In the old days, in the village of Elms, a wandering family of unknown origin settled down. They built a house on the edge of the fields, near the ghost forest. This family consisted of only an elderly couple. Wherever they went, they went together. The wife was always silent and solemn, never uttering a word. The husband was tall and gaunt, with a face like iron and a nose resembling a bird's beak. His eyes were cloudy and sunken, exuding a cold phosphorescent glow. The husband was a master hunter. His flintlock rifle seemed to have eyes. Whenever he raised it, birds and wild animals rarely escaped death. Behind their house, there were heaps of bird feathers and animal bones piled up like mounds. The bird feathers were disheveled and black as ink, while the animal bones were limestone-white, dotted with yellowish, foul-smelling marrow stains. These piles resembled graves. The hunter seemed like the embodiment of Death in the forest. Birds and animals feared him. The other hunters in Elms were both envious and resentful of him. He spared no creature within the range of his rifle. It was said that someone once saw him shoot a peacock in mid-dance. A peacock in mid-dance, with its head curved like a blade of grass, its tail fanned out in a semicircle displaying vibrant colors, sunlight reflecting off it like golden flames, its legs gracefully swirling. Only love could swirl so elegantly. And then – “Boom” – his rifle fired, releasing a red flame. The peacock fell, its iridescent wings stained with blood. The old wife came, dry and dark, silently picking up the peacock and placing it in her basket. However, the old man spent his life hunting only common birds and animals. He never captured any large animals weighing several hundred pounds. His rifle could only shoot small, foolish creatures. This was his torment. The entire village of Elms shunned the couple, not speaking or socializing with them. Seeing them, people would turn away. Thus, the old hunter lived a lonely life with his silent wife. By the end of that year, the forest of Elms was in upheaval, trees withered, birds disappeared, and no trace of animals was found. The villagers suffered greatly, claiming that Then (the deity) had begun to punish them. The wandering hunter also found it difficult to make a living. The couple wandered the forest. For the first time in his life, the old man faced this situation. For three lunar weeks, his rifle remained silent. He would wake before the third rooster crow and return late at night. His emaciated wife no longer had the strength to follow him and stayed home, tending a fire that burned with a ghostly blue flame, not red but green like wolf eyes. One time, the old man was away for a whole week. He was exhausted, his knees buckled, and his muscles felt like they could be pinched off like leeches soaked in blood. He had trudged everywhere without finding anything. Not even a sparrow or a butterfly. He was anxious and frightened. Was Then punishing the world as rumored? Finally, exhausted, the old man staggered home. At the stream near the village, he paused and looked at his house. There was a light, a ghostly blue light. Surely his wife was still waiting. He closed his deep, cloudy eyes. After a moment's thought, he turned back to the forest. His nose had caught the scent of animals... He was in luck. He saw it. The peacock was dancing. Its feet moved gracefully to the right, its tail spread out in a circle, shifting to the left, the intense blue on its head feathers glistening. The old man raised his rifle: “Boom!” The shot echoed. He heard a piercing scream. He ran to the fallen creature. It was his wife. She had gone to the forest to wait for him, holding a peacock feather. The hunter lay face down in the pool of blood on the decaying leaves, thick and musty like the smell of rats. His mouth gurgled like a wild boar's. He lay there for a long time. Black clouds hung low, the forest darkened, hot and stifling like a fevered body. Near dawn, the old man suddenly sprang up like a squirrel. He had the idea to use his wife's corpse as bait to hunt the biggest animal of his life. He lay in the bushes near her decaying body, rifle loaded, anxiously waiting. But Then punished him. No animals came, only death approached. Days later, they pulled his crooked body from the bushes. A bullet wound pierced his forehead. He had finally hunted the biggest animal of his life.
The most eerie place to be is not under the bed, not locked in the dark, not your hallways at night. It's right inside your head. And we are forced there every night when we get tired. My eyelids are beginning to feel like two large bricks. My head yearns to lean against the wall beside me, but I jerk it back up. I can't see what my mind will come up with if I go to sleep, it knows my worst fears, after all. I've been doing this for hours, splashing the cold water in my face, violently shaking my head like a wet dog, anything to stay awake. I've been waiting forever for this dreadful night to blow over, but it just won't. The moon taunts me, maliciously grinning at me through my curtains. It waits for me to sleep, it wants to force me into my head again.
My new year's resolution was to set aside at least one afternoon for writing per week. I love submitting to short story and flash fiction competitions! ✍️ So far I've kept my resolution but we're only two weeks into the year! You can check out a selection of my work here: https://ko-fi.com/carrieonwriting and of course I've entered the Biopage contest! 😀 https://www.biopage.com/post/de-dahlification
Be warned, child--once initiated into the world of magic, there is no turning back. One may leave the Clockwork Cafe, but one will always end up back in the building eventually, and no matter where one turns, it will linger in the peripherie, mocking, beckoning, luring with the scent of fresh-baked cookies one day and haunting with threatening whispers the next. Many have tried fleeing, but none have succeeded. Those foolish humans who think they can harness the infinite wild magic of the fae to do their bidding, who think they can tame and control it like it is but an unruly dog--those such humans never last more than a week. They come face-to-face with true power and the lucky ones keel over on the spot, hearts and minds giving way to the strain and their bodies withering into dust as the Cafe puts their vitality to better use. The unlucky ones survive. They survive but their minds crack, sometimes even shatter, and they try and flee to no avail--no matter where they go, the Cafe follows, haunting them and driving them ever-so-carefully into paranoid madness, until the mere sight of a clock is enough to send them careening into a fit of terror. The Cafe's facade encroaches further and further into their field of view, until every building they see is the Clockwork Cafe, every tree is a looming elm, every person they pass is a fae initiate on the hunt. One way or another, they all end up back in the warmth of the Cafe eventually. Oh, but recall: this fate is for the greedy and proud alone, those who wish to control the magic. There is no danger so long as one follows the rules. Do not lie in the presence of the Cafe: this is the fundamental law of the land. The Cafe is everywhere: this is a fundamental truth. Beyond these, all one must keep in mind is etiquette and respect. Is this not a worthy price to pay for initiation into the land of the fae? The Clockwork Cafe will be one's home when one has none, the Cafe will provide all the food and drink one needs… one shall want for nothing, in the care of the faeries. In the Clockwork Cafe, none die unless killed--no disease may sour one's flesh; none age within these walls. Does this not sound like paradise? Does this not seem to be a place one could be happy in, for eternity? Is it not a welcome break, from all the mundane miseries of human life…? Yes, good, good, all you need to do now is shake my hand… And one more thing, child… May I have your name?
The thick air of the night compelled me into a warm embrace. As my eyes traced to the sky, I saw an endless abyss of darkness, where the stars twinkled to share the embers of their light with the world beneath them. The dimness of the sky inevitably seeped onto the alleyway that laid ahead of me, blanketing any signs of motion. Despite the distant murmurs of street vendors sauntering in desperation to sell their daily quotas, and the soft noise of cars blatantly honking unintentional tunes, I became consumed in the rare silence of the evening. Amidst the silence, a faint growl behind me interrupted my thoughts. With each second, the amplitude of the growl grew louder and louder, like the rugged uproar of a car's engine revving to gain momentum. My eyes widened in terror and my heart skipped a beat. Within moments, the warmth of solace that once enveloped me had instantaneously disappeared into thin air, giving way for the icy shards of angst to be inflicted. The frigidity of the shards weighed my body down, pinning the soles of my feet to the ground. From my inner core to the very tips of my fingers, every limb, joint and muscle felt heavy and prickled with unease. Vainly fighting back the weight of apprehension, I took an abrupt pivot and turned my back to face the unknown, head-on. The abruptness of my movement made me queasy, and my vision became hazed. I squinted to adjust my eyes to the landscape ahead of me, like a camera focusing its lens to capture a new scene. All I could see beyond was a cloud of pitch darkness. Suddenly emerging from the dark, appeared a pair of eyes that gleamed with indulgence, reflecting the light of the stars. I shut my eyes in disbelief, convinced it was just a figment of my imagination. The growling grew louder. My eyelids shot open, and ahead of me emerged three silhouettes and followingly three pairs of eyes. The streetlights ahead of me dimly illuminated their faces, accentuating the furrows atop their temples that were creased in aggression. The tenacity in their eyes pierced through me, cutting open my vulnerabilities and consuming me with their gaze. My stomach began to churn and my mouth grew dry, giving birth to an unpleasant metallic taste that diffused across my taste buds. My eyes dilated as I watched saliva drip out of their mouths, collecting into a pool on the ground. I became paralyzed in fear. An ample lump formed in my throat, and I gulped rapidly to depress the mound of fear that increasingly choked me. The three figures continued to howl in harmony, as if chanting an acapella of doom. The blaring commotion ringed in my ear like a proliferating tinnitus, urging me to clench my jaw and fist to shield off the aversion that trickled into me. I watched as the three figures extended their hind legs, preparing to dive into the next delicacy of their night. At once, an immediate rush of adrenaline coursed through my body, fuelling a stream of light that radiated within my veins. The heat of the light melted the icy shards that had implanted my feet within the ground. I gained control over my body, turned around and ran. My heart pumped embers of fire into each limb that was once numbed. I could hear the demons behind my back rising in aggression, but I closed my eyes and ran straight ahead. Each step I took followed a soft mumbling of prayer to find comfort in providence. The layer of sweat that coated my face felt cool upon the soft winds that blew against my skin, calming the fire that raged within my body. Regardless, I kept running. I ran until the barking went faint, and slowly faded into the very breeze of the night.
A tall boy stood in line for inspection. Breathing hard, he prayed that somehow the inspector would miss him, or wouldn't look too closely. He was sweating. Terrified. Why was he so worried? Because Oran O'Keefe had bright, green eyes. Dangerously green. The inspector came closer. He didn't know where his eyes came from. His mother, father, grandfather, and grandmother all had those dull, blue eyes that would keep you alive in this place. Somehow, by some cruel joke of fate, he had been gipped. Closer. In this place, everyone was the same. Blonde hair, blue eyes. White skin. He had white skin and blonde hair, but it was his eyes that would kill him today. Here. “O'Keefe, Oran.” “Sir.” “Look at me. Head up, back straight please.” This was not an option. He lifted his head and pointed his chin. His green eyes flashed as he prayed God would strike the officer color blind. The inspector stared at him with his Crayola blue eyes and his hand fell calmly to his belt where he pulled out a walkie-talkie. “Sir, we have a code red.” God, no. He fell to his knees, shaking. In a sudden burst of adrenaline, he tried to bolt past the inspector, but even before he was grabbed four seconds later he knew it would never work. He knew he was going to die. At that moment, a squadron of soldiers flew at him from all sides. They snapped his arms into restraints and Oran felt the blue eyes of the line of children freezing his back. The fleet of men led him forcefully to a metal door. They punched in a code and there was an eerie sound of the door's latch unsealing. Fog poured out from the opening. It was dark where they led him, and it was cold. As cold as their eyes. They made their way through the mist, and just as Oran had started to feel the pain of the restraints, they stopped. A screen was positioned directly in front of them, nearly as big as a house. It flickered ominously as the mist swirled around it. A face slowly materialized on the screen. “O'Keefe. Step closer please.” He did. “I have been informed of our current dilemma.” Yes, and what a dilemma it was, to have green eyes in this sea of blue. “As you are already aware, we have certain guidelines that must be met. And if they aren't, well… We must make use of certain procedures to be sure that these guidelines are kept.” He felt like he was swimming in a pool of italics. Make that drowning. “Yes, sir.” “Wonderful! We are all in agreement. How nice! Now let's cut to the chase, Mr. O'Keefe. We will now commence said procedures. Immediately.” Oran dropped to his knees for the second time today, letting out a cry of terror and anguish. This was it. The despicable face left the screen, leaving him to drown in foggy blackness and italics. …. When Oran woke up, he remembered nothing of how he got here, only that he would die. But he didn't. A man walked in and looked at him with those eyes. He said, “We will begin procedures shortly.” But he should be dead! This was all so wrong! What was happening? No one survived having green eyes. A few moments later, another man walked in and started preparing a syringe. He filled it with a red liquid and inserted it into Oran's arm without warning. Oran let out a yell, and a hand was put over his mouth. He felt his head fog and his thinking became slow. He could not remember what he was here for or why this man was holding him down. All he could think of was… Sleep. …. With a gasp and sweaty palms, Oran woke up. He looked around and he felt different somehow. Something had changed. Something was wrong. He sat up and saw a mirror in front of him that he didn't remember being there before. But it wasn't him staring back. It was a boy with white skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes. There was no mistake - Oran was now a blonde, blue-eyed copy of every person in this horrible place. He refused to believe this was him. It couldn't be him. They had made him into the exact person he had never wanted to become. But at that moment, he decided that no matter what this place tried to make him become, Oran O'Keefe would always be the boy with the green eyes.
Will you love to be among the ace writers that will feature in the second edition of our anthology? Will you love to lend your voice through prose, poetry, photo story or essay on salient themes affecting the world? If yes, then this message is for you. Tales Group is an arm of the blog: TalesFromTheOtherLand. This Group is a community of creative minds that provide a platform for sharing creative works & ideas, with the aim of educating, entertaining and also spotlighting writers. The Tales Group has begun activities for the publication of the 2nd edition of its annual eBook – (an anthology)- comprising poems, essays, photo stories & short stories. In line with recent global happenings, this year's edition focuses on: Migration & Epidemics as themes. Based on the above themes, we call for entries from writers of diverse climes that will love to be part of this rich compendium. The aims of this eBook project are: To explore the variety of ideas on the themes in focus. To promote the global visibility of authors & writers. To create a convergence of literary ideas and styles in one book. To encourage social change & a paradigm shift for the attainment of world peace & productivity. It is hoped that through the diverse themes and the multicultural composition of contributors, a melting-pot of ideas, perspectives, styles and flavour will be created in this entertaining compendium. Thus, interested persons are to send in entries to: esshietedidiong@gmail.com Specifications: All entries must be the brainchild of the author, no plagiarism. Entries must be ‘fresh'. It MUSTN'T be published on the social media or any other medium. Authors are free to explore sub themes in their entries but this must be within the confines of the major themes. The entries must not attack persons, Institutions or religions in their contents. Clearly state the title, word count and genre of each entry at the first line of each work. Clearly state the author's name or pen name. Include a Bio of the author & a portrait photo. Authors should state a means where they can be contacted ( in case readers would love to follow their works.) Entries should come in Microsoft word, single line spacing, with font size 11; Times New Roman font style. Poetry For Poetry, a minimum of 3 entries and a maximum of 5 are needed for your submissions to be valid. Prose (short stories/flash fiction): A minimum of 2 entries & a maximum of 3 entries. Word count b/w (1600 words as minimum to 3000 words as maximum.) Essays: A maximum of 2 entries. Word count- 1500 words maximum. Photo Story: The images should depict one of the themes; it should be original – (that is, the contributor should be the person that took the photo.) The dates when the photos were taken & location(s) should be stated. Entries under this category must be a minimum of 3 & a maximum of 5 entries. The images should be in JPEG format – 1600 x 1200 pixel. N/B: We accept diverse forms of creativity circling around the themes. This anthology will not be Monetized when published. It will be launched on various online stores; accessibility to this content will be FREE. The Tales Group owns the right of Publication and distribution of this anthology. Contributors to this project will gain the rights to be part of Tales Groupin house Community – where they can get access to publishing their future contents on our blog at a subsidised cost; have access to our online audience on our blog; get access to our consultants that provide services such as editing of manuscripts, blog contents, book cover designing, Website creation; and solicited professional advice/ mentorship on creative writing. DEADLINE FOR SUBMISSION OF ENTRIES IS APRIL 17th, 2020. TalesFromTheOtherLand (TFOL )GROUP retains the copyright. Even if you're not interested in sending in entries, be sure to check out our previous anthology titled: Tales and Twists. Thank you!