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.

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.

Send Help ★ Marc Tizura

From the computer of a missing security officer

Incident report: 9182018

Subject: unidentified sounds/ noise complaint

Responding Officer (R/O): John Hobleton

At 0123hr: R/O received a call from unit #1512. #1512 informed the R/O that they heard something scratching/ tapping on the outside balcony window. There were also reports of a low growling noise followed by what is described as "wings flapping".

R/O went out to walk perimeter of building with flashlight. Unable to locate anything suspicious. R/O called #1512. Informed the unit that he could find nothing. R/O is under the assumption it must be some sort of bird. Nothing further to report.

At 0205hr: R/O received a second call from #1512. Residents sound panicked on the phone. R/O assured them he found nothing out there. Unit #1512 invited R/O up to have a field contact. 

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 21

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.

Everyday For A Month: Day 13

As soon as young Eli got off the bus, he noticed his house was missing.

It was a small house, with blue shutters and white boards everywhere the blue shutters weren't. It normally sat between 3121 Lincoln Ave and 3125 Lincoln Ave; but now, it was gone. There was no house between 3121 and 3125. In fact, the two houses that had previously sat on either side of Eli's missing house, now sat next to each other. 

What is a 13 year old to do when they find their house missing? Eli found a shallow puddle in the street and checked his reflection to make sure he wasn't missing too. He wasn't. But there was another reflection in the puddle he hadn't expected. A man's.

He wore a black suit and tie, like he was going to a funeral; and when Eli looked up from the puddle in surprise, so too did the stranger.

Pill Trees

In the dark, I heard crickets as I stood in a nameless field. Cool grass brushed against my shins and I felt it under my toes, so I knew I must've been barefoot.

The moon was out. I could see a few stars. It was vivid. Clear as a bell, but somehow I knew that this place was all just a dream.

Something rustled behind me.

I turned to see a white rabbit. I didn't get the reference to Alice, or the clear symbolic significance, but I followed it blindly. Down a path lined with trees that bore strange fruit: blueish-green pills with the letter ‘M’ engraved in their middles. Pink twenties. I knew these fruits and my mouth watered. I wanted to stop and pick one. To sink my teeth into it and eat it up, then lay back on the cold grass in the meadow and ‘float’.

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.

Knots

 

Have you ever had a knot in your hair when you woke up? 

Not ‘tangled hair’. A real, honest to god knot.

One morning, I woke up with several of them tied deliberately into my hair.

I sleep alone. In a locked room with my dog.

I never forget to lock my bedroom door. Ever.

I hardly think my dog is tying knots in my hair while I’m asleep.

Dewclaws tend to make it hard for animals to do things like that.

It had to be done by something else.

Had I been sleepwalking, or sleep tying knots in my hair?

It didn’t seem likely, but I was willing to set up the camera at the foot of my bed the next night to find out. 

Cycles

My step dad goes through cycles of inflicting horror and abuse. When he and my mom first got together, he seemed OK. (I will admit, there was never a time I thought he was a ‘normal’ human being; but when they first got together, I still assumed he had some semblance of humanity…)

I was wrong.

Less than a month after they ‘fell in love’, he ‘cycled’.

Wake Me Please ★ Arthur Macabe

Something wakes me.

I’m still half asleep, in that strange place between fully awake and passed out. I think about moving my body, but I’m too comfortable; my limbs wouldn’t move if I tried.

Laying on my side, I see my wife sleeping next to me, her back facing me. I sigh, thinking about how lucky I am to be with her, sharing this wonderful life with– 

WOOF!

A dog barks. That’s what woke me.

Petit Démon ★ A Thierry Adler Short Story

The clock's ticking echoed against the walls.

The couple sat across from me, tense.

Quiet.

The infant in the next room was silent. Toys were strewn about the living room; some of them speckled with blood. I looked down at my cup of tea on their coffee table, along with their own cups.

The mother, (Mrs. Masters) her makeup was perfect, her clothes, impeccable.

Not a wrinkle could be seen on her.

The father, wore a light blue sweater, peppered with tiny red stains. His face held the deepest kind of resolve, the kind that forces a man to do the thing he thinks is right, versus the thing he wants to do. A dangerous expression to sport, if you ask me.

Troll ★ Trigram Origins

I hate using public restrooms. I always have to line the seats with paper and perform acrobatics to not touch the porcelain.

So, when I’m forced to use a public lavatory, it takes me forever. 

On one such occasion, I was setting up the flimsy squares of thin toilet paper just so… and I heard this…thing.

Walking around outside the stalls.

I froze. 

Wondered why something that sounded like a horse was clod-hopping through the women’s bathroom. In Houston, Texas no less.

I immediately stood up straight and listened.

I tried not to breathe.

I considered standing on top of the commode itself, but I was almost sure I wouldn’t have time to hide myself. 

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.

10 Weirdo Writing Prompts #2