Well, it's all got to begin somehow...somewhere. They say that the opening paragraph of a book sets the tone for the entire novel. We'll see...
If you haven't read 'A Taste of Home'...this gives nothing away. If you're looking for Chapter 1 of 'A Taste of Home' thats advertised in Trailer 4...keep scrolling
1.
The falling December snow blanketed the tiny North Texas town of Twin Oaks in a manner which only a few of its residents had experienced before. Occasional streaks of the evening sunlight nestled securely behind the slow moving clouds briefly illuminated the accumulating mounds of precipitation to reveal a feeling of purity that was rare to these parts. It wasn’t an everyday winter occurrence that the children of this community got to don their cold weather clothing and venture into what resembled a Norman Rockwell painting come to life or the adults a day off from their jobs at the local air base without it feeling like they were participating in some massive act of absence. This wasn’t the first situation outside the bounds of normalcy for this small community in recent times, though. To be more precise, nothing had been the same for any of them over the past five years.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
A Taste of Home...Chapter 1
Why am I doing this? As Bait! Well, at least I'm honest...
This is Chapter 1 of the third and final draft to A Taste of Home. I think I submitted a few mistakes when it went to proofing so there may be some in this version. Don't worry, they don't appear in the printed version...so bear with me.
If you like this and you want to see where it all goes...it can be purchased at Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble.com, or Books A Million.com It should be appearing in other markets shortly.
For more details...go to www.hometownoutcasts.com
Enjoy...
1
The North East Texas drought that had lasted almost a decade had ended and now the rain poured strongly down upon the rusted tin overhang of the building’s roof. The beating rhythm of the liquefied projectiles played out a song that resembled a never ending drum roll to any audience that was close enough to experience the performance. Tonight, it only played for an audience of one. Staying hidden deep within the shadows of the darkened structure, a small boy cowered by the name of Ryan Weldon.
Now Ryan, being a boy of only thirteen, was no stranger to fear and hiding. As a matter of fact, he’d gotten quite used to it. His mother had passed away six months ago in a tragic automobile accident and his own life hadn’t felt the same since. Before her death, he’d been quite the school bully, punching out the smaller children for their lunch money or any other sacred object that they might’ve possessed that would cause them to break down into tears at the mere mention of its loss. Yeah, it was mean, but it was fun. Growing up in a town such as this, sometimes you had to invent your own ways of passing the time. Now…the woman that had given him the breath of life was no longer breathing herself, and he was hiding in the shadows from bolts of lightning that were dozens of miles away. The epitome of bravery…
Soccer practice had ended an hour and a half ago and his father was nowhere to be found. Well, he was nowhere in the vicinity to be more precise. Ryan knew exactly where he was. His father’s newest and most frequent hangout had been the local American Legion which, in all reality, was a mere three blocks away. It’s a great place for veterans to sit and reminisce about their military careers and have a few cold ones. If you were Ryan’s father, however, it was a great place to sit alone and attempt to drink the place dry in the hopes that your dead wife mysteriously rises from the grave and joins you. Sure, Ryan missed his mother too but honoring her memory in deep thought was much better than drowning it. After all, this soccer thing had been his father’s idea in the first place. Through the opaque blackness of the night time thunderstorm, those few blocks felt like miles.
The man had tried to convince him that this would be the best way to introduce himself back into the social graces of the kids his own age that he’d been neglecting since the family tragedy. Ryan knew the true definition of this logic also. This was nothing more than a carefully constructed plan to push him quietly out of the way so his father could spend more time at the bar. So far, it was working. It was now ten o’clock and the only company he had was a rising pool of collected and frigid rain water that was nearing him with every passing second.
Reaching into the already saturated pocket of his athletic shorts, Ryan searched for his cell phone. Speeding through the list of frequently called numbers, he reached the one labeled ‘asshole’. Now, of course, this wasn’t his father’s given birth name…but the only one that would stick out to Ryan when he first received his emergency phone. He pressed the talk button and awaited the inevitable.
“You’ve reached Archie Weldon” the familiar and joyful sounding voice played “and I’m sorry I missed your call. Don’t worry your pretty little head, though, because I’ll be back to you in no time…”
The call went straight to voice mail. He didn’t even bother calling again. By now, his dad was way too drunk to even notice the vibrating phone in his pocket…or if he’d even bothered to bring it in the bar with him. Either way, Ryan was running out of reasons not to begin walking home on his own. The water that was beginning to collect underneath the makeshift shelter was nearing the base of his ankles and he could already feel the cold pouring into his shoes, soaking his socks. Not that he was afraid of getting wet, but being sick this early in the school year was no picnic. The illness wouldn’t kill him but the work he’d have to make up from missing the time would. Sometimes, he thought that his teachers just invented ways to keep him busy, personally, because no other kid that he attended class with ever had any kind of trouble keeping up. Then again, no other kid his age had just lost their mother either. He turned again with his hands on either side of his face in an attempt to block out the glare of the street light above. He saw no movement inside of the building and there was no hope for scamming a ride out of someone that still might have been lingering inside. He was on his own but…Ryan was getting used to it. Taking a deep breath and preparing himself mentally for the icy shower he was about to receive, he stepped forward into the night and left the confines of his flooded hiding spot behind. The first drops of rain slapped him in his face like falling needles, causing a sting that he wasn’t sure if the rest of his body was ready for. That was when he first heard it.
A chilling howl pierced his ears, echoing from all corners of the building, causing his spine to electrify. This made the coldness of the rain feel warm and inviting in comparison. Frightened within an inch of his life, he jumped back underneath the safety of the overhang with his feet splashing loudly in the three inch pool of water that had collected there. Keeping his feet dry was now a lost cause. As another screech of terror filled the night air, his feet became the least of his worries. Cowering back in the darkest corner of the building, just beyond the luminescent glow of the street light, Ryan hid his rain soaked face in his hands.
“What the hell was that?” he thought to himself as his mind raced, searching through an endless sea of possible answers.
No dog or domestic animal that he’d ever heard was capable of such a horrific sound. As a matter of fact, knocking out all of the possibilities of a local, native animal…he’d heard nothing of its kind on the internet or television nature shows he’d seen either. Of course, he never really paid much attention to them, just bits and pieces here and there from school or when he’d wandered into the living room on occasion to turn the volume down on the television after his father had passed out from one of his numerous nights of tying one on. A few minutes had passed since he’d re-entered his saturated sanctuary and, so far, no signs of any animals that would be able to cause him any type of harm. The second sound had seemed further away than the first and whatever it was, logically, was moving in the opposite direction. Still frightened and shaking from the cold, he pulled his face away from his hands. Ryan had been so consumed by attempting to figure out the source of the howling, he hadn’t noticed that his situation had improved slightly. The once fierce downpour had withered away into a light sprinkle and it was the only time that it had done so since the rain had begun nearly two hours ago. Inching forward once again from under the tin overhang and back into the clouded night, he forced himself out into the wet, mud covered lawn with no regards to anything that could be lurking in the darkness. He just wanted to go home.
A bolt of lightning flashed, illuminating his surroundings. The letter ‘C’ had fallen off of the side of the building again from the ‘YMCA’ logo, leaving behind nothing but a rust colored stain that stretched all the way to the ground. He’d always wondered about the birth of the Young Men’s Christian Association, as well as tons of other nonsensical things that a young boy could daydream up when he was supposed to be paying attention in a classroom, and never could quite figure out why it attracted so many people in today’s changing times. To him, it had always reminded him of a recruiting center for unsuspecting altar boys with a line of priests licking their lips and rubbing their hands together in waiting just beyond the sinister shower rooms. Sure, it was a sick and twisted way of thinking, but anything that mentally took the place of what may have been watching him from the line of trees ahead was considered a welcoming thought at this point. Unfortunately, also, his father fell asleep, or passed out, fairly often watching a jewel from his prized horror movie collection. Needless to say, he had been left out of the running for ‘father of the year’.
In order to reach his home, the young teen had to cross two soccer fields with a row of trees between them that were so thick…the opposite field couldn’t at all be recognized in broad daylight let alone pitch darkness. He’d walked this path time and time again in the past few weeks, but those had always been afternoon practices and not nearing the hour of ten o’clock. Now that he thought about it, his father had failed to pick him up from the majority of those also. Why would tonight have been any different? After this night, he told himself, he was going to begin taking things into his own hands and quit relying on his alcoholic dad to be responsible for him. He paused at mid field of the first soccer pitch and glared at the dark line of trees that grew closer and closer with every step. Beyond that, he could see nothing at all. The trees, another field, two streets over and he was home free…or at least that’s all he hoped that lay in waiting between his saturated shoes and the safety of home. If his father truly wasn’t home, he’d have no way into the house but he’d preferred to be stuck out in the elements hiding underneath his own porch rather than one in the vicinity of some wild and crazed animal that he still hadn’t the slightest idea of its whereabouts. It had been at least ten minutes now without hearing anything out of the ordinary. Maybe it had left the area. Maybe, though, it was being purposely quiet…waiting just beyond the shadows…cautiously trying to remain hidden from the young boy that approached and now stood in the center of an open field. Damn his father and his horror movie collection! Ryan recalled the standard line that anyone over the age of sixty had fed him his entire life when it came to the behavior of animals and whether or not there was any danger involved with approaching them.
“They’re just as scared of you as you are of them” they always said “Don’t pay any attention to them and they’ll leave you alone!”
A comforting thought in a desperate time of uncertain fear or for anyone that wasn’t faced with the choice of coming face to face with one in the darkness. The lightning flashed again and, through the skeletal trunks of the trees, he could see the edge of the next field. The flags that marked the out of bounds perimeters were flying violently in the storm driven winds and he knew that it was only a matter of time until the rain would pour down on him again. He noticed nothing at all out of the ordinary and it gave him a glimpse of hope in this otherwise hopeless situation that any kind of fear invading his young brain was the result of a science fiction overload. His heart began to pound a little faster with anticipation, causing warmth to be felt in the tips of his fingers and toes against the cold night air. Leaving his perch at center field, he headed towards the white outline of the soccer goal that was barely visible against the blackness of the oncoming trees.
One foot in front of the other and focusing on the impending possible danger that lay ahead, Ryan stepped into a puddle of collected rain water that masked a divot on the otherwise lovely playing field. His arms flailed wildly and his hands reached in either direction for something tangible to grasp onto to save him, or even soften the impact of the fall, but there was nothing to grab within reach. Gravity had now taken over his fate and he fell forward in an almost ironic sense of slow motion. Suddenly, he both felt and heard the loud crack of his right ankle as it reached the breaking point from being held stationary in the rain caused booby trap. Ryan screamed in pain, only momentarily, as his face smacked the icy cold and wet ground, replacing his crying with a gurgling squeal from receiving a mouth full of mud and water.
Pulling himself up to a semi sitting position, he cried in such a way that couldn’t be compared with recent memory. Only in mental flashes of his young childhood could he relate this feeling of pain and helplessness. There wasn’t a single spot on his body, clothed or bare, that was even remotely dry now. The cold mud crept inside of the legs of his shorts and now every single spot on his body was in some type of major discomfort…including a couple that should never be made uncomfortable. Reaching desperately inside of his pocket, he reached for his cell phone yet again and prayed silently that it wasn’t in an inoperable state of failure.
Fumbling to dial the numbers with numb fingers and a brain full of pain impulses, he called the one number that had been drilled into his head since birth but, luckily, he’d never had to use. 9-1-2. Dammit! The mud from his fingers had slipped on the key pad. 9-1-1. The phone came to life and began ringing as thunder rumbled in the darkness from the imminent return of the rain.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” calmly spoke the dispatcher.
“My name is Ryan Weldon” cried Ryan frantically “and I’m all kinds of screwed up right now. I need some freaking help man!”
“What’s going on Ryan?” inquired the voice on the other end.
“Dude, I was walking across the soccer field and I stepped in a hole or something. I think I broke my leg.”
The dispatcher spoke again.
“Okay, Ryan, try and stay calm” he said in an attempt to comfort him “Where are you right now?”
“Dude” Ryan shot back angrily “I just said I was at the frickin soccer field…are you deaf? Don’t you guys have computers or something that show where I’m at?”
“Ryan” the dispatcher interrupted “you’re going to have to try and stay calm. You’re calling from a cell phone. It doesn’t work like that…at least not in this county. You’re going to have to try and tell me where you are exactly.”
“Man, I’m in the middle of the YMCA soccer field” said Ryan cynically “I’ll be the only one with a wet ass covered in mud and a broken leg. You can’t miss me!”
“Okay, man, just stay calm” repeated the dispatcher.
“Dude, I am staying calm!” Ryan’s voice crackled as he swallowed what was left of the mud.
“Okay, I’m going to get you some help out there but I need to know if you’re on the north filed or the south field.”
“Oh my god, man you’ve got to be kidding me! I don’t know the whole north and south thing. I must’ve dropped my damn compass when I fell over!”
He was beginning to get impatient.
“Just send an ambulance or a cop or something…anything with a flashing light!”
The dispatcher was losing patience also.
“Look, kid, I’m trying to help you but the entrance to one field is three blocks away from the other. If I get an ambulance stuck in the mud on the opposite field from where you are, that won’t be offering you a whole lot of help now, will it?”
Gasping for breath in an attempt to ignore the pain in his leg and gather his composure, Ryan continued.
“It’s the field closest to the building…right before you get to the trees.”
“Okay, little man,” the dispatcher continued “help is on the way. Just try to chill out and stay cool. Can you move at all?”
“I don’t know…I haven’t really tried” Ryan replied curiously “I can barely even see anything from all the mud in my face. Why?”
The dispatcher hesitated.
“No reason, man, just stay cool.”
The creaking wheels in Ryan’s brain began to turn in a logical fashion.
“Don’t pull that crap with me, man” Ryan shot back “What do you know that I don’t?”
“Well…I’m sure it’s nothing, but there have been a lot of calls about wild dogs near where you are tonight.” the dispatcher informed him.
“Yeah, I heard them” Ryan said “All the more reason for you guys to hurry the hell up!”
“They’re coming, just stay on the li……..”
Ryan was tiring of his first official 9-1-1 experience. He hung up. They were on their way and that’s all he cared about. Uncertain of whether or not he should attempt to try and move, he remained completely motionless, causing the cold to reach an almost unbearable state. Off in the distance, he heard the first comforting sound of the evening. The barely audible siren was the signal that help was definitely on its way and what could compare with the worst night of his young life was about to come to an end. He laid backwards into the freezing and muddy field without a care for the condition of his soccer uniform. He was going to make damn sure that his father never heard the end of this one. Chances were though, that he would never really care much to listen to the beginning of the story to even hear the end of anything.
Shooting upwards, he sat again with the reaction speed of a bullet from a gun. Another ear splitting howl came from the direction of the tree line directly ahead of him and it was uncomfortably close to him this time. Lightning flashed overhead revealing the silhouette of the trees again but this time though, through mud stained eyes, he thought he’d seen something new amongst them that hadn’t been there through previous strikes. Frantically, he found a clean spot on his uniform sleeve and wiped his eyes the best he could. Blinking, his vision blurred as another flash of lightening lit up the night sky. In between two of the trees…wait…what the hell is that…a dog?
Reaching underneath his leg with both arms and gritting his painfully cold teeth, he pulled upwards with all of his might. The pain was causing him to become dizzy and nauseated and he choked back a little of the mud that he had previously swallowed. Nearly to the point of blacking out, the vacuum caused by the hole finally gave way as his broken, slime covered ankle flopped forward onto the ground in front of him. Putting all of his weight onto his arms and his good leg, he stumbled forward, falling again onto his hands and knees. Gathering his strength and focusing on the tree line, the lightning flashed again. This time, there was nothing to be seen but the trees. Hopefully, it had all been just an illusion brought on by the now overwhelming pain impulses that filled his body.
He searched his mind frantically for any signs of logic. Was he hallucinating from the pain? He had to be! It was the only explanation or, at least, the only explanation that Ryan was willing to accept that didn’t scare him out of his mind. There was no such thing as a dog that could get as big as what he’d seen in the shadows! It was more like the size of a lion or something of that nature that almost seemed out of place anywhere else but on some type of safari or in a zoo. If that was the case, he’d been lied to, as well as every other kid in this world, by all of the childhood toys that gave a learning of animals and the sounds that they made.
Using his upper body, which was now beginning to give way to exhaustion, Ryan crawled to the goal post of the soccer net. Groaning in pain, he pulled himself up to his feet as the searing impulses clouded his thoughts again. Using the post to lean upon, it felt like someone had taken a railroad spike and hammered it into his lower leg. The siren of the ambulance was nearly on top of him now and he could see the red and blue flashes of light reflecting off of the buildings in the distance. He followed them with his eyes, counting the seconds and attempting to estimate how long it was going to take for the rescue party to arrive. The siren faded and the lights could be seen again…but they were on the other side of the trees! The other side of the damn trees! They’d gone to the wrong field!
Ryan screamed aloud in disbelief.
“Hey, you bastards, I’m over here!”
He could hear some indistinct talking from the men on the other side of the tree line followed by the shutting of a door.
“Hey!” he yelled again.
The engine of the ambulance roared to life again. The tires began spinning but the lights failed to move.
“Great” Ryan said aloud “they’re stuck in the freaking mud!”
He’d had enough. Stepping forward with his strong side and dragging his still pain filled leg; he lunged forward into the tree line that separated him and the unfortunate medical personnel that had bogged down on the old road. Leaning against the closest tree, he could now understand what they were saying. There were two of them…and, right about now, they weren’t having the trophy night of their career.
“Just rock it back and forth, man” one of them yelled to the other.
“No, No, No!” the yelling continued “Man, you’re just burying the damn thing!”
“It’s too heavy!” called the other man, obviously the one behind the wheel.
“Look, keep trying!” the first man said “I’m going to walk through the trees and see if I can find this kid. In the meantime…get on the radio and get a tow truck out here!”
“Alright!” the driver yelled in perturbed agreement.
Against the red and blue flashes of light from the ambulance, Ryan could see the figure of the man walking directly towards him. This nightmare was finally reaching its end and it didn’t matter what happened to the vehicle in the process. He took a few deep breaths and prepared to signal the guy to his location by yelling crazily. The other man beat him to his attention.
“Look out!” the man yelled as the shadowy figure of an animal darted across the field and headed straight for him.
The paramedic turned to run but it was too late. The animal was much faster. He had only gotten about five strides from where he stood before he was tackled fiercely by the large creature, overpowering him almost instantly and taking him down hard to the ground. The man screamed and fought back with all of his might but it didn’t do much good. He had already succumbed to the violent attack and now lay still on the ground, thirty feet away from where Ryan stood terrified for his existence. Suddenly, the animal stood up on his hind legs and began walking towards the immobilized ambulance in a way that no other animal in Ryan’s mind had ever been witnessed before.
Ryan was frightened beyond all rational thought and motor functions and the ill feelings that had plagued him on the soccer fields now returned to his stomach with different intentions. He hid his face once again in his mud soaked shirt and clinched onto one of the ancient trees, praying desperately for some type of comfort. It wasn’t a dog. It wasn’t even an animal. It was walking! Peering out from behind the tree again, the man inside of the ambulance was giving it all he had, slinging mud in all directions in an attempt to get the vehicle moving again.
“No, No, No!!!” the ambulance driver screamed as the creature approached the open window. Ryan hid his eyes again in an attempt to block out the sound that he knew was coming next. There was another gurgling scream and the wheels of the ambulance went quiet again, no longer turning in an attempt to break free from the muck they were stuck in. The creature howled again with its ear piercing cry but this time…it was done so in a sense of triumph. Ryan clutched the tree tighter.
The rain began to fall, drop by drop, until it was pouring from the sky again with tremendous force. The rotting smell from the fallen leaves of the trees began to waft upwards as the ground was bombarded with the water coming from above. Ryan’s stomach lurched upward again and, this time, there was no chance of stopping it. He could hear the downpour pelting against the vinyl, yellow jacket of the medical technician. He still wasn’t moving and there was no sign whatsoever of the one that had been driving the vehicle. The creature had finished whatever he’d been doing with him and was now walking slowly and surely towards the distance in the opposite direction. Just then, the smell of death was stirred up by the new rainfall, reaching Ryan’s nasal cavities, and it was too much for him to handle. He leaned forward and vomited uncontrollably onto the fallen leaves below him.
The creature paused with the echoing sound that it had made. Ryan froze and swallowed whatever remained of the foul tasting substance within his mouth. With his nose high in the air, the creature sniffed it all directions for the source of the disturbance. Slowly, it turned towards the tree line with a piercing gaze as though it was staring directly at him.
“Oh Shit!” Ryan muttered as the creature returned to all fours and sprinted towards his location. Out of instinct, he turned to run but he’d forgotten about the pain in his ankle long ago. Instantly, he fell to the ground once more. The fear was a stronger driving force, though. Again, he jumped to his feet with all of his might but the young boy’s fate was already sealed. Slammed from behind and knocked to the ground by an unspeakable force, the weight of the creature held him motionless on the forest floor.
“Get off me, man! Get the hell off of me!” Ryan desperately screamed but his cries were both unheard and ignored. Something warm dripped onto his neck and the heat of the creatures breath could be felt as it leaned ever closer to the back of his head. His senses were being overpowered by the scent of fresh death that was being emitted by the creatures exhaling and he began a useless plea for what remained of his young life.
“Please don’t kill me man, please don’t…”
Ryan’s final words were interrupted by what felt like hundreds of burning knives being forced deep into the flesh on the back of his neck. As the creature tugged upwards with a force unlike anything he’d experienced before, Ryan’s world began to fade away into nothingness. The darkness began to overpower him and, for once, he thought little of the pain, soccer, or his father… who had been the cause of this situation from the beginning. From now on, his mother would be the one raising him again…but in a place that was beyond comprehension of mortal men. With a final flash of his worldly vision, he had thought he’d seen the distinct image of her standing before him and holding out her hand as if to attempt and pull him free, saving him from this macabre fate that had been bestowed upon him so early in his life. With another stab and pull from the creature’s mouth, that image faded into nothingness also. The darkness was all that remained of any signs of the life he’d known so well as though he were stuck in some type of repetitive dream and in the stages just before waking. When the new light found him, all signs of fear and pain were nonexistent.
This is Chapter 1 of the third and final draft to A Taste of Home. I think I submitted a few mistakes when it went to proofing so there may be some in this version. Don't worry, they don't appear in the printed version...so bear with me.
If you like this and you want to see where it all goes...it can be purchased at Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble.com, or Books A Million.com It should be appearing in other markets shortly.
For more details...go to www.hometownoutcasts.com
Enjoy...
1
The North East Texas drought that had lasted almost a decade had ended and now the rain poured strongly down upon the rusted tin overhang of the building’s roof. The beating rhythm of the liquefied projectiles played out a song that resembled a never ending drum roll to any audience that was close enough to experience the performance. Tonight, it only played for an audience of one. Staying hidden deep within the shadows of the darkened structure, a small boy cowered by the name of Ryan Weldon.
Now Ryan, being a boy of only thirteen, was no stranger to fear and hiding. As a matter of fact, he’d gotten quite used to it. His mother had passed away six months ago in a tragic automobile accident and his own life hadn’t felt the same since. Before her death, he’d been quite the school bully, punching out the smaller children for their lunch money or any other sacred object that they might’ve possessed that would cause them to break down into tears at the mere mention of its loss. Yeah, it was mean, but it was fun. Growing up in a town such as this, sometimes you had to invent your own ways of passing the time. Now…the woman that had given him the breath of life was no longer breathing herself, and he was hiding in the shadows from bolts of lightning that were dozens of miles away. The epitome of bravery…
Soccer practice had ended an hour and a half ago and his father was nowhere to be found. Well, he was nowhere in the vicinity to be more precise. Ryan knew exactly where he was. His father’s newest and most frequent hangout had been the local American Legion which, in all reality, was a mere three blocks away. It’s a great place for veterans to sit and reminisce about their military careers and have a few cold ones. If you were Ryan’s father, however, it was a great place to sit alone and attempt to drink the place dry in the hopes that your dead wife mysteriously rises from the grave and joins you. Sure, Ryan missed his mother too but honoring her memory in deep thought was much better than drowning it. After all, this soccer thing had been his father’s idea in the first place. Through the opaque blackness of the night time thunderstorm, those few blocks felt like miles.
The man had tried to convince him that this would be the best way to introduce himself back into the social graces of the kids his own age that he’d been neglecting since the family tragedy. Ryan knew the true definition of this logic also. This was nothing more than a carefully constructed plan to push him quietly out of the way so his father could spend more time at the bar. So far, it was working. It was now ten o’clock and the only company he had was a rising pool of collected and frigid rain water that was nearing him with every passing second.
Reaching into the already saturated pocket of his athletic shorts, Ryan searched for his cell phone. Speeding through the list of frequently called numbers, he reached the one labeled ‘asshole’. Now, of course, this wasn’t his father’s given birth name…but the only one that would stick out to Ryan when he first received his emergency phone. He pressed the talk button and awaited the inevitable.
“You’ve reached Archie Weldon” the familiar and joyful sounding voice played “and I’m sorry I missed your call. Don’t worry your pretty little head, though, because I’ll be back to you in no time…”
The call went straight to voice mail. He didn’t even bother calling again. By now, his dad was way too drunk to even notice the vibrating phone in his pocket…or if he’d even bothered to bring it in the bar with him. Either way, Ryan was running out of reasons not to begin walking home on his own. The water that was beginning to collect underneath the makeshift shelter was nearing the base of his ankles and he could already feel the cold pouring into his shoes, soaking his socks. Not that he was afraid of getting wet, but being sick this early in the school year was no picnic. The illness wouldn’t kill him but the work he’d have to make up from missing the time would. Sometimes, he thought that his teachers just invented ways to keep him busy, personally, because no other kid that he attended class with ever had any kind of trouble keeping up. Then again, no other kid his age had just lost their mother either. He turned again with his hands on either side of his face in an attempt to block out the glare of the street light above. He saw no movement inside of the building and there was no hope for scamming a ride out of someone that still might have been lingering inside. He was on his own but…Ryan was getting used to it. Taking a deep breath and preparing himself mentally for the icy shower he was about to receive, he stepped forward into the night and left the confines of his flooded hiding spot behind. The first drops of rain slapped him in his face like falling needles, causing a sting that he wasn’t sure if the rest of his body was ready for. That was when he first heard it.
A chilling howl pierced his ears, echoing from all corners of the building, causing his spine to electrify. This made the coldness of the rain feel warm and inviting in comparison. Frightened within an inch of his life, he jumped back underneath the safety of the overhang with his feet splashing loudly in the three inch pool of water that had collected there. Keeping his feet dry was now a lost cause. As another screech of terror filled the night air, his feet became the least of his worries. Cowering back in the darkest corner of the building, just beyond the luminescent glow of the street light, Ryan hid his rain soaked face in his hands.
“What the hell was that?” he thought to himself as his mind raced, searching through an endless sea of possible answers.
No dog or domestic animal that he’d ever heard was capable of such a horrific sound. As a matter of fact, knocking out all of the possibilities of a local, native animal…he’d heard nothing of its kind on the internet or television nature shows he’d seen either. Of course, he never really paid much attention to them, just bits and pieces here and there from school or when he’d wandered into the living room on occasion to turn the volume down on the television after his father had passed out from one of his numerous nights of tying one on. A few minutes had passed since he’d re-entered his saturated sanctuary and, so far, no signs of any animals that would be able to cause him any type of harm. The second sound had seemed further away than the first and whatever it was, logically, was moving in the opposite direction. Still frightened and shaking from the cold, he pulled his face away from his hands. Ryan had been so consumed by attempting to figure out the source of the howling, he hadn’t noticed that his situation had improved slightly. The once fierce downpour had withered away into a light sprinkle and it was the only time that it had done so since the rain had begun nearly two hours ago. Inching forward once again from under the tin overhang and back into the clouded night, he forced himself out into the wet, mud covered lawn with no regards to anything that could be lurking in the darkness. He just wanted to go home.
A bolt of lightning flashed, illuminating his surroundings. The letter ‘C’ had fallen off of the side of the building again from the ‘YMCA’ logo, leaving behind nothing but a rust colored stain that stretched all the way to the ground. He’d always wondered about the birth of the Young Men’s Christian Association, as well as tons of other nonsensical things that a young boy could daydream up when he was supposed to be paying attention in a classroom, and never could quite figure out why it attracted so many people in today’s changing times. To him, it had always reminded him of a recruiting center for unsuspecting altar boys with a line of priests licking their lips and rubbing their hands together in waiting just beyond the sinister shower rooms. Sure, it was a sick and twisted way of thinking, but anything that mentally took the place of what may have been watching him from the line of trees ahead was considered a welcoming thought at this point. Unfortunately, also, his father fell asleep, or passed out, fairly often watching a jewel from his prized horror movie collection. Needless to say, he had been left out of the running for ‘father of the year’.
In order to reach his home, the young teen had to cross two soccer fields with a row of trees between them that were so thick…the opposite field couldn’t at all be recognized in broad daylight let alone pitch darkness. He’d walked this path time and time again in the past few weeks, but those had always been afternoon practices and not nearing the hour of ten o’clock. Now that he thought about it, his father had failed to pick him up from the majority of those also. Why would tonight have been any different? After this night, he told himself, he was going to begin taking things into his own hands and quit relying on his alcoholic dad to be responsible for him. He paused at mid field of the first soccer pitch and glared at the dark line of trees that grew closer and closer with every step. Beyond that, he could see nothing at all. The trees, another field, two streets over and he was home free…or at least that’s all he hoped that lay in waiting between his saturated shoes and the safety of home. If his father truly wasn’t home, he’d have no way into the house but he’d preferred to be stuck out in the elements hiding underneath his own porch rather than one in the vicinity of some wild and crazed animal that he still hadn’t the slightest idea of its whereabouts. It had been at least ten minutes now without hearing anything out of the ordinary. Maybe it had left the area. Maybe, though, it was being purposely quiet…waiting just beyond the shadows…cautiously trying to remain hidden from the young boy that approached and now stood in the center of an open field. Damn his father and his horror movie collection! Ryan recalled the standard line that anyone over the age of sixty had fed him his entire life when it came to the behavior of animals and whether or not there was any danger involved with approaching them.
“They’re just as scared of you as you are of them” they always said “Don’t pay any attention to them and they’ll leave you alone!”
A comforting thought in a desperate time of uncertain fear or for anyone that wasn’t faced with the choice of coming face to face with one in the darkness. The lightning flashed again and, through the skeletal trunks of the trees, he could see the edge of the next field. The flags that marked the out of bounds perimeters were flying violently in the storm driven winds and he knew that it was only a matter of time until the rain would pour down on him again. He noticed nothing at all out of the ordinary and it gave him a glimpse of hope in this otherwise hopeless situation that any kind of fear invading his young brain was the result of a science fiction overload. His heart began to pound a little faster with anticipation, causing warmth to be felt in the tips of his fingers and toes against the cold night air. Leaving his perch at center field, he headed towards the white outline of the soccer goal that was barely visible against the blackness of the oncoming trees.
One foot in front of the other and focusing on the impending possible danger that lay ahead, Ryan stepped into a puddle of collected rain water that masked a divot on the otherwise lovely playing field. His arms flailed wildly and his hands reached in either direction for something tangible to grasp onto to save him, or even soften the impact of the fall, but there was nothing to grab within reach. Gravity had now taken over his fate and he fell forward in an almost ironic sense of slow motion. Suddenly, he both felt and heard the loud crack of his right ankle as it reached the breaking point from being held stationary in the rain caused booby trap. Ryan screamed in pain, only momentarily, as his face smacked the icy cold and wet ground, replacing his crying with a gurgling squeal from receiving a mouth full of mud and water.
Pulling himself up to a semi sitting position, he cried in such a way that couldn’t be compared with recent memory. Only in mental flashes of his young childhood could he relate this feeling of pain and helplessness. There wasn’t a single spot on his body, clothed or bare, that was even remotely dry now. The cold mud crept inside of the legs of his shorts and now every single spot on his body was in some type of major discomfort…including a couple that should never be made uncomfortable. Reaching desperately inside of his pocket, he reached for his cell phone yet again and prayed silently that it wasn’t in an inoperable state of failure.
Fumbling to dial the numbers with numb fingers and a brain full of pain impulses, he called the one number that had been drilled into his head since birth but, luckily, he’d never had to use. 9-1-2. Dammit! The mud from his fingers had slipped on the key pad. 9-1-1. The phone came to life and began ringing as thunder rumbled in the darkness from the imminent return of the rain.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” calmly spoke the dispatcher.
“My name is Ryan Weldon” cried Ryan frantically “and I’m all kinds of screwed up right now. I need some freaking help man!”
“What’s going on Ryan?” inquired the voice on the other end.
“Dude, I was walking across the soccer field and I stepped in a hole or something. I think I broke my leg.”
The dispatcher spoke again.
“Okay, Ryan, try and stay calm” he said in an attempt to comfort him “Where are you right now?”
“Dude” Ryan shot back angrily “I just said I was at the frickin soccer field…are you deaf? Don’t you guys have computers or something that show where I’m at?”
“Ryan” the dispatcher interrupted “you’re going to have to try and stay calm. You’re calling from a cell phone. It doesn’t work like that…at least not in this county. You’re going to have to try and tell me where you are exactly.”
“Man, I’m in the middle of the YMCA soccer field” said Ryan cynically “I’ll be the only one with a wet ass covered in mud and a broken leg. You can’t miss me!”
“Okay, man, just stay calm” repeated the dispatcher.
“Dude, I am staying calm!” Ryan’s voice crackled as he swallowed what was left of the mud.
“Okay, I’m going to get you some help out there but I need to know if you’re on the north filed or the south field.”
“Oh my god, man you’ve got to be kidding me! I don’t know the whole north and south thing. I must’ve dropped my damn compass when I fell over!”
He was beginning to get impatient.
“Just send an ambulance or a cop or something…anything with a flashing light!”
The dispatcher was losing patience also.
“Look, kid, I’m trying to help you but the entrance to one field is three blocks away from the other. If I get an ambulance stuck in the mud on the opposite field from where you are, that won’t be offering you a whole lot of help now, will it?”
Gasping for breath in an attempt to ignore the pain in his leg and gather his composure, Ryan continued.
“It’s the field closest to the building…right before you get to the trees.”
“Okay, little man,” the dispatcher continued “help is on the way. Just try to chill out and stay cool. Can you move at all?”
“I don’t know…I haven’t really tried” Ryan replied curiously “I can barely even see anything from all the mud in my face. Why?”
The dispatcher hesitated.
“No reason, man, just stay cool.”
The creaking wheels in Ryan’s brain began to turn in a logical fashion.
“Don’t pull that crap with me, man” Ryan shot back “What do you know that I don’t?”
“Well…I’m sure it’s nothing, but there have been a lot of calls about wild dogs near where you are tonight.” the dispatcher informed him.
“Yeah, I heard them” Ryan said “All the more reason for you guys to hurry the hell up!”
“They’re coming, just stay on the li……..”
Ryan was tiring of his first official 9-1-1 experience. He hung up. They were on their way and that’s all he cared about. Uncertain of whether or not he should attempt to try and move, he remained completely motionless, causing the cold to reach an almost unbearable state. Off in the distance, he heard the first comforting sound of the evening. The barely audible siren was the signal that help was definitely on its way and what could compare with the worst night of his young life was about to come to an end. He laid backwards into the freezing and muddy field without a care for the condition of his soccer uniform. He was going to make damn sure that his father never heard the end of this one. Chances were though, that he would never really care much to listen to the beginning of the story to even hear the end of anything.
Shooting upwards, he sat again with the reaction speed of a bullet from a gun. Another ear splitting howl came from the direction of the tree line directly ahead of him and it was uncomfortably close to him this time. Lightning flashed overhead revealing the silhouette of the trees again but this time though, through mud stained eyes, he thought he’d seen something new amongst them that hadn’t been there through previous strikes. Frantically, he found a clean spot on his uniform sleeve and wiped his eyes the best he could. Blinking, his vision blurred as another flash of lightening lit up the night sky. In between two of the trees…wait…what the hell is that…a dog?
Reaching underneath his leg with both arms and gritting his painfully cold teeth, he pulled upwards with all of his might. The pain was causing him to become dizzy and nauseated and he choked back a little of the mud that he had previously swallowed. Nearly to the point of blacking out, the vacuum caused by the hole finally gave way as his broken, slime covered ankle flopped forward onto the ground in front of him. Putting all of his weight onto his arms and his good leg, he stumbled forward, falling again onto his hands and knees. Gathering his strength and focusing on the tree line, the lightning flashed again. This time, there was nothing to be seen but the trees. Hopefully, it had all been just an illusion brought on by the now overwhelming pain impulses that filled his body.
He searched his mind frantically for any signs of logic. Was he hallucinating from the pain? He had to be! It was the only explanation or, at least, the only explanation that Ryan was willing to accept that didn’t scare him out of his mind. There was no such thing as a dog that could get as big as what he’d seen in the shadows! It was more like the size of a lion or something of that nature that almost seemed out of place anywhere else but on some type of safari or in a zoo. If that was the case, he’d been lied to, as well as every other kid in this world, by all of the childhood toys that gave a learning of animals and the sounds that they made.
Using his upper body, which was now beginning to give way to exhaustion, Ryan crawled to the goal post of the soccer net. Groaning in pain, he pulled himself up to his feet as the searing impulses clouded his thoughts again. Using the post to lean upon, it felt like someone had taken a railroad spike and hammered it into his lower leg. The siren of the ambulance was nearly on top of him now and he could see the red and blue flashes of light reflecting off of the buildings in the distance. He followed them with his eyes, counting the seconds and attempting to estimate how long it was going to take for the rescue party to arrive. The siren faded and the lights could be seen again…but they were on the other side of the trees! The other side of the damn trees! They’d gone to the wrong field!
Ryan screamed aloud in disbelief.
“Hey, you bastards, I’m over here!”
He could hear some indistinct talking from the men on the other side of the tree line followed by the shutting of a door.
“Hey!” he yelled again.
The engine of the ambulance roared to life again. The tires began spinning but the lights failed to move.
“Great” Ryan said aloud “they’re stuck in the freaking mud!”
He’d had enough. Stepping forward with his strong side and dragging his still pain filled leg; he lunged forward into the tree line that separated him and the unfortunate medical personnel that had bogged down on the old road. Leaning against the closest tree, he could now understand what they were saying. There were two of them…and, right about now, they weren’t having the trophy night of their career.
“Just rock it back and forth, man” one of them yelled to the other.
“No, No, No!” the yelling continued “Man, you’re just burying the damn thing!”
“It’s too heavy!” called the other man, obviously the one behind the wheel.
“Look, keep trying!” the first man said “I’m going to walk through the trees and see if I can find this kid. In the meantime…get on the radio and get a tow truck out here!”
“Alright!” the driver yelled in perturbed agreement.
Against the red and blue flashes of light from the ambulance, Ryan could see the figure of the man walking directly towards him. This nightmare was finally reaching its end and it didn’t matter what happened to the vehicle in the process. He took a few deep breaths and prepared to signal the guy to his location by yelling crazily. The other man beat him to his attention.
“Look out!” the man yelled as the shadowy figure of an animal darted across the field and headed straight for him.
The paramedic turned to run but it was too late. The animal was much faster. He had only gotten about five strides from where he stood before he was tackled fiercely by the large creature, overpowering him almost instantly and taking him down hard to the ground. The man screamed and fought back with all of his might but it didn’t do much good. He had already succumbed to the violent attack and now lay still on the ground, thirty feet away from where Ryan stood terrified for his existence. Suddenly, the animal stood up on his hind legs and began walking towards the immobilized ambulance in a way that no other animal in Ryan’s mind had ever been witnessed before.
Ryan was frightened beyond all rational thought and motor functions and the ill feelings that had plagued him on the soccer fields now returned to his stomach with different intentions. He hid his face once again in his mud soaked shirt and clinched onto one of the ancient trees, praying desperately for some type of comfort. It wasn’t a dog. It wasn’t even an animal. It was walking! Peering out from behind the tree again, the man inside of the ambulance was giving it all he had, slinging mud in all directions in an attempt to get the vehicle moving again.
“No, No, No!!!” the ambulance driver screamed as the creature approached the open window. Ryan hid his eyes again in an attempt to block out the sound that he knew was coming next. There was another gurgling scream and the wheels of the ambulance went quiet again, no longer turning in an attempt to break free from the muck they were stuck in. The creature howled again with its ear piercing cry but this time…it was done so in a sense of triumph. Ryan clutched the tree tighter.
The rain began to fall, drop by drop, until it was pouring from the sky again with tremendous force. The rotting smell from the fallen leaves of the trees began to waft upwards as the ground was bombarded with the water coming from above. Ryan’s stomach lurched upward again and, this time, there was no chance of stopping it. He could hear the downpour pelting against the vinyl, yellow jacket of the medical technician. He still wasn’t moving and there was no sign whatsoever of the one that had been driving the vehicle. The creature had finished whatever he’d been doing with him and was now walking slowly and surely towards the distance in the opposite direction. Just then, the smell of death was stirred up by the new rainfall, reaching Ryan’s nasal cavities, and it was too much for him to handle. He leaned forward and vomited uncontrollably onto the fallen leaves below him.
The creature paused with the echoing sound that it had made. Ryan froze and swallowed whatever remained of the foul tasting substance within his mouth. With his nose high in the air, the creature sniffed it all directions for the source of the disturbance. Slowly, it turned towards the tree line with a piercing gaze as though it was staring directly at him.
“Oh Shit!” Ryan muttered as the creature returned to all fours and sprinted towards his location. Out of instinct, he turned to run but he’d forgotten about the pain in his ankle long ago. Instantly, he fell to the ground once more. The fear was a stronger driving force, though. Again, he jumped to his feet with all of his might but the young boy’s fate was already sealed. Slammed from behind and knocked to the ground by an unspeakable force, the weight of the creature held him motionless on the forest floor.
“Get off me, man! Get the hell off of me!” Ryan desperately screamed but his cries were both unheard and ignored. Something warm dripped onto his neck and the heat of the creatures breath could be felt as it leaned ever closer to the back of his head. His senses were being overpowered by the scent of fresh death that was being emitted by the creatures exhaling and he began a useless plea for what remained of his young life.
“Please don’t kill me man, please don’t…”
Ryan’s final words were interrupted by what felt like hundreds of burning knives being forced deep into the flesh on the back of his neck. As the creature tugged upwards with a force unlike anything he’d experienced before, Ryan’s world began to fade away into nothingness. The darkness began to overpower him and, for once, he thought little of the pain, soccer, or his father… who had been the cause of this situation from the beginning. From now on, his mother would be the one raising him again…but in a place that was beyond comprehension of mortal men. With a final flash of his worldly vision, he had thought he’d seen the distinct image of her standing before him and holding out her hand as if to attempt and pull him free, saving him from this macabre fate that had been bestowed upon him so early in his life. With another stab and pull from the creature’s mouth, that image faded into nothingness also. The darkness was all that remained of any signs of the life he’d known so well as though he were stuck in some type of repetitive dream and in the stages just before waking. When the new light found him, all signs of fear and pain were nonexistent.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
A Taste of Home: The short story that started it all...
This was the short story written six years ago that inspired my newest novel. I always knew that there was more to it...The story has changed a tad...but I ended up using this as a dream sequence in the final book. Enjoy
The transformation was complete. Through weary eyes, he gazed upon the unforgiving, celestial summoner of evil orbiting ever higher in the midnight sky. He hated the moon. Its inevitable return caused a horrible hunger that wasn’t easily quenchable by standard methods. Those methods had relentlessly failed him long ago. He often thought that the local butcher could’ve purchased a new car by now with all of the business he had brought into his establishment. That mental chuckle rarely brought him any comfort now. Of course, a mental chuckle was all that he was capable of, for once the animalistic instincts subdued him, any and all characteristics were no longer recognizable or executable. The wolf had taken over, making any human-like emotion or rational thought subordinate to raw, natural desires. He must feed. It must be soon, it must be flesh, and it must be human, for every other alternative had been tested and failed long ago. It offered no challenge, no thrill, not to mention the sheer ecstasy that flooded his senses upon the partaking of his fallen prey.
What he referred to as ‘long ago’ was, in actuality, only a few weeks. Without the ability to track time or day by any conventional means, it felt like an eternity. Just for the sake of making pure irony the unlikely bed partner of coincidence, he was like any other average, law abiding citizen. He had once been the proud owner of a traditional life. A life that he was no longer sure awaited him, if ever the moment would occur that this murderous, reoccurring nightmare ceased to be. With all due respect to the blackouts that would take place; he hadn’t a clue to how long it had been since he’d been home.
He was never able to recall the events of the previous evenings; however, the remains of his victims were a constant, sickening reminder of his nocturnal prowling. Had anyone bothered to search for him, or was his sudden disappearance the disguised blessing that his wife and daughter so secretly yearned for? Father of the year, he had not been, not to mention his neglectful and violent behavioral history towards the one woman that he had eternally vowed to love and protect. He still loved her, undeniably, and by his current absence in her life, he was fulfilling his promise of protection towards her.
It was his charismatic way of handling precarious situations that had brought the wrath of hell upon him, a wrath that was currently recognized as his daily life now. His wife offered him the explanation of the other man being an old high school friend, and only that, but in his mind, this was a classic excuse. A desperate and poorly constructed gambit explaining an uninvited and unannounced male presence occupying his domicile. In all honesty, as a crimson flush of rage headed north towards his face, no concoction of any imaginable explanation would have been able to quell the jealous beast that had lay dormant just below the surface of his skin, when, in fact, the real beast lay below a grove of Oak trees in a dimly lit and vacant woods that barely pushed the boundaries of fifty yards beyond his front door. As he emerged from his home to vent his jealous frustrations to a non-judgmental darkness, he was overpowered almost instantaneously, and carried away into the chilled night air.
The pain, severe, the metamorphosis, instant, the hunger, growing. An opaque vale of darkness swallowed him. He awoke the following morning in the sanctuary of a storm drain that lay deep in the forest with no clothing, and without recollection of his whereabouts over the past hours. As his senses returned to a sort of normality, he realized he was not alone in his estranged solitude. Beside him lay another man, or better yet, the barely recognizable remains of one, scattered violently around his newly discovered lair. The terrified expression on the individuals face was more extreme than it was during their previous evenings encounter. Perhaps this gentleman came to apologize for the resulting drama of his presence. Whether this action was initiated upon by his own free will, or a deed that was forcibly bribed by his significant other, it had resulted in his demise. Regardless, his intentions would never entirely come to his knowledge. It had begun, and this gentleman had fatefully become the first of a possible many. Apology accepted. He could never return home.
The uninvited gentleman caller was the only victim he had chosen that had belonged to the male persuasion. Upon his return to consciousness and free will that occurred at the birth of every new day, he had begun to realize that his victims were predominantly female. In the ocean of confusion that had become his psyche, this detail was the simplest of all riddles to solve. The superficial characteristics of the human female, whether it was due to a lack of confidence, or an abundance of personality had inevitably caused them to be an easier hunt. The scent of perfume becomes an unlikely hitchhiker on a strong breeze when it comes to the nose of a predatory carnivore, not to mention the weakened resistance that would be offered up, should a situation arise that could possibly result in her death. Gullible, curious, gentle…a man’s most perfect food, but he was no longer a man, not by a traditional definition anyway. He began to impatiently desire his evening meal.
He gracefully raised his canine head, nostrils skyward, exploring for hints of a possible kill. Nothing. His ears perked with every rustle of the leaves on the heavily littered floor of the surrounding forest. The eerie creaking of the ancient branches came from overhead as the wind began to increase slightly in velocity. He could smell the rain before it even started falling. A deafening clap of thunder engulfed the wooded sanctuary, followed by a torrential downpour that danced frantically upon the fallen leaves. To most individuals, this sudden atmospheric chaos would be an unwelcome curse upon their spirits, but this was an unexpected and positive turn of events for the creature. The forest instantly came to life with the scent of Oak, sap, and millions of unrecognizable yet delectable scents unlike any other that had grazed the passages of his nasal cavities. The rain was his savior, and it was only a matter of time before his quest would come to a triumphant completion. Now the smell of prey would be delivered unto him. With anticipation building, he released a shrieking howl of pleasure that would send tremulous shivers down the spines of the most heroic and courageous of men.
Suddenly, it came. A faint prick in his instinctual consciousness at first, followed by a flood of satisfaction. He sprinted forward though the underbrush, speeding towards the direction of the wind, and the source of the scent that was the undeniable conclusion to the fiery hunger. As he approached a spacious clearing, his pace was slowed to a stalking, low crawl. Engulfed in an almost blinding luminescence of a porch light, sat the motionless silhouette of a small female. She was overcome and dragged away without as much as a whimper.
He awoke the next morning in what had recently become his usual fashion. As he turned to meet his latest conquest, a sickening, gut wrenching horror swept through his every tingling nerve. Through tear filled eyes he glared terrified at a synonymous reflection. His daughter stared lifelessly, blankly back into his own. An angel in grief, on the steps to the unrecognizable entry to his own home, weeping for the loss of her missing father in the solitude of a midnight rain. As tragedy began to fill his already troubled soul, he came to the realization that an unrelenting, fateful turn of events had granted him his most intimate and private of wishes. He, once again, had gotten a small taste of home.
The transformation was complete. Through weary eyes, he gazed upon the unforgiving, celestial summoner of evil orbiting ever higher in the midnight sky. He hated the moon. Its inevitable return caused a horrible hunger that wasn’t easily quenchable by standard methods. Those methods had relentlessly failed him long ago. He often thought that the local butcher could’ve purchased a new car by now with all of the business he had brought into his establishment. That mental chuckle rarely brought him any comfort now. Of course, a mental chuckle was all that he was capable of, for once the animalistic instincts subdued him, any and all characteristics were no longer recognizable or executable. The wolf had taken over, making any human-like emotion or rational thought subordinate to raw, natural desires. He must feed. It must be soon, it must be flesh, and it must be human, for every other alternative had been tested and failed long ago. It offered no challenge, no thrill, not to mention the sheer ecstasy that flooded his senses upon the partaking of his fallen prey.
What he referred to as ‘long ago’ was, in actuality, only a few weeks. Without the ability to track time or day by any conventional means, it felt like an eternity. Just for the sake of making pure irony the unlikely bed partner of coincidence, he was like any other average, law abiding citizen. He had once been the proud owner of a traditional life. A life that he was no longer sure awaited him, if ever the moment would occur that this murderous, reoccurring nightmare ceased to be. With all due respect to the blackouts that would take place; he hadn’t a clue to how long it had been since he’d been home.
He was never able to recall the events of the previous evenings; however, the remains of his victims were a constant, sickening reminder of his nocturnal prowling. Had anyone bothered to search for him, or was his sudden disappearance the disguised blessing that his wife and daughter so secretly yearned for? Father of the year, he had not been, not to mention his neglectful and violent behavioral history towards the one woman that he had eternally vowed to love and protect. He still loved her, undeniably, and by his current absence in her life, he was fulfilling his promise of protection towards her.
It was his charismatic way of handling precarious situations that had brought the wrath of hell upon him, a wrath that was currently recognized as his daily life now. His wife offered him the explanation of the other man being an old high school friend, and only that, but in his mind, this was a classic excuse. A desperate and poorly constructed gambit explaining an uninvited and unannounced male presence occupying his domicile. In all honesty, as a crimson flush of rage headed north towards his face, no concoction of any imaginable explanation would have been able to quell the jealous beast that had lay dormant just below the surface of his skin, when, in fact, the real beast lay below a grove of Oak trees in a dimly lit and vacant woods that barely pushed the boundaries of fifty yards beyond his front door. As he emerged from his home to vent his jealous frustrations to a non-judgmental darkness, he was overpowered almost instantaneously, and carried away into the chilled night air.
The pain, severe, the metamorphosis, instant, the hunger, growing. An opaque vale of darkness swallowed him. He awoke the following morning in the sanctuary of a storm drain that lay deep in the forest with no clothing, and without recollection of his whereabouts over the past hours. As his senses returned to a sort of normality, he realized he was not alone in his estranged solitude. Beside him lay another man, or better yet, the barely recognizable remains of one, scattered violently around his newly discovered lair. The terrified expression on the individuals face was more extreme than it was during their previous evenings encounter. Perhaps this gentleman came to apologize for the resulting drama of his presence. Whether this action was initiated upon by his own free will, or a deed that was forcibly bribed by his significant other, it had resulted in his demise. Regardless, his intentions would never entirely come to his knowledge. It had begun, and this gentleman had fatefully become the first of a possible many. Apology accepted. He could never return home.
The uninvited gentleman caller was the only victim he had chosen that had belonged to the male persuasion. Upon his return to consciousness and free will that occurred at the birth of every new day, he had begun to realize that his victims were predominantly female. In the ocean of confusion that had become his psyche, this detail was the simplest of all riddles to solve. The superficial characteristics of the human female, whether it was due to a lack of confidence, or an abundance of personality had inevitably caused them to be an easier hunt. The scent of perfume becomes an unlikely hitchhiker on a strong breeze when it comes to the nose of a predatory carnivore, not to mention the weakened resistance that would be offered up, should a situation arise that could possibly result in her death. Gullible, curious, gentle…a man’s most perfect food, but he was no longer a man, not by a traditional definition anyway. He began to impatiently desire his evening meal.
He gracefully raised his canine head, nostrils skyward, exploring for hints of a possible kill. Nothing. His ears perked with every rustle of the leaves on the heavily littered floor of the surrounding forest. The eerie creaking of the ancient branches came from overhead as the wind began to increase slightly in velocity. He could smell the rain before it even started falling. A deafening clap of thunder engulfed the wooded sanctuary, followed by a torrential downpour that danced frantically upon the fallen leaves. To most individuals, this sudden atmospheric chaos would be an unwelcome curse upon their spirits, but this was an unexpected and positive turn of events for the creature. The forest instantly came to life with the scent of Oak, sap, and millions of unrecognizable yet delectable scents unlike any other that had grazed the passages of his nasal cavities. The rain was his savior, and it was only a matter of time before his quest would come to a triumphant completion. Now the smell of prey would be delivered unto him. With anticipation building, he released a shrieking howl of pleasure that would send tremulous shivers down the spines of the most heroic and courageous of men.
Suddenly, it came. A faint prick in his instinctual consciousness at first, followed by a flood of satisfaction. He sprinted forward though the underbrush, speeding towards the direction of the wind, and the source of the scent that was the undeniable conclusion to the fiery hunger. As he approached a spacious clearing, his pace was slowed to a stalking, low crawl. Engulfed in an almost blinding luminescence of a porch light, sat the motionless silhouette of a small female. She was overcome and dragged away without as much as a whimper.
He awoke the next morning in what had recently become his usual fashion. As he turned to meet his latest conquest, a sickening, gut wrenching horror swept through his every tingling nerve. Through tear filled eyes he glared terrified at a synonymous reflection. His daughter stared lifelessly, blankly back into his own. An angel in grief, on the steps to the unrecognizable entry to his own home, weeping for the loss of her missing father in the solitude of a midnight rain. As tragedy began to fill his already troubled soul, he came to the realization that an unrelenting, fateful turn of events had granted him his most intimate and private of wishes. He, once again, had gotten a small taste of home.
The One...written for Nez 6 years ago
I wrote this for Nez six years ago when we first started dating...before her divorce was final. Poetic, with tons of meaning to me. I don't think anyone has ever read this except the two of us...until now.
The One
by: Chad Miller
On the dismal pathways of righteousness I have walked alone for ages, pondering why the world had dealt me the death card time and time again. Lying in the dark, night after painful night wondering why this has come to be, where am I going, and when will it all come to a screeching end. Once, I knew her. A carefree spirit, longing for companionship, cherishing every adventure, gazing to the horizon. Things change.
If only I’d known then what I knew now, the story of my life.
Could I give up pieces of my being, return again to the days of my youth and do it all completely different? Where would we be, and would it have even possibly bettered the lives of our significant others from our past? These are the questions that haunt the lonely. These are the inquiries of a troubled mind at midnight, all alone in the echoing darkness of our existence. I can’t help it, I love her. She’s my muse. The reason I breathe the life giving essence of this world that I, not so long ago, would have said goodbye to, gladly I might add, in exchange for front row seats to my oblivion. As I watch her laying before me, a tender child in the shell of a goddess, clutching a memory that was sewn together with the promises of commitment, I know that I can be the one to save her. The one that will return her to her former glory, and allow her to run free in the mental fields of her youth. I can do this, don’t give up, here’s my hand, I won’t let go.
But that demon, that influential pull of curiosity is drawing her back. Unanswered mysteries, what could have been, what will be, linger in a troubled mental ocean in her mind. Am I strong enough? Will she grip me tighter, or simply fall to her demise? As she sails into the stormy night towards her destination, I stand alone on the shore of heartache. With each passing moment I grieve as she ventures closer to the tempest of her sea of depression. She glances back at me through wind torn brown hair, and gives me her angelic smile, like only she can. She’ll return, I know. Love prevails. I’ll be waiting.
The One
by: Chad Miller
On the dismal pathways of righteousness I have walked alone for ages, pondering why the world had dealt me the death card time and time again. Lying in the dark, night after painful night wondering why this has come to be, where am I going, and when will it all come to a screeching end. Once, I knew her. A carefree spirit, longing for companionship, cherishing every adventure, gazing to the horizon. Things change.
If only I’d known then what I knew now, the story of my life.
Could I give up pieces of my being, return again to the days of my youth and do it all completely different? Where would we be, and would it have even possibly bettered the lives of our significant others from our past? These are the questions that haunt the lonely. These are the inquiries of a troubled mind at midnight, all alone in the echoing darkness of our existence. I can’t help it, I love her. She’s my muse. The reason I breathe the life giving essence of this world that I, not so long ago, would have said goodbye to, gladly I might add, in exchange for front row seats to my oblivion. As I watch her laying before me, a tender child in the shell of a goddess, clutching a memory that was sewn together with the promises of commitment, I know that I can be the one to save her. The one that will return her to her former glory, and allow her to run free in the mental fields of her youth. I can do this, don’t give up, here’s my hand, I won’t let go.
But that demon, that influential pull of curiosity is drawing her back. Unanswered mysteries, what could have been, what will be, linger in a troubled mental ocean in her mind. Am I strong enough? Will she grip me tighter, or simply fall to her demise? As she sails into the stormy night towards her destination, I stand alone on the shore of heartache. With each passing moment I grieve as she ventures closer to the tempest of her sea of depression. She glances back at me through wind torn brown hair, and gives me her angelic smile, like only she can. She’ll return, I know. Love prevails. I’ll be waiting.
Stop This Life, I Want To Get Off
This was the fifth thing I ever wrote, a sort of essay on the way of things 6 years ago...I ended up using this as the opening to a chapter in my first book 'A Ghost Hunter's Journal'...The divorce was still taking it's toll...
STOP THIS LIFE, I WANT TO GET OFF
BY: Chad Miller
Bear with me for a split second. Sit back, relax, and close your eyes and dream of a different time. A time in which we all lived and loved, shared and actually believed would never end. Do you remember when? When it all seemed so easy and so carefree? When a child could stay outside alone until well after dark on their own, its parent not even batting an eye to give a second thought to the safety of their loved one? When you could run to the corner store with a ten spot, put five in the car, buck and a half for smokes, and still have enough left over to catch a movie before the day was done? When you would sit in the back of a classroom and weigh out the choices that you would be making in your near future that would lead you down pathways that would determine who you would be, and how the world recognized you? As difficult as it may seem, this was not long ago. I’m not sure what triggered the catastrophic changes that our world has suffered over the past decade or so, but I do know that I must have been sound asleep somewhere in this sleepy Texas town, dreaming of how I was going to weasel some teen bleach blonde beauty out of their panties.
Easy and carefree are figments of our imagination now. Nothing is easy, and if you happen to be carefree in this day and age, it’s because the chemicals haven’t wore off yet, give it time. Seriously, do you remember a time when there was absolutely no one that occupied your mind that wasn’t a burnt out, drugged up drain on society? If I stop typing for about five seconds……………….I can think of two or three that I have to deal with on a daily basis that I have to pretend to their faces that they’re actually winning the door prize at the annual gathering of the honorary brotherhood of dipshits seminar. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a firm believer that there is nothing wrong with anything…….as long as it’s done in moderation. Abuse it, and it becomes a habit, develop that habit, and it becomes an addiction, give in to the addiction, and you’re a waste. Give up, because there is no way out. Do the deed.
As far as the children of today are concerned, I have four of my own and would prefer in this day and age that they not walk five feet in front of me for the fear of them stepping into some chasm of despair that has been brought on by today’s society. I remember being a child, walking five blocks to school and back, and being at home by my lonesome for a few hours before my mother would come home from work. Don’t get me wrong, I’m very appreciative of her absence. How else was I to develop such professional masturbation skills in my youth? However, I feel that if someone were to grant a child such leniency in this day and age, it could only spell disaster with all the sex offending, meth monsters that freely roam our streets, raid our garbage and peep into our windows. It probably wouldn’t be so bad if I could come across at least one law enforcement official that could inspire his lot to pull their collective heads out of their asses and take an ounce of pride in their jobs and the citizens and property that they have sworn to protect, but, I’m sorry, I’ve looked, and this type of super cop no longer exists. My mind often wanders to scenes of chaos in Mayberry, if that show were still being made today. Opie with goth makeup and a nose piercing, Aunt Bee tied to a bed post being raped by Otis while Floyd the barber escorts his most special of customers into the back room to purchase the new and improved, smokable hair tonic. Where are Andy and Barney you ask? Beating the living hell out of some law abiding citizen whose name never made the credits of the television show because they were too busy living as honest life to even be noticed by the viewing public. Am I venting? You bet your sweet ass I am, because I’m sick of how the flaws in our democratic society have been exploited to where anyone with an ounce of power and influence can literally get away with murder and walk free by simply being an individual of power and influence. Where’s the justice?
In the glorious year of 1989, I drove a twelve year old Chevrolet Monte Carlo that would graciously suck down a gallon of gasoline every time a pulled away from a red light. I smoked Marlboro cigarettes and spent about 4 hours in a movie theatre on a weekly basis. This lifestyle was not enjoyed solo, because a financially challenged friend of some sort would usually accompany me. A damn shame it is to think back on these times nostalgically. Here it is, only a hop, skip and jump away and I’m barely able to afford the courage to plead at a neighbor for a DVD of a movie that I might want to see, like some entertainment starved Tiny Tim of the new millennium. I’m not sure what kind of cigarettes I smoke anymore, because my eyesight is failing me from smoking all the rat poison that gets swept up with the shaving that fall off of the production lines of the major cigarette companies that make up the cheaper kinds. I actually tried to borrow a cigarette from a coworker the other day, and he handed me a contract to sign along with a sheet to fill out informing him of the names and addresses my five of my closest friends and relatives. As far as the vehicle situation goes, I no longer punch the gas at a red light. Instead, I hang my foot out the door and get up to speed like a Tony Hawk of the highway, jump back in and begin to drive. You would think that with all of the people that we are unjustly a murdering in the Middle East that we could be more selective, and get the one that is in charge of regulating the price of a barrel of oil. The little “F” on my gas gauge was talking to me the other day about maybe adopting a pet cat from the animal shelter, just to help deal with his abandonment issues.
What could have ever possibly happened to me to make me visualize things in the manner that I do? At exactly what point in my life did I turn so black and heartless to the same world that spawned so many great people like Picasso, Humphrey Bogart, and Axl Rose? What gives me the right to turn my back on society and kindly give it the middle finger as I give an evil, maniacal chuckle and slither away into the darkness? I am a metaphorical garbage man of the human race. I am a used junk dealer of human life. I am a jailer!
STOP THIS LIFE, I WANT TO GET OFF
BY: Chad Miller
Bear with me for a split second. Sit back, relax, and close your eyes and dream of a different time. A time in which we all lived and loved, shared and actually believed would never end. Do you remember when? When it all seemed so easy and so carefree? When a child could stay outside alone until well after dark on their own, its parent not even batting an eye to give a second thought to the safety of their loved one? When you could run to the corner store with a ten spot, put five in the car, buck and a half for smokes, and still have enough left over to catch a movie before the day was done? When you would sit in the back of a classroom and weigh out the choices that you would be making in your near future that would lead you down pathways that would determine who you would be, and how the world recognized you? As difficult as it may seem, this was not long ago. I’m not sure what triggered the catastrophic changes that our world has suffered over the past decade or so, but I do know that I must have been sound asleep somewhere in this sleepy Texas town, dreaming of how I was going to weasel some teen bleach blonde beauty out of their panties.
Easy and carefree are figments of our imagination now. Nothing is easy, and if you happen to be carefree in this day and age, it’s because the chemicals haven’t wore off yet, give it time. Seriously, do you remember a time when there was absolutely no one that occupied your mind that wasn’t a burnt out, drugged up drain on society? If I stop typing for about five seconds……………….I can think of two or three that I have to deal with on a daily basis that I have to pretend to their faces that they’re actually winning the door prize at the annual gathering of the honorary brotherhood of dipshits seminar. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a firm believer that there is nothing wrong with anything…….as long as it’s done in moderation. Abuse it, and it becomes a habit, develop that habit, and it becomes an addiction, give in to the addiction, and you’re a waste. Give up, because there is no way out. Do the deed.
As far as the children of today are concerned, I have four of my own and would prefer in this day and age that they not walk five feet in front of me for the fear of them stepping into some chasm of despair that has been brought on by today’s society. I remember being a child, walking five blocks to school and back, and being at home by my lonesome for a few hours before my mother would come home from work. Don’t get me wrong, I’m very appreciative of her absence. How else was I to develop such professional masturbation skills in my youth? However, I feel that if someone were to grant a child such leniency in this day and age, it could only spell disaster with all the sex offending, meth monsters that freely roam our streets, raid our garbage and peep into our windows. It probably wouldn’t be so bad if I could come across at least one law enforcement official that could inspire his lot to pull their collective heads out of their asses and take an ounce of pride in their jobs and the citizens and property that they have sworn to protect, but, I’m sorry, I’ve looked, and this type of super cop no longer exists. My mind often wanders to scenes of chaos in Mayberry, if that show were still being made today. Opie with goth makeup and a nose piercing, Aunt Bee tied to a bed post being raped by Otis while Floyd the barber escorts his most special of customers into the back room to purchase the new and improved, smokable hair tonic. Where are Andy and Barney you ask? Beating the living hell out of some law abiding citizen whose name never made the credits of the television show because they were too busy living as honest life to even be noticed by the viewing public. Am I venting? You bet your sweet ass I am, because I’m sick of how the flaws in our democratic society have been exploited to where anyone with an ounce of power and influence can literally get away with murder and walk free by simply being an individual of power and influence. Where’s the justice?
In the glorious year of 1989, I drove a twelve year old Chevrolet Monte Carlo that would graciously suck down a gallon of gasoline every time a pulled away from a red light. I smoked Marlboro cigarettes and spent about 4 hours in a movie theatre on a weekly basis. This lifestyle was not enjoyed solo, because a financially challenged friend of some sort would usually accompany me. A damn shame it is to think back on these times nostalgically. Here it is, only a hop, skip and jump away and I’m barely able to afford the courage to plead at a neighbor for a DVD of a movie that I might want to see, like some entertainment starved Tiny Tim of the new millennium. I’m not sure what kind of cigarettes I smoke anymore, because my eyesight is failing me from smoking all the rat poison that gets swept up with the shaving that fall off of the production lines of the major cigarette companies that make up the cheaper kinds. I actually tried to borrow a cigarette from a coworker the other day, and he handed me a contract to sign along with a sheet to fill out informing him of the names and addresses my five of my closest friends and relatives. As far as the vehicle situation goes, I no longer punch the gas at a red light. Instead, I hang my foot out the door and get up to speed like a Tony Hawk of the highway, jump back in and begin to drive. You would think that with all of the people that we are unjustly a murdering in the Middle East that we could be more selective, and get the one that is in charge of regulating the price of a barrel of oil. The little “F” on my gas gauge was talking to me the other day about maybe adopting a pet cat from the animal shelter, just to help deal with his abandonment issues.
What could have ever possibly happened to me to make me visualize things in the manner that I do? At exactly what point in my life did I turn so black and heartless to the same world that spawned so many great people like Picasso, Humphrey Bogart, and Axl Rose? What gives me the right to turn my back on society and kindly give it the middle finger as I give an evil, maniacal chuckle and slither away into the darkness? I am a metaphorical garbage man of the human race. I am a used junk dealer of human life. I am a jailer!
I'll Never Tell You...
This is probably one of the darkest things I wrote 6 years ago. I had just started working as a corrections officer and it was taking it's toll. This entire thing is a monologue told through the eyes of a kid getting arrested. Not intended for children or weak adults. I warned you...
I’ll Never Tell You
(Through The Eyes Of A Juvenile)
“Well hello back to you mother fucker, yes I know its great to be back. Why don’t you just read the police report just like everyone else you fat fuck? Sure, here is all my shit from my pockets, a little bit of fuzz and a condom that I probably should have used earlier today, but I’ll never tell you. I was skipping school, or at least that’s all they know. Sure I’ll sign my rights, and if I had the chance, I’d shove them straight up your ass! And, of course, here comes the fifty two question bullshit waste of time that I’ve answered over and over again. No, No, No, No, No, No, blah blah blah. Yes the information is all the same, like my fucked up family would ever move away from this rat hole piece of shit town. Ah, now for the fun part! I get to get optically violated and take the worlds coldest shower! Don’t you remember how I looked naked the last time? You should, you molesting bastard! Although I’m sure you put it out of your mind, and the courts thought that it was a lot of made up bullshit, but unfortunately, I can’t just mentally delete one of the most humiliating and degrading moments of my life. I paid you back though, but I’ll never tell you. You see, living in a small town has its advantages. Nobody ever looks over their shoulders to see if anyone is following them, even someone who would make a few enemies here in there in their line of work. As a matter of fact, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to wait outside in the shadows and watch you get into your piece of shit car every night. Only big city people are that paranoid, and this is far from being a big city. It doesn’t take more that a few days to figure out someone elses life, especially when their life consists of work, home, and back to work. Did you know that with a forged note, anyone can just walk out of school every day to do whatever they please? That’s exactly what I was doing today, but I’ll never tell you. Did you also know that living here in the cradle of the bible belt that pretty much anyone will open their door and graciously invite them inside to the sanctity of their own home, as long as the visitor has on a white collar shirt and is carrying a bible? You see, today was one of the greatest and probably the last days that I have ever had the pleasure of enjoying in my entire young life. I had great sex with a total stranger, and loved every minute of it. Did you also know that one of the greatest orgasms that a man can achieve is while you’re fucking the throbbing cunt of a dying woman? The muscles start going into spasms when you slice their throat. It’s ironic that my bible was just wide enough to conceal my favorite blade from innocent eyes. Justice was served today. You have one hell of a mess to clean up when you get home, but I’ll never tell you.
I’ll Never Tell You
(Through The Eyes Of A Juvenile)
“Well hello back to you mother fucker, yes I know its great to be back. Why don’t you just read the police report just like everyone else you fat fuck? Sure, here is all my shit from my pockets, a little bit of fuzz and a condom that I probably should have used earlier today, but I’ll never tell you. I was skipping school, or at least that’s all they know. Sure I’ll sign my rights, and if I had the chance, I’d shove them straight up your ass! And, of course, here comes the fifty two question bullshit waste of time that I’ve answered over and over again. No, No, No, No, No, No, blah blah blah. Yes the information is all the same, like my fucked up family would ever move away from this rat hole piece of shit town. Ah, now for the fun part! I get to get optically violated and take the worlds coldest shower! Don’t you remember how I looked naked the last time? You should, you molesting bastard! Although I’m sure you put it out of your mind, and the courts thought that it was a lot of made up bullshit, but unfortunately, I can’t just mentally delete one of the most humiliating and degrading moments of my life. I paid you back though, but I’ll never tell you. You see, living in a small town has its advantages. Nobody ever looks over their shoulders to see if anyone is following them, even someone who would make a few enemies here in there in their line of work. As a matter of fact, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to wait outside in the shadows and watch you get into your piece of shit car every night. Only big city people are that paranoid, and this is far from being a big city. It doesn’t take more that a few days to figure out someone elses life, especially when their life consists of work, home, and back to work. Did you know that with a forged note, anyone can just walk out of school every day to do whatever they please? That’s exactly what I was doing today, but I’ll never tell you. Did you also know that living here in the cradle of the bible belt that pretty much anyone will open their door and graciously invite them inside to the sanctity of their own home, as long as the visitor has on a white collar shirt and is carrying a bible? You see, today was one of the greatest and probably the last days that I have ever had the pleasure of enjoying in my entire young life. I had great sex with a total stranger, and loved every minute of it. Did you also know that one of the greatest orgasms that a man can achieve is while you’re fucking the throbbing cunt of a dying woman? The muscles start going into spasms when you slice their throat. It’s ironic that my bible was just wide enough to conceal my favorite blade from innocent eyes. Justice was served today. You have one hell of a mess to clean up when you get home, but I’ll never tell you.
The Exit Not Taken...my third attempt at writing...
This was my third attempt at a short story 6 years ago. Toby Liberman's name is dropped yet again from the same character mentioned in 'The Hat Trick'. Still dark...
The Exit Not Taken
By: Chad Miller
The Ivory Ford van sped through the darkness like a celestial blade slicing the cool night air. All speed limit signs were written in some foreign language as far as the driver was concerned, for, you see, tonight was the first breath of a new life, the first of many, he hoped. He was immortal, or, at least, he felt that way now, because the Jack Daniels told him so.
He lit a Marlboro and cracked his window. The midnight, December air was just the hint of reality he needed to make it home, only fifteen miles to go. “What a night” he muttered to himself with a strong scent of alcohol wafting from his mouth to his nostrils. It was enough to know that attracting the attention of the local authorities was probably far from the greatest way to put a cherry on the top of a perfect night. He hit the accelerator.
As the white lines of the country highway morphed into an endless, unbroken guide, his thoughts began to wander onto the blurred past few months of his life: the divorce, the adjustments, and his triumphant return to the single’s lifestyle.
The divorce part was easily explained: hot chick, great sex, the guilt of one sided love, the forgotten pill, the obligation, the wedding, the weight gain, domino, the weight loss, the double shifts, the affair. You can take the bitch off of the corner, but you can’t take the corner off of the bitch. You know, basic life lessons. A faint smile began to appear on his face as he took his mental mind fuck of a trip down memory lane. “Oh Shit!” he screamed, passing by his opportunity to catch an access road to the interstate. There will be others, he thought to himself.
As the high beams of the metallic monster lunged forward into the night, he began to comfortably transform back into his hypnotic driver mode. Adjusting to the single life, what a bitch that had been. You spend the first nine months of life trying to escape a pussy, but the rest of your existence trying to get back in. Poetic justice, they call it. He just called it bullshit.
Out of the singles game for nearly a decade, he returned only to find that the game had been given a complete make over. Hell, it wasn’t even the same fucking sport anymore. All of your young life, you lift weights, beef up, play sports, learn to overhaul engines. Manly shit, you know. Only to realize that a decade later, all the women now went for the Billy Gates, geeky ass, wedgie, sign on the back, dork mother fuckers. What the hell is this world coming to, he inquired to himself as another small smirk of his evening victory crawled across his face.
Our lone rider was about to begin a sinister laugh when suddenly, “Fuck!!”
He had just missed the second of the interstate access roads. Not to worry though, with half a tank of gas and nearly a full pack of smokes, civilization was not a necessity. He blasted the stereo, and valiantly pressed onward into the night.
Two missed exits, a woman who gave less than a shit, a sudden forced change in lifestyle, and, not to mention, crying himself to sleep every night for the past few weeks in a lonely, desolate apartment, and yet, the events that took place earlier in the evening were enough to show him that he was no longer down, nor out, but at the beginning of, if his luck held out, rookie status in the new game of women. A moment of clarity only days before had made him come to realize, that in a world full of wannabes, posers, and look alikes, you have to stand out to get recognized. So replacing his traditional honky-tonk garb with a hockey jersey and eighties esque torn blue jeans, he was bound to get some looks amongst an endless sea of hillbillies. And come, the looks did. At first from all of the male patrons, dressed in their red neck best, but soon following were the ladies, the selected prey of the evening. Our hero was about to top off his third Shiner Bock when an angelic voice projecting from behind him exclaimed “You know, it’s a shame about Liberman, he was my favorite player.”
Instant connectivity! He shoots, He scores! It was at this very moment that he knew why the hands of fate had dealt him the ownership of a van! As fast as you can exhaustingly scream “horizontal mambo” the majestic Ford was rocking with the sweet rhythms of love, or lust actually, and at that exact orgasmic moment, he knew that this was only the beginning. Life had made a serious emotionally triumphant and increasingly sexual U-turn into his favor.
After the mutual exchange of fluids came the mutual exchange of numbers, and with a half cocked glimmer of hope and a little hitch in his git-a-long, he barreled down this midnight highway. Suddenly, he was slapped back into reality by a large explosion of steel and fiberglass and an excruciatingly painful and sudden stop.
As the car wrecked Casanova exits his vehicle, he realizes that the remains of a Ford Focus had now become his new hood ornament. Then came the horrid realization of a lifeless body occupying the remainder of the front seat of the mangled vehicle. As he slowly crept towards the driver, he noticed the windshield, or lack of windshield, had shattered and upon further inspection, an unrecognizable female face stared back at him, with a surprised, yet blank expression on her face. The steering wheel had almost completely severed her head. A steady flow of blood was still streaming from her wounds when he noticed the hand of the victim. In her right, a cellular phone, with a call remaining on its agenda that would never be sent. In her left, a shard of blood stained paper, containing nine digits. As he carefully removes the paper from her mannequin like grip, a frigid tingle made a bolt up his spine. This was his own phone number.
Mere minutes before, he’d killed her insides. Mere moments later, he’d finished the job. Life loves tragedy. So much for new beginnings.
The Exit Not Taken
By: Chad Miller
The Ivory Ford van sped through the darkness like a celestial blade slicing the cool night air. All speed limit signs were written in some foreign language as far as the driver was concerned, for, you see, tonight was the first breath of a new life, the first of many, he hoped. He was immortal, or, at least, he felt that way now, because the Jack Daniels told him so.
He lit a Marlboro and cracked his window. The midnight, December air was just the hint of reality he needed to make it home, only fifteen miles to go. “What a night” he muttered to himself with a strong scent of alcohol wafting from his mouth to his nostrils. It was enough to know that attracting the attention of the local authorities was probably far from the greatest way to put a cherry on the top of a perfect night. He hit the accelerator.
As the white lines of the country highway morphed into an endless, unbroken guide, his thoughts began to wander onto the blurred past few months of his life: the divorce, the adjustments, and his triumphant return to the single’s lifestyle.
The divorce part was easily explained: hot chick, great sex, the guilt of one sided love, the forgotten pill, the obligation, the wedding, the weight gain, domino, the weight loss, the double shifts, the affair. You can take the bitch off of the corner, but you can’t take the corner off of the bitch. You know, basic life lessons. A faint smile began to appear on his face as he took his mental mind fuck of a trip down memory lane. “Oh Shit!” he screamed, passing by his opportunity to catch an access road to the interstate. There will be others, he thought to himself.
As the high beams of the metallic monster lunged forward into the night, he began to comfortably transform back into his hypnotic driver mode. Adjusting to the single life, what a bitch that had been. You spend the first nine months of life trying to escape a pussy, but the rest of your existence trying to get back in. Poetic justice, they call it. He just called it bullshit.
Out of the singles game for nearly a decade, he returned only to find that the game had been given a complete make over. Hell, it wasn’t even the same fucking sport anymore. All of your young life, you lift weights, beef up, play sports, learn to overhaul engines. Manly shit, you know. Only to realize that a decade later, all the women now went for the Billy Gates, geeky ass, wedgie, sign on the back, dork mother fuckers. What the hell is this world coming to, he inquired to himself as another small smirk of his evening victory crawled across his face.
Our lone rider was about to begin a sinister laugh when suddenly, “Fuck!!”
He had just missed the second of the interstate access roads. Not to worry though, with half a tank of gas and nearly a full pack of smokes, civilization was not a necessity. He blasted the stereo, and valiantly pressed onward into the night.
Two missed exits, a woman who gave less than a shit, a sudden forced change in lifestyle, and, not to mention, crying himself to sleep every night for the past few weeks in a lonely, desolate apartment, and yet, the events that took place earlier in the evening were enough to show him that he was no longer down, nor out, but at the beginning of, if his luck held out, rookie status in the new game of women. A moment of clarity only days before had made him come to realize, that in a world full of wannabes, posers, and look alikes, you have to stand out to get recognized. So replacing his traditional honky-tonk garb with a hockey jersey and eighties esque torn blue jeans, he was bound to get some looks amongst an endless sea of hillbillies. And come, the looks did. At first from all of the male patrons, dressed in their red neck best, but soon following were the ladies, the selected prey of the evening. Our hero was about to top off his third Shiner Bock when an angelic voice projecting from behind him exclaimed “You know, it’s a shame about Liberman, he was my favorite player.”
Instant connectivity! He shoots, He scores! It was at this very moment that he knew why the hands of fate had dealt him the ownership of a van! As fast as you can exhaustingly scream “horizontal mambo” the majestic Ford was rocking with the sweet rhythms of love, or lust actually, and at that exact orgasmic moment, he knew that this was only the beginning. Life had made a serious emotionally triumphant and increasingly sexual U-turn into his favor.
After the mutual exchange of fluids came the mutual exchange of numbers, and with a half cocked glimmer of hope and a little hitch in his git-a-long, he barreled down this midnight highway. Suddenly, he was slapped back into reality by a large explosion of steel and fiberglass and an excruciatingly painful and sudden stop.
As the car wrecked Casanova exits his vehicle, he realizes that the remains of a Ford Focus had now become his new hood ornament. Then came the horrid realization of a lifeless body occupying the remainder of the front seat of the mangled vehicle. As he slowly crept towards the driver, he noticed the windshield, or lack of windshield, had shattered and upon further inspection, an unrecognizable female face stared back at him, with a surprised, yet blank expression on her face. The steering wheel had almost completely severed her head. A steady flow of blood was still streaming from her wounds when he noticed the hand of the victim. In her right, a cellular phone, with a call remaining on its agenda that would never be sent. In her left, a shard of blood stained paper, containing nine digits. As he carefully removes the paper from her mannequin like grip, a frigid tingle made a bolt up his spine. This was his own phone number.
Mere minutes before, he’d killed her insides. Mere moments later, he’d finished the job. Life loves tragedy. So much for new beginnings.
Scenes From The Drive Thru...the second thing I ever wrote
This was the second thing I ever wrote...once again in the middle of my divorce. Getting a little dark...
Scenes From The Drive Thru
By: Chad Miller
The shattered glass scattered amongst the trash and various other debris of the ancient moon lit parking lot was painfully reminding him of how his life had become. Like the theater that had once stood there, he had been full of life, and loved by many. He recalled the last time that he, himself, had graced the doorway of the now dilapidated pile of rubble that had been the sunrise of a new life for him.
Ten years, almost to the day, he had accompanied an angel to this very spot, an angel who would soon after, be allowed to reside in his heart, take his last name, bear his offspring and follow him to the ends of the earth, hand in hand, heart to heart.
The rest of our subject’s romantic, emotional rollercoaster could be compared to every “lost at love” story that anyone ever had the displeasure of telling, or listening to. Boy meets girl, boy loses girl and gets her back multiplied by twenty. Boy leaves for the Army, marries girl. Girl fucks around, boy forgives girl, girl fucks around again, boy forgives girl. Boy stays at the mercy of girl while she unforgivingly inserts sharp objects and twists them in his heart. And now, boy stands in an abandoned parking lot in the dark, at the end of this rope, which leads us to the present.
In the near distance was the illuminating glow of the establishment that remained her slave-like place of employment. Our pitiful subject had sworn to himself that he would never again cross the threshold of her job again, and like a true specimen of manhood, he intended to keep his word.
He could see her dishing out the slop de jour in the drive thru window, her red hair gently flowing in the light, evening breeze. A harsh crime it would be to scar this delicate flower for the rest of her natural life, but….
Stepping into the street he screamed her name to the best of his natural abilities and with praise to the gods of timing, she glanced out into the abyss of traffic, just as a Peterbilt rig caused his life to vanish in a brilliant crimson explosion. The once estranged bride shook uncontrollably as she collapsed to the ground howling loudly in disbelief and emotional anguish.
He had managed to once again devastate her live in a way that only “he” could. And she was sure to give him an ear full just as soon as she could gather her composure and gain access to the rat poison stock that was kept in the rear of the restaurant. If he thought he could get out of it this easy, he had another thing coming.
Scenes From The Drive Thru
By: Chad Miller
The shattered glass scattered amongst the trash and various other debris of the ancient moon lit parking lot was painfully reminding him of how his life had become. Like the theater that had once stood there, he had been full of life, and loved by many. He recalled the last time that he, himself, had graced the doorway of the now dilapidated pile of rubble that had been the sunrise of a new life for him.
Ten years, almost to the day, he had accompanied an angel to this very spot, an angel who would soon after, be allowed to reside in his heart, take his last name, bear his offspring and follow him to the ends of the earth, hand in hand, heart to heart.
The rest of our subject’s romantic, emotional rollercoaster could be compared to every “lost at love” story that anyone ever had the displeasure of telling, or listening to. Boy meets girl, boy loses girl and gets her back multiplied by twenty. Boy leaves for the Army, marries girl. Girl fucks around, boy forgives girl, girl fucks around again, boy forgives girl. Boy stays at the mercy of girl while she unforgivingly inserts sharp objects and twists them in his heart. And now, boy stands in an abandoned parking lot in the dark, at the end of this rope, which leads us to the present.
In the near distance was the illuminating glow of the establishment that remained her slave-like place of employment. Our pitiful subject had sworn to himself that he would never again cross the threshold of her job again, and like a true specimen of manhood, he intended to keep his word.
He could see her dishing out the slop de jour in the drive thru window, her red hair gently flowing in the light, evening breeze. A harsh crime it would be to scar this delicate flower for the rest of her natural life, but….
Stepping into the street he screamed her name to the best of his natural abilities and with praise to the gods of timing, she glanced out into the abyss of traffic, just as a Peterbilt rig caused his life to vanish in a brilliant crimson explosion. The once estranged bride shook uncontrollably as she collapsed to the ground howling loudly in disbelief and emotional anguish.
He had managed to once again devastate her live in a way that only “he” could. And she was sure to give him an ear full just as soon as she could gather her composure and gain access to the rat poison stock that was kept in the rear of the restaurant. If he thought he could get out of it this easy, he had another thing coming.
The Hat Trick...my very first short story ever from 6 years ago...
This was the very first short story I ever wrote. 6 years ago, after reading Del James 'The Language of Fear' I awoke one morning...and started writing. I borrowed the name of the character in this story for the main character in 'A Taste of Home'. Enjoy...
The Hat Trick
By: Chad Miller
“Tornadoes penalty” the booming voice of the rink announcer said “number nine, Toby Liberman, a five minute major for fighting.” Another one bites the ice, he thought to himself. Toby had not lost a fight to date, and with three years of minor league hockey under his belt, that was an amazing statistic. The penalty box door slammed shut and he took his well deserved seat. Some of his fans behind the box were giving their usual love taps on the glass to show their appreciation for another job well done. There’s no fan like a hockey fan.
As the chill of frigid aluminum crept through his pants, he removed his sweat soaked Mission gloves and closed his eyes to enjoy his five minute vacation in the sin bin. “You know, I wish the NHL would recognize real talent every now and then” he thought to himself. Three years in the minors and nothing to show for it with the exception of one hell of a stat sheet, a broken tooth, and a few more scars. He began to reflect back to where it all began, and where he wished he could still be today, that frozen pond back in Minnesota, surrounded by friends, playing for neighborhood honor, not here in the hell hole of the southwest, Dallas freakin’ Texas, bleeding every other night for half capacity crowds, skating on second rate ice, praying to the hockey gods to take him away from what he considered the worst mistake of his young life. Oh well, at least he scored two goals tonight, “wish it would have been a hat trick though“, three goals is something to brag about. He began to wonder who actually came up with the hockey gods anyway. Probably some half wit, half tooth doofus from Alberta fifty years ago. “Fuck the hockey gods, they can suck my hairy balls!” he muttered under his breath before he drifted off to sleep.
Toby’s whole life had been centered around the greatest game in the history of mankind, hockey. Growing up in small town Minnesota, he had a legacy to live up to, because the family photo album was full of pictures of all the men in their family for the past fifty years, covered in hockey gear, and blood no doubt, doing what they loved to do. As a matter of fact, not liking hockey back home was the equivalent of coming out of the closet and admitting that you were some cock sucking faggot. He had personally dished out a couple of those similar type faggot beatings in his youth during school when a couple of kids, brothers actually, relocated from Oklahoma City to his town in his 5th grade year. He should have cut them a break though, cow turds for hockey pucks probably wasn’t possible anyway.
Then poetic justice kicked in one fateful day at his high school championship game during his senior year. Sitting on the penalty bench for fighting he was approached by a tall man in a brown suit and cowboy hat offering him the chance to achieve his dreams that he couldn’t refuse. A chance to play for the Texas Tornadoes, a new expansion team in the minors. All he could think of was why people still wear cowboy hats. People don’t still dress up like pirates and logically, cowboys and pirates fall into the same category. He accepted the offer with little thought, and jumped a plane one month later for ‘what the hell is this hockey crap, welcome to football USA’ Dallas.
Three years later, here he sat, dreaming of home, when he felt a jarring blow to his helmet, waking him suddenly from paradise. He spun around with fists ready, only to be confronted by an old familiar face. The tall cowboy man, in all of his ignorant accent, looked him dead in the eye, and said “Hell of a job tonight kid, hell of a job. What are the possibilities of seeing you at Dallas Stars training camp next week? As fireworks erupted in his brain, he felt both joy and satisfaction swelling up inside of him. “You bet your sweet ass I’ll be there” he replied in his best impression of a fake southern draw. The cowboy slapped him on his helmet again and announced as he began to walk away, “I’ll give all the details to your coach, catch up with him later, and I’ll see you next week.” As the man disappeared into the crowd, Toby realized that this moment was nothing like he had always dreamed. Where was the press and the flashing cameras? Strait to business in Texas I guess, stupid ass hillbillies. Who gave a shit, he was going to the NHL! All he could think about was calling up his mother and telling her to get a new photo album, because Toby was officially the home town shit. Just think of the pussy he would get when he got home. Now that’s a homecoming! All the chicks who turned him down in high school would be waiting at the airport with open arms and open legs. I guess the hockey gods were listening after all. “You know I was just joking earlier” Toby muttered to himself as an unrestrictive smile appeared on his face, ear to ear.
The penalty box door swung open with a vengeance and Toby exploded onto the ice with a renewed sense of hope. Ten seconds remaining in the game, the play was in the opposing teams zone, and Toby was on his way to greatness. Better ice, better play, better groupies, damn, the possibilities were endless. Today was the first day of the rest of his life. Deafened by the screaming fans, and the visions of screaming fans yet to come, Toby never saw it coming.
“Look out, heads up” the tornadoes team captain screamed at Toby, but the warning fell on deaf ears, for as soon as Toby turned to face his teammates, the puck punched him square between the eyes, causing a deflection, straight between the legs of the opposing goalie, and crossed the line into the net. Horns blew and lights came alive announcing Toby’s hat trick. Fans high fived each other as a steady stream of hats flew from head to hand to ice in tribute to the hero of the day. His right winger skated over to him, removing a hat that had conveniently landed on Toby’s face, expecting to see a pained, yet smiling expression on the players face. Suddenly, all cheers were halted, and a deadly silence came over the arena. Where a hat tricking hero once lay, was a crimson stained number nine jersey with an unrecognizable face.
As the haze cleared and the pain faded, Toby walked onto an eerily empty ice rink. The stands were empty, but the ice was absolutely perfect, and pausing for a moment, he began to wonder if this was all a horrible dream, and he was at the pro rink in Dallas. “Wait a minute” Toby thought aloud, “this doesn’t look like American Airlines Center.”
“It’s not!” came an elderly voice behind him suddenly. “It’s heaven.”
“Heaven?” Toby interrogated at the top of his lungs, what am I doing here? Who are you?” The elderly man suddenly invented a most disappointing scowl on his face and replied “you have played hockey your entire life, and have not the slightest idea who I am? I answered all of your prayers tonight, and yet you still don’t have the fuzziest idea of who you stand before? I am the hockey god, I’m Lord Stanley!”
Toby fell to the ice in disbelief, “ Like the Stanley Cup?”
“No, dumb ass, I invented the tape measure, Yeah like the Stanley Cup!” Lord Stanley replied.
“So you’re God” Toby inquired. “Man, my Sunday school teacher was clueless!”
“No Toby, I’m not God, but God does love hockey, and who better to organize it in heaven but me!” Lord Stanley said with a proud smile.
“Well, what do you mean by what you said earlier? You said you answered all of my prayers tonight at the rink.” Toby was more confused than ever he had ever been in his life, now completely lost in the afterlife as well.
“Well” Lord Stanley began, “You wished that the NHL would recognize real talent, so I sent the hillbilly to go talk to you, a second time I might add, and then you wished to get away from all of the minor league hustle and bustle, so I got you a job with the Stars! Lastly, you asked for a hat trick, and I gave you that also!”
“Why kill me though, why, when life was about to start getting good, did you send a puck to my face?” Toby barked angrily.
“Well, of all the things I was doing for you, and have done in the past, you insisted that I fuck off tonight, and Lord Stanley has one heck of a sense of humor, but doesn’t take kindly to threats. The puck to the face was my version of throwing off the gloves and going at it!”
“Oh, sorry about that” Toby apologized. “So, I’m going to be playing for the Heaven Team? Man this is going to be great.”
“Not quite, Toby” interrupted Lord Stanley, “ I regret to inform you that there is no ball sucking on my hockey team either, but I got you hooked up somewhere that does. You’re due to try out for Coach Bin Laden’s Hell’s Hooligans this time tomorrow and with all of those penalty minutes, you should fit right in. I’ll never be able to understand how they keep their rink frozen down there, I’d wear your light weight, ventilated jersey if I were you.”
The Hat Trick
By: Chad Miller
“Tornadoes penalty” the booming voice of the rink announcer said “number nine, Toby Liberman, a five minute major for fighting.” Another one bites the ice, he thought to himself. Toby had not lost a fight to date, and with three years of minor league hockey under his belt, that was an amazing statistic. The penalty box door slammed shut and he took his well deserved seat. Some of his fans behind the box were giving their usual love taps on the glass to show their appreciation for another job well done. There’s no fan like a hockey fan.
As the chill of frigid aluminum crept through his pants, he removed his sweat soaked Mission gloves and closed his eyes to enjoy his five minute vacation in the sin bin. “You know, I wish the NHL would recognize real talent every now and then” he thought to himself. Three years in the minors and nothing to show for it with the exception of one hell of a stat sheet, a broken tooth, and a few more scars. He began to reflect back to where it all began, and where he wished he could still be today, that frozen pond back in Minnesota, surrounded by friends, playing for neighborhood honor, not here in the hell hole of the southwest, Dallas freakin’ Texas, bleeding every other night for half capacity crowds, skating on second rate ice, praying to the hockey gods to take him away from what he considered the worst mistake of his young life. Oh well, at least he scored two goals tonight, “wish it would have been a hat trick though“, three goals is something to brag about. He began to wonder who actually came up with the hockey gods anyway. Probably some half wit, half tooth doofus from Alberta fifty years ago. “Fuck the hockey gods, they can suck my hairy balls!” he muttered under his breath before he drifted off to sleep.
Toby’s whole life had been centered around the greatest game in the history of mankind, hockey. Growing up in small town Minnesota, he had a legacy to live up to, because the family photo album was full of pictures of all the men in their family for the past fifty years, covered in hockey gear, and blood no doubt, doing what they loved to do. As a matter of fact, not liking hockey back home was the equivalent of coming out of the closet and admitting that you were some cock sucking faggot. He had personally dished out a couple of those similar type faggot beatings in his youth during school when a couple of kids, brothers actually, relocated from Oklahoma City to his town in his 5th grade year. He should have cut them a break though, cow turds for hockey pucks probably wasn’t possible anyway.
Then poetic justice kicked in one fateful day at his high school championship game during his senior year. Sitting on the penalty bench for fighting he was approached by a tall man in a brown suit and cowboy hat offering him the chance to achieve his dreams that he couldn’t refuse. A chance to play for the Texas Tornadoes, a new expansion team in the minors. All he could think of was why people still wear cowboy hats. People don’t still dress up like pirates and logically, cowboys and pirates fall into the same category. He accepted the offer with little thought, and jumped a plane one month later for ‘what the hell is this hockey crap, welcome to football USA’ Dallas.
Three years later, here he sat, dreaming of home, when he felt a jarring blow to his helmet, waking him suddenly from paradise. He spun around with fists ready, only to be confronted by an old familiar face. The tall cowboy man, in all of his ignorant accent, looked him dead in the eye, and said “Hell of a job tonight kid, hell of a job. What are the possibilities of seeing you at Dallas Stars training camp next week? As fireworks erupted in his brain, he felt both joy and satisfaction swelling up inside of him. “You bet your sweet ass I’ll be there” he replied in his best impression of a fake southern draw. The cowboy slapped him on his helmet again and announced as he began to walk away, “I’ll give all the details to your coach, catch up with him later, and I’ll see you next week.” As the man disappeared into the crowd, Toby realized that this moment was nothing like he had always dreamed. Where was the press and the flashing cameras? Strait to business in Texas I guess, stupid ass hillbillies. Who gave a shit, he was going to the NHL! All he could think about was calling up his mother and telling her to get a new photo album, because Toby was officially the home town shit. Just think of the pussy he would get when he got home. Now that’s a homecoming! All the chicks who turned him down in high school would be waiting at the airport with open arms and open legs. I guess the hockey gods were listening after all. “You know I was just joking earlier” Toby muttered to himself as an unrestrictive smile appeared on his face, ear to ear.
The penalty box door swung open with a vengeance and Toby exploded onto the ice with a renewed sense of hope. Ten seconds remaining in the game, the play was in the opposing teams zone, and Toby was on his way to greatness. Better ice, better play, better groupies, damn, the possibilities were endless. Today was the first day of the rest of his life. Deafened by the screaming fans, and the visions of screaming fans yet to come, Toby never saw it coming.
“Look out, heads up” the tornadoes team captain screamed at Toby, but the warning fell on deaf ears, for as soon as Toby turned to face his teammates, the puck punched him square between the eyes, causing a deflection, straight between the legs of the opposing goalie, and crossed the line into the net. Horns blew and lights came alive announcing Toby’s hat trick. Fans high fived each other as a steady stream of hats flew from head to hand to ice in tribute to the hero of the day. His right winger skated over to him, removing a hat that had conveniently landed on Toby’s face, expecting to see a pained, yet smiling expression on the players face. Suddenly, all cheers were halted, and a deadly silence came over the arena. Where a hat tricking hero once lay, was a crimson stained number nine jersey with an unrecognizable face.
As the haze cleared and the pain faded, Toby walked onto an eerily empty ice rink. The stands were empty, but the ice was absolutely perfect, and pausing for a moment, he began to wonder if this was all a horrible dream, and he was at the pro rink in Dallas. “Wait a minute” Toby thought aloud, “this doesn’t look like American Airlines Center.”
“It’s not!” came an elderly voice behind him suddenly. “It’s heaven.”
“Heaven?” Toby interrogated at the top of his lungs, what am I doing here? Who are you?” The elderly man suddenly invented a most disappointing scowl on his face and replied “you have played hockey your entire life, and have not the slightest idea who I am? I answered all of your prayers tonight, and yet you still don’t have the fuzziest idea of who you stand before? I am the hockey god, I’m Lord Stanley!”
Toby fell to the ice in disbelief, “ Like the Stanley Cup?”
“No, dumb ass, I invented the tape measure, Yeah like the Stanley Cup!” Lord Stanley replied.
“So you’re God” Toby inquired. “Man, my Sunday school teacher was clueless!”
“No Toby, I’m not God, but God does love hockey, and who better to organize it in heaven but me!” Lord Stanley said with a proud smile.
“Well, what do you mean by what you said earlier? You said you answered all of my prayers tonight at the rink.” Toby was more confused than ever he had ever been in his life, now completely lost in the afterlife as well.
“Well” Lord Stanley began, “You wished that the NHL would recognize real talent, so I sent the hillbilly to go talk to you, a second time I might add, and then you wished to get away from all of the minor league hustle and bustle, so I got you a job with the Stars! Lastly, you asked for a hat trick, and I gave you that also!”
“Why kill me though, why, when life was about to start getting good, did you send a puck to my face?” Toby barked angrily.
“Well, of all the things I was doing for you, and have done in the past, you insisted that I fuck off tonight, and Lord Stanley has one heck of a sense of humor, but doesn’t take kindly to threats. The puck to the face was my version of throwing off the gloves and going at it!”
“Oh, sorry about that” Toby apologized. “So, I’m going to be playing for the Heaven Team? Man this is going to be great.”
“Not quite, Toby” interrupted Lord Stanley, “ I regret to inform you that there is no ball sucking on my hockey team either, but I got you hooked up somewhere that does. You’re due to try out for Coach Bin Laden’s Hell’s Hooligans this time tomorrow and with all of those penalty minutes, you should fit right in. I’ll never be able to understand how they keep their rink frozen down there, I’d wear your light weight, ventilated jersey if I were you.”
A Tribute To My EX Wife
...and he writes poetry too!!! Actually, this is something I wrote 6 years ago when I was going through my divorce. Warning!!! This is definately NOT posted for children or adults with weak stomachs...this is pure hatred at it's finest. Enjoy...
In raging seas of disbelief
I sit confused and wondered
Endless pain and saddened grief
Emotions raped and plundered
Forget the past and look ahead
Much easier said than done
Will she miss me when I’m dead
Just think of all the fun
Dancing on my grave at night
And spitting on my stone
Dig me up and break apart
Flesh, sinew and bone
Or even better yet, she thinks
Torment him while he’s living
Wondering who took his place
On our last Thanksgiving
Well bitch, I’ve got a plan or two
On how to phase you out
Take deep breaths, live day to day
And soon I’ll be without
Without you, is what I really mean
Without your heartless smile
Without the pain and suffering
Without your hardened style
Perhaps, some day, you’ll change your mind
And want to take me back
Then I’ll know you’ve lost your mind
And must be smoking crack
Forgive you once, forgive you twice
Third time is a charm
Sneak back into your lover’s life
Not raising an alarm
You see, there’s things that you forget
Things that you’ll never see
To take you back without regret
Well baby, that’s not me
Well girl, I’ve got to wrap this up
Beginnings have their ends
I think you really know what’s up
I’m fucking all your friends
It’s all too late to undo now
They like my dick too much
They let me fuck them in their ass
Cum in their mouths and such
Continue living out your life
I hope you live it well
Perhaps we’ll meet again someday
On better terms in Hell
How can I be so mean, you ask
Well baby, that’s your doing
How am I supposed to feel
With your unfaithful screwing
You did to me for all those years
That which you’ll do no more
You turned my feelings all to fears
You two bit fucking whore
Perhaps I’ve taken this too far
But where there’s smoke there’s fire
Before you get into your car
I’d check your fucking tires
If you die before I do
Your presence I shall miss
Rotting, you will have no clue
Atop you, I shall piss
And steal flowers from the spot
Your family laid them down
And toss them in a port a john
Somewhere outside of town
Relax, I’m only joking Kim
I don’t hate you this bad
You see, my head begins to swim
When I’m out of beer, Love, Chad
In raging seas of disbelief
I sit confused and wondered
Endless pain and saddened grief
Emotions raped and plundered
Forget the past and look ahead
Much easier said than done
Will she miss me when I’m dead
Just think of all the fun
Dancing on my grave at night
And spitting on my stone
Dig me up and break apart
Flesh, sinew and bone
Or even better yet, she thinks
Torment him while he’s living
Wondering who took his place
On our last Thanksgiving
Well bitch, I’ve got a plan or two
On how to phase you out
Take deep breaths, live day to day
And soon I’ll be without
Without you, is what I really mean
Without your heartless smile
Without the pain and suffering
Without your hardened style
Perhaps, some day, you’ll change your mind
And want to take me back
Then I’ll know you’ve lost your mind
And must be smoking crack
Forgive you once, forgive you twice
Third time is a charm
Sneak back into your lover’s life
Not raising an alarm
You see, there’s things that you forget
Things that you’ll never see
To take you back without regret
Well baby, that’s not me
Well girl, I’ve got to wrap this up
Beginnings have their ends
I think you really know what’s up
I’m fucking all your friends
It’s all too late to undo now
They like my dick too much
They let me fuck them in their ass
Cum in their mouths and such
Continue living out your life
I hope you live it well
Perhaps we’ll meet again someday
On better terms in Hell
How can I be so mean, you ask
Well baby, that’s your doing
How am I supposed to feel
With your unfaithful screwing
You did to me for all those years
That which you’ll do no more
You turned my feelings all to fears
You two bit fucking whore
Perhaps I’ve taken this too far
But where there’s smoke there’s fire
Before you get into your car
I’d check your fucking tires
If you die before I do
Your presence I shall miss
Rotting, you will have no clue
Atop you, I shall piss
And steal flowers from the spot
Your family laid them down
And toss them in a port a john
Somewhere outside of town
Relax, I’m only joking Kim
I don’t hate you this bad
You see, my head begins to swim
When I’m out of beer, Love, Chad
My Review of SnapIt 3.7
Anybody ever wanted a good program to take snapshots of your PC screen to use for presentations or whatever crazy idea you could come up with? I know being an author and a paranormal investigator, I often need something to show to clients in areas where the internet is not readily available through WI-FI. Now I have it. SnapIt 3.7 is an amazing program that lets you do exactly that. Whatever is on your computer screen at the time can be instantly and easily copied into every format imaginable! With an easy to use interface, this program makes it a snap, no pun intended! I would highly recommend it to any other computer jockey out there. It is a very convenient tool for bloggers. When you write posts on your blog you need to
capture and crop images from different sources - this tool is for you.
- Supports hotkeys, auto-saving, clipboard
- Automatically copies screenshots to the clipboard
- Tracks capture history, auto-saves captured images
- Saves files in BMP, GIF, JPEG, PNG and TIFF formats
- Auto-names captured images
Download and install SnapIt Screen Capture 3.7:
http://digeus.com/downloads/snapit/files/3/snapit_3_7.exe
Learn more what is included in SnapIt Screen Capture 3.7.8810:
http://www.digeus.com/products/snapit/snapit_screen_capture_3_5.html
I'm glad to help promote this product
If you create a review in any blog/forum/twitter/facebook, etc, and contact me with link to the review, you can get this product FREE!!!
Chad Miller
Author of 'A Taste of Home'
C0-Founder of Paranormal Research and Investigations of North Texas
www.paranormalnorthtexas.com
capture and crop images from different sources - this tool is for you.
- Supports hotkeys, auto-saving, clipboard
- Automatically copies screenshots to the clipboard
- Tracks capture history, auto-saves captured images
- Saves files in BMP, GIF, JPEG, PNG and TIFF formats
- Auto-names captured images
Download and install SnapIt Screen Capture 3.7:
http://digeus.com/downloads/snapit/files/3/snapit_3_7.exe
Learn more what is included in SnapIt Screen Capture 3.7.8810:
http://www.digeus.com/products/snapit/snapit_screen_capture_3_5.html
I'm glad to help promote this product
If you create a review in any blog/forum/twitter/facebook, etc, and contact me with link to the review, you can get this product FREE!!!
Chad Miller
Author of 'A Taste of Home'
C0-Founder of Paranormal Research and Investigations of North Texas
www.paranormalnorthtexas.com
Friday, October 1, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
It's here...
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity...a felt a thud agains the front door of my home. I was sitting in my boxers jacking around on the old laptop...no pun intended...and nearly jumped right out of my skin. Now, as some of you may know who have been caught in that type of situation before...don't lie...you know who you are...you could easily hurt yourself. Actually, I was updating some facebook stuff and not doing what you're all thinking when it happened. I heard a man yell 'UPS' and then footsteps heading rapidly in the other direction. Talk about going through the motions...he wasn't even going to wait five seconds to see if anyone was home or not! He was just going to leave my masterpiece, the only copy in the world right now, at the mercy of my front door where anyone or their dog could just come along and take it. When I finally got the package opened...I couldn't believe what I saw. Pure beauty to rival any of those I'd experienced before save my soon to be wife and my children being born. I couldn't put it down...but once I did...I couldn't stop staring at it. A years worth of tangible 'me' bound tightly in it's paper confines for all the world to enjoy...if they so choose. The release day should be about a month from now...and, again, I feel like a writer. It's about time...
Saturday, July 24, 2010
A Taste of Home - The Characters
I've been waiting to do this but I guess now is as good of a time as any. After all, the chicken is still thawing and the pot I need to the spaghetti is busy in the dishwaser at the moment. Every good story needs strong characters and good characters are those that the reader can relate to or say outloud 'Gee... I know a geek just like that'! Maybe you can relate to one of these or you know someone that this describes. So, with out further delay...here are the characters to my upcoming novel "A Taste of Home".
First...a little disclaimer. This story was outlined almost six years ago and the characters were named then. Since then, I've met quite a few people that have the same last name as my characters in the book. Coincidence...or are my psychic abilities fine tuning. Either way...don't get excited or pissed off because you have a similar name to some of the people in this book. After all, do you know how many Chad Millers there are in the United States?
Toby Liberman - The main character. Toby is a middle aged aerospace worker born and stuck in a small closed minded town. He hates his job, he has reason to believe that his wife is cheating, and his daughter could use a good back hand across the face from time to time. Not only is he constantly disrespected on a daily basis...he no longer possesses the intestinal fortitude to earn any. A horrible marriage will do that to a man after so long...(think Dante Hicks from the movie Clerks)
Jessica Liberman - Toby's wife. A few years younger than Toby, Jessica has held on to her high school beauty and is the kind of girl that turn every head in a bar upon walking in. In the past few months, she's been a little distant from her husband and daughter. Some people think that she's been catting around on the wrong side of town with the wrong people and doing the wrong things. (think every slutty dope fiend chick that you've ever known)
Johnny Haynes - Toby's best friend and Jessica's brother. When the two of them are together, Toby is unstoppable. He emits enough nerve and wit for the both of them. Even after all these years, they work together, play together, and stick by one another through thick and thin. Even though he embarrasses Toby from time to time, he really don't know what he'd do without him. He can turn any conversation into a witty display of humor and sharp comebacks. (think Randall Graves from the movie Clerks...yes...the first person that read this book laughed and said "this is almost like Dante and Randall meet the Werewolf!)
Jessie McGee - Toby's bitter enemy from their high school days...and he's not very fond of Johnny either. He's been in love with Jessica for decades but has never been able to be truly close to her due to the two of them. Maybe that was why he got involved in law enforcement and became the town's Sheriff. Now he's got all the power and he's not afraid to use it. There are even some that think his power isn't always used for good...(think 1 out of 2 of your local PD)(if you're a cop and you take offense to that...don't stand in groups of 2...that way we can identify you from the ones that are described above)
Katie Liberman - Toby and Jessica's daughter...even though the last name probably gave it away. 13 years old and she already knows everything there is to know about life from modern television, her witty uncle and father, and the joys of public schools. Unfortunately, she, like her uncle, has an undiagnosed case of tourettes and don't know when to shut up. She display's her mother's beauty but could care less if anybody notices it. She has very few friends...but she could care less. All she needs is her family (this character was actually based on an ex coworker's daughter in every aspect. We miss and love you Kerri)
Kurt Jimmerson - A total stranger to the town...or is he? No one really knows him...but he seems to know much about everyone. (based on every creepy drifter that you ever met at 2am in any large city in America)
Now, I place all these characters in the following scenario...and there you go:
Toby Liberman is plagued by a cheating wife, dead-end job, and a daughter that is mature beyond her years. After confronting his wife’s lover, the town’s Sheriff, Toby encounters a mysterious creature in the woods that bestows upon him an unspeakable curse.
A series of events lead to a charge of triple homicide against Toby. While incarcerated, Toby meets a man who tells him he is now a werewolf. Toby is mentored in the ways of the animal and joins forces with the man in an attempt to bring the Sheriff to his knees. Forced into a final confrontation, Toby realizes that he is no longer the only one in town that has secrets.
And there you go. Sure, there's tons of stuff inbetween but I can't tell you everything. The official cover should be arriving soon and I'll post it as soon as I can. Until then...keep believing...
First...a little disclaimer. This story was outlined almost six years ago and the characters were named then. Since then, I've met quite a few people that have the same last name as my characters in the book. Coincidence...or are my psychic abilities fine tuning. Either way...don't get excited or pissed off because you have a similar name to some of the people in this book. After all, do you know how many Chad Millers there are in the United States?
Toby Liberman - The main character. Toby is a middle aged aerospace worker born and stuck in a small closed minded town. He hates his job, he has reason to believe that his wife is cheating, and his daughter could use a good back hand across the face from time to time. Not only is he constantly disrespected on a daily basis...he no longer possesses the intestinal fortitude to earn any. A horrible marriage will do that to a man after so long...(think Dante Hicks from the movie Clerks)
Jessica Liberman - Toby's wife. A few years younger than Toby, Jessica has held on to her high school beauty and is the kind of girl that turn every head in a bar upon walking in. In the past few months, she's been a little distant from her husband and daughter. Some people think that she's been catting around on the wrong side of town with the wrong people and doing the wrong things. (think every slutty dope fiend chick that you've ever known)
Johnny Haynes - Toby's best friend and Jessica's brother. When the two of them are together, Toby is unstoppable. He emits enough nerve and wit for the both of them. Even after all these years, they work together, play together, and stick by one another through thick and thin. Even though he embarrasses Toby from time to time, he really don't know what he'd do without him. He can turn any conversation into a witty display of humor and sharp comebacks. (think Randall Graves from the movie Clerks...yes...the first person that read this book laughed and said "this is almost like Dante and Randall meet the Werewolf!)
Jessie McGee - Toby's bitter enemy from their high school days...and he's not very fond of Johnny either. He's been in love with Jessica for decades but has never been able to be truly close to her due to the two of them. Maybe that was why he got involved in law enforcement and became the town's Sheriff. Now he's got all the power and he's not afraid to use it. There are even some that think his power isn't always used for good...(think 1 out of 2 of your local PD)(if you're a cop and you take offense to that...don't stand in groups of 2...that way we can identify you from the ones that are described above)
Katie Liberman - Toby and Jessica's daughter...even though the last name probably gave it away. 13 years old and she already knows everything there is to know about life from modern television, her witty uncle and father, and the joys of public schools. Unfortunately, she, like her uncle, has an undiagnosed case of tourettes and don't know when to shut up. She display's her mother's beauty but could care less if anybody notices it. She has very few friends...but she could care less. All she needs is her family (this character was actually based on an ex coworker's daughter in every aspect. We miss and love you Kerri)
Kurt Jimmerson - A total stranger to the town...or is he? No one really knows him...but he seems to know much about everyone. (based on every creepy drifter that you ever met at 2am in any large city in America)
Now, I place all these characters in the following scenario...and there you go:
Toby Liberman is plagued by a cheating wife, dead-end job, and a daughter that is mature beyond her years. After confronting his wife’s lover, the town’s Sheriff, Toby encounters a mysterious creature in the woods that bestows upon him an unspeakable curse.
A series of events lead to a charge of triple homicide against Toby. While incarcerated, Toby meets a man who tells him he is now a werewolf. Toby is mentored in the ways of the animal and joins forces with the man in an attempt to bring the Sheriff to his knees. Forced into a final confrontation, Toby realizes that he is no longer the only one in town that has secrets.
And there you go. Sure, there's tons of stuff inbetween but I can't tell you everything. The official cover should be arriving soon and I'll post it as soon as I can. Until then...keep believing...
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Sitting In The Dark With REO Speedwagon...
Judgement day is at hand. No...not all of that doom and gloom that has been recited to you repeatedly by various preachers on the coming of the end...but a completely different kind of J Day altogether. Today is the last day that my publisher's art department has to deliver my newest books cover before my agent bites their heads off. Ahh...it's nice to be represented sometimes. So while I'm sitting here counting the seconds until their midnight deadline of doom...I'm sitting here in the darkness of my dungeon aka my bedroom listening to tunes of old, singing along when I know the words, and vocalizing some unintelligable gibberish when I don't. Perhaps I should look those lyrics up before I make my big stage debut...
REO Speedwagon would be so disappointed in me. Don't get me wrong, I'm not all about some wuss rock but the windows media player is on random and who am I to stop progress. Besides, everyone needs a ballad every now and then. Actually, I prefer them. They're the driving force behind every failed relationship I've encountered since age 13. Where would I be today without Poison or Guns N Roses making me come to near tears when my flavor of the week went away during my high school angst? Music was actually the driving force behind 'A Taste of Home'. I used it often to create the mood for the chapters...a Metallica explosion for the action scenes in my head and a good slow hair band love song for the sweet parts. One in particular actually...and a song that so few of you have even experienced. The song is Street of Dreams by Guns N Roses from the Chinese Democracy album that came out a couple of years ago. Man...if you want to feel a man's pain, listen to this song...pure masterpiece in my opinion. 'I don't know just what I should do...everywhere I go I see you...though it's what you planned this much is true...what I thought was beautiful don't live inside of you anymore'. Call me a wimp if you want...but listen to this song and see if it doesn't stir up some 'dumped at the high school prom' emotions. I'll just leave it at that. The rest is for you to figure out...
REO Speedwagon would be so disappointed in me. Don't get me wrong, I'm not all about some wuss rock but the windows media player is on random and who am I to stop progress. Besides, everyone needs a ballad every now and then. Actually, I prefer them. They're the driving force behind every failed relationship I've encountered since age 13. Where would I be today without Poison or Guns N Roses making me come to near tears when my flavor of the week went away during my high school angst? Music was actually the driving force behind 'A Taste of Home'. I used it often to create the mood for the chapters...a Metallica explosion for the action scenes in my head and a good slow hair band love song for the sweet parts. One in particular actually...and a song that so few of you have even experienced. The song is Street of Dreams by Guns N Roses from the Chinese Democracy album that came out a couple of years ago. Man...if you want to feel a man's pain, listen to this song...pure masterpiece in my opinion. 'I don't know just what I should do...everywhere I go I see you...though it's what you planned this much is true...what I thought was beautiful don't live inside of you anymore'. Call me a wimp if you want...but listen to this song and see if it doesn't stir up some 'dumped at the high school prom' emotions. I'll just leave it at that. The rest is for you to figure out...
Monday, July 19, 2010
How it all begins...
"The North East Texas drought that had lasted almost a decade had ended and now the rain poured strongly down upon the rusted tin overhang of the building’s roof. The beating rhythm of the liquefied projectiles played out a song that resembled a never ending drum roll to any audience that was close enough to experience the performance. Tonight, it only played for an audience of one. Staying hidden deep within the shadows of the darkened structure, a small boy cowered by the name of Ryan Weldon."
This opening paragraph was never in the original short story. As a matter of fact, the entire short story was about a man who had been on the receiving end of the wolf's curse that woke and reflected every morning after identifying the previous night's victim. Gotta love small town life...everyone knows everyone! One morning, he wakes up to the remains of his own daughter...thus the title...A Taste of Home. Divorce can really screw up someone's head lol. Five years later, I outlined the entire story, changed a few things, and came up with something I'm extremely happy with. So...without further B.S. here is the back cover text that describes what is now the completed version of "A Taste of Home". This is only the beginning. After all...we can't let Stephanie Meyer sparkle all over the place...
Toby Liberman is plagued by a cheating wife, dead-end job, and a daughter that is mature beyond her years. After confronting his wife’s lover, the town’s Sheriff, Toby encounters a mysterious creature in the woods that bestows upon him an unspeakable curse.
A series of events lead to a charge of triple homicide against Toby. While incarcerated, Toby meets a man who tells him he is now a werewolf. Toby is mentored in the ways of the animal and joins forces with the man in an attempt to bring the Sheriff to his knees. Forced into a final confrontation, Toby realizes that he is no longer the only one in town that has secrets.
This opening paragraph was never in the original short story. As a matter of fact, the entire short story was about a man who had been on the receiving end of the wolf's curse that woke and reflected every morning after identifying the previous night's victim. Gotta love small town life...everyone knows everyone! One morning, he wakes up to the remains of his own daughter...thus the title...A Taste of Home. Divorce can really screw up someone's head lol. Five years later, I outlined the entire story, changed a few things, and came up with something I'm extremely happy with. So...without further B.S. here is the back cover text that describes what is now the completed version of "A Taste of Home". This is only the beginning. After all...we can't let Stephanie Meyer sparkle all over the place...
Toby Liberman is plagued by a cheating wife, dead-end job, and a daughter that is mature beyond her years. After confronting his wife’s lover, the town’s Sheriff, Toby encounters a mysterious creature in the woods that bestows upon him an unspeakable curse.
A series of events lead to a charge of triple homicide against Toby. While incarcerated, Toby meets a man who tells him he is now a werewolf. Toby is mentored in the ways of the animal and joins forces with the man in an attempt to bring the Sheriff to his knees. Forced into a final confrontation, Toby realizes that he is no longer the only one in town that has secrets.
The Werewolf Legend...With a Texas Twist
Wow...this is my first official blog posting here and I'm really excited! Too much? O.K. you caught me...it's sort of cool. Anyway...a little about myself (because I'll drag out all the meat and potatoes later) I'm really looking forward to my new book hitting shelves because my last two are pretty much all but collector's items now. They are called "A Ghost Hunter's Journal" and "We Believe You...A Ghost Hunter's Journal Continues..." They're both still available from my former publisher, who also doubles as a manic depressive medium, at http://www.publishamerica.com . Just type in my name and hopefully they'll do the rest. I'm starting fresh however with my first jump into the fiction/horror genre. New agent, new publisher, new distributor...it's almost too much to take at once...but I'm taking it all in stride. The new book "A Taste of Home" was originally a short story I'd written during a nasty divorce about six years ago long before I'd ever put pen to paper with my first two novels. Somehow...I always knew that there would be more to it...and eventually it began growing. My profile pic is actually a concept cover that was designed by D.J. Eichelman but I believe that my publisher is determined to change it. As soon as they figure out the skinny on that...I'll change my profile pic to match. Well, this should more than bring people up to speed on who I am and what I do. If you want more, hop by the good old facebook account. We can turn on the juice and see what shakes loose. Keep Believing...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)