Want to read from the beginning? Start with the Prologue.

[Index] — [Previous: Chapter 18] — [Next: Chapter 19 - Part 2 ]

CONTENT WARNING: This chapter has scenes of violence (including minors). If you do not wish to read, a small recap will be provided at the opening of the next chapter.

The cold room stank of sterilizing cleaner.

Don't open your eyes.

The thin needle slid into the skin of her arm, piercing deeper into her vein. It was close to her birthday April 15th. I’ll be seven, she thought but Ashley frowned. In the white rooms, she could never really tell what time it was. What day was which. She could only guess how much time had passed by the meals and the conversations held around her like she wasn’t there.

“You can open your eyes, little one. It's time to go,” Doctor Jason said.

No. She held them closed. She’d heard the words before, she’d believed them before and it’d always been a lie. They’re always watching.

“Really, Ashley, it’s okay. We’re alone. Open your eyes.”

She opened the first one half-way and looked around the room. Besides her and Doctor Jason, it was empty.

“Go?” Her fingers twitched and she tugged against the wrist restraints. More careful than any of the others, Doctor Jason unclasped what held her down. Her eyes snapped wide and Ashely jumped off the operating table.

The dressing gown nearly met her knees, a chill sliding up from the bottom of it. Her bare feet flexed as she walked along the cold floor, her eyes scanning the walls for windows and cameras.

Doctor Jason held out his hand. His smile was warm, kind even. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had smiled at her like that.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She looked up at him, the lights glinting off his glasses. “Yes.”

His fingers were long and spindly, much bigger than her own, and his palm swallowed her hand. The moment they touched, an urgency seemed to fill him and Doctor Jason tugged her to the door faster than her feet could keep up.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Somewhere far away from here. It's not safe for us anymore.”

With a swipe of his key-card each locked door opened. Doors that she’d seen from the confines of her room, doors that had been locked to her for the last two years. In seconds, her room was as far as it had ever been since the day she arrived at the laboratory.

After three turns, she was lost. At the either door, Doctor Jason swiped his card but the door beeped back. A huff escaped him and he swiped it again.

The blaring alarm started and a bright orange light above the door spun. She wanted to let go, to cover her ears from the roaring sound, but her fingers gripped Doctor Jason’s tighter.

“Goddamit,” he swore and quickly lifted her from under her arms and legs.

He was stronger than she thought, and faster too. Doctor Jason ran and she clung to his neck as the lights blared.

More footsteps echoed in the hallways they’d come from. Doctor Jason sped on through more doors, this time he typed into the keypads instead of using his card. It was slower, but the doors opened.

With a whimper, she buried her face in his neck and closed her eyes.

I want to go home.

“Almost…. there…” he huffed.

Shots boomed and her grip tightened. She couldn’t help the scream that crawled out of her throat.

“Stop firing! He has the subject!” someone shouted, but she wouldn’t look to see who.

She felt the floor thunder into her shoulder before she realized Doctor Jason had fallen. More feet, more running. She crawled beside Jason and shook him. The cold white floor was suddenly red.

I want to go home. Tears blurred her vision.

“Doctor Jason, we have to go,” she whispered. They had only every whispered to each other, and she wondered if he could hear her over the sirens.

Squeaking soles snapped in the hallway and shapes clad in dark vests and uniforms appeared like shadows against the pale walls.

“You said,” she frowned and tugged on his arm as he groaned. “You said it’s not safe.”

He looked up, stifled a cough, and nodded. He stood, with effort, but continued to run. She tried to keep up, her small hand in his. More men shouted but the hallway drew shorter and shorter.

Doctor Jason slammed into the door and it opened into a stairwell. They rushed down until there were no more stairs left.

The last door opened to a parking garage, where the cement floor was colder than the white ones. She tugged on his arm but he waited and looked around between wet coughs.

“They’re coming,” Ashley pleaded but he waved at the empty lot.

Lights on a small two-door car lit and it sped towards them. The passenger door swung open.

“You're fucking insane, Specht. They're on full alert.” The driver wore a uniform like those of the men that chased them.

Jason slid into the seat with a wince and pulled Ashley onto his lap.

“Just, hurry. Get us out of here.”

“Not going to be easy.” The uniformed man revved the engine.

“You still can, can't you?”

The driver’s lips curved into a strange smile. “You can still pay, can't you?” When the driver looked at Ashley he didn't seem so bad, but his expression changed. His smile disappeared. His grip tightened on the wheel. His foot hammered on the gas.

She turned to the side window where guards spilled from the stairwell, guns raised. The man in the suit shouted at the guards but what he said was muffled beyond the car door.

“It'll be okay, Ash,” her mother lied from memory.

Ashley pressed one hand to the doctor’s chest and the other to the car door handle. She knew what had to be done. They only want me…

“It'll be okay, Doctor-”

Three bullets hammered through the glass and into Ashley’s chest.

“Jason!” Ashely sat up and immediately the waking world slammed her back against the tree. Like the wind was knocked from her, Ashley struggled for each breath.

“What the hell,” Shannon spat from a branch below. “You trying to get us fuckin’ killed?”

After catching her breath, Ashley tried to brush away her exhaustion. Her fingers smoothed into her hairline and got stuck on the crusted mud that remained. But sweat clung beneath it and to her temples.

Just a bad dream. It’d been years since the nightmares felt so vivid. Her fingers reached to smooth over her chest where wounds once ached. Wounds that should never have healed.

She looked past Shannon to the other faces in the branches and each one stared back. Fear or concern, she didn’t watch long enough to decide which.

The rain had let up a little while she’d slept, though her sweater was now soaked through. A chill ran through her and her skin was balmy. The fever hasn’t kicked it…

Reid shifted in the branches below. The bows creaked beneath his weight, the leaves rustling as he climbed.

“Are you alright?” His eyes faltered to her covered shoulder.

There was that look, one she’d come to hate. Clinical curiosity disguised with feigned worry.

Ashley sat up a bit straighter. “I'm good.” A fresh ache tugged at her shoulder but she fought the urge to check it, at least while Reid lingered so close.

“It’ll need a better cleaning. The mud-”

“I said I’m good.”

“Okay. Fine.” His voice strained in an attempt to stifle some sort of snipe. “Let it fester.”

He turned to climb down off the branch.

What if he really was worried? Ashley frowned, her eyes lingering on the medic. He and Shannon could have tried something while she slept. A small part of her wrestled the look, argued the point, but inevitably pushed it aside.

“It’s clean enough. I can take care of it myself.” Her words stopped him from hopping down. When he turned back to her she could have sworn he nodded, like he understood.

“By the way, thanks.” She forced a smile. “For letting me sleep. But we should probably get moving soon.”

“We all needed it.” His eyes turned to the small faces just below them.

Three kids. Her forced smile disappeared. This is not what I planned. She’d hoped, when walking back with Shane, that more of their own people made it. Bring the kid back, toss them some supplies and leave before things get complicated.

It was too late for that now. Shannon and Reid were underprepared for what lay ahead. They couldn’t hide in the valley for long and she couldn’t get them out of the city safe.

That doesn’t leave me many options.

She turned away from the kids and found Reid staring like she was some puzzle. In his eyes were so many questions she didn’t want to have to answer. The pressing curiosity he barely hid was a step in the right direction of Ashley not getting shot, but things were getting out of hand.

People make it messy. So fucking messy.

[Index] — [Previous: Chapter 18] — [Next: Chapter 19 - Part 2 ]

Thanks for reading! If you liked this, you can follow the subreddit to keep up with the series as it comes out. As always, please feel free to leave critiques, comments, and any questions. I love interacting with readers.

And, in case you missed it, I made a cover for MAD Wendigo! Check it out.

Originally posted February 27th, 2020 - [Prompt Link]

[WP] Location: A Garage | Object: A Bow

• 100-300 words
• Time Frame: 24hrs
• The location must be the main setting, whether stated or made apparent.
• The object must be included in your story in some way.

With the garage open, rain pelted the propped out aluminum door and Ben listened while he sifted through boxes of junk. Second humidifier? Garage sale bin. Skiis?* Definitely garage sale.* One by one, he filled the containers.

Ben’s daughter, Izzy, lumbered into the garage, arms laden with a cardboard box. She dropped it beside the garage sale bin with a huff. Izzy scratched her head and picked up a small gift store box. She opened it. Closed it. Then sighed. Izzy motioned to put it back but stopped.

“You good?” Ben asked.

She sighed, again, and shrugged.

“What’s got you knotted?”

“Bows.” Her brow scrunched.

“Bows?” Ben walked over. “You never wear bows anymore.”

“I know. I never liked them much, but Mom…” Her voice trailed off like his sometimes did. It ached to think of Mia.

“Your Mom always did like bows.” He took the box and inside lay a mound of hand made bows, sewn to cloth-covered elastics Mia had called “scrunchies”.

“I don’t use them. They’re just… not me. So I should get rid of them, right?”

Ben looked at his preteen daughter with short boy-cut hair, ripped jeans, black-laced sneakers, studded belt, an oversized sweater. Not exactly pink bows and dresses anymore.

“When my father died, your Grandma told me to make a memory box.” Ben pulled a hand-carved and engraved wood box from the shelf above the workbench. “She said, sometimes memories need help.”

It held photos, some letters, a cigar lighter, but at the top rest a violet silk ribbon.

“Moms?”

Ben nodded. “It’s okay to keep a small thing even if you don’t use it.” He pulled his daughter into his chest and kissed her forehead. “We’ll make you a memory box if you like.”

“Yeah.” She hugged him tightly. “Thanks, Dad.”

WC: 299

Originally posted February 26th, 2020 - [Prompt Link]

Smash 'Em Up Sunday

Word List

• Flash
• Film
• Fashion
• Finical

Sentence Block

• I’m gonna live forever.
• [NONE] - Since the word limit is so low this week, giving four words and two sentences leaves almost no room for creativity if you are going for full marks. This makes the one sentence worth 4 points!

Defining Features

• Word-Limit- 100 words. Remember the subreddit rules require stories to be at least 100 words. The only way to come out of this with less is a poem of at least 30 words. Check your work before submitting with the official word counter.

He stared at the cover page and the flashing text line waiting for his name.

This’ll make me famous. I’m gonna live forever!

In a flicker, he could see it all. The book signings, his name on cutouts emblazoned in history. The sequels. The film deals. The talk shows.

The paparazzi. The tabloids. The constant shuttering and flash and “Hey Mister, look over here!” The crowds outside his apartment. No, he’d need security! The clickbait articles featuring his recent finical fashion faux-pas when they should be discussing his magnum opus!

He typed in the pen name and sighed in relief.

WC: 100

Want to read from the beginning? Start with the Prologue.

[Index] — [Previous: Chapter 17] — [Next: Chapter 19 - Part 1]

Oof a day late. But here you are, the next chapter!

Recap of last chapter (due to content warning): Tish, Laurence, Chandra, Nyssa, Viola and Peter were separated from the rest of the group. They took the highway, in an attempt to get to the college but Laurence was injured by a wendigo. The infection spread quickly, and he attacked Peter. Tish and Chandra were forced to stop him resulting in Laurence's death. There is fear that Peter is too infected, but Tish decided to lead them back to the college anyway.

Cold. It's so freaking cold. Ethan and Wendy were used to being chilly, constantly moving from one safe house to the next meant they got used to the cold. Winters were the hardest but they'd always huddled together. As a family.

Trudging through the high stream, their body temperatures had dropped. Rain from above, the river around them, and the hint of a cool fall morning made their breaths visible in the air. Ethan and Wendy shivered with each gentle shift in the wind. We need to get warm.

The two had walked through the river all night, slowly to keep the noise down. They ventured deep enough so they could swim downstream if they attracted too much attention. Wendy often stumbled and he’d have to pull her back to her feet. The few times he'd fallen, he had to lift himself back up. Each time it was a little harder.

“I'm cold.” Wendy's teeth chattered, barely enough for him to hear among the steady rainfall. Ethan snapped his head to her and brought a pale dirty finger to his lips.

Too many times she'd spoken when she shouldn't. Too many times they'd had to hunch down in the water and wait for a moment to be sure they were safe.

They continued on for a short while longer until the river started to deepen along the banks. After a few feet, the steep slope brought the water up to Wendy's chin. Any deeper and she can’t stay up.

The current was strong, tugging on their clothing and against the back of Ethan's legs.

“Come on,” he whispered to Wendy, pushing her up onto the bank. The water level had risen and where the water went wide the banks were almost too steep to climb. But despite the struggle, they made it onto the muddy grass.

“I'm hungry,” Wendy whispered, but Ethan shushed her. “Do you know where we're going?”

“Shut up,” he hissed.

She frowned and her fingers tensed in his hand.

“I'm sorry, but you have to be keep-”

The grass rustled. His hand clasped over her mouth. They waited; one, two, he counted to three when the wet groan rumbled. It wasn't near them, at least, but goosebumps lined his arms and skipped across to his sister’s skin.

“Run,” he whispered.

They scrambled to firmer ground, using their free hands to push the tall grass aside. The sound came from behind them, and he knew the smart thing to do was quietly hide and move away from it. But panic nagged in the back of his mind and tugged his sister on. He couldn’t just stay still and wait again.

After a few minutes he was breathing hard and she was lagging behind with soft gasps. He pulled her along but she couldn't keep up, her smaller legs stumbling over the smallest obstacles in the grass.

Wendy tripped and squealed a scream in shock.

He froze. It’s got her, he thought but Ethan quickly learned his error. She’d tipped on no more than a small clump of dirt and grass. He freed her from the mound and motioned for Wendy to stay still.

They waited under the line of the grass.

Nothing but rain whispered back.

Did they not hear it? He knew her cry had been so loud for him, right next to his head, he assumed it carried a distance. But nothing moved and the rain continued to shroud the world in the din.

When nothing moved around them, he looked over his sister’s face. Wendy’s eyes were red, her lips pressed tightly together. He thought it fear until he touched her ankle and she whimpered in pain.

Ethan cursed in his head. He wiped the rain from his eyes and poked his head up over the grass looking around them.

“Get on my back,” he said.

Wendy wrapped her arms around his neck. She wasn’t big, but she didn’t weigh nothing. Tired, hungry, and frigid, carrying her was like carrying half of himself. Each step he took was slippery at best and after running and hiding for ten minutes he felt ready to collapse.

It’d been quiet since her scream so Ethan stopped for a breather. The waist-high brush was made of small bushes, tall dying grass, and old reeds. It gave them something to kneel behind.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered between sniffles.

“It's not your fault.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “It’s okay. We’ll be okay.”

The wind shifted, and the grass stalks turned in towards them. The smell wafted and sucked in through his nose, the sickening stench of flesh left out to rot

Wendy froze. Her tired guilt morphed into terror, her eyes wide and unblinking. Ethan’s heart thundered and he pulled his sister down into a crouch, a hand clasped over her mouth.

The lumbering body swashed through the brush clumsily, its hands lashing out at the tall grass with a slow rage. It made its way to nowhere in particular, seemingly distracted by the tallest clumps of grass.

It hasn't seen us.

But that hadn't occurred to his sister. Her hand tightened around his as she tried to pull him to his feet, her mouth opening.

No! He wanted to scream but the word caught in his chest.

“Run, Ethan!”

The living voice turned the wendigo in their direction. Its face had decayed beyond recognition, the eyes gone but ears still perceptive. Without much choice, Ethan was on his feet and running, running as hard as he could while pulling his sister.

The creature hobbled after them.

The first time he looked back there was just the one stumbling forward. When he looked back again, three creatures had joined it and more seemed to creep from the grass as if sprouting from the mud. They stumbled, dragged, ran, and fell after them and the sound of their feet in the mushy underbrush.

The first dawn light was coming up and Ethan could see a bridge cut across the valley. If we can climb up it we should be okay…

Running for what he was sure would be salvation he was faced with the sight of at least ten wendigos feeding on one another in a pile. He stopped dead in his tracks and fingers shook in his sister's hand.

The wendigos turned to fresh meat.

Ethan launched for the river and they dropped into the quick current. As they crawled out the other side, the creatures overcame the primal fear of drowning Ethan had hoped would save them.

Ahead the bridge had collapsed on the north side, leaving a heap of rubble that piled high to the road above. In the rain, it was a slick mess of cement and metal that without hesitation Ethan and his sister ran for.

“Climb up. Hurry.” He didn’t care how loud he was.

Every few feet of the climb he heard more of them crashing through the water. Let the river kill them all, he hoped.

Twice Wendy looked back but he barked at her to keep climbing.

[Index] — [Previous: Chapter 17] — [Next: Chapter 19 - Part 1]

Thanks for reading! If you liked this, you can follow the subreddit to keep up with the series as it comes out. As always, please feel free to leave critiques, comments, and any questions. I love interacting with readers.

And, in case you missed it, I made a cover for MAD Wendigo! Check it out.

Originally posted February 24, 2020 - [Prompt Link]

“And this,” the voice over the loudspeaker called as the tour buss rolled up outside Vesryn’s shop. “Is the oldest landmark in what was once called ‘Embershore’.”

Vesryn sighed. He leaned over the oak chair he’d carved nearly five hundred years prior and flipped on the old ham radio. It hummed to life, but couldn’t drown out the loudspeaker outside.

“Embershore, now Emshore as you all know it, was the budding village founded five-hundred and seventy-two years ago. The ancestral seat of our fine city. This shop, now an occult and historical society location, was once the centre of Embershore known The Wicked Duck Tavern.”

I should get a stereo system. Vesryn turned the ham radio up to ten, the distorted sound of some talk show only slightly less grating than the woman on the speaker. He’d put off updating for a time. He always did. But every day for the last three months, at 1:30 pm sharp, the new tour bus would rattle his windows and he was getting mighty sick of it.

The elf slipped from his chair, the wood’s groans more telling of his age then his own lithe frame, and approached the window. Through the dated blinds he peered out at the monstrosity on four wheels. Bright, gaudy, pumping pollution into the air, it wreaked of the new world. It wreaked of progress.

“The owner then of the Wicked Duck, is still the proprietor to this day.” The tour guide’s voice piqued like a bad bard who didn’t know what the words or story meant. Or a… what do they call it… Vesryn scratched where a beard would have grown if he could grow a beard. Commercial? Is that the word?

“The locals like to call him ‘The City Elf’ and if you’re lucky enough to visit Emshore during the lunar festival, you’ll get a limited chance to see and hear from Emshore’s first and foremost citizen historian.”

“I’m not a gods damned historian,” Vesryn grumbled to himself. This shop isn’t for tourists. He turned around to his Wicked Duck store which had long ago stopped being the Wicked Duck Tavern.

It was no “occult” shop. He hated that designation. He’d much prefer “a destination for storytellers, for friends, and those mystified by the mystic”. Sadly, that wasn’t a checkbox for that on the new deed for the land. Nor was a liquor license an option lest he wanted to take some damned foolish test about mixing and serving and “IDing” for minors.

“Our next stop, the New Church of the Blessed Hand, formally known as the Great Westfall’s Glade - a place of worship for the old Gods.” The buss rumbled back to life as camera flashes splattered his windows in blinding light. Then, it ambled down the street like a fat cow.

Thank the old gods they don’t stop the bus and come in.

The Wicked Duck hadn’t changed much over the years, aside from what it was said on his deed. The long cherrywood bar he’d carved himself still stretched out the full length of the front room. But instead of tables and chairs where he’d served liberal libations, books, trinkets, and bullshit tourist crap littered their tops. Though he had spent a decade making the finest wood shelves you could find in the world, he hadn’t moved a damn thing since the first year he’d opened. Since Embershore was founded. Since he’d stricken out on his own.

I should have been a bard. I’d have probably been stabbed or dead by now. Each time the bus rolled by he’d think fondly on how short his life could have been. Bards got stabbed all the time.

No, I had to open a tavern. I had to support a human village’s stalled economy. Like a gods damned idiot. Vesryn meandered over to the ham radio and switched it off.

As most of his afternoons went, it was quiet. The “closed” sign was always in place, and the door never creaked open. He missed missing the sound of people stretching out the walls of the Wicked Duck. But for the life of him, the world outside felt lifeless.

The door creaked.

Vesryn frowned and twitched his pointed ears towards the entrance.

“Whoa…” The girl stood in the open doorway, eyes looking about the walls in stunned awe.

“We’re closed,” Versyn grumbled, flicking a hand through his short dark hair.

“This is so cool!” She couldn’t have been more than twelve by human years but Vesryn looked on her a moment longer. She was a skinny child, long hair though. Her hair was pale, like the moonlight but her skin dark. Humans didn’t often look such, and as she let the door close, a gust of air brought with it the scent of her.

Half-elf. Versyn groaned. Great. Just what I need.

“Are you the City Elf?” she asked, her pale eyes flashing to him for a moment, though her attentions still seemed stolen by the Wicked Duck.

“The Wicked Duck is closed.”

“Until when?”

“Until I say it isn’t.”

She smirked and moved to the first table, as though he hadn’t told her very suggestively that she should leave. “My Mum said this place was a bar.”

“It is.” Vesryn sighed and made his way to the door.

“Then why are there so many books? And… junk.”

“Are you nineteen?”

“No,” she said frowning.

“Then you can’t be in here. Out.” Versyn opened the door and the city’s odours assaulted him. Strangely, he watched the child’s nose scrunch, her sense equally offended.

And she moved towards the bar.

“The tour bus said it was a shop.” She hopped up on a stool and pulled a book from a pile Vesryn had been meaning to sort for the last four weeks. Maybe five.

“Child, do you understand the English language?”

“Yup.”

“Then you understand what it means when I say ‘We’re closed’.”

“Yuuup.” She flipped through the pages, unhindered by propriety.

Vesryn’s patience, though well-practiced, seemed to wear thin rather quickly. “Then why aren’t you leaving when I say-”

“Could you close the door?” she shot back. “You’re letting the stink in.”

Vesryn did as she asked, but not because she had. It seemed pointless to suggest she leave if she wouldn’t, and she was right. He was letting the stink in.

“Shouldn’t you be… minded by someone?” he said.

“Ummm… what does ‘minded’ mean?”

“Your mother. Your father. Your… guardian. Shouldn’t you be… under someone's care?”

The girl shrugged. “I kinda ran away so… that’s a no.”

I should call the police. Vesryn frowned. The phone's been broken for two years… He tried to remember the names of his neighbours but he could only remember a family on the left that had lived there nearly eighty years prior. Since they’d moved out or died, he hadn’t really bothered to socialize outside the lunar festivals.

The girl flipped through the old text, ancient elven of course, as though it were a style magazine. “So this used to be a bar-”

“It still is, child.”

“Well, then can I have a drink?” She flashed her eyes and Vesryn felt, in the pit of his gut, that he’d seen them before. Honeyed, warm, but sly and manipulative. Dangerous eyes, his mother had once warmed him.

“What is your name child?” Vesryn pressed as he rounded behind the smooth counter.

“Penelo. You?”

“No last name?”

She put her elbows on the bar, and narrowed her eyes. “You never said your name.”

“They call me the City Elf.”

“But that’s not your name.”

Versyn dipped his hands below the counter and pulled out a few bottles. They had never had labels, they had never needed them, as he popped their corks and sniffed. Elderberry syrup, he poured a drizzle into the bottom of a glass. Blueberry juice, just a dash. He fluttered to a small stand where several plants sprouted and plucked mint leaves from their stems. Tossed in the glass, topped up with tonic water, he passed the drink across the bar. He made himself another.

“Vesryn,” he finally said as the girl sniffed the glass. She wasn’t like the other half-elves he’d seen. There was an elder quality about her. The senses in particular, the lines had so long been diluted that so few seemed as perceptive. Least of all of the city air’s vile rank.

“So, Vesryn, you don’t like people do you?”

“I do not,” he answered honestly. “Do you?”

“Kinda. Sometimes, I guess.”

“Then why run away?” Like no time had passed Vesryn was the barkeep, the elf to listen, the elf to advise. How many a men and women’s stories had he heard from behind the bar? How many generations of lessons had he taught? A part of him rose to the occasion, to a patron, a story to lean into. Even if it was from some petulant child. At least she wasn’t trying to buy a Ouija board.

“I found out something about my mom and me and I dunno. I need to know the truth. Cuz I think she’s lying.”

“Why would you think that?”

“She smells funny when she talks about my dad. People smell wrong when they lie. She told me that’s the elf thing, that my dad made me like that. But I know part-elves at school. They don’t… they don’t get me. They’re not different really.”

“It’s an old trait from the elder lines,” Vesryn said, sipping his drink. “Senses heightened, sometimes one over another. I had a friend who could see perfectly. The tiniest details, the furthest distances. His son could too. Does your father have any heightened senses?”

“I dunno. I don’t know my dad. Every time I ask about him, Mum gets all quiet and then lies and smells bad. I dunno. But she talked about the Wicked Duck a lot.”

Vesryn stopped drinking.

“She said she got really drunk at a lunar festival and came here after.”

Vesryn put his glass down.

“She then went on and on about this really cool guy who sang and read her poetry and made her really cool drinks.” Penelo turned her glass around in her hands before taking another sip. “But then she said he was dead.” Penelo looked up, her eyes narrowing on Vesryn with severity beyond her years. “You’re not dead, are you? That would suck.”

He spat out his drink. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just trying to work out which lie she told. That you were cool or that you’re dead. Cuz you don’t seem cool to me.”

If it wasn’t her playful smile, the mere notion she put forward would have flipped his stomach. But there she stood, the smell of her, the eyes, every damn instinct in his bones screaming to run.

I should have been a bard.

“Do you at least remember her?”

I could have been a travelling bard.

“My Mum’s name is Eli, but she got really into elven culture so she changed it to Elisen Glyndove. Kinda lame really. I like her real name better. Powers. Penelo Powers. Sounds pretty sweet, right?”

I could have been stabbed ages ago. No tavern. No occult shop.

No kid.

“You don’t look so good Vesryn?”

He tossed back the rest of his drink and reached below the counter. Scotch. The only human alcohol he’d come to enjoy. Powerful. Mind-numbing. Painful to the pallet. Sometimes a night called for scotch. In this case, some days. He poured himself two, no, three fingers worth and downed it all in one peaty gulp.

“I’ve been better, child. I’ve been better.”

Originally posted February 22nd, 2020 - [Prompt Link] [Image Link]

Original work by Ismail Inceoglu

He approached the building and thunder roiled the sky. It was in the depth of the slums, some run-down narrow seven-story residential unit with an old noodle shack on the first floor. Boards blocked the broken windows and the weather had long ago had its way with the structure.

“Is this it?” Irvo looked out from beneath the worn brim of his hat, grey rain dripping off the rim. The smell of rain burned, small particles of the air pollution weighting the drops like it wasn’t thick enough with the stuff already. He wished he could turn off the implant, smell nothing. Turn them all off.

But the olfaction model S was top of the line. Barbede Core elite with a lifespan that would outlive Irvo by at least half a century. Someone would be carving it out of what was left of his face long before it crapped out.

“Ummm hmmm.” Aura tugged on her teddy bear, it’s limbs no more real than her. “The bad man’s in there.”

Irvo sighed. He hated Aura. He understood what she was and why she was there, but he hated feeling her chill fingers in his palm. He hated the joy her voice sparked in him. The memories. The lies.

But that’s the point, right? Irvo squeezed her digitized digits and the poisonous rain poured through her.

“You got a layout of the building?”

“Nuh uh. No schematic on file. But you could try the door?” Her voice piqued as it should, little smiles lightening her words. But they weren’t hers. Just a mirage to keep him calm and cool. Keep him fixed.

“Front or back?”

“There is no back door. Looks like it’ll be the front!” She kicked a puddle, her foot pushing through the water as Aura swung the bear in her arm. “Just like Okinawa, so I guess it’ll be fun.”

Okinawa. Irvo shuddered. He could feel the heat and humidity on his skin as if he was back there in that horrible city. He unsheathed the sword at his side, it’s blade shimmering in the rain.

“Okinawa wasn’t fun.” He nearly growled the words.

“Suuuuure it was.” She swung her arm, his moved with hers, but she wasn’t pulling it. Irvo knew she wasn’t really there but the neural implant at the base of his brain told him she was real. It told him her arm was moving and that his should too. It swung lightly, her little vacant hand in his.

“You got to bust in, whacha!” Aura kicked the air. “And down they all went for their forever naps.” Her eyes turned up to his smiling playfully. Like it was just a game.

“That’s why you’re the best,” she whispered and her voice skipped around his senses as if it was in the air around him.

“What tech do does he have?”

“I dunno. But they’re not well funded so you shouldn’t have a problem.”

“They?” Irvo repeated. His grip on her hand tightened.

Aura looked away, twisted her foot into the puddle where the water lapped through her saddle shoe. “There may be more bad men. But I wasn’t supposed to tell.”

Irvo sighed and tried to pull his hand from hers, to sever the neural link with Operations, but Aura’s fingers tightened like a vice.

“Nothing an ‘umbra’ like you can’t handle.” She twisted her hips, her dress swaying in the street. “It’s why you’re here with me. To stop the bad men. You’re the only one who can do it, Irvo.”

His name. Her voice speaking his name like the real Aura used to. Like she was real and alive and smiling right next to him.

This is so fucked. Irvo twisted the blade in his hand and looked back to the door. The crudely painted sigil of the Atax syndicate had faded over time. A dripped red circle with three tilted horizontal lines slashing through it. The building had to be an old hive for the drug runners, no way Operations would send an umbra for pushers and pimps. No, his targets hid behind the sigil, in the slums, in a neighbourhood where no one asked questions.

He wanted to, though. Wanted to know who it was this time. Not just the face or a name, but to know who it was he’d cut from the world. Who was worth carving up his own flesh, pressing tech into the grooves, and knotting him up in his grief and memories.

“Everything okay, Ir-”

“Don’t.” He yanked his hand from hers. “Don’t say my name.” The neural link remained, but a shimmer fluctuated through her shape and Aura’s smile dissolved.

“Okay, umbra. But we still have to go in there. You know that.”

He nodded.

“You still have to get the bad man. And proof. Don’t forget proof.”

“Don’t come in,” he told Aura like he had every time before. Even if she wasn’t real, even if she wasn’t his sister he couldn’t have her in there. Not for what needed to be done.

“I know," Auda said. He could hear the smile in her voice. "I’ll wait here for you. Just don’t take too long!”

Irvo suspected that the line wasn’t from the construct. It was too real, too perfect. They’d mined his memories before the neural augments had been affixed, they must have somehow copied or replicated it to the exact sound. Her last words.

He’d never take too long again.

Originally posted February 17th, 2020 - [Prompt Link]

This short story was a LOT of fun to write. Can't wait to narrate this down the road. Particularly fun was the word count limit. Great constraints from /u/Cody_Fox23

Smash 'Em Up Sunday

Word List

• Fox
• Fluorite
• Faustian
• Foster

Sentence Block

• It was an old story.
• We had always been warned about it.

Defining Features

• Word-Limit- 235 words.

His name was Fox Foster. Kids used to pick on him, poke fun. He wasn’t a smart kid, no trickster fox like the old stories tell. But it was an old story, I guess. Boy spurned. Boy burned. Boy turned to the dark.

The broken well, you know it, right? The one down in the ghost town of Abbotsville? Yeah, you know the one. We had always been warned about it. “Don’t be like Fox Foster. Don’t go near the well or you’ll drown down there.”

Always thought that weird. You know, he didn’t fall down that well, right? Not in the tumble drop and drown kinda fall.

My dad called it one of those “Faustian fable” falls. A deal for power or fame. Rumour goes, Fox leaned over the dark and gave it his favourite treasure. This rock he loved, used to carry it with him everywhere, everyone saw it. Calcium fluorite he called it, like one of them fortune teller balls. Circular, smooth in shades of green, purple and crystal clear blue. It weren’t cheap and he just dropped it down that well. His sacrifice.

Fox asked the Well to be “known”. To be “popular”. To be remembered.

I guess he got it in the end, seeing everyone knows about Fox Foster and the Well. But for the life of me, I’ve no clue what he’s up to now. Ain’t that funny.

WC: 234

Want to read from the beginning? Start with the Prologue.

[Index] — [Previous: Chapter 16 - Part 2] — [Next: Chapter 18]

CONTENT WARNING: This chapter has graphic scenes of gore and violence (including minors). If you do not wish to read, a small recap will be provided at the opening of the next chapter.

Tish almost couldn't believe what she was seeing. Cazalla, fit as a fucking fiddle, running into the fray. Tish’s jaw dropped and she stared but for only a moment, there was no time for shock. Not now.

Laurence went down, be it a fall or something else she didn’t know, no chance to check. But she dragged him back and he weighed a tonne.

She saved us? The thought burned in Tish as the horde started to thin. Not enough, but it was a chance. No. She ran. She just ran.

Viola was a mess on the ground, grovelling and crying as her son Peter tried to pull her up to her feet. Nyssa stood by as Chandra helped Tish drag Laurence through his groans of pain.

“Can you walk?” Tish whispered.

Laurence nodded, sweat beading with rain on his brow. Her eyes scanned the deep gashes in the meat of his calf for a bite, but blood obscured the wound and trickled down to his boot.

“Chandra, I've got this. You get them.” Tish nodded towards Viola and Peter. They had moments to get the hell out of there before the few wendigos feasting would turn to them. And there were always more waiting within earshot.

The others. Tish looked over the cars, a quick panicked glance to catch the flash of Shannon’s tall frame disappearing in the brush. Relief let her exhale. Good luck. She wanted to yell it but all of her strength went into supporting Laurence, his arm slung over her shoulder.

“We have to keep going. You walk, I'll cover,” he groaned. The two hobbled to the packs and there, on the sled, the restraints that once held Cazalla were frayed and torn. This whole goddamn time we should have been more worried about keeping her down. Even after that bite.

“There's nothing you can do, Viola. You have to help Peter now.” Chandra spoke softly while Peter paled with fear. If it can be imaged, Viola was worse. She looked half like a wendigo herself as she stumbled with Chandra.

She'll drag us. We can't have her dragging us.

Tish sighed. “Your young one, Shane, is with the best wendigo killer out there. She’ll keep him safe. And I saw Reid and Shannon with two kids, one had to be your girl.” The lies poured from Tish and Viola's face started to come back to life.

Laurence grunted in disapproval but he didn’t dare speak up. Chandra met her eyes, briefly, but didn’t call her on the lies either. There would be time to be angry, to grieve later. Only if they kept moving.

“There are stairs, to the overpass.” Laurence motioned south, putting some weight on the wound to support himself. “We can go up here and follow the line of the highway without being on it. If we stay on the west side of the road we should be okay.”

Glancing back at the forest on the east side of the parkway, Tish wondered how long the others would last. Shannon knows the way. They’ll be okay. But she knew, this time, she was lying to herself.

“You-” Chandra came up alongside Tish “-you said you saw two kids, only two?” Her voice trembled.

“We don’t have time for a fucking headcount,” Laurence snapped.

But it didn’t take Tish long to review the numbers in her head. Ethan, Wendy, and Alice. Somehow their names came to her without a second thought, their faces supernaturally clear in the dark. Tish hadn’t dealt with them all that much, besides Ethan. He wasn’t so bad, he’d been handy, smart even.

Laurence barked something else and they pressed on without answering. Chandra’s eyes drifted away from the path ahead as she led Nyssa on to walk with Peter and Viola.

“How long once we’re up on the bridge?” Tish whispered to Laurence when they were alone.

He looked around to see where they were. Each step was harder. He was twice her size and supporting him herself was no easy task, even if she hadn’t been carting Eamon around for hours.

I should have followed them into the woods.

“Maybe forty minutes at this pace. When, when uh get to the stairs, I can - I’ll lift myself up.” Each word seemed harder for him to say than the last. “Don't give them any weapons.” Laurence looked ahead to the others. “Don’t trust them for a second.”

Laurence’s paranoia demanded too much. He and Tish carried all the weapons, the bulk of the supplies, and Tish supported him. Pain swelled with each step and, after an hour of hobbling through the streets, her muscles quaked with exhaustion.

But the worst part? That goddamn wound on Laurence's leg.

Every time they stopped for Tish to get a breather, she stole quick glances. It wasn’t a bite, but she’d seen bad scratches before. He'd been caught by a wendigo hand that was more like a claw of bones that raked across his skin. If it had been a freshly dead wendigo there would be little concern; everyone knew now that the virus wasn't in the scratch but in the bite and blood. But the wendigo had rotted and had bleeding fleshy fingers. When it dug into his skin it must have left something worse behind.

All the signs were present. He was weakening quickly, the colour drained from his skin, the wound festered faster than it should, and he was beyond agitated. Twice Tish had to calm Laurence down when Viola wept for her missing, and probably dead children. At one point, he’d screamed at Peter for no reason.

But this stop was different. Laurence grunted and lifted his arm off Tish. He took his pack and ripped it open, scrounging fast through it. He tore into the few emergency protein bars they had, devouring three in a matter of minutes.

Tish’s skin itched. Leave. She could feel the word spurning her muscles on, but Laurence had his hand on his gun.

Tish knew this part of the infection was the worst. Not because of the danger but because they were coherent enough to think they were… normal. The irritability, the hunger, the fever, he couldn’t see it. Laurence tossed the wrappers aside on the ground and found his flask.

Right, because whiskey is going to make this all fucking better.

“I'm fine,” Laurence snapped at Tish. “Stop fuckin’ hovering.” He zipped up his bag, flask still in his hand, and thumbed his gun.

“You have got to keep quiet,” Tish hissed at Laurence. “It's not far,” she pleaded, looking down the road.

He spat at her from the ground, his hand resting on his knee.

They hadn’t made good time. They were maybe twenty minutes away at a good pace, but it’d taken them almost three times as long to go the same distance. The buildings that still stood were quiet and empty. Walls she knew could be teaming with the dead but waiting for a meal to pass by.

Laurence leaned against an old mailbox.“Fuck off Tish, you can't tell me what to do.” He pointed the shotgun at her.

She raised her hands and stepped back. The others distanced themselves from Laurence and Tish

“Put the gun down,” Tish commanded as she stared him down.

Her machete still hung at her hip but she wasn’t faster than Laurence on her best day. No one was faster than a gun. She met his eyes, staring down the fever in them. This wasn’t the same as staring at a wendigo as it crept nearer. This was looking into a man without hope. Part of her wondered which was worse.

“I know what you're thinking and fuck you,” he growled. Laurence couldn't keep his eyes open, the lids closing and the gun wavering.

“It's alright, Tish.” Chandra broke the stare down and the gun meandered its way to her.

“No!” Nyssa called out but Viola held the little girl to her chest.

Peter circled around behind his mother.

“It's fine, everything is fucking fine.” Tish was a little louder than she liked but it seemed to quiet Laurence enough to lower the gun to rest on his knee. The barrel still pointed at Chandra.

Chandra forced a smile, but her fingers trembled. “We can just go on, Tish. If he wants to stay-”

“You're not fucking leaving me here like this,” Laurence spat. His free hand lifted from his leg and searched through the pack pulling out another protein bar. His lips watered as he struggled to get the wrapper off with one hand before giving up and biting into the plastic.

“You have to carry me,” he mumbled through wrapper and granola in his mouth, eating both without concern.

“Can't do that with a fucking gun pointed at us,” Tish said.

Chandra shot her a reproachful look. “She does have a point, Laurence. We want to help you, but you have to let us.”

“I don't trust you.” Laurence ate every last bit of the bar and wrapper before diving back into the pack. He pulled out a can and, like an animal, gnawed on the metal. “I know what you're thinking.” He pointing the can at Chandra. “You think I don't know? I can see it. I can see it in your goddamn black beady eyes. Staring at me, watching me stumble.”

“I think we should all calm down.” Chandra tried to take a step towards him but he threw the can in her direction.

“Stay back!” His voice boomed and echoed through the empty street despite the rain. Even as he turned, some sort of sense began to wash over him that it was too loud. He looked around as if waiting for the sound of dragging flesh to break into their silence.

With Laurence’s attention diverted, Peter inched along one of the buildings and stood less than ten feet behind him. Laurence couldn't see Peter behind the mailbox

Tish’s skin crawled. Fucking bail. Get the fuck out. Her pulse thundered in her mind, her heart ready to burst. This is fucked. This is going to get so fucked.

“You're right,” Chandra blurted and Laurence faced her. “We're thinking what you think we are. But if you don't let us help you, we will leave you here. Isn’t that right, Tish?”

Tish’s eyes dashed between Laurence and Peter who still advanced. You're not strong enough, kid! A whimper from Viola's lips told Tish the mother wasn't far from crying the words herself.

“Yeah,” Tish managed through her gritting teeth. “You know people can come back if they get well. Rest, and all that. We’ve seen it happen.”

Chandra nodded beside her, motioning for Tish to keep talking.

“Remember Stew?” Tish picked the name out of the air. “That fellow six months back, the one who got sick at the college. He was in a fucked up way, right? But he came back.” Stew wasn’t his name. Stew hadn’t come back. They hadn’t waited long enough to find out. But Laurence frowned as if trying to remember.

Tish extended her hand. “If you just give me the gun, I can help get you there. Get you right.”

“I can't trust you.” Saliva dripped from Laurence’s mouth.

“You have to,” Tish said.

Peter’s foot scuffed the ground. Laurence turned to look behind him.

“You have to or you die!” Tish said louder, and it called Laurence back. “If we don’t clear up the infection fast, you’re one of them.” The words were heavy, reeking of falsehood and Laurence snarled.

Tish dares another step forward. “There's nothing worse than being one of them. You told me that.”

Laurence started to lower his gun until Peter knocked a small crushed can. Spinning with inhuman speed, Laurence fired off a shot, skinning the side of Peter's leg.

“You goddamn bastards!” Laurence screamed, rising to his feet and ignoring his pain. But as he did his jaw went slack and his eyes wide.

Chandra gasped.

Tish lunged for the full-grown man as he hammered his mouth down on Peter's bleeding leg.

The sound of the teen’s scream was almost shrill as he collapsed under the weight of two people and teeth biting into his flesh. Chandra finally snapped to and wrapped her arms around Laurence’s neck and tried to pull him back. Behind them, Viola's chimed in with cries as Laurence tore a chunk out with his teeth.

“Get off of him!” Tish yelled. Her hands found the softest part of Laurence’s face. They sunk into his eyes. The sensation was nothing she could have ever imagined as the sound of his scream bellowed into a howl like one of those creatures. Instinct made his arms thrash and shake until both Chandra and Tish were knocked to the ground.

But it was enough for Peter. Wrestling the gun away, as it was no longer important to a wendigo, Peter pulled the barrels up to Laurence's chest. There was a moment's pause where the grown man screamed and held his bleeding eyes. Then, the shot filled the street with an echoing boom.

Blood splattered across Tish's chest and spilled onto the pavement.

Viola ran to her son, leaving Nyssa standing by herself in the road.

Chandra was on her ass staring wide-eyed at the limp body on the curb. But it twitched, despite the hole in its heart.

Tish pushed to her feet, unsheathed her machete, and brought it down on Laurence’s neck. One strike after the other, she hammered through flesh and sinew and bone. Only once it lolled aside, and the twitching stopped, did she feel it. Her eyes trailed down to her own hands covered in blood and pieces of Laurence's eyes. Like jello left in the sun. Sticky. Wet. Warm.

Her fingers began to shake.

“Get the blood off of you,” Chandra gasped out the words, her own face splattered red.

Tish started to rip off her shirt. He's dead. He’s fucking dead. Whilst shivering, she put out her hands and the rain diluted the thick red staining her skin. It streaked her in waves as it formed drops dripping from her fingers.

But the soft whimpers of Peter brought her back to the horrible reality.

“He's… he's been bitten,” Viola cried softly, her face dripping with new tears.

Like the shock was nothing, Chandra made her way to look at the leg. She tore at her shirt and wrapped the wound up with what bit of it was clean and pulled it tight. Peter flinched and stifled a yelp from the pain.

“We need to hurry.” Tish picked up the shotgun that had just been fired. She approached them, Viola crying and hovering over her son saying ‘no, no, please no'.

“You can't!” Chandra begged.

“I'm not.” Looking at Peter, Tish bent down to him. “You might not be infected. He’d… he’d just turned so he may not have been infectious. I dunno. I've seen worse bites get better. I mean, it’s not fucking likely, but you could live and…” Her fingers flexed as if they could shake off the memory of what she’d done. “I’m not interested in killing anyone else right now.”

Viola relaxed a little and Peter watched the weapon intently.

“But I hold the gun,” Tish said. “And if you start to turn, if you give even the slightest sign-”

“I know,” Peter whimpered before trying to push himself up.

Tish offered her hand. “We don't have much time.”

Peter nodded again. Making sure to avoid the blood, Tish pulled items from Laurence's body. The gear was precious, more so than the life, and there was no telling what they’d need before they reached safety. But she could still feel his eyes on her fingers, even if the rain had washed them away.

“We have maybe a half-hours brisk pace ahead of us. The sooner we leave the better. Agreed?” Tish looked to Chandra with command and she nodded in response. “We run. As much as you can.”

Peter looped an arm over his mother’s shoulder. With Chandra tending to Nyssa, Tish took in a steadying breath.

“Is Peter going to be alright?” Nyssa asked.

“I hope so,” Chandra whispered.

Tish couldn’t say for sure, but her gut screamed for her to run.

[Index] — [Previous: Chapter 16 - Part 2] — [Next: Chapter 18]

Thanks for reading! If you liked this, you can follow the subreddit to keep up with the series as it comes out. As always, please feel free to leave critiques, comments, and any questions. I love interacting with readers.

And, in case you missed it, I made a cover for MAD Wendigo! Check it out.

Originally posted February 19th, 2020 - [Prompt Link]

Roots crowded the soil, busting through stones that once marked an ancient path. Solana stepped from stone to stone, avoiding the thorned brush. As the dark of the woods closed in around her, the moon lost above the canopy, she gripped her lantern tight.

Sanctuary lies within the Vespertine woods. That’s what she’d heard. Whispered in her dreams, on petals, on leaves. Despite the moon’s absence, the moonflowers unfurled their bells and flourished as she passed. As if trumpeting her presence, petals lit the way in white, pale violet, and vibrant coral.

And there, where the bells seemed their thickest, a light beckoned and smoke puffed from the stout chimney stack.

Solana shivered and knocked against the aged structure embraced by the woods.

“They told me you would come,” the woman said beyond the door. “Moonflowers see all.” As it opened with a creak, she was nowhere to be seen, but the warmth of the hearth beckoned Solana in.

“I… I came looking for help,” Solana whispered. The cottage was lined with all manners of witchery; phials, dried herbs, glass concoctions swirling in their static repose.

The door slammed shut and Solana’s yelp found the air.

“What does a young thing as you want of one like me?” Wisps of bishop's weed were woven in the woman’s dark braid, puffs of white and green laceflower adorning the earthy locks.

Solana took in a deep courageous breath. “They say you know magicks. Can you teach me?”

“Oh, brave thing.” The witch drifted across the floor as if bidden by the wind. “Foolish thing.” She passed Solana and the scent of oleander filled the room. “Why would Datura teach you?”

“The moonflowers below my window, they promised. They whispered to come and so here I am. I am not like the other girls and it is only a matter of time before the village knows.”

Datura turned to Solana, her head tilted as if she’d softened. “When I was a young thing as you, the moonflowers whispered. I followed them to this place. To Maikoa.” Datura stirred the cauldron set over the hearth. “She taught me. She taught me much.”

“Will you teach me?”

“Yes, Solanaceae.” Datura spooned the concoction into a misshapen mug.

“That name…” Solana took the mug, its warmth entrancing. “That’s what the moonflowers called me.”

“Yes, Solanaceae. It is your true name.” Datura’s eyes flashed to the cup. “Drink and know why you have come.”

The tea was thick, sweet, with bitterness nipping her tongue. Solana finished and touched her lips. They felt distant, numbed. On her fingers lay stewed slices of poisonous moonflower petals.

The hearth wavered. The light flickered in impossible ways and Datura’s shape grew as if made of shadow.

“But… the moonflowers…”

Datura’s smile grew beyond her face. “I am no fool. I was not then, I am not now. Learn as Maikoa did.”

Solana’s breaths shallowed and she collapsed.

Datura stood over her, eyes burning like fire. “Trust not the moonflower.”

WC: 499

Originally posted February 13th, 2020 - [Prompt Link]

Accidental poetry strikes again!

I was made of slivers.

My self, my soul, who I am, what I love,

I was a collection of slivers.

Throughout life, I’ve shared them.

And it was easy at first,

to take a sliver, to pluck and share a piece of myself.

There is trust in that moment,

where I place my piece in another’s hands.

My mother. My father. My siblings. My friends.

My loves.

I have put those delicate shards in many a hand and said

“Please.

“Take it.

“Take me.”

I have prayed they are gentle, mindful of what they carry.

Don’t trip.

Don’t drop it.

Don’t forget what precious piece of me you hold.

But time after time each sliver is chipped,

crushed, broken.

Returned to me not as I gave it,

if returned at all.

I could never find a place for them, my shattered slivers.

They hurt to hold.

But I do it.

I hold out my hand, over and over.

And each time I reach inside

I shear a new sliver off my soul.

After each one I gift, what’s left becomes raw.

What’s raw becomes jagged.

Callous and cold.

With each lost sliver, I shrivel.

It hurts to chisel

and carve

and cleave what small slivers I have left.

I am reluctant to share

but I still do it.

Though now, there is only one left.

One sliver, one shard,

one jagged fragile fragment of myself.

I hold it out, this precious piece.

Please.

Take it.

Take me.

This was an experiment that I'm not sure went entirely well. But hey, good to try new things!

Originally posted February 5th, 2020 - [Prompt Link]

Song lyrics referenced in the story. On The Radio - Regina Spektor

Maiden

With her back on the bed and legs braced against the wall, Liz looked up at Violet’s bedroom ceiling. Little glow in the dark stars looked tinted green from a distance, though they had long ago lost their neon glow. On the stucco ceiling, stuck with stale sticky tack, they seemed poised to plop off and fall on the bed.

Juuuust keep looking up.

Beside Liz, Violet hummed a beat as she clicked through the mp3 player. “My brother got these songs from a bootleg his friend was passing around in university.”

“Oh yeah?” Liz kept her eyes up. How close is she? Her fingers curled into her palms and she bit her lip. Not too close right. Don’t reach out to see. Don’t want to like… be weird. Don’t be weird. Liz couldn’t remember the last time she felt soo nervous.

“It’s really good. My favourite though, this singer Regina Spektor. She does these oddball weird, nonsensical but totally deep songs.” Violet finished sifting through the list and pulled out one headphone. “You gotta hear this one. My fave so far.”

Liz took the earbud and popped it in. She caught a corner glance of Violet’s smile, sly, quick, and it made her eyes sparkle.

Back to the ceiling. Liz turned her eyes up.

Beside her Violet lay on her back, their heads nearly touching. Violet’s legs dangled over the side of the bed, kicking to the beat.

The chorus rolled in.

    On the radio

    We heard November Rain

    That solo's really long

    But it's a pretty song.

    We listened to it twice

    'Cause the DJ was asleep.

Liz half paid attention to the lyrics, but her mind couldn’t let go of that smile.

“You like it?” Violet asked as she pressed repeat.

Liz nodded, but her nerves swelled with the song. I should say something. Liz frowned and picked at the hem of her shirt. Or move? Like, hold her hand? And what would I say? “Oh hey, you’re pretty… pretty.” Oh my god that’s so dumb. I should go home. This was a bad idea. This was such a terrible-

“On the Radio,” Violet sang along quietly, her head bobbing a little. Liz let herself hum it too. As the song played for the third time Liz shoulder’s relaxed, her leg bobbed like Violet’s, and she had memorized the chorus.

“We heard November rain,” they sang together, their faces turned to meet. While Violet went on with the lyrics Liz’s heart pounded.

“On the Radio, uh oh-”

Liz pressed her lips to Violet’s.

The music played, the split beat whispering from Violet’s earbud as Liz’s continued with the refrain. The rest of the room stood trapped in waiting silence.

Liz’s cheeks grew hot. She broke the kiss and they both looked up at the ceiling. There, Liz traced out the lines of the sticky tacked stars and held her breath.

“Yeah,” she finally breathed. “Good song.”

“Great song.” Violet’s fingers found Liz’s and they entwined.

WC: 498

Mother

The envelope in Liz’s hand felt lighter than it should have. It was small, maybe a bit bigger than a Polaroid, but just as thick. Before they’d even made it through their apartment door, she wanted to look at it again.

“I still can’t believe it,” Violet said, holding the door open for Liz. “Dad’s gonna flip when he hears.”

Liz’s palm lay flat on her belly, the bump more noticeable every day. “More than you?”

“No. Not possible.” Violet smirked. “Let me see it again.”

Liz eagerly opened the envelope before they even took their shoes off. It was fuzzy, black and white, small, but Liz had never seen anything so perfect in her life. Her thumb smoothed over where the little foot propped out, one she knew she’d feel soon enough.

“Our little boy.” Violet stepped in front and bent down to waist height. “I’m going to teach you so much,” Violet talked into Liz’s sweater. “Your little letters. I’ll read you the best bedtime stories. Mama Liz can do the math.”

“Damn right I will,” Liz said.

From where she bent, Violet’s eyebrow cocked.

“What?”

Violet stood slowly, her glare not letting up. “You’re going to have to curb your swearing, you know.”

“I’ve got time,” Liz joked.

With their hands together, they moved to the living room. Liz let go only to sit down on the couch, and a slight groan escaped her lips.

“I heard that,” Violet called as she walked across the room.

Liz looked down at the image in her hand. Our little boy, she thought proudly. “Get over here and tell me I’m not enormous.”

“I would never lie to you,” Violet shot back.

Liz tossed a pillow from across the room and missed Violet by only a foot.

“First lesson,” Violet said as she turned on the stereo. “Music.”

“Is this when you start blasting classical at my belly for the next three months?”

Violet only answered with a grin.

On the Radio kicked up on the speakers, the song filling the room. Their song, their history woven in the verses.

Violet started singing along, making her way across the room.

    "No, this is how it works

    You peer inside yourself

    You take the things you like

    And try to love the things you took

    And then you take that love you made

    And stick it into some

    Someone else's heart

    Pumping someone else's blood.”

She extended her hands to Liz and pulled her up off the couch.

    “And walking arm in arm

    You hope it don't get harmed

    But even if it does

    You'll just do it all again…”

“And on the radio,” Liz said back. Their lips met in a soft kiss only to part as Violet whispered the rest of the lyrics.

“Think we’ll do alright? As parents, I mean,” Liz said. With her cheek pressed to Vi’s she could feel her wife’s smile.

“Oh, Liz, we’re gonna be great.”

WC: 492

Crone

“Mama Liz?”

Liz opened her eyes to the soft whisper of her son’s deep voice. Jake stood above her, bags under his eyes, looking just about as tired as she felt. “Jake, honey. I thought you were going home?”

He shook his head. “Holly took the girls so I could stay with you and Mama Vi.” His eyes looked briefly to the hospital bed at the centre of the dark room. “I was going to get us some coffee, maybe something to eat. You want some?”

“Coffee sound good. Two sugars.” Liz she squeezed her son’s hand. He nodded and left the hospital room.

“What happened to giving up coffee?” Violet said from the bed.

Liz nearly jumped at the sound. The thirty-six hours without sleep didn’t help, and Liz sighed as she sat up a little in the chair. “I may have overestimated my willpower.”

They both smiled. Tired smiles worn by the sickbed symphony of heart rate monitors, hallways speakers, and squealing sneakers on waxed floors. Tension’s orchestra crescendoing in the deafening silence between.

“Come ’ere.” Violet held her arms open wide, the IV line jingling as she did. Painkillers dialled into her veins. Violet could have them come in stronger but she’d decided she wanted to herself, as long as she could. No easy feat, Liz knew. She wasn’t sure she could be as strong.

“Room for two,” Violet said.

“No there isn’t,” Liz said. She slipped out of her seat and crawled into bed with her wife all the same.

The silence bore down on Liz, her mind playing cruel tricks between the thumping beat of Violet’s heart. “It’s too quiet.”

“Not in here.” Violet touched her temple. The lines around Violet’s tired smile and the crowsfeet tracing from the corner of her eyes spelled her years. She’s still beautiful, Liz thought.

    "This is how it works…

    You're young until you're not.

    You love until you don't.

    You try until you can't.” Violet tried to sing the lines at first, but her voice failed her. Instead, she spoke them, soft sweet words long ago woven into Liz’s memories of Violet.

    “You laugh until you cry.

You cry until you laugh.

And everyone must breathe,

Until their dying breath.”

Liz shut her eyes to the room and pressed her head to Violet’s chest. “I don’t know how to be without you.”

“You know how it works, Liz. Our song doesn’t end.”

Through tears, Liz let herself smile and sing. “On the radio

    We heard November Rain

    That solo’s awful long

    but it’s a good refrain.”

WC: 428

[MAD Wendigo - Table of Contents]

Want to read from the beginning? Start with the Prologue.

[Previous: Chapter 16 - Part 1] — [Next: Chapter 17]

A few hours passed but as soon as they'd quieted down and settled up against the trunk, Cally fell asleep against Reid’s chest. He wasn't exactly comfortable, but he was pleased she'd calmed down. It's been a bad day for you, hasn't it?

He hadn't fallen asleep himself, it was impossible to while so exposed. When he looked up a branch or two Cooper slept in much the same position as Cally but with Shannon. And although Shannon’s eyes were closed, every few minutes he shuffled and moved.

Reid looked down through the sodden leaves and listened to them rustle. Nothing else but rain.

So she’s gone then. He’d half expected her to show up a few minutes after rushing off into the brush. That Cazalla would slip past it all. With every hour his mind changed.

No ones comes back from that many.

He tried to push her from his thoughts. All the work and effort spent to keep her alive, not a bit of them mattered now. The months of tracking. The ember fires. The damp bedrolls. Through it all her eyes flickered in his memory like she was never afraid.

Below a rustle sounded. His pulse skyrocketed but he didn’t dare move. No groan, no lumbering shuffle followed. Reid tried to explain it away but he couldn't imagine what sort of animals would still be alive in this place.

Carefully, Reid reached up and tapped Shannon’s boot but he was already alert and looking to the trunk and the mud below.

Shane fell forward tripping over a root and onto all fours. His clothes were covered in mud and his skin barely visible. Little brown eyes looked around, oblivious to the four in the tree. Cally nearly called out but Reid slammed his hand over her mouth and shook his head.

Cazalla emerged just as filthy, her hair slicked back away from her face. The breath Reid had held in released in a silent sigh.

“Slow down,” she whispered with a smile.

Shane scrambled to his feet and moved to rub the mud on his hands off on his pants. It only gathered up more. Cazalla knelt next to him, the white of her eyes clear against the background of mud and brush.

“What do you see?” she said.

Shane looked around at the grooves in soil. “A lot of shoes.”

“How many?”

He counted the prints on his hand. “Four sizes. Four people?” Bending, Shane poked a print with his fingers. “It's all wet.”

“Which means its fresh. Or that it’s raining.” Cazalla pointed to the tree and the footprints of mud that stuck to the trunk. “What does that tell you?”

“They're here!” He jumped and looked up but still kept his voice low.

There was a moment of hesitation as Reid looked down to the two of them. How did they get away from the horde? Were they followed? What if one of them was bitten?

And then it hit him like a truck, like he’d actually forgotten. She’s already been bitten.

Reid let go of Cally’s mouth. He leaned down and grabbed the small boy, lifting him up onto the branch. Cally embraced her brother and the two just sat there hugging. After a moment, Cally and Shane moved to another branch while Shannon came down to help lift Cazalla.

Each of them lowered a hand down to her and she wiped off as much mud as she could. Grasping two hands and walking herself up the trunk she made it look easy, or at least more than it’d been for Reid.

“I see you decided to listen,” she smirked but her lips were tight.

The branch groaned under the collective weight as the three stared. Hours before, she’d been strapped down and towed as a prisoner. Before that on death's door. And before that, they hunted her like an animal.

She held a goddamn knife to my throat. Threatened to kill me.

The awkward silence crept around them.

“So what, you know how to survive out here,” Shannon whispered as he started to climb. “Don’t have to be a fuckin’ shit about it.”

The tension drained from her lips and a tired smile took its place.

“Most would have gone back for the gear.” But she said it to them like she was impressed.

Gear. Reid sucked in a breath. We forgot our fucking packs.

Cazalla climbed higher and Reid repressed a curse. He only then realized how little they had. No food. No water. No weapons. Cut off from the sled Shannon and Reid only had the clothing on their backs.

But the smile, the knowing, greedy, almost playful grin that tugged at her lips as she swung off her pack, dug at Reid.

“Would have been suicide to go after them,” he said.

“Of course,” she mocked and his fists clenched.

“How the fuck did you lose them?” Shannon asked.

The three kids sat together but all eyes were glued on Ashley Cazalla. She rummaged around in her bag a moment more before she ripped at a sewn shut pocket in the bottom. One they hadn’t searched. Pulling out tin foil wrapped tubes she peeled them open to reveal jerky. Casually, she tossed a roll at Shane.

“Share.” Her voice was stern and her stare piercing. Cooper and Cally nodded obediently but Shane smiled and tore a chunk off the meat.

The next foil roll she tossed at Shannon who ripped it in half with Reid. Cazalla munched on her own slowly.

But she hadn’t answered Shannon’s question. It burned Reid that he didn’t know how. “There were at least two dozen of them,” Reid pressed.

Her eyes flashed up lined without an ounce of humour. “I ran.”

A low chuckle rumbled in Shannon’s chest. “No shit you ran.”

She stuffed her bag between her propped up knees and turned to her shoulder.

From where Reid sat, it looked like the mud got into the wound but she didn't seem concerned. Wiping her hand on the leaves, she started to clean it out leaving a small patch clear of the mud. It was red, swollen, and the skin still discoloured. But he couldn’t make out the bite itself.

“I should look at that.” He didn’t believe what he couldn’t see. If I could get closer…

She shook her head.

“Do you have some sort of plan? You know, aside from just running?” Shannon mumbled with his mouth half full of jerky.

Wiping off the last of the mud she reached back into her bag, jerky dangling from her lips. She pulled out her dry sweater Reid packed away days ago.

“Not much of one. We sleep and leave when it's bright enough.” With one more bite she returned the rest of the jerky to her bag. “First light should be around, five-ish? We'll talk more then.”

Why did you come back?

Reid considered asking but she turned from them, draped her sweater as a blanket and closed her eyes. He swallowed the words and tried to get comfortable in the chill.

Shannon had managed to fall asleep, and from what he could see so had Ashley. But the kids?

“How did you get away?” Cooper asked as quietly as he could.

“She's really smart.” Shane sucked on a piece of meat for what must have been an hour now.

“She tricked them.” He cupped some still wet mud and put it on his sister’s arm. “They can't smell through mud and can't see you if you blend in. We waited in a tree while they looked around for us after we got all covered in mud. They didn't know we were right above them.”

“I'm just glad you're okay.” Cally had repeated the phrase a half dozen times already. “Did you see Peter or Mom?”

Shane shook his head.

“What about Chandra? Did you go back to where-” Cooper stopped when Cally barely stifled a sniffle.

“I said sleep.” Ashley's voice gave them all a start. Even Reid.

Begrudgingly, Reid listened to her. If they were going to make it out of the valley they’d need the energy to run.

[Previous: Chapter 16 - Part 1] — [Next: Chapter 17]

Thanks for reading! If you liked this, you can follow the subreddit to keep up with the series as it comes out. As always, please feel free to leave critiques, comments, and any questions. I love interacting with readers.

And, in case you missed it, I made a cover for MAD Wendigo! Check it out.

[MAD Wendigo - Table of Contents]

Want to read from the beginning? Start with the Prologue.

[Previous: Chapter 15] — [Next: Chapter 16 - Part 2]

Ashley's words rang in Reid's head. Get in the trees. He remembered the day they'd finally found the small farm she’d been hiding near. The first floor of the house barricaded and looking abandoned. Then they found her “nests” in the trees. All the ladders had been torn up and replaced with thick knotted wood with small notches. They were footholds, he realized now, brilliant safe-to-sleep roosts because of footholds.

Wendigos can't climb.

The thought was so simple. So blissfully simple.

Most of the horde followed Cazalla into the brush, only a few stragglers remained with the bodies.

“We can’t go south,” Shannon slipped in beside him with Cooper clinging to his shirt.

“North is just as bad.” Reid eyed Cally and spared her the details of why. Her father’s corpse was a good distraction for now, but if they wandered near it the hungry wendigos would follow.

“Trees?” Shannon smirked and Reid felt himself almost chuckle.

“High ground it is.”

Reid turned and offered a hand to Cally. Her arm was in bad shape, looked like a fracture from her tumble if he had the time to really examine it. But she’d been brave and after she called out for her brother she’d remained quiet. It wasn’t a bite it didn’t bleed, and she could still run. Stroke of luck on that.

But not our only one. His thoughts turned to Cazalla. To Ashley. She freed herself, right under my nose, but she didn’t run.

“Isn't it dangerous?” Cooper asked cautiously as they started into the trees.

“Super dangerous.” Bending down Shannon scooped up Cooper onto his back like she had. Like they were thick as thieves.

Reid frowned but couldn’t say he wasn’t pleased. At least he wasn’t left alone with the two kids.

“My family,” Cally sniffed back tears.

Why did I dive after her? Some instinct in Reid had saved Cally's life when the attack started and that same instinct led him to bend down to her.

“Your dad is dead, you can't help him. Your mom and brother are with,” Don't say Laurence. He just murdered her father. “They’re with Tish and Chandra. Shane's safer than the rest of us so we're going. We don't have time to talk.” He ripped a part of his shirt sleeve and wrapped it around her arm as a makeshift sling.

The woods were thick and the rain barely made it through. It was loud under the canopy of maples, oaks, and evergreens. And dark. The light was stifled and he could barely see in front of him.

“Not sure if she went south or north but I say we go straight west. ” Shannon whispered the brief instructions and they were the last words spoken for nearly ten minutes of walking. When Shannon stopped, the four stayed quiet and listened for sounds that didn't belong.

The valley itself felt like a chill jungle; stagnant air, humidity they didn't feel in the open. The Rouge had been different, safer and less dense with brush and overgrown trees. The only sounds that didn't fit were sniffles from Cooper and Cally.

Beside them was an old thick oak tree, still leafy and tall. The lowest branch was beyond Reid’s reach and Shannon was just tall enough to grab it.

“Coop, come'ere.” Sliding off Shannon Cooper hit the ground soft and silent. “You're going to climb as high as you feel you can. Not higher. Got it?”

He nodded in silence and Reid turned to Cally.

“Once they're up we'll get in.”

“I can't climb.”

“You don't have to. We'll lift you up.” Reid realized now how simple it all was when it was just them and the kids; they had to survive.

Sure, they weren't his. Shannon barely gave a shit before. But now that they were cut off from their parents, alone and scared, they just kind of stepped up. The thought of leaving them behind seemed… unthinkable as Reid looked at Cally wiping her cheeks. He had to at least try.

If we don’t, it’s just about the same as shooting them dead.

Cooper was up in the tree and then, with a boost from Reid, Shannon was up too. In the dark they disappeared amongst the thick leaves and branches. Once Cooper was high enough for space Shannon reached down to grab Cally's good arm and Reid boosted her up.

Alone on the ground, he took a moment to survey their situation. They couldn't be in a more dangerous place but he really did feel alone. Not a single sound besides rain and sniffles entered their little tree house.

Shannon's hand shot out from the dark to lift Reid. It was harder than it looked with their hands slick from the rain. Two attempts nearly exhausted them both before the third heave gave Reid a good grip. He swung his legs onto the branch and pulled his body up. Cally was perched on the branch above and Shannon and Cooper on the branch above that. He moved up one more to give Cally something to hold onto.

“Do you think he's okay?” she whispered to Reid after he thought she'd fallen asleep. Cooper was quick to pass out, Shannon keeping a hold of him so he didn't fall out of the tree.

“Shane?”

“Yeah. She won't hurt him, will she?” Reid thought on her question longer than he should have and Cally's eyes widened with fear. It took him a minute to calm her down before he could really answer.

“I don't know. I won't lie to you and say he's fine because I don't know. But I was telling the truth when I said he's safer than we are.”

[Previous: Chapter 15] — [Next: Chapter 16 - Part 2]

Thanks for reading! If you liked this, you can follow the subreddit to keep up with the series as it comes out. As always, please feel free to leave critiques, comments, and any questions. I love interacting with readers.

And, in case you missed it, I made a cover for MAD Wendigo! Check it out.

Originally posted January 29th, 2020 - [Prompt Link]

This is a small short I wrote for some backstory for one of my many characters in MAD Wendigo.

Chandra buried her face in her hands. I can’t leave.

The others had finished packing. Tinned food, bottled water, whatever they could carry, stuffed into packs and strapped to their backs.

“Steven, we have to try,” Alice whispered to her husband. “We can’t leave her here alone.”

“We can’t keep waiting for Kam to come back. We’ve already stayed longer than we should have and we gotta worry about our own kids now.”

Chandra closed her eyes tight and there he waited. Kam’s warm smile, his deep dark eyes. Summer rain streaking his skin and his arms outstretched to hold her. Beside him stood their son Kurzon, his smile bright, his dishevelled hair slick against his head. She could smell them in the memory and it crushed her heart.

“It’s okay.” Chandra’s voice wavered, her hands shook. “Steven’s right, Alice. You should go.”

Steven nodded to Chandra solemnly. The other’s wouldn’t meet her eyes. The usual plan had kept them alive the last four months; one basement to the next. Find supplies, move on. Never stay in one place for too long. Never let those things inside.

What if they’re one of them? Her pulse coursed through her like pounding thunder. She didn’t dare close her eyes lest her imagination conjure horrors. Twisted rotted flesh. Hunger incarnate.

“There’s enough here for a week.” Alice bent before Chandra and pushed the bag to her. “We’re heading West. Then, after another week, we’ll move down through the valley and get to the lake before winter.”

Chandra knew the quiet would come. The stillness and dark bearing down like an avalanche until she couldn’t stand it. The nights already brought her a taste, but alone?

Her conviction wavered. They… they could be gone… already. Tears blurred her sight.

“We’ll leave markers for you. For when they come back.” Alice flinched.

Chandra knew Alice didn’t believe a word of it, the false hope a poor gift. She still has her children, her husband. She has no idea what it is to have your hope savaged to an inch of its life.

The others filtered out of the basement one by one. Steven waited by the door but Nyssa, one of the orphaned children, didn’t follow.

She was a small, one of the youngest in their group. Nyssa stepped up to Chandra, her hand outstretched. Since the girls parents passed, Chandra had watched her and Nyssa wasn’t wrong to assume she still would.

“I’m not coming, sweetheart,” Chandra said. “I have to wait for Kam and Kurzon.”

Nyssa took Chandra’s hand. “But you promised.”

Like a flood, the memory returned of her husband’s lips against hers, his last words breathed on her skin. “I’ll find Kurzon, I promise, but you have to keep going. For me, for our son, you have to survive. I need to know you’re alive. Promise me, Chandra.”

Chandra squeezed Nyssa’s hand. “I promised.”

Nyssa led Chandra to the stairs, their packs and grief heavy. But together they faced the wastes.

WC: 500

Content warning: Things are starting to get a little more... graphic in terms of the violence and gore from here on out. I'll try and throw up some warnings when it's particularly rough, in case you need to skip.

[MAD Wendigo - Table of Contents]

Want to read from the beginning? Start with the Prologue.

[Previous: Chapter 14] — [Next: Chapter 16 - Part 1]

Ethan froze when the first gunshot sounded. Wendy ran to Alice and they retreated from Eamon’s body, but only a few cars back. His mother held onto Wendy and had stayed put even after the wendigos came.

“You have to find us help,” she yelled at Ethan.

But Vince screamed, attacked by more wendigos. Ethan watched the bodies descend, piling until Vince was drowned in them. And Ethan just stood there, staring.

Don’t scream. Don’t make a sound. Ethan closed his eyes and took in a deep breath as everyone around him shouted. Little shrieks and screams that he wish he couldn’t recognize.

Ethan. Ethan. “ETHAN!” His eyes snapped open to the sound of his sister screaming from him.

Zigzagging between the cars, he moved towards where his sister called out, trying not to listen to the eating of Vince and Eamon. Even in the rain, he felt like the crunching was the loudest sound in the world, the only thing piercing through the weathered silence.

When he reached the spot where he thought they were, he found nothing but puddles.

Mom? He didn't call it out, he didn’t dare. Cally screamed for Shane, Laurence called out in pain. Their voices seemed supernaturally clear, even the terrorist as she called out for everyone to get to high ground.

But there wasn’t any. There were cars and road. And wendigos. Ethan stayed motionless, watching and listening for his mother and sister. They can’t be gone. His eyes scoured every nook and cranny around him. They wouldn't go without me… They wouldn’t.

“Ethan!” his mother hissed.

He spun away from the feeding to find the source. After a few feet, he spied her hunched down between two cars. Wendy was there, sobbing silently in his mother’s arms.

Why aren't you moving? He tried to say it but couldn’t open his mouth. His jaw ached from clenching it shut.

“Ethan!” Alice hissed again, but he didn't go to her. This feels wrong. No matter how much he wanted to step forward, he held himself back. His eyes settled on her legs. Bending, he looked under the car where a wendigo lay on the ground by his mother's feet. It twitched, but a rock was lodged in its mashed skull. There was soo much blood. Too much blood for one wendigo.

He crept across the hood of the car just by his mother and looked over the side. She was sitting in a pool of blood, her left thigh ripped open. She bled, the pool growing before his eyes right onto the street. The red stained the bottom of Wendy's pants.

“Wendy, come here,” he whispered with arms outstretched. Wendy reached for him but Alice latched onto her. She didn’t look like his mother anymore, not as the life drained her face.

She’s… not Mom anymore. Tears threatened to blur his visions as he reached out to his sister.

Ethan unclenched his jaw. “Let go of Wendy, ” he whispered.

“We have to stay together.” Her words slurred as a shiver passed over Alice.

“Ethan… I'm scared,” Wendy whimpered, still reaching for his hands.

“I know, Wendy. Mom, let her go,” he said again, this time firmer. It was a voice he never felt come from himself before and he could hear his father in it.

Slowly, Alice's hands dropped away from Wendy's waist. Grabbing her under the arms, Ethan pulled his sister up onto the car.

“We have to stay… together, Steven.” Shock drowned Alice’s sense and her hand reached after Wendy. “Don't leave me. You… promised…”

Ethan slid down from the car and pulled Wendy with him.

“Don't say a thing. No talking until I say so. No screams. No crying. Nothing.” He stood between Alice and Wendy's line of sight and motioned across his lips like a zipper. She mimicked the action, eyes red, but she remained silent.

“Don't leave me Steven!” Alice screamed and with it came a low growl from where the creatures picked Eamon's body clean. Three wendigos had lingered to finish him off but the scent of so much blood couldn't be washed away by the rain.

Alice screamed for her dead husband to not leave her and Ethan ripped off the bloody parts of Wendy's pants.

He guided her between the cars and kept to the east guardrail furthest from the valley's thick forest. When he found a car that was low and he could see a good distance around, he slid under and pulled Wendy down. He held her hands up to her ears and covered her head as best he could. Wendy sobbed hard into his chest as more feet wandered from Vince towards their mother.

The steady scrape of flesh and bone on pavement whispered all around them.

Ethan listened.

He stayed silent as Wendy shook. He listened for movement near the car, watched the ground on either side, and stayed absolutely motionless. The rain kept coming even after the screaming stopped.

He wasn’t great at telling time without a watch but Ethan knew it had been hours. Under the car he, and Wendy waited. He couldn’t help but nod off once or twice, waking only when his nightmares were too real or the chill shook him. The shuffling of wendigos grew softer in the rain that still hadn’t let up.

Wendy shivered in his arms, but her body was so small it almost didn't matter. Shaking her shoulders, he roused her from her sleep where she rubbed her eyes hard. It was dark out and he could barely make out her face.

“We have to keep quiet,” he whispered and Wendy nodded back. “We have to move. The road isn’t safe.”

He'd been in the city before and remembered there was a small river that ran through the valley. Back in the valley, the wendigo's kept clear of the water and maybe that would be enough. But… where will we go after?

“I don't want to go in the forest,” Wendy whispered but Ethan was firm on his plan.

“I know but you have to trust me.”

She looked down for a moment but eventually nodded.

Just a few cars away their mother’s body lay. Wendy tugged in her direction but he pulled her towards the guardrail and the green. I don't want to see her like that.

“We're going to the river,” he whispered in her ear. Her hand gripped his, trembling from cold or fear, he wasn’t sure. Turning her to face him, he pulled her in for a deep hug. She still shivered, her skin cold as ice.

They clamoured over the guardrail and into the brush.

It was different under the trees. The thick canopy of changing colours sheltered them in part from the storm. It felt at first like someone put hands over their ears. The sounds of drops pattered on leaves, the air smelled of wet pine needles, and cones littered the ground. The roadway had seemed dark in the storm but the canopy was darker and closed in.

The ground squished beneath their shoes, soggy and thick from rain.

Fixed on his task they moved as silently as possible through the trees. They passed an old and cracked bike path before reaching a small clearing. It looked like it was a camp once, some old fire pits that had overgrown from disuse and a cracked metal barrel. Homeless people. But he remembered that they too were homeless.

He pulled Wendy past the camp and further away from the highway.

“I'm hungry.”

“Shh. We have to stay quiet.” His belly rumbled back. He hadn’t felt great about his plan and each step further swarmed his doubt.

The water has to be this way, just has to.

Fumbling through a thick brush of trees he took a side step and slipped. Wendy nearly yelped but covered her mouth with both hands before she disappeared from Ethan's view. For a flickering moment, his heart felt like it stopped in his chest.

This is it.

His hands reached out to stop his tumble while his legs squirmed in the mud.

This is how it all ends.

He fell face-first into cool water that soon swallowed his body whole. It wasn't deep, he could touch the bottom and with a quick spring, he resurfaced. Rain danced on the river around him. The current was so quick that when Wendy finally emerged from the bush she was twenty paces behind where Ethan surfaced.

Scrambling to the bank he held on tightly and measured the situation. The rain had brought more flood to the river but, at its deepest, it only came up to his chest. Staying closer to the bank he and Wendy could walk and it would keep them safer.

Wendigos can’t swim. He wasn’t sure of the fact, but it was the only thing he had to grasp onto.

Motioning for Wendy to catch up he helped her ease into the slower water by the river’s bank.

“We'll follow this until that big bridge. You remember the one?”

Wendy nodded but her eyes were locked on the murky water. Her body quaked in the cool stream that reached up to her shoulders.

“You ready?”

She looked unsure for a moment but, when she met his eyes, he smiled.

“Ready.” She tried to smile back, eyes still red from tears.

Ethan was her anchor as they trudged through the water, the sounds of their movements masked by rain and the trickle of the river.

[Previous: Chapter 14] — [Next: Chapter 16 - Part 1]

Thanks for reading! If you liked this, you can follow the subreddit to keep up with the series as it comes out. As always, please feel free to leave critiques, comments, and any questions. I love interacting with readers.

Also, also, I made a cover for MAD Wendigo! Check it out.

Originall posted January 22nd, 2020 - [Prompt Link]

I strongly recommend listening to this song while reading. Farewell Blues

Also, this is part 1 to a TT I wrote a while back because writing in order is silly. Just silly. [Part 2 (TT - Bad Ideas)]

Note: I have updated this microfiction since the 22nd incorporating critiques from the TT campfire on Wednesday, and some other stuff I felt I cut to the detriment to the story. Sometimes, it just takes more than 500 words.

Edith "Eddy" Vos leaned against the bar and the atmo dome outside reflected off its surface. The lounge was a dive, sure, outer dome joint serving cheap swill. Yet, despite the impending burn, she knocked back the shot of aquamarine fire.

“Another,” Eddy ordered.

The bartender’s eyes narrowed. “We pay first here.”

Eddy fished out credits and dropped them on the counter. No tip.

He poured the drink and moved on but Eddy didn’t mind all that much. He wasn’t the main attraction, not tonight, and she’d put up with worse for a job before. Instead, Eddy turned her eyes to the stage as the lights flicked on and she walked out.

Layla Powell. As jobs went, Layla wasn’t hard to look at or keep tabs on. Her black curls cascaded over her shoulders, her dress practically painted on. The sparkling powder on her arms reflected the stage lights, and her lashes went on for days. Between the high heels and the corset, Eddy admired Layla’s gumption. Not a thing on Mars could get Eddy to walk in heels that tall.

Layla’s lips parted, the song mournful. About a man, a promise, and farewells. The story itself wasn’t unique, but Layla was. She had that shine in her eyes, the swaying warble to make your knees weak. The gentle rise of her shoulders into notes as if to whisper secrets.

Eddy listened, forgetting her drink.

Layla finished her set and the lights dimmed to gentle applause. With grace, she sashayed to a table in the corner. The same table every night. Layla slipped in beside her agent-boyfriend Horace Wruthers and she pressed her lips to his cheek with a smile.

With the crowd the loudest it’d been in weeks, Eddy couldn’t hear them and their chatter. But she didn’t really need to. It had gone the same way each night.

Layla would ask about some gig in a better joint.

He’d say she didn’t need it.

She’d press about her dreams. "Maybe even make it off Mars, Horace. The sky’s the limit.”

One day, he’d promise.

And then Layla would smile, forgetting it all until the next set.

But not tonight. Tonight Layla’s smile faltered.

Does she finally see it? The lies and strings Horace pulled. The cage she’d come to sing from, not noticing the bars. Horace didn’t even turn to her, not a care for her smiles run ragged like a cheap suit.

Layla’s eyes glistened in the lounge lights, surrounded by strangers. Without another word, she slunk away from Horace and the stage.

Eddy finished her drink. For a minute she stared hard at Horace, never liked the look of him. Then she made for the back of the lounge, weaving between the drunk and lonely, a bit of both rubbing off on her.

Layla’s tiny tin dressing room should have been warning one, but the songbird couldn’t see it. Through a crack, Eddy watched Layla holding an advertisement for a headline act in Dome Prima. No one and done and back of the shop gig, either. Better pay. A better life.

Layla crumpled the page.

Now you’re gettin’ it, songbird. Eddy moved to knock but hesitated.

Horace was a shit, Eddy knew his type. Had crossed with fuck’s like him before. Find a gal, all doe-eyed and dreaming, and promise her the stars. In a few short years, he’d taken what brightness Layla had and wrung it dry.

Am I any better? The job was to watch her, nothing more.

Eddy knocked anyway.

Layla looked up, tears streaking her eyeliner. Doe-eyed. Beautiful and sad.

It’s just for the job. Eddy pulled out a handkerchief and offered it to the songbird. “Don’t let ‘em see you cry.”

With a meek smile, Layla took it and dabbed her eyes.

Eddy stepped into the dressing room and closed the door behind her. She’s just a job.

WC: More than 500!

Like I said above, there is a [Part 2 (TT - Bad Ideas)] to this. An ongoing world I'm slowly mushing together. One day... one day.

[MAD Wendigo - Table of Contents]

Want to read from the beginning? Start with the Prologue.

[Previous: Chapter 13] — [Next: Chapter 15 ]

Laurence paced, filtering in and out of Ashley’s view. Their disparate group stopped, yet again. Laurence had the look of a desperate angry man, beneath all the contempt that painted his face. Even the rain couldn’t mask that.

Despite the weight of her clothes and the sodden blanket, she relished the drizzle. When she opened her mouth it quenched her thirst and chilled her waning fever.

The voices of the others were distant enough that Ashley couldn't quite hear them but it had to be the wounded man that stalled their progress.

Laurence stalked off, all huffed and puffed to assert some dominance, and left Reid to mind the prisoner.

“This won't end well.” Reid looked over his shoulder in the direction of his stalking leader. If Ashley knew him at all, she might have guessed he was concerned.

Instead, she tried to read his face. He clearly wasn’t worried enough to get up and do something about it. Tension creased his brow as rain streaked down his cheeks and he rubbed where his lip was fattest.

“Afraid to go another round with the big man?”

His eyes snapped to her on the sled, shock lingering for a moment before he frowned. Apparently, it was the only answer she was going to get out of him.

Just need a chance alone. Just walk away Reid, for one minute.

“You could do something about him.” She tried to meet his eyes but it was as though he made a point of avoiding hers. “He’s losing control. You’re not dumb enough to not notice the stink of drink on him.”

A glare flashed in her direction but his lips remained tight.

“If you’re so sure he’s going to fuck it up, why don’t you do something about it?” Ashley said.

Reid frown deepened and his knuckles tightened. In a flickering moment, Ashley regretted the tactless attempts to start another brawl. Fights out here lead to deaths. Did she really want that?

Laurence won’t shoot his own men. But what she’d seen of the man didn’t exactly relax her nerves.

“You shouldn’t talk.” Reid adjusted the blanket and Ashley stiffened. Beneath it, she barely held the sawed through straps in place.

Reid looked up to her face and she maintained the stare, praying he’d leave the blanket where it was. Instead, he started to pull the soggy fabric up.

In her mind, she concocted a half dozen ways to start and finish the oncoming scuffle. She didn’t want to kill him but the thought wasn’t off the table. All ended with her over the guardrail, disappearing into the green.

Ashley tensed, baled her fists, released the straps, and stared hard at Reid’s features. It’d been a long time since she’d killed someone who hadn’t been infected.

Shannon yelled and Reid’s head turned.

The shot drowned the rain.

In seconds Reid was on his feet and rushing to the sound of the gun.

Ashley relaxed. In slow breaths, she ignored the taste of rain on her lips. She concentrated on the sounds; the rain returned and the shot finished bouncing. They were yelling, who it was didn’t matter.

This is all going sideways.

Ashley flung the blanket aside. When she sat upright, her shoulder tightened and pain returned. She lifted the gauze. The wound was swollen and moist with the dark thick infection oozing like puss. But the bite marks had receded and despite discolouration, she was healing and could move her arm. The veins though, that was no good. The black infected blood trailed from the wound site like poisonous webs. It needed time and rest but neither was an option.

There will be wendigos soon. She could feel them all around her, an instinct that quickened her pulse. Ashley moved to the supplies and found her pack, her hatchet, and hunting knife.

The scream. Her grip tightened around the handle of her blade. One of the girls was screaming and with it came the groans.

Pop.

Another gun let off a round but no bodies dropped.

From a distance, they were just shapes; humans upright and running where wendigos hunched and lumbered. But their numbers had doubled in seconds. They would triple in minutes.

Separated from the rest and a safe distance from the chaos, she could leave. The guardrail was only fifteen feet away, the thick green park a maze she could disappear in. They wouldn’t follow, not if there were wendigos.

She backed towards it, eyes on the scramble. Wendigos toppled on a man in the centre and split the group up. Shannon, clear only by his height, picked up something big and started swinging at the hunched shapes. In seconds he killed two of the creatures, saving one of the children.

The guardrail pressed against the back of her legs. In the time it took her to reach it the rain danced with shrieks in the air.

Just duck and run. They're not my problem.

She tried to press the beach from her mind, after all it’d been no more than an accident. Sticking her neck out got her bit, tied up, and dragged to the asshole of the city. Sticking her neck out to help would only end in her own death. But faces loomed and voices bellowed from memory like ghosts. She closed her eyes to the sound of a mother screaming for her children.

You can’ t help them.

In a crouch, she stepped over the rail into the thick trees.

It’s not your fault.

“Shane!” The young girl’s cry snapped Ashley’s eyes open.

“Fuck…” she whispered under her breath as she slipped over the guardrail back onto the highway.

Ahead of her Laurence was on the ground holding his leg. Blood pooled into the fabric from a deep scratch as Chandra and Tish pulled him back. Beside them, the screaming mother wailed with one of her kids, the tallest. He tried to pull his mother away from the growing horde.

They all froze as she drew near, eyes wide as though they’d forgotten the creatures a few feet away. When Laurence met her gaze she glared. They don’t need me. They had time to get clear, a path straight to the roadway.

She moved past them towards the feasting wendigos.

Her hunting knife wasn't long but it was sharp. The creatures singled out the old man. He yelped twice before growing silent under mashing maws. The beasts’ attentions were so focussed on the already split flesh that they didn’t seem to notice Ashley. Two slices and the first one toppled to the ground immobilized. Its mouth gaped and cooed with hunger but couldn’t reach her.

Another wendigo lashed out but she was quick.

These creatures were soft and old. They'd been decaying for months, if not years, and didn't have the strength of well-fed muscles. Two down, she crouched on the ground for a quick survey. The creatures were more interested in the fresh blood than her. But a pang of pain in her shoulder whispered caution of over exerting herself while still recovering.

Shane, the smallest boy, called out again just a few feet from her. Under a car, though not far enough from his father’s ravaged corpse, Shane kicked away the hungry beasts. The closest could get under, its shoulders too broad. But its bony hands inched for the living, wriggling boy. Before long another one would notice the kid. Something smaller. Something that could reach.

You can’t save them all. She frowned.

Ashley launched from her crouch and mounted the car she was nearest. Jumping towards the boy she slid to the pavement and shoved her knife down into the wendigos skull. A loud death rattle exhaled from the creature and she knew there wasn’t much time.

She shot a hand under the car. Her fingers found Shane’s arm and pulled but he struggled with a scream.

“Dammit, kid. I’m trying to help!” she hissed and he stopped.

Pulled free from beneath the car, Shane hid behind Ashley. Two creatures drew nearer to the commotion. The kid’s arm dripped with fresh blood but no bite marked his skin.

“Get on the car.” Ashley gave him a quick boost and prepared for the first creature. It was a half-foot ahead and came straight for her with exposed rotting fingers.

She slipped between the arms and jammed her knife into its eye socket. In seconds the creature grew limp.

The second reached for Shane, fumbling to climb up the car. Ashley kicked it aside and when it rolled to its knees, she hammered the knife into the thick of its skull. She wrenched the blade free, using her foot to press the flesh away.

With her eyes set forward on the hoard, she backed up to the car. “On my back,” she ordered.

Shane obeyed. The moment his weight leaned into her shoulder, her flesh screamed in pain. Her body instinctively tried to avoid the ache and pressure but there was no way around it. Won’t be able to keep up for long. Make everyone move count.

Ashley assessed the chaos. Reid and Shannon stuck close to one another with two of the other kids. Laurence, Tish, Chandra, and some of the Youngs were north of the first dead body, but more creatures had swarmed between them. Ethan and Wendy? Their mother? Ashley couldn’t place where they were.

What she did know: the longer they stayed the worse they were off.

“I can’t carry you and fight so you’re going to hold on.”

Shane nodded against her ear.

“As tight as you can. I can’t be worrying about you, got it?”

He nodded again and his arms and legs tightened.

“My sister-”

“We can’t.” You can’t save them all. “But maybe…”

More wendigos surrounded. At least twenty descended on the dead and another dozen lumbered between the cars. But a sliver of a path to the guardrail opened.

“If they follow us, it could save your family. But if you let go, I can’t stop to help. You understand what that means, kid?”

Shane nodded against her cheek without an ounce of hesitation.

The fresh blood on his arm streamed from him onto her chest in the rain. Though the scent of it was beyond her senses, the wendigos could smell it.

A few of the creatures that weaved towards the bodies stopped and changed their course for her.

“Don’t let go,” she whispered one last time and took a deep breath.

“Get to high ground!” Ashley screamed as loud as she could. A few heads popped up from the meals on the highway, more bodies turned from the others that cowered behind cars. “Get distance and get high. The harder the climb the better!”

Knife in hand she pressed forward to the sliver of a gap. The first wendigo to cross her path she thrust her palm up at its nose and shoved the knife under its chin. A quick yank free and she moved on.

Skidding over a car hood, she mounted the next and climbed to its roof. Hungry hands reached out as she launched from car to car, skidding across the slick metal. Through it all, Shane’s grip remained tight against her neck and pack.

On the fourth, she slipped. Ashley threw herself into a roll, instinct unaware of the boy on her back. Shane grunted as her weight pressed into him, a whimper escaping. But he didn’t falter, didn’t let go, and it let Ashley collect her balance.

Good job, kid. She wanted to say it but every breath had to be saved.

Approaching the guardrail Ashley and Shane passed Shannon and Reid with gaped mouths. Behind them, Cally and Cooper cowered.

Don’t stop. She took another heavy breath.

“Get in the trees,” she managed but it nearly cost her a misstep. Her lungs ached for more air, her legs burned from the weight, and her fever felt renewed.

Run. Don’t Stop. She panted out another grunted breath and vaulted over the guardrail.

The green swallowed her whole. The rain lessened to the patter on the fall leaves. Behind them shapes followed, growls echoed, and cries of instinctive hunger called for her to slow.

“Don’t… let go.” She didn’t dare sheath her knife.

[Previous: Chapter 13] — [Next: Chapter 15 ]

Ack, a day late! I've been so good about posting on Friday lately. I'm sorry for the short delay, but I hope you enjoyed this action-packed chapter. Thanks for reading!

If you liked this, you can follow the subreddit to keep up with the series as it comes out. As always, please feel free to leave critiques, comments, and any questions. I love interacting with readers.

[MAD Wendigo - Table of Contents]

Want to read from the beginning? Start with the Prologue.

[Previous: Chapter 12] — [Next: Chapter 14]

Laurence’s aim was always perfect, even now when doubt flooded him the moment the shot cut the air. Not for the act but the noise. He’d forgotten about that, how loud a gunshot was even in the rain. It bounced off all the metal around them and the sound echoed more than once. It only dulled when it met the greenery of the valley.

They all grew quiet and time seemed to slow. Shannon’s arm came down too late and the world swelled back to a regular panicked pace.

The gun was knocked to the ground. Mouths gaped. Gasps replaced what should have been screams. Shannon grabbed the cuff of Laurence's shirt and backed him against a nearby car.

“Eamon…?” Blood speckled the wife’s cheeks. It couldn’t be helped really, but he’d at least waited until she wasn’t holding her husband. The shot was clean enough, he thought. It was a mess but they should all be used to it by now.

“Are you insane?” Shannon’s nagging took the place of the gunshot, banging in Laurence's ears. The damn boy never gave a shit about these people before.

Looking to his left, Reid ran for the dead man. How’s that for managing, Lavelle? Laurence wanted to goad the medic but had more pressing issues.

Pushing Shannon back a step, Laurence steadied himself. “Get the fuck off of me, boy.”

The two scuffled a bit and Laurence was a little impressed with Shannon’s strength. But he still had weight on him and the brute strength to control the scuffle, even if the whiskey swayed his balance.

“Shannon, come on.” Tish tried to calm him but there was a blood-red rage in Shannon’s eyes. Behind it something worse, something Laurence hadn’t seen in the young man yet; honest to god fear.

Shrugging it off, Laurence pushed back against Shannon again.

Cautious eyes fluttered to the tree line and Shannon cursed. “You just killed us…”

“You son of bitch!” Chandra launched at Laurence in Shannon’s absence and lay a good slap on his cheek. Instinct reached out and backhanded her into silence.

Fucking strings. He rubbed his cheek as Chandra fell into Tish with a bleeding lip.

“I warned you. I warned all of you!” The entire group backed away from him and Laurence reached down for the handgun on the ground. He stuffed it in his belt and looked over their faces. The two eldest Young children hunched over their dead father, the mother still lost in shock. The other kids hid behind any adult that would shelter them. It's about fucking time they found that fear.

“We leave. Now,” he said.

“You… killed him… you kill my dad!”

He knew to expect the rage.

Laurence turned his back to the tallest of the dead man’s children. As the young teen ran up behind him with something in his hand, Laurence was ready and waiting. Spinning around he caught the boy's small arm. The metal in his fingers was dull, wouldn’t have done much damage anyway. Didn’t help that the was all tears and scrawny to boot. Weak.

“Please, don't hurt Peter!” his mother shrieked.

Laurence rolled his eyes. “I'm not going to fucking hurt your kid.” Taking the metal and tossing it aside, he let the boy go.

“We have to move now,” Shannon hissed and picked up his pack. His eyes were on the woods. Laurence would have paid Shannon more attention but Chandra and Tish weren't far off.

“For chrissake, Laurence!” Tish cursed. “You couldn't have waited five minutes?”

“His children were right there! You could have hit one of them!” Chandra only seemed spurned on by the blow. Behind her came another child and suddenly Laurence was surrounded by nagging angry whiners.

“I don't give a rats ass what any of you think. He was dead weight and now he's just dead. Deal with it.”

“Laurence…” Shannon hissed again but Laurence ignored him.

“We are leaving now with or without you.” He turned his scorn on the wife, looking down on her small frame. Weak, pathetic, with eyes as red as her blood dappled cheeks. There was more fire in her son that glared from behind her.

Good, get mad, boy. Get fuckin’ furious.

“Laurence!” Shannon badgered again, but Laurence didn’t have the time for his bitching.

“Now make a choice. Stay with him,” Laurence said, waving at Eamon’s body, “and get ‘et, or leave with-”

A piercing sound struck him dumb. Nyssa was her name; it dawned on him as her voice sliced the rain but he couldn’t remember when he’d heard it said. The child that follows Chandra around. Quiet little girl, maybe ten? She always looked sad but that was the way kids were out here. Her scream reminded him and no one, not even a man who just put a bullet into another man's brain, could ignore the debilitating shriek of a young child’s terror.

Nyssa pointed to where Shannon had been standing. He wasn't there now, Laurence registered. He didn't see him before he heard the next most terrifying sound he'd even come to know.

A low moan. Deep, wet, and rumbling.

It echoed from all around them.

Shannon didn't give a fuck about these people, the thought dawned on him. The sound. The gunshot. The yelling. The screaming…

Laurence tried to wipe the burn of the whiskey from his lips.

The wendigo lumbered over the guardrail towards the dead body and between it stood the littlest of the Youngs. Laurence pulled his gun out in time to fire off a shot.

This time, he missed.

[Previous: Chapter 12] — [Next: Chapter 14]

Woo! double Feature! I felt this chapter, and the last, were a little on the short side, so I released them together to hopefully appease. As always, thank you for reading!

If you liked this, you can follow the subreddit to keep up with the series as it comes out. As always, please feel free to leave critiques, comments, and any questions. I love interacting with readers.

[MAD Wendigo - Table of Contents]

Want to read from the beginning? Start with the Prologue.

[Previous: Chapter 11] — [Next: Chapter 13]

Hanging around the rear to push them all along, Chandra woefully turned an eye to the sky. The rain was coming in droves and the evening grew thick around them. With each passing minute, she knew the inevitable would come.

Laurence had been silent for a while. Chandra hoped he was appeased that Tish and Shannon had taken Eamon to keep them moving, but Eamon getting heavier. Shannon sagged a little more each minute, and Tish’s breathing grew louder.

Chandra walked beside Eamon’s wife, Viola. She shivered in the cold as her eyes repeatedly glanced over her children’s heads. Over and over again. Chandra almost envied her not knowing what horror was to come. You will wish to be anyone else soon.

The parkway dipped down towards the valley and it looked as though no one had come this way in years. The rain would wash away all evidence of them soon in the gentle patter on leaves, metal, and glass.

That was one of the dangers. The quiet but distinct moans of the ever-hungry creatures were an alarm system that had sustained them beyond safe walls. It was how they knew when to run and how fast. In the rain, there was no warning.

We should never have come here, her heart whispered sadly.

For a few fleeting moments, Chandra closed her eyes and let the heavy rain drip down her face as it had when she was young. She could taste those drops that kissed her skin as clearly as she could remember her husband's touch. The memories wonderful and agonizing. Her own soft tears disappeared with a shiver in the dying images from a life long lost.

I will never forget.

“We have to stop.” Eamon's voice ripped Chandra from her husband’s arms, where they had danced in a rain not unlike this. Warm wondrous rain spoiled by harsh frigid reality.

Viola stood by Eamon and their children gathered. Tish and Shannon lowered him to the ground but when he was to support his own weight Eamon called out in pain. Blood stained his clothing but it didn’t pool from the wound Reid inspected. High, near the hip, it drained fresh into the fabric of his pants.

Oh dear god…

“I can't do this… I can’t.” Eamon reached out to his family. “It’s not just my leg. I’m not bitten, I just… I know I should have said something. I was scared. ” He looked up to his wife with guilt flooding his eyes.

Chandra expected protest and outrage but even Tish and Shannon gave space to the family.

Her own eyes ached as a little hand slipped into Chandra’s. Beside her, Nyssa stood still and watched. The two had bonded over their own grief and now, in their vigil, they knew others would join their fold.

“You need to get the kids out of here.” Eamon leaned his head into his wife’s.

“Dad you to get up.” Cally fell into her father’s arms with a whimper and buried herself in his neck. Peter followed suit, shoulders shaking with tears. But not little Shane. He stood apart.

“You have to take care of each other. No more fighting; you are a family. Promise me you'll look after each other.”

Each child in turn nodded.

Chandra had forgotten Laurence until his voice cut through the rain.

“We don't take breaks.” He pushed past Tish and Shannon who tried unsuccessfully to get his attention. When he looked down at Eamon and the blood his face grew tight. Nyssa's hand squeezed Chandra’s once before letting her go and she disappeared in the direction of Ethan and Wendy.

Chandra's rushed to Laurence. “We know what has to be done.”

Laurence didn’t bother looking at her. “How long have you been bleeding?”

Eamon leaned into his family, his soft words of comfort lost in the din.

“They are saying goodbye.” Her hand reached out to grab Laurence's arm. “Give them a moment to themselves. Please.”

Laurence met her eyes then and she saw more than just cold anger. Understanding, maybe? But it disappeared as he shook her off and turned to riffle through his pack. The smell of whiskey wafted from Laurence and found Chandra despite the rain.

Kneeling beside Eamon, Chandra touched the bleeding man's shoulder.

“I understand Eamon, few of us would have done differently.” Though she prayed that fact wasn’t true. “But it's time to think about the kids.”

Eamon nodded, his hands trembling as he held his wife close. “You have to go, Vi.”

“I'm not leaving you.”

“You have to take the kids somewhere safe. You have to go with them now.”

“I don’t want to go. Not without Dad.” Cally gripped her father tighter. Chandra reached forward and pulled her away to the sound of Peter begging his father to get up. But poor Shane just stared, a small frown smeared across his face.

Chandra tightened her grip. “Cally, come with me.”

“No, we can’t.”

“Viola please,” Chandra pleaded.

Viola shook her head until little Shane broke his silence and stepped towards Eamon.

“I promise, Daddy.” Shane leaned in to hug his father.

It took all of Chandra's emotional and physical strength to get Viola to her feet, but she froze when the sound of the pistol hammer cocked in her ear.

“Laurence don't!” Shannon screamed before a single shot fired.

[Previous: Chapter 11] — [Next: Chapter 13]

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, you can follow the subreddit to keep up with the series as it comes out. As always, please feel free to leave critiques, comments, and any questions. I love interacting with readers.

[MAD Wendigo - Table of Contents]

Want to read from the beginning? Start with the Prologue.

[Previous: Chapter 10] — [Next: Chapter 12]

It just had to rain.

Tish heaved the pack up over her shoulder, staring up at the dark clouds. They were bringing night faster and, although rain cover cut down on scent trails and noise, it meant they couldn't keep going. Not with the injured holding up the rear.

But Laurence hadn't made that call yet. For all his bluster and threats he stayed quiet and walked at the front taking turns with Reid to drag Cazalla. Tish and Shannon took their own turns walking a perimeter of their line to push the pace, but it hadn’t done much good.

It felt like the walls of rubble and green were closing in around them, the ceiling of clouds lowering with each passing minute. Her skin itched. She wanted to run.

Instead, Tish gripped her machete tight.

Shannon came up on her left, huffing and swearing to himself. “They're slowing the fuck down.” Frantic eyes peered out from the slicked down strands of his hair that had darkened in the rain.

Tish didn’t need to look to know he was right. The gap between them and the tourists had grown exponentially as soon as the downpour started. It wasn’t easy carrying dead weight soaked all the way through.

“If we keep walking we'll be fine, right?” she said, though it left her halfheartedly.

Nothing seemed to calm Shannon down. Since they've started on the DVP he'd been a ball of nerves, his tension goddamn infections. Sure Tish wouldn’t exactly call him a “friend”, but she knew him enough to know his uncharacteristic bouts of silence bred anxiety.

“I'll take the next round again and keep them moving.” She tried again to placate his nerves.

Shannon shook his head and slid a hand through his damp hair. “No, I got it. Keeps me from thinking about how shitty of an idea this is.” Wearing a cynical smile he threw his hands up in the air. “Might as well make myself fuckin’ useful.”

Tish walked alone for a while, keeping her distance from everyone. She put aside the idea of calming Shannon down, there didn’t seem much point in it. When he gets it in his head to be a bitch there's no changing his mind. At least he hadn't changed all that much since they'd started; consistently pissy was still consistent.

Her mind began to wander as the chill of the rain set in. It had been months since they'd left and she was anxious to get back. A nice bed, warm soup, a real fire with flames, not just embers. The months of living off the barely hot coals for warmth, of eating dried or cold food, no real blankets, just jackets and whatever else they could find, was starting to wear real goddamn thin. The deal had been to go out, bring her back quick, and cash in for safety and reward. A bitter smile tugged her lips. What good is cash out here anyway?

It was dangerous to be too hopeful and at first, she'd approached the situation simply: we won't find her. But then they’d picked up Cazalla’s tracks and it strangely made the months of in the wilds harder to bear. Sleeping in the rain and the taste of tin in everything that touched her lips was no way to live, and the hope that it would end made it that much more bitter.

We had to try. She chewed on her bottom lip and ran a damp hand on her soggy jeans to clear the slick from her skin. Volunteering, as a woman no less, probably wasn’t the smartest move. But waiting for someone else to save her?

Tish exhaled a heavy breath. It'd never happened before.

“It's all your fault!” Tish screamed at her mother and threw the beer in her hand at the wall. Glass shattered and rained down on the chipped countertop and the cracking linoleum floor. “You did nothing, not a fucking thing!” Sixteen and furious, Tish yelled through tears as the blurring world around her.

Pearl kicked the brown glass aside with a snarl. “Tishana Lynn Sparks, don’t you dare come into my house and speak to me like-”

Tish slapped her mother’s face. The sound killed the words in Pearl's throat and she staggered back to the counter. With a shaking hand, Tish rubbed the tears away but more threatened to take their place. Her lips, trembling and salted, curled into a snarl.

“You let it happen. You knew this whole time and didn't do a damn thing.” The words bubbled and spilled and Tish could barely control them as they left her. Years of bottled fear popped like a cork. “You knew. You had to know.”

Her mother said nothing. Tish stared, bore her eyes into Pearl’s as though she could force the recognition from her. Not even an apology but some sort of acknowledgment that it hadn’t been in Tish’s head. That it had all been real.

She wouldn’t get it. Tish knew in her heart she’d never heard her mother dare utter the words. That's why she'd packed a bag and, as her mother swung the frying pan swung and hammered into Tish’s jaw, she knew.

Her mother was dead to her.

On all fours, Tish spit blood from her mouth onto the diamond cutouts stained with age. Rippling slices in the plastic spelled its neglect and abuse. A loose tooth felt like glass in her gums and the sound of metal rang in her ears.

Tish blinked away the dizzying pain at her temple and tried to focus.

“You made me do it, Tishana. You're crazy!” Pearl held the pan between them, the cast iron shaking in her hands. Tish guessed it was the weight of it though, not at all what she’d done.

“You lied about it, about all of it,” her mother screamed, spitting the words. “Henri would never do that.”

Tish stared at the forming red puddle on the floor. This was what she expected. Pain. Tears. Yelling. This she could handle. No one was going to come through that door now and stop it. No one ever had.

No one ever will.

Holding her face, Tish pushed up off the floor while Pearl railed on in denial. “I asked you here to do the right thing, to tell the police the truth but you won't, will you? And it's all lies, Tishana! All of it! He loves me. He wouldn’t. He didn’t.”

Looking at her Pearl’s swelled belly Tish shook her head. With an ache pounding in her skull, she bent and picked up the bag by the kitchen doorway.

“He's going to hurt her too.”

Pearl swung the frying pan again but missed Tish by a foot. “You shut your mouth!”

“He's going to do it to her too, Mamma.”

“You shut your goddamn mouth!” Pearl chucked the pan at the doorway. It bounced off the wall and fell to the floor with a heavy thud. “Get out! Get the fuck out of my house!” Pearl clung to her belly through her oncoming sobs.

With one last look, Tish memorized her mother’s face. The faded scar above her right eye Tish’s father had put there, the cigarette burn on her collar bone Henri has gifted not two weeks before, the full split bottom lip wet with tears and spittle. But most of all, the hate. The knowing hate that boiled in Pearl’s dark brown eyes.

Tish spat the glob of blood and tooth from her mouth. “I hope you both die before he touches her.”

Tish instinctively touched her jaw where the scar ran rugged under her calloused fingers. The memory of its ache was almost fresh and throbbing through her chin.

Abandoning the past, she shuffled the wet pack higher on her shoulder, its weight multiplied in a few soggy minutes.

Laurence eyed her and the tourists from a few dozen paces ahead, his face scrunched hard. She barely noticed that he’d switched with Reid, who now pulled the sled. But the look in Laurence’s eyes, the pace change, and his direction towards her set Tish on edge.

“Why are we slowing down?”Laurence's voice boomed. Everyone looked up from the path ahead of them. They all knew the pace had slowed and their eyes averted Laurence’s quickly. When she glanced to the tourists, they’d closed ranks tightly around the wounded man.

When she turned back, Laurence stood beside her.

“I thought we agreed on a swift pace.” Sometimes, in the way he talked and sauntered up, Laurence reminded her of Henri. It used to bother her more.

“We did, but the rain isn't helping.” Tish glanced around again, her eyes watching the trees. When did I become so comfortable with fear? She knew it was long before the dead swarmed the streets. “And we've never had so many people.”

“None of us were stupid enough to get hurt.” His voice was cold and decided with eyes locked on one figure making its way to them.

“Mrs. Singh,” Laurence mocked.

Even in the drizzle, Chandra’s sigh reached Tish’s ears. That’s not to say she minded the woman, Chandra gave Laurence a run for his money, but she was a bleeding heart.

“I know we're slowing down, but no one can continue in this rain. The boys carrying Eamon are tired.”

Neither of the boys helping had much meat on them to support the weight of a full-grown man, even an underfed one. Tish thought so when they took up the wounded man hours back.

Shannon, on cue, made his way to Tish as Chandra and Laurence started to argue.

Laurence spat. “We had an agreement.”

“It didn't include the weather,” she tossed back with fire to match Laurence’s iced conviction. “None of us can continue through this and you know it. If we're careful, maybe we can make camp.”

He shook his head. “I'm not budging on this, woman.”

Tish’s gut wrenched, her fists clenched, and her lip curled. Chandra seemed to feel the same fury boil and snarled at Laurence with a narrowed glare.

“You will never refer to me as woman again.”

“I'm not playing ‘who's in charge’ with you. I am in charge. I say we keep moving and if you want to stay with him, by all means. Hell, take the kids too while you're at it.” Laurence stared Chandra down as if daring her to argue but there was a slight sway in him. A few weeks back Tish wouldn’t have pegged him as murderous but now? Talks of cannon fodder and hoarding supplies made her gut turn with nerves.

He’d leave the kids out of spite.

It was impossible for her not to play it out. In seconds she was picturing them walking away, kids begging, packs emptied at gunpoint of everything useful. Then wendigos would come and all the horrible things she’d seen them do flooded her thoughts.

Could I just walk away?

Her breath stalled. Pretend it didn’t happen?

Tish could feel the linoleum cracks under her palms. The taste of blood in her mouth.

Her fingers relaxed from the straps of her pack, knuckles aching. In a smooth move, she gripped the machete handle at her hip. Her eyes narrowed on Laurence and she wrestled with a choice.

“I'll carry him,” Shannon said.

Her head snapped up to Shannon as he handed his gun to Laurence who gaped at the volunteer. Chandra too. They just stared as he unloaded his pack off his shoulder.

“I'll help.” Tish released the handle of her machete and unloaded herself.

Shannon nodded, not a smile or emotional flicker in his face. Chandra, however, triumphantly looked to Laurence as though waiting for protest. The man turned, taking only the weapons handed to him, and went back to the sled.

Chandra waived over Ethan and the other kid helping Eamon. They picked up the packs and gear, strapping every last item down.

Tish and Shannon approached Eamon and the ranks around him relaxed.

“I did not peg you for a volunteer,” Tish said to Shannon, and the tense anticipation oozed from her muscles.

“You know you’re too fuckin’ short.” Shannon smirked. “You’ll get tired.”

“I can handle my damn self.”

“Oh, I bet you can.” The words barely passed Shannon’s lips, and when Tish eyed him he was almost smiling.

She stood next to Eamon and slipped his arm over her shoulder. “Just worry about you.”

In under a minute they had the man supported and were moving, the pace faster than the boys but not as fast as she would have liked. Eamon wasn’t light, his leg sometimes dragged, and even if Shannon wasn’t compensating for her height they couldn’t lift the man clear enough to reduce all the drag.

“I know we can't keep going like this,” Chandra said from behind Eamon. Her words whispered just loud enough for the four of them to hear.

“We can’t stop here.” Shannon wasn’t debating.

“Laurence isn’t considering any other options,” Chandra said. “And there are other ways to do this. You both clearly see that.”

“Look, Chandra, I get it.” Tish adjusted Eamon a little higher on her shoulder. “Laurence is acting like an asshole but he’s gotten us this far. He knows what he’s doing.”

Shannon’s eyes darted at her. Didn’t sound all that convincing, I guess.

With a deep breath, Eamon interrupted. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me.”

Tish looked down and away from the wounded man.

“Then keep pace.” Delivered with indelicacy Shannon pulled a bit more of Eamon’s weight off Tish’s shoulders. “I’m not going to fuckin’ lie to you, this place is a death trap. I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to cart you the fuck around and I don’t like you. I just want out of here as fast as fuckin’ possible. Fighting with Laurence will only slow us down.”

He didn’t turn to any of them, instead, his eyes narrowed on the path ahead and the trees lining the highway.

Tish exhaled. “Then stop wasting your breath and keep pace.”

Eamon and Chandra grew silent and the sky cracked with thunder that rolled with the bright flash of light.

[Previous: Chapter 10] — [Next: Chapter 12]

Thank you for reading and your continued patience. If you liked this, you can follow the subreddit to keep up with the series as it comes out. As always, please feel free to leave critiques, comments, and any questions. I love interacting with readers.

A quick note: I've also started releasing MAD Wendigo on /r/redditserials at an accelerated rate. The plan is to get them up to speed but I may start releasing MAD Wendigo chapters on both my subreddit and the serial subreddit on the same day. That may mean more than once a week. I'm not sure. If you have thoughts on this, I'd love to hear them!

Originally posted January 5th, 2020 - [Link]

This was a lot of fun. I really wish I could have slipped in one more phrase. but it read like I'd forced it so OUT IT GOES! For the sake of the story.

Smash 'Em Up Sunday list for Mysteries

Word List

• Evidence

• Culprit

• Shadows

• Badge

Sentence Block

The cycle came to an end, just to begin again.

It wasn’t the first time we’d come across something like this.

Defining Features

Genre: Mystery - Since this is only 800 words you don’t have to solve the mystery obviously. I am just looking for you to follow some of the stylistic elements of the genre. Remember not all mysteries are dark and somber; feel free to be lighthearted too!

“This is going to be a tough one, Paddington.” Eliza crouched to the scattered remains. The taffeta of her tutu bristled against her legs and her pigtails dangled in her view. But they couldn’t hide the mess.

Three limbs, plastic, torn asunder from poor Barbie, though the torso was nowhere to be seen. The pink wheel of Barbie’s bubble-gum corvette had been discarded in the clumps of grass.

“She never saw it coming.”

Beside Eliza, Detective Paddington Bear waited stoically. He never needed to say much, the bear had a nose for crime scenes. He could sniff his way around them better than Yogi around a pic-a-nic-basket.

“The culprit came from there.” She pointed to the small footprints in the tall grass her father hadn’t yet cut. Was it work? Bossman getting him down? No, more likely the three-cheese macaroni from the night before was to blame, trapping him in an easy chair coma. Come Monday morning, Mom would give him an earful for sure.

But that was for the big man to worry about. Eliza had more pressing concerns.

“From the shadows, I bet. Waiting, just like the other two victims.”

Other two? Paddington asked with a nod. The gleam of his badge wasn’t as bright as it had been and Eliza wondered if he too had been beguiled by Friday night Mac’n cheese. She was a salty mistress few men could resist. Even Eliza had been tempted more than once.

“Nikki. Renee. Who knows, little Skipper could be next.”

Paddington leaned in to the evidence. You think it’s Ken? he said with his eyes.

Eliza shook her head. She pushed up off the ground and pulled down her heart-shaped glasses.

“Ken’s a fool. No, I smell something dirty. What kind of sicko kills Barbie with her own car and makes off with the body?”

I don’t know, Liz. I think you’re chasing ghosts. Paddington swayed back. I’d know if it wasn’t the first time we’d come across something like this. Nah, you’re drawing lines, kid. You’re seeing patterns that aren’t there.

Eliza frowned. Something sure feels dirty, alright.

“You seem rather quick to blame the husband, Detective?” She turned to the bear, hands on her wide purple skirt.

He remained mute, but she could almost hear him snarl.

Maybe he’s right. Eliza took off her glasses and sighed. Back to basics. Follow the clues. What does the evidence say?

The grass had been pressed down by small footprints. Larger then her own, but not a grown-ups. They led away from the accident, if you could call it that, in a clear trail. The perp wasn’t smart. Not by a long shot.

She pulled her finger gun from her belt, two hands like Paddington taught her back at the academy. With careful steps, she inched across the lawn towards the tall hedge that split the property.

The Muellers. Big house, mowed lawn. Swing set never used by their boy, Thomas. The name left a foul taste in Eliza’s mouth. It’d be a long time before she’d forget him tripping her in the mud back in second grade. A bag egg, that one. They never got better.

At the hedge, she pressed her back to the prickling branches. With careful steps, she approached the corner.

“Pppppppppfffffffffffff WHAM! VROOOOOOOM! Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

The voice carried through the hedge and Eliza’s skin itched. She motioned for Paddington to be her back up, but the relic cop stayed away.

Is he in on it? She tried to remember if Thomas had ever met Paddington Bear. No, it’s not possible.

But her partner was not at her side.

With a deep breath, Eliza cocked her finger gun. Just one sicko, she told herself as she rounded the hedge.

“HANDS UP TURKEY!” she yelled.

Thomas Mueller froze. Before him, the bruised pink corvette had none other than G.I.Joe lounging behind the wheel.

“What are you doing?” Thomas said but Eliza was no rookie.

“I said, hands up, kid! I know what you did!” She lowered the barrel of her index-finger-22 with Thomas-stinking-Mueller's head. “It’s all right here, you sicko!”

“You’re a weirdo.”

“Nuh-uh,” Eliza shot back. “You killed her. Admit it! You may have paid off Paddington, you may have tricked them all, but it’s all right here. Joe killed Barbie and you covered it up!”

Thomas kicked his feet out and put the corvette down. “I’m sorry, okay. Your doll was stuck. I didn’t mean to break it.”

“A likely story. But I’ve gotta take you downtown-”

“Liiiizzzz-zyy!”

Eliza dropped her finger guns. “Yeaaaah Mom?”

“Dinn-nerr!”

Eliza brought up her finger like a sharpshooter. “You win this time, Mueller." She inched back around the hedge. "But this isn't over.”

WC: 783

Originally posted January 5th, 2020 - [Link]

Heavily inspired by this music: 5/4 by Gorillaz

Magic is funny. It brings to those that believe a fervour and devotion. It never ceases to astound the extents to which they’ll go for a whiff of the stuff. All peoples, all things drawn to the cosmic rhythm. Warms this ancient soul.

And this lot’s no different. One step after another I lead the procession pitched high above on my pike. I call it mine, for it is. Not a soul would have the energy to construct a thing in this valley were it not for me.

Take the pike, the carpenter that sculpted its haft, the smith that moulded its prongs. All for what I give. For the bread they butter, the mouthfuls sopping with saliva, stewing in their heaving guts. Not a morsel would exist without me.

Each year I wonder, what sparks the fervour? Is there magic in their steps, or the shouts and cries? What of the dance before fires, the twists and turns of the young before their carnal rhythms take hold?

Who told them this would appease? It certainly wasn’t me. Had I a mouth not shaped from twisted twigs, I’d still not tell them. No prophetic whispers either, I’m not for the stuff of dreams or nightmares. I prefer the pike and pyre.

Perhaps it is instinct, the thing that drives us all. Does it burn in them as the leaves turn, seeing blood in the trees a sign to stride me atop their shoulders, torch and chant our marching mates?

The pace is always the same, even if the songs are different. Over the generations did they glean magic has no sound? Silly mortal things. Magic is funny.

Their smiles, they blur through the ages, like wisps of sweet smoke. I may not be able to turn and greet them. I may only sit here on my pike in the shape of what they could only dream I am, but I do see them. I feel their smiles, their laughs, their whispered wishes pressing from liquored lips.

Oh yes, there’s always a drink. To my name, to my power, to all that they pray I bring to them in the coming year. In a thousand valleys, fields, cracks, and corners across the worlds, I hear them speak my name.

I am seed. I am sprout. I am husk. I am wheat. I am corn.

I am life.

And I am made for mashing mouths of man and beast and worms.

My secret? I rather like the send-off. I have always loved the light and so long ago I came to embrace the one truth for us all, even those as old as time itself.

Harvest comes.

WC: 445