Archive for creepy fiction

Flasher Fiction: Friends

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , on March 14, 2014 by synabetic

Been awhile since I posted anything here, and I’ve been working on all kinds of things… so I whipped this up. It’s very fast, fast fiction. I hope you enjoy it.

Friends
by Steven G. Saunders

Hi.

Are we friends?

I like having friends. They’re there when you need them, and you can be there when they need you. Friends are people who are an extension of your family, who are themselves friends. Well, hopefully. Many families are dysfunctional. But this isn’t about family. It’s about the family you choose.

You know.

Friends.

Sometimes you don’t choose your friends. Maybe you work together or live together or have the same group of friends, and we call these mutual friends. Oftentimes we become friends through mutual friends. Sometimes we are friends because we have no choice. Maybe there’s no one else around with similar interests. Maybe they are your cellmate. In a way, we are all cellmates in the prison of life, but some cellmates are better that other.

You know.

Like friends.

I have many friends. I love them all. Not all of them love me. But that’s okay. Whenever a friend expresses their non-love, I am emotionally pained as I cut them free. It always hurts to discover someone doesn’t enjoy you as a person, especially if you thought they were your friend. On the opposite end of the spectrum, you have friends who will stay with you through anything. Maybe they fucked your partner with you watching TV in the other room, the laundry machine and media pundits drowning out the moans of guilty pleasure. Maybe your friend had you kicked out of your place to live in order to have more room for his comic book collection. Maybe your friend got drunk and told you that your brother is better off dead because your family is fucked up. Maybe your friend stole from you.

In the end, it really doesn’t matter because those kinds of friends are really hard to find. They are more like family than actual family, usually. But other friends… they are only friends with you so they can use you.

Now, to be fair, all friends use each other. We are all, as a species, mutually using tools. Instruments of organic device. Living executions of human will. We are a team-based lot, so being used comes with the whole person package. Still, there are those who use and use and use and are surprised when they are asked to reciprocate. These friends can become dangerous, for if they begin to feel cornered into actually being, you know, a friend, they will then become a “frenemy”

A frenemy is someone who says they’re your friend, but they are actually out for what’s against your best interests. I know who of all my frenemies are. They do not know I know this, because they are so absorbed with themselves that they do not realize that they have made my checklist.

I always have a checklist.

You should, too.

Oftentimes, frenemies will have a very short cycle, turning into full blown anti-friends– or enemies– rather quickly. These people are being more like friends to you than you may think, because they have saved you a lot of legwork. Other friends, the best friends, will notice this too, usually, and take appropriate action. Usually this is distancing themselves from that person in some way. You can tell your new enemy’s best friends for they will act in a similar manner.

Programming is impossible to overcome.

No matter how hard you try.

Stop that.

I said stop it, please.

These new enemies will make no sense to the mindful, rational psyche. None. Usually thoughts of elimination occur, because only sick animals seem to think this way. Or so it seems, anyway.

Indeed, one has to be viewed by many as a sick animal in order to look at it all this way.

Anyway.

Friends are important. They make up the mask of social reason. They are the armor of social justice. They are the lifeblood of who you are as an organism. You are nothing without your friends to reassure you that you are not nothing.

We’re friends.

Right?

Stop it.

Just be patient.

You may have no idea how important friends are. They are more important than family, lovers, pets, and gods. They are your universe. You are nothing without your universe, an echo chamber for your perceived reality.

But what happens when a friend makes a deliberate transgression? As already implied, you just move on. Forget about them as friends, and cling to that painful memory of senseless loss. Like a random murder by some foul, misunderstood creature.

Sometimes. Sometimes fate presents itself.

You could be taught lessons, like an unruly school child brought to heel. Made to understand what friendship means–
Means to me? I suppose you’re right.

But at this juncture, what things to me is the only grasp you have left to this world that processes into your brain every second. Soon, this will begin to destroy all of that. I will start slow, because I want you to process it all. I want you to learn this lesson over and over and then have you panic knowing that none of it mattered.

Friends should have fun. You are having fun with me. Isn’t it wonderful?

And you are learning oh so much.

Shhh… not long now.

At first I wanted to respect our friendship and allow you a merciful fate, as it were. But how would you learn anything? Plus, you are thinking right now that I may change my mind.

If I tell you I may change my mind, will you have hope?

Friendship is all we have in our cold, dark universe. Did you know there are more universes? They make up the multiverse. I’m certain there’s a multiverse of multiverses. An omniverse.

And friendship is the most important thing in all the omniverse.

Look at me.

Do it.

You stare into the face of the omniverse, friend.

How… how do you feel?

Not long now.

I appreciate you allowing me to teach you. There’s another friend here– you don’t know them– and they are learning as you are, and then I will give them some private tutoring. Who knew that both of you would be here, now, and ready for lessons? Remarkable, really. Our universe is truly amazing.

If you cannot have a loyal, trusted friend, then the world might as well end. Friends are everything. Sadly, your rash decision ended all of this, and has thus ended the lesson you call life.

I must attend to the other friend. I want you to think on this as I do so. Be patient.

Not long now.

 

 

Butchers_passerotti

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Read Some of What I’m Writing Lately, Maybe

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 1, 2013 by synabetic

Here’s a quick post to links of the flash fiction shorts (stories clocking in between 1200-1700 words) I have written as of late. They’re simple, I feel, and a little creepy. Or so some folks tell me. Okay, maybe a lot creepy.

The Writing
Worm
Bind
Today
Bruise
Family

Let me know what you think with a comment or something.

If you are super bored, I posted up the first three parts of The Rage of Ognark, a terrible bizarroesque story I’ve been writing.

And there you have it. I should have some more stories up soon.

Flasher Fiction: Worm

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , on September 30, 2013 by synabetic

Buckle up, kids, it’s story time. Enjoy!
__

Worm
by Steven G. Saunders

Hey.

Hey, I know you’re listening.

You can’t help it. You have nothing to do but hear what I have to say.

Make yourself comfortable, because you are going to be here for a long, long time.

First things first… You probably wonder why you’re here. With me. Unable to get away. Hey, I get it. You’re scared. I’d be scared, too, if I were in your position. I get scared just imagining myself in your spot. And that’s tough for me, because imagination doesn’t come easily to my kind.

A lot of things are tough for me; things you can easily do without any difficulty. Yet, here you are. Listening to what I have to say. What I have to think. It’s more about what I think that what I say, if you know what I mean. And how I feel? That’s very easy for me to convey:

I am hungry.

Do you know what my kind calls you? Worms. It’s pretty funny, isn’t it? I don’t mean that thing you do with your meat parts that evinces mirth. I mean funny as in queer, weird, strange, unusual. Eldritch.

Now, there’s a word in your language I very much enjoy: Eldritch. I wonder if you would describe me as such.

It’s funny we call you worms because it is beyond the scope of the words you creatures would use to describe yourselves. Worms.

There was an acquaintance of mine from long, long ago who had a great term for encountering your kind. They called it “worm sign”, which if you knew what I know about life, the universes, and everything else that all souls, spirits, and brain functions process, you would laugh, too.

See, this is laughing. I’ll wager a great sum of wealth you had no idea I am laughing right now.

I believe what you are doing is… crying? Yes? Weeping? Sobbing?

And the begging begins. I have always wanted to be able to elicit a sound emission from myself that resembles in some way one of your sighs. But if you can imagine me sighing, that is what I’m doing… well, within the emotional context of a creature such as you.

You must accept your fate. Begging only ruins the time you have left. My sincere, kind advice is to just listen to what I have to say, and silently hope that I communicate with you for a long while.

I will admit I get very lonely. Being something like me is a lot where you either accept your role in the multiverse, or you let yourself waste away and perish. I do not wish to perish. Just as you, I wish to exist with the sheer, determined will that recognizes my unhindered and unburdened existence for as long as all the possibilities will allow.

Oh, dear, I have upset you.

I can understand how this is upsetting. I cannot relate, so you will have to find it within yourself to forgive me somehow. Though I doubt you will ever forgive me. You will not be able to. You will be incapable of doing anything but become a part of me, for just a little while, and then you shall be expelled… but you won’t be able to know about it. You will already be gone.

As I have said, I am quite lonely. My kind do not relate well with each other. We live, by your reckoning, anyway, for an incredibly long time. Not years; not decades; not centuries. But epochs. We exist for periods of times that span the length of several of your civilizations, and we’ve even figured out how to leave whole worlds in wholly different universes for ones beginning anew elsewhere. You will look at what you call worms on your world, and you will sometimes dig into the earth and look at them; feeling godlike, perhaps. Then you will rid yourselves of them. Perhaps in your mobile larval state you will eat them. Any way any of it is cut, you are still bound to that world. Or perhaps you are bound to travelling to several worlds. We still see you as you see those worms.

You are but worms to us.

You can be destructive worms, too. You squabble amongst each other as frequently as I would have passing thoughts on the millions of colors I am able to feel. You call them wars, combats, fights, struggles, revolutions, brawls. You come up with all kinds of reasons to justify violent, aggressive engagement. Did I aggressively engage you? No.

I do believe you engaged me while I was napping. I tried to escape as I was not hungry, but, alas, you persisted. I was forced to engage, terminate, and consume your companions; and now I need live sustenance. This is why I saved you for last.

Think of this like it’s the only survival you have left. Enjoy it while you can.

One time, many eons ago when I was young, I existed in a different world, a different place. Being a young being of my sort as I was, there were many sensations which were new and wonderful to me. One such sensation was music. I had never heard it before, having lived where I had lived. Then came a moment when I encountered someone much like you, someone determined to make a point of some sort by ending my existence. It is unknown to me if that creature like you had any reason other than to demonstrate some sort of prowess for others of its kind, but it… it sang– yes, I have learned what singing is since– as it attempted to lodge implements crafted from ores and patience into me. Most of your kind across the multiverse who I have encountered or have heard of believe in something called “luck”, and  “luck” was not with the Singing Bother at that particular moment in time. It slipped because it was weighted by more ore and patience, and lost its balance, fell down, and not seeing its worth– for I was young and impatient– I quickly dispatched it and consumed it as quickly as possibly. At the time, I could not have told you the difference between your kind’s “screaming” and “singing”.

They were all strange sounds to me back then.

Eventually, as I grew larger and wiser, feasting mostly on creatures you consider to be lower lifeforms– much as I consider you to be; no offence meant– I encountered more beings akin to you. All of them had emotional investments pertaining to my demise and to all the worthless scraps and junk that had accumulated around me over the years. As I grew even wiser as the centuries passed, I also became clever. By your standards, I am quite clever.

I succeeded in tricking you, didn’t I? I am quite the clever soul now. Not to make you feel bad, but it was all too easy.

It always amazes me how your kind is so simple to trick into finding me, falling into the traps I have set, and becoming my nutritious sustenance all because you cannot resist looking for objects you have attached “worth” to. And because I bring many of these objects with me from realm to realm with me these days, it is even easier to invite you into my domain, with all sorts of creatures who consider themselves to be “intelligent” becoming lovely short-term companions, and, in short time, food.

Ah, you are trying to reason with me. I can appreciate that. If you must know, there are those who hate your kind who live near me and they are the ones who inform others of your kind who wish to accumulate wealth in their betrayal of their species by creating stories which, in turn, lure you here for your ultimate fate.

Thank you, nonetheless. I do not fault you for enquiring. I believe what you are feeling right now is the part of fear where you can begin to rationally think your way through to a possible solution.

The only solution you are going to reach here is as a waste product.

How did I do? I have been working for many decades on crafting jokes. I feel it lessens the impact of your demise.

I can tell you more if it makes you feel more comfortable. Oh, I know. Here. How does that feel? Numbing quickly? Feel a little giddy. Yeah, these barbs are something I worked on for three hundred of your years. I am not a cruel person, you see. I am merely hungry.

We are all slaves to our biology. I suppose I should thank my lucky feelers that I am not enticed by shiny objects. Too bad, too, as shiny things are much more shiny for me, as I have more optical receptors and external optical processing orbs.

Are you ready? Of course you are. You have no choice. I have delighted in getting to know you as we have talked. While you begged, sobbed, pleased, bargained, and tried to think your way out of this, I have already entered your physically being and have begun feasting on who and what you are, exactly. I am already fond of you. You are– soon to be “were”– a kind soul, just looking to help your home village from a calamity. You were a hero. Your larvae looked up to you. You had few peers. You must be terribly shocked that a person such has me has ended you for supper-time purposes. But, as your life ends, don’t fret over any of the grovelling. I won’t tell anyone. I won’t even mention that you offered up all of the creatures you intended to save.

I should apologize to you. I said this would be a long, long time. And it has been a long, long time… it just doesn’t seem like that to you anymore. Time as you currently know it has absolutely no meaning.

Now. Ready?

As I have said…

I am not a cruel person.

Goodbye.

worm_reaper


Great Worm image property of Reaper Miniatures, used without permission. No infringement on trademark or IP is intended. Honestly, the image is just a placeholder until original art is done, to which I’ll remind folks to read the story again and look at the pretty picture.

Flasher Fiction: Bruise

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on September 27, 2013 by synabetic

And here’s another. Might as well get them all up here for people to see… not a bad haul for one day. Right? Anyhow, I hope you enjoy this one.

Bruise
by Steven G. Saunders

Can’t figure out where this bruise came from.

It’s on my arm and looks like something has gripped it tight. It’s not from an injection or bug bite. I know what those look like. No, this is a strange bruise… no idea where it came from.

Yesterday was like any other and today seems like more of the same, although it’s only morning and it’s tough to say how my day will pan out.

Probably like every other day.

The bruise hurts. But it doesn’t hurt like a normal, sort of dark bruise does. I can feeling it going deep. And every time I look at it I feel sick to my stomach. What kind of bruise does that? I don’t know. This bruise, I guess.

I don’t think I’ve put this much thought into one largish bruise since I was little.

Back when I was a kid, I would get into all kinds of trouble messing around. If there was a fence needing someone to pee on it, I was your guy. If there was a roof to jump off of with only a terribly knotted sheet to save you, I was the kid you gave some M&Ms to and off I went. I jumped off of bridges into streams, crashed my bike into parked cars; I even accidently set a neighbor’s shed on fire because I accidently built a bomb out of spraypaint, cans, and matches. Oh, and sheer little-kid determination. I was the freaky terror of the cul-de-sac. I was the kid who chanted nonsense as I tied your kids up with jump ropes to telephone poles and later explained it as a “simple Satanic ritual”.

Yeah, that kid.

One day, I was grabbed by one of the neighbor dads. Floyd’s dad. I remember him clearly. He was an odd sort of father for the timer, with visible tattoos and longish curly hair. He also had one of those horrible bushy moustaches. I don’t know what he did for a living, but he liked to walk around his home in old jeans, shirtless, and in his bare feet. On the day he grabbed me, I had explained to Floyd that the glue I was using on his dog was perfectly safe, and Shemp should be okay… but maybe it would protect him from cosmic rays. When Floyd’s father showed up from inside the house, garbed in his usual at-home “attire”, Floyd cheerfully explained to him what we were doing.

Look, I didn’t want to hurt the dog, okay? I had other ideas. Hurting animals for no good reason is fucking unforgivable.

flasher_fiction_bruise

My arm was grabbed, and a bruise was left. Now, I had all sorts of background in excitement and daredevilry by that young age, but this new form of excitement was different. I was never afraid of my parents, and I knew they loved me. Floyd’s dad openly referred to me as a “freak” and never hid his contempt. He grabbed me and yelled at me and soon after I could hear my mother calling for my father on that nice summer day in the American South. My father stormed over and gave Floyd’s dad a talking to. My father, while accepting, had little patience for what he was calling a “goddamned piece of shit hippie burnout”. And he led me away…

Soon after, Floyd and his family moved away.

While I silently watched out of my front window as they loaded the moving truck, I occasionally looked down at the bruise Floyd’s dad had left on my arm. It was darker than other bruises, and it was obvious he had grabbed me too hard. My arm ached, and my mom sprayed Bactine on it because she thought it would help me “make it feel better”. I knew Bactine should burn, especially in the eyes (as Tom found out), but I let her think she was helping. I took some Aspirin to make her happy, too. The pain didn’t bother. Floyd moving away didn’t bother me, either.

Not much bothered me, actually.

The bruise did trouble me a little, though. I kept looking at it. It was slow to heal. A couple of nights later, I woke up at around 3AM and looked at it some more with my camping flashlight while under the covers. This wasn’t too unusual as I tended to wake up late at night in the hopes of catching ghosts going about their daily business, pray for demons, look under the bed for monsters I could keep as pets, or just mentally shout out for space aliens to hear my thoughts.

I really enjoyed being a little kid.

The bruise eventually healed and I went on with my life, growing up, becoming more confident in the world around me and how to best interact with it. But I could never stop thinking about it.

The bruise. It was a lot like this one which has appeared on my arm. Same place, even.

It’s cold to the touch. Like a chilled ice cube tray. Bruises aren’t supposed to be cold, I know that. Bruises are supposed to hurt, feel like the spirit under the skin is encased in styrofoam. Feel like broken vessels in the greater vessel of the Whole. You know?

This bruise is different. I think it’s trying to tell me something.

It’s odd to think that Floyd’s dad could stay with me for over thirty years. If there is any being who has haunted me, it is him. He might be the only thing I have ever been scared of. When I was little, I imaged him as the spectre of death. When Floyd moved, I felt nothing. But as I got older, I began to appreciate his father had moved away and it was unlikely we would ever meet again.

I could never shake it. So, one day, I hired someone to track him down based on the information I remembered. It turns out that Floyd and his entire family died in a terrible accident two states away and my fears of his father were just plain stupid.

My friend was dead, sure, but his dad was dead and that’s all that mattered to me.

I then led my life fear free… until now. With this bruise.

Where did it come from? Why is it here?

My fear free life is marvelous. Nothing holds me back. I do what I want. I need to be cautious, of course, but I can pretty much do as I please because I am very likable and eager to please people.

Everyone likes a people pleaser.

The bruise feels colder now. As if it has gone deeper. I don’t understand it, so I will take into account what I am doing right now.

I am not at home, like I was thinking. It isn’t morning. The day hasn’t changed. I am very cold. Something has gone wrong. But what? All I can feel is that bruise.

Floyd’s dad begins to haunt me again; right here, right now. Everything was exact. There was no room for error because I left no room for error.

Dammit. Some people just get lucky, I suppose. Even alcoholic home healthcare workers all alone on a Saturday night watching Friends reruns.

The bruise. It’s trying to tell me something. I have a hard time hearing what it has to say over the ringing. All I can hear is Floyd’s dad yelling at me. Screaming. Shrieking. I don’t… I don’t even know anymore.

Did I ever leave that instance in time?

Am I still there?

The bruise is done speaking.

It is time for the bruise to take me.