Echoes from the Crypt

Posted on June 10, 2015 by R. Richardsson

Have you seen my skulls?

They are so white and pretty.

Some still have all their teeth!

Others do not.

Others are missing their jawbones.

Others, still, are broken remnants.

Do they seem familiar to you?

They should!

I have written about some of them from time to time!

I wonder who has removed them from their plots?

Hmm. An intriguing question.

Maybe one should remember to return the objects they borrow,

lest they become a part of my collection themselves.

Mm?

They do not smell, my skulls.

The flesh has long since been cleaned from them.

And yet they are home to darker things than worms and maggots.

They hold secrets in them, you see?

My precious, beautiful skulls!

Some are willing to share their stories with you.

While others, they are tough nuts to crack.

Get it? Nuts? Crack?!

HA!

Go ahead my dears.

Take from my pile of bone, something that calls out to you.

You might be surprised at what you find!

Or, perhaps you’ll run screaming in terror!

Alas, poor Readers! I knew them, fellows of infinite

jest, of most excellent fancy. They hath bore me on their backs a

thousand times, and now how abhorr’d in my imagination it is!

My gorge rises at it.

Have you seen my skulls?

Some are clean, new.

They have had quite the attention as of late.

Your hands have wiped away the dust,

exposing them for all to see.

Others, they remain covered in dust.

Forgotten in the corners of my crypt

and staring accusingly at those who pass them by.

It is not my intention to be fulsome, but I must confess

that I covet your skull.

Trespasser (Part XVII)

Posted on June 9, 2015 by R. Richardsson

Time passes quickly, down on Bryer Street. This is especially true for the men who lived in the neighborhood. Most of them, like John, worked hard to make a living. They were gone at the crack of dawn, and often times they stumbled wearily to bed long after the sun had set.

The women, for most of them didn’t work outside of their home, were always busy keeping their houses up. So it wasn’t unusual if they didn’t notice some of the details around them. Most didn’t think twice about something being out-of-place. More than likely, another member of their family moved it while going about their daily affairs.

There was a time when the neighborhood had a way of taking care of any problems that might arise, but those days were long since gone. Bryer Street, in the absence of its longtime protector, had slowly grown into something ordinary. And, even though the residents often gathered together from time to time, each secretly felt that they were growing further apart.

For one, this feeling hurt more than any of the others realized.

It was later in the morning, on the same day that Vanessa would awaken to thoughts of her father’s late night visit, that another of the street’s residents would be entertaining thoughts of his own. Unlike the little girl next door, he knew exactly what had been stolen from him.

On this particular morning, he sat in the rocking chair on his front porch, slowly rocking in the comfort of the morning shadows, and looking at a small object he had placed on the railing before him. It was the only thing left from a day when he could sit in this very spot and happily idle the hours away.

“You’d be turning in yer damn grave,” he mumbled in its direction, as if to speak to the person who’d carved it for him. He groaned in pain as various parts of his body reminded him of his age, not that he needed reminding. “Best to not daydream my day away,” he continued, this time to himself. “I”ve got important things that need a-doin’.”

Davie leaned forward and took hold of the railing with both hands, using it to stop his movements just as much as he was using it to pull himself up, and he paused only to look at the house at the end of the street. The lights were off, not that he could have been able to tell through the morning glare, and the owner’s car was gone.

“Keesha,” he hollered over his shoulder. “I think I’m a-goin’ for a little walk.”

She didn’t answer, nor did he expect her to. She was still feeling a little under the weather and would likely sleep until lunch time. That suited him just fine, because if she knew what he was up to, she’d probably brain him with a rolling-pin.

He chuckled as he took one last look at the figurine on the railing, then nodded his head slowly, as if to confirm that he was doing the right thing.

“It’s what you would have done, my old friend,” he whispered.

A few minutes later, he was slowly making his way toward the end of the street.

The Morelli Bros. (Chapter II, Part I)

Posted on June 3, 2015 by R. Richardsson

Not too far from where the embattled plumbers were making their stand, entrenched behind the many crates needed to supply his army, was the first of many forts established by the mighty King Koopa. It was small, no more than four walls and a crenulated roof, but for what it was being used, it was completely functional.

Many strange creatures surrounded the structure, nothing like anything either of the plumbers, or the denizens of this world, had ever seen. They poured from the mouth of a green pipe, one that was very similar to that which the brothers had earlier passed through, except that this had two openings.

The first, which was parallel to the ground, belched out a continuous stream of small reptilian creatures. Only slightly larger than the Goombas which they were sharing ground with, they walked slowly on four cleft hooves. Their skins bore earthy tones varying in degree from muddy brown, to algae green, and they were covered in fine scales. Upon their backs, they wore a bone like shell for protection. As is a turtle’s, the shell’s exterior appeared to be divided into several small plates. The shape of the plates, much like the creature’s color, also varied in size and in shape. Some were rounded squares, while with others, the number of edges were anywhere between five and eight.

Their skin slowly oozed a pale green liquid, some more than others, suggesting it to be their body’s mechanism for keeping cool. From their almond-shaped eyes ran a thick colorless mucus which gave off a strong, foul odor. Flies surrounded the heads of some, happily drinking from the stinky nectar.

As they stepped onto soft ground for the first time, most fell immediately to all fours, advancing menacingly upon the foreign land as if they intended to trample it out of existence. Others rose upon their hind legs, pausing only to gather a helmet and weapon from a nearby crate. Unlike those that walked on all fours, these more advanced soldiers of the Koopa army wore less bulky shells on their back. Their legs were also more muscular, and at the end of their arms were three short fingers.

The second exit from the pipe spat smaller creatures into the air. Some were miniature versions of the soldier Koopas, only they had no shell on their back at all. These creatures burst into the air riding on what first appeared to be small, white clouds, over which they glared with thickly bespeckled eyes. Closer inspection, from any who dared, proved this a fatal misconception.

They rode on a rare breed of six winged Snow Moth, creatures that were bred to extinction in the wild, now existing only in mindless servitude to their masters. Once known as the Faerie Moth, these creatures derived their new name from the thick white powder they emitted while in flight. Not only does this protect their delicate bodies from the wear of their rider, but it also camouflaged them within the guise of a cloud.

Standing just inside the door to the fort, their leader watched his coming army through furrowed brow. Unlike his soldier cousins, he towered over those around him. Where the Koopa army resembled a more advanced form of turtle, he was the bastard child of dinosaur. He stood on thick, heavily muscled legs that complimented the rest of his similarly built frame. Unlike the soldiers, a long tail protruded from beneath his shell, which also differed in that sharp spikes jutted from it in all directions. His scales are the color of coal, a darkness interrupted only by a white war stripe painted from the crown of his head, to just beneath his waist.

“My Lord Morton, sir? We have prepared the girl as you have ordered, sir.”

He slowly turned and regarded this world’s poor excuse for intelligent life with a deep sense of disdain. The creature stood barely over two and a half feet in height and wore very little on its body to cover its flabby shame. Brown leather wraps covered its feet, which, he had to admit, had its practical use. Unlike his soldiers, this creature could move with great speed when it wanted to! Covering its genitals was a white cloth that for the life of him, he knew not how it stayed clean. A light blue vest hung loosely around its middle, and on its head was a red and white spotted mushroom cap.

“Very well, Toad,” he breathed in exasperation. “Be sure she’s ready for our King when he arrives.”

“Yes My Lord. As you wish, my Lord.”

As Toad vanished once more into the fort’s interior, he turned to watch as his army continued to grow.