Oblivion by @AlexChaseWriter @CoffinHop 2013


Hello Travelers,

I don’t often write urban fantasy, but when I do…

Ok that’s partially a lie. I love the juxtaposition of urbanity and mythology. It’s in pretty much everything I write, in one way or another. I took some… liberties… with established lore though. This, of course, is just a piece of a 5000 word (or so) story. Be sure to let me know what you think!

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“One single bullet, filled with such devastating magicks that it can erase from existence any creature through whom it’s fired… Erase everything they’ve ever done, erase them from memory, from any record in heaven or hell… I swear, Catherine, I will turn this upon the one who stole you from me, and I will ensure there isn’t a molecule left of them for me to despise,” I hiss, stroking my wedding band and kissing the barrel of The .52 Spear.

Some say the weapon was crafted by Darkness and Chaos, the only entities to pre-date God. Writhing in the light, they designed it in hopes that they could slay the Holy Father, the one who restrained them and instituted his will upon them. It is so powerful that only one bullet was made. Having no physical form, they could not fire it.

It was passed down to a mortal, then to that mortal’s children, and their children, and so on. The ethereal weapon, which weighed next to nothing, seemed to be the heaviest thing a person could hold. It was regarded with such fear that its mere presence on a battlefield could stop an army cold, sending the opposing forces to their knees in servitude to the ruler that wielded it. If a president were to be shot by its one bullet, all traces of him would be erased. His parents would not remember him. His people would not serve him. His land would belong to the one who destroyed him. The victim would be rent asunder, cast into the void where only unrelenting Chaos and eternal Darkness dwelled. Should the stories prove true, God could be slain, erasing all traces of Him, the Bible and His religions. The all-mighty are said to cower at the threat of such oblivion.

I, at barely twenty-six, am unemployed, a widower, and Damned.

And The Spear is mine.

***

Walk with me from October 24-31 as I post some of my work in honor of Coffin Hop 2013. Some of this is quite old, some of it not–guess which is which, Traveler. Perhaps a right answer will earn a stroke of fortune for you…

For this tour, I’ll be giving away one signed anthology in which a story of mine has been featured. Which anthology is up to the winner. Keep in mind, I reserve the right to award additional gifts as per Coffin Hop rules. Who knows–if I get a lot of hits, you might see a lot of rewards in the future. Be sure to click the badge at the side of my page and visit the other Hoppers!

Ashes to Ashes by @AlexChaseWriter @CoffinHop 2013


Hello Travelers,

This story is far too long to have posted here; it simply wouldn’t have been fair to you or the other Hoppers to expect you to read it. I’ll clue you in to the fact that this is an apocalyptic piece with some obvious subgenre work going on. Enjoy, my friends…

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Dr. Calvin Dent rested his chin on his elbow and stared through the window at the front of Marie’s Coffee Emporium. It was a quaint little shop known for serving half-priced drinks to college students and weekly poetry slams, affordable and atmospheric, but not so much so that it would seem cheap or overpowering.

He watched vehicle after vehicle pass by without so much as slowing, then bit his lip and whipped out his phone. It was 9:20 in the morning, an early time for her, so she was probably running late. More importantly, it was her, so she might not show up at all.

Then she did. Jewel Alvarez stepped out of a beaten-up taxi and onto the cracked sidewalk. It had been two years, but he’d recognize her anywhere. Her light brown hair was stacked in a bun, but she’d left just enough free to frame her angular face. She had sunglasses on, even though the coffee shop’s side of the street was shaded. Though now into her mid-thirties, her body retained the lithe shape she’d developed in her youth, partially because she was athletic but also because she would often get so wrapped up in her work that she’d forget to eat. Jewel was the type of girl some men spent their lives dying for: shapely, exotic and out of their league.

Calvin enviously wished he could say the same. Though not particularly heavy, he had no muscle to speak of. His skin had a pasty hue from having spent the majority of his life inside. Add glasses to the mix and you’ve got the spitting image of a man whose mind was his greatest- and only- weapon. He wore a light jacket over a long-sleeved shirt, despite the temperate weather. No one had any idea how he’d managed to wind up with Jewel in the first place- he was almost certain he couldn’t pull that trick off a second time, but he was ready to try.

The tinkling of a bell announced her entry. She spied him and walked over. Jewel was dressed in her signature paint-stained jeans and a black t-shirt. Calvin had already pulled her chair out prior to her arrival. She smiled and removed her sunglasses as she sat across from him.

“Hello, Calvin.” Her voice was by no means melodious, but he could listen to it for hours.

“Hi, Jewel.” He realized with abject horror that he had no idea how to conduct such a meeting and fumbled for something to say.

“Thanks for the coffee,” she said, wrapping her hands around the steaming cup in front of her.

“N-no problem,” he chuckled nervously. “Do you still take it the same way you used to?” He paused, then stammered, “No! I mean, take your coffee? Do you like, you know, two creams, one sugar, in your drink, like before?”

She laughed as he blushed. “Yes, I still like it just like I used to.”

“Oh, good!” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Some things never change, huh?”

They stared at each other for a dangerous minute. For a moment, Calvin was sure she’d get up and walk off. He’d come on too strong, he was sure of it. He hadn’t meant to, but some things just slip out. Then again, she wouldn’t have met with him if she didn’t have SOME kind of feeling for him, right? But even so-

“Yeah, some things don’t.” Her voice was almost quiet enough to hide her feelings- but not quiet enough. “…I’m… glad you called, Calvin.”

He gave a half-smile. “I am too. …I guess I have trouble letting go, huh?”

“Sometimes, it’s ok to not let go,” She laid her hand on his, her thumb gently stroking the top of his palm. “How’s work been going?”

“It’s… oh, you know… space. It doesn’t change much, so… Well, actually, the sun has been giving off some strange readings lately, but we’re not sure what they mean yet.”

“Really?” She arched her brow and, to his shock, seemed genuinely interested. “I’d love to hear more.”

“I’d love to tell you,” he stared into the pools of amber and, like a prehistoric mosquito, found himself trapped by their depths. “How… is work, for you?” he managed to whisper. Her perfect lips curved up in an all-too-recognizable expression. Whenever something really, seriously great was happening, her face would inexorably shift to show off an impish grin.

“I’ve actually published two books: my first is on painting with ash, the second is on the human body as a canvas for artistic expression.”

“Painting with ash?” he tilted his head.

“Ash is… often overlooked. It is uniquely beautiful; it’s the remains of something that has perished in flame, but isn’t really a symbol of destruction. It’s a symbol of making way for something new, something greater, that will soon come to be. It’s like with forest fires; those fires only occur so new life can spring up in their wake.”

***

Walk with me from October 24-31 as I post some of my work in honor of Coffin Hop 2013. Some of this is quite old, some of it not–guess which is which, Traveler. Perhaps a right answer will earn a stroke of fortune for you…

For this tour, I’ll be giving away one signed anthology in which a story of mine has been featured. Which anthology is up to the winner. Keep in mind, I reserve the right to award additional gifts as per Coffin Hop rules. Who knows–if I get a lot of hits, you might see a lot of rewards in the future. Be sure to click the badge at the side of my page and visit the other Hoppers!

Visions of the Reaper by @demonauthor @penofthedamned


Hello Travelers,

Today, I’d like to extend a warm (or should I say icy-cold?) welcome to the newest Pen of the Damned member, Dan Dillard, the Demon Author. While I am not personally a member, I am a fan, and look forward to future installments of his spine-chilling work.

I assure you, Travelers, that you will too, so check it out. It’s not like doing so will kill you… right?

 

Visions of the Reaper.

Diseased by Daemonwulf


Another great short story- it only takes a few minutes to read, but it’ll stay with you for far longer.

Are diseases only things of the body and mind, or do they, perhaps, extend to a far deeper aspect of the human condition? Step into the world that Daemonwulf has crafted and see what it really means to infected.

“Chewed up by an army of secrets, I’ve felt a thousand sets of viral teeth feasting on me over the years. I shouldn’t have let it happen, but there really wasn’t much I could do.”

Diseased.