Coming January 2022...

 

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.

Sweet Dreams | #PlaylistPrompt

Photo by Anselme Servain

There's a certain "truth" present within dreams. This "truth" is nearly impossible to find in the real world. This is due mainly because our inhabitions and fears are manifested plainly in front of us while in the dream.

Feel like you can't get through to a friend? You may dream about a brick wall. Go to bed hungry? You may dream that someone or something is eating you.

No matter how far removed a dream might seem to be from reality, I promise it's all interrelated. I know, because I'm the one that sends the dreams.

Oh, you thought I was human. 

Ha! 

Most people do. I look human; I suppose I feel human as well, but there's no way for me to know that with any certainty. I feel fear, loneliness, love, happiness, gratefulness and regret just like the rest of you, only, I've been feeling these emotions for eons now. 

Over the millenia, I've watched as prayers, wishes, hopes and daydreams are sent out into the ether each night. People wishing/ asking for better lives. Better luck for the ones they love. For safety. I can't answer their prayers, but I can send them beautiful dreams. I try to send them the good ones, but their human minds often distort my effort into something twisted. Stress and fear can ruin the best of dreams, and if you believe nothing else from this little essay, then you should believe that. 

So, as I listened to the prayers and hopes of generation after generation, I noticed there are a group of voices stronger than the rest. Humans call them Witches. Bruja. Čarodějnice. 巫婆. Cailleach. I could go on and on...

These ones are different. 

They ask for the nightmares.

And they pray to me. In fact, they call me out by name and request horrific visions of the future. My twin brother thinks these Witches are crazy, but that doesn't stop him from doing business with them regularly... Anyway, I'm getting off topic.

Sometimes, when I see a human man circling a Witch, I'll send him a dream to warn him away. It usually works, but not always. I saw something like this just the other day.

The Witch this guy was going after wasn't as bad as some, but she has a talent for the art of hexing, and that alone makes me worry. I feel a certain kinship with human men for some reason. Maybe it's because my body resembles one, so that's how I identify, (even though I'm technically far from human).

Anyway, I sent him the dream, he ignored it. (No surprise), and now I can't find him. 

I can feel every living creature in existence when they sleep, but I can't find this guy anymore. 

It's been three days.

So, I asked my brother if that poor man had passed through his gates. When you're the god of death, you eventually meet EVERYBODY. 

Thanatos said he hadn't seen the mortal I was speaking of. I remember feeling perplexed. If you weren't alive, or dead, or asleep, then what were you?

As a god, you'd think I'd be able to answer that question, but I couldn't. The only other thing I could think to do was find the Witch and see what she was up to. Maybe she'd done something to the guy, but still, I should have been able to find him when he slept. 

When I couldn't find her either, I decided to break into her apartment and snoop around. I found a grimoire laying on her kitchen table. A book of spells, but they didn't belong to her. 

There were chairs tipped over in her kitchen like a gust of wind had knocked them on their side. Papers were strewn about the area. I saw a dog's food and water dish, but no dog. No clothes in the dresser. 

I realized then that the Witch and the guy must have ran off. But to where? Like I said, I could find them in this universe --- there was no place to hide from me. Everything that lives needs sleep, and everything that sleeps eventually dies (that's where my brother comes in). There's no getting around it. Even immortals sleep.

Feeling annoyed and outdone by a mediocre Witch at best, I flipped through the grimoire and the answer became clear. The first page of the book said the following:

"There are seven ways to open a portal to another universe. 

I know two of them, but I wish I knew none."

"Hypnos" by Taner Ceylan

I tried looking for the page that told you how to open such a portal, (because I'm a god, and even I can't do that); but of course, she'd ripped it out. 

Can you imagine what might be out there? What they might be seeing right now? I mean, I've been alive for a long time and I've never figured out how to transcend my own dimension, and trust me, I've had time to think about it. 

In closing, let this be a warning to you. Sometimes, when I send you a dream, you might want to heed my subtle warnings. Other times, it may be the beginning of the greatest adventure known to both gods and man alike. Just sayin'.

Sweet dreams.

A Trip Home ★ Hollie Hausenfluck

My name is William Stone. Also known as Willy B, roughest, toughest dope dealer in town. No one fucked with Willy B, unless they had a death wish.

Now, I'm stuck in this cell and I don't know how to get out. Let me tell you what happened.

I'm Friday The 13th ★ Alexander Olson

I’m Friday the 13th. 

I’m the baddest of bad luck. Black cats and broken mirrors like left jabs and right straights from Muhammad Ali. 

So what the fuck is going on?

Nothing is working anymore. I can’t hit my spots. Today, I saw children jumping on cracks in the sidewalk with no concern for their mother’s backs. I saw movers drop a mirror, shattering it into bits of self-reflection, and they were more concerned about the cost of the mirror, versus the consequences.

“At least you have the athletes,” Nature says.

Everyday For A Month: Day 20

The spiral staircase led to a bare wall. A plain slab of sheetrock that held nothing. Not a clock, no pictures. Nothing.

Jaime was determined to find out what lay behind that wall even if it killed her.

“Just knock it down. The suspense is driving me nuts.” She told her husband as she stood behind him on the stairs.

“It just leads to a small balcony. They probably sealed it off because they didn’t want their kids out there running around unattended.”

“Probably, but either way. I wanna see.”

“Alright. I’ll go get the sledgehammer.” Kyle turned to Jaime and gave her a quick peck on the lips as he descended. “Expect a trip to Lowe's when we see what we're dealing with.”

“Yeah, I expect it.” She chuckled still staring at the wall.

Ten minutes later, Kyle came back up, sledgehammer in hand and started gouging out the wall. They took turns until it was done, but no light shone through from the other side.

There was darkness, and nothing else.

Everyday For A Month: Day 18

Womp. Womp. Womp. 

That's how it started. Everyone in the world could hear it, I think. And if they didn't actually hear it, then they felt the vibrations associated with it.

Womp. Womp. Womp. 

A sound so loud, it became hard to breathe. Like the noise was vibrating the air and making it impossible to suck into your lungs. 

When you hear something that loud. That big. It makes your heart drop into your stomach. The tips of your fingers tingle. You start to shake and contemplate what it is to die. To stop existing.

And where would I be at the beginning of the end of world? Delivering groceries to an asshat named Brad. Which is kinda funny because my name is also Brad. Except for when I deliver groceries to Brad, then my given name morphs to Other Brad. 

I hate my job.

So I knocked on the door and Cool Brad (his idea, not mine) answers. Of course he's shirtless. As if to remind me of my own bony chest and he says: “Sup Shitty Brad.”

Ah, so I've devolved to Shitty Brad.

Beautiful. Just what I needed today.

The Host

The host is a nondimensional being (meaning he exists in all eventualities simultaneously). He looks human and they say he's 'nice', (if that's what you were wondering).

If YOU were a nondimensional being, you'd see why he came up with "the game". He calls it #tfteotw. Tales From The End Of The World. It's basically the only way he communicates with us (humans) anymore.

I think boredom made him do it.
After a few thousand years, it gets to the best of us, even The Host. I heard that's how he got his moniker, well, our 'human' name for him.

Empress Of The Void

A 12 Tweet Post I did for "Tales From The End Of The World" aka #tfteotw hosted by Marc Tizura.

1. People talked about what they were, but we never knew. Days would pass; months-- years even, and nothing fresh would emerge. Just the same old story. They'd find us, off-guard and ask to be let in.

2. We'd always say no. Of course we'd say that, because, who would invite a demon into their home or car? Then I met B, and had my answer before I knew the question.

3. A kindhearted woman if ever there was one. Sweet, beautiful and unwilling to watch another living thing suffer. That was her downfall; and mine too. Or so I thought.

The Newest Me ★ (Flash Fiction)

Every morning I wake up to a new identity. 

I get up and my skin feels all rough, so I take a straight razor and cut it. I peel it off of me like tape and throw it in the garbage. I shower, then I start my day.

It’s not bloody or gory in the least.

I just make a small incision at the top of my forehead with the razor to start it off. 

The rest comes off quickly and easily. 

As soon as I start peeling, I’m able to see my new hair color. 

It’s different everyday when I wake up.  

Blood Bird ★ Benjamin Shelor (Part Two)

Something screeched in the distance.
It was a hollow wail, like a bird’s call, but not a nice melodic bird.
The sickly screechy kind.
It was the only sound that traveled.

I swallowed thickly.

“What was that?” Bob aimed his flashlight sky bound. “It came from above us, to the west.”

Ernie’s face went pale. He didn’t answer.

“It’s that bird ol’ Bill used to talk about before he died,” someone said.

Blood Bird ★ Benjamin Shelor (Part One)

It was a Sunday.

The day the kids down the lane went missing.

It was sunny, but cold; sunlight flitting through the trees like racing pixies. The fall air full of wood smoke and whimsy, changing leaves and magic.

The smell of it all would wrap around you whenever you stepped outside.

They were all kin, you see. The kids.

Two brothers and a sister.

There was Judy, Jack and Gene.

I supposed their parents thought themselves poetic, but couldn’t quite grasp what they were going for with the names was witty alliteration.

I think the beast gets a taste for a bloodline, and after that--- well, any future you might've had becomes a whisper of smoke, because your days are numbered.

Jacob's Will (Part Two)

Jacob explained to me that he’d done a ‘gettin’ sort of job for Tess. He’d hidden the trinket she asked him to get for her just before he died. And when he left the world of the living, he was the only person who knew where it was. His contract with her stipulated that he’d be bound to Earth in death if he didn’t:

1. Find someone to finish the job for him, or

2. Get whatever that Witch wanted himself.

Seeing as he was a ghost, it was going to be hard for him to go dig something up, so I would have do it for him and give the trinket back to the Witch.

Two Things

Do two things each day that you wouldn't normally do. 

It seems like such a simple concept, but it changed my life.

The first thing I did different was have my morning coffee at a new shop. 

My regular haunt in the a.m. was “L.A.’s”, a trendy joint where millennials gathered every sunrise to take their coffees full of soy and sugar.

Shadow On The Wall

       

“Dad, there’s something in my room.”

My seven-year-old son pushed at my shoulders trying to wake me up.

I’d heard him, but I couldn’t get my body to respond as quickly as I’d hoped. I’d been steeped in slumber and it’d stuck to me.

A little drool sat on my cheek.

I sat up, wiped it off.

“I’m coming, Cade.” I grunted and rolled out of bed. It was dark, I could barely see, even after I had my glasses on.

"Mr. Thorne" (Snippet from Chapter One)

Hi everyone,

I hope the Halloween season is treating you well this year... It's been pretty good to me, so I can't complain. I'm still excited about the paperback version of "13 Wicked Tales Of Witches", even though it may not be available for a while longer. I can't help but swoon over actually seeing my book in print... 

*clears throat* 

Forgive me...

Today, I wanted to talk about #NaNoWriMo. I've wanted to participate in National Novel Writing Month for a while now, but every time it rolled around, I was ill-prepared with no idea what to write about. This year wasn't much different except for one thing: I know I can finish a story if I put my mind to it. I've done it before. 

You know, I never understood what was so hard about starting a story until I tried to decide what the hell I was going to do for NaNo this year. 

Well, I think I've made a decision, and I've dropped the first chapter of what I'm tentatively dubbing "Mr. Thorne" for now, in the bottom half of this post. So give it a read. Hopefully, you'll be intrigued. I know I'd like to read past the first chapter, (lol) I just have to write it first!

P.S. Sorry for all the ellipses, I'm feeling ellipsis-y today... Yikes.

Footprints

[A Have Tools, Will Travel... Story]

This is a very short story told to me by a guy I used to work with at “Have Tools, Will Travel” named Bryan. Bryan was a really nice dude. He doesn’t work with us anymore, but not because of the supernatural. 

Bryan had been estranged from his father (who owned a big time construction company), for years. After a few months of working with us, he and his dad started talking again and he moved back to Virginia to join the family business. I hear he’s doing well these days. He got married, had a kid; you know, the usual.

Anyway, I’m getting off topic. 

Here’s the story: 

☰ Necklace From Work

[A Have Tools, Will Travel... Story]

Here's another email. 

I responded to Greta, but unfortunately, I don't have any information or special knowledge that can help her. I hate that she has to deal with her issue all alone, but, honestly, there's nothing I can do. I will keep looking for more information concerning her situation though. Maybe something will change for the better pretty soon. I hope so.

-Conner

---

☰ The Stick Lady

[A Have Tools, Will Travel... Story]

I got an email today from a guy who read my original posts about my experiences in "Have Tools, Will Travel...". It was the first of many emails I've received as of late. This is easily the least disturbing one.

-Connor

***

Hey Connor,

I'm 21, I live in Ross Creek Illinois, and I am a part-time handyman. I work for my dad.

My story is kind of stupid. It doesn’t really make sense, but I thought I’d share.

I went with my dad one Saturday to help this old lady that lives a few blocks over. He was just being nice. I don’t even remember what she wanted us to do. Alls I know is when we got there, her trees were full of red string dangling twigs that had fallen onto the ground. To be clear, she took every stick that fell into her yard and strung them back up into the tree with red twine.

When I saw that, I was like, “hell no”, but my dad said he’d promised her granddaughter or something, so we stayed. The whole time we were inside the house, that old lady just kept looking out into the yard at the tree. Just wringing her hands like she couldn’t wait to get back out there and finish what she’d started.

I’m the type of guy to live and let live. But I wanna know how someone that old and feeble could get high enough up in that tree to explain all the twigs that were hanging from the very top.

J

The Rift

There's a corner in my kitchen, over where I keep the coffee pot, that seems to be part of another dimension. I know it sounds absolutely ridiculous for me to say that. I'm not crazy. I live in the real world, but I also know that a small part of my kitchen opens up to… somewhere else.

It began when I started pouring my coffee over by the coffee pot every morning. 

My morning routine goes a little something like this: without fail, I get up, come downstairs, smoke my morning cigarette, then come back inside and pour myself a cup of coffee. When I pour the coffee next to the coffee pot, the cup is nearly full. When I take the  mug over to the other end of the kitchen to add sugar and the creamer, it's half empty.

 At first I thought it was kind of cool. I figured it was a trick of the mind, or just me not being able to rely on my own eyes within the first hour of being awake every morning; but neither theory proved to be true.