time to pan the camera. “I’m not seeing another squeeze or any branching tunnels. I’m going to proceed ahead.”
“Roger. This is about where the Navy’s readings ended. We don’t know what’s beyond this point.”
“Correction. We don’t know yet.”
There was a pause on Eddleston’s end as she made her way forward. Then, she heard him chuckling.
“What?”
“Howards reiterated how much he admires your attitude.”
“Wonderful. It’d be nice if he weren’t so obvious about how much he admires my ass, too.”
“They did make that environmental suit a little form-fitting. Are you comfortable?”
“It’s warm down here. Is all of the volcanic activity dormant?”
“That’s what the seismology indicates. Howards said that lava was, and I’m quoting, ‘the least of our worries’.”
Simmons frowned. “A bit dramatic for the inside of a dormant undersea volcano.”
“You know, there could be more than that down there.”
“I still don’t buy it.”
“Myths have basis in fact as well as folklore. If we find nothing, we find nothing. But if we find something…”
“James, I admire your tenacity, but there’s a reason people stopped giving you grants. A few bits of difficult-to-identify metals aren’t enough to substantiate your claims.”
“I know. I’m trying not to get my hopes up. But I have to admit, the possibilities…”
“Hold on.” She looked up. “Are you seeing this?”
Behind what seemed at first to be a turn in the tunnel, Simmons saw something reflecting the light of her lamp. She walked over to it and, after a moment, touched it. Through her glove, she felt a chill.
“What is it?”
“Metal,” Simmons said, “at least I think so.”
She pulled a climbing axe out of her belt, chipping away at the solidified magma. A few minutes later, she stepped back to look at what she’d uncovered.
“It… it looks like a hatch.”
“I knew it.” Eddleston’s excitement was palpable even over the wireless radio. “Can you open it?”
“There’s a handle, let me…” She put her hands around what seemed to be the handle, and gave it a tug. It moved, slowly, and after a moment she was able to turn it. The hatch opened inward, and she stepped into a short metal corridor, facing another hatch, this one without a handle. Her foot touched a skeleton at her feet, and she gagged.
“Stinks in here.”
“Rotten eggs?”
“Yeah.”
“Trapped sulfur from the lava. This poor soul must have been locked in here when it happened.”
“There’s writing here.” She ran her fingers over the embossed symbols on the inner hatch, and the small circular hole in its center. “I can’t make it out.”
“It’s definitely similar to what I found in Madagascar. Let me see if I can find any similar characters.”
Simmons knelt, picking up something from the hand of the skeleton. She tried not to look at the skull’s empty sockets or open jaw. She held the object up to her lamp. It was a cylinder, copper in color, that caught the light and reflected multiple colors.
“James…?”
“That’s orichalcum! The highly conductive and extremely durable metal used throughout Atlantis. I’m certain of it!”
“James, are you saying that…?”
There was a burst of static in the radio. “Doctor Simmons, we’re… …something…”
She tapped her earpiece. “James?”
“Sarah… …et … anger…”
The hatch slammed shut behind her, and her lamp went out.
“James?”
Silence.
“… Great.”
This week’s challenge from Terribleminds combined with a spin of the d20 ring resulted in the following.
I stumble out of my room in the middle of the night. It isn’t really my room. I don’t live there. I’ve been staying there, sleeping there when I can sleep, but I don’t live there. I’m trying to remember where I live. Maybe I can get back there. I wish I knew how far it is. Let’s try to figure out where I am, first, and go from there.
These clothes aren’t my clothes. I can barely call them ‘clothes’. They’re powder blue, featureless, formless. I’m wearing socks. I think they have grips or something on the bottom. I’m not sliding on the tile floor. Do I have tile floors where I live? Just in the bathroom. Most of the first floor’s hardwood. The second, carpet. Back in my house. It’s a nice house. I miss my house.
I almost lose my footing. Thanks to the socks I don’t fall. I grab the wall all the same. I’m face to face with it. It’s a bulletin board. When my hand comes away from it I have a flyer in my hand. My vision’s blurry for some reason. I can barely make out the words. It’s some kind of announcement about group therapy. Am I in the hospital? What for? Am I sick?
I wish I could remember clearly. I look down at my arms. There’s a wound in the crook of my right arm, and it doesn’t seem to be bleeding too bad. No, wait, maybe it is? There’s tape there. I close my eyes tight, trying to reach past the haze and the pain and the confusion to figure out how I got here and what’s wrong with me.
There were screams. I think some of them were mine. Not now, all I can do right now is try to breathe. My mouth tastes horrible. It’s sticky and gross. Did I throw up? I hate throwing up. Is that why my throat’s sore? Am I in for some kind of cold?
I look at the flyers. All of them are about positive thinking and therapy appointments and “Remember to take your meds!” and shit like that. Is this a psych ward? I take a few more steps down the hallway. It seems really long. I don’t know which way the exit is. I can’t seem to make out any red signs. How are there no exit signs? Isn’t that a fire hazard?
Something isn’t right. My knees buckle and I try to stay standing. I’m sweating like crazy. Standing shouldn’t take this much effort. My head shouldn’t be this foggy. My insides shouldn’t be fighting to crawl out of my ass. What the hell is wrong with me?
Someone telling me I’m crazy. This was back home. This was when the kids got packed up and I was left alone. I don’t know how I got here. Does anybody know I’m here? Does anybody care?
no
Wait, what? Who said that?
you’re not alone
What the actual fuck. Now I’m hearing voices. That’s just great. I feel like I want to throw up again.
Everything seems to be getting darker. The hallway feels like it’s getting even longer. My head wants to explode. I feel my pulse behind my eyes. It’s deafening. The only thing I can hear is that voice, it’s not my voice, I don’t know what’s going on.
I look down at my arm again. It’s turned dark, shot through with violet glow instead of blood. I can see right through it. It’s one arm, it’s many arms, it doesn’t exist. I shake my head to try and clear it. But I still hear the howling. It’s like a train, a train full of the lost and the damned and the hungry and the angry, and it’s coming my way. I’m standing in the tracks. I’m standing in the hallway. I’m standing in my home. I’m standing in nothing.
I open my mouth. I think it’s because I want to scream. But that doesn’t happen.
When I open my mouth, the voice that isn’t mine comes out. It says words I don’t understand. Everything starts to shake. My body doesn’t shake with it. It’s like I’m cut off from the world. Cut off from myself. Trapped in my own skin. A prisoner. A puppet. A pawn.
Somewhere, something is laughing. Then the world starts to come apart.
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