It’s a foggy night. I know, lame, right? I only mention it because it’s a particularly dense fog. The street I’m on has only two lights, adding to the ominous feeling that someone is behind me. There are no foot steps, but I hear a sort of odd breathing. A noisy breath in…pause…loud breath out, over and over. I decide to slow down. I want to know if whatever is behind me in the fog, is trying to catch me or stay well behind. The noisy breathing sounds get closer and closer.

Right about now, you’re wondering if this is the set up for the twist ending. Is the hunted really the hunter? Is this a red herring to throw you off the trail? Nah, it’s legit. I mean, I am a ritualistic killer. Except my victims are usually bottles of scotch. Sometimes, if I’m desperate to feel life slipping through my fingers, I may attack a bottle of vodka. There was one hedonistic night involving tequila, but it’s so gruesome I can’t bring myself to talk about it. Nope, it’s not me doing the hunting this night.
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I grasped my thumb and pulled. It separated at the knuckle with ease.

“Wow!” said Emily with eyes as big as saucers. “That’s brilliant! How’d you do that?”

“It’s simple, watch.” I turned my arm so my palm was facing her then bent my thumb back.

“Now, take your other hand and put your index finger over your other thumb like this. Now when you put them together it looks like a normal thumb. See.”

“You’re so good at tricks. Do you have another one?”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my lucky coin.

“OK. Now you see it. Abra-ca-dabra! Now you don’t.” The coin disappeared from my hand.

“Bring it back now,” she said giggling.

“Right, let’s see. Abra-ca-dabra!” I flourished my hands and nothing happened. I feigned surprise. “Huh, where could it have gone? It should have worked, I don’t under….” I reached behind the young girl’s ear and pulled back my hand to reveal the coin.

“Amazing!” She clapped and bounced up and down. It was darling. “Can you show me more tricks Master Johan?”

“In due time little one, in due time. For now though what do you say we go and get something to eat and I’ll teach you how to make the cook’s food disappear.”

She pouted and crossed her arms in mock defiance.

“Please, I remember the rules. I won’t tell anyone the secrets, I promise. I’ll do extra chores. Please?”

“Alright fine, but I really am hungry and if we don’t get downstairs soon, Cook will toss out the leftovers, then we’ll both be starved,” I said with pretend anger. “I’ll show you in the kitchen.”

We started down the hall to the stairs when I heard a most terrible noise.

“Emily, go into my study and shut the door. Do it now and don’t open it for any reason. No matter what you hear don’t open the door. I’ll come get you when it’s safe.”

She stood there staring at me in shock and disbelief.

“Run, Now!” I waited until she was inside and the door was shut before running to the main foyer.

The Queen and her man-at-arms stood waiting. They were obviously concerned.

“Master Johan, where is Emily?” the Queen asked.

“In my study. I’m the only one who can open the doors without being reduced to a pile of basic elements.”

“Are you sure?” asked Martin. “I would have bet a year’s wage that the enemy couldn’t have gotten this far and now look. Is your magic what it was?”

“My magic may be in question, but I assure you the study is safe. The wards on that room were placed there centuries ago by the first wizards. In fact my queen, I recommend you adjourn there now yourself. Martin and I can handle things.”

Martin grunted his approval and began to lead our queen upstairs to my study. With the queen and princess safely locked inside Martin turned to me.

“Are you sure of this?”

“Quite. Once Callahan gets here we will surrender the castle to him. I have made arrangements for Emily to live.”

“What of the queen?”

“She will be publicly disgraced and executed as planned. And what of you, are you prepared?”

Martin’s look was one of grim determination.

“I am prepared to die in defense of my queen, if that’s what you mean.” Martin unsheathed his sword and placed it across his chest in salute. “Our families have served this house for two hundred years. I know what must be done. I know righteous vengeance must be felt in the blood of the royal line so we may once again wield the old magic our families once governed. It doesn’t mean I have to like it though. So yes my brother, I am ready to die tonight.”

I clasped Martin’s hand. It seemed an inadequate gesture but it was all we had. The banging began at the front gate.

“Here they come,” said Martin.

The front doors exploded open with the unnatural force of a fetid wind. It blew up the stairs and struck us as if it were a fist. The enemy’s first battalion flooded the hall and charged toward us. Heads exploded as I cast the first volley of spells. Martin charged the remaining horde. He dispatched several of the attackers before falling in battle.

“Enough!” Callahan’s voice bellowed from below. “The wizard lives.” He ogled the castle interior taking inventory as he approached.

“Open the doors wizard and you and the wee girl live. You have ten seconds.”

I had to play it close.

“It will take longer than that, Callahan. You’ve won. I should think a few more minutes wouldn’t kill you.”

I felt my skin part as Callahan’s knife sliced across my cheek.

“Shut your mouth!” He was mere inches from my face. His spittle pelted me as he talked through clenched teeth. “Open the door now or die where you stand. The queen dies out here or in there from starvation. I don’t care, but if you want the little girl to live you’ll open the door now!”

I opened the door to my study for the last time. The queen stood with Emily behind her.

“My queen, I have failed you. Emily will be safe. Callahan has agreed to let me take her in exile.”

“It’s good to show a conquered people some compassion,” said Callahan. “After all, they will soon see their queen hung, drawn and quartered.”

“Master Johan, you have done well. Protect her with your life.” The queen brought the princess from behind her dress and pushed her towards me. “I love you Emily”

“I’ll see you dead before I’m twenty.” Emily stared at Callahan as his smile slowly faded. Vengeance boiled deep within the girl’s blood. I could feel ancient magic awaken in me. Callahan screamed and threw himself at her. I grabbed her young arm and with a loud pop the two of us disappeared from the castle.

“Lemme telly ya buddy, girls like Claire don’t usually hook up with the likes of me. I’m not what you would call ‘boyfriend material’; I’m more a means to an end. Now, I can usually tell if a chick wants my help or wants my company but sometimes even I misread the signs.

See, it’s hard to say no to a perfect 10 pleading for help. Especially if that perfect 10 is a friggin witch. Bet you didn’t know that half their magic ain’t even magic at all, it’s just straight up seduction, man. Feminine wiles, ya know? They stand real close, so close you can smell the salty tang of their skin and feel the heat pulsating off them. And they breath in your ear. I’m a sucker for that ear thing. Man, they drip sex from every pore. Hell, lots of things get hard when they do that. Especially if you’re like me.

How’s that beer? Barkeep! Another beer for my friend here, por favor.

Anyway, back to the shotguns and my pretty head. It all centered around her asshole ex-husband and some fancy ring. There’s always an ex-husband and he’s usually an asshole. In this case the ass du jour left Claire for a younger woman, and stole her family’s signet ring. I guess this thing has been passed down to the eldest daughters in her family for centuries. I tracked him and this damn ring all over the country. From Bar Harbor, Maine, where he left her, to a fancy-ass garden in Pasadena. I’m getting ahead of myself.

Hey gimme those beer nuts, man. Thanks.

Yeah so, Claire said she needed a ring and I was going to get her one. I bought a replacement to take her mind off her stolen one. I didn’t skimp on it either. It was pretty expensive, but I have connections. I guess the gesture meant a lot to her, ‘cause that night we made love. Yeow momma, tasting the salt on her skin was even better than smelling it. She said she still needed her particular ring and after that night nothing was going to stop me from getting it. She did this thing with her… never mind.

Like I was saying, I finally found him holed up in this fancy-shmancy hotel. I dug in for the usual extended stake out and surveillance, but Claire didn’t want to wait. She walks right into the lobby and uses her little witchy-hocus-pocus-sex-dripping-thingy to trick the desk clerk into giving us a key. I never even thought of tryin’ that. Probably ‘cause most guys aren’t interested in my drippy sex. Anyways, I could tell right away we weren’t the only ones after this guy. My first clue was that the door was wide open and the room was torn apart. Told ya I’m good.

More beer here!

So, right in the middle of all that mess is this big pile of ash. It looked to me like her ex-husband had burnt whatever those other dudes were after. So, Claire starts kicking the pile of ashes looking for God knows what. Then it hits me. Damn, that ain’t no pile of burnt paper, it’s the asshole. No shit, that’s what I said.”

Hey! I said beer me, pal. Thanks a-mundo.

We asked around town, me using some muscle and Clair using some more of them wiles of hers, and found out who came after him. Some old dude I never heard of. We found him in the botanical gardens a few days later.

I don’t know. Maybe he liked flowers or something. Hell, some people need to be around nature. It revitalizes them. Maybe it was that. How the hell should I know? Anyway that’s where he was when we found him. Never did catch his name but he had enough scratch to hire some really good body guards. I’m guessin ex-military. They got the drop on us, which is pretty embarrassing. So there we were, some old dude I never met is twenty feet away from me wearing the ring I vowed to get for the most beautiful woman ever to screw my brains out and two dickheads have shotguns pointed at me. Not my finest hour.

So I says to the old dude, “Sorry about the inconvenience, her asshole ex-husband stole it, bla, bla, bla, so if you just hand it over we’ll be happy to compensate you for your trouble.” Right?

So the creepy old dude pays no attention to me and looks right at Clair and says “I’m surprised you didn’t fill your new plaything in on the game.” He was mocking her. It pissed me right the fuck off. And so did Clair for that matter. I can’t believe I fell for the oldest trick in the book. Friggin witches.

So I figure screw this noise. I’m done playin nice. Bam! I start kickin ass. It wasn’t even a fair fight. The shotguns melted like soft wax and the two dickheads pointing them were just humans. Snap – snap. Done. The old guy was a different story though. Fortunately for me he hadn’t been wearing the ring long, so it only took a little mid-level magic to kill him. I used a nifty little vanquishing spell I picked up during the revolutionary war. I might keep Clair around for a while. You never know, having a witch around can be handy. This ring is pretty powerful too.

Hey buddy where you going? You gonna finish that beer? Ha, humans.”

Author’s Note: It’s getting closer to November and I need to explore some characters and I wanted to post some #fridayflash. So having only one stone to cast I decided to chuck it a two birds. Let me know if you like him, hate him or just don’t care about him. I haven’t named him yet. I’m open to suggestions. Thanks for reading.

Sheriff Jones pushed through the batwings of the Dusty Rose Saloon and surveyed its hard edged patrons. A rag-tag group of miners, dried up gamblers, cowboys and townies. He hated every last one of them. He made sure to look hard at the ones who looked back, staring right at them until they turned away first. No better than dogs, they needed to know who the master was. Men didn’t come to the Dusty Rose for gambling or women or music, they came to drink and get drunk. As far as he was concerned the sooner he dealt with this lot the better. He sidled up to the bar and slapped his palm on the ring stained wood.

“Whiskey,” he said. “And you better not give me the watered down version, Vergil, or you’ll be thinking about your business practices overnight in the hooscow.”

A couple men chuckled, but Vergil the bar tender wasn’t one of them. He poured the good stuff into a somewhat clean glass and slammed it down hard in front of the sheriff.

“Drinks ain’t free sheriff.”

The sheriff eyed Vergil for several seconds before reaching into his pocket. He slid a coin across the bar keeping his finger on it so Vergil couldn’t pick it up.

“I’m enforcing a new law. As of now Sundays are dry. Since you don’t serve food I want the doors to this place closed.” The sheriff smirked at Vergil and removed his finger from his coin before spinning on his seat to address the crowd that now leered at him.

“The town ain’t gonna go for it sheriff,” said Vergil.

“Tough. I’m sick of picking up your drunken asses seven days a week and I’m doubly sick of unexplained deaths. I need a day to rest and besides, I thought you’d appreciate it, what with the whiskey almost gone.”

Vergil eyed the sheriff suspiciously. “Ain’t no problems with my whisky supply, sheriff.”

“You say so Verg. But that don’t change the way Sunday is going to play out.”

The sheriff turned back to the bar and finished off his whiskey, smiled knowingly at Vergil then left the saloon. He had just opened the ball. Now he had to see if Vergil would dance.

Deputy Murphy was waiting outside the jail house.

“Did they bite?” he asked.

The sheriff shook his head at the bad pun. “There good and riled up if that’s you’re asking.”
“What do you think is gonna happen?” asked Murphy.

“I think there’s gonna be a hell of a lot of pissed off hombres ‘round here. So if I was you I’d stop wasting time and start making room in the jail.”

Murphy got up and slunk into the jail house. The sheriff followed.

“Murph,” he said as he fell into his desk chair. “Truth is I don’t think this is gonna simmer till Sunday. My guess is ole Vergil has someone belly down on a roof somewhere just waiting for me to walk on by.”

“How you want to play it?” Murphy asked. Hoping his nervousness didn’t show through.

“I reckon I’m gonna walk down the street and spring the trap.”

“That’s crazy, there’s got to be another-“

“There ain’t!” The sheriff stood up and walked to a locked room next to the cells. He took a key from around his neck, unlocked the door and motioned for Murphy to follow him in.

“Look Murph, I’m counting on you here. There are still some good people in this town. People that deserve saving. If I didn’t believe that with all my heart, you and I would saddle up and ride like hell wouldn’t have it. I know its suicide, but it’s the only way to give you a shot at Vergil.”

“We could set a trap of our own, here. Look around. We have enough holy water and silver here to stop a horde twice as big.”

“I appreciate what you’re doing here, but if we don’t cut the snake off at the head…” The sheriff handed his deputy two gun belts before buckling on his own.

“After they cut down on me the pressure will be off. There ain’t no way Vergil thinks you have the sand to go head to head with the likes of him.”

“Maybe I don’t have the sand,” said Murphy. He couldn’t look his friend in the eye.

“None of us has the balls to go up alone against one of them and they know it. That, and the fact that you know there are still a hundred or so men, woman and children in this town who are no more than cattle to those monsters, gives me all the confidence I need to walk down that street.”

They stepped out of the jail house and watched the sun start to dip on the horizon. The sheriff’s head snapped back as if he were laughing at a joke. Murphy left him convulsing in the dust.

He ran toward the livery trying to draw off the shooter but no one shot back at him. He turned as he passed the Dusty Rose Saloon and crashed through its doors. Vergil looked up nonchalantly and smiled when he saw it was the deputy. He poured a glass of the good stuff.

“Well Deputy, or should I say sheriff, drinks are on the house.” He slid the glass across the bar then bent to retrieve a large stack of bills. He placed them next to the whiskey.

“Your cut sheriff, you sure you don’t want to add immortality to the list? It’s only right, considering the debt we owe you.”

Sheriff Murphy surveyed the hard edged patrons of the Dusty Rose Saloon. A rag-tag group of miners, dried up gamblers, cowboys, townies and vampires. He hated every last one of them. He pulled his twin colts and leveled them at Vergil.

“I’ll stick with the whiskey.”

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed today’s tale. I wanted to write something that commemorated the spirit of self-sacrifice that was demonstrated by first responders and airline passengers eight years ago. This week’s prompt from writeanything.wordpress.com: Your character is determined to do something they know to be a mistake, seemed to fit that sentiment well. Thanks for reading.

Beth sat in her workshop opening and closing the blade of her jackknife. Over the years she had come to find solace in its imperfect perfection. The cool steel on her fingers was as familiar to her as her own reflection.

She opened and closed the blade over and over as she stared at the small statue she had carved. She remembered the countless days of her childhood that were spent in the woods with her father as he taught her how to search the forest for the perfect pieces of wood. Fall was the best time to hunt. The smell of decomposing leaves mixed with the crisp autumn air became her siren song; the heady bouquet intoxicating her as she followed her father off the well trodden paths behind their home.

As a young child she never fully understood his reverence for the wood and the knives he used to carve it. He would hold each piece lovingly in his rough hands and turn the freshly severed piece of branch around and around.

“You don’t see the tree, or even the wood,” he told her. “You see what the tree wants to give you.”

Often she would squint and stare at the wood trying to see what the trees had given them. On her ninth birthday her father asked her to pick out the day’s wood. She searched and searched as he watched. The role reversal was uncomfortable and exciting. She glanced back at her father who stood straight faced as she studied each potential branch. She finally settled on a piece of ash hoping with all her might that it was a good choice. The last thing she wanted was to disappoint him. Her father handed her the hatchet and showed her where to strike the tree.

“If you do it right, taking this branch will actually help this tree. Now it can put its energy into growing new branches instead of feeding this dying one.”

When they had returned from that day’s hunt her father gave her a jackknife of her own. She hugged him till her arms were tired. He smiled as he handed her the piece of wood she had collected earlier then told her to show him what the tree had shown her. She instinctively picked up the piece of wood and began to turn it around and around in her hands just like she had seen her father do hundreds of times before. Try as she might, she couldn’t see anything in the wood. She cried as she admitted her failing to her father.

“Leave it,” he said with a knowing smile. “It’s not ready to give up its secret yet. You’ll know when the time is right.”

Her father gave her a new piece and asked her what she thought the tree wanted to show them. She took the new piece and studied it for a few seconds before seeing the unmistakable image of a whale. She could see it there trapped beneath the wood’s layers. Years of growth rings had wrapped around its girth trapping it in a woody cell. She could see that it longed for release.

“I see a whale papa,” she said. It was more of a question than a statement. “It’s so clear. I can see what needs to be taken away before it can be free.” Her father smiled down upon her.

“I see a whale too Beth,” he said. His eyes looked misty. “In fact I saw a whale in that piece of wood almost immediately.”

He gave her back the wood with the imprisoned sea creature then turned to find his own piece. Beth set to work immediately with her new jackknife. Soon the whale would be free. By that afternoon she had a finished statuette to show her father. She hadn’t let him down after all. She finally understood her father’s love of wood. He had given her much more than a knife that day. She had discovered on her ninth birthday that in her hands her knife had power.

Over the years her talent blossomed and soon people were seeking out her work over her father’s. When the governor asked Beth to carve a statue for his wife’s birthday she wondered why he hadn’t asked her father too. Later her father told her it was the proudest day of his life, second only to the day she was born.

She thought of her very first piece of wood. Surely it was the perfect choice for such an esteemed client. It held such meaning for her and this was after all her biggest client. This carving would make or break her career. She studied the piece trying to will it into showing her what it wanted her to see. It wasn’t time. The piece of wood clung tenaciously to its secret.

Her daughter’s voice shook her from her reverie.

“Mama, does Grandpa still carve wood in heaven?”

“I think so sweetie,” she answered. She kept her gaze on the newly carved statue.

“Is that a new statue, Mama? Is it for Grandpa’s funeral?”

Beth nodded and turned to her daughter. She smiled through red brimmed eyes.

“Yes it is. Do you like it?”

“Yeah, it looks just like him.”

Beth glanced to the now empty spot on the shelf by her window. It would take a while for her to get used to seeing the shelf empty. Her very first piece of wood had stood on that shelf for forty two years. She picked up the newly carved statue of the old man hugging a little girl and smiled down upon her work, just like she had seen her father do hundreds of times before.

“You were right Papa, I just had to wait.”

Author’s Note: Today’s piece was inspired from a prompt provided by Writeanything.com. This week’s prompt:Pick and ordinary object and give it an extraordinary use. I hope you enjoyed. Please leave a comment and let me know what you think.

Another Friday is upon us. Time for more #fictionfriday and #fridayflash. I have been sick this past week and it has certainly affected my writing. Today’s piece is a bit of Horror/comedy because it’s no fun being serious all the time. You have been warned. Enjoy.

***

“Let’s be honest, it’s almost impossible to identify a loved one after they’ve been eaten by a zombie. I guess that’s what drew me to this line of research. It’s not just about the survival of the human race; it’s also about preventing as much pain as possible for the unfortunate families of the victims.

It didn’t take much to convince the government that the old prison was the perfect place to conduct our research. It would be hard to refute really. It’s already set up with a hospital, a fenced in yard and plenty of holding cells for the subjects. Besides once you get past the ghosts, the old prison is actually kind of nice.

I admit I was scared after zombies outed themselves last year. Let’s face it; if you weren’t already one of them you were scared too. Until they made it illegal for a zombie to turn a human without prior approval we all thought it was the end. Then this research facility opened up and things started looking a whole lot better. So let’s get started. Please follow me into the lab.

What we discovered early on in our research was, once a person was attacked and their brain was consumed, the body would begin to liquefy and remove any trace of the victim’s DNA. That elimination of all evidence was how they were able to stay hidden for so long. It was also the key to solving the problem with identifying our dead. We’ve developed a serum that stops the rapid decomposition process and allows us to pull dental records before the bodies are reduced to a festering puddle.

That was step one. Step two, well, that’s a bit more of a challenge. It seems that zombies, like vampires, can go a while without feeding and still maintain some self control. We all know what happens if they go too long without eating anything, but not many folks know zombies can subsist on human flesh too. It’s a sort of in-between-meals snack, if you will. We’ve been able to grow human flesh for quite a while now. Used primarily for burn victims, the process is slow and not at all efficient enough to supply the world zombie population with enough flesh to slow the zombie’s need for brains. Using an advanced growth process developed here in this lab we have successfully decreased the time needed to grow skin cells. We are now able to harvest one pound of skin from each donor every three weeks. Still not efficient enough but we estimate we will be able to double the amount of harvestable skin by the end of the month. Exciting! If you will all just follow me into the next room.

Now to the reason you are all here. Today we are conducting our first trial of artificial human brains. As you can see our subject is securely locked in her cell and appears quite hungry. We have not in fact feed this particular zombie for seven days. Our paid lab assistant will be entering the cell and will, hopefully, exit unharmed. As you can see, Mr. Johnson is ready to enter. He is wearing the brain helmet 2000. It fastens securely under his chin to prevent accidental removal. The helmet is reminiscent of the 1950’s football helmet. It is constructed from chew resistant leather and is available in several fashionable colors. The artificial brain matter is coated on the outside of the helmet.

Johnson, if you would now enter the cell. There she goes. She has Johnson’s head clutched firmly in her grasp. There! She’s eating the artificial… Oh Dear. Johnson? Johnson! It appears that the chew resistant leather is not quite thick enough to stop a ravenous zombie. Well, in about 30 minutes you all will get a chance to witness how our serum impedes the liquefaction process of a post zombie attack. Let’s move down to cell two, where Mr. Davidson is sporting a fiberglass model.

Davidson, you’re up. Davidson? Where the hell is Davidson? Jenkins, it’s you then. No, just strap it on. Mrs. Jenkins is sporting a fiberglass model and is now ready to enter the cell of this hungry zombie.

There she goes. The zombie has her head. Oh! Good God.

Here ends the tour. Thank you all for coming. We have metal helmets still in the design stage and will be testing them in about a month or so. Those of you interested in the serum demonstration can follow me, the rest of you be sure to follow the exit signs as I can assure you this is no place to get lost.”

Author’s note: Any volunteers for the metal helmet? Once again this weeks prompt is courtesy writeanything.wordpress.com A wonderful and supportive group of writers. Thanks for reading and let me know what you think of this little bit of ridiculousness.