In Darkest Night by Christina Richter

Crested moon and sundered sight
Twisted hag and blackened night
Once and thrice the shrew doth wail
Shrouded by her bloodied veil
Crowned by thorns and bound by woe
‘Neath rotting moors her seed doth sew
Mercy hath no venture here
Her sired succubus draws near.

A piercing scream sliced through the air and stabbed at her ears with stark terror as she bolted upright in her bed. It took only a moment to realize the scream was her own, leaving her throat raw and hoarse. Her frail form shaking, slender fingers wiped at the beads of sweat that had formed on her brow.

It was coming more often now, the nightmare ravaging her dreams these last few months. It was the same thing every time and it always left her weak and looking over her shoulder. “What did it all mean?” she wondered, frustration settling deep in the hunch of her shoulders. With a sigh she fell back against her disheveled pillows, reliving the dream in her mind.

 That face, she shuddered. That face burned behind her eyes and wouldn’t leave her even in her waking hours. Sometimes she often thought she saw his face, swimming amid the crowd of bustling strangers. A jogger, the soft and gentle face of an elderly woman, the Policeman on the corner, their faces would suddenly melt into a grotesque and malevolent sneer with cold, dead eyes. Maybe she was losing her mind. They say it runs in the family. She was told her mother went crazy, spoke to shadows and danced naked in the rain. I suppose there’s no harm in dancing but naked in the downtown square chanting some garble about the devil siring your bastard child was frowned upon. They locked her up, but as misfortune would have it, she was found three days later hanging by her bed sheets. Mary didn’t know her mother enough to grieve for her. Although she supposed she grieved the idea of her. After having given her up at birth, she spent much of her life in and out of the hell known as Foster Care. She didn’t care to relive any of those memories.

Mary swept the blankets off and stumbled into the bathroom. She flipped on the light and leaned against the sink studying herself in the mirror. Lines had started parading across her forehead and gray hair was peeking out from her temples. Her eyes that were still puffy from sleep seemed to have permanent bags under them, she was getting old. As she studied herself a moment more, another sigh punched past her lips, today was going to be a long day. 

 The brisk shower and strong coffee seemed to stave off the sleep deprivation that kept nagging at her these days. She was even amicable to the impatient jerks at the crosswalk that were always pushing and shoving past. Instead of shoving back and barking “Watch it!” she just grunted and kept on going, shoving her fists into her pockets. She even kept her cool when Mr. Idiot Delivery Guy careened down the street that she worked on at break neck speeds. “One of these days you’re going to kill someone,” she muttered under her breath.

***

“Hi, Mary!” came the elated voices of the kids at St. Luke’s Group Home.

“Hey guys!” she smiled and waved to them all sitting in the games room. She found it ironic that her field of work had been in the very area that she had fought so hard to get away from, but these kids were different. This was a special needs group home; all of the “friends” were physically and/or mentally challenged.

“Mary! Mary!” a young, smiling man yelled while running towards her with arms out stretched.

“Hi, Tommy,” she laughed, taking him in for a big hug. “Have you finished your breakfast?”

 He laughed and smiled wide, “Yeah!”

“Good boy!” she winked, which made him clap and laugh happily. Tommy looked like any other 19 year old, but he had the mind of a 6 year and wouldn’t develop passed that age. He had been in the home since he was 10, his father no longer willing to care for a son who was “different”.

“I see that you have to finish your breakfast, Mary!” he said, pointing to the paper bag in her hand that had her Beggel.

“That’s right, Tommy! I’m heading to my office right now and that’s just what I’m going to do. Now, how about you go in there and make sure that the others finish up their breakfast, ok?”

“Ok, Mary,” he replied, never making eye contact but smiling happily none the less.

Mary smiled and reached out giving his arm a gentle squeeze, “Good boy,” she whispered with a wink. She continued on her way to her office, greeting her fellow staff members as she went. Just before she got to her door she noticed David, one of the residents, peeking from behind a corner watching her. She smiled knowing that he was shy and quiet. He was what they referred to as “a lifer”, left on their doorstep as a baby. His parents saw his down syndrome as a reason to abandon him.

 “Good morning, David,” she offered, hoping that it would draw him out to talk to her, but the moment she spoke he had turned away and left, probably fleeing to the safety of his room. “Hmm,” she muttered, shrugging and then entering her office. There was a stack of messages waiting for her on the desk, the usual “Mr. & Mrs. So and So want to meet you about their son/daughter,” blah, blah, blah’s. She squared her shoulders picking up the phone, “And the fun begins,” she sighed.

Mary worked right through lunch, someone brought her a tray but the only thing she had eaten from it was the apple slices. Sitting, staring at the computer screen was making her eyes burn…on top of the burn from lack of sleep. She leaned back in her chair rubbing her eyes, taking a long, deep breath. A second deep breath ended up as a yawn and it was on the exhale that she noticed David standing outside her office watching her again. “David?” she asked, tilting her head curiously. Startled he jumped back and retreated.

 “David wait!” she yelled, getting up to follow him. He was already halfway down the hall when she started after him. “David wait, please! Why are you avoiding me?” He kept glancing over his shoulder at her; there was a look of fear in his eyes that she needed to get to the bottom of. She didn’t understand why he would be afraid of her. She had to talk to him. “David, please…slow down, you’re way too fast for me!” she laughed, hoping to ease the situation and get him to stop. She managed to catch up to him in the hallway near his room and was able to stop him from shutting his door on her. “David…” she pleaded, stopping his door with her hand. “David, whatever is the matter? Why are you trying to get away from me?” David cast his eyes down to the floor and didn’t reply. “Have I done something to upset you?” He shook his head no. “Has something happened?” Again he shook his head. “What is it then, David?” He looked at her then and took her hand pulling her into his room and ushering her to sit on his bed with him. “Ok, David…what is it? You know you can tell me anyth—“

“You’re going to die!” David blurted.

Mary stared at him a moment, “Excuse me?”

“He’s coming,” he whispered.

 “Who’s coming? David, what are you talking about?”

“The bad man with the scary face is coming! He’s going to get you, Mary!” he was looking at her with genuine fear in his eyes.

“David…” she put her hands on his shoulders, “did you have a bad dream? No one is coming to get me. I’m fine, ok?”

“No! I saw it! He’s coming! I see him in my dreams and so do you, Mary!”

Stunned, Mary looked at him shaking her head. He couldn’t possibly…”David…how do you know about my dreams?”

David looked down at his hands in his lap, “Sometimes I see things, Mary, things that come true.”

“What else have you seen, David?”

“I saw when Tommy was going to break his arm last year and it came true, Mary! It came true!”

“Yes, David, Tommy did break his arm but that doesn’t mea—“

 “Someone else is going to die too.”

Mary searched David’s features looking for something that made sense. This was all crazy! “What do you mean, David?”

“Someone else is going to die. They’re going to be in a car accident and it’s going to happen soon.” David sat there concentrating on his hands, holding them tightly together.

“Car accidents happen all the time, David…”

“This one will happen here on our street,” he said, pointing his finger downward, “right out front!”

“David, I—“

David suddenly flung his arms around her, “Please don’t go home tonight, Mary! He’s there and he’s going to get you! I don’t want you to die!”

Mary slowly put her arms around him confused and frightened; her heart beating against her chest. She was unable to say anything, his words were echoing in her mind.

 A moment later she looked up to see staff members running by, some were on their cell phones speaking urgently. Mary got up and stuck her head out the door, “What’s going on?” she asked one of the nurses running by.

“Someone just got hit out front!”

Mary gasped and took off running behind the nurse. When they got outside a crowd had gathered. The nurse pushed through the people hoping that she could help. They cleared a path and let her through and when Mary saw, her hand flew to her mouth as she gasped. There, lying on the pavement was an elderly man lying in a pool of blood. His body was twisted, his neck snapped and his eyes were staring out vacant and lifeless. About fifty feet away Mr. Idiot Delivery Guy stood talking on his phone, he was pacing back and forth smoking a cigarette.

The world around her began to spin, David’s words thundering in her head. “He’s coming for you, Mary! He’s waiting for you!” and then everything went black.

 ***

“Mary? Mary?” she heard somewhere in the fog. “I think she’s coming around. Mary? Can you hear me?” Mary opened her eyes and saw the nurse looking down at her smiling. “So good of you to come back to us, that was quite the little fainting spill you took!”

Mary sat up with some assistance and rubbed at her face and neck, “What happened?”

“Well, when you saw that poor man who got hit by the delivery van, you just…” she gestured with her hands, “fell over and was out cold.”

“Is he—“ Mary looked at Brenda unable to continue.

“Yes. He’s very much dead.” Mary could only stare, unable to form words. “Listen, sweetie, I’m gonna have someone drive you home, ok?”

Mary shook her head, more so to clear her thoughts, “Oh no, that’s not necessary, I’m fine.”

“Oh yes, I’m the nurse and I say, you’re gonna get a ride home.” She looked sternly at Mary with a no if’s, and’s or but’s kind of glare.

“A-alright…” she stuttered. “Alright, I’ll just go get my things.”

 “No need. Fred!” the nurse yelled. From behind her stepped her assistant with Mary’s purse and sweater in hand.

“Oh.” Mary started to get up and hands shot out around her helping her up. “Thank you,” she said mechanically, not bothering to look at their faces.

As she was helped into one of her co-worker’s cars, in one of the front windows she saw the grim expression of David watching her.

At home she cracked some windows to let the breeze run through, the summer heat already dampening her shirt with sweat. Laying down she closed her eyes and thought about the man that died. The stare of his dead eyes had stuck with her and she couldn’t shake that feeling. Plus David’s words still echoed.
Sighing in frustration, she decided that she wasn’t going to give his vision any power by fretting over it. So she rolled over and went to sleep. Almost immediately the nightmare came, the darkness, the whispers. Mary always saw his face at a distance but the last little while his face had been closer in each dream. Tonight’s dream had her almost within his reach. His horrific, disfigured face sneering at her in a self-satisfied way that seemed to say, “You’re mine.” He just stood there watching her and then all at once he lunged at her and she screamed!

 Her scream woke her up and she bolted up right, the sheets and her clothes drenched with sweat. Instantly she panicked because the room was pitch black. She must have slept all day; she had forgotten to put any lights on. Mary reached over and grasped her lamp chain and gave a tug…nothing. Shit. She reached in the drawer and grabbed her lighter that she used for her aromatic candles on her bedside table. After lighting one, Mary felt her way over to her bedroom door and felt for the switch to her room. Nothing. “What the hell?” Her heart started racing, her throat constricting. “It’s just a power outage. It’s just a power outage,” she desperately tried to convince herself.

She started padding down the hallway, the only source of light was the candle she held in her shaking hand. The flame flickered when her breath shivered past her lips as she tried to ease her thundering heart. She stretched out her arm and patted the wall for guidance as she walked. The darkness seemed to move and surge, menacing and terrifying.

 “Mary…” she sucked in a shrill breath and whirled around to face whoever had whispered her name. But there was nothing, nothing but the wind ruffling the lace of a curtain. “Who’s there?” she called out, her voice pitched and frantic. The only sound that returned to her was her shaky breath that seemed so impossibly loud in the God forsaken darkness. She wanted to cry out! To scream, but she couldn’t, she was too afraid, as if the sound would invite unimaginable horrors. Still her footsteps pushed forward and just as she was about to round the corner, that same low whisper rasped her name again. She turned her head knowing that there was nothing there. Sobbing with fear that seared every inch of her flesh, she turned back and her eyes flared wide as there before her was the cold, steel gaze of death, the glowering, impetuous eyes of her predator. The candle went out, her scream pierced the night and the darkness shifted and shuddered in its delight.

In darkest night the shadows creep
Dripping with the fear they reap
A scream is heard, the deed is done
Another wretched soul’s been won.

A Day In The Life of Me by Christina Askin Richter

I’ve often found myself rolling my eyes and scoffing at the latest craze in technology thinking, “What Will they come up with next??” Well my friends, I tell you that tonight, I got down on my knees, puckered up and kissed the almighty God of Technology’s little bumbum.

It was a beautiful evening, so I decide to take my mini me's for a walk, nothing out of the ordinary, right? I also thought, seeing as we live below my parents, I would take their dog Rosie for a walk (they had gone to town). I was advised against it, due to invisible fence issues and such. Anyhoo…we’re already up there, so we go out the garage door. Nice thing those garage doors, huh? Just push the little button and tadaaaa. It’s a fine piece of machinery. Not so handy though when you’re on the outside, with no button OR key to get in. Whoops! I think, well...maybe I can time it and get back from our walk just in time for my parents to return from town and open the door. Voila! Perfect solution. We go on merry little way and take our walk. Tra la la, la laaaa. 

Halfway home, I realize I have to go...really bad. I tell Kaiden this which turns on his water works and he asks to go pee in the bush. Sure…why not…I’m not doing anything. I however, will NOT pee in the bush as I always somehow end up peeing on my socks and shoes and frankly...just, no. The closer we get to the house, the more urgency I feel in needing to go. We get back to the house, no parents. Uh oh...(@_@) I'm standing there trying to look as inconspicuous as possible to cars passing, I would like to think I looked statuesque with my back straight, head up, hand on hip, feet, legs and cheeks squeezed ever so tightly together. As I'm standing there, all kinds of thoughts are running through my head, wondering if there's a bucket somewhere, a cup, a freakin’ take out bag. My thoughts start turning more aggressive to smashing a window or patio door. Oh the stories that Kaiden would tell at school if I did any of this. I texted my parents asking if they were still in town and when they replied “Yes” I had that moment where everything just zooms out when you come to a horrific realization. I think, Dear God, I’m going to pee in my pants. They reply with “Why?” So I tell them my situation…feeling horrible that they would have to cut their town trip short to come and rescue me and my, by then soiled self. 

But wait! Da duh duh daaaa!!! My superhero parents msg me with the code to open my dads truck, which has what? That’s RIGHT! A garage door opener!!! Happy dance! Happy dance! Well, as much as I could happy dance with everything so tightly clenched. The door opens, we get inside and I…I, am still dry. *fist pump*

Around The River Bend by Christina Askin Richter

This is an excerpt.

Marcus and Phillip were brought outside the oak palace and into a camp with a number of white tents set up. They were guided to the biggest tent of them all and were told to wait just inside. There were a number of tables and benches around this tent and in the middle was one large round table with a huge map stretched out on top of it. Curious, they both walked over to the table and gazed at the map. It was a map of all of Maradel, it showed the five provinces with Fairhelm being on the outskirts closest to their entrance into the veil. There was also, Redmont to the east, Sodomforge to the south and Mount Orchamshire and Nindria to the west.

Suddenly a huge dark shadow came over the map and Marcus and Phillip froze when they heard a deep and gruff voice bellow, “So you’re the brothers in the songs of legend?” Terrified, neither brother could move a muscle. “Well, are you going to turn and greet me, or shall I continue our conversation with the backs of your heads?”

 Slowly they turned and looming in the opening of the tent was a Fae that had clearly seen many battles in his life time. His hair was dark and his skin was tan and weather worn with a large scar going from just above his left eyebrow to his jaw. He had stark features, but there was a kindness in his eyes that betrayed the harshness he seemed to exude. He smiled then and laid his hands on their shoulder’s, “Do not be afraid of me lads, come and know me better.” He turned with them and led them out of the tent and towards one of the fires where there was a cast iron pot bubbling over the coals and fresh fruit laid out on a bench. “First we eat, and then we discuss the mission.”

As they sat around the fire, eating the delicious vegetable stew that had been prepared, all the Fairies and Fae began reminiscing in stories of old. Marcus and Phillip listened in awe, hearing about the times before the veil. Phillip felt curious and asked softly, “Marthal?”

The large Fae looked at him smiling, “Aye, lad? What is it?”

Adjusting himself on the bench he licked his lips and continued, “You say that we are in the songs of legend. What are these songs?”

“Oh, there are many! From all over the veil and beyond!” Phillip thought that he was done his explanation until Marthal looked off to the mountains and started singing…

 In Maradel times were of love and of laughter And magic she roamed o’er the mountains and seas
But a darkness crept up from the red fires o’ Zarthune
And the lands fell to ruins of shadows and war

Cry, cry all babes born of summer The lakes and the rivers are dust and all gone

But whispers rode in on the north winds of Fairhelm Two brothers were destined to stand in flames Warriors brave, born of truth and of honor They battled the fires ‘til the war had been won

Hail, hail the brothers of legend In Maradel times were of laughter once more

Other’s joined in with the singing and sang songs of their own, while Marcus and Phillip sat and listened in wonder. It was so surreal to hear about themselves being sung about in these songs. Before now, they had led such ordinary lives. 

 This went on for what seemed like hours and no one seemed to grow tired of it. Marthal looked lost in thoughts and memories but he slapped his knees and looked at the boys, “Well lads, that’s enough of that. It’s time to get down to business.” He got up from his bench and walked off towards the large tent with Marcus and Phillip following close behind.

At the round table, Marthal leaned over the map and pointed, “Our first destination will be the great elms of Redmont, where we will request an audience with the high council of Dryads. Then it will be here,” he said, pointing northward, “the mountains of Sodomforge. This is the home of the Bouldren and they would be great allies in our plight against the darkness.”
Marthal looked to Marcus and Phillip who were watching him carefully listening to everything he was saying. Their faces were a mix of fear and excitement and an obligation he was sure that young boys of such tender ages should not have had to feel if times were different. He sighed gravely and continued. “Then we will make our way west to Orchamshire valley and the plains of Nindria where we will beseech the aide of the Fae tribes there. With all of the sons and daughters of Maradel uniting together, we just may have a chance at winning the war.”

Marcus looked up at him solemnly, “Do you think the songs of legends are true? Do you think that Phillip and I really have the power to end the war?”

 Marthel thought over his words and then lowered his head to meet Marcus’s gaze, “You’re here aren’t you?” he said, rising again to his full height. “That’s good enough for now.”

Marcus and Phillip looked at each other trying to hold hope for their cause but not really knowing what the future held for them or all of Maradel. They hoped beyond hope that the songs were true and that they could do as the legends told.

“Now, you must return home and do your part there and then I will see you again tomorrow where we will set off and begin our journey. I bid you brothers Goodnight,” and with that he bowed his head with his hand to his heart and left the tent.

Marcus and Phillip were escorted back to the veil entrance and spent the rest of the day in their world, lounging by the river and talking of what lay ahead.

“Do you really think we can do it, Marcus? I mean, what’s so special about us, huh? How are we suppose to win an entire war?” Phillip looked at his brother with so much fear and uncertainty showing in his eyes. Marcus wished that he could reassure his little brother and say that everything was going to be ok, but he really didn’t know himself if it would be. 

 He sat there and looked at his brother, so young and new to the
world like himself and then he reached out and took Phillip’s hand in his. “Whatever may come, whatever roads we will travel and dangers we’ll face…we’ll do it together.”

Phillip smiled then and squeezed his brother’s hand. “Yes,” he said, “together…”

Around The River Bend by Christina Askin Richter

An excerpt from my novel in progress - Around The River Bend

The province of Fairhelm was most befitting of a King and Queen. Majestic Ash and Elm stood tall, distinguished and lush with crisp green leaves. Their limbs spread like hulking giants, spreading over rolling hills, vibrant floras and wild flowers. Marcus and Phillip eyed some animals eating some grass that looked much like deer but even they had a magical appeal to them, with long reaching antlers and decorative markings. And birds! The boys could see them nestled in amongst the trees; their colors as endless as the skies they mastered. As if they knew they were being watched, a huge flock of small birds took flight and caressed the sky in a soft cloud of pink and purple hues. A little ways off in the distance they could see a perfect circle of ancient oak, their giant twisted limbs woven together creating a grand canopy.

“Is that where we’re going?” Phillip asked using his mind. He was still in such awe of their surroundings.

“It is indeed, little one,” Elohwen returned, “home of the high King and Queen of Maradel.”

When they landed, the sprawling roots of the ancient oaks snapped and popped and receded to reveal and arched opening.

“Wow,” Phillip gaped in amazement.

When Elohwen moved forward through the opening, Phillip and Marcus followed close behind, staring wide eyed at the colossal giants as they passed. Inside, the sounds of birdsong and waterfalls filled their ears. Brilliantly coloured butterflies were flitting about the bountiful blossoms, as sunlight poked through the openings in the canopy. There wasn’t any need of sunlight though; there was a soft natural glow that made everything shimmer. Fairies were everywhere, both in fairy form and balls of light, dancing and singing and giggling.

Phillip became mesmerized by one of the fairy lights that was dancing about and singing. The voice definitely sounded female even though he couldn’t see her face. Still in light form she started coming towards him, spinning in circles and radiating joy. She finally slowed in front of him and as she spun to face him, she changed into her fairy form, her dark hair swishing around her waist. The small little fairy with tiny flowers in her hair; smiled at Phillip and kissed him on the nose. Giggling, she danced away, changing back into her light form all the while singing her happy little tune. Phillip smiled widely and looked at Marcus to see if he had been watching. By his smile and laugh, he knew that he had.

The three of them entered into a room that had a few rows of moss covered rocks that looked to be used for seating. There were two grand looking thrones, entwined with vines and gold, that must be where the King and Queen sat during counsel. In behind them they could see the underside of a winding staircase that curved up to the left and out of sight. The entrance to them was covered with a curtain of long hanging vines.

Elohwen led them into the room and stood them before the stair entrance. “Be ready to greet our King and Queen,” she murmured softly as the vines parted and revealed a male and female who were quite...tall?

Phillip’s eyes grew wide and he gasped, “Whoa...those are some big fairies!” he said in his mind to the others.

“Phillip!” Marcus admonished breathily.

“What?” he wondered innocently.

Elohwen smiled, “There are many different kinds of Fae in the veil.”

When Marcus noticed, Phillip looking at him out of the corner of his eye in confusion he added, “Fae is another word for fairy.”

“Quite right, Marcus” Elohwen nodded. “There are also many creatures in the veil that are not Fae, but you will learn about them soon enough. She then knelt on one knee and placed her right hand over her heart, bowing her head, which was strange because how can one really kneel while floating? Marcus and Phillip followed her lead and knelt on the floor, bowing their heads and placing their hands over their hearts, although Phillip did his in reverse.

The King and Queen were watching them from the steps and they glanced at each other and smiled at this. The King helped his Queen down the last of the steps and they walked over and stood before the boys who still had their heads bowed.

“Arise brothers, Marcus and Phillip, we have been waiting for you,” the Queen greeted them, sweeping her hands gracefully.

“Elohwen, it is good to see you again,” she smiled.

“And you as well, my Queen,” Elohwen replied.

She turned her attention back to the boys, “I am Queen Anaya and this is King Alabas,” she said, looking at her husband with a lasting love showing in her violet eyes and that love was mirrored in his. “We are so pleased to meet you!” she exclaimed, looking back at them and reaching out for them to take her hand.

Marcus and Phillip looked at her shyly but placed their hands in hers.

“Oh, please do not be shy!” she pleaded joyously. “We are to be good friends! We have much to discuss, but now...a feast in your honor!” She nodded to one of her Fae servants who left immediately to carry out her ladies wishes. “Come...” she said, looking back to the boys and gesturing with her head for them to follow.

Behind Closed Doors by Christina Richter

Behind every closed door is a story. How the story is told, depends on the door and the secrets that it keeps at bay. They could hold magic and wonder alluding to a bright future or a nightmare, scraping and waging war in the darkness. My own story was a blur of promises made and broken that have haunted me over these long years, taunting and cackling at my heels. I was "that guy", the guy that every girl wanted to be with and every guy wanted to be, a closet genius wasting away my potential. I remember all of the "When I was your age" pep talks my father use to give me, but they were all in vain. I ignored it all. Choosing instead to spend my youth in a drunken drugged up haze, pissing off my father and breaking my mother’s heart. Everyone has a story. 

The smoke from my cigarette hung in the air like a thick and heavy fog. It clung to the dingy hotel walls like the water stains that lapped at every other ceiling tile. I took a sip of my cheap wine and cringed at the bitter taste that nipped at my tongue. It tasted flat and sour, but it did the trick. It dulled the edges of the world around me and took away almost every ounce of my ability to care. Almost.

3:21 Am. The bright red numbers stared at me. It was as if each minute reached into forever before it passed to the next. I cursed sleep; I hated it with every fibre and longed for it just as much. Why was it so elusive? Why was it that night after night I would lie there with eyes gaping out into the darkness, restless and unsettled? You would think that after spending the entirety of your day doing and saying and thinking and being, the end of it would bring you nothing more than sleep. A lapse into nothing that pushes yesterday away and drags in your tomorrow. You would close your eyes and drift away and dream a thousand dreams, waking the next day recharged and ready to do it all over again. But, my yesterday was still here, my tomorrow stuck somewhere in limbo.

3:22 Am. I heard the far off wail of a siren. Probably carrying away the wreckage of some domestic dispute of a drunken he said/she said rampage that escalated into plates and punches thrown, and most likely a threat or two of death. The sound grew louder and then trailed off as it passed and raced away to whatever emergency was beckoning.

I sighed and walked over to the patio door, stepping out onto the balcony into the night life. It was like stepping into a different world. It was a world of secrets, a world of smoky mirrors and the underground coming to life, where the midnight wanderers still bustled in the shadows.

Some mutt skulking in a back alleyway across the street caught my attention. It was hoping to find some morsel of food. He stopped and sniffed at a dumpster whose contents were spilling out over the sides and on to the cracked and worn pavement below. I watched as this nameless scruff began to gnash and scarf down the prize he had found amongst the spoiled waste. His ribs jutted out with the stark reality that he had nowhere to go and no one to love him. He was as unaware of his tragic existence as everyone else was.

I saw a group of kids not even out of high school, tripping on the latest drug trend. They were walking in and out of the light of the street lamps, laughing and stumbling over one another. I guessed that they were probably all from broken homes of alcoholics and wife beaters. Most of the kids in this town usually were. They passed the vagrant on the street living in his Maytag box and kicked over his cart, spilling its contents into the street. He rolled himself up on his side, too drunk to get up and he belted out a slew of slurred curses at the rebellious teenagers. They only pointed and laughed, indifferent and oblivious to their own indecency.

No one jumped to help him. Not the boys playing basketball in the park. Not the two hookers on the corner with their thigh high boots and gaudy miniskirts. They just carried on with the who's and what's of their own lives. Nobody cared about a ruined beggar living in a cardboard box.

Across from the hotel was an expanse of apartments and at night they were like an abstract picture book all lined up and ready to read.

First there was the old man that sat every night watching old movies of him and his wife. I knew them so well because I watched his memories flash over the screen right along with him. Even from here I could see his shoulders shake as he sobbed. He laid his head in his hands and stayed that way, weeping and probably praying for end. Begging for some angel of mercy to come and whisk away the last beat of his broken heart.

The second window brought me the life and times of a drug addict. An array of pills and bags and pipes were strewn across a dirty table. A guy with pasty skin and matted hair sat hunched over his next fix. His hands shook as he rolled up a dollar bill, ready for the dive into his rails of coke. He closed off one nostril and each hit was like a bullet to his already fried brain. He wiped at his nose, tilting his head back catching the high almost instantly. A bottle of whiskey and a full shot glass sat beside him. He gulped down the burning liquid, poured another and chased the first, then finished off with a few tokes off his pipe before focusing on separating some pills into small piles. He readied them for his customers that were waiting in the shadows on the street below, waiting to get their fix.

When I looked in the next window all I saw was darkness and it looked like I would have to skip this page. But then the room flooded with light and I saw two grown men walk in and close the door behind them. The two embraced each other with greed and lust, nipping and licking at each other’s lips. The man dressed in black pulled away, rushing to the window and closing the curtains, but not before I saw the tell tale sign of his clerical collar. There wouldn’t be any praying happening tonight,  I mused.".

Each night was the same, looking in these windows at the stories and secrets that they held. Everyone was so consumed by their own lives; nothing else around them seemed to matter. Because nobody cared, nobody ever cared. People just turned their heads and looked the other way, choosing to be blind to the silent sufferings of those around them. Those with outstretched hands, pleading for food or money went ignored and were soon forgotten. The ones beaten by the very hands that claimed to love them were shrugged off and brushed aside. Everyone had their own heartaches and heartbreaks to tell.

I turned my head to look at the clock, hoping that by some small miracle the numbers would show me a glimmer of hope for a soon to come sunrise. But there they sat, rigid and unconcerned.
3:24 Am. I glared at them, hating the little black box that measured every tick of this eternity. Hunching my shoulders, I tightened my grip on the cold and faded cast iron rails, watching as my knuckles turned white. Hanging my head, I exhaled through pursed lips and looked up into the sky. I stared at the moon, frozen on its giant stage. Time was not a friend of mine. Sleep seemed like a far off dream, like something rare and unattainable. I took another sip of my bitter, bargain box wine, hoping to numb the edges a little more.

I looked down the street into the city, with all of its shadow lurkers and closed doors and I wondered at the secrets and stories that they kept.

Shiver By Christina Askin Richter

A thousand eyes are watching. Waiting. They thrive in the shadows of your driveling madness. Their gaze like ice, prickling over your fevered skin. They taunt and tease like a narcissistic imp.

You can hear them whisper in the lies that you weave inside your self-medicated mind.

Turn on the light and no ones there. Just you and the empty space, rank with the smell of sweat and paranoia. “Is there anybody there?” you ask, your voice like a thunderous wave crashing into the stillness. The silence that roars in reply making you recoil.

Fear has become your lover, racing over your skin with its ravenous caress. It hungers for you. Thirsts for you. It feeds off of your secrets. Lips blood red, plump with callous lullabies and empty promises.

You turn the corner and a face vanishes. Your eyes betray you. Over and over, again and again you try to convince yourself that it wasn’t really there. Light hitting shadow, all in your mind. Your incessant, piteous mind.

Footsteps in the hall, scratches on the wall, ravaging your senses like a nightmare. A chair moves by an unseen hand. A cup rattles, a cupboard door slams, a faceless laugh rings out in the night.

You slink beneath your covers and pull them tight around your chin. A thousand eyes are watching.

Another sleepless night. 

Sarah By Christina Askin Richter

WARNING: The following short story was written around a poem I had written for a friend many years ago who shared some of the same skeletons in her closet as I did. Its nature is graphic and might be offensive to some readers. Sometimes, my writing is a way to release the skeletons...
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“One than two than three then four, hear his steps stop at your door. Close your eyes and shut them tight, hold your screams with all your might. Rip and tear and burn your skin, fill you with his dirty sin. Dirty sin, dirty sin, dirty sin”... Sarah trailed off her infantile chant that she had made up all those years ago when her private hell first began. She sat in the darkest corner of her room, rocking gently with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. She could no longer face herself, her reflection broken shards of a girl she’ll never be. Thunder rumbled deep in her soul and madness filled her mind. Her pale lips refused to speak words urging forgiveness. Memories of a girl she no longer knew taunted her and burned behind her swollen eyes, hot with tears.

She was so small then, with a smile that was plump with innocence and naivety. Her black curls fell loosely and cupped her smooth cherub cheeks. Her once bright eyes, so full of wonder looked out at the world with complete abandon. He had called her his little raven princess. The smile on his face masked the sinister look in his cold gray eyes. Momma had been gone a while now. Gone to heaven the doctors said. And as she spent her days trying to remember what her mother looked like, a malevolent fury was festering deep in the icy stone that had become his heart. He would sit at the table and watch her with a silent rage that was seething and waging war against her small form.

Sarah remembered the night her life ended, the night her future sank away from the light and rotted into nothing. She remembered the sound of his loud footsteps, one than two than three than four. Four steps from his room to her door. She saw the light from the hallway shoot up her wall in front of her and his hulking shadow filling most of the opening. She had rolled over to face him “daddy? What’s wrong? Is it time to get up now?” He wasn’t her real daddy, but he was the only father she had ever known. His name was Bobby but he had asked her to start calling him daddy after momma and him had been together a while. Little did she know how evil that name would become to her. His silence was unsettling and she felt the first tingles of fear creep up her spine. “Daddy?...” He moved towards her and the tingles raced through her like flames from a fire. She could feel her blood pound behind her ears and her heart started beating erratically. “What are you doing, daddy?” she heard herself whisper. Sarah gasped as his sweaty and calloused hand reached out of the darkness. Her scream was cut off as he clamped down on her mouth like a vice.

That was the night she died. He savagely raped away every single part of who she was and who she dreamed of being. Every smile, every song, all the wonder in the world had gone. All the birthdays and sunny days at the beach fell away. And what remained were only the corrupt fragments he had pitted deep within her. Each night was the same, the footsteps and then his shadow. If she shut her eyes tight enough she could almost pretend he wasn’t there. But he always found a way in. The weight of him crushing her, his guttural grunts stabbing at her ears, etching them into every corner of her young mind.

The days and months blurred together into years, leaving her lost in a permanent hell. There was once at time when she had almost escaped, she had almost freed herself of his evil. She had smiled then, thinking that it was over. The bright crimson mixing with the pooling water on the shower floor, but he had found her. He was yelling her name over and over, it almost sounded as if her were touched by grief. As if a tiny shred of guilt had found its way to him.

Sarah had spent a few days in the hospital, child services had chalked the incident up to suppressed grief over the loss of her mother. When they got home, they walked through the door quietly and as soon as the door clicked, the back of his hand connected with her jaw. She went flying backwards and hit the wall, crumpling into a heap on the floor. He charged at her in a rage and shook her violently, spitting in her face as he growled “you think you can escape from me you little bitch!” He slapped her again vowing to make her regret ever trying to leave him. He lived up to his words...

It was on the eve of her 15th birthday that she saw a glimmer of hope. A small shimmer of light, a way out. That night as he ravaged her and expelled his vile stench, she clamped her eyes shut, desperately trying to escape, if only in her mind. Then it happened. For a split second she was a little girl again, that small girl that had been lost to her for so long. She was standing under a willow tree, it was sunny and she was looking up at the long wispy limps dancing in the summer breeze. She felt the smile that was on her small face, and heard herself humming some happy nameless tune. “Sarah...” she heard a beautiful voice say. She turned her head and saw her mother standing by the water’s edge. Her mother smiled and motioned little Sarah to come to her. Then she turned away and vanished.

“Momma!” Sarah called out. “What? Momma? Your momma ain’t gonna save you. It’s your fault that she’s gone. You killed her! You made her sick! It’s because of you that she left us.” He shifted his weight on top of her and smiled with a sick satisfaction. “This is your fault. You made me do this, you little slut...”

Those words haunted her sleep that night. She thought about the dream of her mother and held on to the happiness and peace she had felt in it. Sarah now knew what she had to do. She knew how to escape.

“One than two than three then four, hear his steps stop at your door. Close your eyes and shut them tight, hold your screams with all your might. Rip and tear and burn your skin, fill you with his dirty sin.” She whispered her callous lullaby once more. This would be the last time.

Her hair like silken ebony, framed her gauntly face. It would be this night that she would grasp fate and bend it to her will.

She felt his looming figure as he neared, the blade held tightly in her hand, hidden beneath her pillow. He reached out his hand...and with a carnal scream she lashed out the blade wildly. He stumbled back, eyes wide and bewildered. Sarah watched as he reached up his hand and felt the gaping wound she had sliced into his jugular. She screamed again and felt the power of her rage fueling the blade in her hand as she hacked and slashed and stabbed with all her might. By the time she had finished, her voice hoarse from her screams, there was nothing left of his face. The beast was dead, cast back into the bowels of the pit that he had slithered from. The blade shimmered on the ground, his life still clinging to the cold steel. It was done.

The tears still fell from her gray green eyes, her pain pouring from every corner of her heart. The bloodstains on her hands tell a tale that will never be uttered beyond these walls. She thought of her mother once more, she was so close. She came out of the corner and slid her hands along her mattress until she found the key to her freedom.

She’ll never again hear those footsteps in the night. No vile desecration will stalk her weary skin. She was no longer his prisoner. There was just one more thing to do, one more task before she was finally free.  The blade she held, untouched by his decay, she clutched tightly to her breast. She lifted her head, closed her eyes and once again saw her mother beckoning her to come. The slice was clean and swift...her parting smile etched in deaths embrace.

Out of The Depths by Christina Askin Richter

Out of The Depths
“Was this what it felt like to die?” Little Jacob wondered as his small form was tossed amongst the hulking waves that rolled and crashed with the strength of a thousand storms. No roar of thunder could compare to the colossal rage that drummed against the ocean’s surface. He should be scared, clutched by terror as the sea twisted and turned him this way and that. He felt a strange calm as the waves churned him in the blackness of the dark waters. A mammoth wave tossed his tiny body once more before plunging him into the awaiting depths. He could see the faint outline of the hull of the ship and the blur of lights along its sides. The men were probably all looking for him. “Here I am, father!” he thought as he sunk further and further, but he knew he would not be found. As he sank, he watched as the ship faded away and the surrounding darkness engulfed him. “I won’t be coming home, mother. I’m sorry. I love you.” Down, down, down, further into the blackness. Further away from life. He never thought that death would feel so peaceful or that it would come so soon.
Earlier that day –
“Storm brewin’ off the port, Cap’n. Look’s a big’n too.” Captain James Stark looked up from his map to the black clouds that were racing towards them. “Aye, better round up the men and batten the lady down.” He paused and the man turned to leave, “Silas...” the Captain eyed his first mate as he turned back to face him. “Tend to Jacob, he’s in for the ride of his life and his mother’ll not forgive me if anything should happen to him.” Silas gave a nod and disappeared down the steps to the lower deck.
This was the first time the boy had come with him on a sail. His mother said that he was far too young at the tender age of 6, but Jacob had pleaded with her. James had assured her that he would be fine and it would strengthen him for years to come. “He’s just so young, James. The sea is no place for a boy” Lanie had said to him. “Ahh he’ll be fine, love” he said as he cupped her cheek and stroked the smooth skin of her face with his thumb. “We’ll only be gone a short time and he’ll be back asking for milk and cookies and bedtime stories before you know it” he said with an amused smile. “I just don’t like it” she replied as he pulled her into his arms and held her. After a while he pulled back and cupped her face in his hands. “He’ll be fine, Lanie. Won’t you trust me?” Lanie had looked deep into his eyes and he knew that she still didn’t want him going, but he also knew that he and Jacob would get their way. “Okay” she had said with a silent plea to keep their boy safe, in her eyes. “There’s a lass” he said kissing her softly and hugging her once more.
Jacob had been brimming with excitement telling everyone in the village who would listen that he was going on an adventure at sea with his father. It had made his father laugh. He loved the boy dearly and felt a great pride in the boy he had become. He was a quiet lad, clever and kind and always minded what he was told. The two of them would lie on the ground and look up at the clouds or stars with a quiet understanding of one another. He was so like him in so many ways. A life of endless possibility was ahead of him.
Their first night on board, they sat down to a dinner of roast pheasant and potatoes. Both sitting in silence, feeling content with each other’s company. Jacobs father had been sitting there thinking over the journey and all of the things he was going to show his boy. By journey’s end he would know all there was to know about being a sailor. He had already learned how to raise the mast and was about the only one on the crew who enjoyed swabbing the decks. He smiled to himself.
“Are you happy to have me here, father?” “Hmm?” his father replied, lost in his thoughts of things to come. “Are you happy that I’m here on the ship with you, father?” Jacob looked at his father with a hope in his eyes that asked for acceptance and approval. He laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder “there’s no one I would rather have by my side.” He laughed as his small face burst into a big toothy grin.
Those words were echoing inside the Captain’s mind as he watched the clouds roll and pulse towards them. The strikes of lightning and claps of thunder were playing a game of cat and mouse and with each flash and thunderous boom the cat grew more fierce. They would be tossed about but they would survive. They always had. She was a good ship, The Duchess, built with ancient oak and the blood and sweat of strong men. She had survived many a storm and tonight would be no different.
The waves were beginning to swell, teetering the ship back and forth. The storm was moving fast, hopefully she wouldn’t last long. “Father, can I help the men batten the hatches and bring down the sails?” James looked at his son who was standing at the top of the steps, looking so small against the wooden giant. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all” he had thought to himself. “I think they’ve pretty much got her down” his father replied. “Is it going to be a big storm, father?” “Aye, but we’ll be just fine. You’ll be needin’ to go below deck though as I’ll not be able to keep my eye on you.” “Can’t I stay in our quarters up top, father?” “No, lad. For your mother’s sake and mine, you’ll need to stay below deck where you’ll be safe.” “Yes, father.” “There’s a good lad.” James winked at his son who smiled in return before making his way down past the ships bunker to the sleeping quarters of the crew.
The rage of the storm grew with each crack of thunder, sending waves crashing against the side of the ship. Some would crest over the side and drench the crew, it would only get worse. Silas was bellowing orders at the crew, his voice barely audible over the swirling madness around them. Captain Stark was at the helm steering the ship into the waves, as every good sailor knew that if you ran parallel, you would be capsized and all would be lost. The storm was proving to be far worse than anyone had anticipated and the unease of all aboard was increasing with each passing moment. But there was no turning back and no backing down. Their very lives depended on that.
It was as if the sea had waged war against The Duchess and was using every inch of power it possessed to claim her. Strikes of white hot lightning were piercing the air all around them and the thunder that followed shook them down to their bones. Wave upon wave assaulted the ship, smashing against the ancient oak hull relentlessly. The Duchess withstood the attacks but not without price. Lightning had struck one of the masts near the top and it toppled and crashed against its base. The Captain prayed that it would stay there and not continue to fall and risk piercing the deck sending them all to a watery grave. It was something they could repair later once the chaos passed.
The Captain began to feel hope that that would be the worst of the damage that the ship would endure. But hope came too soon as lighting hit the tie down for the boom on the main sail. Captain Stark watched as it let go and swung out over the water. The force of the swing bore too much weight on the mast and the boom cracked at its base sending it into a nose dive. It held on but only just. Some of the men struggled to grab the rope to gain control of it but a wave pitched the ship and it swung hard and fast back towards them. The men were able to duck and shout a warning to the other crew members and that’s when he saw him. Captain Stark felt his heart drop with a sickening thud as he saw Jacob standing there on the deck looking in awe at the madness before him. With horror he watched as the boom charged towards the boy who stood there frozen. Everything else around them seemed to drop away and there was
only that moment. That one horrifying moment when both father and son knew that what was about to happen was inevitable.
“Jacob!” his father yelled, racing towards his son in vain. The boom swooped and crashed into his son with incredible force and sent him hurling backwards. His father watched wide eyed with despair and disbelief as his son flew through the air, out away from the ship and into the beckoning roar of the ocean. “No!!!” The Captains howl sliced through the air and everyone on board turned to look. A number of the men rushed to the side of the ship in hopes to fetch the boy.
“Do you see him?” they yelled back and forth, searching deftly for any sign. Jacobs father blindly started to climb over the side, about to jump in after his boy, but Silas and the other men pulled him back. “Let me go! I must find him!” he growled fiercely. Silas held his arms and chest “you’ll not be any good ta’him dead!” The Captain looked at his first mate with seething anger but knew he was right. He yanked himself away from his men and rushed back to the side. “Jacob!” he yelled into the waves, praying to see him. A head, a hand, anything that would give him hope that his son was alive. He scanned each wave, each rising swell, moving up and down each side of the ship. “Please God. Please...” his mind raced with prayers and curses, memories and what ifs. His heart was hammering in his chest and he was praying with every fibre of his being that God would hear his pleas.
After a time, one by one the men stopped looking and turned towards the Captain who was still searching madly for his son. Soon, it was only him that remained pacing and scanning the waves. He noticed that his men had stopped and were all staring at him. “What are you all standing there for?” he screamed. “My son is out there! Keep looking!” Silas walked over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder “he’s gone Cap’n.” In a rage the Captain grabbed his first mate and slammed him up against the side of the ship “He’s not dead! He’s not dead, you bastard! My son isn’t dead!” “We’ve looked and looked Cap’n, he ain’t out there! He’s gone! I’m sorry” Silas lowered his voice “but he’s gone...” The Captain let out a guttural cry and dropped to his knees, cupping his head in his hands. Silas again placed his hand on his shoulder to try and comfort this great man that was in ruins. He leaned back and wailed his sorrows into the sky. The men of the crew stood and grieved for their Captain and their friend, and for the boy who lost his life too soon.
When he returned home, his wife was surprised to see him home so early. “You’re home early darling. Jacob missed his mother hmm?” She looked at her husband seeing the expression on his face and the tears in his eyes. Lanie stopped in her tracks “where’s Jacob, James? Where’s our son?” James could barely look at his wife “he’s gone Lanie, Jacob’s gone.” “No...no, he can’t be” she tried to push past her husband but he blocked her and pulled her back. “I’m sorry Lanie, I should have listened to y...” “No!”Lanie shrieked. “No, no, no, no, no” she cried, shaking her head back and forth. “Not my boy....not my Jacob.” She looked into her husband’s eyes searching for answers, searching for reason. “You promised me” she whispered.”You promised!” She began to beat and pound her fists against her husband’s chest screaming and crying with an indescribable despair. Fresh hot tears slid down his face as he let his wife’s frail form beat him. He hated himself. He was a failure as a husband, a failure as a father, as a Captain, as a man...


---
He heard the most beautiful singing he had ever heard. It sounded like angels. Was he dreaming? Was this heaven? Jacob slowly opened his eyes and saw light all around him. When his eyes began to focus he saw that it wasn’t exactly light but a sparkling iridescence. He was lying on a giant clam shell, one that he had only heard about in stories that his mother had told him.
“You’re awake! Oh, I’m so happy!” Jacob turned and looked to where the voice was coming from and there, in the water, was a beautiful young girl. He was only 6 and had not seen a lot of girls aside from his mother and the ones in his village. But, he suspected that this girl was prettier than any of them by far. She was cast in the blue iridescence but even so, her features were captivating. Her eyes were almond shaped and her lips were shaped like a taught bow. Her hair was as long as his mother’s but she always kept hers up. This girl let hers flow down her back and down into the water. It had little flowers and shells woven through it. Jacob knew right away that he liked her.
She smiled at him and he found himself smiling back. “Aren’t you cold, sitting in the water like that?” he asked her. “Oh no, I love the water. It’s wonderful” she said with an admiring grin. He furrowed his brow and timidly asked her “are you a mermaid?” Surprised the girl laughed “why yes, yes I am! How did you know?” she asked as she flicked her tail up and out over the water’s surface so that he could see. “My mother reads me stories with mermaids in them. Father says that some people believe they’re real and some say that they’re make believe.” “Well...” she said, looking at him thoughtfully “what do you think?” He smiled at her and nodded saying “real” and they laughed together.
“My name is Jacob. What’s your name?” She whirled around in a circle as if dancing in the water “my name is Kiarra and you are in my home. You, little one are awfully lucky I came along when I had or else you would have suffered a terrible fate.” Jacob looked at her inquisitively “what do you mean?” Well I had felt the surge of the storm in the currents so I went up to have a look. I saw your vessel battling the great waves and somehow I just knew I had to stay and watch because something terrible was about to happen! I saw you get struck overboard, I cried out and quickly whispered a spell that would keep you safe and unafraid.” She toyed with some small shells that were lying on the rock in front of her. “By the time I got to you, you were asleep, so I brought you here, away from the storm until it passed.”
Jacob eyed her with great wonder “you saved me with magic?” She smiled and laughed again “oh yes, the sea is full of magic. Great and terrible magic. Fortunately for you, mine is great” she said with a soft giggle. “Where is my father? My father’s ship? Are they still up there?” “No” she frowned. I went back to check, they were there for a while and I felt and heard a great sadness. Then after much time, they left the area.” Jacob sat up “my parents think I’m dead! I need to get home! Oh, how will I get home!” Kiarra pushed herself up out of the water and sat on the rock wrapping her arm around the boy “shh shh, it’s ok. Everything will be alright.” “But how will it be alright? You don’t know where I live, I don’t even know where I am!” “You forget so soon, little one” and then she let out this strange squeaking sound. She smiled down at Jacob and waited a moment. Out of the water poked the heads of two dolphins who squeaked in response to Kiarra. They spoke back and forth for a moment before the two dolphins disappeared below the surface again. Kiarra gave Jacob a squeeze and said “we’ll get you home, you’ll see.” “But how?” Jacob wondered sadly. As if she had heard his thoughts, Kiarra smiled and said “magic” then gave a wink.
Before long the two dolphins returned and spoke in their dolphin tongue to Kiarra. She replied in turn and waved to them happily. “Come on! You’re going home now!” She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the water. “But I won’t be able to breathe!” She smiled and said “silly boy.” She urged him toward the water again and hesitantly he stepped in. Soon they were below the surface of the water and they floated there, looking at each other. Jacob was a bit frightened but then Kiarra kissed him on the cheek and once again he felt that feeling of serenity wash over him. He fell asleep in Kiarra’s arms as she quickly swam away towards his home.
---
Jacob’s father stood on the beach with all colour drained from his face. Deep lines of sorrow had set in where lines from laughter had once been. He had lost all will to live, he didn’t eat, he didn’t sleep. Lanie had not left their bed since that day. She wept all hours and long into the night before drifting off from pure exhaustion. He couldn’t bear to see her like that. He had done that to her and he would never forgive himself for that. What good was there in life if you were to outlive your child? There was none at all. He cursed God, he cursed the sea, he cursed the very blood that ran through his veins.
Still there had to be some glimmer of hope that made him stand here day after day, scanning the horizon. He prayed with each wave that it would carry his Jacob back to him. He couldn’t be dead. Not his Jacob, not his boy. He remembered the very moment he was born, how he had held him and fell in love with him entirely. He vowed to be the best father that he could be and to protect him all the days of his life. “Jacob, my boy...I have failed you.” His shoulders wracked with sobs and he collapsed to his knees. He had never felt such despair. It was as if not only his heart had broken but his soul along with it.
“Father! Father! I’m here, father!” He was going mad now, hearing the voice of his son. “Father I’m here! I’m alive!” The sea was mocking him. Oh such woe, this life.
Jacob placed his hand on his father’s shoulder. “Father, I’m alive, won’t you look at me?” James slowly turned his head and looked at Jacob, his face at first blank. Then as his eyes began to focus on the boy he looked at him with incredulity. “Jacob?” he reached up and touched the boys face. “It’s me, father. I’m home.” His father gasped and crushed the boy to his chest. He then shoved him back, running his hands over him in disbelief. “But..how? How are you here?” his father stared at him and held on to his boy afraid to let go for it to all be a dream. “The sea is filled with magic father.” He crushed the boy to his chest again and Jacob looked out to see Kiarra wave and dive back into the oceans depths. His father laughed and cried happily, thanking God for his return. “The sea is indeed full of magic” thought Jacob’s father. He didn’t know how or why, all he knew is that his boy stood in front of him, alive. Alive...
“Come father, let’s go home to mother.” “Yes” his father replied, lifting Jacob up into his arms. “Home” he thought, turning towards the path that would lead them back to the village “Lanie we’re coming...”

Cries of Yesterday by Christina Askin Richter

Oh, how that cold wind blew and howled. Howled right through these old bones and whipped about the last few strands of hair left on my head. It came down across the moor and rattled the fences around the tattered coop that no longer held the clamorous bustle of any hen. I stomped my heavy boots against the porch and pulled my duffel coat up tighter around my nape. Not much life out there on the moor these days. Even the lone fox seen scampering across stopped and looked around at the stark nothingness.

I looked at my old hound who sat hunched and ever loyal at my side. She looked at me with her tired eyes, gray and foggy from the tight clenches of cataracts. She cocked her head to the side as if saying "lets go inside where it's warm." I turned placing my wrinkled hand, battered and worn by life and the trials and tribulations that it still holds, on the back of her wrinkled head. We hobbled into our little shack that we have called home for more years than I could remember. It's sparse furnishings sat crooked and covered with ages of dust.

I poured some hot tea into the mug I had always used, cupping my hands around it's warm weathered shell. I looked out to the cold, watching the wind whip the dead burrs that tapped against the cracked glass of my kitchen window.

Then they came. Memories of days past that always seemed to settle in when all was quiet and still. The panicked shouts were the first to come. "Get the children! Merciful God, save us!" I heard the screams of fear and the rush of feet running here and there. Then she was there. That face that haunted my dreams, my heart, still after all these years. My Marianna.

She was so fare against the noon sun, her black hair falling loosely down her back. Her gray eyes looking into mine with all the love that bloomed in between the stars above. She smiled that beautiful smile that always made my world stand still. But the smile disappeared, the eyes vacant and cold, now smeared with blood and death.

I'll never understand why I was spared that day. Why an angel such as her was taken so mercilessly and I was left to relive this nightmare every day that she wasn't with me. Damn them. Damn them all. They rode in on their muddy steeds, firing their guns and shouting into the air. I didn't even know why they were there. Some gang of brutes, vile with the stench of their thirst for riches and power. No thought or value for human life. Just blood and they made the dirt of the streets run thick with it. It was a slaughter, plain and simple. Men and women, the old and the young. No one was spared.

I tried to be brave. I tried to rush out and claim justice with my small rifle. I could have been a hero, but my ambitions were locked tightly behind my racing heart. Marianna looked at me, still with her love and understanding. Perhaps she understood the man I could never be. She took hold my hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

Suddenly the earth shifted and a thunderous boom shattered the windows in the buildings around us. We instinctively shielded our heads from the explosion with our arms, mine covering hers. The least I could have done for my lover.

We needed to move. We needed to flee from our hiding place as it wouldn't last long against this terror. I scrambled out from behind the town well and reached for her hand. She reached and her fingers were nearly touching mine, almost there...and then everything around me shattered into darkness.

I was lost in the pitch that had engulfed my senses. I was asleep. It was only a dream, a nightmare. I would awake and see my Marianna smiling at me. The sun would be shining and everything would be okay. But the edges of the blackness began to fray, an ashen fog seeping in along with the screams. Oh the screams. In all my wretched years, I've never forgotten the screams. They pushed through the ringing in my ears, jolting me back to the horror.

I couldn't feel her beside me. I turned my head and saw one of the demon brutes violently shaking the arm of a woman on her knees, screaming in sheer terror. He laughed at her mockingly with a great satisfaction in the crook of his rotten grin. I turned my head to the other side and there she was. A few feet away in a pile of rubble with her head facing away from me. Marianna! Does she live?

I willed myself to move, to crawl to her. No one saw me. Or maybe they did but just didn't care, thinking that I would die anyway. I scraped and dug into the charred rocks around me, singing and cutting at my hands. Finally I reached her and I raised myself over her chest. I prayed that she was still alive. I pleaded with any God who was willing to listen to please, let her be alive. I raised my shaky, blistered and bloodied hand to her face and cupped her cheek, pulling it gently up towards me. My eyes were closed, stinging with soot and tears, afraid to see what might be. Then, I opened them...my heart shattered and I could feel my insides crush with the intensity of my sorrow. Her eyes, those once vibrant eyes so full of life and love, stared up at me, vacant and dead. My grief poured out on to the blood smears on her face. I laid my head on her chest, my broken body wracking with sobs.

I could still hear the shouts of the brutes around me. I willed them to me. I welcomed them in my grief and begged them for end. Shouting out a blood curdling "KILL ME! KILL ME YOU BASTARDS!" I choked on a sob. "Please..." I looked at my Marianna, "kill me..." One of them came over to me, I assumed he was their leader, I didn't care. He kicked me onto my back and stepped heavily on my stomach, relishing the pain he saw on my face. His own face turned stony, almost thoughtful as he slowly knelt by my side. I looked at him, prepared for the bullet or the knife to the heart. Waiting for it, longing for it. He leaned in close to my face. So close that I could smell the sweat off his pores and the alcohol from his rotted breath. Grabbing my chin with his gloved hand, in a raspy voice he whispered to me "why kill you? Why give you the freedom of death when I can leave you to live this day for the rest of your miserable life?" His eyes were maniacally still then he laughed callously and spat in my face before walking off.

I had hoped that my wounds would take me, laying there rotting in the heat of the sun. But no hope was meant for me. No prayers were to be heard. Only my grief, my echoing cowardice and my shame.

The memory faded and I came back to my empty reality and the taste of tears sliding down my cheeks. All these years I've lived that nightmare. Every second I've lived, I've hated myself with all the passion of a thousand storms sweeping across the night sky. I couldn't even look at myself. Shards of glass from broken mirrors still lay strewn across the floor. So many times over these empty years I tried to end it. I tried to bring an end to this relentless torture. But, I didn't even have the courage to do that. The years had stretched so far and so long that I had become numb. Living day to day in a blur. Wretched life

The strident caw of a crow sitting on the fence snapped me out of my reverie. The black bird usually an omen of death. A small wisp of hope stirred in me. Maybe there was an end. I looked out over the moor once more. Oh how that cold wind blew and howled.

The End.

 

 

Her by Christina Askin Richter

Erica. Her name invaded my senses and fueled my desires unlike anything I had ever known. I knew her better than I knew myself, better than she thought I did. I knew her touch, her taste, the sound of her breath as it passed her lips. I knew all the secrets she fought so hard to keep locked away. Locked behind the wall that she had spent much of her life building. I had been on the other side once, once when she let me in, when she let me see. And I had etched every inch of her into the core of me. I knew her fears and the sound of her tears as they fell in the dark. I knew the contours of her body, the dips and curves of her silky skin, so soft and smooth like a fine prized porcelain.

She told me of her dreams, of wedding bells and white picket fences. She would be the model wife and mother staying home to raise the children, one boy and one girl while her husband went out and made a living. It would have been the perfect life but perfect wasn't meant for her. Those dreams and fantasies one by one were beaten from her until all that was left was a hollow shell of uncertainty and distrust. "Mama always said that children were to be seen and not heard" she had told me, but she also told me that 'mama' didn't like to see her much either. She didn't like to be disturbed while she was getting high off her tainted religion and cut-rate heroin.

There were never any good days. Only bad ones. Days when her mother would go through withdrawal were filled with screaming and each word was laced with her fists. Then when money came she would disappear for days leaving Erica to fend for herself. Men would come banging on the door looking for money or sex. She made the mistake of opening the door once to a fat man wearing a gray sweat stained jump suit who was looking for money. He smelled like he hadn't bathed in days and his breath was foul and teeth rotting. Erica had said that her mother wasn't there and began to close the door. But he shoved his foot in between the door and the jam stopping it from closing. Erica backed away as he came in and slowly closed the door behind him. He looked at her like no man should ever look at a little girl. She was 6. When she told her mom, her mom said that she was lying to get attention, trying to give her friends a bad name and she was beaten for it. She never opened the door again.

Erica never wore dresses or short sleeved shirts or shorts. Nothing to show the cuts and bruises that plagued her tiny form.

When Erica had turned 13, her mother had said that it was time for her to start 'earning her keep'. What mother would make their child earn their keep by selling them off to her friends and other filthy low lifes? I can't imagine having to endure her hell for all those years. I don't blame her for running away on her 14th birthday. She had slowly been stealing money from her mom until she felt she had enough to survive on the run for a few days. She went from one hell right into another, finding an apartment with a landlord who said she could 'work off' her rent. She turned tricks to supplement her income and I asked her what the difference was between that life and the life she left? Her response was that it was on her own terms, nobody was forcing her.

I remember the exact moment that I met her. Every detail, completely. It was raining, the clouds were a heavy gray and the fog made everything gloomy. The streets were awash with umbrellas and heads covered with newspapers or briefcases. People bustling here and there, bumping and pushing, trying to get to where they were going staying as dry as possible. I was standing at the desk of the Brendale Post Office waiting on a registered letter when her taxi pulled up. The door opened and a big, bright pink umbrella sailed out and burst open. Then I saw a cherry red stiletto come out and place it's self on the ground. It belonged to a slender ankle with a tattoo of a butterfly resting just above. A moment later the other red stiletto and matching ankle came out and then there was an explosion of yellow as the rest of her got out of the taxi. I couldn't look away. The knee high, strapless yellow dress with a flared bottom flattered her sumptuous form. It had a red belt that matched her cherry red stilettos and her full cherry red lips. Her dark hair wrapped around her slender neck and fell down her right shoulder in a soft wave. Lacey white gloves covered long and slender fingers. She had a string of pearls around her delicate neck and left wrist while her right wrist had a band tattoo of roses and vines. As the taxi pulled away she held the umbrella over her head and then spent a few moments straightening her dress and adjusting when a car sped by and shot a perfectly arced wave of water into the air that hit her as if the car had targeted her personally. I could see her sharp intake of breath, mouth gaping and arms frozen. Her head slowly lowered to observe the state of herself and then her shoulders slumped, arms falling down to her sides, umbrella falling to the sidewalk. I felt so sorry for her and I was expecting her to start crying or raving madly but, to my surprise she tilted her head back and laughed, raising her arms palms up and turning around in a circle. I was captivated, unable to take my eyes off of her. I watched as she walked through the doors dripping from head to toe. Everything seemed to be standing still as if time itself had slowed to watch her. She began to walk towards the counter and I was so deeply entranced that I didn't even notice she was looking right at me until she spoke.

"I must look quite the sight, hmm?" she said as she looked down again brushing in vain at the skirt of her dress. I blinked rapidly and started stuttering trying to form words. "Oh it's alright sugar, no need to be kind. I can feel my makeup running down my face." I looked at her face as if assessing her statement and I saw her stunning blue eyes with once perfectly applied smoky makeup now smudged and smeared looking at me with a hint of amusement in them. Her red lipstick was smeared just slightly from her touching the back of her glove to her face in an attempt to sop up some of the wet. Her hair was matted and hung heavy and limp around her face and shoulders. She was beautiful...

The amused expression in her eyes turned to a slight curiosity and I watched as the flecks of ice in her eyes danced and sparkled. When I was finally able to find words, I gave a slight shrug to my shoulders and said "I've seen worse." An immediate feeling of dread and embarrassment followed as I realized the sheer buffoonery of what just came out of my mouth. The sound of her laughter broke the silence that hung in the air around us. "If you could only see the look on your face right now!" She laughed again, resting her hand on mine. I was mesmerized.

The memory made me shiver with emotion and the stirrings of desire. After that day, it was like we discovered that we were meant to be inseparable, spending every moment together. She had told me what she had done for a living but assured me that she had tricked her last trick. I was relieved, I didn't want to share her. She was mine, my Erica and I was unequivocally and irrevocably in love. She told me about her childhood, about all of the hurt and said that I had been the first to hear any of it. That made me feel special, like she was giving all of herself to me.

She smiled at me in a way that made me feel like I was the air that she needed to survive. I remember asking her how she could seem so happy with enough heartache in her past to end someone and she began to tell me of a flower in her back yard that grew from a rock beneath an old and decrepit tree that was close to the street. The passing cars would throw dirt and rocks at it and the tree hung so far over it that the flower only got a moment of sunshine each day as the sun passed over head. But yet it bloomed in spite of all these things. She told me that if that flower could find beauty in the face of such adversity then so could she. Yes, memories haunted her constantly, so much so that she would wake screaming in the night and I would hold her until her sobs subsided. Even certain sounds would set her off and she would drop and curl into a ball clutching her hands to her ears crying and pleading "no, no, no, no." I would lay down behind her and wrap my arms around her and we would stay like that until the moment past. She was always asking me why I stayed, and each time I would cup her face, kiss her softly and say "these are nothing but moments and every moment with you is a beat of my heart, how can I live without a beating heart?" She would smile and fling herself at me, kissing me with all the passion that two hearts could possibly hold and we would spend the rest of the day and far into the night making slow, sweet love.

Time passed with endless moments, both good and bad. She had become my obsession, my insatiable hook.

Then all at once, as if some hidden switch had been flipped, it seemed to change. We would go out and she would start chatting up both men and women, bringing them over and fawning over them. She would laugh her angelic and addictive laugh, press her charm and they would become enamored with her and I would silently seethe with jealousy. After a while I began to think she did it 'just' to make me jealous but, I never once let her know how much it hurt me. Then one day she just looked at me matter of factly and she gave me the "it's not you, it's me" bullshit, then she was gone. As quickly as she had come into my life, she went out of it, leaving me behind shattered and numb with grief. Why? Why had she done this to me? To us? We were one of those loves that came from lifetimes before and lasted for lifetimes after. Or, at least that was what was screaming in my heart, the very words that she herself had said. I drove myself mad with questions, starting to doubt if she ever loved me at all or if I was just something to fill a gap until the next best thing that came along. I would see her on the streets with a random lover each time and fight to keep my composure, trying to act indifferent while on the inside a storm was brewing it's fury. Then I would sit at home, staring at the walls living my own hell. What she was doing and who she was doing it with? I raged at the thought of someone else's hands on her, someone else's lips on her body and I would scream myself into oblivion.

I screamed and raged until I had nothing left. I had lost every ounce of myself and when I looked in the mirror, I spat at the stranger staring back at me. My family and friends spent much of their time working to bring back some semblance of my former self back and they managed to grasp small pieces here and there. Until finally what I saw in the mirror seemed like something familiar.

But in the stillness I thought of her, she was still there, in my mind, in my soul. Like a constant whisper, pulling at the threads that hung loosely, threatening to unravel. What was she doing? What was she thinking? Was she thinking of me? Did I ever cross her mind?

I closed my eyes...sweet madness, you haunt me still.