Jogging in the Shadows

Greetings,

I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving with their friends and families. My story this week was based upon a short story prompt from a complete of weeks ago entitled "Pumpkins". Let me know what you think! I appreciate all feedback!

Thanks,

James Meadows

"Jogging in the Shadows"

by James J Meadows III

Left, right, left, right…

Each foot fell in front of the other in an almost hypnotic rhythm as I raced down the dimly lit sidewalk on my nightly jog. I liked jogging at night. It was just about the only time when the temperatures were cool enough for someone to go jogging – unless you count the morning, which I don’t. There is no way I am getting up early to go running. No, I’m a night owl, and the night is where I feel at peace.

Over the bridge, past the small pond, and across the entrance to the apartment complex, I made my way along the well-trodden path. Soon, I found myself in a line of thick trees, which provided some protection for my eyes against the glaring headlights of the busy street they lined.

I couldn’t count the number of times I had run this path. Suffice to say, however, I knew the exact distance I was from my house during every piece of the journey, including what time I should be making and how much further I had to go. I knew its every feature by heart.

Over the cracked tile which wound around the ancient oak tree, past the park bench set just a few steps back from the trail, and past the old brick well at the end of the fence line.

It took me about five or six steps before I snapped out of my trance long enough for my brain to process what my eyes had just registered. There wasn’t a brick well on my run.

I turned around, jogging backwards for a few steps, and looked behind me. Sure enough, there was an old-fashioned brick well, with a wooden cover and an old bucket, sitting right in the middle of a small grassy area, which I knew was normally blank. Even more strange, sitting on top of the well was a jack-o-lantern, whose grotesque chiseled features, illuminated by the candle burning in the center, left an odd impression in my mind. Where did they come from?

I spun back around, resuming my jog as I tried to wrap my head around the weirdness of the situation. On the one hand, a well should not suddenly appear in the middle of a park where it didn’t exist before. Furthermore, it was the middle of spring. People didn’t light jack-o-lanterns in the middle of spring. Heck, it wasn’t even pumpkin season. No place would be carrying pumpkins this time of year.

At the same time, though, as I reminded myself, it was a public park, where kids host plays, residents put on shows and neighborhoods have their community events. The whole thing was probably just some sort of prop. I decided to take a closer look at it on the way back. After all, I didn’t get a good look at it as I passed in the dark.

Speaking of the dark, I glanced around. It was much darker than usual in this area. The lamp posts seemed to be out. I lifted my eyes to look at them. Sure enough, all of them were completely black, as though the area was experiencing a power outage.

I glanced ahead at the nearby intersection to see if the traffic signals were out also. Sure enough, they were out. And I mean they were out – not flashing red, like you sometimes see. They were completely black. This made me feel a little leery about crossing the usually busy intersection. Even at this time of night, the road was still fairly well traveled. It was then, I became struck by the sudden realization that I hadn’t seen a car in several minutes of running now, and the intersection was entirely empty.

If I was feeling confused before, I was totally unnerved now. I had a strong desire to turn back on my run. Still, I managed to suppress the desire. I was being silly. I was allowing my imagination to get the better of me. There was a reasonable explanation for all of this and there was no reason for me to abandon my run. I was only a couple of miles into the run anyway.

I was just crossing the intersection, when I felt a strange chill in the air. It was like running through an invisible wall of evil. The hairs on the back of my neck rose, like antennae picking up the dark broadcast of some sinister radio signal. My body involuntarily shuddered, goose bumps rising on my arms, and my footsteps faltering, as though drained of all strength.

Only my resolve to continue on my run compelled me forward, though at a much slower pace as I fought to force my legs ahead.

“Come on,” I muttered to myself, gesturing forward with my hand the way I always did when trying to encourage myself.

“Come on,” I heard the words echo in my head. Except the voice wasn’t my own.

It was a strange, deep, echoing voice, like one might hear when speaking to an empty stadium. Even more disturbing than the voice, was the strange impression that accompanied it: the impression of a presence, a vile-wicked presence, watching me, waiting for me.

This was too much for me. Without needing another moment of thought or reflection, I stopped and spun back the direction I had come. Maybe I was just imagining things, but I didn’t care. I was getting out of here!

As I retraced my steps across the intersection, I felt the strange chill wash over me again, like a gust of wind coming from behind. This time it brought more than just goosebumps. A strange vision filled my mind, a vision of a man – if you wanted to call it a man, perhaps ‘a thing’ would be more accurate – running just a short ways behind me.

The ‘thing’ was man-like with two legs, two arms and a humanoid body structure, yet it possessed no face, no eyes, and no features. Rather, it seemed almost like a living, moving shadow approaching from behind me. The vision brought an almost irresistible urge to turn around and look over my shoulder, an urge I fought to resist as some distant instinct, buried deep within my mind, seemed to come to life, mingling with my fear, urging me to run for all my life was worth and not to look back.

Of all the times in my life where I found a ‘second-wind’ none compared to the burst of energy I found now. My previously weary legs sprang to life, sending me hurtling forward.

“Come on,” the voice whispered in my head again.

With it came a fresh vision. I could see more of the creatures. Some of them seemed to be wearing clothes, hats, and various garments now, yet the figures inside them remained dark as the night. An eerie sinister energy seemed to radiate off of them. I picked up my pace, as much as I could with my heart already aching like I was running a marathon.

This didn’t seem to make a difference. Rather, they seemed to go even faster in response to my increase, steadily growing nearer to me with each step I took. As they approached, the visions grew more intense, their dark forms more clear and their evil aura more intense.

I ran harder, my legs and feet screaming in protest. Yet I didn’t dare slow down. I had to run. I had to get away.

“Come on.”

The voice whispered more urgently, the words taking on an almost sinister delight, as though mocking me, or perhaps, inviting me to my doom. I didn’t care which. I just wanted to get away.

Then I saw it. A short distant ahead the well sat in the park with the bizarre jack-o-lantern on top, its grotesque candle-lit grin shining through the night. That was where all the strangeness began. Maybe if I could make it back there, everything would return to normal. It was a long shot. But at this point, it was all I had.

Straining with all my might, I sprinted toward the pumpkin, the black figures in hot pursuit; the vision growing ever clearer as they grew nearer. I was only a fifty yards away. They were getting closer. Only thirty yards away, they were practically on top of me. Only twenty yards away, I could see their shadowy hands rising. They were reaching out to me. Ten yards away, the nearest one almost had me. Five yards, his fingers were just inches from back.

I could feel him grab me. I could hear the vile voice laugh in my ears.  He was pulling me backward!

No!

With the last burst of strength I could muster, I threw myself forward, out of the strange grasp, and fell tumbling onto the sidewalk, rolling past the well and its wicked decoration.

Everything was silent. The voice was gone. I looked up and stared around me. There were no figures. There was no well. There was no jack-o-lantern. Cars were passing down the road, their headlights illuminating the dark street along with the glow of the fully illuminated street lamps.

For several minutes I lay there gasping for air. I could feel the pain throbbing from my knees and arms where they struck the pavement. At that moment, however, I could care less. I was just thankful to be alive; thankful to be safe; thankful to be away from wherever or whatever I was experiencing.

Still gasping for air, I rose to my feet, my injured legs shaky beneath my frame and headed home to chart a new route for my evening runs.

Conversations with a Quilt

Greeting Everyone,

This story was written a couple of months ago for my short story group. I didn't post the story at the time because a lot of my other stories were better for the various holidays. The piece is intended to be humorous, though I don't know how well the humor comes out in the story. I would be interested to get any feedback on it.

Hope all of you are having a great week!

James

"Conversations with a Quilt"

by James J Meadows III

                The clop of Carmen’s boots, echoing along the dank prison corridors, was strangely audible in the odd silence lingering over the normally busy prison.

                “Are the prisoners outside on break?” She asked the prison warden, who was accompanying her through the facility.

                “Nah, they’re just very subdued, right now,” the warden replied, his voice betraying traces of a strange, almost nervous, uncertainty. “They’ve been like that ever since your brother passed. I can’t explain it. I’ve never seen the prisoners go into such a funk following the death of a fellow inmate. Some of them are hardly recognizable as their old selves.”

                Carmen nodded wordlessly. Though never incarcerated herself, her many visits to see her brother had provided a greater familiarity with the environment of this prison than she believed any thirty-five year old law-abiding citizen should possess. The solemn silence hanging over the prisons was certainly not part of its normal ambiance.

She stared down the various corridors lining the main hall. The dingy white walls, whose stained and moldy exteriors gave the impression of not being touched by a scrub brush once in the last decade, contrasted sharply with the noxious fumes of ammonia, likely lingering from a recent and highly ineffective attempt to clean them. At least some things never changed.

                “This way, Miss,” the warden said, leading her into a small chamber, where a sloppily dressed prison guard stood inside an equally disheveled room, separated from Carmen and the warden by a set of bars atop a high counter.

                “We’re here for Mr. Varker’s items,” the warden announced to the man, guiding Carmen to the counter.

                “Yes, sir. I have them right here,” the officer replied, lifting up a small plastic container, resembling a recycling bin.

                He placed the container on the counter and began pulling out the items, handing them to Carmen.

                “Keys, wallet, clothes, and watch” he spoke aloud, listing each item as he handed them to her, almost as though he expected her to have some sort of inventory to check off inside her head.

                Carmen scooped up each item as the guard placed them on the table, sticking them in her pocket with an almost dismissive gesture. She paused at the watch, though, studying the dark golden face, inscribed with the words, “Rolex”. She gave a small humph.

                “Last of all, the blanket,” the guard said, placing what appeared to be a small hand-made quilt onto the table.

                She reached down and lifted the quilt to her eyes, allowing it to unfold as she examined it. The quilt had a strange smell, almost like body odor mingled with burnt leaves, and felt grainy, a trait she attributed to the prison sheets it was made from.

                The only truly remarkable thing about the quilt was the pattern. Across the front of the quilt, stitched using a wide variety of colors one might not normally expect to find in a prison’s craft room, was an incredibly life-like representation of her brother wrapped in a dark black cloak. His eyes stared out of the cloak at her with an almost eerie quality, every thread perfect in its place.

                “Pretty amazing isn’t it,” the warden said. “He spent nearly every free moment he could in the crafts room building it. You have to admit: he was a pretty talented artist.”

                “Yes, he was,” Carmen said, still staring at the eyes.

    After a few seconds, she lowered the quilt and began to refold it.

                “You said his body was found with the quilt in his possession?” Carmen asked.

                “Yes,” the warden said. “At the end of craft time, the guard came in to find him slumped over the finished quilt. Apparently, he suffered a cardiac arrest shortly after completing it.”

                Carmen nodded. She finished the fold, completing it in such a way that the face and eyes were upright, where she could ssee them.

                “Is that everything?” she asked, extending her hand to sign and initial a form the guard had offered to her.

                “Well, aside from some random garbage and waste products littering his cell,” the warden said. “Just garbage - stuff no one would want. The janitors cleaned it and threw it away.”

                “Sounds good,” she said. “Well, if there is nothing else, I will bid you a good day.”

                The warden escorted her back through the silent hall and out of the building. Carmen walked quietly to her car, climbed inside and tossed the quilt into the passenger seat next to her, the face still upright, where she could see it. After starting the car, she pulled out of the station and onto the road. For several minutes, she drove in silence before turning to the quilt with a furious glare.

                “Really?” she addressed it, speaking to it as though it were a person, her voice an odd mixture of incredulity and exasperation. “You couldn’t even complete a full three years of your prison sentence without dying? And this is what you leave behind, a stupid quilt?”

                She yanked the watch out of her pocket, brandishing it at the blanket like a lawyer accusing a witness.

                “Couldn’t even leave me your watch?” She declared. “Couldn’t put a note on it saying, ‘Here, thank you for all the things you did for me’?”

She reached a stop sign and, pausing her speech momentarily, glanced both ways to ensure everything was clear before turning back toward the quilt.

“You spent your entire life trotting around the world on random archaeological missions seeking ancient ‘arcane secrets’ and ‘lost texts of magic and power’, squandering our parent’s funding until their death. Then, after they pass away, you have the audacity to constantly beg me for pieces of their former wealth to continue your quest. All the while, you’re out there walking around with a effing Rolex on your arm!”

                She slammed the watch down into the chair. Turning back toward her driving, she barely swerved in time to avoid hitting a stalled vehicle.

                “Do I ever get any thanks from you for anything?” She continued fuming. “No! God forbid. Did you ever think about sending me a Rolex? Maybe, I’d like one too, you know!”

                She cast a sideways glance at the quilted image.

                “Oh no,” she said sarcastically. “You just send me random old scrolls for old potions. ‘This potion will bring you great wealth.’ As if! Seriously, even if I could force half that stuff down my throat, how was I supposed to make them? ‘Wings of a Dehydrated Scarab Beetle’? Oh, sure, let me just pull those out of my butt! ‘Eye balls of a still living venomous cobra’? Yeah, right, let me run down to Target and pick those up!”

                Here, she began to do an impression of a shopper visiting a checkout counter.

                “’Excuse me, ma’am, where can I find the dried testicles of blue newt cut off on a Friday?’”

                “’Certainly ma’am,’” Carmen continued, dropping her voice low to mimic a cashier. “’Just go right down aisle five on the left side. It will be between the ‘hoof-nails from the first born baby giraffe’ and the ‘pickled ears of a hornless yak’.”

                She turned back toward the blanket, once against grabbing the watch and brandishing it.

                “You couldn’t possibly send me a potion for making a Rolex, could you?” She shouted. “I bet I could find those parts!”

                Carmen threw down the watch down again, resuming her drive.

                “And then of all things, you get yourself thrown in jail,” she continued. “Now, I will admit, I wanted to butcher that son-of-a-bitch serial killer who murdered our parents as much as anyone did. And, I commend you for tracking him down and capturing him. But seriously, did you have to make a pentacle shaped altar and strategically drain all the blood from his body in imitation of an ancient Sumerian dark-arts ritual? It’s kind of hard to pull off a good ‘self-defense’ argument when you do stuff like that, you know. Though I dare say - after the things he did to his victims - if their families were sitting on that jury, they would have found you innocent. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t stupid. ‘Trying to become a lich’, indeed. It was all just another way you could waste even more of our parents money.”

                She gave a sigh.

                “Of course, I never could say no to you,” she said. “You are my baby brother after all. And I love you. At the same time, a nice ‘Thank you, here have a fancy Rolex’ wouldn’t have hurt!”

                A few moments later, she pulled into the driveway of her parent’s old house, a large luxurious manor home, whose upkeep exhausted nearly all of the considerable stipend she received annually from her deceased parent’s trust.

                Grabbing the watch, the blanket and the rest of her stuff, she marched into the house. Evening was beginning to descend and most of the staff had already left. A young butler, who would normally be off-duty at this time, opened the door for her.

                “Randall, what are you doing here?” Carmen asked.

                “Making sure you returned safely, my lady,” he said, with a small bow. “Now that you have, I will bid you ado. In the meantime, I have turned the fireplace on for you and there is a tea kettle boiling in the kitchen.”

                “You always take good care of me,” Carmen smiled. “You have a safe drive home.”

                The butler thanked her before heading out the door to his car. As he did so, he closed the door, locking it behind him.

                Carmen crossed the hall into the warm living room, where a bright fire crackled merrily in the hearth. She placed the wallet, keys and the watch onto a table and crossed over to the fire, still clutching her brother’s quilt in her hands.  On the mantle above the fireplace stood her brother ashes, whose arrival the previous day, along with a letter which her brother wrote just days before his death, had spurred her to finally pick up her brother’s items from the prison.

                Glancing back down at her brother’s face gazing up at her from the blanket, she gave a sad smile. As she did so, she heard Randall's car start up and head down the driveway toward the street.

                “At least someone takes care of me,” she said, still speaking to the face. “Goodness knows that you never did.”

                With these words, she tossed the blanket into the fire. Flames started to nip at the edges, causing a horrible stench of burnt cloth - and other stuff she didn’t even want to speculate upon – to fill the room. Ignoring the scent, she grabbed the vase with the ashes and hurled it angrily into the fire as well.

                “There,” she growled. “I hope you’re happy.”

                A cloud of ashes and black smoke rose from the fireplace where the cloth and ashes fell, yet she paid them no more mind than she paid to the smell. Instead, she turned and strode into the kitchen. There, she grabbed a small tea cup, which she filled with tea leaves before adding steaming water from the nearby tea pot.

                Holding the cup firmly in her hands, she strolled back into the living room and extended the tea toward the large cloud of smoke and ashes floating in front of the fireplace. But they were not a cloud of smoke any longer.

                The smoke and ashes had congealed into a solid form. And the solid form, had taken the shape of her brother, standing before her wrapped in a black cloak identical to the one he wore in the quilt.

                She wasn’t afraid of him. She and her parents had seen him do enough odd things over the years, that nothing surprised her anymore. His letter said this would happen. And, the truth was, she was still too angry at him to feel either shock or relief.

                “I made you some tea,” she said curtly.

                He studied her for a moment, his eyes scanning the glass before lifting to her face. A wry smile crossed his features.

                “If you really want the watch that badly, you can keep it,” he said, taking the cup from her.

                “I may,” she replied, haughtily. “In the meantime, I don’t suppose you are going to tell me what you did to your fellow prisoners.”

                “They’ll be alright,” he said. “I needed to trap their energy in order to make the spell work. Now that the blanket is burned, the energy is released. They’ll be back to themselves in a day or two.”

                “Humph,” Carmen said, spinning around and heading into the kitchen.

                Her brother seemed to sense she was angry, for he followed hastily behind her still gripping his cup.

                “Look, it wasn’t my fault,” he said defensively. “You don’t know how much energy it takes to work those spells. The ‘foreskin of a black goat born on a Friday’ had to be heavily charged before it could be attached to the quilt to complete the spell.”

                Carmen looked down at her hands in sudden horror.

                “Oh my God!” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe I touched that quilt! What all did you have in there?”

                She raced to the kitchen sink, grabbing a whole bottle of soap and turning the water on high.

                “How did you even get that past the inspectors?” she exclaimed, scrubbing her hands with all the vigor she could muster.

                “Well, I mean, there weren’t technically any rules against it,” he said. “Besides, after I received ‘the dissected liver of a fully fed vampire bat’ no one wanted to check my packages anymore.”

                “Dissected liver of a vampire bat,” she exclaimed, switching off the water and turning toward him in disbelief. “Where the heck did you get that from?”

                “Walmart.com,” he replied, with a sly smile.

                “Go figure,” she muttered.

                Throwing her hands in the air, she marched from the room, leaving him grinning behind her. 

The Last Draw

Greeting,

This story was written in response to a short story prompt "Piece by Piece". Though, the contents were inspired by a YouTube video counting down evidence of "Parallel Universes". The various countdown videos are always great sources of inspiration when I'm trying to come up with an idea of what to write about.

The name of the story is called "The Last Draw". Let me know what you think! I look forward to hearing back from you!

Thanks!

James Meadows

"The Last Draw"

by James J Meadows III

     The first thing I noticed, as I entered the room, was the large chess board stationed under the far window. I smiled. Somehow I should have known it would be this way.

     “Commander Lukin. I thought you had retired. Please, take a seat. Can I get you a drink?”

     I turned toward the speaker, a man whom I had fought more battles with than I could even count; a man whose dark schemes marked him as perhaps the greatest villain to ever live upon our world; a man whose wicked deeds had brought me here today to confront him one last time.

     “Just a small one,” I replied, taking a seat in one of the plush arm chairs behind the chess board. I glanced outside the window at the thick dark forest surrounding his hideout. It was amazing that anyone, even I, could find their way through this thicket to reach the fortress.

     As I sat, I could feel the photon bomb in my pocket press against my skin. It was a device capable of creating an atomic explosion, one big enough to wipe out everything for miles around. I had requested it as a last resort in case I failed. Yet, a part of me had considered a different plan, a plan my adversary could not possibly foresee.

     He walked across the room to pour the drinks. I marveled at him. He was always so calm, so imperturbable, and ever cordial in defeat as well as victory. That was why I respect him.

     “So they called you out of retirement to battle me one last time?” he asked, filling the drinks and crossing back toward us.

     “Surprised?”

     “Not really,” he responded, handing me the drink. “Still, what are your people going to do once you are no longer there to save them?”

     “I don’t know,” I responded. “Perhaps travel to another parallel universe where I have trained a protégé and bring them back. You know all about traveling to the various worlds and dimensions. That is where you got this game from, after all.”

     He sat down in the chair and smiled. Picking up the pawn in front of his king, he pushed it forward two squares. He stared at me expectantly. I knew, from our past confrontations, that I wasn’t going to get anything else out of him until I made a move, so I leaned forward and pushed my opposite pawn up in response. He moved a knight out to attack my pawn.

     I had anticipated this move and prepared a special response for it. I picked the pawn on the left side of my king, pushing it forward one square to protect my pawn from his attack. The move obviously caught him off-guard because he sat up, studying the position intently.

     “I never understand your fascination with this game, an ancient relic from a race long extinct in a world well past its prime,” I said.

     “There is a story in the world this game came from,” he responded, not taking his eyes off the board. “It concerns a Sultan, a type of king, whose brother usurped his throne. As his brother’s army swarmed the palace, a guard entered the throne room, where the Sultan was playing a game of chess. The guard told the Sultan they must flee. The Sultan, knowing he had nowhere to go and no one to run to, even if he was able to escape, told the guard to go away because he was making a move. In the end, enemy soldiers burst in and killed the Sultan over his chessboard. He chose to die playing chess rather than wasting away in exile. Only a game with that kind of power is worthy of my interest.”

     I thought about this for a moment. As I watched, he startled me by capturing the pawn with his knight. I picked up my pawn and captured his knight in response.

     “I know you stole the Dimensional Inverter,” I said. “What are you doing with it?”

     “Waiting for me to give the traditional villainous dialogue about my grand evil scheme?” he asked, looking at me with a sideways grin.

     “Hey, I might as well know what plot I’m supposed to be thwarting before I try it,” I said.

     He smiled. “Well, the Inverter is a useful thing, no doubt: able to summon objects from other dimensions and parallel universes. Your kingdom and its corrupt government spent decades designing and building it. I’m sure it crushed them when they found it and all their notes stolen.”

     I shook my head. He had always hated my kingdom and its leaders.

     “Of course, they didn’t know I had spied on their progress for years, learning about it,” he said. “Figuring out how I could give it a little tweak. Check!”

     He moved his queen across the board to attack my king. I moved a pawn forward to block his attack and leaned back into my chair.

     “Tweaked it to do what?” I asked.

     At these words, he let out a laugh.

     “Seriously,” he said. “Have you not even looked out the window once since we sat down?”

     At that moment, for the first time, I realized sunlight was streaming onto the chess board. I looked out the window and beheld, to my shock, a bright green field full of flowers, bushes, and wide expanses of animals grazing beneath the noonday sky.

     “Those flowers, those animals, they are from the world of Lyndios,” I gasped. “How?”

     I looked at him. He just smiled and said, “Check”.

     Looking down at the board, I realized he had captured a pawn with his queen and was now attacking my king. I wasn’t that worried about it. I had captured one of his knights already. I just moved my king to the only free space and waited for him to continue.

     As I finished my move, the light on the board disappeared. The landscape outside had changed again. A large cratered surface filled with pools of bubbling silver ooze, which emitted a foul toxic odor, replaced the previously beautiful exterior.

     “Check,” he said again.

     I heard him place his piece down upon the board. When he did, the scene outside changed again, replaced by a deep dark sea of black liquid with bizarre purple fumes rising from it.

     “The chess board,” I exclaimed. “You’ve connected the Dimensional Inverter to the chess board!”

     “Did you know?” he asked. “That there are over ten billion possible combinations of chess lines after only the first ten moves? There are so many possible combinations of chess moves and sequences that they outnumber all the atoms in the entire universe! I have manipulated the Inverter so that it has connected each of those possible combinations with a different world. Even I don’t know what will arise from each position!”

     “But why?” I asked.

     He sat back and gazed at me.

     “It’s your move.” He said.

     I looked down to see my king under attack from a bishop. I moved a pawn forward two spaces, blocking the attack.

     “It is the ultimate weapon,” he continued. “With the right changes, the device now has the ability to tear out a piece of this universe or world and switch it with a piece from another world. You can send an enemy army blocking your way to another world and replace it with an empty plain or make opposing towns, factories and fortifications vanish with a blink. You can render entire arsenals irrelevant by just shooting them into another universe. Check.”

     He captured the pawn with the bishop.

     “Think about it,” he said. “Any country would pay infinite wealth for such a weapon. I have already created a dozen of them. Soon there will be hundreds. Everyone will want one, especially when the war break outs.”

     “What war?”

     “Oh, come on,” he replied. “How many countries are already on the verge of war? With this kind of technology, I only need to give a small push – a town disappearing, replaced by a crater, a weapons factory replaced by a burned down ruin. Once an opponent is accused, war in inevitable.”

     “That’s why you’re doing this?” I said with some incredulity, “to start a war? You’re talking about all of time and space fracturing. Objects will be displaced throughout not just our universe but all universes. The entire multiverse will fall apart!”

     “Exactly,” he said. “I’m not just after a war. I’m after a war that will transform all war forever – a war to end all things! Check!”

     He captured my bishop with his own bishop. In response, I heard the loud roars of wild creatures outside. Without even looking to see what new world he had summoned, I moved my king to a new square. The sound died out.

     “What is in this for you?” I asked.

     “Do you know what happened to the race that created this game?”

     “No,” I answered.

     “They had a powerful regent leading a country equipped with hundreds of nuclear weapons,” he said. “Unbeknownst to the other kingdoms, he had a program, called ‘Dead Hand’ which, upon his death, would launch all of his nuclear weapons at once. On his death bed, he triggered it, just so he could take the whole world out with him.”

     He looked up at me, his face serious.

     “I’m dying,” he said. “Years of traveling from universe to universe, world-to-world have damaged my body and brain. I am already starting to wither away. I don’t want to die quietly; I want to go out with a bang. But you already know that, don’t you? Because you’re dying too, from years of chasing me, aren’t you? That is why you have the photon bomb in your pocket, isn’t it?”

     Despite the seriousness of the moment, I couldn’t help but smile. Somehow, he always seemed to know. Even when he couldn’t stop me, he still seemed to be one step ahead. And now, the plan I thought he couldn’t possibly foresee turned out to be the one he expected all along.

     I reached into my pocket and pulled out the device.

     “Check” he said, moving his bishop to capture a knight.

     I placed the bomb on the table beside the chess board. He watched me, studying me with his intense gaze. The eyes made me uncomfortable. So I turned to look out the window. I wasn’t worried about him taking the bomb or stopping me from using it. I suspected he wanted to see if I would do it, maybe even give me the chance.

     “It’s your move,” he said.

     I watched the bizarre tentacles flapping from a strange bog outside the window for several moments before looking at the board. Then, I moved my king of out the line of the attack before looking back out the window. My gaze now fell upon a full moon shimmering over a peaceful meadow.

     “It almost seems poetic doesn’t it,” he said. “For the last century, we have battled together. Now, in the end, we die together, one final resolution to a long game. We can call it a draw.”

     Again, I didn’t say anything. There was nothing more to say. A part of me suspected this was his plan all along. I would destroy him, both of us going out in a blaze of glory. Meanwhile he would get the satisfaction of taking out the Inverter and all its records with him, one last spiteful strike against my kingdom. Even better, I, the hero of my kingdom, would be the one to destroy them, and myself.

     The rest of the schemes were just a threat to force my hand. Yet I knew only too well, he would not hesitate to carry out his threat if I didn’t carry out mine.

     “I have mate-in-one,” he said. “It’s your move.”

     He pushed the explosive toward me.

     “Make it.” He said.

     I studied him for a moment. Then I picked up the bomb, my fingers coming to rest upon the trigger.

     “Good game,” I told him, giving him a nod.

     “Good game,” he said. And I squeezed.

Visions and Voices in a Dark Wood

Greetings,

This story was written for a prompt called 'Dream Catchers'. It works as a stand alone story but is also a follow-up to a previous story published on this page called "The Grandmother's Pendant". I haven't decided if I am going to try to turn these into a longer book, although I do like the style of dialogue that the stories are built around.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story and I look forward to any feedback!

Thanks,

James

Visions and Voices in a Dark Wood

by James J Meadows III

                I cannot begin to guess how long I drifted in the strange white mists before the world finally swam back into focus. When it did, I found myself in a scene very different from the large mowed lawns and wide grassy expanses of my grandmother’s estate. Though I was still standing inside a fairy ring, one identical in every detail to the one I was cajoled into entering as I ran-away from home following my grandmother's funeral, the similarities ended there.

                The beams of morning sunlight had vanished, replaced by an eerie black gloom which settled over the surrounding woods, whose thick black trees formed a canopy so impenetrable all strands of light became swallowed by the hungry leaves coating their twisted limbs. I shuttered involuntarily. Dangling by strings from almost every branch, like some sort of demented Christmas ornaments, hung hundreds, perhaps thousands, of little hoops adorned with feathers, strings and what looked like small beads carved into the shape of skulls.

                The strange ornaments possessed glittering blue sapphires in the center of the loops. These gems provided the only light in the clearing, emitting an odd violet glow which enhanced my already growing unease. There was no movement, no wind, and no noise of any kind to break the stillness.

                Everything about the strange location unnerved me, reminding me forcibly of the various sinister woods my grandmother often wrote about in fantasy stories, stories she started composing after her mysterious disappearance, and equally mysterious reappearance, when she was my age. 

                “Hello!” I called.

    My frightened voice sounded strange in my ears. I stared around, hardly daring to move, making a point not to step outside the fairy ring. The round line of mushrooms glistened in the blue glow like fortress walls, making me feel safe even if I couldn’t tell you why.

                “Hello,” a voice replied.

    It came so suddenly I almost screamed. The voice was strange, possessing an unnaturally high pitch, which was difficult to describe. It cast images into my mind of a small playful little girl while simultaneously giving the sensation of speaking to a wise old man. What was more, it sounded quite close. Yet when I looked around I could see no one.

                “Where are you?” I asked.

                “I am here,” the voice responded. “You are too. Although I must admit I don’t know why. No one ever comes into these woods, except for us when we are doing our ritual of adulthood.”

                “Who are you?” I asked, still glancing around wildly, not seeing anyone.

                “I am me,” the voice responded. “Who are you?”

                “I am Annie."

                “Hmm, I’m not familiar with that term,” the voice said. “What is an Annie?”

                “I’m Annie,” I replied. “Annie is a name - my name.”

                “So you are a name?” the voice replied, sounding almost as confused as me.

                “No,” I replied. I felt slightly exasperated. I was, after all, in a strange, frightening land and this dialogue wasn’t helping me get any information.

                “But you said you are Annie, and Annie is a name,” the voice replied. “Doesn’t that mean you are a name?”

                “Look, can we just talk about something else?” I said.

                “Sure, what do you want to talk about?” the voice answered.

                Looking down, I saw the circle of mushrooms at my feet. While I felt protected inside the circle, I also knew I couldn’t stay here forever. I raised my foot to take a step, then hesitated, glancing around at the dark forest and its eerie, foreboding shadows.

                “Is it safe for me to step out?” I asked.

                “Why wouldn’t it be?” the voice asked. “Do you have difficulty taking steps? Does your race perhaps suffer injuries from walking and this is why you are standing still?”

                “No,” I replied, annoyed. “I am perfectly capable of taking a step without injuring myself!”

                “Then I would suppose it is safe for you to take a step,” the voice replied.

                “That was not my…grrr,” I growled, “Nevermind!”

                Driven by frustration, resigned to the inevitability of acting, and taking some solace in the fact that I could jump back into the circle if I needed to, I stepped out from the ring. I instantly regretted the decision. The sensation of safety vanished; the mushrooms vanished; the ring vanished.

                I found myself standing in the middle of a dark forest, where my breathe rose like smoke in the icy air. Apparently the fairy ring also protected me from the cold, providing a false sense of warmth, which I missed greatly now that I no longer had it. I took another step forward, the bottom of the low-hanging ornaments brushing the top of my hair.

                “I wonder what these are,” I marveled aloud, staring at their unique and masterful, if frightening, designs.

                “They are dream catchers,” the now familiar voice replied. “They are there to catch your dreams. Better be careful, though.”

                I looked around for the source of the voice again, wondering if I might be able to see it now that I was no longer inside the ring. I couldn’t; but my eyes did catch sight of a piece of moonlight streaming through some nearby bushes. They were tall, though thankfully not thick, and I was able to push my way through them rather easily.

                On the other side, I beheld a beautiful lake, its clear waters and smooth glassy surface sparkling in the moonlight. It stood out like a beacon of peace within the otherwise dark forest. Nearby, a series of rocks formed a sort of pier, extending into the middle of the lake. Alongside it, standing up to his waist in the smooth water, his clothes piled neatly on the rocks beside him, was a young man of about my own age.

                My jaw dropped as I stared at him. He had long smooth hair, clear clean skin, a six pack that most men would die for, and the muscles sculpting his body formed just the perfect balance of firm and strong without being bulky. As I stood marveling at him, he turned and looked at me.

                At first, he took a quick step back, as though startled by my appearance, then I saw his face relax.

                “You scared me,” he said. “I was just taking a bath. I’m not used to meeting other people out here, especially young ladies as pretty as yourself.”

                I blushed slightly, my gaze transfixed on his blue eyes, which stared up at me with a fascination and wonder almost as great as the wonder I felt looking at him. I brushed my hair behind my ear with an almost instinctual gesture and took a step forward.

                “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” I said. “It’s just, I’m kind of lost right now and I don’t know where I am.”

                “You didn’t frighten me,” the young man replied. “I’m actually happy for the company. It gets pretty lonely out here sometimes. Why don’t you come and sit down? If you’re lost, maybe I can help you.”

                He gestured toward the stone pier stretching out beside him, where his clothes rested. I started toward it when the now familiar voice from earlier broke the serenity.

                “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” it called quietly.

                It seemed to be coming from behind me.

                “Why not?” I demanded, turning around to face the speaker, only to discover I was staring at open air.

                I gave an irritated huff and turned back around. A scream burst from my lips. The beautiful lake had vanished, replaced by a swirling black quagmire of dead plants and slime. In the middle of it, where the man stood just a moment ago, hovered a creature composed of transparent silky robes wrapped around a luminous turquoise skeleton. Glowing green orbs shone from inside the sockets of the skeletal face while clawed arms, drifting in their bizarre robes stretched toward me.

                Still screaming, I stumbled backward, falling onto my butt before turning and dashing back through the bushes, where I tripped over a tree root. With a nasty thud, I crashed to the earth, sprawling across the ground.

                “Are you alright?” asked the mysterious voice.

                “What was that thing?” I asked in a terrified whisper.

                “That was a dream spirit,” the voice replied. “They use the dreams captured by their dream catchers to lure victims into their grasp, where they can feast upon their life force.”

                “What?” I replied, still trying to catch my breath. “Feast upon their life force? You told me it was safe out here?”

                “No I didn’t,” the voice replied. “I told you it was safe to take a step out. And it was. Taking a step out didn’t hurt you at all.”

                “That isn’t what I meant and you know it!” I fumed.

                “Actually, he doesn’t,” came a soft voice to my right.

                I recognized the voice at once. Turning, I found myself, to my breathless amazement, staring up into the face of the one woman who meant the most to me in the world.

                “Grandma?” I said, staring at her with disbelief. “How? I mean, you’re dead.”

                “Time works differently here in this world than in our world,” she said. “There are many things which will be a mystery to you, like your friend.”

                “What is he?” I asked.

                “He is a pseudodragon.”

                “A dragon?” I asked looking around. “Why can’t I see him?”

                “No, not a dragon, a pseudodragon,” she replied. “They are very similar in appearance but very different in nature. You can’t see him because he is naturally invisible. He has to make an effort to be seen, just as you would have to make an effort to walk on one leg.”

                “What do you mean when you say, ‘he doesn’t know what I meant’?” I asked.

                She gave a small laugh.

                “Psuedodragons are very complex and wondrous creatures,” she replied. “Yet, they are also very simple minded. They understand everything from a very literal perspective. They aren’t like us.”

                I stared at her for a moment, pondering this. As I watched, she gave me a small smile.

                “I always knew you would find this place, just like I did,” she said. “You always had the right spirit and sense of adventure. How I wish your mother was the same way but I could never get her to straighten her life. You, you were the one I knew had the spirit to follow in my footsteps.”

                A smile spread across my face as I stared into her loving eyes.

                “Grandma,” I said. “What am I supposed to do here? I’m confused.”

                “Come with me,” she said. “I’ll show you.”

                She extended a hand to help me up. I reached for it. Just as my fingers came within inches of her own, a burst of bright light shot between us. Streams of crackling lightning split the air, causing me to fall back down, shielding my eyes. My grandmother retreated backward.

                With a bound, I saw a creature leap into the space between us. It was small, only about two feet tall, with a pair of tiny wings, no bigger than a butterfly’s, resting atop its back. The skin was a strange hue of multiple colors, all sparkling, as though the body was composed of tiny gems. In every other way, it looked like a dragon, with a long neck, black eyes, and fierce claws, except all of these features were shrunk into the size of a puppy dog.

                At the same moment, the image of my grandmother disappeared, replaced by another glowing skeleton, floating off the ground in its transparent white robes. I gasped as it let out a horrifying shriek, reaching forward as though attempting to grab me. The dragon opened its mouth, shooting another fierce bolt of electricity at the creature. The monster dodged the attack easily, yet made no effort to continue its assault. Instead, with an angry shriek, it retreated, fading into the darkness.

                The tiny creature turned toward me, seemingly studying me with its deep black eyes.

                “The image you saw?” it asked. “Was that your grandmother?”

                The voice was the same one I spoke with earlier, there was no doubt about that.

                “Yes,” I answered.

                “You are the granddaughter of The Great Light?” it asked.

                “The what?” I replied.

                “Nevermind,” it said. “If the woman you saw in that image was your grandmother, then we must get you out of these woods fast. The creatures here will not take kindly to you. Follow me.”

                It spun around and headed away from me, hurrying through the woods. I climbed onto my feet, chasing after it.

                “Wait,” I called. “How do I know you’re not another dream or illusion from the dream catchers?”

                It turned around, staring at me with a quizzical expression.

                “Have you ever dreamed or longed for a pint-sized dragon to save you from the heart of an evil forest?”

                “Well...no,” I replied, taken aback.

                “Then, you are probably safe,” it said, in a matter-of-fact manner. 

                Without another word, it spun around and hurried away. I hurried after it. My other questions could wait. For now, I just wanted out.

My Grandmother's Pendant

Greetings Everyone,

My newest story is based upon a prompt from my Short Story group. I hope  you enjoy it. The name of the story is "My Grandmother's Pendant". I'd love to get some feedback and hear what everyone thinks!

"My Grandmother's Pendant"

by James J Meadows III

Backpack on my back, book in my hand, and small tears clinging tenaciously to the corners of my eyes, I set off down the long tree-lined path without so much as a look back at the house I once considered the closest thing to heaven in this lonely world. The house belonged to my grandmother but I would not see her again. Nor would I ever see the numerous family members, including my own mother, who had traveled from their various towns and states to attend my grandmother’s funeral. No, they were all behind me now. I was running away.

                It was likely, perhaps even more than likely, considering how much my grandmother always said we were alike, that my actions were modeled in some small part after her own. My grandmother had run away when she was a child too. For her, she was fleeing the abuse of an alcoholic father; for me, it was a cocaine addict mother.

                The sun had yet to crack the distant horizon as I walked through the gloomy shades of early morning. The company at the house would probably not wake for at least another couple of hours and no one would check on me for at least an hour or two after that. Being the only teenager in the family, I had gotten my own room. I made sure of it. I knew I was going to run away after the funeral was over. There was no reason for me to stay now that grandmother was gone. She was the only person who ever seemed to really care about me. I only hoped my attempt to run away could be as successful as hers.

                My grandmother ran away when she was fifteen years old, the same age as me. She was missing for almost two days before she turned up at her doorstep dressed in strange clothing, missing all her belongings and wearing a bizarre pendant around her neck. Grandmother never told anyone what happened to her while she was away and never explained where she got the clothes and the necklace. She simply claimed it was a good luck charm.

It must have worked because from that day on, her father, apparently broken-hearted after his daughter left, gave up drinking. He never touched another beer or harmed her again. Shortly thereafter, grandmother also published her first book; one of many fantasy stories, filled with bizarre magic, strange creatures, and parallel worlds, that would transform the teenager into a best-selling author and celebrity. It was one of these books that I held in my hand as I walked away from the house where my grandma had lived and died, still wearing that necklace even on her deathbed.

I wished I had such a good luck charm. In fact, my grandmother, who had always promised to leave a special surprise for me when she died, had bequeathed the necklace to me. Unfortunately, as seemed to be my luck, the necklace had disappeared. No one could find it, though people swore she was wearing it at the moment she passed away. Somehow, someone must have taken it off while her body was being prepared for burial and the necklace had gotten lost.

The end of the lane was approaching as faint sunlight began to crest the distant hills of my grandmother’s plantation. I knew I needed to hurry my pace. The town, and its rickety old bus stop which was my pen-ultimate destination, lay several miles away. I needed to reach it before anyone could catch me. The gate at the end of the lane was open and I was just about to dart through when I heard a voice call out to me.

“I will not say running away is a bad idea,” a woman’s voice rang out from the base of a nearby tree. “However, I will say that the time has come for you to return home.”

I spun around, my head turning in all directions as I sought to find the speaker. I spotted them at the base of the last tree on the right; a tree which had often caught my eye in the past for the strange way it seemed to stand out from all the others. Its exterior was darker than the rest, with numerous knots, cracks, and large roots protruding from the ground; upon which sat a solitary figure in a brown hooded robe. Upon my turning around, the stranger rose to face me.

            The mysterious newcomer, who I presumed to be a woman, based upon the voice, wore her hood so low that none of her features were visible inside the dark shadows formed by the hood and still rising sun. Likewise, the robe, which stretched all the way down to the tiptop of the freshly mowed lawn, obscured all of the woman’s features. I could make out only her lips, which smiled at me with an amused expression both strangely familiar and foreign.

                “Who are you?” I asked.

                The smile grew. “You know who I am,” she replied.

                This answer, both cryptic and troubling, combined with the stranger’s bizarre appearance, made me extremely uncomfortable. I wasn’t in the mood to play games to begin with and, if I had been, I certainly wouldn’t be doing it with some cloaked stranger trespassing on my grandmother’s plantation at five thirty in the morning.

                “No, I really don’t,” I replied, a little irritated. “And, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere that I need to go.”

                I started to turn around when the stranger spoke again.

                “Yes, you do,” she replied. “But you are not going where you think you are going.”

                The words caused me to freeze in my tracks. A feeling of apprehension gripped me and I turned around nervously.

                “What do you mean,” I asked, trying to hide the fear in my voice.

                “I mean, you are not going where you are going, but instead you are going where you are going,” she replied.

                “That doesn’t make any sense,” I replied, my fear battling with my curiosity, as the bizarre game continued.

                “It will,” she said. The woman extended a hand from the cloak and help it out toward me. “Take my hand.”

                Fear gripped me. Though the woman didn’t seem any taller than me and didn’t sound any older than me, she had a strong, commanding voice, that didn’t leave much room for questions. Even though she had taken no direct hostile actions toward me, I felt frightened. A part of me wanted to run.

                At the same time, however, there was something strangely familiar about the woman. I couldn’t place exactly what it was, but there was something compelling about her; a strange energy which seemed to pull at me, making me want to comply with her request. Perhaps it was her confidence; maybe it was the gentleness with which she spoke; perhaps it was the strange familiar smile lining her lips, but whatever it was, something about her appealed to me.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked

“I am taking you home,” she responded.

“You’re lying,” I replied.

“Of course I am. I am also telling the truth. Either way, take my hand.”

“Why won’t you tell me where we are going?”

“Because if I told you, you wouldn’t go,” she said. “And you must go.”

“Why wouldn’t I go, if I knew?” I asked.

“Because you wouldn’t believe me. And because it is dangerous. And because you don’t trust me.”

“You’ve already admitted you’re lying to me,” I said, with some exasperation. “Why should I trust you?”

“You shouldn’t,” she replied. “And you won’t. But you’ll come with me anyway.”

“Why won’t you give me a straight answer,” I asked. “Why do you speak in riddles?”

“Because sometimes riddles are the only direct answer,” she said.

“You’re confusing.”

“And yet you understand me,” she replied.

“If I understand you, then why I am so confused?”

“Because you don’t understand yourself,” she said.

“What don’t I understand?”

“You don’t understand why you’re going to go with me,” she answered.

This was true. For although I felt suspicious and distrustful, there was still that strange compulsion tugging at my mind; almost like an overwhelming sense of curiosity, so great it held me spellbound.

“Are you forcing me to go with you?” I asked.

“No. You’re going to choose to go with me.”

“Why would I do that when I know you’re lying to me and I know I can’t trust you?”

“That is what you don’t understand.”

“How do you know that I’m going to go with you?” I asked.

“That is what you’re going to find out.”

“And then what will happen?” I asked, beginning to feel stupid from the mix of bizarre riddles and answers that answered nothing.

“Then you’ll understand,” she replied.

Feeling both completely bewildered, and without fulling understanding why I did so, I extended my hand to take hers. She led me to the other side of the tree. There I saw, to my astonishment, a circle of tiny mushrooms. I was sure they hadn’t been there a couple of days ago and, if they had been, they should have been destroyed by the mowers yesterday. They must have popped up overnight.

“A fairy ring,” I said, gazing in astonishment.

“Step inside, and close your eyes,” she said, gesturing toward the middle of the circle.

“What will happen?”

“You will go to where you going,” she replied.

“Where is that?” I asked.

“To a place you wouldn’t go if you knew you were going. To a place you are glad you did now that you have,” she replied.

I didn’t understand but something told me I wasn’t going to get a better answer than that.

“What if I don’t go,” I asked.

“You will,” she answered.

“Why should I?”

I saw the shoulders of the cloak rise as though the woman were giving a shrug.

“What have you got to lose?” she answered.

The last statement was perhaps the first thing the woman had said which made any sense to me. If I was truthful with myself, which I had tried not to be so far, I was attempting an almost impossible get-away with little money, less food, and hardly any prospects of help. My only hope was that some bizarre miracle might happen like happened to my grandmother. I supposed whatever bizarre twist of fate was happening right now was as good as any other I could expect.

With a sigh of resignation, I stepped into the ring and closed my eyes. As I did so, the woman called out to me.

“One last thing,” she said.

I spun around to face her, only to discover that the woman had taken off her cloak. The face that stared back at me was one I knew only too well. It was my own.

Yet it was also not my own. It appeared more confident; more sure; more proud; more of everything that I wasn’t at this point in my life. She was wearing different clothes than my own but still had the same backpack on her back. What caught my eye above all else, though, was the necklace around her neck. It was grandmother’s lucky charm.

“Remember our grandmother,” she said. “And do her proud.”

As she finished the words, I felt a tingle, like a burst of electricity shoot through my body. I found myself unable to move or speak as every inch of my skin burned and pulsed with strange vibrations. As if responding to these vibrations, weird dancing lights and thick swirling white mist encircled me.

Through the haze, I watched my other self turned around and start back toward the house. The next second, white mist obscured my eyes and everything vanished.