For nearly a decade, I’ve been working on stories in Draco Torre’s world, or more accurately, translating stories as told by Torre and friends. Keeping the stories to myself seems selfish, so I decided to share them.

Draco Torre stories follow the lives of the last remaining survivors of a lost civilization crossing through time to discover their past and themselves. The stories include time travel, memory shifting, androids, and strange creatures.

Raven Memory Cover

The first novel in Draco Torre’s world is Raven Memory, a science-fantasy available late summer on Amazon and Smashwords. I finished this novel two years ago, and after some polishing it’s finally ready. You’ll find a brief summary under Books on the menu and repeated below. Visit www.RavenMemory.com or Draco Torre Books Fan Page on Facebook for information updated as the book release approaches.

On AudioBoo, I read a section from the first chapter each weekend. See http://audioboo.fm/Dracotorre to follow along. Keep an eye out for a written chapter sample, artwork, and more.

My second novel (which was originally going to be the first) is nearly completed. It’s a dark fantasy in a similar setting to 19th century America. My Friday Flash stories with Sebastian Rhemus are glimpses. If all goes well, this second novel will be ready next year.

Raven Memory Brief Summary

Julie Walsh’s new employer, Steve Reynolds, is a professional killer with a memory problem. She wants to help him keep things straight, but her days mix up. A kiss on Tuesday melts into a kiss last Sunday. Next Thursday, a wraith frightens her out of her chair on the previous Monday. Realizing that only Steve remembers her favorite novel, she questions her own memories. Caught within the Raven Project, she searches for her identity. Julie Walsh is a construct wrapped in darkness, dripping the blood of a memory.

a flash story by David G Shrock (Listen at AudioBoo)

Standing between wagon ruts, Draco Torre considers the sign announcing Hope Hill. Stars meet prairie, flat horizons. Hope without a hill.

Following ruts, Torre scans dark buildings. Nothing stirs. Blasted heat carries the stench of death.

At the far end of Hope Hill, light flows from an open doorway, down three steps splashing the road. The church casts a sullen look. Catcalls of rapists, howls of murderers pour from the doorway. A scream shatters the night.

Not even the hottest summer on record matches the blazing eyes of Draco Torre.
Throwing open duster, Torre grasps guns. Last hope for Hope Hill.

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This is a flash version of the opening to my second novel. Different, but captures the essence.

101 words. A flash contest at not from here, are you? challenges followers to write a story of 101 words containing two key words, summer and heat. I haven’t entered, but I wanted to see what I could do within the constraints. I may give it another try, but writing a complete flash story is hard enough. Check out “Dog Days Summer Flash Contest” hosted by Michael J. Solender at The NOT.

a flash story by David G Shrock

Alistair Monroe sat on the wood floor, his back leaning against the wall. He watched the flame swirl in the lantern beside him. Every once in a while, blue shot up from the center sending the little flame into a flickering frenzy before settling back into its dance. A revolver sat on the floor between his outstretched legs. Dirt and blood stains covered his boots.

Breathing in the musty air, Alistair smelled rotting flesh. The putrid stench stained the air, the drapes, and even his clothes. He missed the smell of horses. His stomach gurgled, and he belched. Running his hand through his hair, he found it slick with blood. Not his blood, not all of it anyway. Marie Dodson had lost so much blood.

Rolling his head against the wall, Alistair gazed over at the parlor. Flooding through the broken window, moonlight bathed Marie’s corpse laying on the rug. Claw marks covered the back of her dress. A gash on her head spilled blood onto the rug. His bride stared back with her dead eyes. The corpse farted. Until recently, he never realized just how much the dead farted and burped.

It was only minutes away.

First it had happened to Jasper the blacksmith. Jasper had fallen dead just after noon three days prior. Everyone had thought it was the heat. That night, Jasper had risen attacking others on sight. The next day, Jasper’s shy mistress, Beth, had fallen ill and died followed by several others.

Soon, Marie Dodson would join the living dead.

Leaning his head back against the wall, he closed his eyes and listened to the quiet. A normal Saturday night meant dancing and singing in town square led by Lester’s fiddle. The gunfire had ceased hours ago. Even the dogs had fallen silent.

Movement caught his eye. He snatched up the revolver and aimed at the window.

The drapes wiggled in the breeze.

Alistair glanced at the corpse on the rug and looked at the revolver in his hand. There was only one thing for it, he thought. He touched the barrel to the side of his head and squeezed his eyes shut.

A swooshing sound broke the stillness, and a warm breeze tussled his hair. A clomp, and the floor shuddered.

Opening his eyes, Alistair found Marie standing on the rug. Her stance appeared awkward, leaning forward, knees bent, and off to the side. Her head lolled as her dead eyes roved around. Like the others, these eyes never really found their target, but he knew. His undead bride peered at him. He cried out her name emptying his lungs.

The thing howled sounding like a cat hissing and coughing a hairball at the same time.

Pushing the barrel hard against his temple, Alistair screamed. Marie reached out and stomped across the floor.

Turning the gun around, Alistair aimed at her skull and pulled the trigger. The snarling face exploded spraying bits and blood, and the corpse collapsed at his feet. Scrambling up, boots clomping, he stumbled out the door. His legs burned sending him into hobble.

Whispering her name repeatedly, he stumbled onto the dusty road. He opened the revolver. Three bullets remained, two for them and one for him. Clicking the revolver closed, he reached for sky and cried out the name of his bride to the moon.

Waiting for the others, he searched the dark buildings along the road. The one that had attacked Marie was still out here somewhere. It was too quiet. The night bugs had abandoned their song to the prairie. Then he heard the familiar shuffling.

Turning around he found two dark figures on the road coming at him. They moved slower than the others, and the big one limped nearly dragging a foot. Holding him in an arm, the small one, a woman, helped him down the road.

Astonished at the sight of other survivors, his jaw fell open.

As they approached, features climbed out of the darkness revealing torn clothing. Tatters of a dress streamed around the woman’s dirt covered legs, her bare feet stomping over the hard clay. Dried blood covered their pale faces, their eyes were clouded over, but Alistair recognized them, Jasper the blacksmith and his mistress, Beth.

Alistair aimed at the large target and fired. The undead blacksmith fell, flopping over onto his side, and Beth collapsed onto her knees. He marched closer for a better shot.

Beth howled. Leaning over, she touched her crusty lips to the blacksmith’s cheek.

Aiming the gun at their skulls, he watched them embrace and kiss each other. They appeared nothing like their former selves, not just the rot, but their deliberate movements out in the open. Could it all be impulses? Some attacked anything that moved, others ate everything including the dogs, and this pair, uninhibited lovers groping and kissing each other. He shook his head wondering how much the living dead remembered of their former lives.

Beth lurched up. There were no tears, but she appeared to cry. She released a hissing moan, unmistakable anguish. Leaning over, she covered the blacksmith with her body. She protected her lover.

Had Marie Dodson remembered anything? He shook, but he held his aim on the skull of the undead woman. His gut rumbled, and he burped, the nastiness filling his mouth.

The living dead moaned.

Alistair Monroe pulled the trigger.

The gunshot crushed the night air.

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• The story must be a romance between two zombies. Make it as horrific as you like.

• Stories containing animal cruelty, torture, graphic sex or violence, any form of exaltation of violence, racism or other forms of prejudice will be immediately disqualified.

• Post your entry on your own blog, with a title resembling this: Zombie Luv Flash Fic Contest: Story Title

• Copy and paste the contest logo and the guidelines at the end of your entry post.

Shadow Memories available on Smashwords

My book of short stories, Shadow Memories, is available in digital format at Smashwords.

Nine dark tales delve into the shadows stirring up memories from another world. Meet a memory-eating wraith searching for his lost love. Join a giant-sized man on his first quest to solve a mystery of a monster. While running from an invisible attacker, Tigris discovers her former master’s dark secret. Susan chases after her runaway pumpkin through a toy store and into the street.

View my Author Profile: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/dracotorre

Sample or purchase Shadow Memories: http://smashwords.com/b/17029

Notes

The contents page works on the iPad, and the links work if using Adobe Digital Editions or PDF. My drawing of Tabitha shows up nice, too. Soft Whispers published a flash version of “Memor Mora” in Deadly Love, Be Mine anthology. Within Shadow Memories, you will find the original full story in all its darkness. “Suffocation Bell” features a minor character from my novel, Raven Memory. Other stories include a selection from my #FridayFlash participation

Stories

• Mother Dove
• Darkness Was Her Dress
• Suffocation Bell
• Runaway Jack
• Memor Mora
• Young Secret
• A Grave Giant
• Dunston Monster
• The Only Color

Purchase Shadow Memories at Smashwords for $0.99 (USD) or get it free using the coupon code until July 4th, 2010.

Coupon Code: GJ34A

Enjoy!

While you’re at Smashwords, fill your cart with great books by #FridayFlash writers such as:

• Eric J Krause
• Shannon Esposito
• Laura Eno
• Trevor Mcpherson

New to digital books?

I recommend downloading the book in ePub which you may read on your PC with Adobe Digital Editions, read on your iPad by using iTunes “Add to Library” and sync, or read on your iPhone using Stanza. If you prefer paper, you may download in PDF and print. Other versions are available. See the instructions for your reading device.

a flash story by David G Shrock

Listen to me tell this story: The Only Color MP3

___________________________________________________

I accept the uniform, folded neat upon my arms. The soldier tells me blue is my color. Or is it gray? Another war, another battle—it is always the same—another uniform, nothing ever changes. A warrior only knows one color.

Blue or gray, I don my uniform holding me hot and tight. I stand in line with the others, mercenaries carrying scars of battle upon their faces. Some pale, some dark, the warriors hold two traits in common, their color and death in their eyes.

The mercenaries march, boots crushing the ground. The slinking centipede cuts through the army into the front line. Musket in left hand, sword in my right, I stand gazing over rolling green. A mercenary tells us to remember our color. Remember, the man beside me says tugging at his uniform.

Darkness arrives with the thunder of boots. I hold no argument, no ill between warriors. This is our way. The one beside me speaks again. He wishes me luck, find death at last. I thank him and shake my head. Another field, nothing ever changes. Perhaps my time passed me long ago. I wish him a good death and to remember our color.

Cannon fire announces the battle. Blue meets gray. Cries of war twist into howls of dread. I dance to the music of anguish, the beat of torment. I attack blue. Or is it gray? Dropping the musket, I carry my sword, cutting my way up the hill.

The soldiers are farmers and masons, not warriors. Blue and gray are their colors before the reaping. Some turn away in fear, others stand frozen clenching weapons. I clear first the ones with strength in their eyes. Weapons falling, death calling, a warrior only knows one color.

Blue or gray I forget, but their faces burn into memory. Color flees their cheeks, light departs their eyes. They shed crimson tears upon my dress. Even the mercenaries cry for me. I envy them, their freedom.

On the hilltop I stand alone gazing down over the field. Blue or gray matter no more. All of the fallen wear the same color—my color—flowing down the hill. Death and carrion are my companions.

Red is my color, the only color I know.

~Draco Torre

a flash series part 8 of 8 by David G Shrock

See Dunston Monster Contents for series information or back to Part 7.

_________________________________________________

The breeze chilled Sebastian. He tried to pull his gaze away. Gunpowder consumed his nostrils, and a ringing swarmed inside his ear. His gaze traced the tufts of fabric. He stared at the stump of a neck sliced clean, blood pooling around shoulders. A crimson trail fled out the door, splotches on the snow.

“All wrong from the start,” said Sebastian. Sweat dripped down his brow. The floor tilting towards him then away. From the shotgun welcome at Dunston, hurrying off in search of Tabitha meeting Father Young, the riddle, Tabitha teasing his gun away. Even the weather had been against him, beyond the turning point forcing him here, Roan, the killer.

“I should have stayed with her.” Glancing back he spotted the innkeeper crouching at the corner of the bar. “I should have asked more questions at Dunston. More insistent. More protective of my gun.”

Running fingers back through his hair, Sebastian gazed down at the headless body. He recalled the hellfire. “But you were right, Tabitha.” He pictured her sharp teeth. Tears flooded his eyes blurring vision. “They would have executed you without a trail.”

“But if I had done better,” said Sebastian. He remembered the moonlight kissing her smiling face. “Same result, only sooner.”

With the killer on the loose, there was still a chance for justice. Leaning down over the body, he snatched the shotgun. “Where’s my hat?” He felt naked without his hat.

Creeping around the bar, Balmer held it up, shaking.

Sebastian snatched the hat, smashed it on his head, and tugged the brim down. His boots thumped across the floor and over the body. Pausing at the door, he glanced back at Balmer. “Fetch the lawman.”

The nearly pristine snow beneath the hanging lanterns made the trail easy to follow. The blood droplets made it obvious. Turning a corner, boots skidding over slick cobblestone, Sebastian found a narrow street between stone buildings. Light spilled a few meters into the street before being swallowed by darkness. At the other end of the chasm, the red horizon outlined the forest, dark spindly fingers reaching for the sky. Before the trees, a white mist, nearly glowing beneath the moonlight, grasped at the air.

Sebastian inspected the shotgun, a double barrel with a single shot remaining. Entering the shadows, Sebastian held his breath. Snow crunched beneath boots. The cold gripped him, icy fingers digging into his back. He searched the white ground. Every shadowy divot leaped out at him, his mind turning them into footprints and blood drops.

Then he saw him, a silhouette of a slender figure surrounded by burning red around the flat brim of the hat, white mist surrounding torso and legs. At his side, something hung from his hand, long threads reaching to the bulbous mass at the man’s knee; the killer held the head by the hair.

Sebastian stepped, one foot in front of the other, and raised the shotgun taking aim. His heart thundered in his chest. Beyond range, he continued. “Conrad,” he said, “show me your hands!”

Conrad released the hair. The head fell and thumped in the snow.

Red pressed through spindly trees turning the mist into a dance of writhing white tendrils, and painted the far end of the street.

Shotgun level, finger over trigger, Sebastian crept placing one foot before the other, heart slamming his chest. Keeping his eye on the shadowy figure, he heard the crunching and clacking of his boots, a morning bird singing to the coming sun, heartbeat in his ears. Ten paces from the corner, he stopped.

A bird tweeted. Another answered. Distant boots clomped over cobblestone.

Conrad stood motionless. Behind him, the horizon brightened.

“Your hands, Conrad!” Sebastian squinted into the light.

Flutter of shadow, and the shotgun slipped from his grasp. Conrad stood before him his parted duster revealing weapons hanging from belt. At the end of an extended arm, slender fingers held the barrel of a revolver, wood handle outward. It appeared very similar to the one lost to the river.

Heart slowing, Sebastian stared at his father’s other revolver held out to him. Confused, he peered at the face. Blood dripped from thin lips onto the pale chin. High cheekbones, slender nose, the face nearly appeared feminine. The narrow eyes, confident cold blue steel gaze pierced into him. A shiver scrambled down his backside. He felt small, naked. He tried to hold the gaze, but his eyes deceived him and he peered down at the revolver in the hand.

“Your father,” said Conrad, whispering through clenched teeth. “A great warrior.”

Sebastian gulped down saliva, and licked his lips. He felt like a child, small and helpless.

“His,” said Conrad, “death.” He peered down at the revolver. “A good death.”

Reaching out, Sebastian grabbed the revolver by the handle and held it against his chest. Peering down at the offering, he understood the words. The two warriors had fought with honor. Conrad respected Rhemus the Giant.

His father felt closer.

Sebastian looked up finding the street empty. Sunlight struck his face, and he held up his hand blocking the light. Glancing back, he searched the empty street. Before him the empty meadow cradled pristine snow. Somehow he knew, no matter how improbable, the creature had departed with the night.

Tabitha’s head rested in the snow, dark hairs fanned over cheek. Dropping to a knee, Sebastian brushed the hair aside revealing the wound. Instead of a clean cut, he found a gash, torn flesh hanging from the back, and within, broken skull fragments slick with blood. It appeared as though Conrad had chewed his way into the back of the skull.

Hearing footsteps, a cane tapping cobblestone, he twirled around finding Father Young.

“No. I’m not following you, boy.” Father Young pointed his cane towards the building on the left. “My church.”

“That’s how you knew how to find Conrad.” Sebastian slipped his father’s revolver—his revolver—into his holster. “What is he? A vampire?” It sounded too much like folklore, but he had no other explanation.

“Nonsense, boy.” Father Young rubbed his balding head and peered down at the head. “Something old. Older than I even.”

Sebastian peered at the dark glasses picturing the strange gold orbs within. Father Young was something not quite human, and he wanted to know more. “Father, I’ve seen evil.”

Father Young peered up and wrinkled his nose. Sunlight glimmered on the dark lenses. “Conrad?”

“Ignorance,” said Sebastian. “We all choose our path, Father Young, and sometimes that path offers very few forks.” He shook his head at the limited choices along the way. “How can I help anyone? With all these secrets! I must learn about your people. Tabitha’s people.”

“You truly are your father’s son.” Father Young shook his head. “A hunter.”

“A defender.” Sebastian held his head high. He felt refreshed knowing his path. “I must return to university.”

Father Young nodded. “I’ll message Father Gustav.”

“But first I must visit Dunston. Let them know their monster is gone.”

“And Conrad?”

“Didn’t you notice? He’s a demon hunter.” Sebastian scowled. “My father’s final assignment. You sent my father after Conrad, didn’t you?”

Father Young cringed.

“I’d sleep with a gold eye open if I were you, Father Young.” Sebastian grinned. “Conrad is still out there.”

Picking up the Dunston Monster’s head, Sebastian held it to his chest. He brushed the dark hair aside finding the serpentine teeth within gaping jaw. Vision blurred. He felt tears streaming down his cheeks. Recalling their talk in the woods, sitting in the trees, his tears became a shower.

“No,” said Sebastian. “You’re not evil, Tabitha.” He took a step, wobbling. He pictured the moonlight splashing off her cheeks, her smile, and peered down at her dead eyes. The hellfire was gone. Clenching teeth, he marched into town.

“No more evil than the rest of us monsters.”

_________________________________________________

Dunston Monster ePub (zip)

Thanks for reading “Dunston Monster.” Comments or questions? Please, let me know what you think. Your opinion is valuable and appreciated.

You may download the entire “Dunston Monster” in PDF or ePub (zip.) This includes two previous Sebastian flash stories. Looking for ePub reader? Try Stanza or Adobe Digital Editions.

If you enjoyed this story, you may also enjoy my novel, Raven Memory, a modern science-fantasy in the same world. Coming later this year.

Sebastian is part of Draco Torre’s world. See more of him in future short stories and in my second novel.

-David G Shrock 2010

“Dunston Monster” copyright © 2010 David G Shrock

a flash series part 7 of 8 by David G Shrock

See Dunston Monster Contents for series information or back to Part 6.

Warning: Violence

_________________________________________________

Sebastian left Tabitha in the care of the local lawman, Jasper, until morning when they could sort everything out. No sign of Sheriff Haas.

Roan was not a big town, but the snow covered cobblestone streets snaking on either side of the river made the town seem larger. Nearly empty in the predawn twilight, the streets echoed boots throughout the town. Twice Sebastian stopped at an intersection sniffing the scent of fresh bread, the direction elusive.

Above a door, hanging from a post, a sign boasted hot meals and warm beds, The Roan Inn.

Sebastian opened the door and ducked inside. Standing tall, he peered around the dim room. Four empty tables lined the front, two on each side nearly hidden in shadows. Beside him, a coatrack held a single tan duster. At the back, a lantern on the bar illuminated the side of a man facing him. To the left, the light reached a staircase leading to the floor above. Behind the bar, a doorway released the only other source of light and the scent of fresh baked bread.

Breathing in the aroma, Sebastian smiled recalling a spring day, sneaking into the kitchen for a bite of bread before it had cooled, and his mother appearing to swat his hand. Somehow his mother had always known whenever trouble arrived. He wished for her skill.

Sebastian removed his hat and approached the bar.

A clatter in the back, a man wearing an apron appeared in the doorway. He froze staring at Sebastian. Slowly, his look of surprise turned into a grin. “Rhemus?”

“Yes, Sebastian Rhemus.” He nodded.

“I knew your father,” said the man, his smile growing larger. “I’m Balmer, the keeper of this inn.” He reached over the bar.

Stunned, Sebastian stared at the hand. He knew the day would come, an outside connection to his father. He shook the hand.

“Strong like your father,” said Balmer. Releasing the shake, he raised his hand holding it a little higher than Sebastian’s head. “But not as big.” He clapped his hands. “Your father liked my omelet. I fetch.” Spinning around, he disappeared into the back. Pans clanged.

Sebastian peered over at the man beside him.

A flat brimmed hat worn by weather blocked the man’s eyes. Unkempt dark hair fell to the shoulder. A tin mug spilled its contents between cracked lips. Slender fingers pulled the mug away tapping onto the bar. Tall, the man’s hat came to Sebastian’s shoulder. The buttoned shirt hung loose form his slender frame, sleeves too short, collar too wide making him appear gaunt.

Pivoting on a toe, the man turned like a whisper facing Sebastian. He hooked his thumbs into his belt hanging low, weighted down by weapons. Leather thongs held the holsters against thighs, two knives with white handles surrounded the brass buckle, and a sword rested in dark scabbard hanging on his left side. The man appeared like war waiting to happen.

A chill raced down Sebastian’s backside, and he shook. He did not need a mother’s sense. Trouble stood before him.

Balmer returned with steaming omelet and a warm bread roll. Sebastian wanted to ask about his father, but hunger took over, and he chomped into the meal. The innkeeper filled the gaunt fellow’s mug and returned to his baking in the back.

“Frightful weather,” said Sebastian. He glanced over at the slender man, and took another gulp of eggs. “Nearly froze my fingers out there.”

The man raised his mug to his lips and held it there breathing in the caffeinated fumes.

Balmer’s voice boomed from the back. “Your father was a good man.”

Door creaked, and a cold breeze sent the lantern flame swirling.

Still holding the tin mug high, the man glanced at the door.

Sebastian peered over his shoulder and found a woman in a dress standing in the open door just beyond the reach of the lantern. He spotted the twin hellfire sparks.

Tabitha stepped into the light. Her eyes returned to a normal brown, but they glared with hate. She held a shotgun aimed at the bar. It was the third time in the same number of days Sebastian found himself staring into the barrel of a gun.

“That’s him,” said Tabitha. Her flesh nearly as white as her dress, she stood at the edge of death. “Joseph Conrad. The killer.”

Facing the gun, Sebastian held out his hands. “Please, Tabitha.”

“Step aside, Sebastian!” Her face wrenched with hate. “Shoot you both I will!”

“You’re ill,” said Sebastian. He stepped diagonally away from the line of fire and closer to the gun. Spotting red droplets on the dress, he froze. “Jasper. How is he?”

Snarling, she exposed her serpentine fangs. “I never hurt anyone, Sebastian. You believe me, don’t you?”

Seeing her like this, Sebastian felt uncertain. Two dead and the missing sheriff, the Dunston residents had demanded the return of their monster—Tabitha, a school teacher with terrible teeth.

“That night Joseph Conrad arrived. I saw it!” Her aim swayed, and she squeezed the gun tighter. “I watched him take my brother’s head!”

“We’ll go together,” said Sebastian. He crept closer and stood halfway between Tabitha and the bar. Glancing over, he spotted Conrad standing calm still holding the mug. “Explain everything at a fair trial.”

“No trials for my people,” said Tabitha. “Only the gallows for us.”

Tabitha pulled the trigger, the boom crashed throughout the inn sending Sebastian stumbling back onto a table, crashing of wood lost to the piercing ring in his ears, and the explosion of another gun. Bits of ceiling fell. Conrad held two revolvers shooting repeatedly, and Tabitha stumbled back, blood sloshing out her backside. Shotgun fell to the ground. Speeding across the floor, Conrad fell upon Tabitha like a hawk swooping for the kill, sword slashing.

Sebastian squeezed his eyes shut, but the image burned into him, the head falling one way and the body slumping in the other. Opening his eyes, he found himself sitting on the table wreckage breathing in dust. He gazed at the open door. On the floor, the body lay on its back, the head missing.

_________________________________________________

Continue to Part 8, the finale.

a flash series part 6 of 8 by David G Shrock

See Dunston Monster Contents for series information or back to Part 5.

_________________________________________________

“We should take shelter. Wait out the storm.” Sebastian could barely hear his own voice over the river crashing around the rocks.

Tabitha yelled something about Roan. Holding up her hands, she indicated distance: close. They were already wet. Everything was too damp for a fire. Sebastian realized the town was their best chance. He offered to carry her. She refused indicating with the revolver that he should go first. He took the first step, a small one for him. Water spray attacked his trousers, the cold squeezing his muscles sending pins rippling up his legs. A stretch carried him to the next rock.

Loudest in the center of the river, the banks funneled the river’s roar.

Arms out wide, revolver in her right hand, Tabitha jumped to the first rock. A gust of wind sent her swaying, but she pulled herself upright. She gripped the revolver like death.

Sebastian wished she would put the gun away, or give it back. It was all he had of his father.

A stretch to the next rock carried Sebastian within two steps of the shore. Water splashed over his boot. He checked his footing. The rock felt slick. Looking back, he found Tabitha waiting on the rock behind him.

Sliding to the edge of the stone, making room, Sebastian turned and offered his hand.

Tabitha appeared frozen. Frost coated her hair. The fur coat was no longer black, more of a mottled white and gray with dark streaks. Her face appeared even paler, almost blue. Her demon eyes blazed.

As her foot left the rock, there was no question in Sebastian’s mind that her leap was short, and the frightened face told him, she knew it as well. He reached for her outstretched hand. Her boot disappeared into the river, and she dropped, her hand falling away.

Tabitha splashed face-down into the river, the current pulling her from the rocks. Sebastian stepped into the cold water and grasped her shoulder. He watched his father’s revolver disappear into the river. Gazing into the pleading eyes, into the hellfire, he saw hate and distrust. Tabitha expected him to release her, leave the monster behind.

Sebastian pulled her from the current’s grasp, the soaked coat weighing her down. He lifted her into his arms. Spotting a wall of rocks, he carried her into the protection from the wind.

Sebastian stripped the wet fur coat away, and removed his own coat. Wrapping his coat around Tabitha, he pulled her against the rocks. She shivered against him, and he squatted to get better hold wrapping his arms around her. They shivered against each other, and he kept his arms moving working heat. The river roared beside them, and the wind pulled at the trees. Snow fluttered in circles around them.

“I’m a school teacher,” said Tabitha, lips quivering. “Did I mention that?”

* * *

The cold latched on, gnawing, draining life. Snow stopped falling, the wind settled, but the air thickened its frozen grasp closing tight. Darkness swallowed the forest.

Each breath felt like needles. Knees buckled, but Sebastian charged ahead. He could only see a few meters, shapes moving within the darkness. Trees clawed at him. Elbows out, he protected Tabitha within his arms. Tucking down, he shouldered through branches snapping away. Thoughts of losing his cargo to the cold kept his feet moving, but frost clung to his back. He no longer felt his fingers. His heart pounded, and his lungs wheezed.

Feeling the ground drop away, Sebastian slid falling on his rear. He peered into the darkness finding shapes on either side, nothing ahead. He heard something, rocks or balls of clay, tumble through snow and leaves below. Recognizing the edge of a ravine, he stood scrambling back onto level ground.

Somewhere below, a creature snorted, likely an elk Sebastian thought.

His cargo rustled, and he looked down. Twin embers burned illuminated the fractal browns and golds of her irises much like the sun shining through the stained glass window at church—beautiful and dangerous.

“You.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “You rescued a monster.”

“Not yet,” said Sebastian. He tried smiling, but his face hurt.

The orbs shifted; Tabitha looked over. “A road.”

The road led downhill and the forest grew less dense. The patchwork of clouds allowed moonlight turning the snow bright. After the blackness, it nearly felt like daylight, and Sebastian quickened his pace. His legs complained, but he charged ahead nearly running. Little golden lights appeared in the valley, the lanterns of Roan lighting the way.

Sebastian charged the first house, and banged his fist against the door shaking the frame. Latch clicked, door swung open, and warmth spilled outside. A short balding man fell back from the doorway.

Ducking, Sebastian entered the home. “She fell in the river. She’s a school teacher.” He didn’t know why he added the last part. The cold talking he supposed.

The man stood there, dumbfounded. A woman appeared from a back room. Taking charge, the woman ordered the man to fetch blankets and invited Sebastian to the fire. He set Tabitha down on the floor before the hearth, sat down beside her. Warmth scratched his face. The couple brought them wool blankets and water.

Looking over at Tabitha peeking out of a pile of blankets, Sebastian smiled. His face hurt, but not as much as the pain stabbing into his fingers. The firelight hid the hellfire. He liked her brown eyes better. “Now you’re safe.

_________________________________________________

Continue to Part 7.

Warning for the sensitive: The final two parts contain violence and blood.

a flash series part 5 of 8 by David G Shrock

See Dunston Monster Contents for series information or back to Part 4.

Tabitha

Snow blanketed the forest, large flakes flying sideways turned tree trunks white. The storm arrived before the sun trapping the land in twilight. Wind bit Sebastian’s face and threatened to rip his hat from head. With one hand he held his hat while he tucked the other under coat, fingers pressed into armpits for warmth. Every few strides he switched hands.

Tabitha walked behind, the revolver tucked within her folded arms. Frost stuck to her entire right side, hair frozen against her cheek. Under the darkened sky, her eyes held a soft glow. In darkness those orbs simmered like burning coals.

As the narrow road descended, winding through the forest, the roar of a river grew. Rounding a bend, the river came into view splashing over rocks into a pool. Water lapped up onto the end of the road. On the opposite side, the road continued.

Jaw unhinging, Tabitha set her cruel gaze on the river. She shook her head.

The river appeared passable for horses in better weather, but not by foot in the freezing cold. Wind biting his nose, Sebastian searched for shelter. Spotting a group of large trees on the left side of the road near the riverbank, he pointed. Tabitha nodded her agreement, and they bounded into the trees. Finding ground clear of snow beneath a heavy canopy, they squatted against the tree trunks protected from the wind. Sebastian took up two trunks. Wind squeezed between them finding his back. Tabitha snuggled between two roots of the largest tree.

Tabitha laughed. “No bridge.”

“We shouldn’t have come.” Cupping hands over face, Sebastian breathed warmth into his palms. He thought about returning, had insisted on it several times, but Tabitha had urged him on at gunpoint. Now Dunston was too long a walk in the storm.

Tabitha’s smile faded. “I told you. I can’t go back.”

Thomas had made it clear the conditions for a warm welcome: find the monster, return with Tabitha. He only had a name, Joseph Conrad, a killer, his father’s killer according to Father Young. Sebastian was hardly ranger material, held hostage by a woman. He felt small.

Looking over, Sebastian saw something that froze his blood. The cold could play with the mind, but he felt certain he saw true. He gazed at her open mouth gaping at the river. It was plain as the frost sticking to her dark hair. Her two top canines, slender and pointed, met the bottom pair, serpentine fangs. Realizing he stared, he pulled his gaze up. The embers burned like hellfire within her irises.

He recalled the warning. The monster appeared at night.

Two dead and one missing Thomas had told him. He had assumed Tabitha was the missing one.

Tabitha ran her tongue over pointed teeth.

“Are you?” It felt wrong, but he wanted to know about her. He wanted her to tell him that she was a person like him.

“A demon?” Tabitha giggled, sounding like a young girl imitating the devil. “Church boy.” She set the revolver on her lap, rubbed her hands together, and shivered maintaining a coy smile.

Sebastian shook his head. Her smile relieved him, but he frowned feeling guilty about asking. In all the stories elders told children, the monsters were easy to identify. Big teeth, strange eyes, or excessive size marked the monsters. Gazing at Tabitha, he wondered if there was some truth to those stories.

Taking a deep breath, Sebastian summoned courage. “Are any others in Dunston like you?”

Her smile faded. “Besides my brother? No.”

Sebastian nodded at the clue, the first victim was normal.

Tabitha flashed an evil grin. “Frightened?”

He nodded.

“You ought to be.” She held up the revolver. “I have the gun.” Lowering the weapon to the ground, finger on the handle, she hugged her knees. Her tongue licked over a fang. “Many of us don’t bite.”

Listening, Sebastian watched her eyes. He stared at those luminescent orbs feeling like a child gazing upon strangeness, and he realized how little he knew about the world.

“After the first.” Tabitha rested her cheek on her knee. “That’s when the monster talk started. Nobody suspected the two of us. Not at first. And when I saw you approaching the cabin, I thought you were him. Rhemus the Giant come to take me away.”

Breaking his gaze, Sebastian hung his head.

“What was he like? Your father.”

He felt like he knew little about his father, less since the funeral. “As a boy I imagined he caught train robbers, brought killers to justice. A hero.” Cupping hands, he blew into his palms. “Apparently he hunted people like you.”

“Demon hunter.” Tabitha frowned.

“My apologies.” Sebastian gazed at Tabitha no longer seeing a young woman. He had assumed she was the missing one, but he realized Thomas had demanded her return. Perhaps Thomas had only suspected Tabitha.

Tucking hands under his coat, Sebastian buried his fingers within his armpits. His fingertips prickled with pain. “What are you plans once we reach Roan?”

“Revenge.”

“A sin,” said Sebastian. He chuckled. “That’s what Father Young taught me.”

“We’re all sinners.” Tabitha wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging them, and rocked on her heels. “The killer. Me. Your father. Young. My brother’s bad habit.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. There was still one missing: Sheriff Haas.

Tabitha snickered. “And you sitting there picturing my bare breasts.”

Chuckling, Sebastian felt his insides burn, and he coughed sending pain shooting through his chest. The cold attacking the moisture within his clothes could mean death.

Tabitha sat up and fondled the revolver, running her fingers over the barrel. “Does that make us all evil?”

Sebastian shook his head. He had to convince her to turn herself in, confess or testify. She must abandon revenge. Learning more about his father’s death could wait. “Not if we ask for His forgiveness.”

“Look!” Tabitha stood and pointed with the revolver. “A way across the river.”

Leaning over, Sebastian peered beneath the branches spotting a row of rocks extending across the river. They appeared uneven and too far apart for anyone but a man of his size. “It doesn’t look good.”

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Continue to Part 6.

a flash series part 4 of 8 by David G Shrock

See Dunston Monster Contents for series information or back to Part 3.

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“A priest,” said Tabitha for the fifth time.

Reaching up, Sebastian lifted Tabitha from the boulder and dropped her on the ground beside him.

“Eyes of gold.” Tabitha threw up her arms and marched ahead. The deer path took a gentle turn through the trees, easy to follow even under the darkening sky. “He is his mother’s father. A ridiculous riddle!”

“Misdirection,” said Sebastian. Reaching out, he pushed back the tree limbs. Tabitha slipped through easy, but at his height, the branches became a tangle. “Only that last part mattered.”

“And your little message,” said Tabitha.

Father Young was a highly respected elder in the church and a creature with gold eyes. The riddle was also a warning to forget the Rhemus profession.

Calling over her shoulder Tabitha said, “What was that about your father? Do you believe Father Young ordered death for his own people?”

Sebastian stuffed his hands into his coat. The moist air lost warmth, and night fell like a candle flame exhausting the wax of day. “Criminals perhaps. I don’t know. Back home I had assumed he meant my father hunted them all down like animals.”

“Like demons.”

“And perhaps he had.” Sebastian shrugged. “But under Father Young’s orders.”

The forest opened up. Moonlight revealed the Brook Grove-Roan Road. Tabitha turned north marching on the muddy road. Glancing south, Sebastian spotted the firelight, evening roast at Dunston. Looking back, he watched the long fur coat drifting away.

“Wait.” Sebastian thumbed over his shoulder. “Dunston is this way.”

“Not heading for Dunston.”

In four great strides Sebastian caught up with the woman and grasped her shoulder. She spun around, the coat slipping from her shoulder revealing bare flesh. Catching sight of her breast, Sebastian released the coat and covered his face.

Boots sloshed through the mud, Tabitha marched away.

Uncovering his eyes, Sebastian spotted the woman scrambling up a slope above the road. On firmer ground her pace increased stomping over rocks and twigs. Walking, he caught her again. One of his steps matched every two of hers.

“My task,” said Sebastian, “is to escort you back to Dunston. I’ll aid the law in finding the killer.”

Tabitha shook her head, a coy look in her eye. And a sparkle. Fractal shards of golds and browns caught the moonlight flickering like a fire.

Preparing for a chase, Sebastian unfastened his coat allowing more room. “I’m not about to let you walk alone.”

“How sweet,” said Tabitha. She gazed up at him. The moonlight turned her face white. “Will you escort me to Roan?

The long solemn look he remembered from the cabin, gone, replaced by determination. Breath streamed from her nostrils. Vigor poured from her brown eyes. He stood frozen, enchanted by her confidence. Capturing the moonlight, her eyes were brilliant. The orbs told him she would not peacefully return to Dunston. He reached out.

Tabitha twirled away, and Sebastian grasped her arm. She slipped free from the coat and ran. The pale moonlit flesh blinding, Sebastian turned his head aside. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the nude woman disappear into the dark woods.

Fur coat in hand, Sebastian ran into the woods. Catching movement, he stormed in the direction batting branches aside. The forest dripped, cool drops draining down the back of his neck. His own coat protected his arms from the wet branches, and he raised the fur coat protecting his face from the prickly needles. Spotting the pale form, he burst through trees and slid to a stop.

In a clearing stood Tabitha wearing only tall boots. “It’s rather cold out here.”

Turning gaze aside, Sebastian approached holding the fur coat out. “What’s in Roan?”

“Your father’s killer.” She slipped into the coat and pulled it closed.

“Your brother’s killer,” said Sebastian. “The Dunston Monster. Is that what Father Young told you?”

Tabitha studied him, her eyes roving up and down. She nodded.

“You were never abducted. You left on our own accord looking for the killer on Myrtle Ridge.” Sebastian folded his arms. “Who is he?”

“Joseph Conrad.”

Sebastian looked at a pawn. Father Young had asked him to return to university, forget his father, but had given Tabitha the name and location of the killer. The pawn played enticing him after his father’s legacy. Curiosity about the killer captured him, but the danger was too high for a young woman.

“I see that look.” Tabitha opened her coat.

Wincing, Sebastian looked away. The vision of bare breasts sent his head spinning.

Tabitha pulled her coat closed, and giggled.

“Please stop that.” He felt a smile on his face and let it grow.

“A boy, aren’t you?” Tabitha raised a revolver, thumb pulled hammer back, a round clicked into the chamber.

Smile fading, Sebastian stared at his father’s revolver pointed at him. Disbelieving, he glanced down and pulled his coat aside revealing the empty holster at his hip. Disarmed so easily, doubt of catching a killer swarmed over him. He looked up at the barrel, up at the cruel gaze, her burning eyes. A shiver attacked.

There was no mistaking it, the orbs glowed. As Tabitha stepped back out of the moonlight, her eyes intensified, red embers burning within each pupil, like hellfire burning within—an unholy sight.

“Stupid boy,” said Tabitha, whispering. “To Roan if you please.”

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Continue to Part 5