Posts tagged ‘writing’
BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER III
BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER III
It was weeks before Nijo had time to search out the Mejocuthru master. The workload was unusually heavy, and her kids were sick so when she wasn’t caring for her patients she was nursing her children.
One sunny cold Saturday afternoon she asked Jim to watch the girls. “I’ve got some errands to run. Would you mind staying home with the kids?”
Jim looked up from the college football game he was watching and said, “No problem. On your way home, why don’t you pick up a pizza for dinner?” He returned to the game as his wife closed the front door.
She made her way to the address Robbie supplied. It was in the Chinese section of town. She consulted a city map and had no trouble locating the home of the Mejocuthru master. She pulled up in front of the building and was momentarily confused, “This can’t be the right address,” she said to herself. The building housed a Chinese restaurant. In the window of the grimy building was a row of cured ducks hung by their necks, suspended over oriental fruit and vegetables. Above were apartments, but the doorway leading upstairs displayed a different number.
Nijo went into the restaurant and was immediately approached by a waiter who asked in a heavy accent, “Can I seat you?” The room smelled of exotic sauces and spices. Clouds had darkened the afternoon sky, and the room appeared not to absorb what little light that filtered through the dirty front window. The few customers present were seated in the darkness muttering in Asian dialects.
Nijo said, “I was given this address by a friend. I’ve come to see the Mejocuthru master.”
The waiter’s expression changed from neutral to one of malice. “That is not possible,” he said. “Who sent you here?”
She gave him Robbie’s name. A brief look of recognition passed over his face.
“Sit here,” he growled, pointing to the area reserved for take-out customers and disappeared through a beaded curtain leading to the kitchen. Sometime later he reemerged, perspiring heavily. He had the same countenance of anger, but now he also bore a hint of uncertainty.
In a gruff voice, he said, “Follow me.”
The waiter led Nijo through the beaded curtain and into the kitchen where a host of Chinese cooks shouted to one another in their sing-song language. Here the exotic smell of the food was overpowering. Hurriedly, Nijo was shown to the rear of the room to a flight of stairs leading to the basement. The steps leading into the darkness were wooden and well-worn. In the faint light from an occasional bare bulb, Nijo found herself walking through a maze of tiny storerooms containing shelves of cans displaying Asian characters and jar upon jar of spices. One room was reserved for nothing but tea; another for huge bags of rice. He led Nijo to the darkest recesses of the cellar and a rust-stained metal door. He unlocked a heavy bolt and motioned Nijo inside. Immediately after she entered, the door was locked behind her. Her nostrils were attacked by the heavy smell of incense. Behind a single wavering candle flame appeared to be a pile of rags. Then the rags began to move, becoming a solitary figure surrounded by cushions. Even after her eyes had adjusted, Nijo could only make out a shadowy figure.
In perfect English, without the hint of an accent, the specter motioned to the pile of cushions and said, “Come here, child, and sit.”
The voice was that of a woman and was gentle but with an undertone of despair. Now seated, Nijo could begin to discern the woman’s features. Her face was a mass of wrinkles with deep-set slanted eyes, a flat nose and small mouth.
“My name is Maggie Wu,” said the woman. “I have been a prisoner in this room for many years. It is a painful, lonely existence, one I wish I could end, but I am powerless to do so.”
Nijo asked, “Why are you held prisoner? Are these people holding you hostage?”
The old woman answered, “I do not know why I am here. They say I did terrible things, but I don’t recall. I have had visitors, but they were either curious or vengeful. This has been my existence for more years than I can remember. “What brings you here, my child?”
Nijo answered, “A friend of mine and I have been practicing Reiki to help our patients. We are hospice nurses and have had some success in relieving some of their pain, but nothing consistent. I asked my friend, Robbie, if there was some stronger discipline we could use with more power and more certainty. Reluctantly, she told me about Mejocuthru and how to find you. She said there were risks but I would risk anything to help my patients.”
“Would you, my dear? I recall your friend. You must have been very persuasive, for not only did I deter her from using Mejocuthru but made her swear not to tell anyone of my existence.”
Nijo said, “I was rather relentless in my questioning. Do not be mad at Robbie. Please agree to teach me.”
The old woman reached out her gnarled hands to Nijo. “Give me your hands,” she ordered.
Nijo extended her hands and felt a strange tingle when they were held by the woman.
The woman said, “You have a deep desire to heal. I have never experienced this power in another. Perhaps you could control the power of Mejocuthru. I will tell you my history; then we will see.
“I was a healer taught by healers from the old country. They said I had many natural abilities and revealed to me powers and cures unknown in this country. I did much good for the Chinese community, but I felt I wasn’t doing enough, that there was a further step I could take.”
“I have the same feelings,” said Nijo, “that there is something beyond the Reiki I use.”
The old woman shook her head in disgust. “Reiki is for amateurs, a weak discipline practiced by weak people. Mejocuthru is where the real power lies. With Mejocuthru you can perform miracles. The old masters warned me of dangers, of doing well but of also doing evil. But I accepted the power. I raised the dead. It was only then I realized the power I possessed.
“The old masters said I would perform unspeakable acts if I used this knowledge. After I began to cure using Mejocuthru, the only problem I encountered was the loss of memory after healing. Soon after I raised a young woman from death I was imprisoned and have been here ever since. I long to be free. No one will explain why I am here, but I know I did some good and that is what is important. Those thoughts are what keep me alive.”
Nijo said, “I do not understand how such a great healing tool can do evil. I want to learn. I want to possess this power.”
The old woman smiled and said, “I will teach you. There is a chant you must learn. One that will release the powers of Mejocuthru into the people you touch to heal the disease that sickens them.
“Come, child. Lean forward and I will whisper the chant so that you may heal the sick.”
Nijo leaned close to the ancient healer. The old woman spoke the chant into Nijo’s ear. When the lesson was finished, the old woman told Nijo, “You are now a Mejocuthru healer. Go and help the sick; the power is yours.”
As soon as she said these words, the old woman’s images appeared to waive; then slowly fade. Before Nijo’s disbelieving eyes, there appeared a boiling black cloud where the woman had been. Rather than dissipating, the cloud began to fall into itself. It became constantly smaller until all that remained was a solitary black dot hovering above the candle. Then it was gone.
Nijo shuddered and rose from the cushions. She had no idea what she had just witnessed, however, she felt a new sense of power that was pleasurable, that needed to be shared. She pounded on the door to be released. The door was opened by the waiter who had led her to the room. Nijo said, “I am finished here,” and walked past the man. After a minute or so, his eyes began to adjust to the darkened room. The chamber was empty. He searched the small room in disbelief and horror.
BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER II
BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER II
Nijo had been content with her life. Her husband, Jim, was a hard-working engineer and provided a good life for her and their two daughters, Kim, age two, and Heather, age four. She was a nurse, and didn’t need to work, but she loved her profession and could not imagine life without nursing. When caring for the sick, she felt complete. To serve the patients most in need of her skills, she chose hospice nursing, and with that decision she would do a great deal of good but also seal her fate.
The patients she encountered had the most urgent care requirements. They required comfort along the road toward their death. And Nijo provided help along that road with care and compassion. But, deep inside she felt she was not doing enough to ease the suffering of the dying.
It was shortly after this feeling of inadequacy began that she met Robbie. Robbie, Roberta, was a hospice nurse working at the same agency. She was older than Nijo, blond, tall and had a striking presence of authority whenever she entered the room of a patient. Extremely competent in her discipline, she used all the skills at her command to ease the fears and pain of the dying. It was Robbie’s knowledge of a little recognized discipline that would determine Nijo’s future.
Robbie and Nijo became close friends. One day Nijo asked, “There are times I feel I could do more for my patients. Robbie, your patients seem to possess an inner peace different from those I work with. What do you do for them that I don’t?”
Robbie replied, “I’ve learned to use a healing method called Reiki. When you use this discipline, power comes through your hands as you work with the patient to help heal and provide a feeling of peace. For some patients it works, for some it doesn’t, but in our profession, you do what you must to ease pain and suffering.”
Nijo took some Reiki classes with Robbie and began to see the benefits of this mystical approach to helping the dying. However, the success rate was less than she had hoped for, that’s when she asked Robbie, “Is there anything more I can do? Is there another step beyond Reiki?”
Robbie hesitated, and then answered, “There is a force beyond Reiki, but it is dangerous. There are consequences to the practitioner if it is used. You might say, when you use this power, there are debts to be paid. I’ve never had the nerve to pursue it.”
Nijo responded, “If we can comfort the dying, no debt is too much. Will you tell me what this method is called?”
“It is called Mejocuthru. No one knows its origin. Even its most practiced masters seldom use this power. They fear it.”
Nijo asked Robbie, “Who are these masters? How can I meet them?”
Robbie paused, and then said, “I once asked the same questions and was led to a master. But what she told me stopped me from asking more.”
“What did this master tell you?”
“She said that with every use of Mejocuthru you must do the equivalent amount of harm to match the good you accomplished.”
Now it was Nijo’s turn to hesitate. She thought for a while, and then said, “If there is something out there that will help me with my patients, I would like to at least look into it. How can I meet this master?”
Robbie replied, “I shouldn’t have told you about Mejocuthru. It’s dangerous.”
“Look, Robbie, you know the type of patients we deal with. For the most part, their lives are full of pain and suffering, not to mention the emotional strain on their families. I would do anything to help these people. To be honest, I’m surprised you have not used this discipline.”
Robbie thought for a moment and considered how persuasive the master had been against her learning Mejocuthru. She thought the master would also be able to discourage Nijo, so reluctantly, she gave Nijo the master’s address.
BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER I
BALANCE, A STORY OF HORROR, CHAPTER I
Balance was published by Necrology Shorts in 2010.
There is no free ride in life.
Balance
Nijo London pounded on the door of her small cell – her world now for over a year – until her fists bled. “Let me out!” she screamed although she knew her plea would go unanswered. She stepped back and studied the door covered with dark brown outlines of her fists from past attempts to summon help. She was not sure why she was being held captive, but there were times she was not sure she wanted to know.
Nijo was thirty-five of medium height and slender, with close-cropped black hair and startling blue eyes. She was slender now because of her imprisonment, but she once drifted up and down in her weight. After each of her two pregnancies, the pounds tended to remain more than being shed.
It had been a year since she last saw the sun. No one would speak to her, let alone answer her questions. But she heard occasional conversations through her door. There was hushed talk of brutal murders. One time she thought she heard the mention of cannibalism, but she couldn’t be sure.
Surely these conversations could not be connected to Nijo; she was a nurse and devoted her life to caring for the sick. But she had vague memories that she didn’t understand; flashes of perception that were more than disturbing. They were horrifying. There was also some connection with these horrors to ancient rituals of healing she had tried to incorporate into her practice. Nijo also recalled the most unsettling consequence of using these ancient rights: the complete loss of memory after she used the power.
UNWELCOMED GUESTS: A GHOST STORY
Unwelcomed Guests was accepted for publication by Necrology Shorts in February 2010.
UNWELCOMED GUESTS
Will Trizma was a writer of ghost stories and mined the local countryside for legends and their settings. The area abounded in both. His wife, Joan, acted as his editor and sounding board for his ideas. At times, the only comment she would make is, “You’re sick.”
Not only did he write ghost stories, but he also dreamt of them. One night he conjured a most vivid story; a story from the future. But unlike most of his dreams, he could not remember this tale. The only recollection he had was that it was horrifying.
* * *
It was the evening of August 15, 1949. The time was slightly before ten as a train made its way toward West Chester. There were fifteen souls aboard, counting the crew and passengers on this quiet summer night. The steam locomotive was pushing a caboose and two passenger cars. The weather had been stormy for days and up ahead the foundation of the bridge spanning Ship Road had been undermined by runoff. Jim Purvis, making his last run in a fully loaded fuel truck, slowly crossed the bridge. As he reached the span’s center, it collapsed leaving the truck astraddle the tracks. Jim could not believe he was still alive considering the load he was carrying. Although injured, he managed to climb out of the ravine and go seeking help.
As the train slowly made its way into a depressed section of track, the conductor, Ben Elliot, sat on the caboose’s platform and began filling his pipe thinking about sharing a late dinner with his wife. He looked down to light the pipe, and once achieving a satisfactory burn, he puffed contently and then looked up. The sight before him made his scream, “Holy sh…! He never finished the expletive.
The caboose rammed the truck, followed by the cars. The locomotive cut through the wreck until it reached the truck exploding the gas tank and turning the wreck into a funeral pyre.
* * *
Writing is a lonely profession, and years ago Will sought out a local writer’s group for support and editorial advice. During a Christmas dinner attended by all the writers, Will and Joan suggested a summer party and volunteered to hold it at their house. As the day of the party approached, one spouse or two became sick and others were called away unexpectedly on business.
Will and his wife greeted their guests, their thirteen guests.
Their dog, Millie, a lab mix was her usual excited self with the arrival of every new visitor. Once everyone was there, she settled down and dozed in the sun.
The conversation was lively with all the creative minds present, and as dusk approached, Will was called upon to tell a ghost story. “Not dark enough yet,” he answered.
Dessert was served, and when there was no longer a hint of sunlight, and with the patio bathed in twilight, Will deemed the time right for his tale and went into the house. He returned with candles, one for each table, after extinguishing all the inside lights. “Now we have the right atmosphere,” he said. Will began his story and even Millie appeared interested, her eyes reflecting the candlelight.
The weather had been rainy the last few days, and at ten as he began to read, Will noticed a mist had begun coming out of the gull bordering one side of his property. A few guests had asked him earlier about the gully and he answered that it had once harbored a railroad track.
The mist became denser and soon overtook the yard along with the guests. One by one they all fell asleep, including Millie. As the wall of fog enveloped all present, fifteen human shapes began to form. The specters slowly made their way to the dozing, and one by one, entered their bodies.
The next morning, they awoke from their deep sleep and knowingly smiled at one another. Ben Elliot looked around, and Will’s eyes filled with tears. “We’ve waited sixty years for this moment.”
Millie awoke and growled. She knew there was something terribly wrong with her master.
THE END
MY SCAM EXPERIENCE
MY SCAM EXPERIENCE
I was on my computer when I suddenly got a blue screen from ‘Microsoft’ telling me that I was being hacked it had been locked, and not to shut off my computer. Also, the message gave me a phone number to call.
I called the number and was told all my personal information was at risk. They asked me for my cell phone number. I do not have a cell phone and that seemed to disappoint them. Then they told me not to answer my landline until the next day at 11:00 AM.
At some time during my interaction with them they asked to take control of my computer, and I allowed this. After all, I thought I was dealing with Microsoft. At some point I told them that, “I feel sorry for hackers because they lead such useless lives.” Little did I know that I was talking to a hacker.
When they called the following day they said they were going to connect me to my bank on a secure line. Now, the man I was talking to had a distinct accent. Who knows what country I was talking to? When I was connected to my bank on a secure line the individual I was talking to had the same accent. I immediately hung up, called my bank, and that was the end of the scam.
This happened more than a year ago. I don’t think I lost any personal information and had my computer checked to make sure there were no surprises lurking within.
I’m telling you all this because if you suddenly message from Microsoft like what I received telling you your computer is lock, which you will find is true, and give you a number to call, it is a scam. Shut your computer off and do not call the phone number. Hopefully, when you turn your computer back on it is no longer locked. If it is, you might need help to unlock it.
I hope you learn from my experience not to be scammed.
A SCAM, IT’S NOT MICROSOFT
A SCAM, IT’S NOT MICROSOFT
This post will be followed by another more lengthy post concerning scams I have experienced three times with my computer being locked with a screen saying Microsoft has found a security leak on my computer. There is usually a blue screen along with one or two others warning you not to turn off your computer. You are given a phone number to call. DO NOT CALL THE NUMBER.
Do turn off your computer. After turning my computer back on one time the screens and lock were gone, one time they weren’t, and I had to seek help to get my computer unlocked.
The first time I experienced this scam I did call the number listed. I will soon post what happens when you call the number
WHAT IS AN ‘INFO DUMP’?
WHAT IS AN ‘INFO DUMP’?
What is an ‘info dump’?
A ‘info dump’ is something writers try to avoid. In my opinion, an ‘info dump’ slows down the story and may result in boring the reader. Here is the condition which could result in an ‘info dump’ if the writer is not careful. It would be interesting if you now thought about some of the stories you have read and whether they contained an ‘info dump’ and if it affected your appreciation of the story. Say there’s a situation in a story which requires a detailed explanation to carry the story along. How the writer decides to explain these details could result in the story shifting from a story to a lecture and possibly bore the reader. What I usually do is first determine how much detail the reader needs to understand what is happening in the story. Then I deliver the knowledge usually with characters discussing the situation rather than writing a detailed explanation to inform the reader of what is involved in what is occurring in the story. Conversation between characters avoids an ‘info dump’. In my story, Martian Rebirth, I use the head of NASA conducting a press conference to include some prion information in the
PRIONS AND THE MARS INVASION OF EARTH
PRIONS AND THE MARS INVASION OF EARTH
While writing Martian Rebirth I asked myself, “How could enough prions, floating through space, be able to infect an entire planet. This recently resulted in a look at prion replication. Also, in avoiding including this information, I avoided an ‘info dump’.
The next two posts will involve an explanation of what an ‘info dump’ is and a look and prion replication and how, in my story, prion replication on Earth would be different than that on Mars. These subjects may not instill a burning interest in some. But some may be curious.
I wondered how prions multiply for they are nothing but strains of protein lacking DNA and RNA, standard requirements to multiply.
I also realized if an expensive exploration of my question in this story would probably result in an ‘info dump’ and slow down the story. So now that you have read the story what follows is the explanation of what exactly an ‘info dump’ is and a brief look at prion replication.
ELMO’S SOJOURN, CHAPTER 12
ELMO’S SOJOURN
CHAPTER 12
ELMO HAS HIS HOMECOMING
The four stayed up late into the night. Rolack described how she was made pregnant three times, felt the joy of motherhood as a new life stirred within her body and was filled with revulsion at the sight of the tiny, winged monster she delivered. She never met any of the women from Earth but had heard talk of them. They had not she learned, survived for very long on Gylex. Because they were physically so much smaller than the women of Roth and Gylex, they often died during pregnancies in which they carried fetuses much larger than an Earth child. Labor and delivery killed the few that survived to term. All that was left were stories and bones scattered among the trash of the prison.
Valmid and Cal could not take their eyes from their daughter, couldn’t believe she was back, and that the planet was safe from more women suffering her fate. Valmid explained to Rolack how Elmo had traveled to Roth and how his visit led to her freedom and that of her companions.
After a while, Valmid and Elmo decided to take a walk and let Cal and Rolack have some of the mother-daughter time they both desperately needed. Valmid sensed also that something troubled Elmo and thought perhaps a stroll in the early morning air would ease his mind and loosen his thoughts.
They walked for a while, enjoying the peaceful countryside. Then Elmo began, “Valmid, before I arrived on your planet, I was a retired scientist just puttering around in my cellar. Then I hit on the concept that brought me here. Back on earth, I have a wife with whom I have spent most of my life. But that life is over, and I can’t return to it. Now, I’m a young man. I have a future again. I cannot go back to Earth and resume my retirement. There is so much I want to learn from you, from your planet. I want Mildred to journey here. She is my life; we share a history. I need her to share my future on Roth. If I cannot convince Mildred to come here, I don’t know what I will do.”
They walked on a while more before Valmid shared his thoughts. “Elmo, your knowledge has already proved indispensable to Roth. Who knows in what ways my planet could benefit from the knowledge you have of Earth? And if there were a problem on Roth that can only be solved by making a trip to Earth, I would find it difficult to blend into the population. I have discussed all this with the elders of the planet, and we all reached the same conclusion: We want you to stay.”
They continued their walk in silence until Elmo asked the question that he had been nagging him whenever he thought of making Roth his home. “Valmid, if Mildred agrees to come here, could she travel through the wormhole that I first used? If she could, we would both be starting a new life on a new planet.”
Valmid considered this, “If she agrees to come here, I see no problem in granting your request. I think we should return to Earth and try to convince Mildred to spend time on Roth.”
ELMO’S SOJOURN, CHAPTER 11
ELMO’S SOJOURN
CHAPTER 11
ELMO’S OFFER IS ACCEPTED
The argument went back and forth between Elmo and Valmid, but Valmid finally succumbed to Elmo’s persistence. “I accept your help my friend. We shall leave when the devices are ready.”
In a few days the six new Freon throwers were ready and tested. Valmid called the five other Rothians to his home. The seven warriors were ready to depart. Elmo noticed that each member of the team carried a pouch in addition to his Freon throwers on their backs. Elmo was also given a pouch.
“We are taking as many time-space machines as we can carry. We have no idea how many women we will be freeing and returning to Roth. I’m afraid there is little hope of rescuing any of the women abducted from Earth, for the abductions ceased there almost sixty years ago, when the Freon level reached intolerable levels for the Gylex monsters.
“Our plan is to journey to Gylex, hopefully arriving at a deserted area. Then we will try to follow the thoughts of the captive women.” All five of the Rothians and Elmo nodded and prepared to leave. Elmo joined Valmid in the center of his machine; the other five occupied two machines facing back-to-back in preparation for a hostile greeting.
In a flash the most dismal landscape imaginable surrounded them, along with four Gylexian monsters. Three were quickly dispatched, surprise being on the side of the Rothians. The fourth began flying away, thanks to the weaker gravity of the planet; Elmo was able to leap high enough to douse the creature and it abruptly fell to the ground.
After the initial excitement, the travelers had a chance to inspect their surroundings. Elmo thought, “If there is a hell, it must look something like this.” The Rothians were unfamiliar with the concept of Elmo’s hell, but they all shuddered at the scene before them. Everything was colored shades of gray and black. The landscape was dotted with miniature volcanoes no more than a few hundred feet high, most in a constant state of eruption that spewed heavy columns of smoke and ash into the air and shed an eerie glow from the magma seeping down their sides. The atmosphere was thick and oppressive. The party had timed their arrival for daytime, but a faint twilight was all that greeted them. The only vegetation visible were huge trees, not unlike those found on Roth. Their trunks disappeared into the unbroken mantle of black clouds that filled the sky; their leaves seeking the life-giving light denied the planet’s surface.
The rescue party could see larger mountains in the distance; their sides honeycombed with openings. Occasionally a winged Gylexian would fly in or out of apertures; these must be their cities.
The six Rothians stood still and quietly concentrated, seeking the thoughts of the women they had come to rescue. It did not take long for them to sense Rothian thoughts and then locate their origin on a distant part of the planet. They set up their time-space machines, again standing back-to-back and ready for an attack. They were sure there must be guards at their destination, and to eliminate them by taking advantage of the element of surprise.
In a flash the seven were standing before a Gylexian hill, somewhat smaller than the hill they first had seen. Perhaps this was the prison where the women were being held. At the same time, they also found themselves standing before five guards armed with weapons resembling crossbows. Before the Rothians could react, one of their parties was shot in the neck and collapsed. Freon spray quickly took care of the guards, but not before they sounded an alarm that brought more guards flying out of the prison, also to fall to the ground as the air filled with Freon. Three of the party, along with Elmo, remained outside to guard against further attacks. Valmid and the remaining member of his group entered the prison to free the women. The sight inside sickened them. Corpses of ten to 15 Rothian women littered the floor of the forbidding structure. As they proceeded farther into the dark, dank hallways they came upon the cells they were seeking. Each cell held two or three women in various stages of pregnancy. As Valmid had anticipated, there were no women from Earth, only women from Roth. Valmid searched wildly from cell to cell looking for his daughter, calling her name, “Rolack, Rolack.” He stopped at the entrance of a cell holding two women, then choked back tears and cried, “Rolack!”
A woman inside stood and cried, “Father!”
Valmid had found his daughter. In short order, the keys to the cells were located and the women released. They made their way out of the prison, the women breathing free air for the first time since their capture. One of the women collapsed by the body of the fallen Rothian, crying for the husband she had not seen for years and who had died trying to rescue her. Valmid ordered everyone to unfurl the time-space machines and, in twos and threes, quickly occupy them. Two Rothians carried the body of their fallen companion to the last machine and gently laid him down. Then Valmid distributed the preset control boxes, and the group disappeared in a series of flashes, bound for Roth.
Once on Roth, the women cried, laughed and even collapsed when united with their families. Those who returned pregnant wanted most to immediately cleanse their bodies of the demon cargo they carried. Valmid, Elmo and Rolack entered their home to find Cal crying out at the sight of her daughter. The three family members hugged and cried while Elmo stood to the side and felt an emptiness he could no longer deny.
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