Survive

Survive

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

 

Her finger nails were broken, the skin surrounding them bloody and bruised. She sobbed, scraping at the door, begging for him to open it. Silence met her pleas. She ran to the window, where she’d broken the glass, hoping to escape. Bars blocked that exit. She screamed for help and was met with the same familiar silence. There was no one around to hear her… no one that cared. After a while she gave up. She didn’t know how many days she was there. Hunger came and went. She became delirious. Her lips chapped, she cupped her hands and pissed in them, lapping up the liquid. Then she knelt on the floor and drank from the puddle like an animal. In the distance she heard a sound echo, familiar and longed for. A click… the lock on the door had turned, opening. A small bundle was thrown in and the door locked again.

 

She threw herself against the door again, pounding weakly. As always, no one answered her cries for help. The tears came. She put her ear to the door. Was he listening? She heard nothing outside, but inside there was a new sound, a mewling that answered her cries. She crawled to the bundle that had been tossed in the door. It was a small object wrapped in cloth. She stared at it, uncertain. Then she heard it again, a muffled cry. The cloth moved. She snatched it up and pulled the material away, revealing an infant… a boy.

 

The baby was naked, the umbilical cord was still attached. She held him close, cradling him. She felt him nuzzle her, rooting around, looking for someplace to latch onto and feed. “I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered, her voice weak, “I don’t have what you need.” Still, he continued to search, crying for sustenance. Her stomach cramped, sharing his need for food.

 

She sang, attempting to ease his pain. Sticking her finger into his mouth, she felt him pull, trying in vain to suck anything out that would satisfy his hunger. Angry, he squalled, then sucked again, harder, desperate. She felt that if it would help, she’d cut her finger and let him drink the blood.  Eventually he slept. She wondered how long he would live without food. How long would she?

 

She slept too and dreamed. She was home. Her father was cooking hamburgers on the grill.

 

“Stacey, bring your plate here.”

 

He put a burger on her plate. She picked the meat up, not even bothering to put any condiments on it. She bit in, moaning as the juices squirted into her mouth. She chewed, swallowing whole chunks of meat. There was something wrong with the burger. It was raw. But Stacey was hungry, she didn’t care. Liquid dribbled down her chin. She ignored it, tearing more meat off. When the burger was gone, she reached for another and devoured it.

 

It was the baby’s screams that woke her. She opened her eyes and gagged. There was something in her mouth. She looked down at the baby and saw that the cloth was now soaked in blood and the child’s arm was ripped open. She spit, horrified by the masticated meat that landed on the baby. She screamed and dropped the baby.

 

“No. Oh my God, no!” She crawled to a corner and wailed. What had she become?

 

Soon the baby’s cries stopped. No longer able to find tears, exhausted, Stacey cautiously approached the boy. His eyes were open and he stared ahead, unseeing. His chest rose, slowly. He was alive, but dying. She picked him up and sang. Her stomach cramped. She knew if she didn’t eat, she would die too. What choice did she have?

 

She piled the bones in the corner and covered them with the blanket. She didn’t want to look at the evidence of her depravity. In another corner she emptied her bowels. Then she curled up and went to sleep.

 

She didn’t know how long she’d been there, it could be hours, it could be days. Weeks. Time no longer held meaning. Then the door opened again and something was pushed through. The door slammed shut and the lock clicked in place.

 

This time it wasn’t a baby. Standing in front of her was a child… maybe 10 years old. The girl retreated to one side of the room, huddling next to the blanket. The child nudged the blanket with her toe, revealing a small bone. She eyed Stacey. The girl had a hunger to her eyes that she recognized. She understood the look, knew what the girl had done to survive to this point. Stacey leaned up against the wall. Her stomach rumbled. A breeze blew in from the broken window and her fingers brushed against broken glass. Picking up one of the splintered shards, she waited.  She knew when the time came, she could take her.

 

Word Count: 816

The photo comes from PublicDomainPictures.Net

Eternity's Puzzle

Eternity’s Puzzle

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

 

“What’s it made of?”

Lorraine fingered the strange puzzle. The old man sitting across the table from her chuckled.

“I’m not sure you want to know, Miss. Fraley.”

“Oh come on, quit teasing me. It’s old… I can tell that much. But I’ve never seen one made quite like this. The base is wood, but the top, it almost feels like leather.”

“Close. Human flesh.”

Lorraine nearly dropped the piece she was holding. Catching it, she held it close to her eyes and examined it. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Is it a Spilsbury? No… it can’t be. He never came close to anything this magnificent.”

“It’s older than John Spilsbury’s dissections.”

Lorraine laughed. “So you’re telling me, history is wrong, he didn’t invent the jigsaw puzzle?”

“You tell me.”

Lorraine lifted another piece. Painted on the top was the image of an eye. From the shape and color, she could guess that it was Egyptian. She smiled, pleased with the detail. “I heard that he traveled to Egypt, once. Perhaps his idea wasn’t so original?”

“Perhaps,” the man agreed.

“How much do you want for it?”

“More than you can pay.”

Lorraine laughed. “Name your price. You know how much my husband was worth. I can afford to buy you, if I so chose.”

“Yes… your husband. He died rather unexpectedly. Quite lucky for you, since rumor had it he was going to divorce you and leave you penniless.”

“My husband was a gambler. That’s the one thing we had in common… games. He gambled and lost.”

The old man nodded, pleased with her cryptic answer. “It’s not money I want.”

“Then what? Sex?” She looked him over. He was old, probably in his 90’s. “Sex with me would kill you…”

“Not sex. Something more personal.”

“What?” Lorraine was intrigued.

“The puzzle will decide. Put it together. Once you have finished, then you will pay the price. While you work on it, I will tell you a story.”

“And if I don’t agree to pay?”

“You will pay.”

Lorraine looked at the mysterious puzzle again. She wanted it. Jigsaws had been her passion for as long as she could remember. She’d married her husband, even though the thought of sleeping with him repulsed her, because of his collection. Picking up a corner piece she began searching for another that would fit.

“The puzzle is not a Spilsbury, although he did travel to Egypt. The dissection dates back further, to a time when the gods ruled Egypt. Their time was coming to an end though. There was a priest that served one goddess who didn’t intend to quietly fade away, so to speak. Her name was Ammut.”

“The devourer,” Lorraine said, sifting through the puzzle. “Part lion, hippopotamus and crocodile. Not someone I would want to judge my worth.”

“And yet, here you sit.”

“What do you mean?” Lorraine filled in a portion of the puzzle and picked up another piece.

“The jigsaw contains Ammut’s soul. She is judging you as we speak.”

“And what happens if she judges me worthy?”

“She will give you life and you will live for as long as it pleases her.”

“And if I am judged unworthy?”

“She will devour your soul.”

Lorraine paused. “You don’t believe this?”

“I put the puzzle together… two-hundred and fifty years ago.”

Lorraine looked him up and down, taking in his wrinkles and graying skin. “It looks like you’ve lost favor with Ammut.”

“She just requires another payment.”

“I see. I’m expected to be found unworthy.” Lorraine fit another piece of the puzzle, revealing a crocodile face with a goddess’s eye.

“You could be found worthy. I’ve been successful, finding souls for her to consume, but she may be growing tired of me and ready for someone new.”

“Two-hundred and fifty years? Spilsbury?”

“I introduced the puzzle four years after I sold my soul to Ammut. Eventually I had to fake my death… couldn’t have people talking. It does become rather tedious… living for so long.”

Lorraine snorted. “Trying to scare me away?”

“Never.”

Lorraine worked quietly, putting the puzzle together, while John watched. With each piece she fit into place, she felt a charge in the air. There was something at work and she grew excited as only three openings remained. She put in the two remaining puzzle pieces on the table and then looked around. One was missing?

“It’s here somewhere,” she said, bending down to look under the table.

“No,” John said, “it’s not. If she’d found you worthy, you would have the final piece.” He stood and moved behind her. “It’s time for you to pay.”

“You’re a lying shit.” Lorraine pushed her chair back, prepared to walk out the door. “This has been one big joke for you.”

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” John said. “She becomes angry if you refuse.”

“And what am I supposed to do? Sign papers, giving her access to my soul? Isn’t that another mythological creature’s job, or is Ammut the devil too?”

Lorraine reached out to knock the puzzle to the ground and screamed. The skin rippled beneath her touch and she felt something pull at her, trying to draw her in.

“She has judged you. Your soul will feed her and then she will restore my youth.” John revealed a knife and pushed her back down into the chair. Lorraine gasped at his strength. He was older than her husband had been when she’d held him down and put a pillow over his face. She should be able to fight him off, but she was paralyzed, her hand still touching the ancient dissection.

John lifted the knife and brought it down, slicing into her wrist. As her blood flowed, it poured into the puzzle, filling the empty space. The rest of the puzzle drank in the fluid too, until it was one piece.

Ammut blinked and stood, embracing her lover. He was young once again and Lorraine’s body would now serve her.

Word Count: 999

A Necessary Evil

Written for #ThursThreads

 

A Necessary Evil

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

“Joshua, what are you doing?”

“You know what I’m doing dear, I’m culling the herd.”

“The herd? Joshua, they’re humans, not cattle.”

“They might as well be cattle, Elizabeth, for all the good they do. Pollution, global warming, wars… they even kill their own children.”

“We were sent here to watch, not interfere.”

“We’ve been watching for millennia. Free will… bah. He gives them free will and they throw it away. Blind and dumb, they’re sheep being led to slaughter. If they are so willing to walk blindly off the cliff, then I’m only too willing to help.”

“With that?” Elizabeth nodded at the pouch Joshua held in his hand. “I know where that came from. Lucifer has never had their best interest at heart. He set himself up as a god… and you see where that got him. Are you so willing to follow in his footsteps?”

Joshua looked at the pouch, opening it and sticking a finger inside. Pulling it out he sniffed at the powder. Black, it smelled of death. “As far as I’m concerned, we are God.” Opening the window, the angel emptied the contents into the wind. “It is done.”

The powder swirled in the air, carried by the currents to the four corners of the earth. Children breathed it in on the playgrounds, the elderly began to cough, feeling a strange tickle in their throats. That night, humanity slept, a sense of dread hanging in the air. The next morning the dead awoke.

 

Word Count: 249

 

Finding Chloe

Written for Thursday Threads:

Finding Chloe

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

 

Covered in the blood and gore of the dead, Jason walked down the street, matching the halting strides of those around him.  He fought back the bile that rose in his throat as the stench assaulted his nostrils. All around him mindless souls wandered, brushing up against his ragged coat, their dead fingers grazing against his. He did nothing to call their attention to the fact that he was still alive.

Chloe was out here somewhere. The image of his little girl was embedded in his mind. She had seen her mother from the window and ran out the door, calling to her. He’d tried to stop her, but his feet were too slow. The shock of seeing  Zoe had been too much, his legs had turned to jell-o.  And then the realization that his daughter was running towards a monster.

Chloe knew her mistake when she was just within reach of the creature. No longer her mother, the thing had reached for the five year old, hungry, needing to feed. Chloe, agile, had ducked the zombies grasp and ran.

Struggling against the urge to call out for her, Jason swiped at the intestines he’d painstakingly wrapped around his neck.  The sky looked like rain; if the storm broke before he found her, the scent of the dead would be washed off.

He thought she would be here; her grandparent’s home… before they’d become some zombie’s dinner. A whimper by his feet. Jason bent, looking under the porch.

“Chloe.”

 

Word Count: 149

Looking For Love In All The Wrong Places

Letter I today in the A to Z Blog Challenge. Just a warning: I is for Incubus, so the story contains sexual content.

So, what is an Incubus? It is a male demon that comes to a woman, usually while sleeping, for the purpose of having sex. Sometimes the coupling is consensual, though not usually. One would have to be insane to summon a demon, but in my research for my story I have discovered that there are indeed some women that would like to have this kind of encounter. Takes all kinds, huh? Also, once summoned, the only way to send them away, you know, like if you realize how crazy it was to want to have relations with a demon, is if you completely, 100% want it gone...meaning you harbor not even a slim desire to be debased each and every night.

Warning: Birth control a must. Pregnancy is possible and I don't think you want to be known as the woman that brought the anti-christ into the world. Yes, that's right, you can become pregnant with a little cambion, as the demon child is known.

Conveniently, an incubus has been known to take on the form of someone you know, such as in the case of a nun attacked and raped by a prelate. The Bishop claimed it wasn't the cleric, it was an Incubus disguised as the church official. The church accepted this explanation and the prelate was cleared of any wrong doing. (Try claiming that in court.)

Women, this can work for you. Did your husband have his little, (or big) man snipped and you find yourself with child? Tell him it was an Incubus. I'm sure he'll believe you!

Another warning! Sex with a demon may result in death. If you discover your lover is an incubus, (or men, a succubus,) contact your local exorcist.

Now, on with the story.

Looking For Love In All The Wrong Places

By Lisa McCourt Hollar

“Please don’t go.”

“Laura, what’s wrong?” Taking her sister’s hand, Brenda sat back down, concerned by her behavior. Laura had been on pins and needles all night.

Laura paused, trying to decide what to say, then shook her head and laughed. “It’s just that this night has gone by too fast. We hardly ever spend any time with each other anymore.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes,” Laura said, her voice shaking. “You know, I’m being silly. Go on, you have to be to work early. Maybe we can get together next weekend.”

“Oh, I’m going to be out of town….maybe the weekend after that?”

“Maybe,” Laura said weakly.  Hugging her sister goodbye, Laura watched from the door as Brenda got in her car and then drove off. Turning, she felt the air in her small apartment change. He was there. She knew it, even though she couldn’t see him.

Locking the door, she almost laughed at the irony. What danger was she worried about keeping out, when the most frightening being she knew was already inside?

Laura walked through the apartment, turning on all the lights. While her sister was there, she had almost forgotten the nightmare she faced every night. Now, every shadow made her jump, even though she knew his attack wouldn’t come so directly. She also knew he wouldn’t be put off.

That didn’t stop her from trying. Running water in the sink, she washed the dishes she and Brenda had dirtied. She missed her sister. They only lived a few blocks apart, but Brenda’s job kept her busy. She was always out of town. A breeze on the back of her neck and a light wisp across her cheek startled her and she broke the glass she was washing. Blood flowed from a cut in her finger and Laura grabbed a towel to hold against it. Another breeze brushed her face, lifting her hair. She felt a light stroke as invisible fingers caressed her breasts.

“Go. Away.”

She felt the pressure increase and tried not to moan when he squeezed a nipple, through her blouse. “Please, stop.”

He did. Laura’s heart was hammering and her knees felt weak. She knew he wasn’t gone, just giving her time to get ready for him. Numbly, she headed for the shower. How had she ever thought that she wanted this? Turning on the hot water, she stood beneath the flow, the scalding water turning her skin red. Had it only been a week since she summoned him? It seemed like a lifetime since she lit the candles in her bedroom and chanting the spell her friend had given her, called him to her.

He had been insatiable and so had she, allowing him to take her in every room. For two days she’d lain with him as he did things to her no man had ever done. It was both thrilling and frightening. Then on the third day, she woke to a new presence. The creature was sitting on her chest, red eyes staring into hers. His fingers snaked around her throat and squeezed, tightening until she couldn’t breathe. Then he laughed and rose from her, revealing his cock, which was sharp and double pronged. He raped her, driving his deformed member into her. All the while she felt him near, watching, Obayifo, her lover. Another came after that, taking bites out of her flesh while he spilled his seed inside of her. There were more than twenty that copulated with her that night. She cried at the beginning, begging Obayifo to make them stop, but the attacks continued until near the end, she just lay there, broken.

The next night she chanted a new spell, one to send the demon away, but he still came. He came every night and even during the day, if he so desired. Sometimes he brought friends.  One of them was the father of the child she now carried.

Once Upon A Friday: A Twitter Tale

Once Upon A Friday there was a fair maiden by the name of @Carolelynngill. She lived in a house on the edge of a marsh known as Blackstone Moor with her two sisters, @LMStull and @Janelle_jensen. The three sisters were tormented by a demon known as @threecifer. He and his minions, @bguglyhryscry and @Fear_In_Words would ascend from the pits of hell, the opening of which was at the center of the marsh.

Diavolino, as the marsh was once called, was home to many dangerous creatures. It had once been the home of a king, @chukkie58 and his queen, @amhairisimpson but then an evil sorceress known as @jen_wylie banished them and sent an evil were rat, @nomar_knight, to rule in their place. Their daughter, @emjenkinson, was forced to stay behind and work as the rat kings skullery maid. The rat king is the one that opened the gate that allowed threecifer and his minions through.

An elf, @MrsDenAsaan also lived in the marsh and had been silently building an army to overtake the rat king. The rodent king had been responsible for the loss of many lives and the elf had decided enough was enough. With the help of a fairy by the name of @Molovelly, she built fearsome militia of dwarves, elves and pink mice. The day had finally come for the coup. MrsDenAsaan stood nervously at the edge of the marsh, waiting for night to fall. The plan was to take the king by surprise.

Unbeknownst to the small army, threecifer had discovered the plan. He hadn't warned his ally though, thinking it best to wait and see how the battle went. He was tired of the rodent king and wanted control of the gate. If the elven army succeeded in their coup, threecifer would bring his own army and over throw the diminutive militia. And so the battle ensued.

@MEverettStone led the rat kings army of were creatures. @jason_mckinney was his second in command. However, the werewolf had fleas and was constantly stopping to scratch. @Klingorengi, a lieutenant in the elven army saw this and pulling a can of pesticide from his pocket, fumigated the beast. The were wolf went down, his lungs aching from the haze of poison, yet grateful he no longer itched.

One by one the rat kings army fell. He had been a cruel king and quite honestly his army didn't put up much of a fight. When the battle was over, @MrsDenAsaan and her followers let out a cheer of victory. Their joy soon faded as they heard another battle cry and realized that threecifer and his hoard of demons were coming through the gate.

Back at the House on Blackstone Moor, Carolelynngill and her sisters were preparing for battle as well. They knew that once their demon tormentors had control of the marsh their lives would be all but over. Better, the sisters had reasoned, to die in battle than to live being ravished by demon spawn. The princess, EMJenkinson had joined them, managing to escape @nomar_knight's hold during the battle with the elves. She had brought along with her,@eriktiger, her stuffed pet and @wyomingbob, a cowboy action figure. Her parents had been hoping for a boy when they commissioned the toymaker to fill their baby's toybox.

The battle between the elves and demons continued all through the night. @Knighttrilogy and @KnightChills managed to push the demon hoard back but then Threecifer had spoken words that would raise the dead. His army of zombies included @jezebelsbody, @zombiesexist and @CreepyWalker. As they neared the house, three sisters and a princess watched nervously from a window, waiting their opportunity to join the fight. Suddenly MoLovelly appeared before them.

The kind fairy waved her wand and the toy tiger and cowboy came to life. Emitting a thunderous roar, ErikTiger leaped through an open window and into the midst of the battle. WyomingBob followed, his lasso already twirling above his head. The demon army laughed at first when they saw the toys coming, their laughter dying as the tiger soared over their heads and landed in front of their commander. The last thing the demon leader saw before his head was chewed off, was the open jaw and two rows of sharp teeth.

WyomingBob threw his lasso around the remaining demon army as the elves, along with the sisters cheered. Dragging them along, Bob, who would forever more be known as Blazing Bob McRob, tossed the demons back through the gate and sealed it.

The gate closed, a bright light appeared and all that were there saw spots before their eyes. @Spot_Speaks, the fairy god mother that had once protected the land until her sister had banished her, had returned home. With a wave of her wand, she returned the former king and queen to their rightful place and reunited them with the princess. The three sisters returned to their home and wrote the tale of what had happened and published it as a fairy tale on kindle, using the pen name @danceauthor. They then created the publishing firm @vamplit and became very famous. They lived happily ever after....or did they?

The Things That Kill

I have been going through my portfolio, partly in an attempt to see what I have that I can submit to various anthologies and magazines and maybe even put together a collection of my flash stories for kindle. This is a story I wrote a while back for a contest on Indiehorror.com. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

 The Things That Kill

by Lisa McCourt Hollar

 My step-dad kept a gun under the bed. We all knew it was there. We also knew we would get the shit beaten out of us if we touched it. He kept it loaded. “What good does a gun do, if the bullets aren’t in it,” he would say when my mom complained. “If some dickhead breaks in and I have to take the time to put bullets in it, we might as well kiss our asses’ goodbye.”

Mom didn’t argue too much with Jones over the issue. The one time she did, after catching my sister lying on the floor, staring under the bed at the gun…but never touching, he’d pulled the gun out and pointed it at my mom. It was a rifle and the barrel of it scared the crap out of me, seeing him point it at her. “One more word out of you and I’ll shoot you myself. Then you won’t have to worry about whether or not Ashley shoots her foot off.

One day Jones decided I was big enough to go hunting. I was only ten and by law, supposed to go through some kind of training for kids. Jones said that was for a bunch of wusses and pansies and no kid of his was going to be taught how to shoot by dickless assholes that thought guns killed. “Guns don’t kill, people do. Now let’s go kill us a deer.”

And that was the end of that. Mom was still sporting a black eye from the week before when she’d tried to suggest he should cut back on his drinking, so she wasn’t about to suggest that I might be too young to go hunting. 

We were out all day, starting before dawn and coming home after dark. We hadn’t seen a deer anywhere, but Jones was a patient man, at least where hunting was concerned. He said we were going out again in the morning.  My mom must not have been thinking about the black eye because she reminded him that I had school in the morning and couldn’t go hunting. He let her know that I could and gave her a shiner on her other eye to match the first.

I hated him. I hated my mom a little more for letting him treat her like a human punching bag.

The next day Jones dragged me out of bed while it was still dark. For the second time I rubbed deer piss on me, but it was getting me out of school, so I kept my mouth shut.

We sat in the cold again most of the day. Jones brought along beer and cracked one open. I was surprised when he passed it to me.

“Go ahead,” he said, “your mom don’t need to know.”

“I didn’t really want to, but out there, alone in the woods with Jones, I was afraid not to. 

Swallowing I grimaced; I didn’t care for the taste. Jones laughed. “Grow hair on your chest,” he said, taking it from me, drinking, and then passing it back again. Reluctantly I took another swig.  That one didn’t taste so bad; future alcoholic in the making.

Most of the day went by without a sighting, then, just when we were about to call it a day, we saw a big buck in a clearing. I was tired and just wanted to go home, but Jones wasn’t leaving without his prize.  Jones knelt down next to me and held the gun out. I just stared at it dumbly. He had said never to touch the gun.

“Take it you moron,” he said. 

I took the gun, the shape of it foreign in my hand. He showed me how to hold the butt against my shoulder. Then he helped me aim it at the buck. 

“Now all you have to do is pull the trigger.”

I stared at the buck, sweating in spite of the cold. My hand was shaking. The creature looked so beautiful and regal.

“Pull the trigger you wuss,” Jones said, his voice rough. I felt the communion he and I experienced that day fading away.  “PULL IT!” He didn’t shout; so much as emphasize his anger at me. Closing my eyes I pulled the trigger. Pain shot through my shoulder as the rifle exploded backwards. I heard Jones cussing as he yanked it from my hand. Opening my eyes I saw him aiming at the fleeing buck. The deer managed to escape into the woods before Jones could get him in his sights.

I arrived home black and blue from the beating he’d given me. He walked in past my mother and shoved the gun back under the bed. My mother took one look at me and started crying. Some sort of motherly instinct seemed to take over and she threw herself on Jones as soon as he reentered the room. She was pummeling him with her fists and screaming that he was NOT to touch her children. Ashley was in the corner crying. Jones slammed his fist into my mom’s mouth. Blood exploded everywhere. He knocked her down with that punch and I saw her head hit the table and bust open. Something inside me snapped.

Rushing to their room I pulled the gun out from under the bed. Returning to the living room I pointed it at my step-dad and told him to get out. He laughed. 

Grabbed Ashley off the floor, he shook her like a rag doll. “Give me the gun,” he growled, holding her in the air.

Shaking my head, I aimed the gun at Jones and pulled the trigger. I didn’t close my eyes this time, so I saw him move, putting Ashley in front of him. In slow motion I saw the bullet hit Ashley in her stomach, and then pass through, slamming into Jones’s heart. 

When the police arrived, the gun was back under the bed. Jones was right. Guns don’t kill people. Bullets do.

Copyright© 2011 Lisa McCourt Hollar.  All rights reserved.