She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XLII)

Posted on March 10, 2014 by R. Richardsson

Disclaimer

The following is one of many installments for a story designed specifically for my blog. While it does step out of my usual genre, there are some things still not suitable for a younger audience. Violent/Graphic descriptions, strong language and sexual situations may be found through different sections. Each entry will tell a small portion of the story during different times and may not directly follow the one prior to it.

This story follows the direct interactions, as well as the deteriorating thoughts of a young man who is struggling not only with the relationships he has with those around him, but with the relationship he has with himself as well.

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author. Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts and webseries!

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The shed was quiet for the next several minutes. He had nothing to say and Arnie seemed content to sit in silence, which was fine by him. He felt weak. He was hungry, and worse yet, he felt like he had to go to the bathroom. There was no telling what was going to happen in that department, considering the extent of damage to his insides.

He also knew that there wasn’t much time left. Even with the ‘other’ influencing its control over him, he was still nothing more than flesh and bone. He was beginning to feel the pain more acutely by the minute and it was only a matter of time before he wasn’t able to go on.

He thought about the project he had been working on in the den. Would it be enough? More importantly, would he be strong enough to wear it?

He thought again to the secret entrance his father had built to the den. It wasn’t anything fancy. It was nothing more than a short tunnel one had to crouch to get through, but it was stable enough that it had lasted all these years. While he hadn’t been through it recently, he was confident that it was still usable.

The tunnel itself was four-foot tall by three feet wide. There were supports placed every few feet, and the blandex ceiling kept the dirt from caving in. Two light bulbs had been strung along the middle of the ceiling, with a switch being at either end of the tunnel. Since he had stumbled across it, he had begun to use it as a place to hide things he didn’t want his mom or sister to find, such as his porn collection, fireworks, and various other things of value.

He slowly turned and regarded the nerd in the corner, who seemed to care so much for him but hadn’t said more than a dozen sentences to him over the years. Arnie sat exactly as he had when Scott had first come to, on an overturned bucket in the corner. He was holding the butcher knife between his right thumb and forefinger in offering, which only added one more strange thing about him to the list.

He didn’t say anything as Scott reached out and took it from him. He only continued to cautiously regard him as he tucked the knife between his belt and jeans, where it had been before he’d blacked out.

“Why are you so interested in me, Arnold? I’m just curious. I don’t think you’ve said more than two words to me since…”

His words trailed off in mid-sentence as he drifted back into his thoughts. There was something at the edge of his memory that flirted with him, teased him with some piece of truth he had long since forgotten. Was it something about him and Arnie? He shook his head to help clear the cobwebs inside, but it was no good. There was too much going on up there for him to focus on any one thought.

Arnie didn’t answer, he didn’t even move from where he sat on the bucket. He only continued to watch him with the same apathetic expression that had come over his face as of late. Something about the way he was acting scratched at the rage that was continuing to build inside of him and he turned his attention back to the crack in the door. Now wasn’t the time for a silly argument with someone he didn’t really give two shits about in the first place.

He pressed his face against the warm fibers of wood, positioning it so that he would be able to see as much as was possible from where he was. From outside the shed, the world was abuzz with life. He could hear the sounds of cars driving by. There were people talking somewhere in the distance, but they were far enough away that he couldn’t make out their words. A dog barked. Birds chirruped in the trees above and the occasional cricket brushed its legs together at it attempted to get the attention of another.

There didn’t seem to be anybody outside, at least as far as he could tell, and he didn’t waste another minute. It was time to go. He reached down with his right hand, flicked open the latch and slowly pushed open the door to the outside.

Look, You Just Can’t Make This Up

Posted on March 4, 2014 by R. Richardsson

The shining star of this week has been the completion of the book cover for my upcoming novel; J.R. van Helsing. I’m extremely pleased with the work of my artist, not that I haven’t been before, and am raring to spend some time away from my book to create a book trailer for it! For the last two days, I have been scouring the internet for royalty free goodies that will be a fit for what I have in mind.

Yes, this cover has been the shining star over a week that has had the worst luck my family has seen in quite some time.

You know how they say that bad things happen in threes, right? Yeah… We’re one shy of doubling that.

The first happened when my youngest boy was running through the house with a laundry basket over his head and he ran into one of our largest windows. No, he wasn’t hurt! Thank goodness! But he made very good use of that one second we took our eyes off of him. Quotes to replace it have been in the five hundred-dollar (plus) range.

The second happened that very same night. While washing the dishes from dinner, my oldest dropped a ceramic bowl into the sink, shattering it. Some of the smaller pieces fell into the garbage disposal, unbeknownst to her at the time, and whatever happened when it was next ran has assured that it will run no more. Another hundred dollars in repairs.

A couple of days later, while exiting my van upon returning home from work, I dropped my cell phone. Now… This isn’t anything I haven’t done before. I have it in a protective case to help prevent any damage! However, this time I won the lottery. It landed on the bottom right corner, and for some reason that physics has yet to explain, the screen exploded. Eight hundred-dollar phone, however, my protection plan will replace it. I’m still waiting on it to get to my local sales team. Yes, it’s good news, but my family depends upon me having this communication link.

Last night, as I was on my way home from work, my van became possessed by the spirit of Christine, and tried to defeat me by way of acceleration. For some inexplicable reason, my van began to slowly accelerate and it would not stop! My pedal was not stuck, nor was there anything keeping it down. My brakes still worked. Again, thank goodness, because it could have gotten very ugly, very fast! (No pun intended.)

Finally, and the most painful of this unholy quintuple, I came home to find my wife in tears. At some point between our room and the kitchen, her wedding ring decided that it was Harry Houdini in a past life, that is, if inanimate objects could be animate in a past life!

So. That happened.

I’m not usually the type of guy to air out his woes for the world to see, but this is something I had to get off of my chest. Somewhere along the way, one of us crossed the path of a black cat. We must have broken a mirror. Hell, I’m apt to believe that I’ve roused the ancient wrath of God for crying out loud!

Perhaps by saying it, letting others see this series of unfortunate events, I can break this chain of bad luck. Maybe my words will touch a reader who had been ‘touched’, (in a holy, good luck kind of way and not the creepy kind of way) and some of their good fortune will pay forward to us? Yeah I’m reaching, but a guy can dream, right?

I know there are others less fortunate than we. Some hail from broken homes, others battle with illnesses that no person should have to deal with. Would I give all of my woes for just one? I guess, no. In retrospect material things are just that. Broken or lost items can be fixed or replaced and we’ve had to go without a lot of things over the years, so what’s a few more?

I’m not the most religious man.

But you already knew that, right? Sure you do. I’m willing to bet that you’ve read some of my work by now?

As I was saying; I’m not the most religious man, but I suppose I should feel somewhat honored. They say that ‘He’ never puts more on a person’s shoulders than they can bear. Well, considering the cross we already carry, and now having these five vultures perched upon it, I’m led to believe that ‘He’ must think very highly of us.

Three Sixty-Five, or Thereabouts

Posted on March 4, 2014 by R. Richardsson

I’ve put some serious thought into whether or not I was going to write this post. I wondered if it really mattered in the grand scheme of things. I see these posts all the time and I feel like I should share how much I have grown since creating this blogsite, but I truly wonder. Have I grown? Has utilizing this form of media been beneficial?

I honestly can’t answer these questions myself. I won’t allow my ego to step far enough forward for it to happen. These are questions best left to my friends, my fans and the casual readers who return here from time to time. Rather than spend the next few lines smothering you with things like; “I’ve had so much fun over the last year,” or, “I never would have thought about how good this blog would be for my writing,” I’m going to do something a little different.

I want to thank you.

Thank you for reading my posts. Granted, it’s not very often I write in this form, I do appreciate that you listen when I’m speaking my mind.

Thank you for reading my stories. I’ve had quite a few positive comments on my writing, and have made some very special friends over the course of this journey. I’ve appreciated your insights, I appreciate the wisdom you share and when I’m not buried in deadlines with my books, I vow to spend more time reading your work as well.

Not that I don’t. I try to read the stories, blog posts, reviews, (etc.) each and every day! In the very least, I ‘like’ your work so that you know I stopped by! And, little do you know, I occasionally promote your more interesting pieces on my various social media platforms. >:) It’s just that the growing list of bloggers I follow has created a waterfall of posts for me to sort through each day, and sometimes I only have enough time to read through a dozen of them before having to move on to my next task.

I’ve grown quite the collection in this old burial grounds. I gain new mourners every week. Many of the empty plots have become filled with the stories I’ve resurrected and there are many more waiting for those to come. I may not always show my appreciation immediately, but I make my rounds. A good undertaker always does, doesn’t he? And though some of my plots are rough around the edges, so too do I find the time to clean them up from time to time.

By my count, there are now (as of this post) one hundred and two mourners who have visited or regularly visit. Some of you are quite lively! Others? Others have faded back into the lands of reality, leaving their own blogsites untended and overgrown. I’ve enjoyed meeting each and every one of you, and I look forward to meeting those who venture here in the future. While you may not like some of the creatures I bring to life in these lonely old plots, you can always count on something new to ‘popping’ up from Beneath The Headstone.