Chaos Tales: Whistle at the End of the World
This week, Tod takes another stab at writing a dark story. Anna helps him. And remember, the dog (or other pet) never dies!
Anna’s Intro
I love writing dark. There is so much in the shadows of life that can teach us about the light. Tod is always good at balancing that out for me, reminding me to leave a glimmer of hope. But what is better than a Chaos Tale of darkness during Halloween?
So, when my wonderfully silly husband woke me up on Saturday jumping up and down and saying he had finally written something dark, I was intrigued but a little concerned as well. Tod writing dark?
So, I popped open my laptop and read. And for once his story didn’t have me in stitches with silly over blown silliness. It made me almost sad. <sad eyes> Instead he scratched the surface of dark grim world that was like the faintest outline of a shadow. You could see it could be dark, but he had not dove into it. So, I did that for him.
I hope you enjoy this Halloween story.
Tod’s Intro
I have the most wonderful wife and best co-author in the world.
I’ve tried writing dark shorts for the blog before. It didn’t really work. Remember Aki and the Horror from Beyond? https://blog.casasent.blog/p/chaos-critter-tails-aki-and-the-horror Even in the longer-format shorts we do together, my portion tends to be on the lighter side. And they aren’t really that dark in general.
But I was pretty proud of my rough draft of this. My wonderful wife read it. I asked what she thought. She smiled sympathetically and said brightly, “It’s your darkest yet!”
That wasn’t a stretch - it just had to not be a comedy to qualify.
But on reading her changes (taking 950 words and expanding it to 1550, as is her want), I’m still impressed and proud of my dark story.
I hope everyone else enjoys it too.
And to brighten your day, here’s a dark picture of Beleth.
Whistle at the End of the World
The distance wail of a siren shook the old uneven windows as Mara poured kibble for her sable ferret. “Whistle, there are always sirens here, but at least we can afford the rent.”
Scritching Whistle as he gobbled his breakfast, she checked herself in the mirror. Her eyes were a little bloodshot from lack of a good sleep because of the rattling and business noise of the neighborhood. But for all that, she looked as clean and fresh as anyone could in times such as these. Her short blonde hair had a dull, brittle look from the hard water, matching the odd silver tint of her sable ferret, but it was out of the way, short, flat and above her collar. No need to take a knife to it this weekend.
She pulled on her overlarge, worn military jacket, a remnant from her long-lost brother, folding back the sleeves. Taking a breath, she checked the aged HK P7 - the cool grip of the heavy pistol fit well in her practiced hands. Squaring her shoulders, she slipped it discreetly into the inner pocket. Nodding at her reflection, Mara made sure her clothes were clean, but not too fancy - jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Nothing to attract attention. Alone and ready to face the world. Mostly ready.
Bracing herself, Mara headed out for groceries. It was just a little jaunt across the rundown neighborhood and back. “See ya, Whistle!”
Unlatching the inner door, the damp wet morning air whispered through the room, heavy with the scent of must and mold. She wrinkled her nose. As she glanced back over her shoulder for one last look at her ferret, the outer glass door slammed into the side of her face, knocking her sprawling.
Whistle zipped and ferret-hopped around her, his dark fur floofed out and his back arched like a Halloween black cat. He hissed and spat.
Her neighbor Oliver plastered himself against her door. His usually clean polo shirt was shredded and bloody. “Help me! Let me in! Please!”
Mara’s breath caught in her throat as a gray arm grabbed Oliver from behind and dragged him away from the door. Wiping blood from her bleeding nose. She pushed herself up and sprinted outside. “Oliver!”
Two steps from into the open, she slammed to a stop. She scanned the weed laden sidewalk, the broken garage door of a long dead neighbor, and felt the hum of adrenaline from being out in the open.
Oliver was not in sight, but a rust-colored smudge marked the trail where he had been dragged over the uneven sidewalk. A gray pinky finger poked up between the weeds, and she looked away. Recognizing the scent of rotting human flesh just under the smell of rising smoke, she let the HK, which she had drawn instinctively, dangle.
Sighing, she blinked back a tear, “I guess I should’ve checked on the sirens.”
She squinted her eyes and peered around. A glare from a cracked window showed thin flames blackening the edge of the weathered wood of the Benson house across the street. No emergency vehicles attended the house fire. The window glass was cracked. Attic shutters hung open, half falling, and smoke was slowly pouring out, like a mist on a foggy river.
The morning was still gray and white, with only a light of orange flame to add any color in the dim light.
Mara turned, scanning for movement. Stepping back into the sheltering shadow of her own home, away from the burning Benson place and the transients’ hovel, two shacks down.
The morning air brought a crispness despite the mist. The dull whining of sirens in the distance echoed in all directions across the concrete.
A choked hiss and cough was followed by Oliver’s hoarse cry. “Help!”
Oliver’s cry came from the open, drooping door of the most dilapidated shack on the row. Mara gave an inward shudder. That had gone past rundown into the true squalor that only the constantly changing transients could abide.
Gun at low ready, shaking her short hair, Mara charged towards her neighbor’s cry.
His next cry was cut short by a squelching sound.
In the entire neighborhood, Oliver was closest to her in age. She didn’t think they were close. But now, the thought of him dying spurred her forward.
Entering the doorway, she smoothly lifted HK, relaxing her shoulders and scanning for movement. Mara squeezed the grip, cocking the gun.
In the dingy light, a grayish hand missing a pinky moved. Mara spun in time to see the latest transient. He was covered in blood, skin the gray of death.
His jaw full of broken teeth ripped out of Oliver’s throat. The smell of rotting flesh mixed with the warm copper smell of fresh blood.
Mara took a deep breath.
The transient’s glazed eyes turned toward her. Its head whipped around with a popping of bones. Its nose flared as if scenting prey, and a red drool of blood and saliva dripped from half shattered, blackened teeth.
Dropping Oliver’s limp body, the harrowing specter lurched towards her.
Her front sight on the bloody, indecipherable shirt logo, Mara shot it in the chest.
Twice.
Boom, Boom. But she barely heard the deafening noise.
The thing stumbled over Oliver’s body but kept coming. Its movements uneven but picking up speed with each step.
Part of her brain screamed “failure drill”. But her hands were steady as her front sight moved to cover the creature’s face.
She didn’t hear the shot at all this time. But the gray-skinned cannibal fell. The blood crusted hand scrapped across her jeans as it fell, scrambling at her feet. Mara’s skin crawled as she backed away, her left hand instinctively, futilely wiping at the blood on her pants.
Backing away, movement of a familiar crisp white shirt grabbed her attention. “Mr. Benson! It’s good to see--”
The male half of the cute couple whose house was on fire stared at her blankly. Bite marks stood out, black and bloody, on his arm. “Oh! Mr. Benson!”
Taking another step away, something cold and stiffer than flesh should be touched her back.
Whirling, Mrs. Benson’s sunny features were grayed, missing the flesh on half her face. The once beautiful, bubbly face now leered at her above the bloody, conservative dress.
Screaming, Mara abandoned the house turned abattoir.
Never again would a house of simple transients disturb her.
Stumbling, scared to turn her back on the Bensons, Mara backed away. She glanced around, checking for other creatures.
She darted towards home. Her porch free from monsters, transients, and friends alike, she rested her head against the smudged outer glass door for a second before stumbling inside.
She was greeted by Whistle, who chirruped at her. Cuddling her ferret, unwilling to let him go, she somehow managed the locks on her outer and inner doors.
“Whistle, they’re all dead.”
Her back against the door, Mara’s voice was a mumble of dazed fear, pouring her heart out to her only living companion.
“Whistle, I guess sometimes it takes the end of the world for you to realize you weren’t really alone. Oliver. The Bensons. They were my friends. Now they’re gone, truly gone, and changed into something else.”
A thump on the door made her spring away from it, Whistle tucked behind her and pistol pointed at the peephole.
Another thump.
Sneaking up to the door, she peered through the lens. “Looks like the Bensons want to continue our relationship anyway.”
Backing away from the door, she stood there a long while. Her back itched, but she would relinquish neither the gun nor the ferret.
Finally, the sodden thumps stopped. A return to the peephole showed her an empty porch.
Pulling her phone from her rear pocket, she dialed 911.
“A busy signal?”
She tried a news site with her phone’s browser and got nothing. “Whistle, there’s no 5G. All I have is voice with nobody to call. We should have kept the TV, I guess.”
She put Whistle on the table and absently rubbed her itching back.
Mara froze, one hand over her shoulder.
Whistle chirped as she ran to the bathroom.
When she returned, her clothes were rumpled and her expression wan and pasty.
She moved listlessly through the house. Whistle followed her as she pulled down the bags of cat kibble she fed him, opening them on the floor.
Mara groaned as the itch became an ache. The hum of hunger started, and the blood on her clothes, even her own, smelled like the sweetest nectar.
Biting her lips, Mara poured bags of litter brought in from the garage into his box.
Stumbling, she headed to the kitchen.
Whistle played a little in the bowls of water Mara placed all over, and she cracked a window just enough for him to crawl out if needed. She didn’t trust herself to cuddle him.
Stumbling to the garage door, she used a wide black marker against the dingy cream-colored paint.
Slowly, laboriously, Mara pulled her keys from her pocket and put them on the kitchen table.
A sad smile spread across her face.
“I love you, Whistle. Take care of yourself.”
Mara turned the interior lock of the garage door and stepped through. With one last look at Whistle, she sealed herself in.
Whistle bounced around the door, waiting for Mara to return. His illiterate gaze was ignorant of what she’d written on the door.
“Forgive me. Take care of Whistle. Don’t open.”
Chaos Tip of the Week
Halloween is coming and with it tricks and treats. Make sure you are ready for the buzz and danger with enough water for the apocalypse and enough candy with which to pay your minions.
Chaos Question of the Week
What is your favorite ghost, creepy or dark story? And why does it pull you in? And what does it teach you about real life?
~ Anna (and Tod)
Anthologies!
Black Cat Tales! What better time than Halloween to buy a black cat anthology? You can purchase Black Cat Tales Anthology on Amazon and other retailers https://www.amazon.com/Black-Cat-Tales-Anthology-Cats-ebook/dp/B0DXMXX5JP/ Black Cat Tales reach #1 for Horror Anthologies for both IngramSparks (the main distributor for bookstores) and Barnes & Noble! If it isn’t on your Halloween reading list, it should be.
If cars are more your style, consider Convoy of Chaos, an explosive Car Wars anthology from Three Ravens Publishing packed full of big rigs, wasteland raiders, and survival (or death) on the open road. It launched on October 3 and can be order on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FQ2YKVB1. We are in great company with so many Alpha Mercs in the author line up (Quinn, Jesse Slater, T. M. Gray, David Bock, Richard Cartwright, Sam Robb, Bee M Kay, Douglas Goodall, Seth Taylor and us) as well as William Joseph Roberts from Three Ravens Publishing.
Bravo, Brava!
I'm with Tod.....that got dark..er...