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| So, now that all is said and done, I have an important question to ask ya'll:
Which stories did you like the most?
Your top three favorites would be appreciated, cause then I can figure out which ones to polish and maybe publish.
If you haven't read em all, then just out of the ones you've read is just as cool.
Here's a list of the stories, excluding the ones about Ben and Alex:
Miraculous Recovery
The Chest
Predator Prey Relationships
This Changing Road
Phil's Rage
Never Eat Wild Mushrooms
In the Grass
Sorry, Wrong Order
Sick at Heart
Black Dog in Black Night
Instant Potatoes
Belief
It Was Only a Dream
Cold Morning
Polished Till It Shines
On the Bus
Eclipse
And I've been considering continuing the story of Alex and Ben. We'll see though. Little burned out right now.
And remember: Your top three favorites in the comments section and I'll be your best friend for life.
Dylan | | |
| Tomorrow, or I guess later today, I'll have a real post up, but for now I just wanted to thank everyone for reading and commenting.
It's important for me to not write in a vacuum, to have folks let me know what works and what doesn't, what they like and dislike.
And it's especially important for an insane undertaking like this. There were a few times when I felt like quitting, but ya'll kept me uplifted enough to keep it going for the whole month.
And, for that, I say thank you.
Stay tuned for more.
Dylan | | |
| We've reached our final day of 31 Days of Horror 3. And thank ye gods for that. But stick around for a wrap-up post after all is said and done.
It had been almost a month since Alex and Ben had found themselves in this new world. They followed Mr. Ross through alien landscapes.
Ben’s stomach healed in an ugly, twisted scar, but Alex still walked from a limp. The poison in Mr. Ross’s spines still caused a dull ache during the chilly nights.
Some days, their sanity barely held on. As things that couldn’t be flew through the sky. As things that shouldn’t be, crawled through the road muck.
At the end of their first week there, Alex woke up in the middle of the night, screaming. It took twenty minutes for Ben to calm her down. Her sobbing annoyed Mr. Ross and he walked away from the camp and lay back down about twenty yards away.
On one occasion, they came across another traveler, transported from there and stuck here, a gibbering madman who leapt on Mr. Ross and tried to kill him. Mr. Ross tore the man in half.
Ben had nightmares for a week afterward.
It was at the end of this month that they first saw where Mr. Ross was taking them. In mid-afternoon, on another lead sky day under a red sun, Alex was the first to see the thing ahead of them.
“What is that?” she said, pointing.
Mr. Ross smiled, a toothy grin, “That’s where we’re going. We’re almost there. And then you’ll be fetched.”
It looked like a bristling spider, a huge hump with spines reaching up toward the sky.
“Is that a city?” Ben said, revolted.
“It is THE city,” said Mr. Ross, continuing to walk toward the thing.
Ben and Alex stood and stared. They realized the spines were towers, twisting and impossibly high spires on a black hill.
They looked at each other. They both were sure they didn’t want to be fetched or go where they were going.
They both shrugged and followed behind Mr. Ross. Ben heard a strange sound and then realized that Mr. Ross was humming. He definitely didn’t want to go anywhere that was making Mr. Ross this happy.
Days continued to tick down and the hump became clearer or more defined. The towers only got taller and on the black hill, they could see more buildings becoming defined. They were all made from the same black stone that Ben had seen in the canyon.
Mr. Ross became more and more cheerful as he went along. At one point, he was practically skipping and burst into a strange song that hurt Alex’s ears.
It was when they were only a few miles from the city that Ben saw it. A small black stone sitting beside the path. He stopped and picked it up, beneath it was a small packet.
He checked to see where Mr. Ross was. Mr. Ross was still walking along the path, almost running if truth be told. He hadn’t noticed Ben had stopped. Alex was watching Ben.
Ben stooped and picked up the packet. It was wax paper, tightly folded to preserve whatever was inside from the elements.
Ben unfolded it and saw a note.
It was short and to the point.
“Do not go into the city. Only the dead go there. Turn right now and head toward the setting sun. Haven is there.”
It was signed Driscoll.
Alex read over Ben’s shoulder. “Should we go?”
Ben nodded, “Wherever this is is better than that.” He pointed to the city.
“What about him?” Alex said, pointing to Mr. Ross, “I don’t think he’s going to let us walk off.”
They both thought for a moment, no noticing that Mr. Ross had stopped and returned to where they were standing.
“What are you doing? We are almost there! Come on!” He grinned from ear to ear.
“We’re not going with you,” said Ben.
Mr. Ross’s smile instantly faded and he grabbed Ben by the throat. Neither one noticed Alex.
“You are coming with me, even if I just bring back the pieces.”
Ben struggled in Mr. Ross’s grip when he heard a meaty thump. Mr. Ross’s eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped to the ground, releasing Ben.
Alex stood there, holding the rock that Driscoll had placed his note under.
"Let’s go,” she said.
And they went.
An hour later, Mr. Ross’s eyes fluttered open. He leapt to his feet and howled, a sound that carried a mile away.
He sniffed the air and then went right, toward the setting sun at a dead run.
…
…
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| Tonight's story stars a character I've used several times now and I figured it just wouldn't be 31 Days of Horror without him. ONE MORE DAY.
It never bothered me before.
Not since those early days, when it was new to me.
It grew on me though. I grew to…enjoy it.
Last night, it started out the same.
I walked out under bright moonlight and stared up. The moon has such cold light, but it still has power, a power like silver’s glow.
I felt it start, as it always does, down in the marrow of my bones, with the pop and crack as the bones shift and bend and twist in ways they aren’t supposed to.
I feel the slippery squirm of my guts as they get into a new alignment and that moment of pain where my heart begins to beat a faster rhythm.
Nails, hair, teeth, firing out, a rocket’s speed of growth and the terrible itching as it springs out.
It’s horrible, terrible agony.
And also the power.
The power that draws me in every time, that makes me forget the pain, the loss as every bit of my humanity is buried under this monster.
And then I’m gone, given over to a rage that never stills, a hunger that will end when the night does.
I never remember what happens when I’m changed. Just flashes. Images. Emotions. Emotions double what I normally feel. And power.
The world is mine in these times. Nothing can stop me. Nothing can hurt me.
The violence, the death, all held at bay by a mental fog.
But last night, it went…wrong.
I suddenly came to. My brain feeling sluggish, like I’d been woken up in the middle of a dream. I tried to sort out what was vision and what was reality.
I was on all fours, harsh ground pricking into my hands and feet. I was cold. Very cold. My eyes were shut tight. I opened them.
It was dark. Way too dark. It should be morning, but it was still night. If it was still night, why was I human? And why was it so dark?
I looked up at the sky and sucked in a deep breath. The stars had never seen brighter to me, a sandy beach made of light. And then I saw the moon. Or where it should have been.
Eclipse.
I gaped.
And then gagged.
The smell of copper hung heavy all around me. My nose, my mouth. I looked down at myself, and could make out splashes on my body. Blood. Lots of blood.
I spat. My mouth had been filled with it.
I froze.
A noise.
My heart beat rapidly. I waited to hear it again.
There.
A groan.
I crept over, on all fours, to where the sound had come from.
I didn’t have to go far.
A man. Lying on his back. I touched his stomach and felt ragged tears. He’d been disemboweled.
He groaned again and I licked my lips. I tasted his blood again and began to retch.
Light fell on us both.
I looked up and saw the eclipse was starting to end.
More light and I looked though I didn’t want to.
He was torn to pieces, but still alive. Terrible wounds. Bone revealed. Lower jaw hanging by a hinge.
His eyes bright white and aware.
He stared at me, fear in his eyes.
More light.
And the change started again.
His fear grew, his suspicions confirmed. All he could do was groan and roll those eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I said as the changes completed.
Darkness.
Now I have a month to look forward to. A month before it happens again. A time I now dread.
I don’t know what to do.
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| EEK! Only two more days to write! AND THEN I'M FREE! BLESSEDLY FREE! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Scott rested his head against the glass, his own face looking back at him. He couldn't see much, just darkness speeding by.
There was a jolt, a bounce, and his head rapped once, twice. He grimaced and sat up straight.
He sighed and looked around the bus for the tenth time, looking over his fellow passengers.
A heavy-set woman, with faded hair and dirty clothes, sat snoring in her chair. Heavy lines, like gouges, carved out her face.
An older man, hair black with streaks of grey, just staring forward, his eyes blank.
Two younger men, buttoned polo shirts, slacks, loafers and identical hair cuts sat just in front of Scott. They didn't speak to one another. Just looked ahead.
Scott shifted in his seat. It was too quiet. No talking. No muttering or crazy gibbering from the one drunk, homeless guy all public buses had to have. He looked behind and saw a young woman wearing thick, black sunglasses, the lenses reflecting back the entire bus.
He shuddered and turned back.
Harsh fluorescence made it all seem so much worse.
Deep shadows under eyes, deepening the sockets, holes with nothing in them, seeing nothing.
Scott blinked.
A harsh squeal and the bus pulled into a stop. The two identically dressed men with the identically styled hair stood as one and headed out. The doors opened with a hiss and out they went. The doors shut. And the bus pulled out.
Scott tried to see them through the window, but he only saw his own face reflected back at him. But he thought he heard screaming as they left the stop.
Scott sat back in his seat, disconcerted.
He realized he couldn't remember when he got onto the bus.
The bus picked up speed again.
Scott began to sweat. The feeling in his gut intensified. Something was very wrong.
The sleeping woman snorted and sat up. Her small eyes blinked rapidly. The bus slowed to a stop, brakes screaming like a dying rabbit, and the doors opened with a snarl. The woman stood up and walked to the door. For a single second, a split moment, Scott could see through her.
And then it was over and she was off the bus. The doors shut and the bus moved on.
Scott got out of his seat and moved across the aisle and peered through the window. Trying to see, needing to see. But there was nothing. Just a dim yell.
Scott chewed on his bottom lip and his foot began to tap.
The bus suddenly stopped and Scott looked up. It was time.
He got to his feet and tried to move as slowly as possible, his feet dragging with each step. But too soon he was at the doors. He ignored the driver and walked down the stairs. His last foot landing on emptiness.
His second foot followed.
The the rest of him.
Blackness.
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