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Dark and Introspective Fiction

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Fiction

Pashmina Vox

October 1, 2022 by Shane Leave a Comment

The man had lived alone for so long, that no one around him remembered why. He kept to himself, offering little more than a raised hand or pained smile to those he met. As neighbours moved in and moved out over the years, rumours sprouted. They stretched like vines, the flowering ends looking nothing like the stem, rooted in the truth, so far away.

By the time the Vox family moved in next door, the branches of the vine spread far and wide. Deborah across the street spoke of a love lost to a particularly aggressive form of cancer. Noah two doors down kept his voice low and looked side-eyed along the street as he shared stories of lights flickering late at night and strange noises from the basement.

Pashmina Vox, the youngest of the Vox children, paid no mind to the stories. Not only because she was seven years old, but because she had already learned that most things adults said didn’t make sense, if they weren’t outright lies to begin with. She had seen enough to understand. Dark eyes peeking out from drawn curtains. The man’s sadness for being out in the world. More importantly, the dark figure constantly perched on his left shoulder. Plump and round in contrast to the man’s thin frame. A wide, toothy sneer to the man’s downturned lips.

Another thing that Pashmina understood was the futility in trying to explain the figure to her mother or father. They would only tell her to go play, to use her imagination somewhere else. She did know someone who would believe her, though. Her great, great grandmother. Long dead before Pashmina was born, but still with her. And so it was, that on a quiet Saturday morning in the spring, that Pashmina snuck away from the cartoons her father left her to watch and went to knock on the man’s door. As always, her Gran stood with her, ready to have a stern conversation with the little demon perched on the man’s shoulder, and perhaps put all of the rumours about him to rest.

***

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

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Filed Under: Story Tagged With: Fiction, Flash Fiction, Short Fiction

The Horned God

April 11, 2022 by Shane Leave a Comment

A storm rages over the city of Geneva. Compact and angry, its intention is focused. Clouds filled with darkness let loose their electric fingers. They tear into the concrete and steel, searching for the array of particle accelerators beneath, like a predator slashing at the throat of its victim.

Deep below the noise and chaos, commotion and violence are mirrored in a place few will ever see. Wafting smoke pulses with red light as sirens scream from all corners. Those who can run do. Those who can’t, crawl or stumble away in a futile attempt to find safety.

A breach in the wall of the Large Hadron Collider unleashes a storm, not of elements, but of space and time—a tear in the fabric that keeps the universe contained. Smoke curls to reveal a portal to another place. Perhaps hell itself. Except, the other side is calm. A vibrant purple moon hangs high in the clear sky, casting dim light over an endless, barren desert. Starting as a spec on the horizon, a lone figure strides forward at a steady pace.

When the figure reaches the portal, it stoops low to allow antlers as wide as an oak tree to push through. A muscled form of a man follows, but its eyes are not human. When The Lord of the Wild Things stands, none can match its size, but none are left alive to witness its arrival.

The horned god heralds a changing of the guard, a long-awaited opportunity for the rightful stewards of the planet to stake their claim—the beasts and creatures, above and below, seen and unseen. But before that can happen, final reparations must be paid. A cleanse is in order.

Seething clouds overflow across the sky. Tight spirals of glittering snow charge to the ground, stark and pure against a canvas of darkness. When the first flakes stick, they do not melt. Instead, they spark and ignite, searing the land. Soon, there will only be fire, confirmation that hell has arrived after all. But what comes after, for those who manage to survive, will be so much worse.

***

Photo by Breno Machado on Unsplash

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Filed Under: Story Tagged With: Fiction, Flash Fiction, Short Fiction

The Job

January 5, 2022 by Shane Leave a Comment

“Can you touch your toes like that?”

On the elevated stage in front of Leon, a young woman, who looks too scrawny to support the size of her artificial chest, adjusts her G-string and saunters over to a group of college students waving dollar bills in the air.

Mick leans back in his chair with a bottle of beer in his hand. “That’s really the first thought to come to mind?”

Leon picks at his teeth and side-eyes the bar. A fat man hovers over it, his thick-rimmed spectacles spotted with precipitation and the shoulders of his long coat glossy under the dim yellow light.

“Tryin’ ta keep my mind on the job is all.”

Mick holds his beer up and watches the bottom as he swirls the dregs. “Yeah. The job.” He sets the bottle down.

“This the extortionist or the pedophile?”

“Extortionist.”

“Too bad.” Mick laces his fingers behind his head. “Got a little pent-up energy I was hoping to find an outlet for.”

Leon guides his eyes to the edge of the stage but doesn’t focus on anything in particular. “That’s called anger, Mick. And you’ve always had a healthy supply.”

Mick frowns but gives no other response.

At the bar, the fat man drops a few coins to pay for his drink, then heads toward the back of the room. He knocks on a black painted door hidden built into a black painted wall. When it opens, harsh light spills out, eclipsing the fat man as he moves across the threshold. The door eases shut behind him, but not tight.

Mick looks up when Leon stands and shrugs on his jacket. “You sure it’s not the pedo?”

Leon zips his jacket and pulls a thin pair of leather gloves from one pocket. “I’m sure, but if you want to pretend, I won’t get in the way. Let’s go.”

***

Photo by Eric Nopanen on Unsplash

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Filed Under: Story Tagged With: Fiction, Flash Fiction, Short Fiction

Stories from the Dark, Ep. 7 – A Passing of Seasons

December 22, 2021 by Shane Leave a Comment

Oh hi!

I hope your December has been treating you well so far. I know it’s a busy time, so let’s get to it.

For December’s Stories from the Dark, I’m crossing a line I haven’t crossed before. I killed Santa. Well, a Santa anyway. Have a watch below.

Before I go, I’ve got some exciting news to share. In honour of the giving season, all three books in the Storm Series are now only $0.99 on Amazon! Better yet, if you have a Kindle Unlimited membership, you can now read them for free! If you prefer real books in your hands, the limited edition paperbacks are on sale right now as well, head to pencilonpaper.ca to order and check out some of the other unique items we have available.

Surviving the Storm – Cover update!

But wait, there’s more! Keep your eyes peeled for new subscriber-only content coming to your inbox soon, including the next step in the Storm saga… If you aren’t a subscriber already, just scroll down to enter your email address.

Merry Christmas, everyone! I wish you all the best now and in the New Year. Thank you for being with me on my writing journey.

Until next time, stay well.

Shane

Filed Under: Audio Story, Story Tagged With: Audio Story, Christmas, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Short Fiction

Pretend I’m Not Here

November 27, 2020 by Shane 4 Comments

“Close your eyes. Pretend I’m not here.”

The woman shifted her position and lifted her head to flip the pillow to the cool side. Her focus on the white ceiling panels faded as her eyes shut. She folded her hands over her torso and settled. “I can hear you breathing.”

The man cleared his throat. His moist lips smacked when he opened his mouth.

“That’s not helping.” The woman cracked one eye. She wondered why it was so popular, this place, and its promises of miracle cures.

“Let’s begin with a count down from ten. Ten, nine, eight. Breath in from your diaphragm. Five, four, three. Good…” His voice flowed like cold oil. “Now, imagine a calm ocean. The sun is warm and inviting. No wind, no sound but the gentle undulation of the waves.” The man slunk forward in his seat. “Can you see it?”

Under closed lids, the woman rolled her eyes. “I see it.”

The man smiled. “Good.” He laid a metal pen along the spine of his notebook and set it on the arm of his chair. “Now, the sun begins to dim. It’s place in the sky is taken by a great blue orb. It radiates calm. It invites you to peace.”

The woman held her tongue.

“You are alone, but content. Feel your body relax. No sensation. No fear. Only the loving glow of the orb.” The man paused, watching the woman’s breath ease, as his own heartbeat increased. “It reflects off of the water. It is the only object in a great void.” He leaned forward on one knee. “The world is fading, but it’s okay. You are safe. You have no responsibilities, no cares.”

The man shifted forward and perched on the edge of his chair. As he scanned the woman, head to toe, the movement of a clock across the room was the only thing to interrupt the silence. The tone of his voice deepened, his paced slowed. “Embrace this new world. Leave the old behind. Can you do that?”

The woman did not respond.

The man swallowed with a click. “Good.” One hand reached out. A tremor emerged as the tips of his fingers grazed the soft fabric of the woman’s blouse, starting near her belt, and moving up.

The woman’s eyes sprang open and locked onto the man. They changed from soft and green to muddied and swirling like a storm cloud. The man froze.

She spoke in a whisper. “Change of plans, you don’t get your jollies today. Hand back.”

The man sat up straight and rested his hand on his knee.

The woman rose up without averting her attention. She ran a hand over her head and pulled her amber hair to one side. “I’m surprised you were brave enough on day one. Maybe brave isn’t the right word. If you’re this careless, I figured someone would have spoken up before they did. Lucky me…” The woman crossed her legs and smoothed one hand over her knee. “I’m going to give you a little control back. Pick up your book. I want you to write something out for me.”

The man sat, unmoving, his eyes wide.

The woman motioned to the arm of the chair. “Go on.”

The man’s hand shook as he lifted the pen and set the tip down on a blank page. His lower lip pushed away from his bottom teeth. Small dark eyes, below the slicked back widows peak and unkempt eyebrows, watched everywhere but the woman’s face.

“I want dates and names. As much detail as you can remember.” She tilted her head. “I’d say you could check the little leather diary you keep in the hidden compartment at the back of your bottom desk drawer, but I’m sure you’ve read back over it enough to remember what I need.”

After a moment of hesitation, the pen scratched in fits and starts. One page filled, then two. As he started the third, the pace faltered. His eye twitched.

The woman smiled. “You just figured out who told me, didn’t you? She probably made a slight movement, or blinked, but you’re so sure of yourself, even as you’ve become so careless. It’s good. Remember her face. Remember who set this in motion.”

The man’s jaw clenched. His body seized as he fought for control.

The woman drew in a deep breath and refocused her attention.

A small noise escaped the man’s pursed lips. The scratching of the pen started once again, slow at first, but soon became frantic. With four pages filled, the man licked at his lips with the tip of his tongue and set the notepad down beside him.

“Good.” The woman snuck a glance to the large horizontal window along the far wall, and the empty air past it. “You know, it’s such a nice day.” She turned her turbulent eyes back to the man. “Wouldn’t it be nice to get some fresh air?”

The man turned his head. He stood and took slow, uneven steps toward the clear pane of glass. A few paces away, he stopped and stared, before looking back to the woman.

She stretched her arms out along the back of the couch and leaned into it. “You’re smart. Figure it out.”

The man’s eyes homed in on the oversized executive desk in the middle of the room, and the marble carving of an ancient fertility god perched on one corner. He shuffled next to the statue, hefted it in one hand, then spun and threw it at the window. As the glass cascaded down, the man was already running. With his arms raised over his head, he dove through the bare frame. He made no sound, until the dull thud of his body impacted on the concrete walk below. In the distance, someone screamed.

The woman stood and her eyes cleared. She mussed her hair and undid the top two buttons of her blouse. With a deep breath in, she wrenched her lips and cried out. “Oh my God, someone please help!”

***

Photo by Berthomieu Catherine on Unsplash

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Filed Under: Story Tagged With: dark fiction, Fiction, Flash Fiction

The Ceremony

November 12, 2020 by Shane 2 Comments

Through the wisps of smoke from the fire, the first sliver of the full moon rises above the hills. She illuminates the clouds breaking overhead until they disappear altogether and stands alone in the autumn sky. I wish her tidings for All Hallows Eve, speak of the time since I’ve seen her last, and how a handful of weeks can feel like a lifetime.

With one hand tracing the intricate lace pattern of my dress, I remind her of my once pending wedding ceremony. How Aldus and I would have set out for the south the next day to start our new life. I tell her how those days were filled with tears of sorrow instead of joy. My voice is low as I speak of Aldus, his final trip through the valley with a bounty from the markets strapped to his small boat, the storm, and how the black water chose to embrace him.

I compose myself and focus off into the night, a night where the veil between worlds may be as thin as the one that should have covered my face. I search for more to say, but the words do not come. I turn back to the fire. My fingers graze the folded paper on my lap. I clear my throat, make a silent request, then lean forward.

The letter drifts away from my hand and settles on the glowing coals. The corners of the paper curl and blacken. Soon it flares and shrivels, casting light into the eerie calm. As the light fades, my eyes adjust once again to the darkness. A slumped shadow stands across the fire. Long hair stuck to their face. A tattered overcoat, once crisp and new, now dark and heavy with the scent of stale water and earth.

I do not look away as a piece of ashen paper floats away on the breeze. A smile fights for space as sadness flows from my eyes. “Hello, my love.”

***

Photo by Ganapathy Kumar on Unsplash

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Filed Under: Story Tagged With: Fiction, Flash Fiction, writing prompt

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