NYC Midnight Flash Fiction 2011 -- Challenge 2

The Challenge:

Genre: Drama
Location: Forest
Object: Hammer
Words: 1,000
Days: 2

Rotten Wood

Synopsis: In the solitude and beauty of an Oregon forest, from 150 feet, everything can change in an instant.

The ancient forests of the Oregon Coast rose above the Pacific like stacked green cathedrals, and was as hushed as any place of worship. High above, glimpsed between branches of emerald spires, three ospreys soared in a widening spiral; feathered angels with lethal talons, seeking prey.

On the ground, sinews of fog still floated in the deeper hollows, where night had discarded them. The sweet smell of dew, mold and vegetation hung in the air. The only sound was the thud of hiking boots against a dirt trail.

At eight o’clock in the morning, Jason and Ana reached the base of the fire tower, which stood as an old sentinel, 150 feet above them.

The tower had long ago been abandoned by the forest service. No longer used to fight fires, its main purpose now was to reward any hiker determined enough to reach it. But there were complaints of its safety. From the upper deck, rotten wood had made the old structure dangerous.

Jason took off his backpack, pulled out his work belt, and fastened it to his waist. Then he grabbed the wood they’d use to replace the old railing.

“They say the top deck railing is loose?” Ana said as she tightened her own work belt and looked up, squinting. “That’s a pretty good hike up there.”

Jason couldn’t help himself. He stared at her, the tautness of her bare legs. Her figure seemed to glow in the early morning sun. Her voice had an infectious joy that lifted him. For the last six months they’ve worked together at the Forest Service. Each month he’d recommit to asking her out. Each month he chickened out. “You’ve never been here?”

“No, never.”

“Ahh. You’ll love it. But we’ll want one of these,” Jason said, holding up a flashlight. “It’s a little dark in there. The last thing you want to do is trip on something going up that staircase.” He pointed ahead to the doorway. “I’ll lead and light your way.”

The creak of each step echoed hollowly through the enclosed framework. As they ascended, their rhythmic breathing increased in pace. Aside from a few cobwebs, a musty and moldy smell, and loose balusters, it seemed to be in good condition.

Sweat pooled on Jason’s brow. He stopped, swung his flashlight around and peered down the stairs through the dancing shadows. He had become increasingly uneasy since he stepped foot inside the tower. He expected someone to be following him from behind. But the two were alone, with only spiders to keep them company.

“What is it?” Ana asked.

“Sorry, nothing,” he said, shaking his head and turning back around.

The steps became shorter and steeper as the diameter of the tower shrank until they reached the door that led to the observation deck.

Ana gasped when they opened the door. Jason leaned against the doorway, wiped his brow, and pulled out a bottle of water. He then took off his pack and started unloading the new railing.

“It’s spectacular,” Ana said.

A carpet of treetops spread out to the east toward the sleeping volcano, Mt. Hood. On the west, cascading pines pointed down to the blue waters of the Pacific.

Ana walked out with her eyes toward the ocean and rested her hands on the railing. It bent, and she stumbled forward but caught herself before she crashed through the decaying wood and pummeled to the floor below.

Jason leaped forward and grabbed her shoulder. “You alright?”

Ana turned around, her face turning pale. “I’m fine. But it looks like the rail does need to be fixed.”

“I almost lost you.”

“What? What does that mean?”

Jason let her go and took a step back, embarrassed. “It means we gotta get this fixed, Ana, before someone gets hurt.”

She smiled and turned around. “I’m not done with this view.”

Jason grabbed some wood, walked over and dropped it by the weakened section of rail. He pulled out his hammer with his right hand and a box of nails with his left. Ana walked over and reached down for the wood.

Jason shoved her so hard it lifted her off her feet. Her eyes flared as she crashed into the railing.

In a clatter of rotting wood, Ana disappeared over edge.

Jason thought about trying to catch her. But, instead, he just watched, and listened until her scream stopped. He walked over and stared straight down five stories below. Ana’s inert and contorted figure looked small on the forest floor.

The hammer swung slightly in his finger tips. He dropped the nails, which scattered across the wooden planks. A handful dangled on the precipice near the jagged gap in the railing. Jason stood there for ten minutes, hypnotized by the sudden event. Who knew he could be capable of such a violent act? Against someone who he cared for?

He backed up and fell to the floor and shook as he cried. He closed his eyes and mentally tried to turn back time, to change the events. How would he explain it? How would he live with himself? What would he do? How could something that happened in an instant change everything?

He walked out to the edge and closed his eyes. He put his foot out into the air. Then he stopped, with suicidal thoughts reeling, a smile broke across his face.

He reached down, grabbed a piece of wood, secured it against the tower, picked up a nail and hammered it into place.

Jason reached down for another nail. “We gotta get this fixed, Ana,” he said, a smile again wrinkling his face, “before someone gets hurt.”

NYC Midnight Flash Fiction 2011 -- Challenge 1

The Challenge:

Genre: Ghost Story
Location: Hall of Fame
Object: Alarm Clock
Words: 1,000
Days: 2

Brother's Keeper

Synopsis: In a vacant high school gymnasium, an old athlete walks the painful road of nostalgia and discovers the truth about a janitor. A truth that will change everything.

Columns of natural light spilled into the foyer from a row of tall, glass doors. Dust particles danced in the glow, defying gravity and spiraling in every direction. Shadows checkered the scratched linoleum that was littered with confetti and spilt food.

A random squeak of a tennis shoe, the slosh of a mop and the rolling wheels of a bucket is all that broke the silence. Beyond the foyer, a janitor cleaned the wooden floor of the old basketball court.

For 25 years I returned to walk down this hallway on the same morning, right after graduation. Every year it was the same – the janitor and I alone in an abandoned high school gymnasium. I welcomed the caretaker. There was something familiar and comforting about his presence.

I stared through glass cases that hung along the walls at awards, pictures and cutouts of former Cody High School athletes – the Cody Broncs Hall of Fame.

I walked slowly down the hall looking into the eyes of every kid that made All-Conference and All-State in Wyoming since 1942. The local stars of football, track and field, wrestling, tennis, and basketball, and the swimmers, gymnasts, and baseball players lined up like ghosts haunting the foyer.


When I reached the athletes from 1980, I froze. My eyes locked with the grooves where glass met wood. Sudden unknown fear and anxiety weighed on me like cast-iron shackles.

I yelled.

The scream seemed to emerge from some other realm and echoed through the foyer. Trying to free myself from fear, my hands shook the glass case. Pictures and awards collapsed.

The doors to the basketball court swung open. The janitor stopped and watched the trembling glass.

I let go and backed up.

“Sorry,” I said. The shaking stopped.

The janitor ignored me and walked over to the case, pulled out a key, opened it up, reorganized things, closed and locked the case, then walked back into the basketball court and closed the doors.

I walked further back, hesitated. I had to look at every kid. I had to. I started over from 2011 and worked backwards.

While the uniforms, equipment, and the hairstyles had changed from the past, the faces were the same from decade to decade. The same smiles, the same excitement, the same youthful hope, the same innocence.

As I walked further down that hall and reached the celebrated athletes of the 1980s, I froze in place again.

The paralyzing fear left a familiar taste. I reached up and wiped my mouth. Blood smeared on the back of my palm.

In that moment, I remembered I’ve felt this way before. Every year I’d feel it, and taste it. Anxiety mixed with blood in my mouth.

My hands were cold. My body shivered from something icy within. I inched further down the hall until I reached 1986. But I couldn’t look up. My eyes locked onto my name at the bottom of a large plaque, Owen Allphin, engraved in the middle of a dozen others.

This time pain accompanied irrational fear. I fell to my knees and groaned, then vomited blood. My left hand dug into the case and tore it from the wall as I fell. It crashed around me.

Once again my cry seemed distant, like it surfaced from some inhuman thing.

The big, swinging doors opened again and the janitor ran out into the foyer and stopped. He stared at the broken glass case. His head swiveled. His eyes wide and darting.

My pain and fear vanished as soon as I saw him. Blood no longer rested on my lips.


The janitor walked hesitantly toward the broken glass. He kneeled down in front of me and picked up the same large plaque from the rubble and gently brushed it off. He stared at it for a long time before he sat down. His upper lip trembled. His eyes pooled with tears.

“Owen, I’m sorry,” he said, cradling the plaque now.

“Sorry? I’m the one who broke it,” I said.

The janitor ignored me again. I got up and looked over his shoulder.

It was a picture of our basketball team moments before we traveled to the state tournament in Cheyenne. Despite coming here every year, I haven’t seen this photo before. I’ve never been able to see it.

An inscription below the photo read:

“IN LASTING MEMORY OF THE MEMBERS OF THE CODY HIGH SCHOOL BASKETBALL TEAM, THE COACHES AND STAFF, AND DEVOTED FANS, WHO DIED IN THE BUS CRASH ON MARCH 14, 1986.”

I fell back down to the floor. It felt like a frog jumped inside my throat.

“I’m so sorry, Owen,” the janitor was now crying. No, he was bawling. “I’m so sorry, brother. I should have been there.”

I stood straight up and walked around to look at the janitor head on. The face was tough and wrinkled, a face full of life’s experience. Not the face I remember, but one I now completely recognized. After all these years, my brother was in this gym with me every time.

The memories flooded back into my mind. My twin brother broke his leg and didn’t travel with the team that year. He never got on the bus.

I did.

I understood. I finally understood. I wasn’t shaking anymore.

I knelt down and put my mouth to his ear. “Royal,” I said. “I’m okay now. I was asleep when it happened. I don’t remember much.”

Royal’s head popped up. He wiped the tears from his cheeks. “I’ll see you soon, brother.”

An alarm clock chimed from behind us. I looked over at another familiar face who was tapping his watch. “Time’s up,” my father said. “I have to go back now. Come this time.”

“I’m ready,” I told him.

My father smiled.

I looked back on Royal. He picked up the plaque with the tenderness of a mother. Then I turned around, and for the first time, followed Dad into the unknown.

2011 NYC Midnight Short Story Challenge -- Heat 2

The NYC Midnight Short Story Contest randomly assigns genres and topics to the contestants, who then have to write a short story under 2,500 words in one week. I was given the "Fairy Tale" genre with the subject "Addiction." Here's to addictive fairy tales:

The Toad King

Synopsis: After the Prince is found in a coma, the King uncovers a widespread addiction that threatens the entire land. In the end, the King is forced to choose whether to save his son’s life or save his kingdom.

The War Toads brought the bodies out of the forest in the half light of dawn. They hoisted them up on stretchers made of water reeds and plates of jumbo tree bark.

The toads dressed in traditional battle gear: loin cloths, leather straps tied to their elbows and shoulders; and bamboo plating around their shins, chest and forearms. Weapons hung tight against their backs. They walked in silence, wary of the ever-watching Garuda. Each webbed foot fell softly into the tall grass, shaking free the beaded drops of morning dew. They moved through an open field toward the castle like phantoms of the forest. The large bodies on the stretchers ebbed and flowed above the tall grass like a flotilla of sailboats.

They reached the castle gates just as the mist began lifting but hadn’t yet burned off. In unison, the toads lowered the bodies to the ground. One toad drew his finger across the foreheads of those that didn’t survive the journey, and then momentarily cradled one who shivered from fever. They all bowed their heads and then stepped away, disappearing back into the meadow.

***

King Denton bit his lip as his horse galloped through the muddy streets of Bombadrezil. In his short time away, the once blissful, radiant kingdom had been transformed. Rainclouds shrouded the land in gray. Beggars called out to passersby. An ogre trudged through the streets crushing everything in its path. No laughter. No rumble of small talk. No flowers in the busy shops and eateries. People moaned. Farmer’s fields were empty. The skies were void. No birds flew. No butterflies danced in the air.

The King’s convoy had been traveling fast for two days since they received news about his son and several others found dead or near death at the gates of the castle. His brother’s son, an honored knight, didn’t survive.

The King turned his gaze away from the streets and looked at his brother who was muttering to himself. Isaac was a symbol of bravery, courage and respect. Although Denton was the older sibling, he often looked to Isaac as an example of how to live a good life. Life is hard when terrible things happen to great people.

Denton returned his view towards the decaying kingdom. He knew that whatever happened to their boys was just a small part of a bigger picture.

***

Deep in the forest where darkness and shadows retreat from the sun, sat a congregation. Under the canopy of the tall Jumbo Trees, they swayed with their eyes closed to the hypnotic melodies of a flute and slowly chanted, “Garuda … Garuda … Garuda.”

A shadowy, massive bird-shaped figure rose up out of the earth in front of the congregation, lifted its head and encircled the worshippers with its colossal wings.

“Be at peace, children,” came a subtle, warm voice. “You are safe here. Relax and feel my glow.”

The black wings changed color and exploded into a gleaming, blinding white light that seemed to set the entire forest on fire. The worshippers moaned in pleasure and collapsed. All color sapped from their bodies. Some fell unconscious. Garuda extended her wings toward the sky, opened her beak and let out a scream from deep down in her neck. Her body bulged, shifted and cracked as it grew nearly twice in size. Feathers floated to the forest floor. Garuda’s head now brushed the top of the jumbo trees.

The worshippers below raised their arms up to Garuda and started chanting again.
Garuda looked down. That same comforting voice spoke again, “My flock, my appearance at Bombadrezil is at hand.”

The congregation cheered.

“With your help,” Garuda continued, “I grow stronger each day. Leave me now, bring back more converts and I will offer you a glow you have yet to experience.”

Garuda covered herself with her wings and vanished in another explosion of white. Left alone, the congregation whimpered. Some crawled away. Others never moved.

***

The temperature dropped sharply as Denton and Isaac entered the thick, rock walls of the lower chamber that housed the remains of those who had died. In front of them were rows of dead bodies covered in gray sheets.

“You may not like what you see,” said the caretaker. “Are you sure you want to see your son?”
Isaac nodded.

The caretaker removed the sheet. He pointed to a wrinkled scarf wrapped around the dead man’s neck. “Your family emblem.”

The dead knight was barely recognizable as a human being. The skin on his face was shriveled like a wrung rag and spread tight across the cheekbones and jaws. The eyes were sunken into the sockets, appearing like pearls in a black sea. The mouth was agape displaying a shrunken tongue.

Isaac put his hands over his nose and breathed through his mouth. “Bloody, Hell.” He gripped his hands together to stop them from shaking and turned toward the rock wall.

“Cover him up,” Denton said. Sweat dripped down his spine and lodged into his belt line.

“What could do this?” Isaac stammered. “What in creation could do such a thing?”

“Garuda,” said a guttural voice from the opposite corner of the chamber.

Denton looked up and saw a fully armed War Toad squatting in the corner. He was a bulky, powerful creature. Red and yellow fibers hung from two metal rings that pierced his lips. The skin was leathery, warty. A long, sliver of red flesh dangled from his chin. Chartreuse amphibious eyes darted back and forth.

Isaac unsheathed his sword and charged.

“Isaac, no!” the King said.

The toad’s stocky body lengthened out to his full height of four feet, revealing ropy muscle that flexed along his arms and legs. In one fluid motion, he leaped with those powerful legs, turned in mid air and his large feet caught Isaac by the chest and shoulders and slammed him to the floor. Isaac grunted as his head struck hard dirt. The toad placed a blade just underneath Isaac’s Adam’s apple.

The king laughed. “You picked a fight with the wrong guy, brother.” The King walked over to the toad. “It’s okay. I promise my brother will behave. You can let him go.”
The War Toads are thought to be randomly violent creatures that haunt the forest. But the Kings of Bombadrezil know a much different side and have had a special relationship with them throughout history.

The toad released the blade and backed up. Isaac scurried to his feet.

“What are you doing, Denton? These toads did this to my son. To your son!”

“The toads brought the bodies here to warn us about something. If the toads killed them, why would they bring them back to the castle?”

Isaac flared his nostrils like a stallion and backed off. The toad put his blade back in its sheath.
“Trust me, Isaac. He’s here to help. Plus, I know this one well. His name is Alexander, like our father.”

The toad huffed, and his enlarged belly shook as he spoke, “Alexander, Chief General of the War Toads.” He nodded and blinked.

***

Garuda stared down at her council made up of Liches, Wights, Necromancers, Wraiths, Geryons and Aroiches.

“These peasants are fine. I can steal their life force for now,” Garuda said. “But the royals, including the King’s son, were not at the last Glow. What happened? We can’t take over the kingdom without royal blood continuously pumping through my veins.”

A Necromancer stood up, removed his hood and walked toward Garuda and bowed his head. The dark wizard addressed her with admiration, “The toads took them to the castle. I will lead a team to get them back.”

“No. I am strong enough to leave the forest. We’ll all go.”

***

Denton kneeled at his son’s bed and rubbed his forehead with a cold rag. His son trembled. Sweat beaded off his head and saturated his clothes. His lips were dry and cracked. Pools of darkness surrounded his eyes.

“Better that he’s not awake,” Alexander said. “It’s been nearly three days since he’s had the glow. His body is craving it. The adjustment is painful.”

“What can we do?” Denton asked.

“Wait it out, and hope Garuda is not yet strong enough to come here.”

“But the whole kingdom seems to be addicted to it.”

“Yes. She’s becoming stronger every day. Garuda will come for your son soon. And everyone else here if she can. Once she enslaves the royalty, she’ll have all power over the entire kingdom.” The toad riveted his eyes with the king’s. “You are not even safe once Garuda comes.

You will have to make a choice.”

Denton knew what the toad meant. To save the kingdom, he may have to take his son’s life, and the rest of the surviving addicts. Or, offer himself in their place.

Isaac burst through the door. “A dark wizard stands outside the gates. He wants to speak with you.”

***

Alexander and Isaac stood on the King’s side from atop the castle. They looked down at the stranger across the moat dressed in all black and riding an even blacker horse. A long nose protruded from underneath a brimmed hat that filled the rest of the face with shadow. The horse’s hooves kicked up dust that circled around its legs.

“A Necromancer,” the toad said.

Denton’s eyes flinched. Necromancers are evil wizards with the power over the world of the dead. The name itself caused his spine to twinge. They haven’t been seen in Bombadrezil in more than fifty years.

“What is your business stranger?” Denton yelled.

“The bodies,” the stranger replied quickly with a surprisingly warm voice. “I need to see them.”

“What bodies?” Denton said.

“Let’s don’t play games, Your Highness. I can smell them from here. Can we talk in private?”
The King nodded his head and turned.

“Wait, Denton. Don’t go down there,” Isaac said while grabbing his arm.

“Keep the archers on that thing out there.” The King said. He turned and high stepped down the stairs.

The King approached the Necromancer with one hand resting on the smooth handle of his sword.

“My best archers have their sites on you as we speak,” Denton said.

The wizard swayed back and forth, sniffing. His black, weathered coat touched the ground. The coat had visible scars, scratches and stitches, and swung independently as if it were alive. The man inside the coat was hard to see; the coat seemed to be intentionally hiding him, protecting him. If a shadow could rise from the ground and wear clothes, this Necromancer would be that shadow.

The stranger slid his hat down further across the bridge of his nose, engulfing his face in more shadow before he said, “Oh, that won’t be necessary, Your Highness, I’m not here to fight you.”
He leaned back in his saddle. “I just want the bodies.”

Inside the miasma underneath the long, brimmed hat, Denton saw two eyes shine for a moment and flicker out. “How do you know about the bodies?”


The wizard chuckled and tapped his long nose. “It’s what I do, Your Highness.” He shifted forward. “We will get those bodies and anyone else who’s addicted to the glow, whether you give them to us willingly, or we have to tear them from your bloodstained fingers.”

Denton’s eyes quivered. His hands balled up into fists as he controlled the urge to reach for his sword and lop off that evil creature’s head. “We will not give up our people,” he said as he turned his back on the wizard and stepped toward the castle.

When Denton reached the castle gates, the sun darkened.

Denton looked up as a shadow climbed the towers and spires of the castle. It was early afternoon, but night seemed to come to Bombadrezil. Denton turned his gaze to where the sun should be. A faint glow outlined Garuda’s immense wings and body that blocked out the entire sky.

Alexander met him. “Garuda grows very powerful,” he said. “You have to make a decision, now. Or else all is lost.”

“I can’t kill my own son. I can’t kill my people.”

Above, archers let arrows fly. A few fell to their deaths. Those addicted ran to the gates chanting Garuda’s name.

“Then there is only one option,” the toad said. “Become one of us and give yourself to Garuda in exchange.”

“What do you mean, become one of you?”

Alexander grabbed a small urn strapped to his neck, tore it away and shoved it in front of Denton’s face. “Drink this. Garuda has no power over us. It’s the only way to save your kingdom without killing your son. You must hurry.”

Dentin grabbed it, put it to his mouth and drank. He gagged as he felt the sludge pour down his throat. It tasted of sulphur, methane and mud.

“Good,” Alexander said. “Now, go out there. I have protection for you.”

When he left the gates, a dozen War Toads surrounded him. They walked about 50 yards.

Denton looked up at Garuda and called out, “I am King Denton, give me the glow!”

Garuda dropped her wings and swooped downward, once again revealing the sun. The toads scattered. She stood above the king in her massive glory and cocked her head.

“If you release the rest of the kingdom, including my son, I will let you have me.”

“Agreed,” Garuda said without hesitation. Her wings shuttered and lost color. She stumbled and shrunk more than half her size. “It’s done.”

Denton looked back. The people stopped clamoring at the gates. He looked back up, “Alright.”

She enveloped the King with her wings. Denton was bathed in blinding white light filled with ultimate pleasure. He could sense strength oozing out of his body. Then it stopped. He held his hands up and watched his skin grow warts. His body convulsed. Garuda released him, screamed, leaped into the air and disappeared over the horizon.

Denton blacked out.

***

In the distance, the sun glistened off the castle spires. A white butterfly bobbed in the air a few inches from Denton’s face. Bluebirds sang in the trees. From afar he watched his son embrace a young woman dressed in white.

“Future queen, I think,” Alexander said.
“Yes, father, we hope so,” Denton said. “Your grandson has done well.” He reached his arm out and looked at his leathery skin pocked with warts. He clenched his three fingers into a rough, solid fist.

Other War Toads rose up from the ground. It was time to move on. Denton closed and opened his new amphibian eyes. He let out a crooked smile. He stood and took his place with the War Toads, the guardians and former Kings of Bombadrezil.