Tuesday Tales: Light

This week’s prompt was light, so I decided to go ahead with the Krampus story because that’s what’s in my head at the moment. The saint and the demon hae just started to approach their first stop of the evening…

***

As they approached the village it became easier to see actual details of the little houses. It was so easy to think of towns as collections of ragged thatched roofs, walls that would need to be repaired after another hard winter, doors that kept people out as much as they welcomed. Deep under the fur, under the horns, under the maelstrom of dark feelings, something in Krampus twisted.

He ignored it as he always did, and strode through the deep snow, ignoring the wet chill that seeped into his bones through his bare feet. His clawed hand clung to the sack that dragged ominously behind him; he had a duty to do. It was not time to feel. He was past feeling.

Tiny, tiny sparks glowed behind frost-coated windows. They were brief pops of orange and red flame; tiny little lights in a world of dark. They flickered happily, almost defiantly, as if the little specks could hold off the rest of the world, forever preserving the warm feelings inside those mocking walls. He sneered, showing decaying teeth over his long, flopping tongue that sensed the taste of human flesh as much as it detected good will hiding other, more ill feelings.

It was the ill intentions, the malcontent that he focused on. It might be small during the holiday season, but it was there—oh yes—it was there. Parents resenting what their lives had become, growing adults fearful of their futures, and the little unassuming children…those were the best. They were so primal, so much like Krampus, himself. They tried to be good, yes, and those good deeds shone just like those little lights in the windows, but they were also small and brief when compared to the other nature that children held. Most of them still had much to learn in the way of acting in society. Many of them snuck off and did things their parents would never want to know about. They were much more able to tap into their darkness and shout out their hate, shove and hit someone who angered them, take what they wanted because they wanted it. They could smile charmingly and be as adorable for Sinterklaas as they wanted, but their goodness was only a tiny, bright little light that could easily be extinguished in opportune times.

And once that light was extinguished, even for a few moments, they were marked as potential prey for the demon. Most would just get the switches, enough of a warning to reignite those little flames inside them. Yet they wouldn’t be good because they wanted to be…the reignited flames would be false fire, born of having to do what they was expected and not because they wanted to be that way. Still, there were always one or two whose little lights would never re-spark because they had to, would never spark because they wanted to. There were always one or two that would remain empty, dark windows, complete voids behind the winter  frost.

Those were the demon’s favorite. They let him in. They were his food. They were his everything.

Beside him Sinterklaas tromped with his giant horse, probably thinking about all the cute little faces that beamed when they saw him. Maybe, just maybe he was thinking about those that would cower and snivel because of who he had to bring with him. Maybe, just maybe he remembered the one who was cast out because there always had to be one. Perhaps he recalled a window so dark that no light would ever reach through the frost, a soul so bleak that there was nothing for it but to send him into the woods, to let him be the one that there always had to be.

Krampus hated the old man with a wild, primal passion that would have terrified the saint, that epitome of restraint, that do-er of all good. He hated all that he stood for and had since he’d been drawn out of Hell so long ago to do service. And yet…

There was another part of him, that part that had run out into the woods, terrified, petrified, that part that had longed to prove itself, wanted to show its strength, so it had picked up the mask, picked up the sack—

The demon growled and the tiny, nearly-dead spark in that part of his rotting soul blew out, leaving only the faint shiver of smoke under the creature’s skin. After tonight he wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. After tonight, that part would be food, and another feast would be prepared for the year-long trial.

Because there always had to be one.

Sinterklaas cleared his throat and tugged the nervous horse’s reigns. “Lovely, aren’t they?” he asked, nodding to the candles in the windows. “It’s nice to be welcomed.” For a moment the old man’s face was far away, and Krampus wondered if he remembered, if he regretted, if that so-called saint could ever admit what he’d done. “The light shines in the darkness, yet the darkness cannot overcome it,” Sinterklaas whispered, coming back to himself with a wistful smile, probably anticipating the festivities of the sixth. There was no way the man could wistfully recall the trials of December 5.

Krampus snorted and ignored the dripping mucus from his nose that froze along his nostrils and the edge of his fur-covered lip. He glowered at the mocking little flames that thought they were so triumphant, growled quietly at the thought of all the happy people that tried to ignore what was coming, who tried to be so lovely once a year, who didn’t admit to all the pain and evil they were capable of the rest of the time. The light shines in the darkness, yet the darkness cannot overcome it…

Krampus looked up at the saint and gave the old man his most unsettling smile. “Yes it can, old fool, yes it can. The fact that I am here and you walk beside me is proof of that.”

 © Selah Janel 2013

Tuesday Tales Picture Prompt: Krampus Waits

It has been a long long LONG time coming, right? I’m finally (FINALLY, I know) getting back into Tuesday Tales, and I’m very happy to be doing so!

This week was a picture prompt with a max word count of 300 words. It’s such a peaceful, glorious scene, yet I couldn’t help but feel that I’d missed out on a lot of holiday-themed prompts. And there was something I’ve been wanting to do…someone I’ve been wanting to write about. So, since I like to shake things up, I decided to go with my first instinct and write a short about who might be looking down at such a glorious view and the villages that might be waiting at the bottom of the mountains. Obviously this would be Krampus, Saint Nicholas’ demonic henchman helper whose job it is to punish the naughty children. (Nope, totally not making that up. For a complete head trip and some educational information, you can learn about Krampus HERE

You know you missed me. Heh.

Krampus Waits

The snow was crisp and the air cold, giving a pleasant tint to the scenic view. Trees sloped downward to the valley and mountain after mountain rose on its other side.

Soon.

Everyone in the tiny villages below was readying themselves for December sixth, for the feast of Saint Nicholas and all the good things that would bring. Somewhere, though, there were also those who shuddered, knowing that to get to those pleasant times, they had to get through December fifth.

The creature smiled at the thought. The cold couldn’t touch him through his heavy, dark fur. His claws twitched in anticipation and tendrils of saliva trickled off of sharp teeth.

Soon.

Wood smoke and pine curled his nostrils, but his keen sense of smell could pick up other smells, too. The smells of hot blood and young meat, the scent of youth and innocence just slightly tainted with disobedience. Children.  Naughty children.

The demon smiled, his long tongue lolling out of his mouth in anticipation. It had been a whole year and he’d worked up an appetite.

Very soon.

He could just make out the worried cries.

“He won’t get me, will he, Mama?”

“Is he real?”

“Have I been good?”

The innocent pleas of children. Parents reassured them, but they were nervous, too.  Terrified of the one who came down and helped the good saint. The one who would judge their children. The one who would drag them to Hell if he found them lacking.

Soon the old one will come for me. Soon it will be time to deliver gifts and good cheer…and other things.

It’s my favorite time of year.

Krampus cackled and went back to his den to wait. Far below in the village, for  no apparent reason at all, little children began to cry.

***

For more awesome stories written around prompts, check out the Tuesday Tales Blog!

Tuesday Tales: Red

 

 

This week’s prompt was Red and apparently I’m in fairy tale mode. I’ve been dealing with a lot of red lately but wanted to do something different.

There is a variation on the snow white story where the queen very much gets hers at the end. Still, I wanted to do something different with it and the thought that the story we know may have been a very complicated ruse appeals to me for some awful reason. Admittedly I’ve never liked snow white all that much. She’s boring and not very self-sufficient in comparison to other princess. Honestly, I haven’t found a version that doesn’t depend on her goodness to flesh out her character. So I thought I needed to fix that. This takes place after Snow White’s wedding – in the version I’m expanding on the queen isn’t killed accidentally but is captured and punished by the royals.

 

***

She’d already been dragged across the floor of the great hall, garbed in her finest gown and draped with her largest jewels. Derisive faces swarmed around her as she struggled and clawed at the soldiers who struggled to hang onto her thrashing limbs. Weaklings. They could only hold her because the scales had tipped out of her favor. In another time and place, in any other battle she would have been able to raise a finger and break the bones of every gathered dignitary in a hundred places.

“She went too far! She had to have known she’d be punished.” The whispers around her turned her stomach. How stupid. She’d never once entertained a thought of failure, not when she stood naked in front of her mirror demanding its opinion on her beauty, not when she sent her faithful servant into the woods to butcher The Girl (she would not think of her as anything but The Girl), not when she sold her soul for a spell that would turn the apple of life into the fruit of demise.

She was tossed to the  stone floor in front of the wedding party, her long hair and skirts pooling around her as the entire court jeered. How fast their minds changed. How many times had they cowered in fear when she threatened to butcher their children in front of them? How many times did they give her all their earnings for fear she’d slide into their houses as a fog during the night? The Queen had her ways. Everyone knew it and everyone had cowered until The Girl.

She stared up at her adversary, her dry and cracked lips turned down in disgust. She was made up like a royal and like a saint. Her father would have been so proud, the silly fool. For a split second the former queen remembered how he had swayed when she’d hung him in the tower after removing his blood for a particularly complicated potion. It had dribbled down in rivulets and gathered in her pale, smooth hands. Drop by drop it had flowed and slid over her fingers: slick, hot life that was as red as the berries that peaked through the snow in the woods at wintertime.

Her exhaustion grabbed onto the meaty color as she fondly recalled the heart the traitor had brought back to her. He’d slaughtered so many on her behalf before. Why should The Girl be any different? Why?! That moment when she’d thought she’d held the princess’s gushing heart in her own two hands had been glorious, a release far better than any lover she’d taken or any spell she’d performed. The meaty crimson residue had quickly turned brown and sticky on her arms as she’d clutched it to her bosom. Its sweet metallic tang had crept into her nostrils and had lingered in her robes until her lady’s maid had insisted that the gown needed to be washed.

And then she’d found out the truth. And then she’d had to dispatch her huntsman. He was probably still at the bottom of the dry well she’d sent him to. She hoped he was still half-alive or had gone mad enough to do himself in. It served him right for being weak.

The heart in her mind’s hands contracted and rearranged itself until the gorgeous sheen of an apple skin was all she saw reflected in the polished hall floor. So close. She’d been so close! It had been so innocent looking, shiny ruby peel covering virginal white fruit. Who would have guessed the secret it held? How many demons had she had to beguile to get that “unbreakable” spell? And for nothing!

Fury built in the broken, weary queen as she glared up at The Girl. How did she beat the spell? How? She stood there, adoring and clueless as she clung to her new husband, her hero and savior. She’d learn soon enough that men would promise the world and then quickly take it back. The brat didn’t deserve to live if she was that stupid and naïve. And the way everyone fawned on her so – it was disgusting! They’d be plotting her downfall as soon as she ceased to be the good little princess they could idolize. Fear was the only way to keep a kingdom in line. Fear and cunning. A little imagination didn’t hurt, either.

“I’m glad you could come to my wedding feast, stepmother.” The Girl’s voice scratched down the older woman’s spine. She was still tired from taking on the form of the hag and the dutiful prince had had her sequestered in the dungeon for over a week without proper nourishment or sleep. It seemed everyone wanted to tromp through and jab at her with swords or beat the face that had inspired so much awe and dread while she was manacled. Did The Girl know how her husband had allowed anyone who had a grievance with her down to the dungeon? Probably not. The little slut was so oblivious to the ways of the world.

Goodness. That’s all it came down to. That’s why she’d won. Never mind that she was locked in a daydream. Never mind that life would run her over and she’d never see it coming. No, she’d fallen into a happy ending and that was all she cared about, just like she’d fallen into safety with the dwarves and never once feared that they might have had other motives. The Girl had gotten lucky that they weren’t members of one of the old families. It seemed luck, like goodness, followed her like a dog. She was pure and the old queen was vile. The Girl was innocence and the queen was cynicism and malice. Light and dark. White and red. Untouched snow and savagely spilt blood. Of course they were destined to be enemies: qualities like that could never be friends.

“Thank you for coming, stepmother,” The Girl repeated and knelt to make sure that the queen understood. She was dressed head to toe in white lace, her dark hair braided and piled on her head among pearls and jewels. Her wide eyes sparkled like clear pools in her cherubic face and her little mouth that had only been touched once smiled tentatively.

The queen had never hated her more and if she’d had any strength left she would have reached out a hand to strangle her. “I hope you’ll join us in the festivities. You’ve missed the best food, but you shan’t miss the dancing.”

The queen raised eyes that were darker than the night and trembling, managed to work up enough saliva in her dry mouth to spit upon the stupid young royal. The glob of spit dribbled down The Girl’s train, clear wetness tinged pink with the blood from her cracked lips. Was she clueless? An idiot? A halfwit? Why did she think they could be friends? Was she that desperate for a mother at her wedding that she’d resort to the one who tried to murder her time and again?

“I detest you with my blood,” the queen rasped, barely able to speak. “I shall never dance for joy for a stupid, naïve cow like you. You know nothing.” If she couldn’t hurt her with spells or knives she craved to hurt The Girl with words. Unfortunately her flesh wasn’t up to the challenge.

The Girl straightened as the chuckling crowds pulled back and two servants flanked by the royal guard entered the long hall. “Oh, but I want you to dance for me,” The Girl insisted. Maybe it was delirium or a sick sense of hope, but the former queen swore The Girl’s eyes changed. The twinkle was tinged by smugness, the innocence by a certain knowing. Somehow, someway…

Fear and admiration jolted the queen to her knees as the procession appeared at the prince and princess’s side. She’d seen it. She knew she had. She hadn’t been beaten by goodness or stupidity or dumb luck…she’d been beaten by someone who had known how to play the game all along…and had played to win, even from birth! Deep, deep in the girl’s eyes was the spark of life. The queen had learned to look for it long ago in her victims. In the innocent it always burned as a bright white flame. The Girl’s burned…but it was tinged with crimson.

So shocked was the queen that she almost missed what was being said. “If you’re too tired to dance perhaps we can convince you,” The Girl cooed, and her dimples were sly now. Oh, she was a clever one! She’d let her mask slip just enough to let the queen see, knowing full well that no one else would ever, ever believe! Even her strong young buck of a new husband didn’t have a clue! Her subjects didn’t have any idea that this child, this lovely and good little girl was far more sadistic than she! The Girl had simply bided her time from infancy, holding in her true nature until she could have her way.How gullible! How perfect!

The servants parted to reveal two iron contraptions that were so hot they glowed. The lines of the metal were red-hot and smoldering like the metal gates to hell, the gates that were surely waiting to open for her. Instinctively the queen shuddered, though it was half in fear and half in admiration. “I had new shoes crafted for you to help you dance, stepmother. It would please me very much to see you dance for my wedding.”

The crowd nodded and chuckled, sure that it was probably the prince’s idea. They were so sure it was acceptable because the queen had been so despicable. The poor princess was probably forced into dishing out the punishment because she was so traumatized.

Only the queen knew that those hideous instruments of torture, those beautifully constructed shoes of mutilation had been made simply because The Girl felt like it.

“So the snow is white no longer,” the queen rasped with a dry chuckle before the guards were on her and her mind was gone in a bright explosion of searing agony and humiliation. Her last coherent thought was that if she had to give up her kingdom, at least it was going to a worthy successor.

Tuesday Tales: Trees

So this week the prompt was Trees and my mind went into a very offbeat holiday mode. This is actually part of a longer story I just cranked out in a fit of inspiration so we’ll see what happens with that!

***

 

The folks had kept a patch of land reserved for pine trees since I could remember Christmas. It wasn’t officially the holiday season until we were harvesting some to donate to different community functions and selling the rest. The mini-woods closed in around me immediately and I shivered at the whispering scratch of needles across my arms. When I was a little girl I’d heard rumors of other farm kids fighting those who made fun of them with pine needles, driving them under fingernails and once into someone’s eye. I couldn’t fathom using something so clean-smelling, so vividly green as a weapon. My feet were muffled by the mattress of old and discarded needles that covered the ground like a complicated game of pick-up sticks. They tickled and pricked the bottoms of my feet pleasantly; I only really winced when I stepped on a half-buried pine cone. Ever since I could remember I’d been coming to the half acre that was covered with the prickly green lives that would never die. The heady smell wrapped around me and I breathed deeper. Here there were no late nights without overtime that would lead to diddly squat, no sultry ‘I love you’s’ murmured between pillows while hands that wandered would inevitably be wandering over someone else the very next night. There was no buzz and screaming competition of the city. It was quiet, peaceful, lasting. Somewhere a robin trilled its song and for a very brief moment I was seven and pretending I was a lost princess in the woods.

“I knew you’d come back.”

The voice was a high chirp that was perky as dawn sunlight. I whirled and backpedaled, yelping when my foot collided with the blasted pinecone a second time. “Who’s there? Sammy?” I called, though why the neighbor’s kid would have hiked a half mile to be nosey didn’t make sense. “Rexy, is that you?” Sure it is; because dogs can talk now. In the man-planted seclusion my thoughts were foggy with the scent of natural pine and the sticky residue that was coating my feet the longer I walked.

“Nay, silly! Tis me!” the voice chirped and as I stared at the shuddering branches that reached out and up, the needles suddenly flattened and turned into thin little arms.

I screamed and bolted back into another tree, barely caring about the sharp branch that jabbed me in the small of the back. I’ve lost it. I’ve well and truly lost it. They’ll find me out here foaming at the mouth and screaming that the trees are talking. My hands clamped over my mouth to spare myself a little dignity.

“You don’t remember?” The voice drooped as the arms lowered and an eerily thin girl stepped right out of the branches. Her tunic was the color of pine bark and was even sticky with the needles’ gum. Her hair rustled and was bristly thin and pale yellow, though in certain angles it looked almost green. She was eerily thin and tall in a way that made her look stretched out. Even her fingers and arms seemed ill-proportioned in their length. Her delicate face was screwed up in dismay and her large green eyes stared down at me in disappointment. “You’ve forgotten about me that easily?”

The city smog, the years spent trying to cram myself into a size smaller of jeans than I should, the pep talks to always “work hard to get ahead,” the years of late nights spent studying and partying at school dissipated in the heady scent of Christmas in summertime. “Nya?”

I’d been four or five when I’d stumbled upon her during one of my marathon adventures. Those were the days when kids were allowed outside to play by themselves. An only child who liked stories that featured fantastic lands and thousands of characters, I found it hard to entertain myself when the only things left to play an arch nemesis and a prince were the family dog and a cow. I’d been playing at being lost in the woods when she’d stepped out just as she did now, skipping and looking for a playmate.

Her elfin face perked in a broad smile that was a little too big for her slender features. “You remember!” She threw her long arms over my shoulders in a hug. As delicate as she was the dryad still enfolded me with her long appendages and stretched torso. “How good it is to see you! How beautiful you are!” she gushed in my ear.

“Nay, I mean no,” I huffed and pulled back. When had I last seen her? Twelve? Thirteen? It was at around the point when I began to assume that I’d made her up in a fit of loneliness, when chores and parental expectations began to take up my consciousness. When getting homework done on time and pining away for boys took precedence over a pine forest. “It’s good to see you.”

Her smile was sunshine on the forest floor as she looked me over. “Why did you not come see me sooner? You said you would. I’ve been waiting for you.” Her green eyes were struggling to understand and it was then I remembered why it was so hard to be a Good Folk’s friend. They were ephemeral and knew a mortal only by what they saw. She knew me as a child, as the girl who helped her make clover chains and crowns, who played tag between the trees, and danced across the hill when I could sneak out on full moon nights.

“I moved away years ago,” I explained gently. She was far older than me, but since our first meeting I’d felt the need to protect her. Maybe it was because she looked so frail. Maybe it was because I liked to smother people – at least according to what I’ve been told. “I’ve been working for a corporation in…” She’d have no concept of geography or status. All she knows is the woods and she doesn’t even realize that that’s not real. “I’ve been working in the city,” I edited.

“Do you like it?” she asked and immediately plopped down onto the blanket of pine needles. Despite my sulky mood I followed suit, though it took me longer to get down.

“I did. I…I’m not working there anymore.”

She frowned and her delicate brows furrowed together. “Did you ever marry that boy you were talking about? The minstrel you liked that sang such strange songs…Donnie of Wahlberg?”

Heat crept up the back of my neck and I quickly busied my hands tying two dead needles together. They were soft in my hands and pliable, easily controlled unlike everything else in my life. “Uh, no. I just liked him. I was seeing someone, but…that didn’t work out either.” My eyes burned and I wiped them with the back of a hand so the sap wouldn’t burn them more.

“You’re so unhappy. What happened to the girl-child I used to play games with?” Nya asked and gently placed one delicate hand on my knee.  I hope she can’t smell me, I groaned when I became distinctly aware of sweat droplets falling from under my arms the side of my breast when I raised my hand to place it on hers. If she did she didn’t say anything, and although she was polite any sort of Folk were notorious for being honest when you least wanted them to.

I shrugged lamely. “The world didn’t turn out like I expected.”

To my surprise she echoed my sentiment with a fervent nod that sent her bristle-hair flailing in the heavy air. “Aye. I understand that. So many of my sisters have grown strong only to leave me. I’ve had to change trees so many times in the past years.” Now that she mentioned it, it did seem odd to see her so close to the house. Usually I’d have had to walk another fifteen minutes to get to our accustomed meeting place.

“What happened?” I asked before my logic caught up with my concern.

“They harvest the trees,” she hissed and her nails briefly dug into a hole at my knee and stung the flesh there. “Once a year when winter comes, as a sacrifice. Sometimes they leave bird food on the branches of those that are left in penance, and sometimes they plant more in offering, but always they come back and take more! Why can’t they leave us alone, Lynne? Why do they do this to us?!”

I tried to find some way to answer her. I searched for words her simple logic could understand, tried to make my tongue work in my dry mouth. I should’ve stayed and had the lemonade.  Nya’s voice was so plaintive in the seclusion of the little woods that it nearly broke my heart. No – my heart was already broken. Her words simply reminded me of the fact. To my embarrassment hot tears stung my eyes and dotted my cheeks. “Do you know who does this?” she whispered and cupped my face. “Do you weep for us?”

I nodded against her sunshine warm palms. I wanted to run and play, to circle dance around the steady trunks until time turned back and I didn’t have to worry or feel about anything. “I weep for everything lately,” I muttered and wiped my face on my sleeve. “They earn a living by selling the trees, Nya. It’s for a mortal celebration of Chr…solstice.”  She backed away as if I’d slapped her and jumped to her feet. The movement was so quick and graceful that she looked like a long green blur in the light filtering through the branches.

“Why would they have a death festival?! Why here? We’re a peaceful people! Why would they do…” Nya trailed off when I couldn’t stop sobbing. My hands left sticky trails against my hot face. The sheer helplessness of the whole awful situation was the last pine needle to break the camel’s back. “Oh, Lynne! Sweet friend!” she breathed in her old-fashioned way. “I should not upset you further! Tis alright, truly! I’ll survive safe and well,” she insisted and pulled me into her sweet-smelling hair. “They’ve cut your  soul down, too. That’s what happened when you tried to transplant to somewhere else. It takes time to get used to it. I’ve had to move many times these past years to stay alive. Tis not easy but it gets better, I swear.”

Tuesday Tales Picture Prompt: Beyond the Arch

Today’s Tuesday Tales is another picture prompt. We got to choose what photo we wanted to work with and I chose this lovely little picture here!

Beyond the Arch 

One did not go past the Guardian Arch.

It was a simple enough rule. Who knew what destinies and dangers lay outside the mossy stone that guarded all? Elaine was risking her very being just by getting so close to it. It was bad enough it was daylight; she should have been resting.

“Mother says there’s nothing beyond the arch that is any different than what’s on our side,” she whispered. The sound was so gentle and delicate – another mid-day breeze. Maybe what she’d been told was true and maybe it was the sort of thing parents told their daughters to protect them. Elaine could only look so far around the bend and it seemed to be just as her mother insisted: more stone. They were the same chiseled shapes that had greeted all her ancestors.

Shadows danced and trickled over the cracks and indentations, calling to Elaine, tempting her. She could barely hear the faint footsteps receding from her He was leaving her, probably forever. I shouldn’t have hidden from him like everyone else. How long has it been since people have visited us? What was I supposed to do? He’d been with a group that had studied the walls of her village, studying it all and making strange marks on little things in their hands. She could care less about them, though. One look at him and she knew that it didn’t matter who he was and where he came from, or any of the obvious differences between them. She was his. She just had to make him believe it…if she survived crossing Guardian Arch.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” she called, well knowing that everyone would hear her. With that, the restless spirit of the thousand-year-old girl took a breath and a chance and travelled under the arch.

***

…because apparently I have a thing for supernatural unrequited love or something. Anyway be sure to check out all the other great Tuesday Tales!

Tuesday Tales: I’m back!

It’s good to be back after being out of things for a couple of weeks. This week’s prompt was finger and admittedly it took me a few attempts to find something to work with. I got inspired by randomly remembering the Zen riddle about the monk being chased to the edge of a cliff by a pack of tigers. He climbs down on a branch and finds himself confronted with the tigers or a drop…and I just took it from there.

Angel craned her neck up and swallowed hard against the acrid smoke taste and the blood that flowed from where she’d bit into her cheek when her car went over the guard rail. Her stomach churned and her legs didn’t feel quite right at all, but those were the least of her problems. No, the thing that was most on her mind was the intricate tread of the tire and how it was spinning just feet above her head. The grooves seemed to meld together the longer she watched it, and she would have been hypnotized by the slow, shaky rhythm save for the strands of her hair that itched across her face, damp with what was probably her blood from the crash. She didn’t dare move a hand to her forehead to find out since both were otherwise occupied clinging to the tangle of branches jutting out of the overhang for dear life.

Any minute someone will come save me. The police, a tow truck, something. Someone has to have seen the car crash! Painful seconds crept by and no toes peeked over the edge of the embankment, no voices called to her. Her mouth was clenched shut, her muscles giving over full concentration to her hands. Sweat and blood slicked her palms and her arms began to shake with the effort of holding up the rest of her body. Any second now!! This can’t be it. I’ve got an audition at the conservatory in an hour. I’ve got to meet Brad tonight! Her mental to do list was both a comfort and depressing depending on which way she looked at it. Below her, a sheer drop led to the ravine she’d been terrified of crossing on nature hikes as a little girl. How ironic that her fears of snakes and bugs weren’t the real threat.

She hoped the burning in her eyes was because of sweat and not anything else, but it was hard to tell at that point. No matter how she tried to dig her toes into the dirt wall of the overhang, her pumps just weren’t made for the job at hand.

Splinters dug into her fingers and everything from her wrists down to her biceps burned. Angel could feel the skin on her palms give way as she slowly slid down the length of the branch she was clinging to, her feet kicking helplessly into open air. No…not now. Not when I’ve got things to do! There has to be a way out! Her mind panicked.

She was sure it was either blood loss or trauma that made her imagine that the branch was sprouting fingers of its own, until they reached down and lifted the hair from her face, allowing the cool April breeze to ghost over her skin and kiss and sting the cut on her forehead.

“What?” she managed to croak as her vision started to blur and her body began to grow numb. To Angel’s horror the long fingers that had played so many concertos, that had run up and down the keys of so many baby grands in long sequences of arpeggios, the fingers that she’d always counted on to be strong and nimble began to relax without her consent. “No!”

“Would you fall or take my hand?” It took her a minute to realize that the branch, itself, was talking. Her mind was too terrified to come up with something like that. Tiny tendrils unfurled from the bracken that was quickly sliding out of her grip. They were gnarled like the branch but seemed to be flesh and bone and extending right out of the dirt embankment.

Angel tilted her head up and winced at the pain in her neck as a low grinding noise above her caught her attention. The tire had stopped rotating but was now slowly rocking towards her. “Who are you?” she whispered, sweat and tears streaking her face as she struggled to hang onto her only means of escape.

“A choice.”

“But—“

“There’s no time,” the voice explained, though it sounded like a taunt. “Come with me or you’ll surely fall to your death.”

Loose dirt and gravel trickled and slid over the edge of the guard rail above her as the car tilted lower. Her own fingers cramped and kept going slack. Wasn’t there a Zen riddle like this? Something about a monk falling over a cliff and tigers over head? What did he do? What did he choose? Was there an answer?

Through her blurred gaze she could make out a fissure opening in the embankment, and the fingers that grew and stretched out to her looked like nothing she’d ever seen before. They came from some other place that wasn’t of any normal time or location. Long, thin, and glittering like mica, they uncurled towards her and waited in open invitation. You don’t know what’s at the other end of that hand, she reasoned.

The creak of bending metal and the crunch and groan of her car above her made her stomach turn. She couldn’t look below her; she knew what waited there, anyway. I could just as well be going to my death. Isn’t the devil you know better than what you don’t know? The car was so close the top of her head nearly touched the mangled front bumper. Not that she really wanted to really get intimate with the devil she knew.

What do I do? She was oddly alert, strangely and suddenly focused and coherent. There was no scenes of her life flashing before her eyes, no sudden salvation. All she had was a rock, a hard place, and a choice.

Angel swallowed hard and although it went against every instinct she had, she reached out a hand and screeched when almost immediately the fingers on the hand still on the branch let loose, unable to hold her weight on their own. Warmth encircled her wrist and before she could scream or question herself, she was drawn right into the embankment and pulled straight through. I guess the only way I’ll find out what’s on the other side is by going there, was Angel’s last thought until she managed to catch her breath and open her eyes again.

Tuesday Tales – Picture Prompt! The Jinn’s Daughters

This week is another picture prompt! We were given the choice between ladies and cowboys and although I appreciate the cowboys much more, but my muse gravitated to the women. So here’s the picture and here’s the story it inspired!

The Jinn’s Daughters

They were formed from nothing. The lithe bodies, the long limbs, the come-hither poses were not and then they simply were. Trapped in the confines of dream-space they could only arch their backs and long for dreamers and the embraces they would bring.

From his ethereal, constant vantage point the Jinn smiled. His teeth had once been razor-sharp and his powers had been mighty. Now, in his twenty thousandth year of confinement he wasn’t even a shadow of his former self. He was a caricature, a cartoon, a fleeting after-image of a thought.

His daughters would change that.

He’d use his last bit of strength to send them into mortals’ dreams. Lust was a powerful aid. So was temptation. Together they were powerful enough that they were easy for him to harness. Through them he formed his daughters and by those names they would be called.

They were dressed plainly, but the arch of their spines and the sighs from their lips made up for that lack of splendor. “Do not worry, Father,” Lust assured him with a coquettish pout of her lips. “No dreamer will be looking at our clothes when they can listen to our promises; they’ll be too busy doing our bidding in the hopes they’ll get to remove our garments.”

“We’ll find a fool we can guide to your amulet,” Temptation assured him. Through her own special magic she conjured a rainfall to soak their hair and skin, rendering both sisters utterly delectable. “We’ll feed on his mind until he puts the necklace on. Then you can have his body and soul.”

Deep inside his jewel prison the Jinn smiled, though his teeth were dull now. “You are wise, my daughters. Go into the minds of men and do your work while I wait for freedom.”

Tuesday Tales: winged WIP

This week’s Tuesday Tales prompt is airport. Of course anything with flying brings me back to my urban fantasy mutant girl WIP so here’s what the word airport brought to my mind this evening…

***

The open air stung a bit as it pushed over Cassandra’s tender scales. While her wings took some getting used to, she found that flying wasn’t as intimidating as she’d assumed. The fuzzy, membranous wings knew when to flutter and flap to gain altitude and they unconsciously took over when they found a suitable current to glide on. It was probably a good thing that instinct took control; the rest of her was too busy panicking at every shift of her body.

You can do this. You can do this! You were made for this, born for it, her frazzle brain squeaked out as her wings dropped her low enough to make out buildings and people scrawling by underneath her. Why isn’t anyone freaking out? Cassie pondered, daring to test out the theory as she dropped low enough to brush the top leaves in a tall tree with the tips of her fingers and toes. Under her a bus was spewing out its contents of teenagers, and their energy exploded all over the sidewalks. Every one of them was too engaged in conversation or had their noses down in their phones to bother looking up at her. She’d been so scared to make her escape during the day, but she needn’t have worried. Even the mothers out walking with their babies and the guys walking their dogs were too entranced by whatever was right under their noses. They didn’t even look around at the plants and houses around them, never mind the sky. Still, she hadn’t taken to the sky to stick around the city. With only a bittersweet tug of nostalgia she cast a silent good-bye glance to the life she’d known and pushed up towards the clouds.

Cassandra’s heart was hammering and her stomach was twisted in on itself. It took a good half hour to time when to breathe and how deeply; the whole journey was like being on the smoothest of roller coasters or a lazy sailboat, depending on what speed her instinct prompted her to use. Below her through the hazy cloud cover she could barely make out the liquid veins of rivers pulsing through the few green splotches that broke up the urban sprawl.

It wasn’t just the air and the height and the use of the new, unusual parts of her body that kept disrupting her thoughts. With the inferior human cartilage and tissue gone all sorts of new scents pummeled her, making her mouth water and her stomach churn in tandem. Who knew clouds had a smell? Every birdsong and sigh of the wind changing directions made her whip her head side to side in startled attempts to figure out what she was hearing. Every little nuance of each little sunbeam had its own pitch and an uncanny volume, so in comparison the passing jet not only temporarily deafened her but nearly gave her a heart attack.

Her beautiful wings, her glorious tickets to self and freedom collapsed and folded against her back, sending her plummeting through the cloud cover towards the airport below, followed by a screech that was out of the range of human hearing. No, not when I’ve come so far! Not when I’ve escaped and had a chance to figure out what I am! No!! Her talons clawed through the robin-blue sky as the airplane rocketed through the air hundreds of feet above her. Still, it was enough to startle her wings into spasming again. Through sheer will power she forced them to stay open and not fold again, and they caught the air and saved her from becoming a mess on the runway. It was further proof that testing her new body wasn’t a game and never had been. There was no test run, no time in a classroom to figure out what worked and what didn’t. It was do or die now that she was on her own.

Yet under the roar of passing plane engines and the thudding of her fearful heart there was something else. It was faint and not exactly a noise. It was barely more than an afterglow of an emotion, put out to the world in the hopes that someone would find it. Cassandra hovered in place, her wings a purple blur behind her as they fluttered to keep her in one spot. Her fangs worried her lower lip until they drew blood and her talons clacked together in thought. She didn’t even know what it was, yet she couldn’t go back to her old way of life and she obviously wasn’t fit to hack out some sort of misfit existence on her own. I was supposed to fall, I was supposed to be here, she thought. I’m passing through from one place to another just like any of those people on a plane. I’ve had my starting out time, and this has been my layover…and now it’s time to go home.

 Unsure, tentative, and panting from the exertion of new muscles Cassandra swallowed hard and changed her direction ever-so-slightly so that she could head towards whatever was reaching out to her.

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Tuesday Tales: WIP

Hey there TT fans! It’s another Tuesday and that means another word prompt. This week the prompt is sky and my tidbit comes from an idea I’ve been playing with for years about a teenage girl and a sudden transformation.  Hopefully using this prompt to kick-start my brain again will get me working on it for real.

***

Cassie had tried to ignore the feeling for weeks, but being cooped up in the house was killing her. Truth be told she had enough to deal with. Her scales that had been hiding under her skin for so long were still tender and new, and the horns that had sprouted almost overnight took some getting used to, especially when she rolled over in her sleep. The procession of doctors her parents smuggled in were obnoxious, and the fact that neither they nor her older sister refused to look at her or talk directly to her unless forced to was hurtful. But there was one thing that she just couldn’t shake, and that was that being inside was killing her.

Not only did the wings that had burst out of her back take up a massive amount of space, but a deep, trembling need was gnawing her soul apart. No food or treat could help her ignore it, nothing she owned could distract her. Even though her situation and her family’s reaction kept her up at night, it still didn’t distract her from the urge that was so deep it surely was in her blood. Every second of every hour she found herself looking towards the covered windows, the longing so much a part of her core that it was all she could do keep herself from breaking down or clawing her way through a wall. But even though the windows had been covered with heavy curtains to prevent anyone from looking in, Cassie knew it was still out there, waiting for her, calling to her.

The sky. The vast, unlimited, stretch of blue was marred only by rooftops and clouds. She could smell it working its way into the house, could taste it waiting for her. It wasn’t calling for her; it was screaming for Cassie to get out in it. Every time she thought of the open air waiting for her her wings thrummed with anticipation and irritation the more they remained caged up and unable to fully open. The first time she’d sat through a thunderstorm after her transformation the thunder had nearly made her heart burst wide open with the joy that streaked through her at the sound. In her excitement the downy, membranous wings had burst to their full span, sending her mother’s favorite lamp to the floor to shatter. Her father’s cheek had also been cut open by the edge of a wing, proving for certain that they weren’t as soft and delicate as they looked.

All Cassie could do was pace and try to behave. “This is stupid,” she muttered and adjusted her position on the couch for the thousandth time. “I know it’s out there. People know I’m in here…or I guess they do. Who knows at this point?” Besides the TV her only companion of the moment was the family cat, and even he’d skittered off somewhere, either freaked out or bored by her – it was hard to tell which.

A weird cramp in her back made the girl start and she growled in frustration; the damn wings kept creeping up behind her. Even when she thought she was aware of their position, they moved on their own. With a low curse she draped them over the couch arm and tried to pay attention to whatever talk show was on. “When they have something about what I’m going through, then I’ll listen,” she complained to the stale air.

She hadn’t expected her life to suddenly become a prison. Hell, she hadn’t expected that popping one pimple would reveal that she was something other than human. It was suffocating, restricting, claustrophobic to try to sit in a house and be the same person she had been. It was maddening to try to walk anywhere and not send anything flying. The house wasn’t that big, though Cassie was beginning to wonder since her parents and sibling seemed to excel at finding hiding places whenever they were at home. “I don’t get it. It’s not like I’m not trying. Besides, it’s not like I’m any different!” she grumbled, then caught herself clicking the curling talons on her right hand together. Even her grin at the irony was sharp and the fangs pricked her lower lip. “Inside, inside I’m not any different,” she amended, but it was getting painfully obvious that she couldn’t go backwards. It wasn’t like Cassie could put her old skin back and pretend that it was all a joke. The only way to go was forward, but she was torn between the pull of what she was expected to be, what she should have been, and the never-ending, siren scream of the sky that was only a door away, waiting for her.

***

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TT: Small town Girls

This started out as me trying to come up with a free read and then exploded. The full story is actually written but this is the part that the prompt inspired. This week the prompt is Life. I’ve been reading a lot of Batman lately and a lot of questions suddenly came up. And since I grew up worshipping superheroes…well…this seemed like a natural story for me to write.

****

“You’re late,” Mayor Johnson grunted without ever looking up from whatever mumbo-jumbo doctrine she was drafting on her laptop. She was the only person that always knew when The Rose Demon was lurking about. It was obnoxious as hell and Alicia stuck her tongue out behind the mask as she closed the window behind her.

“I assumed you wanted me to check on your fair city before I came calling,” she shot back. Remember, you’re the rock star, here. You called this meeting; this is your show!

The woman across the desk was a good eight years older than Alicia, but she acted like she was immortal and had the knowledge of the ages on her side. “It’s not like I live here, you know.” She went back to typing while The Demon glanced at the offered chair and snorted.

.“Could’ve fooled me. Seems like your entire life revolves around making this dump of a town bigger and better.”

A blonde eyebrow raised on the mayor’s cool face. “I could say the same thing about you.” The taunt in her voice was obvious.

“I keep it safe!” The Demon snarled, though her voice had the definite hint of a whine about it.

“We’re both obsessive in our own ways. This town is our lives.” It was true enough, which made the topic of discussion even harder to bring up. “You hear from Mom and Dad lately?”

“They’re doing well. Dad still refuses to retire,” Alicia admitted, finally giving in and taking a seat.

“Leave it to him to move to Florida for work,” Sam agreed with a snicker.

“You should call them.”

“They’d rather talk to you. You’re the golden child, after all.” Every word was designed to ruffle the younger sibling and it almost worked. Don’t get deterred. Find your focus and stick with it, Al reminded herself. You’re the Rose freakin’ Demon, not just Sammi Johnson’s little sister!

Finally, finally Samantha closed the laptop and stretched. Her smile was as fake as it was every time she gave a damn speech. “Now then, what can I do for the Rose Demon of my fair city?” Alicia’s crimson-gloved fingers curled in irritation. Here she was tricked out in more armor and special weapons than a freakin’ warlord’s armory and her sister was grinning like she’d just showed up to work in a Halloween costume. It was only because she’d gotten used to it through the years that Alicia didn’t drag Sam across the table and put her in a rear naked choke hold. “You finally agree to do some publicity? We could really use you at public events—”

“I’m not a freakin’ party clown, Sam! Why can’t you admit that I’ve helped you out?”

Eyes that matched Alicia’s light green ones narrowed then tried to appear friendly. “Things would die down in time anyway.” It was the same breezy sentence that accompanied all of Sam’s on-air speeches to the news about The Rose Demon.

It took everything in Al’s resolve not to pummel her sister with the sedative darts tucked in their chamber on her right forearm. Stupid cow always hated that I outdid her. She could never get over the fact that a so-called slacker could do more than the overachiever. She forced herself to appear calm and unfeeling, the façade that always had the criminals she caught backing up in terror. Sam just gave a polite chuckle and waited for her to speak, the jerk-face. Just remember, you hold the ace. You gave your life to this town and she’s just a two-bit politician too afraid to make it in the big-leagues.

 “I’m sure the Apocalypse Society would have just decided to not use Plague 78,” Alicia replied, her voice smooth and deep thanks to the vocal manipulators in her helmet. “Thank God you locked it up,” she added. The glee at finally having one up on her sister was ruined by the horrific reality of the situation. Still, Sam’s sudden green cast was something Alicia’d waited her whole life to see.

“You know.” The mayor’s whisper was barely audible.

“I like how you didn’t even call to tell me. That was really classy, Sam.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“You were trying to protect yourself!” Alicia jumped to her feet and towered over her sister’s desk, all black and crimson Kevlar. The armored chestplate was dull in the crappy florescent lighting, but the tribal rose image still burned bright. For the first time with her older sister she felt every inch the demon. Her eyes weren’t the green ones she shared with Sam, nor did she have the same tawny blonde hair that would eventually start going grey around the hairline the way their mother’s did. Her eyes were the obsidian slits in her helmet. Instead of hair she had silver and black spikes that jutted up from the mask that conformed to her entire head like a second face. “I gave it to you because you’re supposed to be my eyes and ears since the police force is questionable. That’s why you originally ran for office, remember? Not to be some pompous idiot behind a desk all day. I gave that to you so you’d either keep it safe or turn it in to the right people. You’re the one that insists on everything being done by the book on your end, right? And suddenly the flash drive disappears!”

Sam said nothing and a cold, terrible suspicion worked its way through the suit and under Alicia’s skin. “Please tell me you didn’t sell it.”

Her sister blanched and smacked her fists on the desk. “No, I didn’t sell it! This city’s my life, too, you know! Just because you put on a suit and scare off a few criminals doesn’t give you the right to think you have it so hard. I have to play the game, Al. I don’t like it much either but just like you have to do things you don’t like, I have to play along to make sure Roseburg doesn’t die off! There’s so many meetings, so much paperwork – it was an accident! I thought I was handing off the new budget changes! They looked exactly alike—” Sam broke off and covered her mouth in a bad effort to compose herself. Al didn’t know what she’d been expecting but her sister’s wails and the utter helplessness in her eyes wasn’t it. It would have been easier if she’d done it on purpose. “It was an accident, I swear.” Silence hung over the office like a funeral shroud and when Al refused to say anything Sam finally continued. “I should have told you. I should’ve known you’d find out faster than I wanted.”

She had a point but Alicia’s disgust refused to leave her. “I can’t believe you weren’t gonna say anything.”

Samantha didn’t reply to the accusation, but her cheeks flamed. “Who has it now?

“I don’t know what the official trail is but it ended up with Chief Harris, who’s in with the A.S. That’s why I gave it to you. The Apocalypse Society is made up of influential people, Sam. You’re one of the few with power in this town that I could trust.”

“So now we’re right back where we started from.” Sam’s voice was world-weary and Al just knew she was furious at herself. They were the same in that respect; neither of them had ever needed to be nagged or have failure rubbed in. They were their own worst critics.

“Pretty much.”

“Only this time they’re going to move forward as fast as possible and be on their guard,” Sam added.

“Pretty much,” Alicia agreed. “It was sheer luck that I got that flash drive the first time.”

“How soon?”

I wish I could whip out some magic formula. I wish I knew the future and had some gadget that would let me travel back in time or something. I wish the Rose Demon was more than just me. I’m not some made-up character! I’m only human! “I don’t know. I’ve tried hacking every computer that might lead me to an answer but like you said, they’re on their guard. And everything’s peaceful in the streets tonight. Too peaceful.”

“Will Mom and Dad be okay?”

“I’ve let them know. The plague is airborne but it has to be passed by a host. It’ll spread fast enough but it’s good that they’re states away. He’s set things up with the company and they talked about going off somewhere, but not to retire, of course.”

“Of course.” Sam’s voice was hollow and her eyes were far away.

“You wanna go for a ride?”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. I guess we really don’t have much of a choice.”

Without another word Alicia stood and waited for Sam to pack up her laptop. She almost headed to the window before she remembered that not everyone walked around with grappling hooks and chord hidden on their person. A tiny, last remnant of a smile managed to work its way through before they headed out the door.

***

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