The Box (Part XX)

Posted on April 17, 2014 by R. Richardsson

From the shadows nearby, another set of eyes watched as the remains of the box crumbled through the hobbit’s fingers. Shards of the enchanted material clattered across the melted gold at his feet, while a clear viscous liquid oozed down from where the container had once been. Resting over the crack where his hands met was the eye of the Lich God, Necrodemus.

It was as one would expect an eye to be, a soft white orb with a long nerve trailing behind it. There was no coloring around the pupil. In fact, the pupil itself was narrowed very much like that of a venomous snake!

The cavern rumbled from the battle taking place on the opposite side, where the great red Wyrm and Sorcerer continued to battle the other’s wills. Even as the eye was freed from its prison, one of the two combatants was nearing the end of its life.

The watcher gasped as the eye began to levitate from the hands of the diminutive figure before him, so surprised was he that it still possessed any magic to do so. The nerve straightened like an arrow as the orb turned to face away from the hobbit, aiming for the empty ocular cavity.

What came next happened in a matter of seconds. The eye slammed into the skull of the hobbit, who in turn began to scream as his very soul became forever corrupted by the power of the long dead deity. His small head slammed backward, projecting the last display of pain and suffering he would ever feel unto the cold stone ceiling above.

Even as the little man shrieked, was he beginning to levitate slowly into the air. His clothes began to rot away from his skin, falling away in patches that in turn fell apart like ash when they hit the stone below. As the observer continued to watch, horrified, the pale skin of the hobbit became emaciated, withering inward until he was no longer recognizable as a male or female creature.

The sound of its screams became something inhuman, no longer reflecting anything even remotely like pain, but more akin to pure rage. A black oily smoke formed beneath its feet, swirling lazily around the mummified hobbit until it was covered with a robe born from the darkest pits of hell. The smoke rippled over the creature’s form, gradually smoothing into a material that to look at for too long was to become lost in its starless void.

It was then that the observer realized that the shrieking had ceased. He looked upward, seeking the facial features of the reconstituted Lich and was shocked to see that it was staring down at him.

“Ahh,” it sighed with gusto. “You have no idea how long I have waited for this moment.”

The Lich had been facing the battle when it began to rise from the ground so only its head was turned toward him. The eye that was once confined to a magical prison focused on him while the other darted about madly in its socket. To the observer, it seemed that all which was left of Joeshan was imprisoned inside.

“It’s been too long since last we met, drow. I have been thinking about you for an eternity!”

The observer, having been identified by the evil creature before him, stepped into light reflected from the battle between man and dragon. His features were elfin, but his skin bore the color most commonly attributed to his people. He wore clothing from the surface, bright and vibrant forest colors that complemented the color of his eyes. A bandolier was slung from his left shoulder to his right hip, from which hung a small hand crossbow and several bolts. Two longswords were sheathed from his waist, on a belt from which several small pouches were also fastened. The pommel of one was encrusted with a black diamond, while the other a deep magenta.

“Indeed,” the drow answered softly. “As have I.” He hooked his thumbs into his belt and tilted his right knee slightly outward, striking a neutral pose as he contemplated what to do next.

Thus ends the story of the adventurers three. Each came searching for The Box with motives hidden from the other, and it was their hidden agendas that brought them down. We have reached the end of one story, but we find ourselves at the beginning of another.

Who will prevail in the battle between dragon and man? Who is this mysterious drow and what is his relationship with the Lich God? And, with Joeshan seemingly imprisoned in his remaining eye, is there a chance that he will ever be rescued?

These are all good questions, but I’m afraid that’s an entirely different story.

~ END ~

Trespasser (Part I)

Posted on April 11, 2014 by R. Richardsson

Most days, Bryer street was full of activity. Children were playing in their yards, throwing their Frisbee or yelling “Ollie All in Free” as they chased one another from one hiding place to the next. Men pulled their cars out into the driveway and crawled under the hoods while the women hung laundry on clotheslines out back.

There were fourteen families along Bryer street. Five of their odd numbered homes stood solemnly across from their even numbered counterparts, while the remaining four filled out the cul-de-sac at the end. Each was built from the exact design as the other, with the only difference being the cosmetic differences that each owner had applied over the years. Where some had simply repainted their wood siding, others had replaced it entirely.

Some families proudly displayed the flag of their favorite home team on the front of the home. At the very back of the cul-de-sac, one home had gone so far as to design the entire color scheme of their structure to that of their favorite team! It was the only house of its kind, dark red with gold paint on the trim, and each year they placed life-sized plastic statues of the team’s players along each side of the driveway.

Everyone knew the names of their neighbors in the Bryer Street community. They had lived together for no less than a decade and congregated regularly at barbecues, block parties, or other themed events. Each year, the men met at a different house to watch the Superbowl, while the women retreated poolside and shared the latest gossip.

The families were tight knit and on most days they were full of activity. But then, today wasn’t like most days. Today, every family was nestled comfortably in their homes, watching television, reading books, or doing whatever it was that they do whenever the weather turned foul. Outside, the rain drummed on the hoods of their cars. It filled their gutters to capacity and the storm drains struggled to swallow the deluge.

The hours stretched into an endless eternity, or so it seemed to the pale faces peering out from the windows of their homes, and it felt like the day couldn’t get any worse. They watched helplessly as the waters flooded their gardens. The soil had long since become saturated and the sprouts were slowly drowning beneath the weight of the uncaring waters. Phones rang as they called one another. Some to comment on the severity of the storm, others just to hear the sound of their friend’s voice.

Nobody thought that it would last this long. Not a one of them thought it could get much worse.

It happened as the evening approached. The rains had lessened enough so as to allow the waters to seep into sewers which had long since filled beyond their capacity. Some of the families were either finishing dinner, while others were drying the evening dishes or getting ready for bed. The only constant was that every family had finally accepted the storm for what it was. You might even say that they had grown complacent with it.

At the house nearest the beginning of the street, Sammy Dryden was resting in his rocking chair, enjoying the fresh scent of rain. A retired widower, Sammy was the oldest of Bryer Street’s inhabitants. As he was wont to do, he spent his days on the front porch whittling various creatures to life from whatever material he could get his hands on. Tonight, he was patiently pulling the graceful form of a ballerina from a small piece of Basswood he had found while walking along the sidewalk in front of the Duncon’s residence.

His hands shook as he worked, but he pressed on with the patience of a predator carefully gauging its prey. And, as the ballerina continued to appear from the labors of his skilled touch, he reflected upon a time when he was much more agile.

It was a pose common to his neighbors, all of whom spoke fondly of the Old Man Sammy and his Wooden Figurines. Even beneath the quiver of age and deteriorating health, his hands continued to create the most beautiful creatures ever seen by the eyes of his friends.

He hunched forward as he worked, his elbows resting just behind his knees. It wasn’t the most comfortable posture for him, but he wouldn’t think of it until she danced free of her wooden prison. For now, he only watched as the wood shavings fell away with each stroke of his knife.

A Glimpse into an Upcoming Story

Posted on April 4, 2014 by R. Richardsson

The following is a look into a short story from my next book; The Darkness Defines Us, a collection of horror stories I am releasing late summer. This story follows the protagonist as she wakens to a nightmare that only continues to worsen with each passing minute.

She opened her eyes and looked fearfully about the room. It was a small sound that had awakened her, so soft that had she not been a light sleeper, she might have missed it. Constellations spun across the ceiling, random images that weren’t in their actual positions according any known star chart, projected by a small box sitting on her dresser.

She yawned sleepily and brought her tiny fists to her eyes, rubbing them vigorously for several minutes in an attempt to chase away the lethargy.

“Mommy?”

Though she called out softly, she was surprised to receive no answer. Her mother’s room was across the hall from her’s and their doors were never closed. Whenever she couldn’t sleep, she could usually count on her mother to comfort her after her first cry.

Curiosity got the better of her and she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and hopped down to the floor, wincing when they were instantly chilled by the cold wood beneath them. Pausing only to grab her blankie, she clutched it against her chest and quickly closed the distance between herself and the door.

From somewhere downstairs, an explosion of glass broke the silence. She stepped away from the door, frightened by the sudden noise below. Her body trembled in fear as she listened to something she had never heard in her home before.

Her nose crinkled in disgust as she caught scent of something foul in the air and she gingerly pinched it closed with one hand.

“Eww,” she moaned. Moments later, another voice answered.

“…mmm…”

It was a man’s voice, but it was deep and guttural. It was one she didn’t recognize. Her eyes grew wide as the realization dawned upon her that there was a stranger in the house. She darted across the hallway and into her mother’s room, not knowing the danger that waited for her inside. There was no reason for her to expect anything other than for there to be the one person she could trust, inside, and it was her innocence that prevented her from sensing otherwise.

The room was darker than she was used to. Her mommy had forgotten to turn the light on in her closet so that she could find her way, if she needed to, and she froze just before entering the darkness inside. There was something warm and sticky beneath her feet, and the foul smell she detected in the hall seemed to be everywhere. It reminded her of the time that mommy had found something rotten in the back of the fridge, something that had once been a chicken enchilada mix. There was another smell as well, one that reminded her of her Grampy’s basement, the one with the dirt floor.

“Mommy,” she whispered.

But again, she didn’t answer. What’s more, what she did hear only added to her confusion. It was a wet smacking sound, very similar to how Grammy sounded when she took her teeth out to eat.

But, that couldn’t be right? Grampy and Grammy lived far, far away!

She jumped as whoever was eating in the darkness bit into something extremely crunchy. She felt a fresh wave of warm liquid running between her toes, thick and sticky against her skin. The eater grunted out of contention as it bit into something that crunched like an apple, then chewed noisily on whatever it was feasting on.

She began to cry. She couldn’t understand why her mommy didn’t answer her. The smell was more than she could bear, and what on earth was she eating? She turned, wanting nothing more than to flee to the safety of her bed, only then to be blinded by a bright beam of a flashlight.

“Holy shit,” a male voice said from behind the beaming light. It hurt her eyes and she squinted them so tightly until she was only looking through a narrow slit. A hand reached toward her. It was nearly as large as her head and was worn from hard work, though she couldn’t know that. To her young eyes, they only looked very strong.

“C-come here now, little girl. It’s alright,” he assured her.

She placed her little hand into his, stepping back into the hall as he gently guided her out of her mommy’s room.

“Have you been bitten,” he asked nervously.

What an odd question for someone to ask? Of course she hadn’t been bitten! She giggled as she shook her head quickly from side to side. The man wasn’t content to trust her words, however, and he roughly turned her about as he inspected her with his light. Try as she might, she still couldn’t see him very clearly. He was only a large shape in the darkness.

“Ow,” she complained when he was too rough.

“Hush,” he commanded. “You don’t want that thing in there deciding that it wants something new to nibble on, do you?”

Again she shook her head in denial, but this time he seemed happy to accept her answer.

“Good. Is this your room,” he asked as he shined the light on her door.

“Y-yes,” she answered.

“Stay here,” he said. “I just need to get you a couple of things before we go.”

She felt panic beginning to rise inside of her. Go? Where was this stranger man going to take her? Who was he for that matter? Why was he in their house?

The questions flooded her frightened mind faster than she could even begin to answer them and she trembled uncontrollably. She could hear him going through her drawers, but at the same time, she could also hear the eater in her mother’s room behind her. With her feet no longer in the viscous liquid, they was quickly becoming dry and crusty. Her toes were sticking together, a feeling that was as unpleasant as it sounded.

The man reappeared in the hall with a small bundle under his arm and for the first time she was able to get a look at him. He was wearing dark clothing. The shirt and pants looked very much like a policeman’s but she didn’t see a badge on the front. She also saw several pouches on his belt, but it was only a brief glimpse.

“Are you a policeman,” she asked.

“Uh, yeah,” he answered. “Sure. Now, I need you to come with me. It’s, um, not safe here anymore.”

He started to lead her toward the staircase leading to the first floor, but she couldn’t leave. Not without the one person she trusted more than anyone else.

“But, mister,” she protested.

“What,” he grunted in response.

“Have you seen my mommy?”