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"The Hole" (the thirty-fourth ACWclub monthly writing contest) |
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Assignment: Write a story or poem using the following title: "The Hole" 2500 words or less. Deadline: Midnight (DST), June 15, 2004 All entries are the property of the authors and cannot be copied or reprinted without their consent. |
| The Hole by vfgeister@yahoo.com (Entry #10) |
| ~Winning Entry~ |
| Steve Turnip slid his hands through
his straw-colored hair, waving disobediently in conspiracy with the ocean
breeze, stretched his long muscular body and smiled, tightening his lips in two
narrow strips. The ocean waves still held the memory of yesterday’s storm,
but the sky was clear all the way to the horizon. Thinking that he was going to
have a great time in the waves, Steve grabbed the surfboard out of his truck
and went down the cliff to the water. The tide went away. Here and there between the rocks, usually hidden underneath the water, Steve saw puddles of trapped water and little crabs running in them in their funny, backward, way. Steve stepped into the water to test the temperature. A little colder than warm – just what the doctor ordered. The rocky beach was deserted at this morning hour and only the sea gulls wedged their voices into the hum of the ocean. Right before getting into the water, Steve heard a sound that was more melodious and not as prosaic as a typical seagull cry. He turned toward the cry and noticed a large fishtail showing from behind the rocks. "I wonder if it’s a dolphin? It must have been brought here by the storm and gotten stuck between the rocks." Steve lay down the surfing board and moved between the rocks to clarify the situation. Coming closer and climbing onto the rock, Steve witnessed the most bizarre creature he had ever seen in his life, or could, conceivably, imagine. There, between the rocks, in a puddle of water sat a mermaid. Small, not more than five feet from the top of her human head to the tip of her fishlike scaled tail. But the strangeness of this realization circumvented Steve’s consciousness, as he found another feeling possessing him. Everything about her - long red hair covering her breasts and stomach, the face and neck of almost bluish-white complexion, and the clear, faded-blue eyes displaying from within their depths a hidden suffering, tolerated, exited within Steve an instant and wild desire in him. Steve usually was considered a cold lover. Tall, toned and handsome, he looked like a Viking – a descendant of whom he most likely was - and never had difficulties getting chicks. They were practically jumping his bones. But he was more interested in sports and "did" girls only as a necessity, so he’d have something to comment about around the campfire. Therefore he was stunned and somewhat frightened with the magnitude of the feeling he experienced now. He felt himself getting hard inside his already slightly too tight surfing trunks. "Boy, how lucky can a guy get?" he thought, joyfully, "As lucky as ME, that’s how lucky. I’ve caught me a mermaid and hell if I’m not gonna’ cut me off a piece of that nice, fresh, tuna. THAT should shut them up at the next kegger. None of them can say THEY ever had a slice of ‘mermaid pie.’" He looked down at her with a smirk. "So… what’s happenin’, baby?" "Oh, noble knight," The Mermaid raised her eyes to his, her voice was uneven and hoarse as if her mouth was dry. "The storm cast me onto the shore. I think I banged my head against the rock and lost consciousness. When I awoke, the tide pulled out and I couldn’t get back to the water. Can you be so immensely merciful as to help me to get there? I’ll be eternally thankful for your kindness." Her eyes had the most innocent expression and Steve for a second felt uneasy about his thoughts - but only for a second. He jumped down from the rock to be closer to her. "Oh, that all depends, baby - how thankful can you be?" The Mermaid’s face darkened with confusion. "I don’t know, oh, noble knight. What does the noble knight desire?" "What do I want, baby? What any other guy would want from a hot chick. Understand? Me and you… understand?" Steve made a slight hip movement to end all confusion. "Oh no, no – never!" The Mermaid exclaimed, finally understanding what Steve meant. She blushed a thousand shades of blue. Steve rose and threw a tentative look around the beach. Rarely visited by the beach crowd, this morning, because of last night’s storm, it was absolutely deserted. "Listen, baby," Steve squatted back down next to her and touched her shoulder. "You have to understand something. You’ve been here how long – about four, five hours - and what’s happening to you? You’re rotting, doll. Do you see what’s going down? I’m telling you, cookie – you’re starting to stink. Fishy, fishy… another four hours and don’t think any water is gonna’ help. And if you think that someone besides me is gonna’ help you – think again. Without me, you’re gonna’ die, baby. As sad as it might sound. And it certainly IS sad, very sad in deed. Steve shook his head in pretend concern. "You don’t want this and I don’t want this. You need to get there, back to the water, and you need to get there now. Oh I see you looking around… this is a deserted beach, baby. People rarely come here, especially after a storm. That’s why I like it. "So what do you say, babe? What are we gonna' do? You gonna’ be a good girl and show me some gratitude for helping you get home?" Seeing The Mermaid wasn’t going to respond, Steve moved her hair away from her breasts and devoured their milky fullness with his gaze. Then suddenly, not being able to contain himself, he grabbed her, turned her over and started frantically parting her scales looking for the, now, desperately- needed opening. But what he, finally, found was so tiny he doubted he’d ever be able to fit, even if he was half his normal size. Holding her by her hips her head down he began to try to work his way through her scales, but couldn’t breach their armoring, and the only thing he got from the attempting was a razor cut along his shaft when he slid side-ways across her scaly hip on one particularly forceful thrust. Frustrated, Steve let The Mermaid drop onto the sand and, roughly pulling her into a seated position, made gestures indicating he wanted her to open her mouth. The Mermaid tried to push him away but in her desiccating condition and as small as she was, Steve easily swatted her hands away and was ready to open her mouth for her, when…. "WAIT!" The Mermaid begged, her voice hoarse and bleak, "The knight is a powerful warrior and, I see, a great lover, too." She looked at him with a timid smile and batted her lashes, but Steve saw something else behind the smile, something more experienced and teasing that caused Steve’s heart to pound. "The knight should understand that I am a water creature. I live in water, I blossom in water. And I open up in water." Again Steve caught that "look." Only this time it was much more pronounced. "You mean, you…." "Yes, brave warrior, yes. I need to be wet." The Mermaid smiled widely, no longer hiding her seductiveness, and slid her hands over her breasts and down along her hips. "Take me to water, warrior, and your patience will be rewarded. For you, my knight, for you… there’ll be a hole. Of that I vow." Feeling himself about ready to burst, Steve picked her light body into his arms and carried her the several yards from where they’d been down to the water, carefully stepping between the rocks. As he walked he looked around suspicious of unexpected prying eyes, but was finally satisfied there was no one else around. *** "Just don’t try to fuck with me." Steve warned her before lowering her into the water. "Oh, I’ll do whatever my knight wants and, perhaps, even more." He stood up to his waist in the water, still holding her in his arms. "My warrior, allow me, first, to feast." She looked down through the waves at his nakedness. "And don’t worry, I shall not flee. You will hold my head." Feeling the gentle touch of her mouth under the water, Steve moaned with pleasure. Several movements of her lips made him so ecstatic that his hands raised to his head, releasing his beautiful victim. To Steve it seemed he lost hold of her for only a split second yet, instantly, he realized with all his body her absence and a bellow of anger escaped his mouth, only to instantly change back to a smile as The Mermaid, smiling, too, rose to the surface next to him and grabbed his hand. "Come with me, my knight, come with me lover." "Where to?" Steve asked, genuinely curious. "Over there, to those rocks. There are so smooth and comfortable. I’ll be yours there, all the way." The rock formation she pointed to was about a hundred yards away. Many times Steve had rested there before starting to surf. Unlike the sharp and edgy shore rocks those were smooth and polished as if they were composed not of bedrock so much as pearl. Steve also figured that they would do their "thing" on the other side of the rocks – away from those prying eyes he still suspected everywhere. They swam together side by side. The coy, seductive smile now didn’t leave her face at all, and actually, Steve thought, had turned to something even more intriguing and exciting. *** At about fifty yards to the rock formation The Mermaid unexpectedly increased her speed. Steve tried to follow up on this challenge, but quickly realized he wasn’t a match. "Hey, baby – hold on a sec. I’m older than I look and, hell, I ain’t got fins!" Steve forced a sputtering laugh, trying to hide from her the sudden sense of panic creeping up his spine. The Mermaid, though she had the lead, to Steve’s surprise, didn’t swim away but stayed in sight. Only now bereft of all seductiveness and veiled, instead, with an almost palpable aura of hatred and contempt. To Steve’s confusion, The Mermaid started slowly circling ‘round him. "Hey, baby, what kind of game IS this?" Silent, The Mermaid simply kept her gaze determinedly placed straight ahead and increased her circling speed. Steve felt the water moving hard behind her – ‘round and ‘round and ‘round, faster and faster, till he started to feel a tugging at his legs and suddenly realized what kind of game this was. By then, of course, it was too late. Moving faster and faster, and around and around and around, The Mermaid’s circular movements had created at their center a tidy little vortex, in which Steve Turnip found himself directly and most inconveniently placed. The water, first, a lazy slows seductive pulling downward fast turned into a great and wide and sucking space and, then, that space became the deep and black and infinitely sucking hole The Mermaid had – as promised – once wetted, had made especially for him. And, then, Steve Turnip, a frantic fleshy ball of panic and despair, collected all his force of will together for one final scream for help – but, to the great amusement of the only "help" for miles – the gulls hung low in silent, curious, hover overhead - the screams of surfer dudes when mixed with one part mermaid, half a brain and fathoms-full of H20 make every uttered word sound, simply, "Glub." The Mermaid, suddenly alone, stopped circling and in the process, shut tight the lid on Steve Turnip’s unexpected swirling, watery, end. Ducking her head beneath the, now, becalmed and lapping waves to watch her love sink slowly fathoms deep into the murky and, then, pitch-black, depths, she waved and smiled and in her tinkling mermaid’s voice, sang down into vast, below: "And how, my ‘knight’, my love, pray tell - how do you like my ‘hole’?" The seagulls hanging low and overhead screamed happily and dove and soared and dove and soared again into the teeming multitude of tiny, silver, fry churned to the bright blue surface by the disappearing mermaid’s tail as it flipped and flopped and with a final splash sank straight and down and, finally, out of sight. |
| The Hole by Tom Campbell topcat@spiritone.com (Entry #3) |
| ~Runner Up~ |
| The tiny spacecraft, practically a
blur, hurtled toward the surface of an unknown planet. Commander Milton pulled
at the controls and swore under his breath but the reverse thrusters refused to
engage. Why had he chosen to land on this stupid planet anyhow? Because it
looked green? Then he thought of one maneuver that might possibly work. It was
a longshot but it was his only chance to avoid a fiery death! As he neared the surface, he executed a loop, shut off the engines, and pointed the nose of the Gallant into its own slipstream. Gradually the ship began to slow enough that he thought he could risk a landing. He spotted a clearing, aimed his crippled ship towards it, and bounced into a harrowing touchdown, stopping just short of a strange forest. He breathed a sigh of relief and clambered out to survey the damage. The engine thrusters he could probably fix himself but a wing had gotten a hole in it upon landing that would require some help. A large castle or fort loomed darkly on the horizon a mile or so away. Commander Milton resigned himself to trudging there. He hoped they were friend and not foe. He slung his laser blaster over his shoulder but before he got a dozen steps, he heard rustling noises and saw human-like beings walking towards him. He grabbed his blaster and he leveled it, trigger finger itchy and fixed them with a savage stare, but they kept walking, vacant smiles on their faces. They seemed harmless enough so Milton lowered the blaster, smiled back, and gave them a friendly wave of his hand. They looked at him without much interest and a few circled the spaceship though they seemed afraid to touch it. One of them spoke. "Aeeoiue." "Aeeoiue," Milton said hopefully. "Oeii aueio ueeia aaioo." "I don't suppose any of you speak English," Commander Milton muttered. He saw he would need to communicate through sign language and gestures. He pointed to the hole in the broken wing, grabbed a handful of dirt, and made motions as though he needed something to plug it up with. They nodded and smiled. He pointed to the castle as if maybe he could find help there but they cowered back in fear and screamed. "Xgkzvd, Xgkzvd! Aaiieee!" They all hurried back to their little village and Milton followed along. Dusk was dripping a golden glow as they found a sumptuous meal waiting for them. Exotic fruits and vegetables and delicious bowls of food, subtlely flavored. This was accompanied by soft sweet music played on unusual flutes and gourds. After his big meal, Commander Milton was tired so they showed him to a soft feathery bed and gave him a warm velvety blanket. He slept the sleep of the dead until morning. He awakened to the shouts of laughter, children and adults alike were running around playing games or lounging on big pillows, playing music, or just smiling blissfully at nothing. Was that all these people did? Eat, sleep, and play? Sounded good in theory but Milton knew he'd be bored in no time. These people had developed no civilization - never did anything. Commander Milton wanted out of there and on to the next world. With gestures he reminded them of his broken spaceship until a couple of them led him down to a river where they dug up some metallic looking mud. He carted it to his crippled ship and rubbed it into the cracks until the hole was fully plugged. An hour later when it dried, it was as solid as steel. He wrapped heat resistant tape over it all and started work on the engine. By mid afternoon he had it purring like a kitten again so he walked back to the village for one last meal and a few provisions. It was a welcome change from the freeze dried goop he usually ate. Before they had finished, though, their idyllic little brunch was interrupted by an invasion. "Xgkzvd, Xgkzvd!" the people cried, and out of the woods shambled the most ugly misshapen creatures Commander Milton had ever seen. He ran for the cover of the trees and watched as the deformed beasts grabbed some of the beautiful people who hadn't run fast enough and dragged them back toward their castle. The rest of the brutes began stuffing bags with all the food while emitting monstrous roars. Milton had seen enough. He ran back to the Gallant and revved it up. Taking off with a roar, he steered back on a course toward the Black Castle. Finger on the trigger he yelled out: "Prepare to eat hot laser bombs you Xgkzvd scum." Zeroing in on his target, he... "Class. Can anyone tell us who wrote the Gettysburg Address? Milton, are you paying attention? Do you know the answer to this question?" "Uh... Daniel Boone?" |
| The
WCA's The Writers' Choice Awards |
| Here's how the members of the
ACWclub voted for their favorite entries: First place: #4 Second place: #3 Others receiving votes: #1, #5, #8, #10 |
Here are all the entries, posted in the order they were received.
| The Hole camel1ss@comcast.net |
#1 of 10 |
| 1206 words | |
| "Well, you’ve done dug yourself in deep this
time." Boyd threw down his shovel and pulled a bandana from the back pocket of
his overalls, mopping the sweat off his face and leaving grimy streaks. He
glared at Hank, "Now what, Mr. Genius of the World?" Hank glowered at his friend, "your monster brain ain’t working so hard! I didn’t hear word one from you before we got to this point." "I’m wishing I never got out of bed this morning. You and your dang blasted ideas for making money." Boyd struck a pose and said in a falsetto, "’It’ll be easy Boyd, a couple hours work for biiig bucks.’" "All right, all right. You don’t like it, just git on home and I’ll keep everything for myself. I done most of the work anyway." Boyd stared, open-mouthed. "No way bud! You owe me a bigger share for getting me in this mess. Nothing good’s gonna come from it, mark my words. We’ll be lucky if we even get paid after this muck-up." He wiped his perspiring face again. "Damn, I wish I had me a cold beer. It’s gotta be 90 degrees out today." "Welcome to May in Texas. Ain’t you used to it yet? You done lived all your durn life here." Hank spat on the ground, "Tastes like I got a mouth full of dirt." "Better save your spit, it might be all you get to drink for a long while." Boyd kicked at a clod of earth, finally stamping it flat with his heavy work boot. He tucked his hands behind the bib of the overalls and sighed, "My life sucks. I gotta win the lottery or something." "Don’t hafta tell me!" Hank said with a snort. He jammed the blade of his shovel in the ground and leaned on the handle, staring up at the cloudless sky. "Ever wonder how you got born? I do. I mean the chances! If my particular wiggly guy had been a little slower I wouldn’t be standing here, talking to you. And what about all the others? I might have been Donald Trump or a serial murderer or a septic tank drainer." "Huh… I never really thought about it before. We should feel lucky to be here, y’know? One wrong turn and I could’ve been a girl. I wouldn’t mind being one of them gynecologists though." The two hooted at that one. Hank took off his greasy baseball cap and fanned his face with it. "Wish a good breeze would come along about now and cool things off." Boyd flopped down on the ground and said drowsily, "Wish an air conditioner’d drop from the sky." "What, with a ten-mile extension cord to plug it in?" Hank scoffed, wiping a trickle of sweat off his temple with his t-shirt sleeve. "Gimme a cooler full of iced tea…" "And beer." "And beer. I could go for one of them ice creams stuck between the giant chocolate chip cookies." "Yeah," Boyd said with enthusiasm, sitting up. "Or one of them drumsticks with nuts, and chocolate lining the cone. I ain’t had them since I was a kid." Hank fished a stick of gum from the pocket of his tight jeans and folded it in half. "My last one. It’s better than nothing." "Yeah, pig. Keep the bigger half for yourself." "So what if it was? I didn’t hafta share with you at all." Hank eased down to the ground next to Boyd. They sat like silent bookends, jaws working and considering the spring sky. A bird flew over and hank chuckled. "That reminds me... I heard on the radio the other day that one of them crazy rock singers held this outdoor concert, right? Well, she had her mouth wide open, belting out a high note, when this bird passed over the stage and..." "Don’t tell me," Boyd chuckled, listening with anticipation. "Yup, plops a juicy one right in her mouth. What kind of good aim is that?" "Did she spit or swallow?" Hank rolled around whooping with laughter, while Boyd clutched his large belly. He snickered, "We oughta send it to Iraq. A secret weapon." "Send a whole herd of ‘em!" Hank nodded, brushing tears away. "Flock." "What’s that?" "Birds fly in flocks, not herds. No such thing as a herd of geese, is there?" "Stop nit picking, you know what I meant." Boyd shrugged, "I ain’t nit picking, you just say dumb things that I can’t stand to hear." "I’ll dumb you upside the head with this shovel!" "Don’t you threaten me buster! I can whomp you with both hands tied behind my back." "You and ten of you couldn’t whiffle the hair on my head." Boyd eyed Hank’s thinning hair, plastered down with sweat. "Not much there to whiffle." Hank’s face reddened and he scowled, "Hey man, don’t you talk about my hair!" "Which one? I count ten." Hank took a swing, clipping Boyd’s chin. "I tole you to shut up about my hair!" They rolled around, arms flailing as they threw punches that mostly missed the mark. Hank swore when Boyd got him in a headlock, and was trying to wriggle free when an angry voice startled them both. "What the hell’s going on? You two got four more graves to dig yet, so git your donkey-headed selves out of there and git a move on!" Boyd let go of Hank and they stared up at Lem Watson’s furious face, framed by a rectangle of blue sky. Hank retrieved his baseball cap and jammed it on his head. He avoided Lem’s eyes as he said, "Er, we got a sort of problem." "Oh? And what might that be, pray tell?" "Ignoring the sarcasm dripping from Lem’s voice, Hank continued, "We, er, can’t get out of here." Lem stared around the grave. "Where’s your ladder, fool? How’d you dig down seven feet without hauling the dirt out?" They looked at each other, amazed. "I never thought of that," Hank said, dabbing at his bloody lip with the edge of his t-shirt. "Me neither!" Boyd agreed, rubbing his sore chin. "We kinda catapulted the dirt out with our shovels when we got too deep to toss it out." "Jesus H. Christ on a raft," the foreman muttered, yanking at his hair. His face disappeared and a few minutes later a ladder dropped into the hole. "Now git out of there and finish up! The dead ain’t gonna wait on you cucumbers." The two men climbed out, watching Lem’s retreating back as he marched stiffly away. Hank slung the shovels over one shoulder and followed Boyd who dragged the ladder to his rusty pickup. They tossed everything in the bed and stood, examining a map of the cemetery with five plots marked out. Boyd slapped Hank’s back, "What say we get us some ice cream?" Hank vigorously smacked at his pants with his baseball cap, raising a dust cloud that reminded Boyd of that Pig Pen kid in the Snoopy cartoons. Choking and waving it away, Hank hopped in the passenger seat. "Let’s go!" Boyd chuckled at his friend and shook his head in wonder as he rounded the truck, digging in his pocket for the keys. |
|
| The Hole Ian Lipke ian@astutetuition.com.au |
#2 of 10 |
| 2221 words | |
| Blast this tooth!" Alexander Shrewport groaned. The
pain had wrecked his sleep-in. "The damn thing’s worse than the last one
and that was bad enough. God! I can’t put it off any longer." He reached
for the telephone to find that Dr Plant could see him at 10.30 that morning.
"Oh hell," he groaned aloud, "trust Henry to have an opening. I’ll have to
go through with it now. You’re a coward, Shrewport." He buried his aching
jaw in the pillow. Alexander Shrewport had known Henry Plant for more years than either cared to remember. Alexander (never ‘Alex’, he always hastened to add) had met Henry when that little matter of Mrs Cassandra Hilton’s pearl-drop earrings had to be investigated. Alexander’s intuitive skills had tracked the culprit to Henry’s locum, and on the young man’s arrest, the great detective had become one of Henry’s patients. Not a close friend, Alexander would always stress. Who could be the best friend of a man who inflicts pain, reduces his client’s vocabulary to little more than "aagh" or "ugh"and then expects to be paid for his efforts? But somehow the unflappable Dr Plant made the experience far less unpleasant than Shrewport had suffered at the hands of several of the good dentist’s colleagues. Not that Alexander didn’t look after his teeth. Quite the contrary in fact, as his secretary was fond of telling him. Julia seemed interested in more than just the eminent detective’s teeth, but Alexander was having none of that. He thought of her now and rang her number. "Oh Julia," he began, "I’m so sorry for disturbing you at home." "Any time, Alexander, any time," she purred. "Um, ah … I’m going to be late into work this morning. Tooth-ache, you know," he explained, and rang off before she could prolong the conversation. He immediately stricken once again by his angry tooth. It was all right for Henry to tell him his problem could be fixed in no time. Henry was like that - always pleasant, in complete control of his world, and with a deep interest in Alexander’s investigations. He sat up on the pillows. Henry, you’re a nice man, old son, but I wish you wouldn’t always ask the most intriguing questions just as you’ve stuck your fingers inside my jaws, he thought. Steady, reliable Henry. Complacent almost, but not uncaring in the face of his patients’ agitations. Understanding and kind, but never petulant. Never harbouring resentment or ferocity at the latest economic blunder whose sole purpose seemed destined to make everyone’s lives just that little bit more difficult. As the clock ticked its inevitable progression towards 10.30, Alexander faced his destiny. Clutching his umbrella, he exited his apartment and hurried to the surgery. With a deep breath, he pushed on the door that announced to all that Dr Henry Plant, Dental Surgeon, practised here, and entered the waiting room. A woman of indeterminate age with her hair bound in a tight bun, her eyes a deep brown, and her lower region displaying the beginnings of a paunch, looked up wearily from her magazine and glanced away. Alexander was of no interest to her at this moment. Indeed, her attention was in the child of four or five who at that moment threw up his morning’s McDonalds at Alexander’s feet, and began to protest the wickedness of his stomach’s behaviour with a noise reminiscent of one of the cheaper vacuum cleaners on the market. A period of organised pandemonium ensued. Alexander gave his name to Dr Plant’s receptionist who, in adenoidal tones pitched above the noise, seemed to be impressing on him that he should wait as the doctor wouldn’t be long. Warily, Alexander selected a seat as far from the potentially re-eruptive child as possible. An internal door opened, revealing a woman, haggard of demeanour and in a state of weary frustration. Accompanying her was the shriek of a wanton banshee, a child who, in Alexander’s professional opinion, required immediate and uninterrupted despatch to her home in Hades or somewhere equally salubrious. The child’s nose bubbled with milky fluid. Alexander drew in his legs hurriedly as she walked past, hoping the little girl would not sneeze in his direction. With the tolerance worthy of one of the greater Shrewports, Alexander waited his turn to see the no doubt unperturbed Dr Plant. It was usual for Henry’s patients to emerge from treatment with smiles on the children’s faces and adult smirks of relief. This did little to help alleviate the fears of those waiting. Still, with a barely concealed sigh, Alexander answered Fate’s summons, his tooth now benign and as silent as a tombstone amid the storm. In the inner sanctum, safe from the multitude, Alexander turned to greet his dentist. A grunt was the opening response and Alexander’s detective instincts, honed through a myriad of difficult cases whose very tortuousness would have defeated a lesser man, knew immediately that something was bothering his old friend. He studied Henry’s features with the rapidity for which he was deservedly famous. Was it possible that Henry was ill? With all this terrorist stuff about, could one of his family have become one of their victims? Was some deep secret from his past about to appear? Could his favourite daughter be pregnant to the young hoon she was seen with at the hotel last month? "Good morning, Henry," Alexander offered again. "Another busy morning, I see." "Sit down in the chair, Alexander," was the muffled reply. "I’ll be with you shortly." The dentist proceeded to wash his hands with a concentration Alexander had not seen before. Henry reached for a sterile towel but dropped it. Something was clearly wrong. "Now, what’s the problem?" Henry asked, his voice softer and more obstructed than usual. Alexander wondered if perhaps it was just a simple laryngeal infection. A few days rest with some aspirin would fix the problem. But there was something not quite right. "Too facile," Alexander murmured. "What’s that, you say?" asked Henry, with a deep frown. "Oh, nothing much," Alexander replied. "I’m afraid I need your services for this tooth of mine. It’s been quite painful." It may have been Alexander’s imagination but Henry Plant’s face seemed to turn a shade more pale than usual. Once rubicund cheeks were definitely a delicate shade of pink. Curious indeed, Alexander thought. Then he noticed Henry’s hands. "Let’s have a look in there. Open up!" Henry’s words could just be heard above the hiss of the air conditioner. Alexander opened his mouth and the dentist’s mirror chattered against his lower teeth. "Wider," Henry grunted. Alexander opened to the maximum and Henry inserted the mirror. Again, Alexander noticed his hands tremble and the mirror-handle jig across his patient’s upper incisors like some demented leprechaun. Alexander moved slightly in his seat. "I can’t see this if you don’t sit still," Henry snapped, then immediately apologised for his abruptness. "This is not like you," Alexander said. "If there’s something I can do …" but his friend ignored him. Henry returned to his task. "I see it now," the dentist remarked, and removed a trembling finger from where it probed between cheek and gum. "I’ll have to stick you to numb the pain, but rinse first, please," he said. A door opened and an adenoidal voice bridged the silence. "I’m off to an early lunch now, Dr Plant." The effect on Henry Plant was remarkable. He jumped and dropped the glass of water he had just placed to Alexander’s mouth. The contents cascaded down Alexander’s shirt and on to his trousers. Henry’s apologies were drowned in his noisy attempts to brush his patient dry. "I’m sorry, Alexander. I don’t know what came over me. I’ll have your clothes drycleaned, I will. It’s my fault. I’m sorry." It was time for a Shrewport moment. Alexander had faced much more hazardous situations than this. He had taken charge then and turned seemingly impossible odds to his own advantage. This was child’s play to an experienced man. "That will do, my dear," he told the receptionist. "You run along now and enjoy your lunch. Dr Plant and I will sort all this out. No, don’t bother with that." He took a box of tissues from her hands and ushered her out the door. He closed it firmly and to make doubly sure that they would not be interrupted, he locked it and pocketed the key. He fixed his gaze upon the dentist. Henry was clearly embarrassed. "I’m sorry," he began. "I truly will have your suit cleaned. It’s just that I wasn’t prepared for Olive to come bursting in like that." Alexander said nothing. "It won’t happen again. I can assure you," Henry stuttered as he lifted a hypodermic syringe. "Sit down again. This will only take a minute." But his attempt to act normally was as transparent as the waters Alexander had witnessed in the far upper reaches of the Nile when he had solved the mystery of the Empress’s ruby. Dr Plant raised the syringe and squirted its contents gently into the atmosphere. His unsteady hands betrayed him. They trembled as the leaves in the forest when brushed by a passing breeze. At last, Alexander spoke. "I hate to even suggest this, Henry, but have you been drinking?" An angry snort echoed through the room. "Don’t be ridiculous, Alexander. You know I never drink when I’m seeing patients. That would be completely irresponsible," Henry replied. Alexander studied his friend. "How long have we known each other, Henry?" he asked. "Possibly fifteen - twenty years? In all that time I have seen nothing but a caring, professional man unfazed by whatever disasters his patients have perpetrated upon their teeth and gums… unflappable, in command of every situation. But I’m not seeing that today. What’s wrong, Henry?" Dr Plant hesitated but Alexander, with the shrewdness of long experience, was not going to lose his man now. It was vital that the right instant be chosen. He sensed Henry was ready to talk but needed careful handling. Alexander recalled the occasion when the Princess of Oleander had finally given him the lead he needed to take her beyond danger. She had been immensely grateful for her escape and had taken him into her private chambers and dismissed the servants. A weary, but extremely contented, man had left her the next day as the sun was peeking above the eastern horizon. Dr Plant would offer comparatively little resistance. "Something is very wrong, Henry, and with my experience and my discretion we can overcome this thing together." Dr Plant interrupted. "There’s nothing at all wrong, Alexander. I told you I was sorry I spilled that water over you but the girl startled me. You’ll be compensated." "Hang the compensation," Alexander responded. "There’s something you’re not telling me, Henry. I don’t have to remind you that we’ve been friends for many years. Friends, Henry!" "There is nothing that can be done," Henry said, a tremor in his voice. "Nothing." But Alexander was not to be deterred. "Now, don’t you go giving up, old chap," he said. "There is always something. The numbers of criminals I’ve put away you would not believe, all because their victims gave me that little bit of information I needed. Tell me, and I’ll guarantee results to your liking. I remember …" . Henry Plant interrupted. "You mean well, my friend, but you can do nothing for me. That’s the end of it." ‘Is it Millie, your wife? Is there something wrong with her that you’re not telling me. I have a right to know, Henry. Is she ill? Good God! Not that cancer." He looked at his friend’s pale face. "Her cancer hasn’t returned, has it?" "You have a too active imagination, Alexander," Henry replied. "Millie’s fine. My whole family’s fine." But Alexander thought he heard the muttered words "except me." By now Henry’s voice was firm, the trembling had ceased, and Alexander knew that Dr Plant’s problem would have to be dealt with another day. It was clear that Henry was back in control of his immediate destiny. It would take all of the great detective’s considerable skill to solve Henry’s dilemma, but he knew that he would tackle Henry Plant again and again until he achieved success. He submitted to the oral skills of his companion and the ache that had begun to return to his tooth was soon no more. Returning the key to its owner, Alexander departed but waited on the footpath behind a bush not far from the dentist’s surgery. Soon, Henry opened his door and locked it carefully behind him. Alexander held his breath and watched, hidden from view by the small bush. Like a strong Australian bluegum, resistant to a howling southerly, he waited, unmoving, undeterred. Dr Plant strolled towards him, his clever, lightly-tanned fingers cupping his lower jaw. Then, as if his friend’s whereabouts were no secret, he stopped beside the bush. "I’m off to Bill Sutherland now, Alexander. You won’t need to follow me. I’ve got this wretched great hole in one of my molars and Bill’s going to fix it for me. I’m sorry about the drenching but, I’ve never told any of my patients this, I’m terribly frightened of the drill. Absolutely paranoid in fact. I’ll see you later. Goodbye." |
|
| The Hole Tom Campbell topcat@spiritone.com |
#3 of 10 Runner-up |
| 815 words | |
| The tiny spacecraft, practically a blur, hurtled toward
the surface of an unknown planet. Commander Milton pulled at the controls and
swore under his breath but the reverse thrusters refused to engage. Why had he
chosen to land on this stupid planet anyhow? Because it looked green? Then he
thought of one maneuver that might possibly work. It was a longshot but it was
his only chance to avoid a fiery death! As he neared the surface, he executed a loop, shut off the engines, and pointed the nose of the Gallant into its own slipstream. Gradually the ship began to slow enough that he thought he could risk a landing. He spotted a clearing, aimed his crippled ship towards it, and bounced into a harrowing touchdown, stopping just short of a strange forest. He breathed a sigh of relief and clambered out to survey the damage. The engine thrusters he could probably fix himself but a wing had gotten a hole in it upon landing that would require some help. A large castle or fort loomed darkly on the horizon a mile or so away. Commander Milton resigned himself to trudging there. He hoped they were friend and not foe. He slung his laser blaster over his shoulder but before he got a dozen steps, he heard rustling noises and saw human-like beings walking towards him. He grabbed his blaster and he leveled it, trigger finger itchy and fixed them with a savage stare, but they kept walking, vacant smiles on their faces. They seemed harmless enough so Milton lowered the blaster, smiled back, and gave them a friendly wave of his hand. They looked at him without much interest and a few circled the spaceship though they seemed afraid to touch it. One of them spoke. "Aeeoiue." "Aeeoiue," Milton said hopefully. "Oeii aueio ueeia aaioo." "I don't suppose any of you speak English," Commander Milton muttered. He saw he would need to communicate through sign language and gestures. He pointed to the hole in the broken wing, grabbed a handful of dirt, and made motions as though he needed something to plug it up with. They nodded and smiled. He pointed to the castle as if maybe he could find help there but they cowered back in fear and screamed. "Xgkzvd, Xgkzvd! Aaiieee!" They all hurried back to their little village and Milton followed along. Dusk was dripping a golden glow as they found a sumptuous meal waiting for them. Exotic fruits and vegetables and delicious bowls of food, subtlely flavored. This was accompanied by soft sweet music played on unusual flutes and gourds. After his big meal, Commander Milton was tired so they showed him to a soft feathery bed and gave him a warm velvety blanket. He slept the sleep of the dead until morning. He awakened to the shouts of laughter, children and adults alike were running around playing games or lounging on big pillows, playing music, or just smiling blissfully at nothing. Was that all these people did? Eat, sleep, and play? Sounded good in theory but Milton knew he'd be bored in no time. These people had developed no civilization - never did anything. Commander Milton wanted out of there and on to the next world. With gestures he reminded them of his broken spaceship until a couple of them led him down to a river where they dug up some metallic looking mud. He carted it to his crippled ship and rubbed it into the cracks until the hole was fully plugged. An hour later when it dried, it was as solid as steel. He wrapped heat resistant tape over it all and started work on the engine. By mid afternoon he had it purring like a kitten again so he walked back to the village for one last meal and a few provisions. It was a welcome change from the freeze dried goop he usually ate. Before they had finished, though, their idyllic little brunch was interrupted by an invasion. "Xgkzvd, Xgkzvd!" the people cried, and out of the woods shambled the most ugly misshapen creatures Commander Milton had ever seen. He ran for the cover of the trees and watched as the deformed beasts grabbed some of the beautiful people who hadn't run fast enough and dragged them back toward their castle. The rest of the brutes began stuffing bags with all the food while emitting monstrous roars. Milton had seen enough. He ran back to the Gallant and revved it up. Taking off with a roar, he steered back on a course toward the Black Castle. Finger on the trigger he yelled out: "Prepare to eat hot laser bombs you Xgkzvd scum." Zeroing in on his target, he... "Class. Can anyone tell us who wrote the Gettysburg Address? Milton, are you paying attention? Do you know the answer to this question?" "Uh... Daniel Boone?" |
|
| The Hole Tim Houlihan snocone@cybrquest.com |
#4 of 10 |
| 1876 words | |
| David Spindle had just opened the last box of books and
was stacking them on the shelf when his wife called from the bathroom. He
kicked the empty box along in front of him into the pile of empty boxes in the
hall leading to the master bedroom. He walked to the bathroom and saw his wife
in her bathrobe standing with her back against the wall and her toothbrush
stuck out of the side of her mouth. " What’s wrong, Chris?’ She pointed at the sink. David looked. A green slug was sticking out of the hole where the water drains writhing in the toothpaste she had spit out. David laughed and turned the water on. "I already tried that," Chris said around her tooth brush. The water splashed into the bowl and swirled round and round in a maelstrom and gurgled down the hole. The slug crawled out farther. " That’s disgusting," Chris said. " I’m sure it happens with new houses. Things crawl into the pipes while their putting the plumbing in and they find a way out when water starts draining through them." Christine shuddered.. " Umm hmm. Just get rid of it." David rummaged around in the boxes in the bathroom. " I’ll be right back," he said. He weaved around unpacked boxes and furniture that had not been set in place yet to the kitchen. He got a fork from the silverware drawer and went back to the bathroom. " What are you doing?" Chris asked. " This ought to work," he said. The slug was halfway out of the hole and was sliding up the side of the sink. " A fork?" David grinned. "David. Not with a fork." " Why not?" " Because we eat with those." " Oh, its not going to hurt anything." " David, don’t." David pushed on the slug with the handle part of the fork, pushed it back toward the hole, but the slug bent itself around the fork and wiggled away. " Now every time I use a fork I’m going to wonder if it was the one you used to stab the snot bug with." David found an empty plastic bag and scooped up the slug. Half of the green tubular body dangled off each side. " Oh. David this is really sick," Chris said. " Mmm, mmm, good!" he said and pretended to eat it. He moved it toward the bag and when he did it writhed off the fork and fell to the floor. " Dammit." " That’s enough for me," Christine said and fled the bathroom, leaving David trying to scrape the slug into the plastic bag. Again and again he tried, but every time he would get it close to the bag it would slither away. He tried putting the bag over it and picking it up, but with the same result, the slug managed to get away. " Any luck?" Chris stuck her head in the door. " Oh, god, David. Look." David looked back. A long worm with scales and a vee shaped head dangled from the side of the sink and was lowering its way to the floor. " Oh. What the hell?" Christine started to whimper. " Chris, get me a garbage bag." " No. That one looks dangerous," she said. The worm fell the final foot to the floor and slithered in wide S- patterns across the linoleum and slammed into the side of the bath tub with a thump. Chris screamed and David jumped out of the bathroom and slammed the door. " I’m going to call an exterminator," he said. Christine was crying. " The phone doesn’t work yet." " I’ll go to the neighbors. You stay here." " No." " I’ll be right back." David ran from the house and down the long sloping driveway. He crossed the road to the neighbors and banged on their front door. A man opened. " Hi. I’m David Spindle. I just moved in across the road and my phone isn’t working yet. I was wondering if I could borrow yours." The man smiled. " Sure, he said. He walked David to the living room and introduced himself and his wife then showed him the phone. " We’re having a bit of a bug problem, " David said. " Could you recommend a good exterminator?" The woman gasped and the man’s face clouded over. " What kind of bug problem?" he asked. " Oh some varmints coming up out of the sink. Its nothing really." " That’s what you think," said the man as he pushed his way past David and snatched the phone off the hook. He dialed a number. " Officer Foster, please. This is an emergency." They waited. " Dick? Yeah this is Ed Faulk out at Pine Mountain. The new folks that just moved in—the Spindles—they got a problem. Bugs from the pipes." Mr. Faulk said goodbye and hung up. " What’s going on?" David asked. Mr. Faulk pushed David gently on the back and guided him toward the front door. " You should go see to your wife now. Goodbye." He closed the door behind David. David stood there in front of the door for a moment then raised his hand to knock, but he heard Christine scream. He ran home and when he got there found Christine out on the driveway crying. " Chris, what’s wrong?" They’re everywhere," she sobbed. Just as she said it slugs and worms and other creatures from the hole at the bottom of the sink spilled down the front steps and slithered and crawled onto the grass. Christine screamed again. Besides the slugs and worms with vee shaped heads there were others that looked like small rats with tufts of hair missing. There were unexplainable things with one leg with a webbed foot that hopped and fell over, then shrieked and thrashed about until it uprighted itself and hopped some more only to fall down and begin shrieking and thrashing about again. There were creatures like frogs but with a birdlike face with tentacles arching up from their spines, and fishlike things with feathers. David slapped his hand over his mouth and gagged. " God it stinks." He helped Christine to her feet and they went down to the end of the driveway. A white jeep with government plates pulled to a stop by the side of the road. A big man in a uniform and sunglasses with mirror lenses got out and walked over to David and Christine. The neighborscame and stood across the road. None of them talked. They watched. " Mr. And Mrs. Spindle, I’m Officer Foster." David shook his hand. He saw the reflection of himself and his house in the mans sunglasses. " Officer, are you from Fish and Wild life?" " Bureau of Indian Affairs." " Indian affairs? What does Indian afairs have to do—" Step to the side please." Officer Foster stuck his arm out and swept them from the driveway onto the grass as a squeaky pickup truck driven by an Indian pulled up to the drive way. The driver side door opened with a loud pop and he got out. He was tall with a pock marked face, and he wore a cape made of hides and a headdress of bird feathers and beads. He looked at officer Foster. " 3163509," he said. Officer Foster nodded. David hadn’t seen anyone with the Indian when he drove up, but a woman in a beaded blue dress and moccasins slid out of the truck next to him and mumbled, " 2162504," then a young boy he hadn’t seen wearing a simple beaded headband around his head got out on the other side. He was shirtless and sucked on a yellow sucker. " 3384102," he said. He and the woman reached in the back of the truck and each got a burlap sack. Then a toothless old man emerged from the truck. " 1007112," he said. " Officer, what the hell is going on?" " Stand aside, please," Officer Foster said. The woman took the old man by the arm then reached into the back of the truck and got another sack. The old man, the woman, and the young boy walked up the driveway toward the house while from the passenger side a young woman with long black hair got out. She said a number, got a burlap sack out of the back of the truck and then followed them while another man got out of the drivers side, said a number, got a sack and followed as well. Another man from the drivers side, another woman from the passengers side followed by another woman from the drivers side and a man from the passengers side and on and on, each of them dressed in skins, moccasins, blue coats with chevrons on the sleeves, each of them saying a different number, each getting a burlap sack from the back of the truck and then walking up the drive way to the house. As David and Christine stared at the Indians piling out of the truck, a neighbor lady with red, puffy eyes started across the road. A man tried to grab her but she slapped his hands away. " Where did they come from?" she yelled. David shook his head. " I don’t know." " The things on your yard. Where did they come from?" " From the hole at the bottom of the sink," said Christine " The sink?" The lady burst into laughter then into tears. " I was sitting in the tub the last time it happened to me." The man grabbed her around the waist and pulled her away. " Sorry," he said. " Sometimes she drinks too much." The lady turned on him and shrieked. " That’s right. I drink too much." She looked back at Christine " I was sitting in the tub. They were all over me before I could get out. When I did they climbed up my legs and tried to get into me. The filthy bastards." The other neighbors looked away. Finally, no more Indians came out of the truck and the tall Indian reached in and got a long flute made of dark polished wood and walked up the driveway. The Indians stood huddled together in a big group. The tall Indian raised the flute to his mouth and played. The tune was a series of moans. The creatures on the lawn stopped their writhing and flopping and became still. One after another the Indians waded through them, nudging them out of their way with their feet until they stooped and picked one up and put it into their bag. Then they walked back down the driveway and dropped the bag into the back of the truck and climbed in one of the doors until they were all gone. Then the tall Indian ceased to play and walked back to the truck, laid the flute on the seat, and drove away. " Mornin’ ma’am, sir." Officer Foster touched the brim of his hat, got in his jeep and drove off while the neighbors walked away. David and Christine stood alone and stared after them. |
|
| The Hole lee10@host365.com |
#5 of 10 |
| 1798 words | |
| Emma's cousins were boys so her aunt had had no
practice at doing little girls' hair but she had tried her best that morning.
The tight plaits hurt Emma's head and she rubbed her temples. The white, lace
collar of her navy-blue dress itched. She wriggled her shoulders and it stopped
the itching for a while. She swung her feet slowly back and forth, passing the
long, silent time by watching how the overhead light caught the toes of her
patent leather shoes. Occasionally her heels caught the wooden legs of the
dining chair. "Sit still," her father shouted. Startled, Emma looked up. Engrossed in the patterns of light, she had forgotten she wasn't alone. Her father was watching the golden swirl in a glass of whiskey, as intently as Emma had been watching her shoes. "Why?" he asked in a more even tone, "Why are you here, anyway?" He held the glass up to the light and gazed at the amber translucence through the base's distorting thickness. His voice turned cold, harsh as a scouring winter wind. "Everyone important has left me. Yet you're still here." He lowered his glass, took a deep swallow. "Why are you still here?" "Daddy?" Emma caught hold of one of her swinging, dark plaits and began to chew the end nervously. "They've all gone. Why haven't you gone too?" Emma didn't understand why her father was angry. They'd just buried her mother and the new baby. She was sad, but not angry. She jumped off the chair. "Let me get you a sandwich, Daddy," she offered. There was still something left of the funeral tea her aunt had prepared. After the rest of the mourners had gone, her aunt had wanted to tidy up, to cover the food, but Jack Woods had chased her from the house, accusing her of interfering, "Like you've done ever since your sister died," he'd snapped The sandwiches were beginning to curl in the heat from the gas fire and the fruitcake had dried and crumbled badly but Emma did her best and collected a plate full for her father. She carried it carefully across the room and tried to hand the plate to him. Jack exploded from the chair. He slashed the plate from Emma's hand. His glass flew at her face, its edge cutting into the soft pad of flesh above her eye. A trickle of blood ran from her eyebrow. Jack grabbed one of his daughter's plaits, wrapped it round his hand and pulled her towards the door. "They've all gone," he snarled. "I can't stand the sight of you. You're going too." He dragged Emma from the room. She screamed. He pulled her down the hall, shouting all the while. The leather soles of her new shoes slid along the carpet. There was nothing for her to catch hold of, no way to stop her father as he snatched open the door to the cupboard under the stairs and pushed her in. "No, Daddy, no," Emma squealed. "I'll be good, Daddy. I promise I'll be good." The slam of the door drowned her words and she was alone in the blackness of the hole under the stairs. It was the one place in the house that she hated. Her mother had known this and had never asked her to fetch anything from the cupboard. Her Daddy had often teased her about it but he'd never been nasty like this before. The dark pressed down on her. The same emotions overwhelmed her that she'd felt when she'd seen her mother in the coffin at the funeral parlour. Her grandmother had carefully explained that this was her mother's shell only; that she'd gone to a better place with the new, dead baby. Emma couldn't understand and had screamed when the coffin lid was shut, closing the darkness in on her mother's face. She thought she heard the sound of her mother's fingernails scratching on the underside of the coffin lid and had become hysterical. Her aunt had taken her from the room complaining, "They should have had more sense than to bring an eight-year old to this place." Emma sat in a corner of the dark hole and sobbed, her face turned to the wall. She screwed her eyes tight shut to keep out the thick, frightening dark, to prevent it suffocating her. She curled herself into the smallest ball possible so that any lurking nasty creatures might not see her and she cried, broken-hearted. She covered her face with her hands, trying to quieten her weeping, in case the monsters that lived under the stairs heard her. Emma woke. She was cold. "Daddy," she whispered. She dare not shout in case she woke up the monsters. She snivelled and began to pick at the dried snot crusted on her fingers. "Emma." The voice came from the blackness near her knees. Emma yelped and started to scramble to her feet. The voice spoke again. "Don't be frightened, Emma. It's black in here but you're quite safe." Emma tried to speak. Her words came out as a hiccough. The voice giggled. "Oh, Emma. You do sound funny." Another voice, an older one, said. "Why don't you put a coat around you, Emma? You must be cold, dear." The voice sounded a bit like Emma's Mummy and comforted, Emma stood up and did as she was told. She took a coat from a hook on the back of the door and wrapped it around her. It was an old one that Mummy had kept for gardening. Her perfume still lingered on the fabric. "That's better, isn't it?" the lady's voice said. Emma nodded. "Now Clary, I think we should introduce ourselves to Emma, don't you?" "Yes, Mummy. I'll start," the girl's voice was warm and friendly. Emma forgot to be frightened. "I'm Clarice Louisa Woods." "And I'm her mother," the lady chimed in. "Mrs. Isabel Doreen Woods." Emma could see nothing, no shapes in the dark, no different shades of blackness. She found it difficult, despite the voices, to believe that she was not alone. She reached out. She touched something warm. "That tickles," Clary chuckled. Emma drew her hand back as though scalded. "What are you doing here?" she asked. "How do you know my name?" The lady's voice replied, "We heard your mother call you once when she was reaching in here for some shoes, that's how we know your name." The voice became sad. "But we're not sure why we are here. It's been such a long time. We can't remember much." "We came here together, Mummy." Clary said. "I'm sure we did." "Perhaps you're right, dear. I can't quite remember. It was all so long ago." "And I think it was Daddy who put us in here and left us." Clary's Mother sighed. "I seem to remember a dreadful day. But it's all very muddled." Emma wanted to question them more, but the door suddenly cracked open. "Emma?" light poured in from the hall. Emma looked round the cupboard. There was no one there. "Emma, sweetheart. Are you alright?" Her Daddy stood in the doorway. He stooped down and swept her up in his arms. He backed out the cupboard, holding her so tight she could barely breathe. He stood in the hall, his daughter in his arms, swaying and crooning to her. The way he had done when she was a baby. "I'm so sorry," he was saying. "Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me." Jack carried Emma into the living room. The fire was still on and the room was hot and stifling. He set her down on the settee and helped her take off the voluminous coat. He sat next to her and with his help she wriggled into his lap. He hugged her. "Please forgive me, darling. I was horrible to you. I swear it'll never happen again." "That's alright, Daddy," Emma said with relief, while her father wept tears of contrition. After a while, Jack blew his nose and Emma said. "Daddy. Who are the people under the stairs?" Jack felt a stab of guilt at the ordeal he'd put his little girl through. "Who do you mean? There's no one under the stairs." "But there are, Daddy. There's Clary and her Mummy." Jack stood up, tumbling Emma onto the settee. She looked at her father's face, frightened of him again. Jack dropped to his knees by the side of the settee. "How do you know that name?" he demanded. "Daddy, don't be angry again." Emma started to cry. Gently, Jack took hold of her hand and stroked it. "No. No, sweetheart. I'm not angry with you. But I do want to know how you know about Clary and her mother. You must tell me how you know about them." So Emma stopped crying and told her father all she had learnt about the people who lived in the hole beneath the stairs. "Who are they, Daddy?" Jack was still kneeling at Emma's feet. He looked up. "Clary was my sister. She was ten years old when I saw her for the last time. She and my Mum disappeared when I was your age." He rose stiffly to his feet. He crossed the room, took up a glass and poured whiskey into it but he didn't drink. Talking as though to himself, he said, "I knew it all along. That bastard must have killed them. I'd forgotten but I remember now how he used to lock Clary in the hole when he'd been drinking and she annoyed him. Mum must have tried to stop him. And they both disappeared." He turned towards Emma. "I thought my mother had abandoned me. Gone off without saying a word. Taken my sister and left me alone with a bullying father. And all these years she was still here." "So they are real people, Daddy?" After a long pause Jack whispered, "Yes, Emma. They are real people. And they have been here, in this house, all the time." Jack set down the glass. "Stay here, Emma," he told her. He left the room, closing the door behind him. Emma did as she was told. A few minutes later, she heard a loud banging from the hall. Her curiosity was too much for her to bear and slowly and quietly she opened the living room door. She crept down the hall. The door to the cupboard under the stairs was open. She peeped inside and saw her father, with a hammer and chisel, hacking at the brickwork at the back of the cupboard. Between blows, Emma heard him saying, over and over. "Hold on Mum. I'll soon have you out of there. Clary. I'm coming," he shouted. "Just as quickly as I can." |
|
| The Hole jacket@smartchat.net.au |
#6 of 10 |
| 871 words | |
| Gerald was a woman and I use the term loosely because
she was actually a woman who longed to be a man who longed to be a woman. In
other words she longed to be a transsexual. In order to be a transsexual that
would end up as a woman, she required a penis. The experts thought that she was
mad and refused to turn her vagina into a penis just so she might, at a later
date, turn her penis into a vagina. There was no convincing them. "Please try to understand," she explained. "I will never be a whole woman until I have become a man." But they didn’t understand and they sent her away. She even tried the doctors without reputations but they were too busy doing things that aren’t relevant to this story so let’s just leave it at that. One day Gerald had an idea. She went to the local abattoir and asked the man in charge what they did with the penises. "You don’t want to know that," said the abattoir man who was later to describe the conversation as extremely disturbing. "Oh yes I do," said Gerald who was wearing a man’s suit that was two sizes too big, high heels and carrying a sequined handbag. "We use everything," said the man. "There are no left overs." "Could I buy one?" asked Gerald fumbling with her handbag. "What would it cost to buy one?" The man had never been asked this question before and he wasn’t quite sure how to answer it. Should he ask what she wanted it for? He looked at her closely trying to determine if she was in fact a she. Or should he work out a price. She seemed very eager and he thought he could probably make a quick fifty. And anyway what did he care what she wanted it for. "Fifty bucks," he said. "Cash." Gerald couldn’t contain her excitement. She lunged forward and kissed the man smack on his lips. "Jesus Christ," he spluttered wiping the surprise off his face. "Where are they?" Gerald demanded searching the abattoir with greedy eyes. "You’ll have to wait here," said the man. "This is highly irregular you know," and he backed away not sure what to think and then decided that thinking probably wasn’t the best option so he whistled instead. For sometime after he would wake at nights from a dream where he was skipping through a field whistling and picking bunches of penises that were growing straight up out of the ground. When the man returned Gerald handed him the fifty in exchange for a brown paper bag. She opened the bag and squealed. "Thank you," she said to the man but he had gone. He needed a strong cup of tea. "Geraldine?" the doctor called as he searched the waiting room. Geraldine jumped up and teetered on her platform shoes. She threw her handbag over her right shoulder, stuck out her left hand and sauntered behind the doctor into his office. "Do sit down," said the doctor not looking up. "Thankyou," said Geraldine in an overly breathy voice while adjusting her very short skirt. "And how may I help you this morning?" asked the doctor still not taking any notice. "I need a referral," said Geraldine and she leaned closer to the doctor, " I want to be a woman." Taking notice now, the doctor said, "but you are a woman aren’t you?" "No," said Geraldine, lifting her skirt and pulling her knickers to one side, "I have a penis and I’d like it removed." The doctor jumped up horrified, he’d never seen such an enormous penis, not on a human anyway but before he could take a closer look Geraldine had put it away. "So you see I need a referral," she said trying to cross her legs but giving up soon after. "Well," said the doctor shaking slightly, "there are number of good psychiatrists in the city…" "No no no," interrupted Geraldine, "I want a surgeon. I’ve seen all the psychiatrists, what I need is a surgeon. Unless…" Geraldine leaned forward again, "unless, you could do it. What would it cost for you to do it?" "I’m not a surgeon," laughed the doctor, appalled by the suggestion. "Are you mad?" "Apparently," mumbled Geraldine rising from her chair. "Well if you won’t do it, I’ll just do it myself," she said and strode to the door. "Wait," said the doctor who was now concerned that he could be sued for turning away a patient who might take it upon themselves to self mutilate due to his lack of sympathy. "Please sit down." Geraldine felt hope rise up in her throat and she sat down again so quickly that she dislodged her manhood and it fell out of her knickers and onto the floor. The doctor gasped and pushed his chair away from the escaped organ. Geraldine stood up, stepped over the penis and opened the door to leave. "Thanks," she said straightening her skirt, "that was easy." "But what about the other bit?" slurred the doctor still drunk with confusion, "you know…the hole?" "Don’t worry," said Geraldine smiling, "I’ve already got one of those." |
|
| The Hole tom_set@yahoo.com |
#7 of 10 |
| 520 words | |
| The prisoner sat sprawled on the dank, musty floor.
Directly behind him, he knew, was the narrow stairway that led up to a door
through which a shaft of sunlight would now and then filter in. To his left was
a deck of cards, his main diversion from the boredom of his captivity. To his
right was a photograph of a woman, though looking at it was usually painful to
him. Directly in front of him was The Hole. The Hole was dark and deep; always had been, always would be. If you jumped in you would be at peace, or at least in a different place. Sometimes looking down at it gave him a curious pleasure. Sometimes it filled him with fear and he would scuttle back a few inches. Always there was a sardonic smirk that crept onto his face when he thought about it. It would be easy and yet not easy to make that leap into The Hole. Once committed, there would be no need to make any more choices. He sighed and reached for the deck of cards but tiredly drew his hand back. He had played every game he could think of and wasn't in the mood. He turned the other way to look at the picture. Ah, love, young love. Would he ever have that giddy feeling again? He was born from a cell but not in a cell. Once all of life with its myriad possiblities was at his restless feet. He had seen something of the world and its diversions, strived for success, experienced failure, until eventually the weight of it all ebbed his soul and drained him into this prison. With some effort he got to his feet and turned around. There above him was The Door. It was heavy and would take some effort to open but it wasn't locked. The harder part would be climbing the rickety stairway which despite a few rotten boards, would support a man's weight. All he had to to was take the first step. He knew not to think of how many stairs there were, or even look past one or two steps. He tried to will his sore legs to move. Just then, an errant beam of light shone down from above. It caused his eyes to blink, but he could also feel the warmth on his face. He felt a surge of strength and hope and told himself, this time he would do it. A sun sign was favorable. He resolved to stop ignoring all the fortuitous signs that came his way. Change. Change! He stood there rooted in thought as the misty golden ray disappeared as quickly as it had come. There was still enough light to climb by, but the urge had passed. He turned and walked slowly towards The Hole. He stood on the precipice, tensing his muscles. The blackness of The Hole seemed to stare back, mocking him impersonally. He recoiled back a step. Thinking he at least still had his cards, his photograph, his Door, once again... The prisoner sat sprawled on the dank, musty floor, |
|
| The Hole My Nguyen idlemousse1885@yahoo.com |
#8 of 10 |
| 2490 words | |
| I can see the beginnings of Memory, a long tunnel that
I race across from darkness to light. I hold my breath, and as the seconds
past, I picture the figures of time ballooning across my forehead, waiting for
this passage to go by, so that I could breathe again. The lights and images
plastered artificially on my arms, on my face, leave no lasting imprint on me
and fade before time whispers its next numeral. At the end of the tunnel, I can see the embrace of my mother’s arms, soon to be folded around me, and that was all that mattered then. I had escaped the humming that had buzzed through my head without mercy, and the tightness in my throat and in the band around my temples, soon ceased to torture me, and I finally felt at ease again, able to exhale in relief the air I had held in for so long. At last, I thought, I am here again. In moments before I could catch my next breath, the roller coaster cart reversed itself, and before I could crawl and catch the splinters of warmth, the dozen darts of gold and red glow become dozens of tiny blurs before my eyes. Then everything is swathed in shadows again, as I fall backwards farther and farther away into the dark Hole I had constructed. *** She’s calling to me like in the dream. Mid-afternoon and everything was perfect. The leaves, the trees, the people were like smoke, though I remember them there. I took off the huge sunglasses that my mother had on, wanting her to see the moth of colors flitting before her, but were screened from her vision by the twin black holes covering her eyes. Ironically, repelling the light glinting off the black plastic, rather than sucking it deep into its void. Her naked eyes squinted at the brightness and a hand lifted to shield her face that looked pale in the light. Her eyes shifted at me and one hand straightened my blouse, while the other tried to worn free the wrinkles off my skirt. "Stand up straight, Allie. And don’t slouch. See how the other kids have good posture?" and she sighed breathlessly, and then tried to put the mess of tangles, which happened to be on my head, back into the sailing hair ribbon, rippling across my forehead. I think I turned from her then, with my face scrunched into a frown, as I continued to hoard my shoulders farther inwards as if to burrow myself in and keep the flutter of my heart safe inside. And I thought then, Amy’s mother never nags. I wished that… But I never liked to think I’ve thought or felt that way. Certain times I recall myself acting prissy, turned away from my mother like that, trying as best as I can to exclude her from my universe. Other times I erase that Memory and edit a new version: one that fits the sunshine and the color of the leaves shifting across in the breeze, as I gazed up at the sky that day in the park… It was a perfect day that almost went off kilter. But my mother saved me from my dark thoughts mounted fiercely on my head, gathering me close in her arms, and laughing at my foolishness. She covered her hands over my eyes, but left slits of light between her fingers, so that I could still see through the bars of light, never letting the darkness totally claim me. My smaller hands tired to overlap hers, but instead made a pattern of crisscross lights before me. In between our fingers, I could see fragments of the tree, a head, and the monkey bars clinging to the other kids as we rocked together like that. I heard the conspiratorial tone caught up in my voice, wanting to tear free in the wind, as I shrieked over my head to her, "Mommy---, where are you? I can’t see you. Where are you---?" when I knew that she was there holding me all along. *** The sunlight and leaves and colors soon left me as I dropped that one washed-out rose onto my mother’s coffin and felt the finished Hole that lies so evidently inside me. I couldn’t bear for the others to see the terrible emptiness in me that cloudless, horribly bright day that mocked the gloom, with its pretentious vivaciousness that would not veil the stark reality of the occasion, but exploited it in its degree of lucidity, magnifying the pain a hundred, thousand times. I whispered into the grave to mother, "Where are you…?" And as I said this, I turned to the nearest shoulder and somehow ended up sobbing onto James’ shirt, trying to hide what became the dark tunnel I was slipping into, that was sucking me inwards, my breath and heart into total darkness, as if the space between my mother’s fingers had closed over my eyes completely, shutting me into the black of her hand. It was then, as James’ uncertain arms held me that was when we tipped over the edge, and fell, forever falling into this pit less Hole. I was cursed to fall and he was fated to fall with me. *** The first time I peered into his eyes, he was not looking at me, but rather into the camera that I was behind. I felt then that his gaze could hold me forever, keep me, but I had to look away, because…I had nothing to give…and yet nothing to lose. He was sitting on one side of the numerous empty benches by the shores of the beach, one arm crooked to his invisible companion, looking unfazed, perhaps waiting for the sky to fall, or perhaps peering in to the space between the girls in skimpy outfits before him, or the girls themselves. But I could not tell; his eyes were behind huge and bug-like sunglasses, covering the top half of his face where his hair didn’t, leaving a small mouth that seemed to rest shut, not wanting to form any words just yet. He seemed to be oblivious to what was going on around him, detached yet fitting comfortably into his surroundings. I nonchalantly sat down on the other side of the bench and studied him, without reason or even conscious of the real ‘why’ just yet. He did not seem to notice me at first, though with the arm still curled around the back seat where my back rested, the tips of his fingers were almost glazing the sleeve of my shirt, almost skin to skin. After a while, his preoccupation with the scenery seemed to fade, and once in a while the slits of his eyes roamed to the side, cautious now of this strange girl staring at him, uninhibited. I felt the form of my camera I was holding, almost forgotten, clutched in my hand, and finally asked him almost calmly and as if we weren’t total strangers, "Can I take your picture?" He paused. Looking at him, I could see my twin reflections on his wide, encompassing shades, when all I wanted was to see pass that empty girl. He smiled, shrugged, "Sure." And waited: posing but not posing because he hadn’t moved at all from his position. "Could you take off your sunglasses…please?" I asked offhandedly, though I knew I could be asking too much; it was a bright day. But he complied. I focused the camera to rest on him, and in the instant of the flash, time stood still, and a second later the moment was soon caught on the Polaroid camera. I waited a little while, continuing to look into the camera behind the camera. The person in the little box shifted and searched for me behind the camera. When I finished staring into the lenses, his eyes rested on me now, staring back at me. With the moment, gone by with a flash, and tried to smile as I waved the picture until the image solidified. Then as calmly as I could, handed the picture over to him, my name scrawled hazardously over the bottom in a rush. I did not want to say anything either, as I waited now, my eyes resting indifferently upon the fading sun. He handed the picture back to me and said, "Hello, Allie," and nothing else. I did not move for a while. But we continued to watch the sun go down together, feeling the glow on our arms and faces, no one saying anything; because sometimes certain times words only pollute the air, especially when none were needed. It was getting dark. I felt the picture clutched in my hands, walking away, that I didn’t look at it until I came home to the quiet, quiet house, to the medinciny smell, to the closed-in hush where words and hurt needed to be cushioned, and to my mother’s shrunken hands that I held onto now and covered entirely, as she rested. Looking down at the Polaroid, and noticing my name, I saw another tucked to the side and a number. James was a nice name, I thought. Nice to say over, again and again, in the silent house, letting it echo comfortingly out in the quiet dusk. *** A ring. Two rings. Another. Then, "Hello?" I waited staring out the window into the glare of the mid-noon light. I did not know what to say—how could I explain the shears of pain that each dart of light seemed to amplify as the day goes on and the desperation that I felt---the desire to hear an outside voice, something more than just the three rings and a ‘hello’. Again James said, "Hello? Is anybody there?" in a more wary way, unsure of the muffled crying. Uncertainly, "Hello? Who is this?" I heard him say. "My mother….she…could you meet me there…that day…on the corner of the beach…remember the girl and the picture…why---…can you come…James?" "Alright…I’ll be there." *** In the still room, where the angel slept, she moved in closer from where she stood on the threshold, into the pearl-white room. She passed her hand over his face and held the tips of her fingers above the space between his nose and mouth, feeling his warm breath, his life, inhale and exhale. She watches him sleep, lying on his dusky wings folded underneath him, and the curled black feather next to his cheek, unmoving in the still room. She wanted to hear something other than her loneliness that seemed to stretch on forever, and bent her head onto his beating chest. Then, slipping her arms around him, held onto what she felt was her last regiments of sacredness and peace. And somehow, from the first contact, he is awakened, and knowing his slumber was over, receives her. His black wings envelopes them both, enclosing her safe in his silken feathers, and as she closes her eyes to dream, it is now only him with her as she sleeps. They were not aware that he was slipping into her trap of despair, encasing them, as they fall into the Hole deeper than loneliness. The black winged angel… his breath caught in his throat, and he held it and her there. She, resting on his shoulder, and the other, too, stuck in mid-heart beat. …Falling…falling… *** His back was towards me when I said this…that there was someone else, that it had always been that way. That what he thought was his was never really his to keep. I could see his dark reflection on the tinted glass of the cabinet he was facing as he stood there, turned away from me. I noticed my reflection next to his, our images together, fused into this twistedly, perfect picture, in a moment that will reveal all its cracked features. *** Awaken too from the dream, and at last really aware that they were falling, she realized that she was the dead weight dragging him down in this depthless vacuum. He could buoy fat out of this frozen grave, but to do that he must let go; his dark wings could not carry them both out. She decides to unlock herself out of his embrace. For his sake, she grabbed a fist full of his beautiful, soft feathers, and tore out a few remembrances of him. With drops of blood shocked wet on the nib, she used them to compose the unwritten message from the bleeding tips she held, pressing it into his skin, next to his heart, forcing him to let go, freeing him from her hold. And she fell, like a tear from his cheek. *** I knew that James could see it too, as our reflections locked eyes. And then, as if to destroy that idealistic and flawed impression before us, he smashed his fist into the splintery and glass hell. He did not turn around even after the tiny shards of glass fell to the floor, so I could not see his expression, and I did not ask why either. But as he lifted his fist from the shattered case, I could see small, spidery veins flowering in his clenched hand, and I knew then that there was nothing to say, as I watched him leave, that would make him stay. I wanted to undo time then, but that could never happen; that part of a dream would always be crushed. …I am pitching backwards again. I take my last breath as I plummet back, into the tunnel’s black Hole. I realize, in my hand is the picture I had taken that day because I had wanted to see what was behind those shielding sunglasses. And when the veil was lifted, I saw the gaze that was supposed to hold me forever. But I found, with one falsehood could be so easily damaged, so easily tossed away. I’ve realized then: nothing could last, neither death nor love. I tossed the Polaroid out of the roller coaster cart into the obscurity of Memory. It was just a passing image that had no significance, like the hazy lights spotting my arms and face in this tunnel I was just passing through, forever falling to reach the Hole that pulls and repels me at the same time. Sometimes the scenes shift, and I resemble the demon dragging the winged being further and further into the abyss, though sometimes I am angel that finally did let go. What is moment but eternality sucking me in… *** He held his hand over his bleeding wound: one hand over his heart. He flexes his wings, and they were stiff at first, but with each beat, they became stronger. He touches the sensitive area, where a stretch of raw skin was left exposed. He felt betrayed. He would remember the falling…but now it was time… …and he buoyed himself…out of the Hole. |
|
| The Hole annettemiller@sympatico.ca |
#9 of 10 |
| 2499 words | |
| I tried to force my eyes open. The left one open
without too much of an effort, but I couldn’t open my right eye. I could
feel the rough abrasive action of debris, along with a sticky substance that
effectively glued the eye shut. I could make out nothing in the oppressive darkness. I was lying on my back, my arms spread eagle, my left leg bent under my body. I moved my fingers, clenching my fists, soil: cool and damp was all that I could feel. I tentatively raised my right hand and tried to wipe my uncooperative eye. "OOW!" I could feel pain. I felt warm liquid running down the side of my face, pooling in my ear. Blood! Where was I? My mind was void of all memory. I was just here, but where is here? I lay in complete darkness; the earth beneath me cool and damp. I listened carefully. Yes, there was a sound; slowly from out of the darkness there came the tranquil sound of dripping water. My small world had grown to darkness and dripping water. My brain told me that I should sit up and do something, anything but just lie there. I was not dead, so I should make some effort to at least act alive. My body told me to lie still and sleep. I did not want to move, I wanted to lie there and drift off on beautiful white clouds of sleep. My brain screamed "No, you can’t do that! You mustn’t do that! You must sit up and move. Find out where you are." I shivered. The damp coldness of the earth penetrating my prone body. I made a valiant effort and sat up. My head spun, I had a fiend in there beating the inside of my skull with a steel pipe. He had no respect for my eyes either, pounding away on those too. I felt my left ankle starting to throb. "Darn. Don’t tell me it’s broken." I could hear my mother’s words in my head: "If you can move it, it’s not broken." Gingerly I rotated the foot, expecting a stab of vicious pain. It didn’t come, so it was not broken. My mother, I had remembered my mother. I sat still for a while, thinking about the past. I could remember my childhood. I put my hand out and touched the earthen wall. Sand, dislodged by my touching cascaded down on me. Using the wall for support, I pushed myself up into a standing position. I filled my lungs with the putrid air and screamed as loud as I could. Nothing. I tried it a few more times. Still nothing. Gingerly I put my aching foot to the ground and tried to put some weight on it. "Ouch!" I gasped. Slowly, I hobbled my way around the walls, feeling for any sort of an exit. All my fingers found was damp earth, rocks, lots of stones and wet places where the water saturated the sand turning it into mud. I looked up. Nothing. I stretched my fingers up above my head as far as they would go feeling the wall stretching up beyond my reach. I looked up, squinting into the darkness. Nothing, but pitch blackness. I seemed to be trapped in a large hole of some sort. Perhaps a well, I still had no memory of how I got there. What was causing me even greater concern was how I was going to get out. I had discovered nothing that might help me in my climb up these slippery walls. Why couldn’t I see any light above me? There was not even the twinkling of any stars. Where the hell was I? I hobbled around my earthy prison, my feet slopping in the mud, slipping and sliding on rock that lay hidden in the darkness. My hands searched desperately for anything that might help me escape this wet, dark hole. Nothing! I could feel panic rising like a tidal wave threatening to engulf me. The sour taste of gall filling my throat. My stomach muscles wrenched, an acid river gushed from my mouth, sending hot spiraling fingers up my nose. The putrid smell of vomit and wet earth filled my world. I turned my head away, tears spilling from my eyes, running in rivulets down my face. I sank slowly onto the muddy floor, my body heaving as I wept. Slowly I became aware that I was sitting on an unfamiliar object . My fingers closed round its uneven structure and I pulled it free. I held it up to my face, I could see nothing. My fingers slowly probing its textured surface. The sudden recognition of what it was sent a feeling of horror through my body. "Oh God, it’s a bone". I screamed, as I flung the object away from me in revulsion. Instantly I was on my knees crawling, I had to get away. Something had died down here. My stomach wrenched again, the acid searing the back of my throat. Suddenly as I extended my right arm, in my panic crawling, my hand touched something bizarre. It felt like hot jelly. I stopped, and let my hand explore. I discovered that it was hole or some sort, just big enough to allow a human to squeeze through. Its entrance was covered in this jelly-like substance. It was a portal of some sort. I stuck my hand into it, It felt warm. I pushed my whole arm through. It exited the jelly with a slight popping sound, and then nothing. I swung my arm around - nothing. I withdrew my arm and sat down opposite the portal. What had I got to loose. I certainly was not going to climb out of this hole. Screaming had not bought anybody to my rescue. I had to try it. I got down on my belly, and wiggled my way forward. I stuck my hands and arms through the jelly, took a deep breath and elbowed my way into the warmth of the jelly. It felt smooth and sticky against my skin. There was a slight pop as my head broke through the jelly. I quickly pulled the rest of me out of the portal, and lay there allowing my eyes to get accustomed to their surroundings. There was light here, I was not sure of its source, but I could see. I was beginning to make out shapes around me. I was in a forest; I could see the silhouette of dark trees against the grey of the sky. There must be a moon, but I couldn’t find it. Oh well, not important, at least I was out of that foul smelling, muddy hole. I hopped around searching for a suitable stick to use as a crutch. I found a damp, gnarled stick. It was definitely strange, nothing like I had ever seen before, but it would have to do. I tucked it into my arm pit and I limped off into the forest. The luminescent light was unusual, it bathed the forest in an eerie silver hue. Not like moonlight at all. I felt it before I heard it. I soft pounding rising up from the leafy floor. I stopped, straining my ears. Yes, I could hear it now, heavy breathing, no panting, yes definitely panting and lots of it, coming closer and closer. Hot breath rushing out of wildly deflating lungs, rhythmatic, getting louder and closer. I hurried to the nearest tree and crouched behind it. What was it? I would soon find out as it was coming my way very fast. They were the size of small ponies, but they were black dogs, huge black dogs, with glowing red eyes. Pink, wet tongues lolling out of wide open mouths edged with huge white teeth. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Their eyes burnt red like the embers of a fire. I was terrified. If they saw me I was done for as they surely would rip me apart. I flattened myself on the earth behind a tree. I watched them pass without looking in my direction. I was shaking in fear; my shirt, drenched in sweat, clung to my back. What was this place? This was not reality. Somehow I must have passed into a different dimension. That jelly like substance that I passed through must have been a portal into another dimension. Suddenly my mind cleared. Yes, I remember! I had gone for a walk in the woods behind my home. I loved walking there in the late afternoon. The leafy canopy over my head, filtering the sun into dappled patterns on the moldy leaves below: but these were not those woods behind my house that I knew so well. I had no idea where I was, and what had I just seen? I remembered that something had frightened me in the woods, and I ran and tripped, I must have fallen down an old well. I had been warned that there were abandoned wells in the area, but had never encountered one before. I lay shaking at the base of the old tree. I was scared, cold and wet, and my ankle throbbed horribly. I’d rest for a while, and try to decide my next move. My eye lids slowly closed and I drifted off into a fitful sleep. I woke with a start. Something moved under me, a squirming sort of feeling. My heart pounded in my chest, my mouth was dry. I sat up quickly and there in the moldy leaves lay a long black snake. It was the thickness of my wrist. I scrambled to my knees. "Oh God!" I muttered. The fingers of my right hand searching amongst the damp and rotting leaves for my wooden crutch. The snake turned to face me, hissing its displeasure. My blood ran cold, and I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention. Goose bumps ran riot over my body. This was no ordinary snake. It had two heads. Two mouths, wide open bearing long pointed fangs that glistened in the incandescent light. Four eyes, like flaming coals set in its black skulls, watched my every move. Slowly, I shuffled backwards, trying to escape those eyes, instantly the snake, sensing my movement, reared up. I was eye to eye with this fiend, it hissed loudly, two forked tongues whipping the air. I looked into its open mouth, and watched as drops of venom slowly appeared on the razor-sharp fangs. My fingers closed slowly around my clutch, I dared not move, dared not breathe, my eyes transfixed on the open mouths, the eerie light glinting on the drops of venom. Sensing no danger from me the snake slowly relaxed and slumped back onto the leafy ground. I seized my opportunity and swung my crutch. My first blow crushed its two heads, it writhed in agony, flipping over, twisting its body into black knot. I pounded at the writhing knot, intent on destroying it completely. I sat back on my haunches, my breath racing, and stared in disbelief at the pulverized creature in front of me. There was no blood, the mass moved, squirming with new life. Everywhere a blow had fallen, squashing the snake, baby snakes appeared, a replica of its parent, two heads and four glowing red eyes. I rose to my feet, terror racing through my veins. I backed away, a sour tang scorching the back of my throat. Turning I hobbled off, running as best I could away from this horrible site. What was this nightmare I found myself in. I had to get back to reality. Somehow I had to find that portal again, and cross back into the real world. Being at the bottom of a well was definitely more desirable than being here. My ankle hurt unbearably, I slowed to a walk, and finally stopped, looking back over my shoulder. Nothing was following me. I leant on my crutch, chest heaving. There was a rush of wind, leaves from the ground rose up and blew around me in a frenzied dance. It sounded like the beating of huge wings. I glanced up through the turmoil of leaves, the sinister looking branches of the overhead trees swaying in the wind. Something hit me hard from behind, sending me flying forward; I landed face down in the leaves, struggling for breath. Whatever it was, was certainly powerful. It had thrown me at least 10 feet. I lay there gasping, as air slowly made its way back into my tortured lungs. There was an intense burning up my back. A hot stickiness spreading over my back, and running down my sides. "Darn thing ripped my back open!" I muttered to myself, as I lifted my head, spitting out dirt and bits of dried leaves. There, standing 20 feet in front of me was this huge dark creature. The space between the trees completely filled with its enormous extended wings. I lay motionless. It was a monstrous entity, standing at least 12 feet tall, with dark scaly skin, and huge clawed feet. It had the head of a prehistoric beast, with a wide rough collar. Slowly it folded its wings around its body and in a hopping like motion came towards me. I could hear the clicking of its sharp claws as they knocked against each other. "Oh Dear God!" I murmured "Get away from me! Leave me along." I screamed with all the strength I could muster. Scrambling to my feet, I glanced around for my clutch. It was nowhere to be found. This was no time to protect an injured ankle, I had to get out of here fast before this THING caught me and finished me off. I turned to my right to flee, and standing half hidden behind a tree, was a small grayish creature. Its head was too large for its body. Its grey skin glinting in the bizarre light. It had large almond shaped dark eyes, two holes for a nose and a tiny mouth. It motioned with long slender fingers to follow. It moved with remarkable speed through the trees, and I followed as quickly as I could, my ankle protesting at every step. I could hear the clicking of claws behind me, urging me on. We broke out of the trees into a clearing. There on three shiny steel legs stood a silver space craft, with a blinking green light at each end. There was a row of portholes through which light shone, and on the belly of the craft there was a ramp, obviously the entrance. The gray creature ran up the ramp, turned and motioned to me. I followed limping painfully. The ramp rose quickly behind me and with a slight thump closed completely. I was blinded by the intense light inside the craft. The world as I had known it had come to an end. |
|
| The Hole vfgeister@yahoo.com |
#10 of
10 Winner |
| 2061 words | |
| Steve Turnip slid his hands through his straw-colored
hair, waving disobediently in conspiracy with the ocean breeze, stretched his
long muscular body and smiled, tightening his lips in two narrow strips. The
ocean waves still held the memory of yesterday’s storm, but the sky was
clear all the way to the horizon. Thinking that he was going to have a great
time in the waves, Steve grabbed the surfboard out of his truck and went down
the cliff to the water. The tide went away. Here and there between the rocks, usually hidden underneath the water, Steve saw puddles of trapped water and little crabs running in them in their funny, backward, way. Steve stepped into the water to test the temperature. A little colder than warm – just what the doctor ordered. The rocky beach was deserted at this morning hour and only the sea gulls wedged their voices into the hum of the ocean. Right before getting into the water, Steve heard a sound that was more melodious and not as prosaic as a typical seagull cry. He turned toward the cry and noticed a large fishtail showing from behind the rocks. "I wonder if it’s a dolphin? It must have been brought here by the storm and gotten stuck between the rocks." Steve lay down the surfing board and moved between the rocks to clarify the situation. Coming closer and climbing onto the rock, Steve witnessed the most bizarre creature he had ever seen in his life, or could, conceivably, imagine. There, between the rocks, in a puddle of water sat a mermaid. Small, not more than five feet from the top of her human head to the tip of her fishlike scaled tail. But the strangeness of this realization circumvented Steve’s consciousness, as he found another feeling possessing him. Everything about her - long red hair covering her breasts and stomach, the face and neck of almost bluish-white complexion, and the clear, faded-blue eyes displaying from within their depths a hidden suffering, tolerated, exited within Steve an instant and wild desire in him. Steve usually was considered a cold lover. Tall, toned and handsome, he looked like a Viking – a descendant of whom he most likely was - and never had difficulties getting chicks. They were practically jumping his bones. But he was more interested in sports and "did" girls only as a necessity, so he’d have something to comment about around the campfire. Therefore he was stunned and somewhat frightened with the magnitude of the feeling he experienced now. He felt himself getting hard inside his already slightly too tight surfing trunks. "Boy, how lucky can a guy get?" he thought, joyfully, "As lucky as ME, that’s how lucky. I’ve caught me a mermaid and hell if I’m not gonna’ cut me off a piece of that nice, fresh, tuna. THAT should shut them up at the next kegger. None of them can say THEY ever had a slice of ‘mermaid pie.’" He looked down at her with a smirk. "So… what’s happenin’, baby?" "Oh, noble knight," The Mermaid raised her eyes to his, her voice was uneven and hoarse as if her mouth was dry. "The storm cast me onto the shore. I think I banged my head against the rock and lost consciousness. When I awoke, the tide pulled out and I couldn’t get back to the water. Can you be so immensely merciful as to help me to get there? I’ll be eternally thankful for your kindness." Her eyes had the most innocent expression and Steve for a second felt uneasy about his thoughts - but only for a second. He jumped down from the rock to be closer to her. "Oh, that all depends, baby - how thankful can you be?" The Mermaid’s face darkened with confusion. "I don’t know, oh, noble knight. What does the noble knight desire?" "What do I want, baby? What any other guy would want from a hot chick. Understand? Me and you… understand?" Steve made a slight hip movement to end all confusion. "Oh no, no – never!" The Mermaid exclaimed, finally understanding what Steve meant. She blushed a thousand shades of blue. Steve rose and threw a tentative look around the beach. Rarely visited by the beach crowd, this morning, because of last night’s storm, it was absolutely deserted. "Listen, baby," Steve squatted back down next to her and touched her shoulder. "You have to understand something. You’ve been here how long – about four, five hours - and what’s happening to you? You’re rotting, doll. Do you see what’s going down? I’m telling you, cookie – you’re starting to stink. Fishy, fishy… another four hours and don’t think any water is gonna’ help. And if you think that someone besides me is gonna’ help you – think again. Without me, you’re gonna’ die, baby. As sad as it might sound. And it certainly IS sad, very sad in deed. Steve shook his head in pretend concern. "You don’t want this and I don’t want this. You need to get there, back to the water, and you need to get there now. Oh I see you looking around… this is a deserted beach, baby. People rarely come here, especially after a storm. That’s why I like it. "So what do you say, babe? What are we gonna' do? You gonna’ be a good girl and show me some gratitude for helping you get home?" Seeing The Mermaid wasn’t going to respond, Steve moved her hair away from her breasts and devoured their milky fullness with his gaze. Then suddenly, not being able to contain himself, he grabbed her, turned her over and started frantically parting her scales looking for the, now, desperately- needed opening. But what he, finally, found was so tiny he doubted he’d ever be able to fit, even if he was half his normal size. Holding her by her hips her head down he began to try to work his way through her scales, but couldn’t breach their armoring, and the only thing he got from the attempting was a razor cut along his shaft when he slid side-ways across her scaly hip on one particularly forceful thrust. Frustrated, Steve let The Mermaid drop onto the sand and, roughly pulling her into a seated position, made gestures indicating he wanted her to open her mouth. The Mermaid tried to push him away but in her desiccating condition and as small as she was, Steve easily swatted her hands away and was ready to open her mouth for her, when…. "WAIT!" The Mermaid begged, her voice hoarse and bleak, "The knight is a powerful warrior and, I see, a great lover, too." She looked at him with a timid smile and batted her lashes, but Steve saw something else behind the smile, something more experienced and teasing that caused Steve’s heart to pound. "The knight should understand that I am a water creature. I live in water, I blossom in water. And I open up in water." Again Steve caught that "look." Only this time it was much more pronounced. "You mean, you…." "Yes, brave warrior, yes. I need to be wet." The Mermaid smiled widely, no longer hiding her seductiveness, and slid her hands over her breasts and down along her hips. "Take me to water, warrior, and your patience will be rewarded. For you, my knight, for you… there’ll be a hole. Of that I vow." Feeling himself about ready to burst, Steve picked her light body into his arms and carried her the several yards from where they’d been down to the water, carefully stepping between the rocks. As he walked he looked around suspicious of unexpected prying eyes, but was finally satisfied there was no one else around. *** "Just don’t try to fuck with me." Steve warned her before lowering her into the water. "Oh, I’ll do whatever my knight wants and, perhaps, even more." He stood up to his waist in the water, still holding her in his arms. "My warrior, allow me, first, to feast." She looked down through the waves at his nakedness. "And don’t worry, I shall not flee. You will hold my head." Feeling the gentle touch of her mouth under the water, Steve moaned with pleasure. Several movements of her lips made him so ecstatic that his hands raised to his head, releasing his beautiful victim. To Steve it seemed he lost hold of her for only a split second yet, instantly, he realized with all his body her absence and a bellow of anger escaped his mouth, only to instantly change back to a smile as The Mermaid, smiling, too, rose to the surface next to him and grabbed his hand. "Come with me, my knight, come with me lover." "Where to?" Steve asked, genuinely curious. "Over there, to those rocks. There are so smooth and comfortable. I’ll be yours there, all the way." The rock formation she pointed to was about a hundred yards away. Many times Steve had rested there before starting to surf. Unlike the sharp and edgy shore rocks those were smooth and polished as if they were composed not of bedrock so much as pearl. Steve also figured that they would do their "thing" on the other side of the rocks – away from those prying eyes he still suspected everywhere. They swam together side by side. The coy, seductive smile now didn’t leave her face at all, and actually, Steve thought, had turned to something even more intriguing and exciting. *** At about fifty yards to the rock formation The Mermaid unexpectedly increased her speed. Steve tried to follow up on this challenge, but quickly realized he wasn’t a match. "Hey, baby – hold on a sec. I’m older than I look and, hell, I ain’t got fins!" Steve forced a sputtering laugh, trying to hide from her the sudden sense of panic creeping up his spine. The Mermaid, though she had the lead, to Steve’s surprise, didn’t swim away but stayed in sight. Only now bereft of all seductiveness and veiled, instead, with an almost palpable aura of hatred and contempt. To Steve’s confusion, The Mermaid started slowly circling ‘round him. "Hey, baby, what kind of game IS this?" Silent, The Mermaid simply kept her gaze determinedly placed straight ahead and increased her circling speed. Steve felt the water moving hard behind her – ‘round and ‘round and ‘round, faster and faster, till he started to feel a tugging at his legs and suddenly realized what kind of game this was. By then, of course, it was too late. Moving faster and faster, and around and around and around, The Mermaid’s circular movements had created at their center a tidy little vortex, in which Steve Turnip found himself directly and most inconveniently placed. The water, first, a lazy slows seductive pulling downward fast turned into a great and wide and sucking space and, then, that space became the deep and black and infinitely sucking hole The Mermaid had – as promised – once wetted, had made especially for him. And, then, Steve Turnip, a frantic fleshy ball of panic and despair, collected all his force of will together for one final scream for help – but, to the great amusement of the only "help" for miles – the gulls hung low in silent, curious, hover overhead - the screams of surfer dudes when mixed with one part mermaid, half a brain and fathoms-full of H20 make every uttered word sound, simply, "Glub." The Mermaid, suddenly alone, stopped circling and in the process, shut tight the lid on Steve Turnip’s unexpected swirling, watery, end. Ducking her head beneath the, now, becalmed and lapping waves to watch her love sink slowly fathoms deep into the murky and, then, pitch-black, depths, she waved and smiled and in her tinkling mermaid’s voice, sang down into vast, below: "And how, my ‘knight’, my love, pray tell - how do you like my ‘hole’?" The seagulls hanging low and overhead screamed happily and dove and soared and dove and soared again into the teeming multitude of tiny, silver, fry churned to the bright blue surface by the disappearing mermaid’s tail as it flipped and flopped and with a final splash sank straight and down and, finally, out of sight. |
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"You're Too Loose"
The Aspiring Editors Club