Posted in Stories, Witness Unseen

Weekly Serial Book 1 Chapter 5: Witness Unseen

(Author’s Note: Early on in my blogging, to honor the old pulp magazine serials, I began a weekly serial series of my stories. I have decided to repost those stories in serial form. Each Friday will feature a new chapter until a story ends. Then I will begin a new story. Enjoy!)

Witness Unseen

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 – The Final Chapter

I reach down with my mind and find him, lying there in the weeds. Thick mud settling, closing over his head. I wrench him free. Caress his tiny blue face and the life-beat throbs again. Rise to the surface with the child and set him free.

The child breaks through the surface of the lake with a rush of water and the father stares in disbelief as his son floats to him and falls into his arms.

Alive.

A life.

Trembling.

Puzzled.

Joy.

Father carries his child up from the lake to the house.

Wonder. And I?

I watch them go and slip back down into the depths.

To sleep.

My birth premature.

Sleep.

I am broken.

Sleep.

I will not awake.

Death.

Sleep.

Joy.

Posted in Stories, Witness Unseen

Weekly Serial Book 1 Chapter 4: Witness Unseen

(Author’s Note: Early on in my blogging, to honor the old pulp magazine serials, I began a weekly serial series of my stories. I have decided to repost those stories in serial form. Each Friday will feature a new chapter until a story ends. Then I will begin a new story. Enjoy!)

Witness Unseen

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Closer.

I am waiting for my revenge.

Face turning blue and eyes wide closing.

I am waiting for my revenge.

Struggle, thrashing in the water about me, then stillness. A twitch.

I am waiting for my revenge.

Heartbeat throbbing and slowing. One beat. Two. Three ragged chords of life. Silence.

I am waiting for my revenge.
And then, a scream, not unlike one I have heard before. Of such pain and agony. Loss of one’s own. Pain. Helpless, hopeless loss and pain.

Scream of a man for his child.

She had cried thus. Scream. Piercing my soul like a thousand needles and ripping from me that unknown emotion. Scream.

And I know.

Posted in Stories, Witness Unseen

Weekly Serial Book 1 Chapter 3: Witness Unseen

(Author’s Note: Early on in my blogging, to honor the old pulp magazine serials, I began a weekly serial series of my stories. I have decided to repost those stories in serial form. Each Friday will feature a new chapter until a story ends. Then I will begin a new story. Enjoy!)

Witness Unseen

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Yet I have sensed a special bond between this man and his child, something which I cannot comprehend. It lies not in me. I know. I have searched many times, but though I have much, I have not this. I long for it, but I will forget all desires save one, vengeance, and push my being to its completion.
Wait. There is a movement nearby.

The child has come to the pond under cover of the dusk, away from his father’s piercing eyes. He moves stealthily down the shore with rope in hand, gazing out with grim determination. Creeping closer. Closer.

“John, where are you!?”

Call of the father cutting through the child knowing his mission must wait.
“I’m down here by the lake.”

“I thought I told you …!!”

“Yes, but I want to show you … aaaah!”

Slip and the child tumbles into the depths,
falling,
falling,
falling
down
to
me.

I am waiting for my revenge.

Posted in Stories, Witness Unseen

Weekly Serial Book 1 Chapter 2: Witness Unseen

(Author’s Note: Early on in my blogging, to honor the old pulp magazine serials, I began a weekly serial series of my stories. I have decided to repost those stories in serial form. Each Friday will feature a new chapter until a story ends. Then I will begin a new story. Enjoy!)

Witness Unseen

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

I awoke from my sleep years ago to screams of a mother in pain.

My mother.

Who had sheltered me through these centuries of fire and ice and in whose warm bosom I had safely slept, awaiting my birth. She, my faithful Keeper, screamed in pain. Wave¬ upon wave of her torment washed over me and I wept with her.

My wail joined hers.

The earth shook with our agony and the treads of the great yellow monster which chewed at her flesh for days and then spat her back out again.

Chewed at my mother.

Until those two-legged ones took the monster away and a black gaping wound remained.

Still we screamed on.

Then the rains came and washed our pain away.
I trembled with rage at my helplessness; that I, one so great, could do nothing while my mother writhed in agony. I, trapped by forces set in motion before my existence.

So I trembled and waited. I wait still.

But soon.

And you see now why I must awake and destroy them who hurt her so.

Posted in Stories, Witness Unseen

Weekly Serial Book 1 Chapter 1: Witness Unseen

(Author’s Note: Early on in my blogging, to honor the old pulp magazine serials, I began a weekly serial series of my stories. I have decided to repost those stories in serial form. Each Friday will feature a new chapter until a story ends. Then I will begin a new story. Enjoy!)

Witness Unseen

Chapter 1

“Hey, Dad! The lake’s got bubbles in it again!”

Cry of a curious child. Boy. Sigh of an overworked man bent over a cluttered desk inside. Click of the pen dropping from his hand. Reluctant groan of an overstuffed chair as he rises and moves tiredly to the door. Slam! The voices outside sifting through these walls.

“John, how many times have I told you to stay away from the lake? It’s too dangerous and …”

“But, Dad, I tell you I saw …”

“No buts! Now you heard me: Stay away!”

Voice rising. Child lost.

“Son?! Are you …?”

“Yeah, I know, Stay away!”

Stay away.

Reverberating down to me in my muddy womb, the conversation and stern warning from father to son, I hear. It has rained much lately and the sides of the lake are slippery, dangerous for a man, deadly to a child.

And so the warning.

I hear, and see and smell and touch this, for all of my senses are one, molded together in complex simplicity through time. And soon, with them in full readiness, I will arise from these dark depths that have been my prison for so long and I will take my revenge.

Ah, your questions. Revenge?

Wait.

Hush.

I will tell the tale.

Posted in Diary of a Man, Stories

Weekly Serial Book 8 Chapter 5: Diary of a Man

(Author’s Note: Early on in my blogging, to honor the old pulp magazine serials, I began a weekly serial series of various of my stories. I have decided to repost those stories. Each Friday will feature a new chapter until a story ends. Then I will begin a new story. Enjoy!)

Chapter 1 – All Is Still

Chapter 2 – I Crawl

Chapter 3: I Weep

Chapter 4 – I Hear

Chapter 5 – We Sleep

June 7

Forgive me for these short entrees. I just don’t have the strength to write much anymore.We made it to the Tree today. We were right, it is alive. How, I don’t understand. Eveline has fallen into an exhausted sleep and so soon shall I.

June 8

Eveline died today.

I felt Life cease coursing through her hand, and I real­ize that soon I too must . . .

Written Sept. 12, 1985

Part of the Cold War Kid collection

Posted in Diary of a Man, Stories

Weekly Serial Book 8 Chapter 4: Diary of a Man

(Author’s Note: Early on in my blogging, to honor the old pulp magazine serials, I began a weekly serial series of various of my stories. I have decided to repost those stories. Each Friday will feature a new chapter until a story ends. Then I will begin a new story. Enjoy!)

Chapter 1 – All Is Still

Chapter 2 – I Crawl

Chapter 3: I Weep

Chapter 4 – I Hear

June 2

I awoke to a scratching sound. A sound? A sound! A sound means life, doesn’t it? It took me awhile to figure out that the scratching came from behind me. I spoke and remembered how weird my own voice sounded in that gray dawn, “H-H-Hello.” Like an echo, it came back. The same huskiness from dis­use, the same uncertainty, the same disbelief. Another person? Someone to share my hurt, to lean on? Another to talk to?

The scratching became louder as the other began to dig more frantically. I too wished to help and began to eagerly cast boulders here and there. No boulder, however big, was a match for the awesome strength that coursed through my veins. Soon a tousled and dirtied head of hair appeared and then a face and then shoulders, arms, legs, a body! Suddenly, two strangers were embraced in each other’s arms. So began the happiest days of my life.

Eveline and I shared so much this afternoon. How she had struggled beneath tons of concrete to find a way outside, always clutching the book so special to her. She read from it today, sharing her favorite parts with me, and I too am finding that it is becoming special to me.

“Lo, I am with you always.”

“Come to me all who are heavy laden and I will give you rest.”

“Aren’t you worth much more than sparrows?”

In deep contentment, we fell asleep in each other’s arms.

June 5

Eveline and I have spent these last couple of days just simply sharing with each other and to my shame, I realize that I have been neglecting this diary. Eveline feels it is impor­tant too. Maybe another future generation will read it and not make the same mistake our generation did.

June 6

Eveline and I have decided, realizing that our strength is almost gone, to crawl toward a distant pine tree outside of Town. It symbolizes the new life we shall share together soon. From what we can tell from here, it is still living. We start­ed today and slept on the outskirts of Town.

(Originally posted here March 2012. Written in 1985 at age 18).

Posted in Diary of a Man, Stories

Weekly Serial Book 8 Chapter 3: Diary of a Man

(Author’s Note: Early on in my blogging, to honor the old pulp magazine serials, I began a weekly serial series of various of my stories. I have decided to repost those stories. Each Friday will feature a new chapter until a story ends. Then I will begin a new story. Enjoy!)

Chapter 1 – All Is Still

Chapter 2 – I Crawl

Chapter 3: I Weep

May 31

I have done nothing for the past few days but lie here and weep. The tears I have shed on this hill shall be my last, there are no more to cry. I only feel a nauseating feeling deep down inside. How long must I suffer? I am begin­ning to realize that those who died were the lucky ones.

June 1

A new month. Who cares. No one is keeping track.

It has come to me that I must explore the city before I die. Perhaps I will find a reason, an explanation, to justify this man-made ignorance other than the childish ones I heard all my life.

I spent the entire day crawling through the ruins of this lifeless city. Don’t know if there was anything important to see. Had my eyes closed.

Bedded down amongst the rocks and remains of a skyscraper that now barely scrapes the ground. ‘The stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone. He who falls on this stone will be broken to pieces, but he on whom it falls will be crushed.” I wonder who said those things.

(Originally posted here March 2012. Written in 1985 at age 18).

Posted in Diary of a Man, Stories

Weekly Serial Book 8 Chapter 2: Diary of a Man

(Author’s Note: Early on in my blogging, to honor the old pulp magazine serials, I began a weekly serial series of various of my stories. I have decided to repost those stories. Each Friday will feature a new chapter until a story ends. Then I will begin a new story. Enjoy!)

Chapter 1 – All Is Still

Chapter 2 – I Crawl

May 26

Began crawling as soon as I awoke this morning. It’s the easiest way to forget about how still everything is. I crawled a few more precious hundred yards. At least I’m making some progress.

I hope the berries I’m eating and the streams I’ve been drinking from aren’t contaminated. It really doesn’t matter anyway. I’m probably contaminated.

I stopped crawling earlier today, knowing that my strength is giving out. Good night, or is it? Day is night to me and my days definitely aren’t good, so why should complete darkness be so much better? Perhaps because I can’t see the complete and total destruction about me. Well, it’s getting too dark to see to write so this definitely is, “Good night.”

May 27

All I did today was crawl, crawl, crawl. Don’t know how long I can take this constant pain. How much time do I have? W ill I ever know what really happened? Who am I gonna tell any­way?

May 28

Didn’t think I was even going to be able to move today, but I managed. It paid off.

I reached the bluff overlooking Town around midday as far as I can tell and just stared in horror. The city that had been considered the most beautiful in this part of the country lay in desolation. Nothing remained of Westminster Heights and the sprawling estates that had lain along its luscious, tree-lined avenues. Emerald Fountain, which had glittered like a beautiful jewel in the green velvet of abundant foliage that had surrounded it, now lay in ruins; a stony mass from which a meager trickle of greasy water ran. The mammoth office buildings that had risen so gracefully into the blue sky were no more than twisted hunks of concrete and metal.

The . .

Oh, I can’t go on. Such desolation and destruction only melts my soul within me and makes me sink into the pit of my waning existence. I know that all mortal things must return to the ashes and dust from which they arose, but why? Why so pre­maturely? “The answer’s blowin’ in the wind.”

(Originally posted here March 2012. Written in 1985 at age 18).