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Cyhyraeth’s Promise.

14 Sunday Sep 2014

Posted by in Horror, Science Fiction, Short Stories

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Okay, this week’s Team Challenge was ‘Faeries in Space’ in a maximum of 1500 words. Yes, you did read that correctly… I’m still thinking ‘WHAT’? Anyhow, I took huge liberties with my Welsh heritage and mixed my myths, but here it is. Word Count : 1,447

Cyhyraeth folded the black fabric of her cape around her, and bones protruded from her silhouette like knotted wood covered in tar. Shifting her shoulders hurt where the gnarled stumps of what once supported magnificent wings still ached. “You severed feather and muscle with Arthur’s sword, Auralis.” The yellowed pegs of her teeth gleamed like ivory. “I have kept my promise. This Captain Coraniaid is the last of your descendants.”

Druid Mother Gwiddonod could not return the rainbowed quiver of lustrous feathers to her, but the vision she burned into Cyhyraeth’s anguished brain homed in on Auralis’ blood-line like a magnet to steel. None had escaped in the two thousand years of her hunt. Now, in the year 2303, mankind’s hunger for conquering other worlds had given rise to effortless space flight. The mist-like particles of Cyhyraeth’s spirit drifted through the fleet of moored vessels, finally thickening to imitate flesh and bone when she stood upon the star-craft with ‘VANQUISH’ etched into her hull. The end of her quest was in sight.

Cyhyraeth melted into the deepest shadow of the cargo hold. A layer of ice formed on the steel canisters as the ship warped out of Earth’s atmosphere. Cyhyraeth was accustomed to weightlessness. The filaments of her bones glowed, and, like wisps of ash dance above a bonfire, she drifted slowly from the deck, her cloak billowing in an oil-black cloud. The dry parchment of her skin radiated a golden glow as she closed her eyes and centered her powers on the orb of fire raging in her chest.

The fiery illumination lifted the pitch black of the cargo hold to a vista of shimmering orange light. Opening her eyes, Cyhyraeth scanned the rows of steel crates, locating the few which appeared white-hot where the flicker of her life force reflected back at her. The cowled hood floated away from her skull, and thin lifeless hair clustered over her head in a tangle of silvered strands.

The three crates she stared at vibrated gently. The grey hue of the polished steel faded until the walls of each container resembled glacial ice. Fireflies danced inside their confines, each one a delicate faerie framed by wings which created a haze of movement at their backs.

“There you are, my Ysbrydnos.” Cyhyraeth’s eyes glowed with anticipation. “My kindred souls, soon we will be one.”

As the spaceship hit maximum propulsion, even without seeing them, Cyhyraeth felt the gravitational pull of the stars dragging through space, the streaks of light painting colored stripes across her vision.

“Captain, to the Bridge, entering Docking Station Seta jurisdiction in three minutes and twelve seconds,” an emotionless voice intoned, the sound echoing around the cargo hold.

Docking station? A blaze of white light flooded from Cyhyraeth’s grinning mouth. You no longer have three minutes, Coraniaid. Whipping her body around, the black garb becoming a black tornado, the walls, deck, and bulkhead doors rattled as though a demon’s anger tore at their fibers. The whole ship shuddered and a blood red strobe of an emergency light burst into life. The laser-like beam whipped around the space, staining the walls in crimson rays. The blaring klaxon pulsed in the air, punctuated by the bored automated declaration. “Containment breech in cargo hold D4. All hands to general quarters.

” Cyhyraeth came to rest, the golden orb inside her flaring into a halo of light. Beneath the black cowl, the flesh on her wizened features flushed with rose-tinted blush, and her lead filled gaze gleamed with splinters of sapphire. Her smile illuminated pretty to beauteous.

The pounding of boots on metal walkways rang through the bulkhead partitions. The cargo compartment door hissed as the pressure in the hold equalized before the hatch swung open. Six uniformed men entered, each one armed with a plasma rifle raised to shoulder height, the lens of a retina synchronized data processor covering one eye.

The final soldier through the door tapped on his cochlea communicator and said, “Terminate alarm system in cargo hold D4.” The sudden silence stunned the humans. The red light ceased rotating and spotlights mimicking natural sunlight flooded the room.

A movement behind a steel crate caught Captain Coraniaid’s eye. The plasma rifle hummed as he lifted the barrel and primed the chamber. “Raise your hands and step forward slowly.”

Cyhyraeth took three graceful steps into the light, her silken cloak clinging to a body of enticing curves, her high breasts barely contained beneath the scooped neckline of a shimmering silver gown.

Coraniaid swallowed loudly.

Cyhyraeth drifted forward, the six men parting to make way, as though the force of her presence drove them back.

Staring into the electric blue glint of her sapphire eyes, Coraniaid muttered, “Do not come any closer. Halt.”

The shimmering silver fabric coated her skin like paint as Cyhyraeth paused mid-step. “As my Lord wishes.” Her attention dropped to the captain’s waist and she froze. “My Lord, your sword… it bears the mark of Arthur Pendragon.”

Coraniaid’s hand instinctively reached down to fold around the hilt. “How do you know of my ancestors. Who are you?”

“I am a maiden searching for you, My Lord.”

Falling back a step, Coraniaid called out, “Myrddin.”

A soldier whose dark gaze smoldered with the burden many hundreds of years experience moved to stand beside Coraniaid.

“Myrddin, look into her soul.”

“Ah, Merlin, we meet again,” Cyhyraeth said, shaking her head.

Myrddin extended a clawed hand, drawing a bolt of lightning from Cyhyraeth’s exhilarated gaze. “You know my ancient name.” His throat began to rattle as though his mouth filled with gravel.

Cyhyraeth’s burst of laughter cascaded like shattered glass. The three metal crates lined up along the wall creaked, a rushing sound inside them becoming louder until the group of soldiers looked along the row, their weapons cocked and trailing the path of their eyes.

The fluttering, beating noise grew louder.

For a moment, as Myrddin dropped suddenly to his knees, Cyhyraeth’s eyes dimmed with sadness. “Gwiddonod has spoken. This new world does not need my faerie kin. Their spirits grow dim, fading, the further from our Mother Earth you take them.”

Coraniaid nodded, casting a troubled glance down at Myrddin’s hunched figure, his cramped features bone white. “Then, I will release them.”

Cyhyraeth grinned, taking a step closer to the captain. Her hand settled on his chest.

Myrddin choked, reaching out and gripping the fabric of Coraniaid’s pants. His voice grated in his dry throat. “No, don’t let her touch…”

Cyhyraeth’s soft body radiated an enticing glow as she pressed her it to Coraniaid and kissed him. A blast of white light filled his mouth, his cheeks glowing fiery red as the blood capillaries in his face collapsed and bled into his skin. Crimson billowed into the whites of his eyes, gradually staining them ruby red. His throat shriveled as Cyhyraeth’s cold breath stiffened the tissue, laying ice down into his chest.

As she sucked the life force from him, the hacked stumps of her wings twitched, the fabric of her cloak tore and ebony wings, glistening with blue-edged feathers reared up behind her, casting a chilling shadow as they spread to their eight foot span.

The steel panels of the three crates buckled and fractured, releasing the rainbow colored cloud of Cyhyraeth’s faerie kin.

Releasing her grip, letting Coraniaid’s cold body drop to the deck, Cyhyraeth’s rose gracefully into the air. The klaxon shrieked once more, and the red light bathed her ghoulish smile. She punched her way through the metal skin of the cargo hold, through the hull and was swallowed by the diamond littered expanse of deep-space.

The glittering dust cloud of her faerie kin followed swiftly in her wake.

The soldiers pressed oxygen masks to their panicked faces and dragged Myrddin, and Coraniaid’s dead body, through the door and into the air-lock. The last soldier through slammed his gloved hand on the button which sealed the inner door.

Resting for only a moment, Myrddin struggled to his feet.

“What do we do now?” the stocky sergeant asked.

“We wait until she has gone.” Turning on his heel, Myrddin’s footsteps echoed on the steel floor plates lining the vessel’s corridors. Descending in an elevator which dropped so fast it slammed his stomach up into his diaphragm, he was striding out of the elevator before the doors had fully disengaged.

Pressing his palm to a bio scanner, Myrddin entered a room lined with opaque white pods. One pod glowed, with the shadowed mass at its centre indicating it was occupied. Stopping beside it Myrddin swept a hand over the glass panel on the top, clearing away the condensed moisture, and peered inside. Cloning his master had seemed like a journey into madness, but now, he was glad he had agreed.

“Coraniaid, you were right. She came for you. Sleep now, until we reach the Vespasian Star System. Then you should be safe.”

Haunted Hospital

05 Tuesday Aug 2014

Posted by in Short Stories

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This story was a Halloween prose prompt challenge in Writer’s Carnival.

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I awoke to darkness, but I wasn’t scared. It had been dark here, now, for as long as I could remember. I had chosen ward B, hospital bed number 136, as mine the day I took up residence. I survived consumption, and although the cough still bothered me, there was no blood. So, things must be okay.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I let them sway, stirring the layers of cotton skirts against my ankles. I never undressed for bed. It hadn’t occurred to me to do so for a few years now, but I didn’t seem to smell.

The unlit ward was gloomy, but the gaps in the wooden boards nailed over the windows letting in slices of light to cut across the floor told me it was dawn.

I laced up my sensible shoes. They were the last gift from the goodwill before my mother had died, here, in this very bed, in fact, and left me to succumb to the grips of tuberculosis.

I wished I, too, had died. Being an orphan in hiding turned out to be a lonely place.

The delivery man would be along soon. I only saw him once a week, and exchanging those few words became the highlight of my existence. His liveried van had seen better days, and I would hear it laboring up the long overgrown driveway to the huge gray building long before I could see it.

I never knew which entrance he would choose, so I couldn’t let him in. I usually waited in the white-washed, cobweb adorned reception area for him to appear. His suspenders creaked as he walked and his face, beneath his cloth cap, always broke into a smile, although, I could tell he felt sorry for me.

‘Get some sunshine on ya skin, lass,’ was his favored farewell as he loaded my arms up with cheese wrapped in muslin, a loaf of soda bread, and, joy of joys, a slab of fruit cake.

I threw away most of the food, more often than not. My anticipation of eating always outshone the experience. I would eat, and still feel hollow inside.

Sunshine, too, was a pleasant thought, but the reality was feeling only the biting cold of the wind which drove me back inside the hospital as dread cramped every muscle.

I checked my watch, and chuckled. The hands always said it was 3 o’clock, but the habit of looking remained hard to break. I just knew he’d be here soon, and I scuttled along the waxed floor, disturbing the carpet of talcum-powder fine dust into a misted dry ice effect.

On the ground floor, more light bled in between the rotting boards nailed over the windows. Some were damaged where kids had broken in over the years. And while it was not at all romantic to my mind, petrified girls were inclined to cling to sweaty boys, and one thing always seemed to lead to another.

Sound carried in the cavernous carcass of the hospital and my imagination provided the rest. I laughed, a coughing fit racked my body, and I sank to the floor.

What was that? Voices drifted in, riding on the motes of dust dancing in funnels of sunshine. Footsteps outside. I pressed my hands over my face. It was a long time since I had seen any ghosts. I thought they had moved on.

Their garb became more confusing with every sighting. The last ones had brought with them a weird contraption which filled the wards with lightning bolts, but there was no thunder.

Then there were the ones who came and sat in huddles with things covering their ears as though noise hurt them. They stared at green screens and whispered, and I was sure they had escaped from the insane asylum five miles down the road.

I hung onto the hope it was George, the delivery guy, but he didn’t talk much, so I knew I was wrong.

The front door creaked as the handle turned, and I dived out of sight. It was too late to go back upstairs. I found myself inside the office where filing cabinets lined the walls.

During moments of boredom,I had read every file contained within, and knew the fate of the rest of those who once lived in my village. My own file remained incomplete. I had sunk into a fever induced coma and no one had seen fit to record what happened after that.

The breeze gusting around my bare ankles told me they had gotten in. I took refuge under the large mahogany desk.  Folding my bony body into the space meant for the chair, I held my breath and waited.

The door handle rattled, and chains clinked menacingly. Perhaps these, too, were asylum inmates.

Lost souls seemed to always end up here.

“The door’s locked,” a female voice whispered.

The clinking chain noise scraped, grinding against the door, and then, slowly, it opened.

I fitted the image to the sounds as the rusted hinges creaked.

“Bingo,” whispered a male.

“Why are you whispering?” A man’s voice, thicker and older filled the room and I put my hands over my ears.

What do they want… not me? Please, not me. I’m not ready to die.

The girl laughed, a nervous tinkling sound which danced up and down my spine.

I peered out of my hiding space and saw three pairs of feet. Two sets were wearing weird, garishly decorated shoes. My mother said shoes only came in black or tan… I suddenly felt cheated. These had the silhouettes of two girls sitting back to back on the heel, and were white and silver.

The loud man had black shoes with laces, like my father used to wear. I missed my father.

Curiosity got the better of me. Does this man have whiskers like my father, too.

I crawled forward until I could see the ghosts. They were staring at the photographs on the wall. Doctors and nurses ranged in rows across the sepia prints, standing to attention with stiff smiles on their faces.

The patients not in comas were positioned in the foreground, sitting in bath chairs or on crutches. My mother was there, and my father. The glass covering their faces was clean where my fingers had rubbed over it a thousand times, as though I could absorb their memory.

The girl leaned closer and gasped.

What have they seen?

“There,” she hissed.

The young male nudged her aside, staring too. “You’re right…”

What?!

My curiosity burned like embers inside. It was a long time since I had felt warm. I edged forward, suddenly not caring if they saw me.

The girl abruptly rubbed her arms and made a ‘brrrrr’ sound. Startled, I stepped back as she swung around, walked towards me, and then she was gone.

From behind, I heard her hushed voice. “She is here. Amy is here. I felt her.”

I turned and absorbed the expression of wonder on a face which looked remarkably like mine when I was healthy, and she looked straight through me.

Amy?  My name is Amy…

Joy Slips Away

16 Wednesday Jul 2014

Posted by in Poetry

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A chilled breath settling on my shoulders
unease drifting through my heart
and the shadow dimming my delight
a bruising thumbprint on my soul

My joy slipping away in silence
seeping through the aching cracks
as vibrance fades to the barest thrum
of a damaged heart that breaks

Silent reaper wields a gentle hand
where his touch is sure and soft
laying darkest shadow in his wake
with a whispered dark caress

As much as I yearn to hold on fast
though my heart’s an arid husk
beneath the weight of my foreboding
I surrender, because I must

Breathing Life.

25 Wednesday Jun 2014

Posted by in Poetry

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Personal prompt challenge from Doug Langille on Writer’s Carnival: Write a flash fiction piece or a poem, and you MUST include the words: simulation, stimulation, fibrillation

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A monster is born, blue veined pallid skin,

gel covers the sutures that bind him tight.

Electricity arcs, strobes, lightning blind,

banish death in simulation of life.

 

A stimulation of an empty soul,

the doctor striving to prove God is wrong.

Staring to starlit skies, he shouts out loud,

“Smite my monster so that he can be born.”

 

The arcing, ionizing, crackle breathes

a fibrillation of flesh, too long dried.

Frankenstein, face tight with triumph aglow

seeing sinews twitch, swells with parent’s pride.

Flash Fiction : At The End of The Day

22 Sunday Jun 2014

Posted by in Flash Fiction, Horror

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In light of it being Friday the 13th AND a full moon, and the fact that it won’t happen again until 2049, Writers Carnival celebrated by throwing a midnight challenge to post a SCARY story using NO MORE than 750 words.

*WARNING : ELEMENTS OF HORROR – but this is ‘scary pants’, Friday 13th BADGE entry!* (Word count 590)

The desk lamp cast a pool of light over the black laquered surface of the desk. The nape of my neck prickled and, slowly turning my chair on its spindle, I gazed out over the muted city lights. Shit, it’s late. Pink blood-like streaks stretched across the dark grey canvas of an evening sky.

Leaning back and clasping my hands behind my head, I eased out my neck muscles, frowning at the tightness which pulled them back into knots. With a sudden explosion of movement, I stood up. Yanking my jacket from the back of my chair, without tidying away the spread of papers scattered over the desk, I headed for the door.

As I left the office, I scanned the open plan workspace beyond, relieved to find there were only two halos of lemon light glowing above the partitions of distant cubicles. Okay, I can get out of here. I walked carefully out to the deserted reception area, the measured stride of my footfalls echoing on the solid wood floor. A rush of heat made me sweat, and, running my finger around the inside of my collar, I cursed under my breath because it was tighter than it had been this morning.

The thin cotton of my shirt felt like sandpaper against my skin. I shifted my shoulders, grumbling gently as I stopped at the elevator.

With the side of a clenched fist, I hit the call button. The boldprint black ‘G’ became ghost grey as the safety glass fractured. I closed my eyes, listening to the whine and swish of the straining cables which, on a normal day, I could not hear, and began chanting. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.

A musical chiming sound announced the arrival of the elevator, and I snapped my eyes open once more. For a moment, I stared into blood red eyes shining back at me from the mirror finish of the polished steel doors.

Glancing quickly over my shoulder as the elevator doors parted with a sigh, I strode swiftly forward into the brushed steel box. Letting my jacket drop onto the plush ruby red carpet at my feet, I leaned against the back wall, my unsheathed claws scraping over the metal panel. The doors swished as they began to close, smoothly narrowing the gap.

“Wait.”

Jerking into movement, I reached for the button displaying the ‘door close’ symbol, my lip folding back on my distorted features, a muzzle unleashing a rumbling growl.

A manicured hand slipped between the doors. “Wait. Please.”

I recognised the red nail varnish. I backed away. “Catch the next one, Kate.”

Her arm pushed into the car first, swiftly followed by a sidestepping body dressed in a cream silk blouse and tight black skirt.

“Pheww, that was close. Jason, why didn’t you hold the…”

She turned to look at me, the blond curtain of her hair swinging back. Her features froze in sudden terror and she jolted back against the sealed elevator door.

I killed the scream in her throat as my canines punctured her windpipe. My arms closed around her, holding her close in a macabre dance as her blood flowed down between our clamped bodies. When her flesh was cold, I lifted my chin and howled at the full-moon, which I felt like the burn of ash stroking over my skin, even though I could not see it. A tear lay a damp trail over the fur covering my cheek as the human mind trapped inside me screamed.

Flash Fiction: Morrigan’s Curse.

08 Sunday Jun 2014

Posted by in Flash Fiction

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Morrigan’s Curse is my first attempt at ‘fantasy’ genre fiction.

The prompt demanded I use the words : stagger, lake trout, conflict, success. Maximum word count : 500. This came in at 496.

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The Swordlord staggered up the bank, his grip on the hilt of his weapon turning his knuckles white. The wet leather tunic pulled tight across his muscular shoulders as he gasped for breath. Reaching for the support of a nearby tree, he twisted around.

Pushing wet hanks of hair back from his face, ignoring the water running down over his cramped features, his gray gaze scanned the water’s surface where the sun scattered a carpet of glittering diamonds.

Daring to look away, he dug his fingers into the holes torn in the leather at his shoulder. They came out smeared with blood. Damn, Athlean, he almost had me. He took a steadying breath, his eyes glowing as the fizz of anger heated his blood. The capillaries in his skin glistened like threads of copper wire. The water on his skin boiled.

At the sudden sound of rushing water, his head jerked around. His jaw twitched as he raised his sword, feet braced ready for conflict.

From the churning water, the creature reared, towering above the Swordlord. The pallid membrane covering it’s bulk glistened, the distinctive lake trout speckled marking on its flesh bore witness to its fate.

“You took my life, cursed me.” Strings of slime-like saliva hung from the gaping mouth, his rage spraying the words. “You hoped for success, Gharient, but now…” The pearl-sheened eyes gleamed. “The potion runs through your blood, too.”

The Swordlord raised his blade. “You failed, Athlean.” He stamped his boot. “Here, on land, you are nothing. You sealed your fate when you drowned my daughter.” Gharient took a step closer, his glare discharging a lightning strike which cut through the air between him and his enemy. The fish eyes blinked rapidly and then were welded open as the jagged blaze bored into his mind. The flaccid lips twisted as the scene of Morrigan’s death burned into his retina. “Never forget, if she had died by flame I would condemn you to Hell.” He spat on the ground. “The lake is your prison for eternity.”

The ice-white blaze of his glare dimmed as Gharient grinned. “You live with what you did, and know this, my warriors slayed your brethren. There is nothing of your bloodline left to avenge you. You are nothing.”

“And yet, you could not stay away.” Athlean bared the ridged blade of his jaw, blood staining the white-bone spines on either side of the cavernous bite.

Gharient laughed. “I have what I came for. Morrigan lives inside your head now, as her suffering has long screamed through mine.” He turned away, the sword slipping from his grasp. Bending to retrieve it, he stopped. Straightening, spreading his fingers, he stared at the webbed membrane clinging to them. “No…”

Harsh laughter behind him faded into the spluttering gush of water. Turning back, ripples racing across the lake’s silver skin were all he saw as his flesh began to chill his bones and breathing air began to lacerated his throat.