Horror and other stories

Long ago now, six years past, a man said unto me;

‘Watch the great horizon of the sea,’ said he, said he.

‘A woman comes, she seeks a light, a candle in the dark.

It’s her you want to watch, she’s got a bite, not just a bark.

She’ll take the best of what you are, she’ll leave you dead and drowned.

She’ll wring you dry and cast the rest aside deep down, deep down.’

He didn’t speak much further, left me hanging with those words.

I had myself, the wind, the sea, the calling of the birds.

I looked out off the coastline with his warning in my ear

Today a woman stands upon the waves; ‘Come here, come here’.

I stepped offshore, her voice was soft, her hands were softer still.

A Sunday bringeth rest, and these thoughts upon my chest.

Where do I begin or end my work? I do my best.

But as with the worst of times

where anger, sorrow, hate all rhyme,

Time is watching, waiting, paused. The world's breath is bated. It hopes to see a difference grow, in time so isolated.

The moment can't wait anymore. The second's growing longer. The minute's got another friend, together, they'll be stronger.

One hour passed, and then the next, what little time they've spent, has burnt itself to pieces--ash-- left time's poor fabric rent.

Countdown to the moment where your tired life plateaus, where you lay yourself to sleep among the grassy, stone-filled rows. When the darkness closes over and the lid is slid on shut, and you sense the dirt is piling up, the director yells his “Cut!”

A moment’s rest for your poor soul, a second’s breathing in. An exhalation whistles out, your ghost is feeling thin. The truest blackness gathers round, the grave is getting cold. But then; a call, a voice you know, and yet... you don’t? You’re told.

“Stand up, thou beasts! Unbend thy backs! Climb high and crawl to me!” A whip. A lash. Your peace is broken. Your missing eyes can see. You stand up with your rotted limbs, the dirt runs through your clothes. Your purpose fills your empty head, a blooming, bloody rose.

The world is older, time has passed and dragons fill the sky. Knights ride by on metal horses, giants walk in stride. Necromancers lift the dead, your savior shouts nearby, “Go forth and kill them all, my pets!” You don’t even question why.

The morning came with birdsong and the sun sailed overhead. My eyes slid open slowly; once again I wasn’t dead. The light flowed in my window and the birds began to sing, I crawled out from the covers and my ears began to ring.

The day came on demanding, all the things I had to do, I went on working, trying, going. Everything for you. For you, and you, and you and you, each ‘you’ a different name. You know yourself, you know it’s true. To me you’re all the same.

I held you all uprightly, push you this way, push you that. Your pieces held, foundation stood. I dust the welcome mat. I’ll wipe the dirty windows, keep the floor all clean and neat. And when that’s done I’ll cook the food. I know you like your meat.

But ever onward, on and on, I hear that droning voice. Insidious and in my ear, I don’t really have a choice. It’s one way or the highway, live the way the world asks. And every day, each morning I must do the same old tasks.

The river ran by, not a care in the world. The river ran by next to me. What river--old river--could wash away cares, or contain all the world to see?

From upside I see what I see when I look. It’s normal, I see with my eyes. From downside the river has all just the same, but with wiggling, wobbling guise.

A tree on the upside is straight and its narrow. The curved ones will grow alongside. But the river will keep every single last tree, with a crook and a curve in Downside.

No straightness down there! No lines to be seen! No arrows, no rods tried and true. All men and all women, all houses, all schools, All everything’s crooked--and you!

But wait... where’s the honesty if we’re all forced? I can’t celebrate being me-- If everyone’s crooked, from banking to sports, there’s no longer good men. Yes, I see...

Old river, good river, your Downside looks nice. I think I would like it down there. But I’ve got a job, and a lover, and more, and I can always come here to stare.