Category Archives: Writing

This week’s Flash Fiction Challenge is to write 100 words. There isn’t a comma and an extra digit missing – one hundred words or less.  Any subject, any genre.

Alright, ignore the fact that Friday is trash day here. I assure you, this story is fiction, 100% made up. Fiction, damn it! (And exactly 100 words!)

TRASH NIGHT

The night air had a bite, the stars clear. I carried my bag of trash to the curb for an early morning pickup. In the shadows next door my neighbor was doing the same. He had always been strange, quiet, and distant.

In the dim moonlight it looked like his bag might be squirming. Were those muffled sounds coming from inside the white plastic, non-human sounds?

Our bags both went into the black bins. I started to say something, but he turned to stare at me. Were his eyes glowing red?

I waved nonchalantly and went back into the house.

Back to something more “normal” this week, our weekly Flash Fiction Challenge is to write 1,000 or so words using one of ten random sentences. (Bonus points for using more than one.) I rolled a ten, so my sentence is, “The river stole the gods.” But the story that leaped out of my head used another sentence, so I started with, “The memory we used to share is no longer coherent.”

INCOHERENT

Chaos, confusion, and disarray reign, bringing suffering and death everywhere. We who were once as one, aligned, harmonious, and strong yet individual and free, now are each isolated and frightened. The memory we used to share is no longer coherent.

Since before the births of our grandmother’s grandmother’s grandmothers, we have lived and worked as one with the world, it a part of us, we a part of it. The suns shine and dim, the rains fall, the crops grow, and the stars spin about us, crawling slowly toward our Destiny. We maintain our world carefully, lovingly, with the wisdom of the gods to guide us.

We have been taught that it was not always so, that the world was once much different. Larger, more dangerous, more deadly it was, but we are those chosen for Paradise. We have been allowed to leave that world behind us.

The old world must have been a horrible place. Pain and loneliness were all-encompassing and each man and woman was isolated, desperate to connect, join, and communicate as the gods intended, but condemned to a sterile and maddening existence. Though all of us are taught of these things, none of us completely comprehend it, just as we can not comprehend existing as a cow or dog.

Out of that horrible world, our world and our people were created and sent forth. In taking the best that dying world had to offer, we left it to its doom, leaving behind the dregs and despair of a dying people. But the gods have assured us it was good and right and ordained that we should follow this path, and in this journey of peace, cooperation, and plenty lies our hope for a world reborn, a seed thrown forth from a firestorm in hopes of finding cool and fertile ground.

So it was that we have lived for hundreds of lifetimes, commanded by the gods, content in our daily tasks, working as one yet living as a myriad individual lights in the darkness.

The first signs of problems came with the bursts of light in the stars. Many of us saw these apparitions and were afraid, but the gods assured us they were nothing of importance. Over many days they became more frequent and brighter, causing some few of us to question the gods further, growing doubtful in our fear. Again, the gods told us there was nothing to fear, for they were protecting us and keeping us safe.

I was above the High Mountains, flying near one of the suns as it dimmed and cooled for the day, the wind soft and calm across my wings. From here I could see our world spread out below me, the fields dotted with villages and homes, the rivers and lakes like flyspecks far beneath me. I was sharing the experience with many others, as I also shared their activities. Some worked, some played, some made love, some slept, but all of us were as one.

Then the world changed.

Far away at the other end of the world there was a flash, far brighter than any sun. As I watched far above me, on the other side of the suns, I could see the world ripple as though it were made of water.

A roar unlike any I had ever conceived filled the air, the sound coming from the far end of the world where the flash had been. Looking there now I could see thick clouds forming, billowing and churning, obscuring all views of the ground. Along with the sound came a wind, a shock wave that sent me tumbling and falling. I was swept along the line of the suns but also pushed down into the deeper air, far faster than I had ever flown.

Most terrifying of all were the voices of the gods. They were possessed, alien, unlike anything I had ever heard or heard of. The gods now were speaking in a clipped, mechanical language which was difficult to understand. Where the voices of the gods had always been calm and soothing, focused on each of us as individuals, reassuring and wise, now they spoke past us, quickly, a rapid-fire flood of words without meaning.

I prayed to the gods for help with my flight and deliverance from this danger, but for the first time in my life, the gods did not answer. I begged others for help and a few were able to give me the assistance I needed to regain control. I was now deep into the heavy air with no choice but to land as best I could.

Once down, I tried to ask for information, but I found only confusion and panic. My picture of the world through many eyes was one of destruction and damage, houses destroyed, people injured, bleeding, and dying.

The world shifted and slid, making it hard to stand or walk. Above and around me I could see great clouds of dust and mist arising, filling the skies. Most terrifying was the sight of familiar rivers now bending and changing, their waters spilling out from their banks and spreading across the land.

The river stole the gods. The many temples where the gods had lived for a thousand lifetimes had been built on the banks of the great rivers. When the waters ran insanely across the world, many temples were destroyed, along with the gods within.

We had not known the gods could be injured or killed.

As the gods died, our people fell into chaos. Our connections with the world and with each other faded. Where once we had known all, now we were isolated and alone, terrified, injured, and dying.

The stars in the skies now spin insanely, wobbling and weaving as the world below shudders and shifts. Our gods have been killed or they have abandoned us.

The final hope of a broken world, the chosen ones escaping to a better future, we now find ourselves lost and alone, frightened, and faced with our deaths. We know not how this fate has befallen us or why we and our gods have failed, but with every passing moment our situation grows more dire.

Our gods, why have you forsaken us?

Three weeks ago, the Challenge was to write 1,000 or so words that were to be Act One of a four part story. Two weeks ago the Challenge was to write Act Two to extend someone else’s Act One, while someone else might take your Act One and add their Act Two. Last week, the Challenge was to craft an Act Three to advance the story of two someone elses’ Act One and Act Two.

Come on, guess what this week’s Challenge is!

Three weeks ago I wrote “Beach Road (Act One)” and it was picked up by both Angela Cavenaugh and Peter MacDonald for the second act. You can find Angela’s work here and Peter’s addition here. The Peter MacDonald version was picked up for the third act by wombatony (here) and by wildbilbo (here). So far, no one has picked either story up for a fourth act.

Two weeks ago I wrote “The Dare (Act Two)“, adding to Mozette’s Act One. That story was picked up by ElctrcRngr (here). So far no one has picked up this story for a fourth act.

Finally, this week I’m adding the finale to the first 981 words written by Josh Loomis, the next 1,008 words written by Pavowski, and the third 998 words written by Henry. All of their pieces are reproduced below with links to their websites in the section headers:

BART LUTHER, FREELANCE EXORCIST (Act Four)

Act One (by Josh)

I can’t imagine to understand everything that occurs in my life. I can’t account for everything I’ve seen. At least in terms of science. But those aren’t the circles I’ve traveled in, even after I left the church.

Not that me leaving keeps the church out of my life.

The balding priest sitting across my desk from me kept looking down at his hat, his fingers on the brim, perhaps because instructions were embroidered on it in really tiny letters. I rested my elbows on the desk’s blotter and interlaced my fingers in front of my chin. The clock on my wall ticked away seconds quietly. Finally, he took a deep breath and looked up at me.

“Forgive me, Mister Luther. This is not the sort of thing I am used to discussing.”

I shook my head. “It’s okay, Father O’Donnell. This isn’t the normal thing your parishioners deal with.”

“Ah… yes.” His brow furrowed. “I would appreciate it if you did not mention I brought this to you.”

“Right. Because the church would not want to admit that things like this actually exist.”

O’Donnell shifted uncomfortably in the chair. I kept myself from shaking my head or making a retching noise. Instead, I took a deep breath.

“Why don’t you tell me about the problem?”

“The problem is Samantha. She’s the daughter of one of our parishioners. She’s sixteen years old.”

I lowered my hands to reach for my notebook and a pen. “Possessed?”

“I’m not sure.”

I stopped writing. “You’re… not sure? Is it possible she just has a fever or something?”

O’Donnell shook his head. “She is speaking in tongues. Being… abrasive with her parents, when she never has before. She refers to things she could not possibly know. We cannot think of another way to explain it.”

“And how are you keeping the family from telling everybody in the neighborhood their daughter is possessed by a demon?”

“Her father told me of the trouble in confession. I reminded him that what he told me there remained between us, and that his wife and household were also bound by that stricture.”

I chuckled. “No wonder the girl was open to possession. It’s clear her old man isn’t very bright.”

O’Donnell glared at me. “I don’t think I appreciate your tone, Mister Luther.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

“We don’t have time for this.”

I looked up from my notes. “If you don’t like how I do things, Father, the door is behind you. Best of luck finding another freelance exorcist in the phone book.”

“But you are not listed in the phone book, Mister Luther. The church office has your card on file.”

Some priests, like most nuns, have no sense of humor. “My point is, I am your only option, unless you want to dust off your older texts, launder a fresh collar, and do this yourself.”

“I have no experience with such things. You have a great deal. Which is why you charge such exorbitant amounts of money for your… freelance exorcism services.”

“I also ghost-write inspirational books for churches like yours to sell in their gift shops!” I gave Father O’Donnell my best, cheesiest smile. He glared at me.

“Please. Mister Luther.” He paused. “Bartholomew. She needs your help.”

I sighed. “You don’t have to use the girl to get me to help you, Mike. I’m going to do it.”

“You had your reasons for leaving the church, I know, and…”

“Mike, come on, it’s okay. I’m sorry I was so hard on you. You can relax.”

The priest clutched his hat and let out a long breath. “It has been a hard time for me. I christened Samantha. Her confirmation is in two weeks. Or, at least, it should be.”

That got a smile. “Do you know I still have my confirmation bible?”

The priest started smiling, too. “Still sentimental after all these years, my son? That’s a promising sign.”

“You know I’m not coming back to the church, right?”

“I’m not sure why you left the priesthood in the first place…”

“I didn’t like the view from the inside.” I picked up my valise, opening it to check the inventory. “I still pray every day, Mike, and I do what I can to do right by Christ and my neighbors. But between bilking innocent, gullible people for cash and all of the shady crap the Vatican’s been responsible for over the years…”

Father O’Donnell held up his hands in surrender. “I do not agree with your reasoning, Bartholomew. But I’m heartened to know you’re still serving the Lord.”

I shook my head. “However you see it. Now, what else can you tell me about Samantha?”

Father O’Donnell told me where Samantha and her family lived, the sort of things she’d been saying, and I wrote all of it down. I made a fresh batch of coffee, poured some into a paper cup for Mike with a lid, and handed it to the priest before he left. I returned to my desk and sat.

An actual exorcism. From everything Mike had told me, Samantha was now renting out her head to one of the more nasty denizens of Dis. I dug out one of my source journals and looked through my notes. I had it narrowed down to a few possibilities, but I would need more information before I knew for sure. I closed up my journals and notebook, dropping them in the valise on top of the vials of holy water and my blessed crucifix.

I needed to get myself to Samantha’s family’s house to try and save her. But I also needed to make sure I had all the help I could manage. If I was right, I wasn’t the only one in danger.

So, taking a deep breath, I reached for my phone and started to dial her number.

Act Two (by Pavowski)

When I pulled up to the house, Nora was already there; arms crossed, leaning back on her beat-up old Volkswagen in a sweater two sizes too big for her. Her mom’s. She watched, unmoving, as I parked my dented Chevy and got out.

It’s an old and practiced way between us, the way we stand apart, waiting. I won’t hug her unless she invites it, but she won’t. Not after our last parting. With an inward chuckle, I counted my blessings that she even came. Truth be told, I didn’t expect her even to take my call.

“Dad.” Her eyes dropped to the gravel drive. She ground a few stones under her heel.

I almost choked up. Years had passed since she called me that. “Sweetie.”

She jerked her head toward the house, the last rays of the setting sun glinting off her hipster sunglasses. “You speak to the family yet?”

I’d gotten my valise out of the backseat to check its contents again. Not that I needed to, but old habits die hard. “Thought I’d let myself be surprised. You?”

“Just poked around out here a little bit.”

“Getting anything?”

“Fear. Confusion. Flashes of anger and hurt.” She cast a resentful eye at me. “The usual family stuff.”

I let her barb pass; she could say a lot worse, and I’d deserve it. I popped my bible into my pocket, snapped the valise shut, and moved toward the front door, stretching my arm out to her. She shoved her hands into her pockets and walked in front of me.

The steps to the front door creaked soothingly underfoot, like an old rocking chair Nora’s granddad used to sit and spin tales in. I thought of him and then I think of how he died, all hooked up to tubes and howling in pain. It’s not a memory any of us cherish, and I hadn’t thought of him in years. The memory just jumped to the surface like a fish in a calm pond. I glanced at Nora, but she was laser-focused on the door.

“Ready?” I asked.

Wordlessly, she rang the bell.

A heavy clatter of rushed footsteps, and the door opened just a crack. Darkness inside, and one wild eye peering out at us in the knife of dusky light. “Are you the priest?”

No. “Yes.”

A thunder of stampeding feet came from the second floor, and the man winced away from the noise like a frightened dog. “I wish you hadn’t rung the bell.” His voice was hushed, the whisper of a hunted child afraid for its life.

“Samantha?”

The stomping stopped, and the man’s face grew pale. “Don’t say her name.”

“Mister Gallod?” Nora’s voice was level and warm, and entirely unlike the voice she uses with me. “May we come in?”

Ed Gallod thought for a moment and then shuffles aside. We’d barely cleared the door when he eased it closed behind us, muffling its clicks as best he could. The only light came from dim, smoky candles. Piles of open books were strewn around the couch, the floor. Unwashed dishes crowded the sink. The disarray made it feel like a squatter’d been living there. Ed trudged a well-worn path through the mess and sat amidst a pile of books. He cleared a space for Nora to sit, and offered to do the same for me, but I declined. I was too nervous to sit still. My eyes watered at the candle smoke, but something else burned behind it. Sulphur. That awful eggy stink burrowed right up into my nose and nested there. Funny, I hadn’t smelled it at all outside. Nora either didn’t smell it or didn’t show it.

“Sorry about the mess,” Ed whispered. He looked like he might crawl right out of his skin. “I’d turn on the lights, but … they just go off. TV’s nothing but static or … voices.” He licked his lips and passed a grimy hand over his face. “Or screaming.” Tears welled in his eyes.

“Father O’Donnell told us. You don’t have to go through it again.” The stairway at the dark end of the hallway gaped like a maw and disappeared halfway up its length. I wished there was light. Light helps.

Nora reached across and lay her delicate fingers across the back of his hand, and a veil lifted. His eyes went clear and he looked at her, and at me, as if seeing us for the first time. His voice, still hushed, came out stronger, resolute. “What do you need?”

“Do you have something of hers? Something personal.”

With a trembling finger, he pointed to the armchair next to Nora. A ratty little stuffed elephant perched there, missing an eye, but cheerful and pink in the half-light. “Her mother was holding onto it… I don’t know, to remind herself of what S–” he stopped and cast his eyes at the ceiling. “Of what she was like. Before she left.”

O’Donnell had told me. Samantha’s mother couldn’t take it. Left town. Went to stay with her sister, and left poor Ed to deal with their possessed daughter all by his lonesome. Poor sap.

Nora took the little elephant and crossed to me, turning it over and over in her hands, her eyes closed. She shuddered a little and then looked at me. I raised my eyebrows at her. She nodded. I turned to Ed.

“Let’s go meet your daughter.”

With heavy steps, candle in hand, he led us up the stairs. The air on the second floor stifled, like a sauna on a summer day. The sulphur smell grew stronger as Ed stopped at the door that could only be Samantha’s. My gut turned to ice. At the floor, under my feet, I saw fingernail scratches in the wood, like somebody had been dragged into the room. I tried to control my breathing, but I couldn’t: it wasn’t me breathing. The sound of angry, quick, snorted breaths filled the hall. The door loomed. My fingers found my bible in my pocket.

Act Three (by Henry)

I tugged the Bible out of my pocket.  I had just enough time to see its cover before the candle Ed carried flickered out in a sudden and cold breeze.  The wind died as quickly as it had started, leaving us in a pitch black hallway, the air stifling hot and sulfurous.  Nora grabbed my left elbow, and for just one instant I almost felt glad that she’d taken the risk and come along, that she’d still reach out to me for comfort when things were dark and scary. Then the door in front of us swung open silently, and she let go.

Candlelight poured from the room before us, like some grim parody of a romance novel’s climax.  The rotten egg stink suffused the room and rolled out to greet us; every candle flame bent in towards Samantha, like commoners showing obeisance before their queen.  Ed Gallod, standing next to me, fell to his knees as he stared at the thing that his daughter had become.  If you didn’t pay any attention, everything about Samantha still seemed perfectly alright.  She sat at the edge of her bed as she slowly brushed her long dark hair, and the posters on her walls proclaimed her love for boy bands & unicorns, vampires & Sauron.  But the way that she looked up at us left no doubt as to whether it was still Samantha behind those eyes.  She eyed us like we were dirt, or very questionable food.

“Hello Bartholomew,” she looked at me directly, ignoring her father.  “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”  The smile never touched her eyes.  I could hear Ed retching beside me, overwhelmed by the smell.

“Again?”  I scrabbled for my thoughts.  I’d only banished two residents of Dis before, so which one of them was operating Samantha like a meat-puppet?  Time for a quick gamble. Usually, an angry demon was a stupid demon.

“You know,” I took a step into the room, fingers tightening around my Bible, “when you exorcise as many demons as I have, they all kind of blend together.”

Samantha hissed, long and low like a snake, and her brush froze in her hair.  I’d obviously hit a nerve.  Like most of its kind, this demon was prideful, or at least thought that I should recognize and respect it.  The snake-hiss did it, and a name clicked in my mind.  “Ah, yes, Salassirriza, of course you’d choose to prey on teenaged girls.”

There was a sudden sound of things scuttling through the walls, like thousands of rats had decided to make a pilgrimage to worship the thing that ate their demonic cousins. Samantha’s face shifted into a rictus grin.

“Dad,” Nora whispered at my side, “stop aggravating it and actually do something, you dumb piece of shit.”  Even the insult couldn’t make me feel bad.  She’d called me ‘Dad’ again. And given me some good advice.

“Yes Bartholomew, you’d do well to listen to your daughter.”  Samantha’s voice changed, becoming huskier and more sibilant.  She stood up from her seat on the edge of the bed and the candle flames flickered down towards her, prostrated.  “Somehow I feel like I could go for middle aged men these days.”  She licked her lips hungrily, and then glanced at my daughter.  “Or strong young women.”  This time the smile made it all the way to her eyes, but I didn’t like the result.

Cold fear dripped down my spine.  She should be scared, not like this.  I flipped through my specially prepared Bible, repeating to myself that it was ok, that Nora could take care of herself.  Samantha, no, Salassirriza, took two steps towards us.  The tips of the candle flames followed her as she moved.

“Father dearest,” the demon spoke with Samantha’s voice once more.  “Won’t you come give me a hug?”

As I fumbled for the passages that I needed, Ed Gallod stood up and stepped towards the demon that rode his daughter.  He looked dazed, mesmerized by her voice and drawn towards her beckoning hand.  I cursed under my breath as he drew close to her, and then watched in horror as she stepped up to him and wrapped her arms around him.  Tiny flickering flames seeped out from under her fingers, running like the coils of a serpent around Samantha’s father.  I finally had the words I needed, but I was terrified that I was too late to save the man.

As I opened my mouth and began to speak, calling out the powers and names of the Lord against this unclean being, I saw Samantha smile again, and I knew I was in trouble.  I was using the same banishment that I’d used on Salassirriza before, but from her expression it didn’t look like it was having any effect.  Leaving her father wrapped head to toe in a long coil of serpentine flames, Samantha took another step towards me, shaking her finger.

“Now Bartholomew, you don’t think that I’d have come back completely unprepared, do you?”  A flick of her left hand lifted Ed Gallod into the air, slowly drawing him over the candle flames.  The fires leapt up eagerly, and though Ed didn’t scream I could see his skin reddening, beginning to burn.

“So,” she took her time stepping closer to me while I racked my brains for another banishment that might effect her.  “How about this?  You desperately try to find something that will work on me, while I laugh in your face.  Then, while you cry, I,” her very human jaw dislocated itself, and the deeper huskier voice continued without moving her lips, “will slowly swallow you whole, letting you scream the entire time while I strip the flesh from your bones.”  Her hands came up and I was frozen, feeling those same flaming tendrils move on my skin.

Nora stepped forward, tired pink toy elephant in hand.  When she spoke, her voice struck Salassirriza like a blow to the gut.  “No, you won’t.”

Act Four (by Paul Willett aka MomDude)

Salassirriza recovered quickly, but the flames backed away from my skin by a finger’s width. I stole a glance at Ed Gallod and saw he was getting some relief as well. It wasn’t much, but when you’re about to become Demon Chow, every little but helps.

“You’re a cocky little one,” Salassirriza said, her head turning slightly to take in Nora. “You no doubt got that soon-to-be-fatal attitude from Bartholomew. It’s special when a father can give his daughter something to kill herself with. Most fathers leave a loaded gun or a drug habit, but Bartholomew gave you to me instead.”

“Sally, do you think I brought her along because it was ‘Bring Your Daughter To Hell” day?” I asked. Salassirriza looked back at me, her eyes narrowing. Good, divide her attention, keep her off balance. “You would be gobsmacked if you could understand just how enormous your ignorance is, but you’re too stupid to know how stupid you are.”

In a flash, the flames wrapped me up and squeezed me like an anaconda of molten steel. I really didn’t want to give her the pleasure of hearing me scream, but the noises coming from my throat weren’t voluntary.

“Is there some other rude, smart ass remark you would like to make, Bartholomew?” She took another step closer, clenching her hand into a fist as the coils tightened. Gasping for breath with every nerve on fire, I felt my Bible drop from my hand, leaving me defenseless.

In a quick but unhurried movement, Nora bent down to pick up the Bible while simultaneously shoving the stuffed pink elephant into my hand. “Hold this for a minute, Dad,” she said, standing to smack Salassirriza squarely across the face with my Bible.

Caught off guard, the demon staggered back and fell onto the bed. Chaos spread everywhere.

Ed Gallod fell roughly, landing on the ring of candles he had been hovering above. The impact extinguished them, leaving the room even darker than before. In the smoky, reeking murk I could see him thrashing weakly, trying to stand or roll away.

The pressure on me vanished. I crumpled to the ground while clutching the toy elephant, gasping for air like a beached fish. I knew there was no time to waste, I had to help Nora, but it was tough to focus on that while blacking out.

Salassirriza sprang back up from the bed, her eyes now glowing red with fury. There was little resemblance to Samantha, a teenage girl, or anything human as she raised her arms, screamed, and lunged at Nora’s throat.

Which, of course, is exactly what Nora had expected. An angry demon is a stupid demon. Nora had learned well.

Charging ahead herself, slipping inside Salassirriza’s grasp, Nora brought the Bible up with her right hand and pressed it against the demon’s forehead, while her left forearm slammed across Samantha’s chest like a linebacker opening a hole on the goal line. With all of her weight, Nora shoved and drove Salassirriza against the wall, pinning her there.

“I reject Satan and all his works and all his empty promises!” Nora shouted. Salassirriza squirmed and fought. “I believe in God the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth!”

What was she doing? The words were familiar, but different somehow. I knew it was important to get the ringing out of my ears and have my head stop spinning.

“I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord,” Nora chanted as I tried to get to my feet. As I staggered up, leaning heavily on a dresser for assistance, the one-eyed pink elephant came up into my view, still clutched in my left hand. Something there glinted in the remaining dim candle light. As Nora continued her prayer, I peered closely at the toy, the thin gold chain around its neck, and the tiny First Communion cross dangling there.

The pieces fell into place. I knew why the elephant had been so precious to Samantha and to her mother when Samantha had been possessed by Salassirriza.

“God our Father has marked you with his sign!” Sally was thrashing around violently, fighting to hold onto Samantha’s body with everything she had. As a demon in her lair she had been enormously strong and powerful. As a panicked beast on the run, her grip on the sixteen-year-old’s frail body slipping, she was no match for Nora.

Moving slowly to avoid breaking Nora’s concentration, I moved up next to the two of them. While Nora held Samantha and continued her punishing banishment, I held the soft, fuzzy face of the elephant up to Samantha and allowed it to softly brush her neck and face.

“Bye, bye, Salassirriza,” I said softly, just loud enough to be heard over Nora’s incantation. “Time to let her go and get cast down again into that pit of yours. Say hello to Lucifer for me.”

“Christ the Lord has confirmed you,” Nora continued, “and has placed his pledge, the Spirit, in your heart!”

With those words, Samantha’s body became as rigid as a board, every muscle straining, her back arched. Her face was a portrait of pain, her eyes wide and full of terror, her mouth trying to give vent to a scream that couldn’t be released. Where the cover of my Bible was pressed into her forehead by Nora, thin filaments of smoke started to curl up.

“Now, Samantha,” I called. “Give Salassirriza a swift kick in the balls and take your body back!”

“Do you believe in the Holy Spirit,” Nora screamed, “the Lord, the giver of life, who came upon the apostles at Pentecost and today is given to you, Samantha, in the sacrament of Confirmation?”

The room started to fill with a black wind which built to a gale, roaring around us like the heart of a tornado. The remaining candles blew out, leaving us in total darkness. Still Nora and I held on, pinning Samantha to the wall.

“Do you believe in the Holy Spirit,” Nora offered again, “the Lord, the giver of life, who came upon the apostles at Pentecost and today is given to you, Samantha, in the sacrament of Confirmation?”

The wind surrounding us smashed through the window shutters, escaping past the long drapes as it exited. The last sunlight of the day fell through onto the remains of Samantha’s bedroom, the brightest beam shining directly onto Samantha’s face.

“I do,” Samantha whispered, her eyes starting to fill with tears.

{Yeah, yeah, the deadline for this was 0900 PST, 1200 EST, an hour ago – remember the quote I used four days ago?}

Two weeks ago, the Challenge was to write 1,000 or so words that were to be Act One of a four part story. Last week the Challenge was to write Act Two to extend someone else’s Act One, while someone else might take your Act One and add their Act Two.

Needless to say, this week’s Challenge is to take the Act One and Act Two made by two different writers and add your Act Three. Next week…

Two weeks ago I wrote “Beach Rode (Act One)” and it was picked up by both Angela Cavenaugh and Peter MacDonald for the second act. I am most honored to have them both find my work worthy of their attention this week. You can find Angela’s work here and Peter’s addition here. The Peter MacDonald version is being picked up by wombatony — link to be updated when available.

Last week I wrote “The Dare (Act Two)“, adding to Mozette’s Act One. That story has being picked up this week by ElctrcRngr, you can find their contribution here.

This week I’m adding the third act to the first 975 words written by Christopher (with a one-word edit) and the next 1,002 words written by Henry. Both of their pieces are reproduced below with links to their websites in the section headers:

THE SHERIFF, THE PRIEST, AND THE KILLER (Act Three)

Act One (by Christopher)

“This is taking too long, sheriff.  Something’s wrong.”  Johnny held his horse by the bridle, his eyes on the bend in the canyon looming ahead.

“Enough of that talk, Johnny,” Sheriff Cairns said and glanced at the other three men: Kurt and the O’Connel brothers.  They stood together, quiet and tense.  “Rusty knows what he’s about.  If he’s lingering, there’s reason.”

“But we’re losing the light,” Johnny said.

Sheriff Cairns glanced up at the sky.  Johnny was right.  Night came fast in the mountains. They’d only been in the canyons a couple hours but the shadows were already long.

“We give it a quarter hour more.  Rusty won’t like the noise, but if it gets dark we’ll make a helluva rakcet.”

“Riders coming,” Kurt said, pointing back the way they came.  “Two.”

“Damn that boy,” Cairns said, and climbed into his saddle to get a better look.  “I told him to signal if anybody was coming after.”

Riding single file down the creek bank were two men.  They kicked their horses a step faster when Cairns saw them.

“Who the hell is that?” Johnny said.

“No idea.” Cairns waved back.  “Get your guns ready, boys.”

The riders stopped at edge of the rise where the men waited.  “Who are you?” Johnny said, his shotgun crossed in his arms.

The older man looked from man to man, his brow furrowed.  “I thought there’d be six of you.” He was lean with a lined, stubbled face.  His companion was young, with long hair and a serious face.

“I know you.” Cairns snapped his fingers. “You two out of Silverton?”  At the nod the sheriff continued. “What the hell are a priest and an altar boy doing on a posse?”

Kurt removed his hat, and Johnny laughed.  “A few prayers won’t hurt,” he said.

The priest didn’t smile. “We’re here to stop that killer, Matt Quinn.”

The O’Connel brothers both spit at the name, and the elder, Sam, said, “You gonna throw the good book at him, father?” He spoke a watered down old country accent.  His younger brother Billy laughed and spit again.

The priest removed his hat ran his fingers threw his short, graying hair.  He put it back on and sighed.  “Gentlemen, listen to me carefully.”  Cairns felt unease flutter in his stomach at the tone.  “You are all in terrible danger.”

“What you going on about?” Johnny said.

“Your sixth man is out scouting already, isn’t he,” the priest said.

“That’s right,” Cairns said, and saw his boys looking at one another.  “Why?”

“I’m afraid he’s already dead.”

“The hell you say.” Johnny said, twisting his shotgun so the butt rested in his armpit.

“Why would you say a thing like that?” Cairns said, the unease growing to a strange mix of fear and anger. “You don’t know Rusty.  He was an army scout for ten years.  He snuck up on Apache in the wars.  He killed three himself with his bowie knife.”

“I said it because I know Matt Quinn.”

“What!” the boys said together and Johnny pointed his shotgun at the priest.  “You know that sonnufabitch!”

The priest raised his hands slowly, but the boy beside him didn’t even blink, same blank face.  That made Cairns more nervous.

“Hold up, Johnny,” Cairns said. “I know that Quinn is a rabid dog, the way he chopped up that old couple and torched the barn with animals in their pens, but no way he’s sneaking up on Rusty.”

“How long he been gone?”

Silence.  Johnny lowered his gun.  “Don’t mean nothing,” Kurt said.

“I hate to say it, gentlemen, but he’s not coming back.”

He’s right, Cairns realized.  He’d felt it for a while now but wasn’t giving up hope.  The boys saw it too.

“How the hell you know this?”

“Two things.”  The priest held up one finger. “First, because I’ve been hunting Quinn for three years.”  He let the boys look at one another before holding up his next finger.  “Second.  Your negro boy is dead.”

“How!” “Who!” the boys said all at once.

“Hold it,” Cairns snapped and put a hand on his sidearm.  “Unless you and your boy there had a hand in it, what are you saying? Look at this canyon, there’s no sneaking past us and there ain’t no climbing out.”

“That’s what he wants you to think.  That’s why he led you here.”  The priest looked at them each again, and there was no doubt in his eyes.  “You are all in danger.  I’m here to get Quinn before he gets you.”

“Bullshit!” Jonny said, and the O’Connel brothers nodded along, kicking dirt at the priest. Their faces were flushed, but Cairns heard the fear under the bluster.

“Son, that negro boy’s head was cut clean off and his belly sliced open and his insides roped up around a tree.”  He looked at Cairns, and the sheriff saw the grim truth in his eyes.  “Then,” the priest swallowed, “he came back in here to hunt you all down.”

Johnny swung up onto his horse.  “To hell with this.  Sheriff, let’s go.”

“If you run you die.  He’s hunting you.”

“Sheriff-”

“Shut up.  Stay where you are.”  Cairns removed his hat and wiped his kerchief across his sweating forehead.  The sun was almost out of sight.  The canyon was getting colder and darker.  “Father, you saying we’re done?  Why are you here then?”

“I’m saying I’ve got good news for you and bad news, sheriff.”

“Bad news,” Billy O’Connel said through a high pitched laugh.

“Yeah, the bad,” Cairns said.

“Matt Quinn isn’t human.”

Cairns was too stunned to respond.  “And the good?” he whispered.

The priest pointed at his stone faced companion.  “Neither is he.”

The boy finally smiled, and his mouth kept growing, the lips pulling back almost to his ears, revealing rows of jagged, razor teeth.

Act Two (by Henry)

The sun rolled down behind the edge of the cliffs, limning the top of the canyon in light for a moment before it disappeared completely.  The deep gulch was suddenly too dark, but everyone could still see the too-wide smile of the freak that rode alongside the padre.

“Sweet Jeezus,” muttered Johnny, staring at the … thing.  Every man in the posse was clutching their gun, even the Sheriff.  There was a faint click as one of the men levered back the hammer on his pistol.  It was a tense moment, but Cairns felt a horrible certainty that drawing down on the devil and the priest would only end with a sad priest, a well fed devil, and five more raggedy corpses strewn across the canyon floor.  He felt strangely relieved when the priest spoke up.

“Son,” said the priest, barely visible in the sudden twilight but for the little white patch of his collar, “you really don’t want to do that.” Everyone knew he was talking to Johnny with his shotgun.  “Matt Quinn is looking to torture you to death before he eats your souls.  You don’t need to go making more trouble for yourself by angering two fellas as only want to help.”

“Listen to the Father, Johnny.”  Sheriff Cairns spoke up, reaching out to tap Johnny on the shoulder.  “We’re well enough screwed already without bringing more down on our heads.”  He sighed.  If the priest was to be believed, and Cairns would swear the man felt honest, Rusty was already dead.  He had no doubt that this night would get worse before it got better.  “Billy, Sam, one of you get us a torch lit.  We’re not going to be getting out of this dark any time soon.”

Even that faint glimmer of light soothed the men’s nerves.  If the boy-thing cared either way, he didn’t seem to show it.  The priest introduced himself as Father Robert, and claimed the boy-thing was called Daniel.  Father Robert gathered the men in closer into a huddle, while Daniel and Kurt watched the canyon around them, still close enough to overhear.

“The thing you call Matt Quinn is a sick and twisted beast.”  The priest looked at those clustered near him, slowly making eye contact with each of the men in the circle of torchlight.  “You think I’m being pretty with my language, but I’m just telling it to you straight, the gospel truth.  Except the gospel is good news, and this pure ain’t.”  He lifted his hat briefly and smoothed back his hair, looking nervous for the briefest moment.  “Look, you’ve seen that he walks with a man’s flesh, but when no man’s eye is on him he can become something truly monstrous.  I once saw him in a mirror, and I still have nightmares.”  The priest let that settle on his audience, then continued, “I’ve hunted him for too long; we each know the ways of the other now.  Quinn prefers to draw his prey out into dark places, or ambush them.  If he consumes every last ounce of a person, he can take a few hours to change his appearance to look like them.  If you come across him while he’s changing, his skin has the appearance of melting, runny wax.  So nobody goes anywhere alone, and nobody runs ahead hot on the trail.  Because he will lead you into a trap, and he will kill you.  Just for the fun of it.”

“But Father,” Billy whined, only a faint trace of the old country still in his voice, “you make it sound like we can’t take him!  If we don’t hunt him now, he’ll just get away and go off killing and murdering even more folk!”

“Hush up, Billy.”  Cairns glared at the young man.  “The Father was just getting around to that,” he glanced at the priest, “isn’t that right?”

The priest cleared his throat.  “Yes.”  He jerked his thumb behind his back at Daniel.  “That boy is our ace, and we must make sure we can point him in the right direction when the time comes.  Until then, we need to play it safe, keep careful, and lure Quinn in.”

The men looked at each other nervously at the word ‘lure.’  The silence stretched just a little too long.

“Right, well, let’s set up camp here then.  It’s as good a spot as any.”  Sheriff Cairns slapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously.  “We’ve got long sight lines, but in the dark Quinn should be able to approach us from that rock pile off yonder,” Cairns nodded to his left.  “So, unless you suggest otherwise Father, I suggest we set watch and leave that as a not-quite-obvious whole.”

Father Robert nodded, considering.  “Yes, that should probably work.  Daniel needn’t sleep, but he should pretend to so that Quinn doesn’t become suspicious.  I trust you can arrange a camp watch?”  Cairns’ snorted laughter was enough of a response.

“Hah, alright,” Cairns took charge as he stopped laughing.  “Billy, you take care of the horses for now.  Sam and Daniel’ll take first watch, the rest of us will cycle up, and Daniel can sleep closest to the rock pile.”  He looked around, saw nodding heads.  “Right, let’s get to it.”

***

The campfire was burning low, and the tense quiet of the canyon left Sam O’Connel nervous.

“So, uh,” the young man looked sideways at his watch-companion, his lilt coming stronger with his nervousness, “yer a Christian feller then?  What with the travelin’ with the priest-like an’ all.”

Daniel nodded happily.  “Christ-god is very powerful.  He cannot die.  He shares his power with us by letting us eat him, and he still does not die.  I must be a good Christian.  And I will eat this Matt Quinn and be more powerful too.  It is good.”

Sam stared at Daniel, wide-eyed.  Then he turned and stared out into the darkness, very carefully not looking at the thing at his back.  “Right.  Yes.  It sure is good.”

Act Three (by Paul Willett aka MomDude)

From the corner of Sam’s eye he caught sight of light and movement. Swinging around quickly, bringing up his rifle, his heart starting to race, he let out a long sign as he saw it was just a long meteor trail cutting across the sky. The moon wouldn’t be up for another hour and it wouldn’t be that bright tonight, but he would be grateful to get any help he could.

A clatter of stones and gravel in the distance had Sam spinning the other way, peering into the dark, lit only dimly by starlight and the campfire embers. A shape was moving out there somewhere up on the hill, but it was going downstream along the canyon, not toward them. Maybe a coyote.

“You still awake there, Dan? You’re not leavin’ me out here alone, are ya?”

“Not sleep,” Daniel said softly. “Listening. No danger from sky lights.” Without moving his head, he moved his hand to gesture toward the sky, then pointed at the canyon wall. “Desert dog not hurt us. Or night bird.” He pointed up again, where Sam could hear the soft passage of an owl somewhere overhead, now that it had been pointed out to him.

“You can hear all of that? And tell the difference? What are you anyway? Not even Apache can hear those things!”

“Not Apache. Me from far away, there.” Daniel pointed toward the sky near the northern horizon. “Must capture and eat Matt Quinn being.”

Sam shuddered. “Do you know where Quinn is now? Can you hear him or smell him?”

“Matt Quinn very near. Over there. Going away.”

As Daniel pointed again, a scream cut through the night from outside the camp. The screaming echoed through the canyon, becoming all the more terrifying as it reverberated back and forth, before abruptly cutting off and leaving silence once again.

Instantly, everyone in camp was awake and on their feet. All but Father Robert and Daniel had their guns drawn. They stared wild-eyed out into the dark toward where the sound had been.

“Everyone spread out, don’t leave the campfire,” Sheriff Cairns said. “Keep an eye out on the man to your left and to your right. Billy, throw some more brush onto the fire and give us some light.” The men shuffled around to surround the campfire, facing outward, their terror barely kept in check in the darkness.

“Billy, where are you?” Sam yelled as the fire stayed dark. “Billy! Sheriff, where’s my brother?”

Father Robert threw some broken brush onto the fire. As the flames flared up, everyone did a quick head count. Five humans plus one Daniel. There was no Billy O’Connel in sight.

Sam screamed in anger, brought up his rifle, and charged toward the darkness toward where his little brother had last been heard. The sheriff’s command of “STOP!” brought him up short, trembling, balancing between his fury and his terror.

“We’ve got to go get him!” Sam bellowed back over his shoulder. “That’s Billy out there, sheriff. You’ve known him all his life, you can’t just leave him!”

“If he’s lucky, he’s dead,” Father Robert said. “If you or any of us go out there, then we’ll all be just as lucky if we die quickly. But Quinn won’t let that happen. We’ll all die slowly, with as much pain and suffering as he can get out of us. It’s what he feeds on.”

The sheriff pointed at Daniel. “What the hell’s going on with him?” he demanded. The demon was standing beside the priest, arms limp at his sides. His shark-like mouth was open in a wide smile, a thread of drool dripping down from both sides, his eyes slitted half open, a look of rapture on his face.

“He feeds!” Daniel said softly and reverently, before sitting down heavily in the dirt.

With a sound of rushing air, something large arched out of the darkness and flew toward the campfire. Johnny had his shotgun up in a flash, his shot catching it squarely and knocking it to one side, away from the flames. The mystery object landed with a thud, collapsing into a pile.

“Hold your positions!” the sheriff ordered. “Everyone keep your watch out there!” Holding his revolver at the ready, he approached the new threat.

At first it appeared to be nothing more than a pile of clothing. Billy’s clothes from the look of it. But as the sheriff prodded the pile with his toe and started to spread it out a bit, the almost overwhelming horror became clear. The clothes weren’t stained or torn, but holding them all together was a giant, empty sack of skin. All bone, blood, muscle, and internal organs were gone, as was the head.

As the moon started to rise over the eastern canyon wall, Sam staggered over to the fire and fell to his knees next to the abomination lying in the dirt. He couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t scream, couldn’t find a way to release his grief and rage. He desperately looked back and forth between the sheriff, the priest, and Daniel, finally allowing his gaze to settle on the hellish altar boy.

“He feeds,” Daniel whispered, his face remaining expressionless.

“That’s it, we’re going out after him,” the sheriff said. “Leave the camp, we’ll either be dead or we can come back for it later. Saddle up!”

“Sheriff, it’s what he wants,” Father Robert said. “You’ll die.”

“Tell that to Billy. We’re dying here anyway, let’s at least die fighting instead of trying to hide in the dark.”

“It won’t work.”

“Padre, if you’ve got a better idea, now’s the time to spill the beans. And what’s he supposed to do to help us?” the sheriff asked, pointing an accusing finger at Daniel.

The priest took a long look at Daniel, surrounded by the sounds of men putting saddles on horses and getting ready to die. He looked at Billy’s remains, back at Daniel, and then gave a heavy sigh. “Yes, I guess now’s the time for that, sheriff. Let me show you what Daniel can do and how he’ll kill Quinn.”