 Horror/Scary: March 12, 2008 Issue [#2266] |
  Horror/Scary
This week: Edited by: W.D.Wilcox  
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Graphophobia: The Fear of Writing |
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Worlds Within Worlds: The Wooden Sphere
When I sat down to write this newsletter, I could think of nothing to say. Usually my brain is working overtime, with so many different ideas running around inside my head that I can't catch up with them. To me, there is so much in the world to write about—so many stories to be told.
But this time it was different. This time there was nothing, and I found myself just staring at the blank monitor screen. Then my sight drooped and slid toward the floor.
Sometimes if you stare at something long enough it becomes something else. Like when you look at the whorl of wood grain within a hardwood floor, or the symmetric shapes and designs upon a wall. If you just relax your eyes long enough, you’ll start to see all kinds of things: haunted faces, monsters and creatures from other worlds. It was in this dream-like trance, this relaxed state, that inevitably lured me into seeing the floor slide open, separate board by board, and gaping wide, swallow me up.
I saw this, and at the same time I didn’t, the way a deeply preoccupied man might see and obey traffic signals without really noticing them. Behind my horn-rimmed glasses, my blue eyes floated like strange fish in a world all their own, and in this dreamy-eyed stupor, they looked like the eyes of a man who can see signs in the sky and perhaps hear voices whispering from the depths of a dark closet. But this new world I had entered was as volatile as a force of nature: a hurricane, a lightning storm, a planet-smashing asteroid hurtling through the void.
My mother had warned me, “When you start seeing the worlds within worlds, when things that are not there suddenly are there, it’s the first sign of madness.” Of course, my mother was mad—and my grandfather had been mad too. I only figured it was a matter of time for me. There is no explanations for mental illness—only excuses. Insanity is one of those things that just happens to people, like the complexion of their skin, or the color of their eyes.
I found myself sliding down the arch of the floor as though I were in a sphere—a giant wooden slide with no bottom. I smelled sawdust and the scent of freshly cut lumber. Above and around me, everything was moving. Pieces of the sphere shifted in and out like an intricate Chinese puzzle, closing in behind me. Large blocks moved into gaps left by other wedges and slammed home tight as I fell deeper into the unknown.
I slid on my back; legs upraised, arms flapping on either side of me as I tried to slow my momentum. I fell for so long that nausea rolled like a slop of chilled oysters in my stomach. Was there no end?
Even as I thought that, I quickly approached a wall. Bracing my feet to intercept it, I saw that it too began to slowly slide to the left and away from me. Then I heard the chittoring of something eager and hungry in the walls, and I caught sight of several creatures below me that stood upright upon jointed legs. Their bodies were a milky-white—nearly translucent, and I could see their internal organs pulsing beneath their skin. There were several of them, each with four arms that thrashed feverishly while their manibles made a clicking sound. They reached for me in anticipation of an early lunch.
I didn’t want to be among them, could sense their need and hunger, and desperately pulled at the floor with the flat of my hands to stop my descent. There was a squeak where flesh met wood like a tennis shoe braking upon a parquet floor. But still I didn't stop. So afraid of what awaited me, I dug my fingernails into the wood until blood dripped from my nails and ran down my fingers.
The wall had not yet entirely retracted, so I shifted my weight, and caught it with my left leg, stopping with a jolt. Even as the wall disappeared and I was about to lose my foothold, another section opened beside me forming a small tunnel. I reached for the lip of it and pulled myself up just as one of the termite-people grabbed my foot and yanked my shoe off. My hands were wet with blood, yet I was able to scramble into the nitch in the wall.
Briefly, I sat upon the ledge, wiping my bloodied hands upon my pants, and trying to catch my breath. The creatures were just below me, furious. Their chittoring grew louder.
Then the other wall moved toward me, closing off the chamber below and threatening to pulverize me. I shimmied my way further into the tunnel, knowing it would soon fill with the new section. Crawling frantically upon my belly, fear choking me like a hangman's noose, I scurried deeper within the slot until I reached a dead end.
I flipped over on my back and watched the massive piece of wood inch towards me. I could hear it sliding smoothly upon itself like the sound of a snake slithering through a pile of dead leaves. I pulled my legs under me as far as I could, while my mind drown in a sea of claustrophobia.
Then the wall behind me shifted and began to move. But would it open in time? The other block was nearly upon me.
I folded my body into a tight little ball, as if I were a discovered spider, and waited for the inevitable.
The wooden block touched my feet, and then pressed me against the moving wall at my back. I tried to make myself smaller, buried my face into my knees, too afraid to look.
The pressure was immense, and I felt myself being squished like a bug. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I tried to scream, but was too confined to get any force behind it.
Then I saw light—felt fresh air, and was popped out onto my living room floor like a champagne cork. I lay there gasping for breath, trying to unfold my body.
Slowly I climbed back into my computer chair and looked at the blank monitor screen, but still couldn’t think of anything to write.
Until next time,
billwilcox
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The Mausoleum
| |  | Invalid Item
This item number is not valid.
#1391914 by Not Available. |
Excerpt: Jack glanced in his rearview mirror, and was not sure that he saw what he was actually seeing. The old man, getting up. The old man standing, smiling at him. The old man waving in such a way that said he would see him again soon. The old man surrounded by hundreds more of those like him, some much older and bloodier. The old man and his companions surrounded by things that were quite obviously dead, decaying, dripping flesh, and walking.
| | | Invalid Item
This item number is not valid.
#1211886 by Not Available. |
Excerpt: The immense room was filled with statues of every size. They all had the peculiar faces of the moai on the surface, but these were far more intricate. Instead of the rough-cut appearance of those outside, they had various styles of clothing, and much more detail in the faces and hands. Some were obviously female, and some appeared to be children, but all were eerily lifelike despite their dissimilarities to human form. Brad guessed that there were about a thousand of them in the room, all arranged in giant rings around a behemoth statue on a stone pedestal in the center.
| | | Invalid Item
This item number is not valid.
#570896 by Not Available. |
Excerpt: They were enough family, just the two of them. They missed their parents sometimes, but they didn't need them to be happy. The sisters grinned at each other, as the warmth from the oven helped them forget about the cold. They concentrated on the satisfaction that their Christmas cookies would bring.
Efficient as ever, Constance mixed green food coloring with the sugar to sprinkle on the cookies they were giving away, content to be baking again. She always used to make cookies for the holidays. Their parents had loved her cooking. Millie took a crumbly bite from her first cookie and rewarded her big sister with a sugary grin.
| |  | The Key (13+)
A short-short about a key that holds more power than Mr. John ever imagened possible.
#1385317 by James O. Cannon  |
Excerpt: When I arrived I was walking through the colossal building, fingering the key in my pocket, when I noticed four numbers. I pulled it out and examined it closely. What I saw was this: 1134. I scratched my head and proceeded to my room.
Once inside, I noted the time. Eleven thirty-four. I thought it was a bit strange and I felt an odd chill, but pushed it in and ignored it. I set the key on my night stand and walked to the bathroom to take a shower. When I looked into the mirror I was horrified. I did not see a reflection as I had expected. I saw a window into what I believe was Hell.
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This item number is not valid.
#1141492 by Not Available. |
Excerpt: In our home, the girl met with her celestial twin times a hundred, in the mirrored walls. With pleasure, I watch Tess lead our guest around, showing her the myriad reflections. Without making a ripple, I turn the stereo on: Van Morrison sings, "Well, it's a marvelous night for a moondance..." In places, only one doppelganger could be seen. In others, facsimiles bounce back and forth endlessly between the dimensions of reality, stretching upward and outward into infinity. Charmed by the repetitions of herself, and by glasses of sweet red wine, the Moongirl removes her clothes, one by one. Dancing as Salome must have.
Excerpt: She stood there out of breath and panting, as though she had run a great distance. But as soon as she was outside, the fresh air began to clear her mind and she tried to explain away what had happened as no more than the wind.
The clatter of a candied heart rolled across the floor and out the door toward her; finally coming to rest at the toe of Shyla’s shoe. In the daylight, it was easy enough for her to read without picking it up. “Be Mine.”
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AHHHHHHHH....IT'S EMAIL!!!
drifter46
Submitted Comment:
This is, I think, one of your best newsletters. You've touched at the very heart of writing in my opinion. If there's no passion in your writing, no feeling in your words, there is a hallow shell cluttered with letters.
And not to tweak the muses nose, but...are you sure your children are safely tucked in bed ?
zwisis
Submitted Comment:
Bill, I never had children, but I have three nieces and three nephews I adore. The nephew are all grown up, but the nieces range in age from seven to eleven, and f I think of something happening to them I break out in a cold sweat...
Great newsletter!
schipperke
Submitted Comment:
Wonderful newsletter yet again. I don't have children, so those scenerios don't bother me as much as a pet being threatend. Ever notice in horror movies the family dog/cat is always the first to get bumped off? (or in the case of bunny rabbits, pot boiled??)
animatqua
Submitted Comment:
As far as children being threatened: been there, done that, cried on the t-shirt over my grandkids. You will also find the tracks all over my writing, so good advice, Bill. Sometimes all you can do is write and let it out.
kelly1202
Submitted Comment:
Awesome NL, Bill! As usual. I just love reading your NL! Keep up the great work!
James O. Cannon
Submitted Comment:
Would you guys mind reading and reviewing one of my short-shorts? Its called THE KEY.
I read it, liked it, added it to this newsletter.
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