The Ginger Man
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[Not sure why, but I’ve been gravitating towards poetry of late. Unbolt has just re-blogged a powerful poem by Malicia Frost, and in response I’ve decided to re-visit a scene from one of the stories I’ve drafted on this blog.] Charlie stumbled through the woods, his flashlight’s beam bouncing weakly in the oppressive darkness, as…
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Of all the fiction experiments conducted on this blog, “The Ginger Man” has to be the least satisfying. One of the primary objectives of this experiment was to create an effective piece of horror fiction, and on that count it failed miserably — there was no suspense, no foreboding, no real terror to make the…
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“Tell me a story, Daddy.” What kind of story, Allison? “A scary story, Daddy!” Scary? Well, I’m not sure — “Like the ones on TV, you know?” I’m sorry, I don’t like scary stories. “But you must know at least ONE?” One? Uh, yeah. I do know — one. “Really? Can you tell me, oh…
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Charlie nodded down toward the area in front of him. “This everything?” Between where he was standing and the crescent formed by his friends, on a patch of gray rocky gravel covered partly in snow, lay a series of cardboard cartons, plastic containers, shoe boxes (some covered, others not), and bags of various material, shapes,…
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But as he was driving his pickup back to his trailer that evening from his job at the post office, Charlie suddenly realized it wasn’t over. There was one more task that needed to be performed before he could close this little book that had been opened in his life. He made the calls that…
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Charlie was glad they had taken an early lunch, was relieved to have only seven pairs of inquisitive eyes bearing down on him as his arms covered Rick, slouched over the dining room table and sobbing uncontrollably. “I shoulda stopped him . . . tackled him, or sumpin’ . . . kept Mike outta that…
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Mike butt-pushed himself off the car’s fender, shuffled unsteadily a few feet from the car; reached the edge of the woods, stopped, shuffled, and urinated, the stream falling peacefully on the pine-needled ground. Rick had never seen Mike wasted like this, and being wasted himself, could think of nothing to say. Mike zipped his fly.…
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Tired, drunk and annoyed, Rick fought the impulse to throw Mike out of his trailer. But there was an urgency, a desperation he saw in his friend that he wasn’t accustomed to seeing. Mike never asked anything of him, but there he was, sucking on a beer can (Rick had never seen his friend do…
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Rick had been sleeping on the couch when someone began pounding on the door of his trailer. He rose slowly, still drunk. “RICK! RICK!” He staggered to the door in the dark as whoever it was continued to pound and scream. “Jesuf CHRIST what’s WRON’ with you, goddammit RICK–” Rick almost fell onto the door.…
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“Morning, Rick.” Charlie saw the smile on Rick’s angular face disappear at the sound of his greeting. Rick murmured a reply, and walked briskly over to the other end of the room. Gonna have to ask him what the hell’s going on, Charlie thought. He’d called a couple times earlier that week, after hearing Rick…
Keigh Ahr 