If you are looking for a bargain you can’t get much better than a FREEbie! From 14th June you can download the first SteemFiction book Voices In The Darkness (featuring my short story The Tale-Tell Dead) for FREE! But don’t leave it too long! The offer runs out on 18th June so hurry over to your Kindle store!
This is to celebrate the publication of the second SteemFiction book Dead Silence (featuring my short story The Still Blood-Soaked Path), available in Paperback and Kindle NOW on Amazon!
Night began as a whisper: a rumour of shadows at the very edges of the Day. But once started, it quickly gathered pace.
Leba knew Day would fail soon. The dark cracks would spread, tendril-like through its foundations. Inevitably, Day would split, shatter, and crumble into the sea.
And when Day failed she would too.
As she ran, Leba risked a glance, back, towards the Waghorn. Immediately, her breath was sucked from her lungs, pulled back back towards the dark rocky outcrop. Despite this sign – this symptom – they were not following.
Not yet, anyway.
The tide was coming in fast, threatening to cut her off from her friends. The hungry sea licked at her feet. It tasted her. It wanted to consume her. Her feet sank a little deeper into the wet sand with every stride. A moment of doubt overcame her. She had left it too late. She would be swallowed by the sea, or the sand. Or the Night.
No. She could make it. She would make it. She had to.
Leba knew her friend’s waited for her, but could not see them. The distance and the diminishing light made that impossible. Over the sound of her breathing – in….OUT….in…OUT – and the pounding of her heart and feet, she fancied she could hear them shout. Encouragement? Warnings? She couldn’t tell.
She could feel the sharp edges of the stolen object cutting into the palm of her left hand. The pain gave her comfort, strength even. Pain meant it was safe.
She could see them now, her friends. Emaj was jumping in the air, hands and arms all over the place. She could hear him, too. His words, shouted over the sand, distinct and clear: “You CAN make it Leba: come on!” Nimos was standing statue-like beside him. She could see he was not looking at her, but straight behind her.
She would not look back. Not now. She had seen them before and had no desire to see them again. She could feel their icy presence, as they closed on her, cold fingers at her neck. Emaj was yelling for her to HurryUpForFuckSake! She was close enough to read the expression of terror on Nimos’s face, to see the dark stain of urine crawl down his breeches.
She was nearly there. Emaj had stopped jumping and was reaching down, his strong hands reaching for hers. She was going to make it.
And then the Night came.
This story was written as a response to this photo
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Bang! Bang! Bang!
The floor shook with each impact. The table, and chairs heaped upon the trap door moved. But it was enough to prevent him getting in. For now, at least.
Geppetto held on to the axe, more for comfort than protection.
A sudden thought: although the trapdoor was made of metal, the furniture was wood! The virus could infect it through the gaps in the trapdoor. Geppetto looked desperately around the small cellar. An old cheese (past its best), a wheel from a bicycle, a hammer and a collection of old newspapers. There was nothing he could use to protect himself.
He would be torn apart, the virus would escape the house, the carnage would spread. Collodi, his beloved village, would be destroyed! And after that? Who would be able to stop it?
He could see the furniture was beginning to move. Was it independently of the force of the hammering from below?
Geppetto gripped his axe, ready to attack.
To think that the thing he had created with love was reduced to this. The virus, spread by the rare woodworm, Anobium Zombium, had eaten away at his creation’s very being, turning a loving (if not often mischievous) boy into a murderous brain-eating creature.
The woodworm virus had definitely invaded the furniture: the table began to walk towards Geppetto. He raised his axe and quickly hacked at the legs. It fell to the floor. The chairs moved more quickly, Geppetto swung his axe, splintering the first chair, but the second one launched itself at him, hitting him full in the face with one of its legs. Geppetto fell backwards. His axe fell and skittered across the floor. Something in his pocket dug into his leg as he hit the ground.The chair was upon him trying to jam one of its legs into Geppetto’s mouth. He reached out, his hand made contact with the hammer and he swung it at the chair. The chair fell off him. It was not damaged, but Geppetto had time to reach the axe. He turned as the chair came at him, splitting it in two with a single blow. The splintered wood writhed like two halves of a slaughtered worm.
He reached down and rubbed his leg. He felt in his pocket for the thing that had hurt him as he landed. His precious tinderbox. Perhaps there was hope!
The trapdoor had swung open now. Geppetto worked quickly gathering the still twitching wood, and the newspaper.
An arm came through the trapdoor, and then the other. And then it – no, Geppetto corrected himself – HE appeared.
Pinocchio – or at least what was left of him – hauled himself into the cellar. His eyes, once beautiful and blue, were now black pits. Any soul, the poor boy once had, had been long destroyed by the woodworm. His once beautiful face was ravaged by rot, decay and mould.
Pinocchio opened his mouth and a sound came out, if it was words, Geppetto could not understand it. His arms outstretched, an inhuman grin on his face, he took a shuffling step towards Geppetto.
Geppetto muttered a prayer and struck the flint. The newspaper caught quickly and with it the twitching wood from the chairs and table. Geppetto ignored the tortured sounds that seem to come from the wood and dashed to the other side of the cellar. The metal hatch made a crash as it covered the only exit.
Pinocchio lurched away from the fire, now building in intensity, his arms still raised up as if searching for something in the dark. There was an inhuman scream, Geppetto knew not if it was anger, fear or hunger but it broke his heart.
Tears in his eyes, Geppetto opened his arms and took a step towards Pinocchio.
He would have one final hug from his boy.
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Drabble.Club by Felt.Buzz 