Category: Fiction

by Donald Reich

The drops of rain came down like a torrent against the window. The rushing sound like a snare drum counting down, varying as the belts of rain subside and roar. Carleton sat on his favorite chair, a firm green armchair with a floral pattern. The floral pattern was an eyesore but the chair was so comfortable. In his periods of wakefulness, he would confine himself to the chair, resting in its firm caress. The chair faced the window from which he could watch the long dark road in the distance. To his left was the fireplace, it never burned very hot, Nilec would not allow it. She was fearful of the harm which could come to her children in his home. To his right, within his reach, was one of Nilec’s children. She stood two feet tall in a pot with dark soil around her roots. Her branches reached out like hands towards his chair. He would frequently put a mason jar with homemade hooch in her grasp. He could feel her imagining the taste and burn running down her trunk. He had begun to call her Helen, after his first wife, the only one he ever loved. Helen loved him with every fiber of her being. Helen was the first child of Nilec, her sapling had sprung shortly after his offering.

“Helen, how many times have I told you how much I love you?” asked Carleton. He stared her up and down longingly, remembering the curves of her body and the smell of her perfume. Her lingering touch seemed to rest on his heart even after the last one hundred and fifty years.

“Many times, dear, when you sleep it escapes from your lips with every breath.” He could hear her voice in his mind. A secret they both hid from Nilec. For if Nilec ever knew their love continued to burn like fire, she would end Helen’s life. A life he had stolen, for his own selfish gain.

He rose up from the chair and grabbed his watering pail. Four times a day he must water Nilec’s children. Each one a soul, taken by Carleton at the behest of Nilec. A task which confronted him with his guilt concerning their deaths. He always tried to start with a different child every day, their branches reaching forth, beckoning for water. His farmhouse used to be a very spacious and inviting place.

“I think Timothy has waited the whole year to be first. Fitting you should be chosen on your birthday,” said Carleton. He bent down and lightly grasped his son’s leaves. A loving gesture, the only present he could afford his son. He bent the pail ever so slightly, rushing the water out of the spout and into his pot. “I love you, son.”

The weight of the air turned dark and unholy. The moon lost its light and left the glow of the fire in the house. “Nilec is coming,” said Helen. “Her mind is afire with jealousy.”

“Let her come,” said Carleton.

The door seemed to groan inward as Nilec approached. Her dark hand turned the knob as it screamed against her unnatural, perverse touch. The closer she grew to achieving her full strength, the bolder she had become. The door opened slowly as the visage of Helen entered. “Carleton, my love,” said Nilec. “Why have you neglected me? My children can survive for a few days without water. I need another heart.”

“I have run out of children and wives to supply the hearts,” said Carleton. His eyes looking downward in submission. “I cannot find another wife of suitable ancestry. The women of this generation of childbearing age are self-absorbed and more concerned with having careers.” A half-truth in all honesty.

“The fruit of our labor is almost in fruition,” said Nilec. Her dark, sultry eyes tore into his heart. “I saved your life all those years ago. The least you can do is fulfill your end of the bargain. You wanted to live forever, all I ask for is hearts of British descent.”

His mother had saved his life by begging Nilec to grant him a long life as they faced starvation. Nilec is the guardian of the forest which surrounded his family farm. His family had been secluded from the Protestant religion of the earliest settlers from Europe. Nilec granted them food and shelter as they built their home. She had just been a large basswood tree in those days. As the years past, Nilec had begun to have a corporeal being as the number of hearts in her roots grew. During the Revolutionary War, the British had burnt down a large portion of her forest. Her hatred would be eternal for those of British ancestry. A British heart being the toll was her way of revenge.

“Why must you assume Helen’s form?” Carleton asked.

“Her body excites you. Her smile makes you long for me.”

“You torture me!”

Her eyes grew furious at his accusation. “I love you. How could I torture you?” Nilec said.

“How could I not be tortured? My soul is so corrupt, new life dies under my feet as I walk,” said Carleton. “You want to become my Helen. You will never be my Helen!”

“I will be your Helen. She is a part of me just like she is in your heart,” Nilec said. She moved toward his chair. Her eyes rested on Helen as she stood near her. “I have brought every aspect of Helen into my almost complete body.” Her clothes fell away to reveal Helen’s nude body as she ran her hands down it. Inciting his body to action.

He moved toward her as he longed for her body but Helen’s voice stopped him cold. “No, Carleton!”

“What is this?” said Nilec. “Your wife is dead. Just like the others and all of your children! Buried to give me a body for my perfection. You married those women, killed them and their children… for me!”

The tears streamed freely from his eyes as the moment had finally come. He and Helen had spent the last few weeks finding a way to end this. “I have spent the last one hundred and twenty years living with their souls in my home. You turned them into plants as you absorbed their hearts. It was not enough to have me take their lives, I also had to water them and hear them grow. They did not lose their humanity until you finished with them,” said Carleton.

Nilec reached out and grabbed Helen’s branches. “Find me a heart or I kill your wife,” said Nilec.

“No. I must let her go,” said Carleton.

Nilec screamed as she tore Helen’s roots out of her pot.  “Do it, Carleton!” was audible as she was cast into the fire.

“I love you, Helen,” said Carleton.

“Love will not save you, Carleton,” said Nilec. She sat in his favorite chair, naked and beckoning him. “You will be mine.”

He looked her up and down as the visage of Helen fell away from Nilec like a shell. She had ended her possession of Helen’s soul by throwing her into the fire. A vague silhouette was all that remained as Nilec struggled to recover from the loss of vitality. Carleton seized upon her paralysis and begun tearing his children out of their pots while flinging them into the fire.

“What are you doing, my love?” said Nilec. Her form faltering as even more vitality drained from her with every burning root.

“Setting my family free.”

“Stop, we could be free together.”

“I am free,” said Carleton. He had run out of her children and had one last life to take. He reached down and grabbed a can of gasoline he kept under the sink. The cool liquid running over his face and body, ensuring his death. The frail form of Nilec was withering away. He grabbed her and embraced her as the fire engulfed the house.

Bio: I was born in Rodchester, MI. I lived there until the age of 14 until my parents moved our family to FL. We bounced around a little bit during the first year but finally settled in North Port,FL. I attended North Port High School and an alumni of their Thespian Program. I joined the Army after high school and stayed in for four years. After my term, I moved back to North Port to go back to college which is where I am now. I will be graduating this semester and moving on to USF, where I will be attaining my Social Science Secondary Education Degree.

by M. Parks

Madness is a gradual process. Talking to myself, wandering aimlessly around the house, or just sitting and spacing out for unknown amounts of time. That was how it began. It was like a drip by drip deterioration of my giving-a-shit. Maybe it was that she was never coming back or that I lost my job or the argument that has kept my sister from talking to me all year. Or maybe, it was the apparitions that had begun to walk around my house…. but honestly, it began before all of that. Those were more like the results. The results of my mind slowly going blank.

Loneliness. It will force the mind to find something to relate to. I began talking to the stray cats that hung around my house–having full conversations with them. We were getting into heated debates about the origins of consciousness and the creation of the universe. I had begun yelling at them angrily about their ignorant philosophies and eventually they stopped coming around and I stopped leaving my room.

I never even would have walked outside that day but it just happened to be that bug up my ass kinda day and I decided to take out the trash. I grabbed the putrid, month old, plastic bag from under the sink and walked outside. Shirtless. Shoe-less. In my boxers. Then I saw him. Sitting on the ground, digging with his bare hands and screaming into the hole. It was Old man Willy. I used to listen to him rant about his politics and his constant losing battle between him and the squirrels over his pecan tree. They were hardly discernible, one-sided conversations that would begin to shoot back and forth between completely unrelated subjects but it always ended with the unforgivable sins of the squirrels. Willy had been alone in his house for longer than I’ve been alive. He had begun the madness process long ago but I had never seen him like this before. He looked like a child playing in a sand box. Digging and pilling the dirt but screaming.

“Am I a coward?! Is it all for nothing?!” he said as he continued to dig.

Something between him and I resonated inside me.  I could hear the desperation in his voice as he was catching his breath and wiping tears from his face. I couldn’t even remember the last time I thought of something as beautiful. It takes strength to dive that far into insanity. I’m not sure how long I stood there watching him. Time seemed to be standing still and no one else even noticed the scene. Eventually, I was back inside and found myself turning on music and cleaning my house. A week later, I had a job. I was doing things. I was exercising, I was going out in public, I was having conversations with strangers. Somehow, I had hardly even thought about that day afterwards and Willy had seemed to go back to regular crazy Ol’ Willy but that scene had changed me.

Two months later, I finished cooking dinner, cleaned the dishes and took the trash out. As I came around the corner, I saw Willy. An eerie chill ran up my spine at the sight of a familiar scene. This time it was much more grotesque. Willy was knelt in his drive way. He looked as if he was in a trance.

He was sitting in the middle of a hand drawn circle of blood and holding a dead squirrel up towards the setting sun. It wasn’t that what he was doing was so odd to me, and some might say that that truly makes me more insane than Willy, but again, there was a resonance between him and I. I realized how, just two months ago, I was sitting on the edge of that same cliff that old man Willy seemed to have jumped off of. He had mirrored my insanity and brought me back to my senses. I felt bad for the innocent squirrel he was sacrificing to the pecan god that resided in his head, but it was his insanity that brought me out of my own darkness somehow. He only does it twice a year now and I observe through my window as not to disturb him.

By Sean Henry

A hero is what he thought, watching the Asoles from a safe distance.

“Awesome, they are blessed,” said Clay.

He took a deep breath and made such a serious face that Iris giggled in amusement. He had become a master of mimicry.

”Things aren’t always what they seem Clay,” Said Iris.

Clay was still somewhere between constipation and concentration.

“Clay knock it off, you look like you’re gonna shit yourself,” said Iris.

“Shhh Iris,” said Clay ducking back behind the corner. He would be mortified if anyone from his waste station heard her.

“I have to work here,” said Clay.

“I want you home soon. I have something for you,” said Iris.

“They’re having the initiation ceremony at the courts and I wanted to go see,” said Clay

Clay was obsessed with the Asoles. They had power, status and nobody fucked with the Asoles.

Asoles were guards, a warrior caste hand selected by the pyres. The seven Pyres were a mystery. At the age of twenty it was mandatory that people entered into a lottery where if one was chosen they would be initiated into the sect. After initiation they give their soul to the pyres in which it is said that they grant the initiate with immortality. The Asoles wore elaborate helmets that covered them from the shoulders up able to morph into the shape of facial characteristics of whatever beast they chose and never showed their face.

“Stay away from the courts,” said Iris. She loathed the Asoles, cursed them under her breath anytime she could. Clay just chalked it up to her being a little crazy.

“Maybe we could have story night tonight,” said Clay. She immediately perked up. Clay knew how to make her happy.

“Dear boy you are going to become a great one,” said Iris

As a boy Iris would tell him stories of the world before the pyres. Clay loved the stories but Iris would sometimes tell stories in parables or riddles which annoyed the hell out of Clay.

“The resistance is close and I need you at my side tonight,” said Iris. Her eyes were pulsating and wild, constantly twitching and spookier than usual.

“I will be home soon Iris,” said Clay.

“I know,” said Iris, “ashes to ashes.” She smiled and walked away.

“Fuck that, I’m trying to live forever,” said Clay

He wanted no part in the resistance. On his way to the courts he arrived at the courtyard where Iris had told him a secret design had been etched into a mosaic wall. He had been intrigued by this story for quite some time. All the walls were marked with geometrical lines and shapes, no logos or living creatures were pictured on any of the markings. The pyres outlawed logos or idols or anything pertaining to living creatures of the outside world. Clay sat staring at that mosaic wall for what seemed to be an eternity, but it was only a few hours.

Before Clay could make out any form from the multitude of lines in the wall, his breath was knocked out of him by a large explosion a hundred or so yards away. Shards of alloy and stone rained all around him as a shower of sparks fell from the dome above, followed by the sounds of lasers and a plethora of deafening crackling from the Asoles’ weapons.

“Terrorist,” Said one of the Asoles. “Heresy,” said another

Body’s scattered all around Clay, scurrying away from the violence. Ten yards away an Asoles pounced on and completely devoured one resistance fighter alive, tearing him apart and leaving only a pile of bile where he stood.

Clay had never seen or heard of anything like this. He balled up cowering in the corner waiting for a time to escape, once he finally had the opportunity he darted for the shaft that lead for the tunnel which lead back to the pits. When Clay got back to Iris he could barely breathe. Iris looked pale with fright.

“Goodness Clay, where did you go? Did anyone follow you back here?” said Iris.

“No I took the tunnels.” said Clay.

“Here I have to give you something,” said Iris. Iris handed him a black glass cube. “This is an obsidian cube, Take this back to the mosaic and find that lotus carved in the lines,” said Iris.

“I didn’t see no lotus in the design, I looked for hours,” said Clay. “I can’t go back you wouldn’t believe what I saw. I will die for sure.”

“Look harder and take this cube and insert it into the middle, you will see the red ruby glow and when you do push the button,” said Iris.

“What’s going on? I don’t understand,” said Clay.

“There’s no time to explain. I wrote a letter and I put it in your coat, take the obsidian and go,” said Iris.

Just as he reached the tunnels he could hear Iris’s screams echoing down the halls… a terrifying shriek that rattled his bones and gave him shivers. Clay’s heart was in his stomach, but he ran as fast as he could. When he made it to the mosaic he did just as Iris instructed. The red stone illuminated upon touching it and the wall unraveled at the lines like the untying of a knot. He ducked into the dark crevice and slid down underground tubes which lead him to a spiraling staircase. After reaching the top of the staircase he could see it, the eye gloriously ablaze massive in size like a doorway with a fixed stare on Clay. Clay was drawn to the spherical phenomenon. The center looked as if it were liquid gold. Clay was so frozen with fear that he forgot to breathe. The seven pyres came out of the shadows and towered over him. They must have been 9 feet tall and didn’t make a sound. Something about the pyres told Clay that they were just as scared of him as Clay was of it. There was nowhere else to go accept through the eye. Instantly Clay bolted past the tall demonic creatures towards the mercurial eye, chucked the cube into the center, closed his eyes and leapt.

Clay was blinded, flashes of white and red light exploded around his face. He could feel his hair getting singed a burning sensation throughout his entire body followed by an aching cold.

Iris he screamed, over and over he screamed for her but to no prevail. He knew that she was dead and now so was he. In a millisecond a life time of woes he cried. He thought of his failure and shame. He will never know the truth and he had let Iris down and how pathetic his whole existence had been such a waste. His body kicked and flailed in agony and pain as torturous images flickered in his mind.

Clay was embarrassed when he realized he was still alive. His body was not used to the atmosphere and the sun. What began as his violent death became an orgasmic overload of the senses. His eyes began to adjust enabling him to see the multitude of hues he never knew existed, colors so vibrant it electrified his mind. All at once, new and exotic textures surrounded him with warmth as aromatics tickled him to his loins.

There where trees everywhere and the sky was stunning. Clay was on his knees in awe. He looked around and right in front of him was the black cube. He crouched forward and placed his forehead on the cube then whispered something softly to himself before he got up and began to walk, wandering aimlessly into a small opening in the forest where it dipped into a valley. On the other side he could see a crevice in the side of a mountain, so he ran there in fear of the Asoles. Clay followed that canyon until it came to an opening so he decided to rest, and remembered the letter in his jacket.

Dear Clayborne,

The seven pyres are seven evil spirits that haunt men from times of old. There is a great war to resist them for they are only inspired by fear. The Asoles are the lifeless, those without a soul. They have cast a spell on men so that they may cultivate a weapon made of the souls of men, to rule the world and live forever, but they have already lost, though they don’t know it. The Vile creatures imprisoned our kingdom long ago. Most will try to appease them but their thirst is unquenchable. I have painfully held this from you while I watched you grow, watch you secretly lust for the evil that lies waiting like a viper to snatch you from the way to truth. This realm like the next is an illusion. You have the key to all the doors don’t be afraid. Find our kin you will know them by their armor. They will help you on your way. You are not alone. I love you.

Sincerely, Iris

PS. If that doesn’t piss you off, they have been feeding us recycled human waste.

Clay didn’t even have time to take it all in before he was startled by dark figures closing in on him. Clay leapt to combat action mode with a murderous spark of rage in his eye.

“Asoles been feeding me shit my whole life,” said Clay.

Clay raised the obsidian cube above his head in a striking stance ready to wage war on the Asoles. The figures wore black obsidian scaled armor with gold trim. The armor was so magnificent that it would have put the Asoles to shame they looked glorious shimmering in the setting sun all the colors of the sky trapped like a rainbow in an obsidian prism.

The men were gracious recognizing the black box Clay held in his hands.

A faint buzz slowly escalated into a roar as a swarm of Asoles came out of the earth the sound vibrated all the bodies of the men in obsidian. They were fearless. They all lined up ready for the inevitable slaughter. Some even had grins.

“Welcome home brother,” said one man in jest. He offered up some armor to Clay but Clay fashioned himself a cloak made of some linens and wool he found. Clay then stepped to the front of the men.

“Ashes to ashes,” said Clay. Then he laughed an uncontrollable howl and led the charge.

The thunderous clash of opposing forces shook the planet to its very core and with a flash of light the Asoles were vanished like vapors in a light breeze.

Clay turned toward his brethren.

“A figment of my imagination,” said Clay

The Obsidians were astonished, in hysterics having never witnessed such a miraculous feat; they accredited Clay with being of royal bloodline. The tribe shouted and began to celebrate and dance around. They praised Clay for his escape and bravery called him a hero.

Clay just sat on his legs with his hands clenching the earth, eyes on the horizon, hypnotized in thought.