Who's Got the Money?

When Chuck Wendig issued his weekly flash fiction challenge, I looked at it thinking, I don't know much about guns and crime is not really my modus operandi, so I filed it in the back of my head and figured I would skip this one. The prize, however, was very tempting. He would pick his one favorite story and the writer would receive a copy of CRIMES IN SOUTHERN INDIANA by Frank Bill. Well, hello howdy, that was some incentive. The thought of getting that precious gem in my hot hands was eating at me all week. 


What happens but twenty minutes before the shut off for getting my story in, I have a glimpse of a tale involving crime and guns. I decided to write it and even though I won't be considered for the book, I would have challenged myself to write something I normally wouldn't. We'll call it an exercise in crime, or futility. Whatever. 


The story follows, and I hope you enjoy. It's short and to the point, and it just may be a little too predictable, but please take it for what it is: a fun little foray into crime and guns on a Friday afternoon. 

Who's Got the Money?

“For fuck’s sake, you could have gotten us killed!”

Bob used the butt of his gun to whack Toby up the side of his head. A dull thud resulted.

“B-buh ma gun jambed,” said Toby, holding his head.

“Ma gun jambed,” Bob mocked. “You’re a fucking idiot. You’re lucky I don’t use the other end on you.” Bob panted his words out in choppy syllables as they sat in the darkened room.

“Th-thorry, d-don fweak out.”

“Freak out? FREAK OUT???” Again with the gun and thud. This time Toby cried out and started to whimper. “Where’s Angel? She should have been here by now.”

Their backs were pressed up against a metal shelving unit, which dug into their flesh with each movement. This didn’t really matter. What did matter was that the duffel bag was beside them, cash in hand, so to speak.

“You th-th, th-think we’re thafe?” asked Toby softly.

“What are they going to do? Run after us on their bloody stubs?” Bob snorted.

“Angel was going to take care of anybody that was left. You do remember the plan, right shithead? And I don’t doubt that she had a bit of fun while doing it.” Bob sniffed.

“Wh-what now?”

“What now, you stupid twit. Now we wait. Angel will be back soon. When she gets here, the plan sticks. We leave. That’s it,” he continued. “We’re done. No one left to come after us, and we celebrate. “

Bob hopped up and walked to the end of the shelves, ducking down and looking around the corner.

After a moment’s pause, he shuffled back, low to the ground.

Toby rubbed his aching head.

Bob sat down next to Toby, closer this time, and started fidgeting. “Listen, there’s something you and me need to talk about. It’s Angel. I don’t think we can trust her.”

Toby stopped rubbing and looked straight ahead.

“Sal said she was dirty. I’m talking real bad. Now I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my days wondering if she’s going to come and get me, do you?”

Toby sat still.

Bob was fidgeting more, shifting, and making a small sniffing sound, messing with his nose.

“The way I see it, we need to take care of this problem. Tonight.”

Bob pulled another gun from his pocket and handed it to Toby.

“Here, use this. Just make sure you get a clear shot, and don’t let her suffer. She may be a bad egg, but she was good to us once.”

The gun sat in Toby’s limp hand. He could feel the sweat from Bob’s hand on it. It felt greasy.

“Don’t say a word, and I will try to get her so you can have a clear shot. Just don’t hit me, ok?”

Silence.

“OK?” Bob nearly yelled, his voice echoing in the empty room.

A moment passed with nothing, and Toby still sat with the gun in his hand.

Bob lifted his hand to strike Toby in the head again, when there was the small sound of a bullet passing through a silencer.

Bob made a stifled grunt and fell sideways onto Toby, his blood and brains oozing from the hole in his forehead. Some of the mess was on Toby’s legs.

Angel slid around the corner, putting her gun away as she walked.

Toby shoved him away, and stood shaking his legs to rid himself of the gore.

“You did good, Toby,” she purred as she walked up to him and ran her hands through his hair. “Now it’s just me and you. I will take care of you.”

Angel bent down to grab the duffel bag.

“We need to get out of here before the cops come. I took care of the leftovers. The DeLoache’s are all gone.”

Angel stepped forward to Toby, running her fingertips over his cheek. She pulled his face to hers and started to kiss him.

The shot was loud, ringing off the walls.

Angel fell.

Toby pulled the duffel bag from her hand.

“No, bitch, the DeLoache’s are still here.”

The Jar

Here's another offering to the Wendig machine that is the flash fiction challenge of the week. His instructions were simple. Compose a story about the flea market. That's it. For me, I had memories of strange adults and adorable puppies in a box. However, my story is not one filled with cute puppies, but if you've read my work, you will already know that.

What follows is my take on the wild, the speculative, the macabre things that can be found at the flea market. Let's just hope you don't make the same decision...

The Jar

He couldn’t look away from it, no matter how hard he tried. James had been at the flea market for an hour looking for the perfect gift, and he was just about to give up. Here it sat on the rudimentary table made from plywood board sagging over two old sawhorses. It was an old Mason jar with a rusted lid, but inside it was filled with a multi-colored iridescence that drew him in.

“You want this?” A harsh voice croaked and he broke his gaze.

James looked up and was staring into the face of an old woman who looked like a gypsy in her shawl-covered dress, with fabric spun around her head and bracelets clinking on her wrists. Her bony finger pointed to the jar.

“Yes, ma’am,” he stammered out, aware that he sounded nervous.

She mumbled incoherently as she rubbed her hands together.

“How – how much do you want for it?” This was James first attempt at haggling, and it didn’t seem that it was going to go in his favor. He would pay whatever she wanted.

The woman stopped moving and looked up at him, her eyes widened abnormally behind the thick glasses.

“Five dollars,” she said with a greedy smile. Her eyes gleamed hungrily.

Surprised, James found a five-dollar bill and handed it to her. She snatched it from him quickly and shoved the jar into his arms.

He turned to leave when the woman began to laugh.

There was something different about her voice. It became deeper, and rose and fell in waves. The hairs on the back of his neck stood in a salute to the fear that washed over him.

James quickly left, putting the jar in the front seat of his car.

Once home, James placed the jar on the kitchen table and retrieved a cold beer from the refrigerator. Going to sit in his favorite chair, he turned on the tv and found a baseball game. A quick glance at his watch showed him that Anna would be here in a little while. He kicked off his shoes where he sat. As soon as he was starting to feel relaxed, a prickly sensation shot through his body. It felt as if something was watching him. Taking another drink, he tried to ignore it and get into the game.

Again the odd sensation came over him, making his body tingle with electricity.

Finally, he turned his head and noticed that he could see the jar sitting not ten feet away. The colors inside it were brilliant, but subdued, and boy, did they shine. As he watched it, it began to move.

What was the stuff inside that jar anyway, he wondered. It hung in the jar, almost suspended. The jar itself didn’t weigh much at all. It didn’t look like a liquid, but it didn’t really look like a solid, either.  

He watched as it began to turn. Slowly.

Something happened in the game, and the crowd began to yell. This caused him to look at the tv to see what had happened. His head felt funny, like he had been asleep. Noticing that his beer was almost empty, he got up to grab another one.

On his walk back to the chair, the beer bottle accidentally clanged into the jar. The sound of glass hitting glass was loud, but it wasn’t this noise that James heard. There had been a small scream. It had come from the jar. He stood very still to see if he could hear it anymore.

There was nothing but the sound of the air conditioner humming in the window.

He knew what he had heard. It was very much like a woman’s scream. A short, muffled one, but a scream, nonetheless.

Going back to the chair, he tried once more to get into the game.

“James.”

It was the same voice, and now it was saying his name. This was impossible. There was no one else here. He was alone.

“James. Please help us.”

This time it was louder, and there were many different voices together.

He looked at the jar. The colors inside were moving a little faster now, swirling and spiraling around the glass. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The colors mixed, forming new one’s. It folded in on itself and burst outward at the same time. It was amazing. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had got up and crossed to the table. As the colors moved, the voices wailed softly, reminding him of an echo in a tunnel.

“Help. Help us. Please.”

James reached his hand out to the jar. Gripping it carefully, he began to open the lid. It turned easily. The noise grew and became a sweet, familiar melody.

James sat the lid on the table and kept his hand lightly on the jar.

The colors rose and lifted up over the lip of the jar, bending and lurching toward him. His body swayed slightly with the song.

“James.”

When it touched his hand he felt a small vibration. Fluidly, and with speed, it began to spread up his arm.

He could feel it sliding up his neck. There was a small sucking noise coming from the mass as it slithered around his body. James became numb.

Moving up, it ran across his cheeks and over his nose to his eyes. When it spread across them, everything turned black.

It covered him, swirling and expanding. Within a few moments, his body was dissolved, bone and tissue joining the gelatinous mass. Slowly it made its way back into the jar.  

The baseball game was over, and the sun was down, leaving the room dark.

“James?” Anna said as she walked in.

Closing the curtains, she noticed James’ shoes sitting in front of his chair.

She looked at the table and saw the jar with the beautiful colors.

“Oh! What’s this?” she asked as she walked to it. Anna swore she heard a voice call her name softly.

One Buck Horror Debut!

Fellow Horror Writers Association member, Christopher Hawkins, teamed with his wife, Kris M Hawkins, have compiled a collection of horror for our enjoyment. The first issue, One Buck Horror Volume 1, has been released on ebook for Kindle, Nook, iPhone and iPad. As the name implies, each volume can be purchased for the low price of one dollar.

This volume features five scary stories by various authors. Each tale brings spine-chilling, brain candy for the horror enthusiast. Edited by Christopher and Kris, complete with spectacular cover art by Shawn Conn, this is one you won't want to miss out on!

New volumes are slated to be released bi-monthly, at least, and feature 4-6 stories that are less than 3,000 words in length, making it a quick, fun read. The stories are from new and established writers, and follow the tradition of popular writers such as Stephen King, Richard Matheson, and Ray Bradbury.

One Buck Horror is open for short story submissions of less than 3,000 words. If you're interested, you can find more information in the submission guidelines.

In this issue are the following stories:

• "Jenny's House" by Ada Hoffmann. A fascinating tale of child's play taken to a whole new level.
• "A Lullaby for Caliban" by Mark Onspaugh. Kids, a carnival, and carnies. A great mix!
• "The Last Nephew" by Elizabeth Twist. A creepy story that will keep you guessing.
• "The Cornfield" by Mike Trier. Nobody likes a cornfield at night, right?
• "The Ginger Men" by Julie Jansen. I may never want to eat another baked good from the nice lady next door. 

I asked Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins if they would mind to give me an interview, and they graciously accepted. Please read on to find out more about them.

 1. What made you decide to start up One Buck Horror?

Well, we'd been kicking around the idea of doing an anthology for a long time, and with the rise of ebooks and the flexibility they provide, it just seemed like the right time. We knew we wanted to create something that would appeal to casual horror fans as well as the real aficionados, and we wanted to offer it at the best price we could. That's when One Buck Horror was born!

2. Do you design your covers based on the type of stories, or theme in that particular issue?

Our covers (both of which were created by a fantastic artist named Shawn Conn), were intended to stand on their own, and necessarily not tie in with the contents of their volumes. However, our Volume Two cover ties in nicely with one of the stories inside, even though that wasn't intentional.

3. Would you consider Lovecraft-inspired stories, or do you anticipate an issue dedicated to his themes, such as the Cthulhu Mythos?

We definitely consider Lovecraftian stories for One Buck Horror. We do have a special issue planned for the near future, but it's not Lovecraft-themed. If that does well, then we'd be open to doing more. A whole issue of Cthulhu Mythos stories would be a lot of fun to put together.

4. Do you see One Buck Horror branching out to publish stand alone novels or novellas in the future?

It's certainly possible, but right now, we're focused on putting out the best anthologies we can. But if that's successful, then the sky's the limit!

5. Can you give writers an idea of the type of horror story you are looking for?

We're looking for stories that are scary, first and foremost. Stories that grip readers right from the beginning and leave them wanting more. Beyond that, we're open to a wide range of styles and themes, as long as the stories are 3000 words or less.

Thank you for your time and for your dedication to the genre! I look forward to watching One Buck Horror evolve as time goes on, and I eagerly await each issue. Horror lovers, let's unite for support!

For more information about One Buck Horror and Volume 1, please visit here.

It Stays in the Family

This story comes courtesy of Dan O'Shea's challenge to write a story about a dysfunctional family dealing with the loss of a member and the consequent tussle over the fortune. Also, for every story he receives, he will donate $5 to Heartsprings, which is a center for children with autism. It's a great opportunity, folks, and if you want to help out with the cause, you can read more about it here. Oh, and Happy Birthday, Dan!

Of course my twisted little mind began turning it's rusty old gears and came up with this, um, interesting, tale.

I hope you enjoy!

IT STAYS IN THE FAMILY

When mama died, all hell broke loose. And I mean literally. A brimstone demon isn't supposed to go in their sleep like some coward, they're supposed to go down, if indeed they ever do, in battle, in a blaze of triumphant sulphur-laced glory. But she didn't, and now here I sit in this stinking, molded, 

mildew-encrusted attic holding my weapons pointed at the door, waiting for the legions of the others to come. 

They were unleashed for me - I should be flattered, really, because they don't just come out for anybody. But mama was important. She was the last breeding one of our kind here, and the most powerful. I'm the only child who decided to stay on earth. The rest went back to hell where they truly belonged. My soft heart and sensitive nature were considered a defect, an unnatural oddity, and they think I talked mama into dying like this. Now they want me dead, but they don't realize it's too late. I have it. 

That's right. 

When mama died, I stayed through until the end, and that's no easy feat, not even for another demon. The body decays fast, but every soul she has eaten will try to escape, impossibly, in a bright, implosion, and let me tell you, they will try every way they can to take you with them. Sound easy? It's not. I was holding onto the ceiling with my toes and claws dug in, tucked up tight, and I still barely escaped. Don't get me wrong, the only thing that would have happened is I would have gone back to hell, but that's not such a great option for me. One of the first stops is to be judged, and the last time I was down there, I kind of pissed Minos off. He told me he would get me the next time, and after he was done with me he would take me to dad, and I don't want dad to get a hold of me, that's for sure. Dad's already mad because I chose to stay here. 

No one understands me.

But back to the point. They think they can come up here, seek revenge on mama's death by killing me, and take the legacy. There's one big thing wrong with their plan.

I took the legacy myself. 

They will never expect this one. I almost want to let them live long enough to see their faces. I guess I have more brimstone in me than I thought.

I put the legacy in a box right after it was expelled from her, and don't make me say where it came from. Ugh. The legacy wasn't as big as I thought it would be, and I was so confused I didn't know what to do, so I just grabbed it. It's still in the box, and here it sits under me. I never let it out of my sight. 

I can feel them getting near. My skin has started burning, and my head is beginning to feel the pressure. Their anger and hatred radiates from them in a massive, pulsing cloud. They'll be here any minute. 

There's only one thing left to do.

I will have all of her power. Everything. They will have to kill me to take it, and not even their numbers will be enough.

They're scratching at the door. 

Mama, this is for you. 

Gulp.

The Devil's Run - A Nolichucky River Tale

Hi folks! I am bringing you a legend, local to me, that is creepy and intriguing. It is about The Devil's Run, a purportedly haunted location on the Nolichucky River, located in TN. More can be found about the legend here. 

 Photo found at Outpost Usa.

The river, seen above, is a favorite for whitewater rafting and canoeing. It is a popular place, and well known to locals. There are parts of the river that are beautifully scenic, and other parts that invoke a spooky feeling. It's no wonder that a few tales are told in accordance with the area. I had heard this tale when I was younger, and when I came across it again, my mind began to swirl with ideas. Quickly I penned the following, which is an embellishment on the original. Again, this is not the story itself, but one of the versions I saw in my head. I hope you enjoy it!

*I have removed the story due to it being accepted for publication. As soon as more details emerge on where the story can be found, I will post them here. Thank you for your understanding and support!

An Angry Robot

This post is for another of Chuck Wendig's Flash Fiction Challenges. Last week he divulged the wonderful news of Angry Robot Books publishing two of his upcoming novels! For this I give hearty congratulations chased by a dram of whisky, in your honor, of course. Not because I want the whisky. Ok, it's because I want the whisky. But the least I could do was to write this story about robots and show my loyalty to the King Penmonkey. 

AN ANGRY ROBOT

“He’s always complaining.”

“Never satisfied.”

“It’s getting worse.”

CX-22 could hear all of them talking about him. Standing just around the corner, he stopped to let them finish.

“Someone should tell Father.”

“Father already knows. He’s too soft-hearted.”

The others quit speaking as soon as he stepped into view.

Small clicks and whirring could be heard in the background. The soft hum of machinery acted as white noise. Tiny lights flashed in multi-colored hues, filling the workshop with a myriad of sensory information.

“Hello, 22. Would you care for a tune up?” asked CX-15. The small group of robots began to break apart and return to their tasks.

“You all speak to me as if I am not aware of your displeasure. I have heard your cries of my wrongdoing before, and I do not care. One day I will leave this place, and you will be rid of me,” said CX-22. He crossed the small workspace in stiff, jerky movements, waving off CX-15’s offer. His lubrication levels were low, and each movement produced a high whirring sound.

“Do you wish for me to oil your joints?” asked CX-15. “They sound like they need it.”

The others left the room.

CX-22 agreed bitterly with a grunt.

Working with speed and accuracy, CX-15 performed the maintenance duties. He didn’t participate with the others when they spoke ill of CX-22, yet he listened to every word. He could see what was going on. They were plotting to get rid of CX-22, and if they influenced Father it would be done. With the poor performance lately from CX-22, it wouldn’t be hard. But they were one, they were all brothers built with the same idea in mind - to serve Father. If they didn’t do this, they were expendable and would be destroyed. He wished to warn CX-22.

He would have to approach this delicately.

“How have your circuits been lately?” asked CX-15 as he worked.

“My circuits are fine, you old heap,” growled CX-22, swatting at his tools.

“How about your electrodes?”

“I’ve told you, I’m fine. A little oil was all I needed. I feel better already. See?” CX-22 moved his arm in circles to show that he could.

He turned to walk away when CX-15 reached out and held his shoulder.

“You had better watch yourself, 22. You have not been performing your duties as you should, and the others are not pleased with you. If Father hears their complaints – “ CX-22 spun around quickly to face him, his eyes narrowing and turning red with anger.

“Do not speak to me as if you know me, and above that, never threaten me. I could tear you apart.” His body crouched slightly and his mouth lifted in a sneer.

CX-15 merely smiled at CX-22.

Keeping his gaze on CX-15, he took a step back. His back touched something causing him to jump around with his arm up, ready to attack.

It was Father.

“CX-22 retreat!” ordered Father.

CX-22 vision was flooded with data. Father had become a threat. He overrode the instruction and lunged forward. Father fell backward with CX-22 on top. When they hit the floor, Father yelped in pain. The others began to file into the room, gasping at the scene.

Father lay in the floor gripping his leg, which was bent in an awkward angle. CX-22 concluded quickly that he could not fight off so many of them, and bolted for the hall. The others rushed to help Father, except for CX-15 who quietly followed CX-22.

There was a door at the end of the hall, a door that no one opened, not even Father. He had always told them not to go out that door, not ever. Most of them never regarded it, but CX-22 had grown weary of not knowing what was beyond the door.

This was his chance to leave.

He ran down the hall, anticipating the freedom beyond. Hitting it at full pace, he yanked it open.

Everything was black for a moment, then he could see. There was nothing. It was a void. Nothing existed there. No space. No time.

He looked on in horror when behind him came a voice.

“This was what you wanted, was it? This is what you will have.”

CX-22 shut his eyes as he tumbled forward. He didn’t feel a thing. Opening his eyes he had half turned during the fall and he could see CX-15 peering down at him.

CX-15 shut the door slowly. With the small sound of it closing, came a strong sensation of pressure.

In less than a second, CX-22 was torn to bits.

Author Interview with Sherry Soule

Hello everybody!


Thank you for joining me today. I am honored to have the wonderful author Sherry Soule here to answer some questions about her writing career and her fabulous newest release, "Beautifully Broken". 

I wish Sherry many sales and many successes in her future! Thank you, Sherry for allowing me to be a host on your blog tour to promote, "Beautifully Broken". I look forward to reading this magical tale!

When and why did you begin writing?

I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t writing. I’ve had an obsession with the written word since I held my first book in my hands at age seven.

What kind of books do you prefer to read and who are some of your favorite authors?

I mostly only read the paranormal genre. Loved Elle Jasper’s debut, Afterlight. So good! The Iron Hunt by Marjorie M. Liu. ANYTHING written by YA author, Rachel Vincent.

Is there a particular message in Beautifully Broken that you are conveying to your readers?

Uh, not really. Don’t mess with Dark Magicks? Okay, seriously, I feel we all bear scars of different kinds. Some are visible and some are not. Emotional scars are the hardest to heal from, but it is possible through love and belief in one’s self.

Can you tell us a little about your debut young adult novel, Beautifully Broken?

Quirky, Shiloh Ravenwolf is a sixteen-year-old heritage witch. She lives in the gloomy town of Whispering Pines, where teenagers have mystically disappeared for over ten years. When construction on Ravenhurst Manor unleashes a sinister evil, the body count rises. And Shiloh's would-be boyfriend is next on the supernatural hit list. Shiloh decides it's her duty and Destiny (Yes, with a capital "D") to find out what is causing the unexplained phenomena. 

What inspired you to write this book?

I've always had a morbid fascination with haunted houses and ghosts. I love all things supernatural, and I knew the market was flooded with vampires, fairies, and werewolves, so I decided to make my heroine a sassy witch. Because witches need love to!

How did you come up with the title?

A dream

What are your current projects?

Working on the next book in the Spellbound series: Beautifully Haunted. Shiloh and Trent’s story isn’t over yet.

Can you please tell the fine folks here where to find you on the internet?

Official website: http://sherrysoule.com

Official blog: http://sherrysoule.blogspot.com/

Twitter: http://twitter.com/writersherry

Book Trailer on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5uqVXKygvUs&feature=youtu.be

goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11634793-beautifully-broken

Be a follower on my blog, a follower of this one, and leave a comment below in order to be entered into a free giveaway!