Fiction

The Owl Man

The owl men were a strange and aloof tribe who populated the remote highlands of the America’s for centuries, scattered sparsely across the mountain-tops. Creatures of great wisdom, and long life, they were a source of medicine, prophecy and advice for those American tribes that knew of their existence. Happy with their lot away from the humans, it was the early 19th century before white man first laid eyes upon an owl man.

Lightly feathered, and possessing no beak, the owl man Avitheth was an outsider, and eager to leave his ancient tribal homeland. This was unusual for the owlmen, but they valued free will over all, and nobody stopped him. He traveled for several months, visiting frontier towns where he was treated with suspicion and fear. But the stories flew in his wake, and one night on the road, he was kidnapped by a particularly unsavoury circus master named McCreavey. He was soon just another freak in the crowd.

Exerpt from: Strange Days in the New World, 1876

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Uncategorized

The Scratching

The cats and dogs were the first to react. All over the world, pets went crazy, barking, yowling, generally freaking out for no discernible reason. Then people started to hear it too. The scratching. Almost inaudible, coming from everywhere and nowhere. It took only a few days for social media to catch on, and fear and confusion swept the globe. It was everywhere. Soon, tiny scratches were appearing on every imaginable surface. Buildings, trees, cars, electronics,nothing was safe. Soon, the world was in chaos, as no remedy was forthcoming for what seemed an otherwordly ailment.

 

Then people started to be scratched. Tiny marks, at first, not even splitting the skin. But as the days went by, hospitals began to fill with lacerated and terrified individuals, bleeding from innumerable tiny wounds with no source. Other animals were affected too, but nobody cared any more. The world died in pain and bewilderment. No answer was forthcoming as the scratching consumed us all.

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Fiction

The Follower

This is an exerpt from a short story I am working on.

Deep in the darkness above, an emaciated creature stared blindly with huge, limpid eyes as the small human made its way into the darkness. It sniffed the air lustfully through slitted nostrils on its otherwise featureless face, almost drooling at the power that wafted through the dusty air. The creature waited a few moments before scampering down the pillar silently and following in the boys footsteps, clear in the dust.

As it crept forward, 20 or 30 metres behind and matching pace with the boy, it siphoned fears and memories from the child’s subconcious. As the non-descript creature learned, it changed. Soon it walked confidently after the boy on two human legs, mouth twisting in a smile that belonged on no human face.

 

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Fiction

The Institute for Advanced Hindsight

‘Institute for Advanced Hindsight’, the sign above the doorway read. As I stepped from the fading industrial zone into this nondescript building , I knew that my time here would be useful.

“Hello, sir,” said a bright and cheerful secretarial voice. ‘I see that you will enjoy your stay.”

I crinkled my brow a little, and looked around the room. The secretary sat off to one side, exactly how I expected her to look. And everything was just as I remembered it. But… I was so sure that this was the first time I had been here. Strange, I thought.

Dr. Abramov stepped through a door that may or may not have been there when I arrived. “How are you feeling, Sean? Comfortable?”

“well, if I had known how I would fit in here, I would have arrived long ago.”

He smiled a knowing smile. “Just so. Now, shall we skip to the end?”

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Fiction

Plains of the Purple Buffalo

With thanks to the amazing *shels for inspiration and soundtrack…

 

The train groaned and ground to a halt at the usual platform. Roger donned his usual hat, and stepped out of the carriage. An unusual sight greeted him.

The plains stretched out as far as the eye could see in every direction. Across this mostly featureless plain roamed gargantuan herds of purple buffalo. Between the slowly grazing beasts, strange homunculi hopped and jumped like bacon in a frying pan. Tangerine jellyfish schlooped and bobbed  in schools past his eyes, tendrils trailing behind them.

This certainly wasn’t his usual stop. Not the first time this had happened, either, he mused. Just last week, the train debunked him in some sort of marine research facility. Now this. He shook his head as if to clear it, kicked out at a curious plant tendril plant the was trying to grab his briefcase from him, and slumped himself down on a waiting bench. No matter, he thought. I can work from here until the next train comes. With another glance at the roaming herds, he took out his notebook and pen.

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