RoadKill story excerpt…


Below you will find a scene selection from the Novella I have written called “Roadkill” that I have recently submitted to a publisher for consideration.  It is basically about a family man dealing with  a fatal encounter in the middle of snowstorm and  the aftermath of that as he tries to protect and save his family from a maelevolent creature bent on making his life hell. Enjoy.

             The thing had waited long enough, suffered long enough. There needed to be balance, balance, always balance, for balance was life.

            It crouched in the snow. The snow had fallen in a flurry all around it while it had crouched and waited. The cold had come as the night had grown deeper and still more snow came and the wind howled in the trees around it and still it had crouched and waited. What was snow? What was cold? They were dead things while it was very much alive.

            Looking up from its vantage in the back yard of their home it had seen that the last of the lights had died inside the house sometime ago and knew that they all slept. All was quiet. Quiet was good. It released itself from its crouch for it was time to retrieve the female. It moved to the front.

The garage was dark where Elisa’s car and Adrian’s truck were parked. The wind and snow beat against the big garage door wanting to get inside. It wanted inside as well but it knew the rules. Rules more ancient than what it was, but remembered none-the-less. It knew the rules could always be twisted and bent however.  In its own way it was already inside so no rules need apply. The female would come to it when it was all done and they would leave together. Already it was beginning to itch. It couldn’t remember the last time it had itched.  It would lose itself before too long and go the way of all the others.   The balance had to be restored and soon if it itched already. But the rules must always be obeyed lest it forfeit everything. It had lived too long to forget that. It reached out its mind to inside the garage and the bounce back came, weak but there. Enough it thought, enough to do what needed to be done.

                                                                                                           **********************************************************************

 The lid to the garbage bin in the garage shifted upward slightly then lifted as if pushed from something inside. The lid lifted more almost to an inch high crack .The crusted and bloodied mottled gray dead flap of skin slid out and dropped to the floor of the garage. It moved along the floor of the garage in the dark in slow inchworm like movements towards the inner door to the house. It had no trouble in manipulating the concrete step that led up to the door for it just slid up the vertical side of the step like a snail would and proceeded on. It moved along the threshold of the door pushing and probing into the crack. It found a place seven inches from the doorframe that let its form fit into it just barely. It oozed under the opening and slipped inside the darkened house.  It needed no eyes to see, for it was a puppet doing its master’s bidding who saw everything, even in death as it held onto the last bit of life in the cells that dwelled in the dead flap of skin it served.

It was slow going but it reached the top of the landing on the floor where they all slept. It must hurry for it knew its time was drawing to a close.  It inched up to the room of the parents. The door was shut.  It sensed heavy breathing from that of a deep sleep coming from the room. It could enter if it wished easily and unheard. The opening at the bottom was even wider on this door. But it continued on to the child’s room for it wanted the small female not the other.

The door to the child’s room was wide open. A small nightlight plugged into an outlet near the floor gave off a very faint blue glow to light the room.  It entered. It sensed two presences, the child and an animal. There was an animal with her.  The animal had not sensed it yet. Good. It would take care of the animal. It crawled up at the foot of the bed. The child’s breathing was deep as well. The animal lay across the girl’s chest deep asleep, twitching every once in while on top of her. All it needed was contact then it would be over. One of the girl’s arms lay on the outside over her blanket with her hand down at her side.

It sprung. It fell against the top of her and pressed itself down onto her skin. Nerve endings responded while neural transmitters fired throughout the little girl’s body. Her back arched up from her bed as she slept. A small moan escaped her lips as if she was in pain. It continued to do its work on her as it was bided to do. It was re-mapping her, not fully, no not fully at all. The mapping would not hold but it would enough for now. It was almost dead itself and only a shell of its former self but it would give what it could. Suddenly it was being attacked, being bitten by the creature that had been lying on the little girl. It felt no pain as the creature bit into its dead flesh. It felt nothing. It was done.  Its job was over. The little girl ceased in her moaning and contortions and settled down in her bed. The flap of skin came away dead, held in the cat’s mouth. Tonks flung it to the floor.

                                                                                                                         ****************************************************************

 Tonks looked down towards the floor from where it laid and eyed the flap of skin, not trusting it to not move again. Tonks sniffed the air and didn’t like what he smelled. Suddenly the little girl raised herself up from her bed bent at the waist and looked around the room. Tonks looked over thoughtfully at her with its big green eyes and then looked down at the flap of skin again as if trying to say, “Hey look at my prize I killed for you”.  Sylvia reached out as if to pet Tonks on the head but instead wrapped him tight around his neck with her little fingers and flung him across the room to hit the far wall hard and slide down it.  Tonks didn’t stir or utter a noise from where he had landed. All was quiet

Fear, Fantasy, and Feelings in my Writing


I have finally submitted my story “Roadkill”  to a publisher for consideration! As the submission process goes I will not find out for about 90days what the results will be. So wish me luck!   If you wish to see a sampling of that story please look to my Blog category above entitled “Story Excerpts”  to find it.(or the blog directly above this one)   Below is my latest blog on what makes me tick as writer somewhat and for you the potential reader get to know me a little bit better and give you a sense of  where I’m coming from…

Fear, Fantasy, and Feelings in my writing? Why whatever do you mean Mr. Wardlow? Well first, I am not talking about what I actually write about. I am not talking about the sentence I write that creates a scene for you, the reader, to get you into the mood for what’s coming next around the corner. I am not talking about the fear which may trickle into your brain and tickle the mind into wanting to look over your shoulder as you walk a lonely trail or to look a little closer at that open closet door in your room at night as you lay in bed.

I am not talking about the fancies or fantasies which may take you from the daily mundane life that you may lead to a magical arena where possibilities of life abound with but a belief in it wholeheartedly.
I am not talking about feelings for a character or a conflict that has your soul invested in those bounded pages (or digitized pages) you hold in your hands as long as the story lasts (may it be forever).

No, I am talking about MY fears, MY Fantasies, MY feelings when it comes to writing. All three have been present and continue to be present in me when I write.

First let’s take Fear. Isn’t that a feeling? Yep, you betcha. So why I do I call out it separately. Well for me, it’s what drives me. It’s a big Neon Light. A big “F” blinking in my brain at times, for awhile though it was what want drove everything else away about my writing. It pushed away my passion for it; it pushed away the wonder of it. It held me down like giant’s foot pressed heavy upon my chest. Even now I am wondering as I write this, who I am to be talking about myself, who am I to think I can talk about myself, who am I to think anyone cares what I have to say matters. Who am I? Then the fear goes away because this is who I am. I think there is value in what I say. Take it or leave it. So I am glad that I have that fear from time to time. I am glad it is there, ready to creep in. I believe it keeps me and my work real ultimately in the end.

Now comes the Fantasy part; for me it’s allowing my brain to access the childlike part of me. It is the what-ifs in life, the endless scenarios, and the dreams most people seem to find only when their heads hit the pillow at night when they fall to sleep. I often get lost in thought on a story or have an errant thought meandering through my mind from a scene all day long. I remember my mother when I was very young in life taking me to see an ear specialist because she thought I was going deaf. So often I would ignore her unintentionally when she talked to me directly. (I past all the hearing tests with flying colors) I have always wanted more to the story of my life than what I was born into as so many of us probably do. I found this escape through daydreaming, movies, reading, and writing. It’s my form of meditation in life.

Finally we come to Feelings, what a word that is. I cannot sit down to write unless I feel something. I cannot put pen to paper unless I’m inspired to write, or so I thought. That thought in the beginning of my desire to be a writer was my Achilles heel. It was a self-made self-induced writer’s block to my psyche and my performance. I don’t wait for that feeling anymore. I found you can’t if you wish to be a serious writer and for the longest time I didn’t get that.
Sting, one of my favorite songwriters and singers said pretty much the same thing. He said  (I’m paraphrasing here), that writing is the most difficult thing he does but he doesn’t wait to be inspired. He goes after it and basically wrestles it to the ground until it submits to his will. So I guess that’s the best analogy for what I do. I wrestle the story to the ground and put it in a choke hold until it passes out. You’re mine you little bastard.

I look to great things happening in my life. I expect it be hard fought to get what I want. I know the odds. I look forward to the challenge. I have the tools to get me there, my fear keeps me sharp, my daydreaming keep me supplied with endless ideas, and my feelings keep me grounded.

As they always say, if it was easy everyone would do it

The Crow Waits


I am sure you have seen my avatar the Crow on my Blog and other places such as my facebook page so I thought it only fitting to create a poem to commemorate it…so here goes..hope you enjoy…by the way my weekly blog in the Inquiry Section of my blog which hits on here every Wednesday…enjoy the poem below.

The Crow Waits

I see it on high sitting in a tree, a Crow amongst the sparse fall leaves
that yet hang to the branches, even though winter fast approaches,
no one told them it seems that they are dead and should already be on their way.

The crow with its pitted black eyes knows me it seems, for it calls my name
across the wind while I languish on the ground in my own blood which spills
from my body and forms around me like a macabre picture frame.

Funny thing, how the crow knows my name, a simple carrion bird waiting for
this warrior’s death so it can pick me clean and leave nothing but my bleached bones,
rusted armor, and a forgotten sword as my only legacy.

Long has the battle been gone from this place I now rest in, the victors have gutted me
like a fish on a stone and left me to the flies and the maggots to fester inside.

But yet shall I live, ever stubborn to die and only the Crow truly knows why.
I hear it laughing at me, calling me a fool for an adventure I sought full of folly
with only death to be met at its end.

It has seen many a fool I am sure and feasted contently before the sun has set.
But still I live! You will not have me fool or not!

So sit your perch and wait for you shall not have me this day or the next,
for even if I should pass these earthly bounds so shall my shade pick up
my blade and strike you down!

The sun has set and the night grows cold, the crow sits in his tree and
waits;  for it has seen many a warrior born and bred and knows full well their
strength,courage and the valor which fills their head, but it knows when dead is dead.

Ain’t no rest for the wicked…..


Welcome to my first blog page post . Like my title?  definitely not getting any rest and I’m only wicked if I haven’t had my coffee in the morning.

This is my first attempt at blogging so bear with me. I am a quick learner…but until I learn to navigate this thing it will probably be pretty uneventful on here for awhile. Even though I am a quick learner there is so much time in a day or night.

I am currently in the process of becoming a well renowned Horror/Fantasy/Sci Fi author (for now you must label me a writer) and this is my first step into marketing myself to the people who might be reading my stuff one day. Hopefully sooner than later if the publishers like my first submission I am plan on turning in this week actually. (won’t find out for about 90 days as the  submission process goes)

What submission do you say?  ….well it’s a nice little scary story entitled “RoadKill”. It’s about a man named Adrian who has to face his own fears from his past  first before he can face the thing that has kidnapped a family member. Will he succeed in both or fail in both…Do horror stories have happy endings? Maybe you will find out if this thing gets published.

In the coming months I will let keep you up to date on where I am at in the submission process…these things take a while but I’m always pessimistically optimistic about the events in my life…

In the mean time I am working on my next story called “A Dark Place” which I am about 9 pages into. I plan about tripling that number before I’m done. I tend to write long when it comes to stories, usually novella length (17k to 30K words). I will also keep you up to date with my progress in that as well.

I will also try to keep you entertained with some writing of my mine,  such as some of my darker poetry which entails aspects of horror, fantasy, and the occasional dark matter in life.

My style is a work  in a progress but I’m getting there.  Hope you enjoy!

I will try hard to balance writing my stories, learning this frigging blogging mumbo jumbo, and being consistent at least on weekly basis with a new blogging showing more of who I am and what I am about through my writing.

Thanks for listening…and watch out for the shadows in the corners ..things like to hide there and just stare at you.

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Erotic Poetry and Stories

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TheFeatheredSleep

Tigers not daughters

VIVID LENS VIEW

Let Your Eyes Do The Talking...

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A Place to share My Love for Painting, Life and my Wandering Mind

All Thoughts Work™ Outdoors

Hiking with snark in the beautiful Pacific Northwest 2011 - 2013

unbolt me

the literary asylum

That Weird Brown Girl

Let's get real. Let's get weird.

Just read

Reviews, raves, and rants it's all about the books we read

Musings of a mad woman

Bipolar is my superpower

ReclusiveDreams

writing what my mind tells me and what my heart feels

Vigilante Nation

A site dedicated to mediating and confronting vigilantism and violent extremism in American history, society, culture & beyond

World of Horror

A place for writers and book lovers

Elan Mudrow

The Ridges of Intertextuallity

Exclusive Inflictions

by Kelly Lewis

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