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Bloody Doors By Aden Harry QuailBellMagazine.com The storm gave its first flash and its first roar at eleven; that’s when he woke up. Feeling some sort of crunching pressure in the back of his head, smelling some sort of alcoholic aroma, he sat right up and looked around the room. Something here is not right, he thought. And he wasn’t far off; he just wouldn’t be able to put his finger on what wasn’t right so long as he had his eyes open. There was no trace of alcohol to be seen. He’d expected bottles and cans all over the place. Wasn’t there a small party there just the night before? But, ah, probably not. The room was way too small for anything like that. And then the doubts came rushing in at him – is this even my place? A party? Then what are these memories and why am I hungover? No bottles and no cans, but pieces of food everywhere and dirty, dusty clothes that wouldn’t be washed before they were worn again. Lucky, all the questions and doubts didn’t put him at any unrest. No, he was completely content with the thick clouds in his memory. In fact it seemed to offer a kind of comfort that he embraced. He had no intention of cleaning up, either; seemed he hadn’t for a while. But everything was OK! There wasn’t a single reason to swing his skinny little legs around and get out of bed and that was just fine by him. It was warm in there anyway. Still, he remembered a party, laughter, friends. The air was humid. Breathing seemed in some way painful, like smoking cigarettes with full awareness of the harm they’d cause, but not feeling it immediately and so it was easy to overlook. But he didn’t need to be aware of that. He just stared into space, looking around, until snaps of electric fired through his nerves and sent him to his feet. That was an involuntary action, or else he’d have sat there in bed all day. Well, then he pulled the curtains apart to admire the view; an endless red brick wall, the sight of which turned his stomach. There was not one window nor one door built into that wall. It was just a wall and it went on for as far as his eyes could see. Such a familiar sight, as it was for him, so suddenly lifted part of the cloud he felt in his memory. His state of mind took a slight change; nothing too noticeable. He looked up to the corner of the window only half expecting to see what he then saw. Another involuntary action, and he was looking at a thick, three or four-floored spider’s web. No spider was present, but he could feel it somewhere in the room. The worst: it could have been anywhere, and that’s when the fear began to set in. Unable to move a muscle, locked tight into the fear, he just looked at the spider’s home, examining it, perhaps even with some admiration. Nevertheless, he started to itch. There were three dead flies caught in the same web he was. It stretched a long way, too. Not to mention, it was joined with other webs up towards the ceiling. There was a spider, he remembered. It had been busy, clearly an old spider. Besides that fear which he eventually distracted himself from, the guy felt empty somehow; distant. If someone was there speaking to him he would have found it impossible to respond. It wasn’t the same as waking up after sleeping too little, or too long. No, because he felt that exhaustion alongside the emptiness. But he was completely disconnected. Nothing could touch him in any way at all, if only for a second, and he became conscious of it. He could only watch; not interpret, not comprehend, not endure or enjoy, but only watch, and so for a few seconds, from that mind state of some kind of isolation, he was able to look on into nothing particular in complete indifference. Such a thing would not last and so he eventually ‘snapped back,’ this time with a little more recollection of where he was. He took a deep breath in through his nose – old milk, he smelled for sure – and went back to looking about for his spider. The cupboards were bare, and hunger came. Oh yes, a sphere of emptiness took shape in his stomach, screamed and pushed out. It hurt. There was no reason to speak; he had in fact forgotten how to do so by his own will. Only every once in a long while would he blurt out a few words unconsciously. He’d sometimes try to repeat himself or even rearrange the words to build new sentences but would fail miserably each time. He made only incoherent sounds, the whining of a young child who had yet to learn even to walk. It was and sometimes he was so pitiful; his thoughts had become so desolate and he, so alone, that communication had become obsolete. He once picked up a book in an attempt to keep his world but the sentences shattered at the second chapter: he didn’t read anymore after. Party with friends? The memories, clear as they had been, were escaping him, as fleeting as a dream. He became unable to tell any difference, unsure whether or not these wonderful memories, which were so clear and somehow still felt, were nothing but dreams. A cruel trick on him his mind would have played should that have been the case. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
HomophobiaBy Gregor Schmidinger QuailBellMagazine.com TRIGGER WARNING The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Bitch By Claire LeDoyen QuailBellMagazine.com somehow my eyes have closed and I am back in front of the fates as they pick apart my skin & stories & being they play with my hair and kiss my lips hard when I raise my voice to object I am rewarded a slap in the face and a promise for more force the next time. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
On Dragon's Wings By Joseph Madden QuailBellMagazine.com “What is wrong with you people? I’ve done nothing wrong. Where are you taking me?” MacKenzie Nightshade shouted over the bustle of the crowd and rattling of wagon wheels over the harsh, rocky terrain. She struggled against the rope that bound her to the post behind her, but the action only caused her restraints to dig painfully deeper into her wrists. Even in the dim light of early evening, she could see their destination. The road –as loose a term if there ever was one for the rocky path they were ascending- wound its way up the side of a craggy mountain to a flat plateau at the top. Several tall posts like the one she was bound to jutted from the ground at odd angles like silent sentinels monitoring their approach. One wrong turn, she grumbled to herself. One wrong turn and instead of the nice seaside village of Delva Shien, I end up in Looneyville, population of a hundred or so oddnut zealots and me. The villagers had been on her almost as soon as she set foot in that scruffy little excuse for a town, nothing more than a few ramshackle huts tucked away in the clearing at the base of the mountain. Before she could protest they had her bound to this stupid post in this stupid cart and were leading her up the stupid mountain. “Look I understand if you don’t like outsiders,” she called to the villager nearest her, a tall, shaggy man with a mottled grey beard halfway down his chest. “All you had to do was say something and I would have kept on going. I was on my way to Delva Shien and just took a wrong turn.” “It’s nothing personal, Lass. You was just wandering through at the wrong time.” The man said without looking at her. He gestured with his walking stick to the plateau ahead. They were close enough now that MacKenzie could see the cave that loomed beyond the posts, the entrance to which was large enough to swallow a half-dozen carts the size of the one she was strapped into. The man turned his head just enough to favor her with a lazy eye. “The beast needs to be sated.” MacKenzie’s eyes grew wide at the man’s admission. It took her several seconds before she could squeak out, “Beast?” The man did not reply. The cart came to a sudden stop, causing MacKenzie to hit the back of her head against the post. The mouth of the cave loomed even larger. She blinked her eyes. Perhaps they had not adjusted to the coming darkness, but she thought she saw the barest hint of firelight coming from deep within. Two of the villagers climbed into the cart, untying her from the post. Each man gripped her by an arm, pulling her to the ground, and dragging her nearer the cave while the rest of the mob stayed behind. MacKenzie stumbled as they dragged her faster than she could walk towards two posts set into the ground roughly fifty feet from the entrance. The ground here was strewn with rocks and she found it hard to gain a stable footing. At one point she lost her balance altogether and fell, despite the two men supporting her. This close to the ground, she could see that it was not rocks she was tripping over. It was skulls. Skulls, and other remains of what had once been people. The ground was littered with them. The scream that had been forming in her throat never got the chance to voice itself as the two men picked her up and continued dragging her forward. She fought them now, fiercely, but their strength was too great. They positioned her between the two posts, tying her with arms outspread. Once certain that she was secure, the two men set torches into sconces carved on each post, then quickly retreated back into the shadows near the cart. Craning her head back over her shoulder, MacKenzie watched them flee. The horse cart was already turned around and heading back the way they had come. Lazy Eye approached, favoring her with a feeble shrug as he passed to stand a few feet ahead of her. Not close enough for a good kick in the seat of his pants. “Dragon! Hear me, Dragon,” Lazy Eye shouted. “We bring you our sacrifice. Take it and leave us in peace!” He turned, hurrying to catch up to the others. “Like I said, Lass, nothing personal,” he said as he scurried past into the shadows. A burning rage filled MacKenzie, and she struggled against her bonds as she watched him go. “You bastard! I’ll get you for this! If I get out of here you’ll wish you never saw me!” Her threats went unanswered. She could just hear the rumble of the horse cart fading into the night. The sounds of the night were her only reply. Good going, Nightshade. Really great. You can’t even head to the seaside for a simple fishing trip without getting yourself in trouble. One stupid wrong turn. . . She fought against her bonds, pulling hard to one side, then the other, her struggles only serving to exasperate skin already rubbed raw. Dragon. Wonderful. One stupid wrong turn and you end up as an evening snack for some overgrown iguana. If Mom saw you now, she’d have a field day telling you just how . . . The sudden dead quiet brought MacKenzie out of her mental nagging. The sound of the cart had faded. Every nocturnal creature that had been giving voice to the night had suddenly all been struck dumb. The only sound MacKenzie heard was her own labored breathing. That, and the distant rumbling from within the cave. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Arlie Lippett Survives Ghost Town Weekend Arlie Lippett has braved Mosegin for an entire weekend and come out in one piece on 2 feet to tell his story. After, the weekend Lock-in in one of the most severely haunted places in the caverns that saw dozens of others come running terrified out with flailing arms, Lippett calmly walked out with his serene expression and wondered at all the commotion. He mumbled something about ‘not minding a glass of water, thank you’ and then said quickly that Mosegin was a gorgeous little town and that he wouldn’t mind taking up there permanently. A pulse ran through the shocked crowd that gathered around him and gasps were heard. After Arlie was made comfortable and taken to a quiet tearoom and filled with all the sorts of treats one would imagine is craved after an atrocious trial, Mr. Lippett soon began to unfold his tale. ‘At first there were lots of people and the caves were dark and purplish at that time. We all had a time of it, talking together. Must have been about 50 of us. Mosegin was beautiful. All of the little town is carved out in the side of the caves and mixing with the stalactites and mites. Never seen anything like that. Little windy roads and houses with pretty porches that looked over the lagoons. I never really did feel scared but I could see the others were feeling antsy, not everyone, ‘course. We made our way to the top of the town where Inns had been prepared for us. We whispered a bit about Timmy. About the Legend, how he was scared off from the town and fell down one of the cave tunnels and starved to death. You could see each time we walked by a dark hole everyone was wondering. Bats flapped way above and startled most of us. We weren’t expecting that. Mosegin is a quiet place. The Inns were nice and cozy. We all got settled and then made plans to cook for the evening, make a bonfire near the waters. Well, it didn’t take long for the first girl to find a tooth. The legend is real alright. Teeth started popping up. I even found one, but it didn’t scare me. It was a human tooth and well, I have a collection of those. We lost a few of the weekenders there. They left, disgusted and frightened. Others had to escort them. The rest of us met at the fires. Then we heard it. A moist laughing and then someone got slapped hard across the face. Couldn’t see anything just heard it. They left, too. I heard the laughing. Sounded like a crazy person and then I started feeling the breathing, warm in my ear. I just kept starin’ on. I know how ghosts are and poltergeists, too. Just desperate for attention. I figured let him have fun with the others. He’d be wasting his time with me and I think he knew that. The others were more fun. I just cooked my vegetables and stared away. Some people were falling right into his trap and getting terrorized. Ripping their hair out with fear when a tooth would fall on them or their plate would fly out of their hands. Old tricks. Classic ones at that. But there were others like me that had seen it before. You could tell the ones with experience. We just got on with our tasks at hand and ignored them. By this point, we had gotten rid of all the real scaredy pants that had no place being there at all. That was Ghost Town 101. Now our group had been cut in half. Now the games were gonna seriously begin and we knew that. Things were quiet for an hour or so and we headed back to our rooms to await the long night. It started as we were safely all in our beds. Long nails scratching at walls, at metal, at anything. Clicking and tapping. Sheets were ripped off. Big bangs and the sound of nails dropping. All those things are fine and we expected them but the more it continues the more you start to lose it. It rained teeth on me. Slowly at first like big rain drops and then it poured. I kept my head under my pillow and tried to sleep until my pillow was yanked out from under my nose. More laughing in my ear. I heard several screams from the other rooms. I sat up and started talking to Timmy. I told him that I would try to help him and my bed started to move. It got lifted up and then smashed again against the floor. Then he left. He was busy that night. I heard plenty of horrified screams echo through the caves. I figured one by one they’d all leave. You could hear footsteps beyond my window. I wondered how many were left. Next morning, Timmy startled me with his toothless grin looking at me over my shoulder in the mirror. At breakfast, there were only 10 left and it was only Sat. morning. He was good alright. We discussed the Legend in detail. What had they said? He was a freak prior to the ousting? Why was he a freak? Just because he had no teeth? Where were his teeth? That last question got me to thinking. I was going to go by the library and do a little research. Anyone who wanted to join me was welcome. Fortunately, everyone did. It was like a time warp in the library. Everything was covered in a thick dust and it looked like no one had ventured in there in a hundred years. Probably hadn’t either. We poured over public records and scanned archives for details of Timmy. There wasn’t a soul called Toothless Timmy and I think we knew that. But how to find his name? Old newspapers. Crumbling but still visible. We started flipping their delicate pages. Believe it or not, it wasn’t long before a front page blared out at us, ‘Timothy Skeen turning Toothless to pay off Debts’. The story unfolded a tale of a gambler that after all the money was gone, gambled with his own teeth and when he started gambling on his limbs, the town got rid of him. They ran him off and he was never seen again. That’s when the rumors began that he fell down a long dark cave hole and starved, dreaming about revenge when death came. We fell silent. But Timmy didn’t. Books started flying off the shelves and we high tailed it out of there. It was then, when one of the others got picked up high and taken out of over the waters and dropped. She swam for her life back to shore ----But she immediately packed up her things and left with another 2 that had tired of Timmy’s antics. We were down to 8 and a couple of hours passed and then the fires began. They erupted all around us and we could feel the heat. The popping, booming sound of the flames were slowly engulfing us. The others were screaming and desperate to get out of the circle but I knew something and was surprised that they didn’t know it, too. A ghost can’t really hurt you. A poltergeist as much as he would like cannot either. So I stayed and waited for the hallucination to pass but the others rushed through the illusion of fire and ran out of Mosegin. I was alone. That was fine by me because I had a plan. I went to my room and opened my satchel. In the side pocket was something I always carried with me: Cards. I started shuffling them. The smell of the cards can be overpowering if you love them. As I shuffled their scent floated out into the room. I knew it wouldn’t be long before Timmy arrived and sure enough, the room got icy. We started with Gin Rummy. I dealt out the cards and started to play. He responded right away. I had him right where I wanted him but I also had a worthy opponent. He beat me at Rummy, that first game. And we played some more. We shuffled and bet and played that night away. We even played poker and made lots of bets and he kept a careful record of what I owed him and I knew what it was. As a matter of fact that’s why I came out of Mosegin, y’see I’ve always collected teeth and I have a pretty nice collection, if I do say so myself. Not as nice and as many as Timmy’s but I’m gonna keep on playin’ til I get all of his. I’m due back in Mosegin with these: A velvet sack chok full of thousands of teeth from an array of different creatures. ‘Wait til he sees ‘em! Lippett chuckled. 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Fortune FadedBy Fex Schwarz QuailBellMagazine.com The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Flight through the Forest By Philip Wardlow QuailBellMagazine.com Marek ran hard through the thick underbrush, wary of outlying limbs or wet patches of dew covered grass. No need to go down in a tumble, then he would should surely be dead. Almost there, he thought wildly. Almost there, was still not near enough. Do these things ever tire? The gods know I am, he thought. He could hear their caterwauling screeches all around him as they communicated to each other in some inane language he couldn't began to understand, cooperating, trying to box him, trying to trap him. Intelligent little bastards, he wouldn't have thought as much. Out the corner of his eye he saw a flit of shadowed forms appear and then disappear suddenly out of the darkened mists which collected in clumps on the forest floor like a rolling wispy snake crawling across the ground. They were gaining on him. If they surrounded him he would be hard pressed to fight through them. One creature no problem, two no problem, hell not to boast but ten would probably be no problem for his strong sword arm, but to his estimation there were hundreds. So he ran like the dog he was. It didn't help that as he ran he was hindered, with one hand having to hold the large package that he was hired to steal back from a temple of zealots buried deep in this god forsaken forest he now ran in. Half his job was done, now he was entrusted to return the package to its rightful owner, King Erris; whose contract he had foolishly taken on. The second half of the deal was looking to be harder than the first had been. Knowing of his reputation as a cunning fighter and fearless warrior they had offered him a payment of twenty thousand in gold, literally a King’s ransom indeed! How could he refuse! The few meager coppers he had in his pouch along with the pitcher of ale in his hand when the King's men approached him in the bar had been his only possessions besides the sword and the clothes on his back. The meager coin and ale looked more inviting at this moment, not to mention the big hipped serving wench who had been giving him the eye all through the night while he drank his weight in spirits. Let this be a lesson learned if he survived. Some jobs were just too big for any amount of gold to be had. The King said the treasure stolen by the religious fanatics was more priceless than anything, worth more than a thousand kingdoms he had told him. If this treasure was not returned, kingdoms would fall, men would die, and destinies would be denied. What was this treasure that the King had stolen from, Marek had asked. The King would not say even when Marek had pressed him. Only that he would know it when he came upon it. Four other contracts such as him had already failed; some individuals like him, others who had went in teams of three or four. Only one man had returned of them all, empty-handed and had died three days later from his inflicted wounds but not before giving them the valuable information of where the treasure was being held inside the temple. Know it Marek soon did , as he had crept into the inner sanctum of the black veined marbled temple after scaling up the almost vertical walls to the uppermost parapets where he was told it would be housed in a circular chamber guarded by the blackest of demon dogs you never would wish to encounter. The three dogs surrounded its circumference, all clad in steel mail over their entire body with the color of the darkest pitch stealing the light as it hit its surface. Sharp canines dripped spittle from their massive muzzles to burn like acid upon the stones they walked. Marek had quickly rushed one catching it by surprise sending it over the edge to tumble and bounce against the hard stone far below. The other two well, they had been a little tougher to deal with not being caught by surprise. Luckily they had never been trained to work together against a common foe. As they advanced on him they actually more than once snarled and bit at each other to see who could get to kill Marek first. He had used their dislike for each other to his advantage by keeping one always in front him with the other behind its companion causing the rear dog to lash out at the other dog's heels in frustration. He had taken the front demon dog in the eye with the point of his sword when it was distracted sending it into a wild spasm as his sword entered into its brain and scrambled it like eggs in a frying pan. The other dog had advanced on Marek slowly; weary now that its two companions had been so quickly dealt with by this new adversary. Marek knew he had to dispatch this thing soon before any others came along, but he didn't dare go in for a strike to the thing's mailed body and risk the creatures bite or even drippings of its spittle on him which could cause him to lose the use of his arm in an instant. So he did what he was good at, he ran. The creature thought him scared and running for his life so it had become emboldened and ran after him. Marek ran faster and gained some distance on him and then he suddenly stopped. The creature's momentum carried it forward and with blade held at eye level, Marek had jumped high into the air toward the creature as it came in its headlong rush at him. He came down in a stabbing arc to the top of the creature's head to bury his blade in deep dead center between the dog’s ears punching through the black mail covering its skull. It quivered and died. With the last of the beasts dispatched he had entered through the bronze doors to the inner chamber. There inside on a raised dais made of white marble inside a crystal bowl of the palest blue was a baby wrapped in a red silk blanket. Nothing else had been in the room chamber save that. So he knew what the treasure was as the King said he would. These creatures that chased him now were different than the foul dogs he had faced. These things seemed almost human in nature but twisted with thin whip like bodies and elongated distorted limbs propelled them through the forest after him. He only caught glimpses of them as he ran but that had been enough to spur him to a faster pace. Through it all the baby had been as quiet as a mouse not saying a word. It just looked up at him as he had run with its deep blue eyes with all the confidence in the world it seemed, that Marek would carry him from out of this place, safe and sound back to his home. For very personal reasons one being his own neck, Marek didn't want to let the little imp down. The day was coming up fast as the sun was just breaking the horizon ahead through the trees. Soon he would be able to see clearly what was chasing him. The trees were becoming more spread out and the vegetation less dominate in places. He was nearing the edge; he may yet have a chance. These creatures, he was told, feared the desert, that was why the other man had made it out and back to tell the tale. He just had to get there first. Then his fortune turned on him suddenly when his right foot caught the edge of a wet moss-covered rock throwing him off-balance. He instinctively rolled into the fall across the ground smothering the baby in a loose but tight protective cocoon with his arms and hands as he did so. Marek ended up on his back looking up at the nighttime sky through the forest trees, it was a dim blue with a wisp of white creeping in. He heard the chattering of many voices draw near. Marek tried to stand but was met with pain in his left ankle. It felt like he had twisted it. Gods that ale would taste good right about now, he thought idly. They drew in closer, from behind, to the left, right and now they closed the circle, in the front. His exit to the east was closed. He forced himself to stand, fighting through the pain and drew his sword, leaning against a nearby tree for support. He saw an army of them crawling over the ground to him. Their eyes started to glow gold in the burgeoning light of day as they neared. He looked down at the baby he held still with its eyes blue and confident in him. The treasure to topple Kingdoms the King had said, for destinies to be lost or made. What will they say of me little one? Marek reached out a finger to touch the little one's cheek. The babe held up its little hand to grab it. Marek noticed a tattoo, better yet a birthmark it seemed on its small forearm in the shape of a Crescent moon with a pale mist of cloud passing in front of it. Marek made a sharp intake of breath. Could it be, the Redeemer? He had heard the prophecies but he had never thought to see it come in his lifetime. He gripped his sword tighter in his hand and looked out at the horde. They were all but twenty feet away in tight circle about him. They had stopped. They were waiting for Marek to turn the baby over to them. They stood motionless shoulder to shoulder. A hair could not fit through between the space they allowed. Arms ending with three sharp talons rested on the ground twitched occasionally, perhaps in anticipation of his imminent death at their hands and the fulfillment of their task the creatures had been sent for. They did not chatter at each other or at him. They just looked at him with cold dead stares. Their thin slit likes mouths were all closed tight in a devilish grin as if to say game over my friend. He did the only thing he could. He tightened his grip on his sword and the little one and grinned right back. "Come on." He said. The babes tattoo began to burn bright against its flesh, the moon glowing on its skin as if set high in a nighttime sky. The pain in his ankle was gone, his strength had returned tenfold. He laid waste to them. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
DetourBy Intellectual Propaganda QuailBellMagazine.com The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
3/11/12 By Claire LeDoyen QuailBellMagazine.com I couldn’t tell you where this ink is leading. Truth be told, I’m scared stiff (see: paralyzed) shitless, Waiting for the hot brand of Animalistic tendencies to lead me to strange fruit And off the oceanic concept of islands entirely. My life is on the line of words I’ve flung upon the marble exterior of existence’s mausoleums. You may have your name in lights for awhile but mine is etched forever On countless gravestones - every death is another birth And for seventeen years I’ve been digging a massive grave, Into which I will saunter Now. |