This month marks twenty years since the publication of the first book in the Harry Potter series, which by some yardsticks is probably the most successful young adult series in literary history. All kudos and congratulations to J. K. Rowling for her success, and for her determination to persevere in the face of what must […]
Do you work at a hospital? Are you worried about vampire infestations? Then this is the short story for you.
Last time, Maria had switched her holy water filled cleaning bottle from “stream” to “mist”. Let’s see how that worked for her.
Maria looked back to see Zoltan was locked in a sort of stalemate with Constantin. She couldn’t believe the vampire was controlling a walking corpse and fighting Zoltan simultaneously. The vampire was too fast for Zoltan to land a blow, but the space was two cramped for the vampire to get out of range entirely. Constantin avoided the silvered blade as if it was white hot. Maria turned her attention back to the former Dr. Brown, and he was nearly upon her.
She held up her spray bottle and squeezed. Nothing happened. She squeezed again, nothing. There must be something blocking the little pump inside the bottle. She squeezed the trigger several times in rapid succession without result. The corpse raised its hands to grab her. She could smell the corruption on the rotting body. Panic was taking over. She was about to call out for Zoltan. The putrid grey hands reached out, and then the holy water came.
A mighty mist hit the creature square on the face, blinding it. The skin bubbled like chicken in hot oil. The corpse’s hands went to cover its face instinctively. A ragged groan escaped its lips. Whatever the vampire had done to re-animate the body of Dr. Brown, it was at odds with God and nature. Maria hit it again with the holy water, and stepped back.
Now that she had a second to maneuver, Maria switched her grip on the silver dagger and readied herself for the final blow. She raised the blade above her head and brought it down swiftly into the crown of Dr. Brown’s skull. The skull gave way easily with a wet crunch. The body had decomposed significantly since the moment of death.
In the moments following the blow, the corpse shuddered briefly and then collapsed. As it fell to the floor, the dagger was twisted out of Maria’s hand. She looked back to the struggle in room 1213. Zoltan and Sophie were not doing well.
Zoltan had lost his sword and was holding the vampire at bay with only the threat of holy water in his right hand. There can’t be much left in that bottle, she thought. Sophie comatose except for her dreamy, tuneless humming. Maria could see the rosary wrapped around Zoltan’s left hand. She stepped toward the doorway and turned the nozzle of her spray bottle from “mist” to “stream.”
It just got real y’all.
It’s very hard to write violence, for the same reason it’s very hard to write sex. No, wait, there is one difference, most people have experienced sex, but most people have never been in a knife or fist fight. Even those of us who’ve been in fights have a tendency to blur them in our […]
Pretty soon, a hiring manager will just get a dashboard recommending which candidate has the mix of skills and ethno/gender/sexual qualities that best fit with the organization’s needs.
“Hmm, Candidate A is trans (both sexual and racial) so we tick a lot of boxes there, but it says that Zee has little to no experience installing and maintaining heating OR air conditioning systems.”“The computer says that Candidate B has worked in HVAC for 15 years but has a level five patriarchy score.”“Too bad, what if he had a gay experience in the next few days?”“It would have to be really gay to make up for decades of white male privilege. He’s been married for 10 years to the same woman. He even saw fit to reproduce with her (thus reinforcing the white patriarchy). We’re talking level 10 gayness here. Liberace past his prime gay.”“Ok I’ll ask him. If he’s not into that, he could blind himself. Being disabled always helps.”
“Nothing is difficult for him that has the will.”
Busy busy busyness. I’m planning on posting a bunch soon so stay tuned. In the mean time, I leave you to the tender ministrations of Sea Anemone Man:
Several years ago, when I was green as lettuce and attended the Kris Rusch and Dean Wesley Smith workshops on fiction writing — which made me a little less green, if nothing else by providing a much needed wilting — they kept saying the same puzzling phrase “Treat it like a business.” And of course, […]
I’m lazy by nature. I’d rather think beautiful thoughts than write them down, hone them into something intelligible, and share them with the world. I’ve tried to make money on beautiful thoughts, but everyone simply refuses to pay me! So I’m writing.
I’m writing because, with time and effort, I can make money on the ideas that come from the old spiritus mundi. The only problem is, I hate writing exposition.
I hate coming up with excuses for characters to reveal their motivations or explain who they’re working for and why the evil cult leader needs the thingummy for world domination or how the ancient Aztec calendar is really counting down to an alignment of the stars during which (providing the proper sacrifices are made and the occult forms are observed) will prepare the way for C’thulu’s horrific awakening from the depths of the Atlantic Ocean. I’d prefer to skip all that pipe-laying.
I wanna get to the part where St. George gives the Dragon a good lancing. I wanna write the part where Schwarzenegger is cutting his way through Thulsa Doom’s cannibal minions. I wanna get to the part that set the old brain box on fire.
I don’t only wanna write those action scenes though. I also wanna skip to the part where the Lady of the Wood rides swiftly through the night with only a small lantern to light her way. I’m good at the disjointed powerful images. Plotting and exposition, that’s where I have to flog myself.
I tried selling the disjointed images, but nobody will buy that unless you’re a painter or photographer. So, back to the outlining I plod. Using my meager talents and hoping I don’t confuse folks along the way.
If anyone needs me, I’ll be searching for a plausible reason for Zoltan to give a brief history of the Cult of Tanit in the Near East and Central Europe.
So I have a semi-well thought out theory that’s been percolating in muh brain box over the past few days. Classic monsters are on some level metaphors for our collective, deep seated (seeded?) fears of various aspects of human pathology.
Here’s what I have so far:
Werewolves are Addicts: This one’s easy. They’re more or less their normal selves and able to keep it together until the full moon rises and the beast within takes over. They’re a danger to those around them in their wolfish state. Then they wake up with only a fragmented recollection of what happened the night before.
Vampires are Child Molesters: If you survive the vampire’s bite, there’s a good chance you’ll become like him. You’re consumed by an unnatural desire. You can’t fulfill it in broad daylight. Also, like with pedophilia, many modern artists are working to rehabilitate vampirism’s public image.
Zombies are Mob Violence & Plague: As best I can tell, Zombies (at least in the post represent a sociological fear of the mob and biological plagues mixed together. Fear of the mob because of how we can become this hideous meta organism that recognizes and devours individuals or groups that are not of it. The plague fear is easy enough to see. Just like the bubonic plague, you could watch anyone around you become infected and infect others.
Kind of dark, I know, but just had to get the idea down somewhere. You all are the lucky recipients.
Are you a fan of vampires? Neither is Gyorgy Zoltan. In this installment of my current short story, Zoltan and Maria are locked in battle with a blood sucking menace and his undead minion. Can they save the patients of St. Alena’s Hospital?
Zoltan closed on the creature again. This time, he held a small glass bottle. He flicked his wrist and a single thread of holy water whipped across the room, landing squarely on the vampire’s face.
Dr. Constantine lurched back and let out an inhuman shriek of pain. The left half of his face bubbled as though he had been drenched in acid. He instinctively covered himself.
The moment’s hesitation was all Zoltan needed. The saber came down like lightning in a perfect arc. The blade sliced down the vampire’s face and took the tips off two talons in an unbroken movement. The wounds sizzled in the wake of the Hungarian’s sword. Constantin roared with fury this time.
From what Maria had seen, Zoltan was the fastest human she had ever seen and he still couldn’t match the vampire for speed. Zoltan continued his slashing attack, but Constantine had recovered his composure. Though the left half of his face was a sickening mess, the vampire avoided Zoltan’s attacks with ease again.
Then Maria hear the familiar electronic BING of the elevator. She turned hoping it would be a security guard, a doctor, anything human. Then the doors opened and out came the shambling gory form of Dr. Brown.
The re-animated corpse moved clumsily but steadily towards her. Its grey, lifeless eyes shivered in their sockets. Maria was rooted to the spot in shock and terror. Then she gritted her teeth and gripped her silver knife.
“Zoltan! Dr. Brown’s back,” she called to her companion.
The Hungarian barely turned his head to reply, keeping his eye on his opponent.
“Hit him vit da holy water and stab him in the brain.” He responded in between great slashing cuts aimed at the vampire’s head.
Maria readied herself. She spread her legs and bent her knees slightly. In one hand was her silver dagger, in the other, the spray bottle she had taken from the janitor’s closet filled with holy water. She didn’t have more than a few ounces of holy water and didn’t want to waste it. So she bided her time. Keeping one eye on the slow moving carcass and the other on Zoltan and Dr. Constantin.
The shambling creature came closer. Maria tried to moderate her breathing and keep the panic from welling up inside her. The nearer it came, the less it looked like Dr. Brown. The grey skin, the slack jaw, the dead eyes made it clear to her that she was no longer facing a human being. The walking corps was less than twenty feet away now. It took jerky, halting steps toward her. Maria checked the spray bottle again and switched the nozzle from “stream” to “mist.”
That’s right, things just went from Stream to Mist.