You wake up and see that you’re tied to a reinforced substance that binds you in all kinds of trouble.
You try to move your arms and legs and they just won’t budge. You try to flee and fly away from whatever is holding you down. You scream and nobody hears the scream because your scream is too muted to normal ears.
Is this a dream? Are you having a nightmare where you can’t move anything in your body? Do you even dream? You’ve never dreamt before?
You’re stuck. The substance is hard and sticky and it’s slowly engulfing your entire body. Rising up higher and higher to just above your head. You can barely breathe but you’re making buzzing noises to try to do something. ANYTHING.
This is horrific. The worst kind of fate.
And then you realize that struggling only makes it worse. The more you move the harder you’re stuck to this murderous blanket.
You need to stay still. The more you struggle the more you’re trapped. It’s that simple.
You try to recount what exactly happened to make you stuck here. Because you damned well can’t remember.
Yesterday you went all over the city. You had a lovely meal. You sat on the window for hours and just watched the sunrise and the birds fly and the people move about in their static and rigid ways. It was a lovely day for you.
The last thing that you can remember was the electric waves that radiated around your head and called you to come closer and closer and closer and you knew that even then the siren was too good to be true. And now you’re here.
Something got into your head and drew you to where you are now. And after that everything went blank and you woke up covered in some white goo and unable to move. What was this?
You lay still. You try to think of ways to escape. If you could free your arms and your legs then maybe you could make a jump for it. You look down and realize that you’re quite high up. Not that this has ever been a problem for you. High up is where you belong. But God knows what you could lose breaking free from this thing.
You turn your head one final time and there it is and immediately your fate makes sense. You had heard the stories and the myths and the legends and here you were facing something that you never believed to be true.
Eight legs, fangs and a large black torso heading towards you in a rampant burst of hunger. And that’s it - the end for you. It starts with your legs and your arms and it sucks them in, then your own body is being eaten and you’re still alive to see it.
The last thing you remember is your head splitting in two and your last thoughts are this:
One of the best meats to cook is a Tomahawk steak. Still on the bone. The bone serving as a handle for the meat and then you can just scrape the meat off. This was what Jean was cooking in lieu of company arriving. She purchased the slab frozen initially. It was like 3kg stiff, hard and heavy. She had to defrost it for about six hours and then place it on the grill. Let the juices cook and keep turning it so the meat could get tender. Delicious. There was a knock at the door. It was Detective Reardon. He had his plain clothes on. He stood smoking a cigarette at her front door. Awful manners . "Mrs. Parker?" Detective Reardon said. "Please, please come in." Jean said. Mr Reardon was ushered to the dining table. A glass of water already prepared along with the cutlery laid out. "I can't stay long." Reardon said. "Oh nonsense." Jean said. She put a plate down in front of him. Reardon was surprised. He never usually ate at these kinds o
Author's note: This is the opening chapter of a longer piece which I have published here as a standalone short-story. Lucy had one of those kaleidoscopic viewfinders that put the world in a mass of cubic and triangular shaped colours spiralling atop one another. She stood at the foot of the lake looking out upon the deep blue of Berners Hall Lake and I’d imagined she was seeing it turn into purple and amber and green and whatever other colours splashed out into her eye line. I felt a stab of envy at that time because she could see the world in colours beyond the drab sepia with which I’d always been cursed to see the world. I envied Lucy for having the Kaleidoscope because, especially at the torment of that time and age, I would have loved to have coloured the world. But I envied the Kaleidoscope more than I envied Lucy. What I wouldn’t have given to have had Lucy looking deep into me the way she looked into that Kaleidoscope. She’d smudged her eyeliner against the viewer
A Welcome Guest My early childhood was spent on my father’s farm in the middle of nowhere. Literally, in the middle of nowhere. We had no hospitals or police stations near us, everything we ate, we made from scratch. It was like being Amish or something. The farm was called Beacon Farm and to even get to the store was a long old drive in my father’s four-by-four. We had a plethora of animals. We had goats, sheep, cows and pigs. My father managed the slaughterhouse. My mother spent her time making butter, baking bread and preparing dinner for me and my father. And I often walked the grounds. All-day long I wandered the grounds. It was a fantastic time. My childhood was defined by Beacon Farm, that was until, one day… Kenneth arrived. The stability of the farm and my childhood would be defined by the guests that came upon Beacon Farm to take what they felt they were owed. Kenneth stood in the doorway. He was drenched from the rain. He wore a flat cap and he had a big bushy coat o