Category Archives: Short Stories

Story draft. No title

The wind sieged the small town of Anchor, with all its might it battered the town throwing arrows of rain at its darkened streets. Tormented it howled in futile efforts against this bastion of man-kind. Thunder played amongst the borealis, highlighting red and green hues of colour with cracks of blue hidden within the clouds.

In this fine weather a figure hurried into town. Clad in a brown waterproof jacket she hurried along an old sandstone pavement, a single azure book held in an oversized jacked pocked pressed against her chest, plain looking; its dirty cover read no title or had any discernible markings,chilled she pulled the jacked closer, hugging her self as she ran through the rain.

As she hurried towards the hushed lights in the centre of the town she glanced back into the shadows of the forest from which she had made her way out of.The shadows looked back at her with crackling and unknown intelligence, yet nothing seemed to follow her into the light of the town, civilisation seemed to hold the black at bay. A ward against this final evil which had followed her, ever so present within the rough bush that engulfed much of the blue mountains region.

Panicking she trips over her own feet and stumbles,the book falls out of her front pocket as if with a life of its own. It opens and the wind swishes through the hand written pages turning them this way and that. grabbing the book she breaks into a hurried pace, always glancing back at the unknown behind her.

The wind pushes her as if trying to hurry her into the centre, an inhuman cackle pierces through its howl and feeds her movement with new haste,panting she makes it to the centre of the town, Glancing up at the clock tower briefly she races to a nearby pay phone.

She enters into the confessional booth sized compartment and clutches for the phone while digging for change. She pushes change into the mouth of the phone and is greeted by a dial tone she attacks the keypad on the phone, glancing out of the booth, only a slight howl of the wind to keep her company. The phone dials for an endless moment and a half asleep voice answers after some time “What is it?”

“It’s me Mick” the girl whispers. “Casey? where are you? I thought the cabin had no phones?” Mick said sleep still in his voice. “I am at Anchor.I need help”
“What happened? Anchor is ten kilometres from the cabin in thick bush!”
“Look I walked, I cant really explain right now I think I am in danger, can you pick me up?” Casey held back some tears but the stress had started to show in her voice.
”Sure Case, I can be there in about forty five minutes or so, there has been some sort of emergency declared at Mitburn so I not sure how good the roads will be, can you make it to the Cornerstone? I think they are still open”

“Ill try, please hurry, I have so much to tell you.” The phone cut off as the dollar fell into the coin repository in the phone.”Shit” she swore as she put the handset back onto the receiver. Casey took a deep breath and opened the door, the Storm fell about her and picked up her tangled hair as if greeting a long lost friend, she rushed out of the booth and back into the lonely night. crossing the road she passed one of the many alleys that made up Anchor’s old colonial streets, she stopped for a moment and peered into the blackness.

“Hello?” her voice was thrown at her by the wind, she took a step closer and gasped; it was black. Almost a shadow, swallowing Casey walked into the black and the outline became more familiar. a storm pipe hung loosely off the side of the building,

she sighed and pushed on. The cover from the alley wrapped with the sound of rain, a moment of peace from the weather was interrupted by the wind following causing the drain pipe to bang against the side of the building, reaching the other side of the building she was greeted by the pale yellow of streetlights, rain had died down some but the wind had still managed to keep pace, blowing rubbish and refuse all over the street. in the distance Casey could hear some rowdy band playing at her destination, the band piped with strange sound of violins and rock n roll, chimes of eastern style chords and low underlying thump of the bass could be heard.

On the lamp post a broacher proclaimed that ‘Titus’ would be playing tonight at the cornerstone, relaxing a little Casey slowed her pace and followed the music. Cars packed the streets and a strange surge of comfort came over her as she came closer to her goal, passing through another alley she stopped in front of The Cornerstone, one of the oldest buildings in Anchor, it had survived several fires and a riot in the late 1800s and had lost none of the charms bestowed upon it from colonial architecture the sandstone structure had stood the test of time and century old stained glass windows reverberated, barley containing the noise coming from within.

Casey stepped into the pub, two burley security guards, weathered the storm and eyed her as she walked passed them into the warmth. The lights were dimmed and the audience hung back each in their own little private corners chatting quietly, the violinist was playing a quiet piece while the drummer used his hands to play a constant background beat.

Casey slumped over to a chair next to a roaring fire and warmed herself while she listened to the band play. She glanced over the inside of the pub, it was a large structure, some three stories, portraits almost as old as the building were littered around the walls as well as well as antiquated ads for old beers, the bar itself was made out of a local wood, gnarled and etched with graffiti from bands that had long ago played at the venue, the slight smell of tobacco, years old beer and hot chips lingered. An old man stood behind the bar, filling up a pint for a customer. He glancers over at Casey and yells at a near by waitress for service

Prophecy of the Dark Herald

Dark herald calls 20, the death of great blue skies
brings forth black seas and make the heavens cry.
Ere the mirrored giant morns his shattered hands
and cries for broken feet, calling down old failings
to mend the old heat.

From blackened sands arise the warden
born of hollowed core ending the hate of the kinsfire war.
Dark herald trumpets call grabbing many,
killing all. The warden’s kindred will fall.
All good things come to an end,
old wounds heal, new wounds form
the phoenix shall rise.

Shadow’s soldier awaits a sign of release
for brothers banished 20 million in all.

Warden and seven hears the call
and darkened armies call forth the warden’s fall.
The mirrored giant’s hands and feet shall be
made anew when the phoenix falls
and the seven’s blood runs an angry red.

But to where next the dark herald calls
is but yet to be said…

The Church

A lone figure trod down the empty street, her single burden pressing against her side hip annoyingly, sweat glistened on her face and frustratingly she wiped it off. It was hot. The figure glanced down a shadowy ally as she saw something move in the corner of her eye. she did not know why she had been chosen to deliver her cursed package to the man in the church, only that if she didn’t a lot of people were going to die quite horribly.

“like old man parker did” she shuddered as she tried to banish the thought of the old mans corpse hanging from the front of the court house, but the site of the blood dripping down from the skinless body was burned into her memory as she hung their screaming as he begged to be released from his suffering.

She brushed a tear from her cheek and hurried onward towards the church. As it came into view she gasped at the changes that had been made; the walls bulged outward as if trying to contain a foul contents which no sane man could safely describe, the walls itself had a plentiful layer of clear slime which had leaked from in between the wooden panels. The windows were blackened and cracked and the stain glass windows which had once held pictures of angels and of the dear virgin Mary were twisted into a foul representation of demons chasing a defiled and naked woman through a maze of spikes.

The girl made a sign of the cross and stepped in front of the door. Petrified she knelt on the sun warmed pavement and murmured the lords prayer, in the back of her mind a voice whispered dark thoughts: “there is no God, only the book, bring us the book!” the voice hissed. The girl ignored the whispers within her head and continued her prayer in the heat, the girl slowly got up off her knees and unwrapped the plastic bag; within the bag was a large book, the cover was bound in a wrinkly leather which she could not identify the book looked plain yet felt as if its contents would surly destroy what was left of her sanity.

The two large doors of the church flung open spraying a coating of slime into the air and a horrid smell rose from within the building and fouled the air with it’s presence. The girl gave a start when the doors crashed opened and bile rose to her mouth as the smell hit her. She dropped the book and started to vomit, a hissing laughter entered her ears as she continued to empty her stomach of any and all things within it. “Bring me the book child and the town shall be spared” a muffled voice commanded her from within the bowls of the desecrated church, the girl wiped her mouth from the filth and picked up the book and wiped the slime from it, she shuddered as she tried to shake the stuff off her hand.

Within the church was a nightmare no man or woman was meant to witness. The walls were covered with living slimy flesh of people who had been foolish enough to try and fight the man within the church, within the center of the church was rows of benches of which were covered with a thick layer of blood, entrails and the occasionally topped off with a head or two.

At the back of the church was the alter and a man who sat upon it as if it were a throne, the girl moved closer towards the man and saw that his eyes had been gouged from his head leaving large hollow sockets filled with puss and blood. Blood glistened on his face as if it were sweat, slowly he extended his which was but a stump and spoke a single word “Book!” he gargled blood and slime spilled from his lips.

The girl walked slowly up between the rows of benches trying to ignore the fleshy sounds the carpet was making as she walked upon it, she place the book upon his lap and a gurgle of joy rose from his mouth spilling more blood onto his face “At last I have the Necronomicon, now the Old Ones shall rise from their slumber and take their bounty of flesh, as promised the town shall be spared but the people, are another matter.” The man laughed as the girl ran from the church screaming, the echo of laughter followed her out from that horror of flesh and bone…

The Herald hath come

Darkness fell over the world, one city after another plummeted into its embrace. One after another each person fell into their patterns of sleep and dream, darkness being a primal fear of all humanity, yet it was the most personal, some were enveloped within it.  Comforted within their own dark little world, others felt strangled, The fear grasped and choked them like a killer. Others it talked to them; whispered untold truths and lies into the depths of their soul, caressing them like a mother or lover, promises told willingly in whispers and hidden smiles.

This is how it ended, the human race put up little of a fight most never knew what had befallen or even if they had awoken. Within the turn of one night humanity knelt down, laid onto the floor and gave up without as much as a breath. Some would say the world was better off, others would weep over what was the passing, The animals and the wind ceased to move or make a sound, it was as if a light switch had been turned off and the last person out of the building had closed the door and went home for the night. All was still.

It crept over the land, the Darkness. One after another it touched a body, some slightly others were engulfed then it went on to the next. Looking at this pitch black one would see no form, it was not a cloud or of anything that could be described by humans, looking into it would be as Niezche had said about looking into an abysses, formless and soulless. one after another it placed it self on hand, foot and head. It was in no rush, the world could wait.

Leisurely moving along the color seemed to drain out of the surrounding leaving even the most vivid of flowers grain and drained. Slowly shape had begun to form in the cloud as it moved, at first it gained height and it grew thin. out of its nothingness limbs formed. First feet; upon which it stood on the cracked colorless ground. Then a powerful set of arms appeared each perfectly formed yet with not a wrinkle or feature to discern its identity.

The body came next, sucking up the black it grew definitively male, yet no genitals or other discerning features. Next came the head, the horrid visage many would look on yet remember very little. Its features were blank. No eyes, nose, ears, mouth or hair.

It was blank, it began walking and slowly touching each body as if to rouse it. ever so slightly a person would slowly get up, as if from a deep sleep. first a hand would come up and lay itself over their eyes, then slowly it would sit up as if groggy, after awhile they being would stand up and walk behind the being. Eyes still closed. after a short time a mob formed after him. Then a crowd, the whole mass of people followed him on his walk, each of them eyes unopened and not a sound came from them save the plodding of their feet.

After some time the being and his followers had covered some distance the crowd had become unending, countless people had joined his ranks, all of the appeared with eyes closed, as if waiting for something, The being stopped, the atmosphere seemed tense, he turned and faced the throng of people who had been following him. He turned around and faced them. All at ones they opened their eyes, a stygian blackness flowed out of them. The Herald had come home.