Grueberfest 06 - R3 - A Wicked Wind Blows West (697 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: one-part_stories
Rating: 2 on 27 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Stagger Lee (View user info) at 2006-10-17 11:33:54 EDT
Nobody knows why they come. They're a fact, a law of their own, as part of nature as the sky above, the long grass of the plain, the jagged rocks in the valleys.
Malley spits, an angry gesture, carving out his own small crater in the hard soil. His concentration is fierce, his brow furrowed as he works at a stubborn knot, attempting to free his load of timber from the roof of his car.
"I'm sick of complacency," he announces, not so much to me as to the world in general.
I know what he means without asking for elaboration. The town does not resist the invaders. People who show resistance end up scattered in pieces across the streets in chunks of bloody confetti. They are content to let them come and go without challenge.
"I heard people talking about sacrifice," he went on.
This is true. In a strange mix of rumour and conjecture, the notion of sacrifice was spreading around town, oozing into the gaps in the minds of the people. People spoke of it mostly in whispers, darting glances over their shoulders, raising glasses to their lips to mask their faces. I overheard a man last night talk of staking people down. He wanted to pin them to the dirt right in the crossroads at the centre of town. He had no idea I was listening.
The knot springs free, the ropes snapping back and the timber dislodging from the car's roof. Most of it falls on Malley's foot. He yelps in pain and surprise, hopping backwards, his hands flying instinctively to his foot. He loses his balance and nearly goes sprawling.
"Hey!" he yells, his voice cracking, beginning to go hoarse from all the shouting he did earlier. "Don't just fucking stand there! Do something! Give me a hand here! Fuck!"
At the town meeting, the meeting that Malley called, the meeting that nobody else wanted to have, Malley had done most of the talking. He exhorted the people to rise, to stand firm in the face of the attack. He had waxed poetic, and his rhetoric had been unchained.
He had been shouted down within minutes. The men who would not stand up to the invaders stood up to Malley.
I walk over to help Malley. The sky above us is vast, pale blue. The air is clean and cold, and the late afternoon sun warms us. But the night will come, and when it comes, it's going to be a long one. In spring, when the wind blows west, they come, without fail; and they take all children between the ages of seven and nine.
Malley has a seven year old boy; one of the few in town. The other families with children of age were not present at the town meeting. If they have tried to run, it could go badly for all of them.
We begin the arduous process of nailing the boards across Malley's windows. His hands shake, and I attempt to empathise with him, but I cannot truly comprehend his position or understand what must be going on his mind. His face is closed, guarded.
Malley's house lies on the outskirts of town, isolated from the main roads. There's one dirt track that leads from his driveway, down the hill and into the town.
Night falls, sweeping its curtain across the plains. The moon is hidden behind a screen of low-hanging clouds. We sit in Malley's living room; he has sent his son to bed. Malley has a double-barrelled shotgun sitting across his lap, and a two foot machete on the small table next to him. I have Malley's firewood hatchet, grasped loosely and uneasily in my hand.
Neither of us are talking. We are listening; waiting. Listening for the scratch on the door, at the boarded windows. The light from the yellow, forty watt bulb is dim and somehow depressing. The clock ticks out one execrable second at a time.
When the first soft, scraping sound comes from the wall behind Malley, I start, and my fingers clench on the handle of the hatchet. Malley's eyes narrow. He stands and takes the machete from the table, slipping it into his belt.
"Follow me," he says, and stalks from the room with his shotgun at the ready.
What else is there to do? I follow him, our footfalls light and nervous on the wooden floor. Into the hallway we pass; courage and fear equal and struggling for supremacy in our hearts. I think I see something drift across the hall, passing between doors in the shadows at the far end, and I feel a jolting sensation run through me. Gooseflesh runs ripples down my arms and back, and I tighten my grip on the hatchet, feeling at once brave and foolish.
Malley turns into a doorway and his eyes widen. He brings the shotgun up. I can't see what he's looking at, I can't tell what's in there. Then Malley slams back one of the triggers and the shotgun goes off, roaring in the silence of the house, kicking into his shoulder hard. There's a wet, thudding sound that follows soon afterwards.
"Got one," Mally snarls, breaking the shotgun open and replacing his spent shell. Without taking his eyes from the door he continues. "Run upstairs and check on my kid. That would've woken him."
I nod, and stride swiftly to the stairs. I climb them two at a time, the constant, low-grade terror temporarily overwhelmed by giddy exhilaration at how easily Malley had dispatched one of them.
My exhilaration falters and dies when I reach the landing. One of them is leading Malley's son towards me, holding him by the scruff of his neck. I look at the thing holding the child, but I can't focus upon it. A precise view of it eludes me. I catch suggestions of a cruel, hooked beak, and long claws, but when I attempt to pin down the details the slide away from my eyes. All I be sure of is that the thing in front of me is large, a swirling, formless dark mass looming and eclipsing most of the hall.
I raise my hatchet, feeling ridiculous and small. The thing approaches me, one unclear arm still firmly grasping Malley's son by the throat. I feel as though I have no choice. I swing; hesitation wrenches at my muscles, and the thing is fast, too fast, fast like nothing I've ever seen. It shoves Malley's son at me, and the boy yelps, saying something to me, something that I don't understand. The hatchet blade bites at nothing but air.
I fight to free myself from the tangle of the boy's helpless limbs. I push him aside, freeing my arm, and I swing once more. This time, the hatchet slams into the side of the formless creature. I can feel it catch and snag on something in its body. It emits a low, buzzing sound, almost a sigh, and something blurs out of the mass and claws across my leg, catching my knee and slamming me to the ground.
Over the sounds of running footsteps below, I hear the boy scream. This is followed, seconds later, by a shotgun blast below. I hear Malley cursing, and then the second barrel discharges.
The hatchet is still in my hand. There is no blood on the blade, despite my earlier wounding of the creature. I cannot see it, but I can hear it slithering past me towards the boy. I can't allow that to happen. I can't let Malley down. I come up from the floor, bringing the hatchet around in a fast, wide arc. My knee flares up with pain.
The creature has reached the boy, and it turns to me and shoves the boy into the path of my weapon. The hatchet buries itself in his skull with sickening, blistering ease. The boy doesn't even make a sound. He folds up and collapses, pulling my hand down with him.
Another strange, sighing sound comes from the creature, as I stare, in terror and disbelief, at the boy's corpse, lying on the floor with my hatchet in his head. My hand still white knuckled on the handle, frozen from the impact.
The roar of the shotgun interrupts our tableau. The creature seems to jerk, startled and pained. I catch a fractured look at its face, at stunned, narrowed eyes. Then it collapses to the floor, seeming to shrink in size as it falls. An indefinable sense of menace seems to fade its form.
That just leaves Malley.
With the creature down, I can see him, one arm dangling and bloody, the other still cradling the empty shotgun.
And he sees me, with one hand still gripping the hatchet that had ended his son's life; that was, in fact, still stuck in his son's head.
"You...you..." he says, choking on the words.
I try to speak in my defence. I cannot. My traitor tongue will not pronounce the words.
Malley drops the shotgun and pulls the machete from his belt with his good hand. He advances on me, his face contorted with rage. I do the only thing I can. I pull the hatchet from the boy's skull, and take a step back, my knee screaming at me in pain.
Looks like at least one of us isn't leaving the upstairs hall.
User Reviews
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-10-25 01:02:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Nellypaal sighting! Cheers mate.
Submitted by Nellypaal (user info) at 2006-10-20 11:01:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Yes
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-10-19 22:42:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2006-10-19 22:34:12 (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-10-19 19:39:29 (#)
Ranking: 0
Go United? """
fuck you you manc cunt
--------
Ahahaha.
Prediction for Sunday? I reckon 2-0 to us.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-10-19 22:35:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-10-19 21:34:40 (#)
Ranking: 2
HotWillie and TheUniter BOTH gave you a +2.
Whassup?
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They both liked the post, I guess. Why?
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Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2006-10-19 21:27:18 (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2006-10-19 17:13:26 (#)
Ranking: 2
Agreed. You have a very easy way about you.
Cheers.
===
He called you easy. Is this true? And since when is he British, anyway?
---------------------
I'm a very laid-back sort of guy.
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2006-10-19 22:34:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-10-19 19:39:29 (#)
Ranking: 0
Go United? """
fuck you you manc cunt
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-10-19 21:34:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
HotWillie and TheUniter BOTH gave you a +2.
Whassup?
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2006-10-19 21:27:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2006-10-19 17:13:26 (#)
Ranking: 2
Agreed. You have a very easy way about you.
Cheers.
===
He called you easy. Is this true? And since when is he British, anyway?
I do like your other entries even more than this one, but it's still very good, as always.
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2006-10-19 17:13:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by MyTeeOne (user info) at 2006-10-17 13:35:03 (#)
Ranking: 2
You make good writing look easy.
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Agreed. You have a very easy way about you. I thought I knew which of the Round 2 UM entries was yours, and it was later confirmed (after the round ended) that I was correct. It wasn't so much that I picked it out because of the plot you used, or word choices, or anything like that. I figured it was yours because I immediately sank into it like a warm bed. Like quicksand.
You've taken this fairly alien concept and made it as enjoyable and gripping as you could without slowing the pace to set your characters or story up, or introduce elements that we need to know to follow along.
Cheers.
Submitted by HotWillie (user info) at 2006-10-18 17:04:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I really like this.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-10-18 01:37:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Thanks guys.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-10-17 21:15:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Seriously over-written and very predictable....
BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAAAA!!!!
Just fuckin' with ya, Stag......
Submitted by forensicgirl3 (user info) at 2006-10-17 18:15:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
really nice vignette! Weird things that you can't really see are my favorite kind of monsters.
Submitted by Anansie (user info) at 2006-10-17 16:55:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Everyone bitches about the crappy posts but no one bothers to read the good stuff. Here, have another.
Submitted by NetProphet (user info) at 2006-10-17 16:24:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by MyTeeOne (user info) at 2006-10-17 13:35:03 (#)
Ranking: 2
You make good writing look easy.
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2006-10-17 15:54:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Very nice.
Submitted by inion_de_trua (user info) at 2006-10-17 14:14:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
oh the nightmares that will walk across my mind in the dark hours of night.
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2006-10-17 13:59:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by MyTeeOne (user info) at 2006-10-17 13:35:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You make good writing look easy.
Submitted by barnaclebill (user info) at 2006-10-17 13:24:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
nicely done - this has potential to be a lot more than what it is
Submitted by JoeyG (user info) at 2006-10-17 13:23:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Good job Stag, good job indeed.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-10-17 13:14:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Thanks guys.
Apologies, Anansie, I couldn't resist.
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2006-10-17 13:02:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
My barrel discharged.
Submitted by kaos-king (user info) at 2006-10-17 13:01:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
**sigh**
Submitted by sicosemen (user info) at 2006-10-17 12:17:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Way to rock it hard, Stagger.
Submitted by Anansie (user info) at 2006-10-17 12:07:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Why do you do this to me?
Submitted by Bigmike (user info) at 2006-10-17 12:06:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I will say this in my quaintly American way:
Nicely done.
Submitted by HotWillie (user info) at 2006-10-17 11:53:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment