Night Sky

Remy looked up into the vast blackness of the sea of stars above as he sat on his carved stone stool, as he had done each evening for so long he had stopped taking note. Long ago, he has learned to just simply enjoy the silence and solitude that was his, absolute.

For when he sat out there under the loneliness of space, he did not feel alone; the multitude of twinkling stars comforted him.

So Remy took pleasure in the short time he had to sit out under his friends the stars, before having to eventually head back down below.

Below; down deep underneath the surface where he made his home.

Below; where it was warm in the cavernous core of the globe that was so harsh and inhospitable on its desert-like surface.

Lush and full of life, Remy would never begrudge his strange and beautiful home, with its massive, purple jungles, dangerous craggy chasms, and vast crystalline seas.

Every secret hideaway, every hidden nook, all of its wild, exotic creatures, and verdant, nurturing plant life, he loved. Never would he have any resentment or feelings of despair towards its loving shelter.

Yet, when he was down below, he sometimes felt, alone and cut off.

It was only the few short hours in the evening, when he could come up onto the surface and sit atop his stool he had carved from the ancient rock itself, that he felt content and connected to everything around him.

For when he was out sitting under the stars, he could stare up at the glowing blue orb that drifted through space with him.

He would gaze up and study its surface of blues, browns, and greens; so different from the grey, lifeless one of his own home world and wonder. Perhaps, he would wonder, there was another lonely traveller up there, sitting out, starring down at him.

The Trap

The fading daylight outside the window causes the room to darken as I sit motionless in the chair positioned in the corner. Yet, I dare not move to turn on the light; dare not take my eyes away for even a second. For the trap is set.

For hours I have sat and kept watch. This time it will not happen; I will not let it get away. People think I have gone crazy, but I know; know that it is true! And once I capture it, I will prove it; prove it to the world!

However, in the dimming light, my eyes have grown heavy with weariness, and my head threatens to nod under the weight of fatigue.

Then, just for a moment, only half a breath, I close my eyes and I am instantly snapped back awake by the rustling noise I hear on the night stand across the room.

I spring to my feet and slap on the light switch to flood the room with brightness.  Staring over at the table beside my bed I see them; my headphones that I had left perfectly straighten and untangled. But now they sit; a mess of knots.

I rush over to them with an infuriated cry of frustration and snatch them up. Flames of rage fill my eyes as I look at the complex and deliberate workings of knots and tangles the wires are in and I hurl them to the floor.

Scanning the empty room frantically I see no trace of anything else moved or disturbed. With a shout I declare that I know they have been here and that I will catch them in the act when amischievous giggle freezes me where I stand.

From behind me, back at the window by the chair I had just been sitting in, a hateful little laugh sends a shiver down my spine.

Slowly, I turn to see it; a horrid little imp figure standing on the window sill. Its face a mass of knobby warts and growths, its rotten teeth glistening with putrid saliva as it cackles at me.

“Oh, you’ll never catch me!” it mocked with a creaking voice. “And no one will ever believe you, stupid human! I’ll drive you mad! For I, am the Tangler!”

I lurched toward the wretched beastie, but with a snap of its gnarled fingers it disappeared from existence before I could take one step.

Nearly sobbing with anger and frustration, all I could do was drop down to my knees to pick up the insane mess of my favourite headphones and start to try to detangle them. All the while vowing my revenge on, the Tangler!

Catula

Detective Meowser chased the shadowy figure down the alley, jumping to avoid the upturned trash cans that littered the rain-slicked lane. His quarry moved with an unnatural quickness, like a silhouette moving with the flickering light.

He had come upon another victim laying amongst the refuse, the same bite marks on her neck as the others they had found across the city over the past few weeks. Almost all of their blood drained from their bodies, except for the trickle that matted their neck with damp, sticky red.

Usually, murder victims they found in the streets were slashed with claw and bite marks all over their bodies, with pools of blood all over the place, from the victim and the attacker.

Yet, these murders were baffling everyone on the force, with no other signs of struggle, no traces, no leads; no witnesses.

Until now.

Meowser had been coming home after his shift when he had heard a clattering in the alley across from his apartment building.

Seeing a prostrate figure among the piles of trash bags on the ground, he had scampered over to find that she was already dead, but only just. He was sniffing around for any scent when out of the corner of his eye he had seen the movement in the shadows.

With a shout he started after the fleeing figure as they disappeared around the corner of the back of the building.

Now, he had caught up with the shadowy figure in the next alleyway, which came to a dead end in the darkness.

Slowing to a cautious stalk, Detective Meowser strained his already attuned eyes to try and see where the figure hid in the darkness.

A blur came toward him and before he could react, it knocked him down to the wet pavement.

Quickly jumping back up with a hiss, Meowser stood on his hind legs and drew his pistol.

"Freeze!" he shouted, and to his surprise the figure did.

"Turn around slowly." Meowser ordered as he raised the gun level.

The figure seemed to be wearing a full length black cloak, and as they slowly turned, they somehow seem to enlarge, growing to take up the entire alley way.

Meowser watched in stunned silence as they came round to face him and he saw that they were all black with a strip of white along the front of their long body. Glowing red eyes blazed out at him with anger and malice.

Remembering where he was after a fuzzy moment, Meowser aimed his pistol, "Get your paws up where I can see em, fuzz ball!"

Slowly, the caped cat raised his paws up while holding the edges of his red-lined cloak, spreading it wide open.

"Drop the cape and hands on your head!" Meowser shouted as he cocked the gun.

With a snarl, the black cat bared its abnormally long front fangs and started to swoop in toward Meowser.

Without hesitation, Meowser fired three rapid rounds with no apparent effect on their target.

Meowser quickly ducked as the caped cat rose with a graceful leap over him. He watched with disbelief as the black shape of the raising cloak shrunk and changed into the flapping wings of a giant bat.

The creature flew silently into the night sky as Meowser stood staring up at the opening between the closely packed buildings.

Sirens wailed in the distance; someone must have called in about the gun shots.

He looked down at the pistol and double checked that he had indeed fired the three rounds; he had. And none of them had hit their mark at point blank range.

As the flashing of the police car lights came around the corner, Meowser could only think of one thing; how he was going to explain this to the Chief?

Haunted

Some places are haunted.

Most of the time, buildings are just plain old buildings, with nothing special about them; nothing to hide.

But sometimes, some places are haunted.

Like the house that was down the street from our place. My bothers and I had to walk passed the empty old house on our way to and from school each day, and we would always hold our breath and sprint by while passing it.

My oldest brother had said that no one had lived there for years because a young boy had died there horribly and his spirit haunted his family each night until it drove them mad and they had to be taken away.

My mother had said not to listen to him and that the family had just moved away and no one would buy the house because it would be so expensive to fit up.

But still, you could feel the house was wrong, even though we were just kids, we could tell, it was haunted.

Every year at Halloween we would dare each other to go up and ring the doorbell to see if a ghost would answer, and every year we would all chicken out.

Then one day I had to stay late at school to finish a collage I was making for my fall project. My brothers would not wait for me and so I had to walk home alone; passing the haunted house, all by myself.

All of my concentration was on the looming house as I came closer to it so I did not see Ralph Dedramin ahead of me with all his cronies and I bumped into the back of him.

All the worry about the house vanished because Ralph posed a much more real threat, being the biggest jerk and bully in the neighbourhood.

I stammered an apology but he just sneered and grabbed my brother's baseball I had borrowed at recess. He threw it at the old house and it smashed through one of the front windows.

"Go fetch." He had said as he shoved into me with his shoulder and left, laughing with his stupid buddies. Their braying was muffled in my ears as I stood and stared at the foreboding house, tears welling in my eyes.

Not tears of fear or embarrassment, but rage at Ralph for thinking I was such a baby I would not go in and get my brother's ball.

I would show him, I would go in and get it and show up to school with it and prove I would not be bullied by him and his group of jerks.

Using the anger as fuel, I made my legs start moving toward the walkway that led up to the rundown old porch. The creaking steps startled me and I realized I had arrived at the house already. Only then, did the fear creep back into me and I hesitated on the first step.

I looked into the window that the ball had gone through; a round, cracked hole was the only trace of change the house had had in many years.

The ball was probably just inside, and fairly close to the entrance I tried to convince myself. I could just grab it and run out again in less than a minute; if I could get in.

Gathering my courage, I climbed the creaking steps onto the rickety porch and walked shakily across the bending boards to the front door.

Trying the knob, I gave it a turn and was surprised when it turned rustily in my hand. However, the door did not budge when I pushed against it. With a sigh, my heart sank further as I let go the knob and moved to look into the grimy old window.

As I started to move though, I heard a click and a slow creak as the door fell open slightly on its own.

A coldness ran through me as I turned to see the blackness that lay beyond the door, as if it was alive and beckoning me to enter inside of it.

Steeling myself, I held my breath and rushed into the opened door; the lack of light inside causing a temporary blindness until my eyes adjusted to the light from the still open door and grimy windows.

Dust settled in a thick layer on the floors and mouldings of the dilapidated entrance; as though no one had disturbed it for decades.

Through the doorway to the right I could see into what must have been the living room. Its wooden floors caked with dust as well. Except for a trail of circular impact points and a thin, straight line where the ball must have bounced in and rolled to a stop.

And, just as I had thought, sitting in a pile of dust, the ball sat only a few meters away. A rush of relief made me brave again and I stepped quickly though the doorway to the living room.

At almost a run, I reached where the ball lay and stooped to pick it up.

In one motion I grabbed the ball and pivoted to turn and run back out, but as I did, the old floor boards groaned under even my light weight, and the world crashed suddenly around me and I fell into darkness.

The last thing I can remember before being enveloped into the blackness, was feeling my brother's ball slip from my hand.

That was so long ago; a lifetime. And yet, here I am, still searching in the dark; searching from room to room, hall to hall.

Will you help me please? Help me find my brother's lost ball?

8Bit

The pixelated rain fell outside the digital castle window as the 8bit princess sat gazing out.

She let out a digitized sigh and thought of how exciting it would be to live in one of those other castles that were always seized by some big bad boss monster and she held captive until a handsomely rendered 8bit hero came to rescue her.

Instead of living here in her dull life with her father and mother, whom were only the rulers of a secondary level realm and so their grey toned castle was only ever passed by while some other hero went on their way to rescue some other princess that had be captured.

She turned one hundred and eighty degrees to face her minimally decorated room. Gliding to the blue-hued mirror she looked at her pixelled face and acquired a hair brush from the brown desk to her left.

She moved the brush in an up and down motion against her blonde hair as she gazed absently at her reflection.

She would most likely have to marry some boring duke or boring earl from one of the other boring kingdoms to whom her mother always introduces her to at one of her boring balls with boring digi orchestra music.

They would live boring lives where nothing ever happened except more boring balls.

And they would inherit her father's boring castle and continue to be part of the far off background as heroes pass by on their more exciting adventures in their more exciting lives.

She turned back to the window as the rain stopped falling, heaving another sampled sigh.

In the distance she could see a boxy shape moving steadily towards the castle in leaps and bounds.

For a moment she felt her heart flutter in its programming as a square-jawed hero stopped in front of their drawbridge to speak to a passing peasant.

Her hopes then sank as the peasant pointed to the warp portal to the right of the castle that led to the next realm; leading to a more exciting princess in other castle; leading away from her.

Oh well, she though with another deep sigh, perhaps she will go play that old paddle and ball game.

O Night

Come, O Night,

Come; enwrap me in your shadows,

Come; hide me away from the light.

Leave me, Light,

Leave me be in the dark,

Leave me to myself in the night.

Away I have run,

Away you have driven me,

Away, out of mind and out of sight.

Return, O Love,

Return to me, my Heart,

Return and never again take flight.

Here, you have come,

Here, you have fought back the night,

Here, you have brought back my heart into the Light!

Tell Me a Story

"Tell me a story, Uncle Jimmy!" Young Will asked excitedly as his Uncle Jimmy helped him into bed.

The boy got under the covers and sat up, wide eyed and awake, smiling as his Uncle Jimmy smirked and handed him his favourite stuffed bear.

"Maybe one." Uncle Jimmy said with a chuckle. "Which do you want?"

He reached over to the shelf beside the small bed that was filled with all sorts of children's books; all of which Will had heard him read a dozen times before.

"'The Kittens Lose Their Mittens'? 'Frank and Bean Visit the Gas Factory'? 'Hank the Crabby Tyrannosaurus'?" Uncle Jimmy named off some of the boy's favourites.

"No, no, Uncle Jimmy!" Young Will protested playfully. "Tell me a new story, one of YOUR stories!"

Uncle Jimmy gave a tired sigh and shook his head.

"You don't want to hear my story, Willy." Uncle Jimmy smiled knowingly. "I really only have one good one and I'm sure you wouldn't like it. Now, let's see, what about 'Snootles Loses Her Noodles'?"

Will pouted and crossed his arms in a huff. "No, Uncle Jimmy! I wanna hear YOUR story! Please tell it to me! Please!"

Uncle Jimmy put on a frown and shook his head sternly. "No Will. You really do not want to hear my story."

"I'll hold my breath unless you tell it to me!" Will stated whinily and puffed out his cheeks while holding his breath in protest.

"Will, don't be a suck." Uncle Jimmy said annoyed. "I won't tell you ANY story if you don't stop that right now."

Young Will kept right on holding his breath; arms crossed stubbornly.

Uncle Jimmy gave an exasperated sigh and put up his hands in surrender.

"Fine, Willy. Fine." Uncle Jimmy ceded. "You want to hear it, I will tell you."

Will let out his held breath and giggled as he clapped his hands excitedly.

"But only if you REALLY want me to." Uncle Jimmy warned with a finger held up to point at Will.

Will nodded his head fiercely in agreement. "Yes! Oh, boy! I bet it's a good one!"

"Ok then. If you are really sure." Uncle Jimmy asked one last time.

"Yes, I'm sure! Tell me!" Will rocked back and forth with anticipation.

"Alright," Uncle Jimmy ran his hand though his thick hair. "I wasn't going to tell it to you until you were a little older, but if you insist."

He leaned in closer to Will and beckoned for him to do the same.

The night lamp on the bedside table cast their long shadows on the wall beside them as they huddled in.

"You see, the thing is," Uncle Jimmy started almost at a whisper. "The thing is; you don't really have an Uncle Jimmy."

The glee on Will's face was replaced by puzzlement as jIMmY's smirk returned.

Slowly, JiMMy motioned with his pointed finger for Will to look over to the far wall's mirrored closet doors.

The puzzlement was then replaced with sheer terror as Will looked at the reflection he saw in the mirror.

An ear-splitting scream fell out of Will's gapping mouth for a moment and went silent.

When his mother and father rushed into the room, they found Will, alone, leaned back in bed, wide eyed and stiff.  Dead from the fright of seeing whatever he had pointed to in the mirror's reflection.