Throwback From The Past: "TWINE" BY Avrin Kelly

Sneak Peak: TWINE from (13 Wicked Tales Of Witches Book)

TWINE

My sister always had an obsession with string. She liked to play with it. Run around with it. Roll it between her fingers, tie bows around arbitrary things.

Braid it into her hair.

I never really thought it was abnormal.

Until some of the things she started tying up and wrapping bows around began to do strange things.

Like her dead gerbil, Penny.

There are some that say we are bound to this world by some unseen thing, like our mortal coils.

coil.

Sounds a lot like string, huh?

If you don’t know what I’m talking about, just think about how the three Fates from the Hercules movie could cut your string and it would kill you. All they did was break the twine binding you to the earth.

To the living.

Penny came back to life.

We were sad when she died. We loved her, she was part of the family, but she was old and her time with us had come and gone. The only person her passing surprised was Lara, my baby sister. When Penny was gone and it was time to bury her, Lara had marks all over her arms and legs from tying that damned string all over her body.

She said she was trying to keep the memories in; so she wouldn’t forget about Penny.

I knelt down and told her, “Penny will always be with us,” I put my hand on her tiny little chest and patted her unicorn shirt right over her heart. “Right here.” I said.

I made sure to look her in the eye. So she knew.

She needed to know that her big brother would never ever lie to her.

Only the truth for my baby sister.

She counted on me to tell her things ‘adults’ wouldn’t. She depended on me to separate the chaff from the wheat when it came to bullshit.

After the divorce, everybody lied to us.

“Everything is going to be okay.” They all said, but it wasn’t. We had to stay in a shelter for a long time because my mom was pretty sure he was going to try and kill her for leaving.

He never did.

We hid at a shelter and lost our house for nothing.

Nobody’s seen that ass hat for months.

I went out of my way to find the truth and let Lara know what was really happening to our family. And she’s stronger for it now. So am I. It’s easier to deal with what might be coming if you know enough to prepare.

I digress.

Penny came back to life because Lara wrapped her up in twine before we put her in the shoe box.

It was just me and my sister. Mom was at work. I should have told the kid not to be petting and playing with that dead gerbil, but I figured she could wash her hands when she got done; but dealing with her pet’s death, saying goodbye the way she wanted to, was priceless. I let Lara do what she needed to do to be alright with the death of her friend.

We laid some tissue paper down in the shoe box and put the gerbil in, twine and all. Three days later, that thing was back in its cage, rotting. It chewed through the box, dug its way backup out of the ground and hobbled back up to our apartment. Back to the feet of its creator.

My sister.

The resurrector.

The thing wouldn’t touch its food or water and got very excited whenever anybody walked into Lara’s room.

A real live zombie gerbil.

I told my buddy Mark about Penny. He said maybe she was just sick, but I know better. That rodent had been cold and stiff when I went to feed her that morning nearly two weeks ago. Penny had died. Penny was dead now, but somehow, she was still moving around. She stunk and she was rotting. A walking, squeaking corpse.

Lara brought her back with that string of hers.

I don’t know how it works.

I found a dead bird this morning. Brought it to Lara. I asked her to do it again.

She gave me a sly little smile that unnerved me. (I’ve never been unnerved by my sister. She may be eleven years younger than me, but she’s like my best friend. We understand each other. Maybe that just means I’m simple, but I don’t think it does.) She took the bird from the paper bag I’d dropped it in on the way home from school and peered inside.

“What happened to it?” she asked me.

I just shrugged. “Found it walking home from school. Can you bring it back? Like Penny?”

She nodded. “Maybe.” Lara was silent for a long time, but she didn’t move. Just stood there thinking, looking into the bag. “Whatcha gonna give me for it?”

“Give?”

“Yeah silly, you gotta trade somthin’."

Her sweet little voice was angelic, but the things she was saying made my spine want to shrivel up into a knot. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, even through a fresh coat of sweat after the two mile walk from my high school to our apartment on the west side of town.

I knelt down so that we were on the same level.

“What did you trade for Penny?” I prayed to God she was going to say her favorite doll, or a few cookies. Mr. Morcott’s dog died not to long ago. I didn’t want to believe that my sister was behind it.

Could she take a life for her own ends?

Did she not know better or did she just not care?

Was I jumping to conclusions?

“I’m not supposed to say. You have to keep it a secret or he’ll take it back. But I didn’t have to trade for Penny, I already traded. He owes me.”

“Who will take it back? Who owes you, Lara?”

“The Man.”

“What kind of man? Where do you see him?”

“The Dark Man.” She answered suddenly turning shy. Coy. As if I were asking her about the boy down the street. I thought six was a little young to be looking at boys, but what do I know?

“Where do you see him?” I repeated the question when Lara tried to evade it.

“Everywhere.” She whispered. “He follows me to school sometimes. Sits behind me on the bus.”

“Then he’s a kid, like you?”

“No, he’s a man.” She held a hand up high above her head to show me he was tall.

“But he rides the school bus?"

“I see him lots of places.” She told me. “At school. In the park. Here.”

I looked around the room behind me and I didn’t see anything.

Coming January 2022...

 

While You Were Gone | a.k.a. (Lingchi)

I'd been gone for nearly six months. It was a long six months, mind you, and my girl, Jenny, had been home waiting for me the entire time. 

Well, I suppose that's what she wanted me to believe. Maybe she decided halfway through my time away that she was tired of being alone and wanted companionship from someone else. Maybe she just grew tired of waiting around for me to call. Or of talking on the phone and never seeing me in person.

Whatever it was that made her distant, I never really knew. I just kept trying to keep our relationship going, hoping I could fix it when I got back.

My return was a surprise. 

It happened to come a month earlier than we'd expected it to. The second I got out of the cab, I saw our house, and it made butterflies well up in my stomach. 

I was so happy to be home, the feeling overwhelmed me, brought tears to my eyes and made me shake a bit. But another feeling --mostly fear-- made me hesitate. I worried that I'd been away too long. Maybe I would find another man in my bed. Maybe I would find that my lover no longer loved me. 

I made my way up the steps anyway, all the while realizing that Jenny's rose bush hadn't been trimmed in a few days. I wondered what she'd been up to. She normally tended to her flowers religiously. 

I'd spoken to her only the day before, and she'd seemed fine. Everything seemed normal, (more or less) until I made my way up the steps and found a handwritten letter addressed to me wedged in our locked door. The note had a red smudge on the side of it. At first glance it looked like blood.

Dear Charlie, 

While you were gone, a lot of things happened. Most of which, I really don't look forward to telling you now. I've kept my mouth shut about it when you call because what's happened isn't the kind of thing you tell someone over the phone. But it's not something I want to tell you in person either. 

It all started about three months ago when Toby started scratching at something under our bed. He would meow, claw and make a huge ruckus at night when I was trying to sleep. Every time I'd try to catch him underneath the bedframe, he'd run. 

Finally, I looked under the bed. I brought a flashlight and shone it at the bottom of the mattress. It just looked like a black smudge. 

I couldn't understand why it bothered the cat so much. It looked like someone had dumped Vantablack ashes on the bottom of the bed. Even though my curiosity was quelled by investigating the bottom of the matress, it still irked me that Tobs wouldn't leave it alone, so neither could I.

One night, I decided to slide under the bed without the flashlight just to see whatever it was that he saw. Looking back now, I really wish I hadn't done that. That small decision changed my life. 

I laid on the hardwood floor under the bed and looked up at the black smudge. It was like looking through a black hole. The spot was so dark, it stood out in the rest of the darkness. I waited patiently and my eyes finally adjusted. 

I started to see shadows moving. It was as if the "black hole" at the bottom of the mattress was a window to somewhere else. I watched, my breath held, my heart beating like a ritual drum, beads of sweat starting to form on my forehead and under my nose. 

I saw the ceiling of our bedroom through the hole at the bottom of the mattress. It was quite possibly the most odd, bizarre thing to ever have happened in this world. I was about to scramble out from under our bed and make a frantic call to my mother, or a priest maybe, when I saw your face on the other side of the hole. 

I froze. 

Then I just watched in awe. From what I could see at this angle, you sat down on the bed and put your head in your hands. Maybe you were crying. 

I shot out from my spot and immediatley inspected our bedroom, but there was no sign of you. I called your name, but there was no answer. 

I cried for a while, because seeing you, after so long made me remember what it was like when you were here. I don't mind telling you now that our relationship was a vapid thing; full of unspoken words and half-hearted promises made over a pillow. Most of the time, I was just left wondering why you were still around, your underwhelmed look of confusion constantly reminding me what I really was to you, but you never actually said it. The truth, I mean. 

For some reason, before you were gone, I'd been under the impression that without you, I might fade into nothing. But obviously, I'd been wrong because even though we were together, I still was alone. But, I still was alive. 

Anyway, seeing a copy of a person who's away through a mattress really has the ability to fuck a person up. 

I went to a psychiatrist. I told her nothing, but also everything, in a way. She said it was a stress hallucination. She said it was anxiety from your absence. She told me I needed a hobby. I told her she was full of shit, but politely. 

I found myself under our bed most nights just looking for a glimpse of Other You. He seemed better, for some reason. More compassionate, less self-centered than the real you, I'm sorry to say. I was drawn to him. At first, I was horrified, but slowly, as time passed, I saw that he was just a human being. From where, I'm not sure, but he existed just like you and I. 

One morning, I realized that Toby had gone missing. I looked for him everywhere. Under the bed was the first place I looked. Nothing at first, but I had a hunch, so I waited. Sure enough, Toby came crawling out of the mattress. He had been to the Other Side.

This entire time I'd been watching the black hole thinking it was a window, but it was more than that. It was a door. The hole had grown the more I looked through it, and I thought for a long time on whether or not I wanted to crawl through.

The whole situation was stupid on my part.

All of this happened because (even though you didn't deserve it), I missed you, and I wanted more than anything to see you face to face. Even if it was a version of you from another reality. I weighed my options; hemmed and hawed until I was blue in the face. Finally, I just decided to crawl through.

It worked. I pulled myself through a hole and came out into a world I didn't know, hoping to speak to a man I also didn't know but somehow loved.

He was taking off his watch at the dresser when I popped into the reality adjacent to ours.

At first he screamed. Then he cried. He asked if he could touch me. He cried some more and told me his Jenny was gone. He didn't say where she was, he just said gone. 

I'll spare you the longwinded back and forth that went on, but he and I actually talked, which was bizarre in and of itself. He asked me about my life, about Other Him. He was so happy to see me, I think the feeling made me high a little. That was something I never got to feel with you: the sensation of being wanted. It was intoxicating.

There was one catch to Other Charlie. For all his kindness and genuinely loving nature, I soon found out the hard way that nothing is perfect and the universe will inflict its pain on you, no matter what.

Other Charlie was more devoted, kinder, grateful and a skilled lover, but every time I touched him, I'd find a tiny cut somewhere on my body. At first, they were so small, I thought they were just from where Toby and I had been playing and your cat had inadvertently scratched me, but as the days went on, I realized that was not the truth.

In the beginning, I was so in love with his new, better Charlie, I just ignored it. But before long, my forearms, back and sides were full of welts. They were angry and red. It became uncomfortable to wear clothes. 

One morning, after a particulary passionate night, I found a tiny slice on the inside of my eyelid. How many more cuts did I have inside me that I couldn't see? How much danger was I truly in? The questions bothered me and I needed them answered, but I was too scared to ask out loud.

I couldn't do the dishes without bleeding. I couldn't take a shower without bleeding. My rose bushes went untended. And through all of it, Other Charlie just begged me to stay here on this side of the mattress with him. 

But these tiny cuts just reminded me of the old you. The you on our side. I remember thinking 'there is no version of this man who won't hurt me'. And I was right, but my heart didn't want to listen to my head. As usual.

Days passed while I was in denial about the real you and Other Charlie, and still, I tried to ignore it. Until finally, it became too much to ignore. Too much pain and misery to endure. I woke up one day with blood trickling from the corner of my mouth and it was agony to move. 

The Other You tried to kiss me and tell me that he loved me, that things would get better, but I knew the truth. Even though I didn't want it, the reality of this twisted affair was that I wasn't supposed to be with you. Either of you. I told him not to touch me anymore. 

He listened, but clearly was hurt by it. Right in front of my eyes, I watched as a cut sliced across his face-- as if drawn by the hand of an invisble artist. He yelped and touched his wound with his finger tips. 

So many things were unsaid in a single moment of silence between Other Charlie and I. The fact that when he was the one to hurt, he was no longer willing to vehemently stress that I should stay. When he got his first cut, of course, the tables had turned. 

My brain wanted answers about the mechanics of it all. Where were these wounds coming from? Was it just the karmatic nature of the universe trying to pull us apart or something less meaningful? Was his love hurting me? Was my honesty hurting him?

In the end, it didn't matter.

I said nothing and made my way back home. The black hole under the bed seemed to shrink in the time I'd been on the other side with Other Charlie. It pulled at my cuts and made them bleed. When I got home, to my world, I lay there under our bed, naked and bleeding and scared for myself. 

I'd lost track of time. Of who I was, as well. And all I had left of it was pain.

It took a few days for my skin to heal enough for me to take a real shower again instead of just a sponge bath. And several more days before I could sit down and write you this letter.

Now, I'm sure you won't believe any of this. You'll probably think I'm crazy. That I'm trying to find an elaborate way of breaking up with you, but sadly that is not the case. 

The hole in the mattress taught me more than any book or other life lesson ever has before: that no love should hurt, physically or emotionally. And most importantly, that being alone isn't worse than a slow death by a million tiny cuts. 

≡

Flickers

It first happened on my way home from work. The time had just changed, and I was pleasantly surprised to find myself driving home in daylight for once.

I live near the airport, so it isn't uncommon to see airplanes flying low, readying themselves to land. I admit, I have a tendency to fiddle with my phone while waiting at red lights. I changed the song I was listening to and looked up to check the car in front of me. Still seeing brake lights, I looked up farther to see if the light had changed, and that's when I noticed a large white flicker “blink” just over the horizon.

I thought it was a plane. But if it had been a plane, I would still have seen it making its way to the airport. Instead the ‘flicker’, or the thing I saw, disappeared behind trees and buildings.

I pondered on what I could have seen on the way home. At the time, I wasn't very bothered by it. It could have been a bright flash of light that played a trick on my eyes. It could have in fact been a plane, and I had only been paying half attention. But my gut told me what I’d seen was something else entirely. 

A few days passed and the same thing happened again. I never could get a good look at the enormous thing that seemed the populate the area just outside of my line of sight. But the idea that it was NOT a plane ate at me. The fact that I kept seeing it gnawed at my subconscious, and from just my being aware, I seemed to see it more.

BernzOmatic Camping Gas

BernzOmatic Camping Gas is an extremely flammable gas contained in a metal canister. It is used for fueling propane patio heaters, small cooking devices like grills, camp lamps and portable stoves. Canisters can come in all different sizes and in A1, (the current dimension you reside in), these small fuel packs are a great and useful product.

In dimension J8, there was a situation that took place in early 2017. The event involved several of these canisters accidentally opening dimensional rifts. Most of the doorways from J8 (surprisingly) led to A1. These two universes are not located next to each other as one can see from the diagram.

(See dia. 7742Q)

The J8 rifts caused odd items to materialize in A1. Campers in J8 began to disappear. People would let their stoves warm up only to turn their backs and find their cooking devices missing completely.

Park rangers heard of these strange disappearances first in J8, then, some time later on, people in A1 would find things like camping stoves and random heaters melded into the walls of their homes or sticking halfway out of a rock face at their local park. A woman in Florida found the left arm of a hiker fused to the backside of her toilet and had a heart attack on the spot. She lived, the hiker didn't.

It was a conundrum for A1 scientists, so they set out to find an answer. Blockades were erected around affected areas, specialty teams were brought in; and in the end, the canisters of BernzOmatic Camping Gas were the only constant at each location.

More trouble started when scientists, military heavy-hitters and philanthropists all began poking at the portable gas tanks to find out why they were different from the ones you can buy at your local camping store here in A1. It did not end well. Most of them are still missing.

The reason for the camping gas anomaly is still unknown, but now both universes seem to be in a bitter political dispute regarding funding and the ethics attached to what is now known as the BernzO Epidemic.

Although scientists and other sects of academia scoff at magic and the manipulation of ether and/or other "non-existent" materials, it seems evident to some groups that there is more at play in our array of universes than we are currently aware of.

Obviously.

Unexplainable events have increased exponentially throughout the centuries. More people are turning to the 'unknown' to answer burning questions of a spiritual nature, and camping is less safe than usual.

The moral of the story? If you'd like to go camping and you live in J8, it may be safer to use good ol' fashioned regular wood to fuel your fires. There's probably never been a more dangerous time to be a nature enthusiast.

Halloween Is Over...

Halloween has come and gone and it's soooo sad...

All year I look forward to this day, and before I know it, it's over in 24 hours! What a ripoff! I move that we change this 'single day holiday' into a week long affair... 

Who's with me?

Anywhooooo, we posted our #100WordHorror stories during the first part of October, and I was floored by the badassery of my writing homies. I know a lot of really talented people. That's so crazy for me to say, because, before I met most of my writer friends, I never had anyone to talk to about any of my creative endeavors.

You guys know that talking about writing to non-writers is like asking them to help you watch paint dry: they're just not into it.😩 But, such as life... Even though the normies don't write stories, we still love them, well,,,, most of them😜.

Anyway, because I didn't get to post on Halloween (I was too tired from work, and I'm not gonna lie, I was binge watching Chuck🙄), I'd like to share the first chapter of my new book with y'all.

Here's some stats on the project so far:

Title: "The Seed"
MC: Grayson/ Greyson Nowak
(In the prologue, Professor Daughtery is my main character)
Genre: Really? You have to ask? All the lols...
Page count (So far): 89

Okay, without further ado, here's the first chapter of... 

#100WordHorror ★ Avrin Kelly

When I was a kid, my brother, Jack, always used to peep under my door at night. It wasn't anything pervy, I figured he just wanted to snitch on me for sitting in my closet reading by flashlight after bedtime.

My parents and I shared a wall and they would argue most nights, so, I always knew where they were in the house. It's hard to lose track of two people when they're screaming at each other. 

when we moved into a smaller house, I learned the truth. 

My parents were fighting one night and my brother and I now had to share a room. I realized it wasn't Jack peeping under my door. 

It never had been.★

AK

#100WordHorror ★ Marc Tizura

“Who sent you?”

The Crone that lorded over him demanded in a high-pitched quivery voice. He would have answered, but the Crone had ripped out his tongue and ate it before his eyes. 

“Tastes as sweet as candy, so it does,” The Crone announced with a witch’s cackle.

He opened his mouth to protest a flow of red life water came gushing, as did the only sound he could now make: a moaning cry. 

This sound drew on more cackles from the cartoonish hag that stood over him. He was told to stay away from the house on Crone Hill, and now, to his horror, he was finding out why. 

She racked her long jagged nails down his bare chest peeling up bits of skin which she quickly tore off and ate. He howled in agony; a watery choking noise which immediately drew more cackles from her. 

“Don’t have an answer? Well, don’t worry I will remake you, my sweet. You’ll be one of my dolls like all the others who have trespassed my hill.” The Crone whispered in his ear, her hot breath on his cheek.

In a flash, she clawed out his eyes. 

He let loose a howl as she cackled. Before the pain took him to the land of unconscious darkness where he would stay, he thought he saw a vision of a dark tower in a field of roses somewhere.★    

Marc Tizura is a published author. His debut novel was The Man from Grenin. 

He is also an actor and is the host of an awesome and always entertaining hashtag game on Twitter #tfteotw, which stands for "Tales From The End of The World". If ever you feel like playing, tune in to his YouTube channel and watch out for his weekly video prompts where he explains how to play.

Marc lives in Chicago, but don't worry, you can catch him on social media here:



Twitter (@areyouingrenin) 
Last but not least, don't forget to pop in and visit Marc's blog: MarcTizura.wordpress.com 

#100WordHorror ★ S.A. Thurtle

The candle light threw a warmth to his skin but not so warm as the glow cast by her love. Only a week in and she couldn’t get enough. His hypnotic blue eyes, full lips and that smile?

The man she dreamed of. 

And tonight? Tonight, she would give herself to him. Completely.

He tilted his head, brows furrowed in askance of her silence. 

“Sorry, I got lost. I… I just love your face.” She breathed the words, leaning in to kiss his lips.

He laughed with cold, rancid breath. “And I love how you think this face is mine.”★

S.A. Thurtle is writer, blogger and freelancer wordsmith. Native of the UK, an exciting series of life choices and random chance now sees him living in The Netherlands. There’s probably a book in that turn of events alone. 

He’s working on three different novels spanning fantasy, sci-fi and… the other one. He will finish one at some point. Honest.

Until that glorious day, you can find blogs and short stories on his website here: https://sathurtle.com  or keep up to date with his random musing on Twitter: https://twitter.com/sathurtle or Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/sathurtle/ .