The Rocky Waves

Here's a story I published a little while ago on Real Teen Faith. I wish I could've worked on it a bit more, but here it is anyway.

Enjoy! (I hope :))


Peter lifted his eyes from his oar to see how the boat faired in the lashing wind. The disciples heaved at their oars as the sails overhead creaked and threatened to tear.

Peter couldn’t see John as water washed over him.

“John!” Peter abandoned his oar and leapt across the vessel.

The ship lurched and threw Peter to the deck. His head cracked against the bottom of the boat. His vision blurred, and the wind and groans of the men sounded far away.

“Peter!” John shouted over the gale, “Get control of your oar, for Jehovah’s sake! I thought you said you were a fisherman.”



Peter clenched his jaw and rolled to his feet as the ship swayed. John, water dripping from his beard and veins bulging on his arms, gestured with his head. “Grab that oar before it kills someone!”

Peter turned. His oar, still dipped in the waves, swung towards the back of Thomas’ head, the one who sat in front of Peter. A streak of lightning blinded him, and he staggered back.

John lunged across the boat and placed himself between Thomas and Peter’s oar. He yanked the oar out of the water.

“You fool!” said John as he threw Peter’s oar on the deck. “You said could get us to the other side of the lake.”

John’s eyes flickered at Peter as lightning shot across the heavens. No wonder they call “Son of Thunder.”

“I said going at night was dangerous, and men who ply these waters say it’s haunted.” Peter said. “Do you think it was a mistake to obey the Master?”

“What I think doesn’t matter!”

Thomas, hand trembling, pointed at a figure close to the boat. “A ghost!” Flashes of lightning illuminated a shape that looked like a man.

“Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”

That voice is familiar! “Lord,” Peter said, “if it’s you tell me to come to you on the water.”

“Come.”

Peter swallowed as he studied the waves, and lightning lit the waters. Jesus stood on the lake, water lapping at his ankles.

“It’s Jesus!” John said as Peter gulped and jumped overboard.

Peter cursed himself for a fool as water splashed on his toes, and then he stood as though on solid ground. He stepped forward.

There’s nothing I can do but get to Jesus.




“Look out!”

John’s shout startled Peter. A wind slapped him in the face and he fell to his knees. Something gave way beneath him, and he imagined invisible arms dragging him beneath the swaying water. “Lord, save me!”

A hand gripped Peter’s shoulder and wrenched him up. He spluttered and shivered as the wind hissed around his ears. No doubt existed in his mind as to who saved him. He lifted his eyes as Jesus spoke.

“You of little faith, why did you fear?”

Peter didn’t know what to say. The waves rose higher, the wind howled, but the Messiah’s eyes and firm grip on his shoulders didn’t waver.

Why’d I doubt?

The Black Diamond, Part I (As I said, here is my story from a female POV. I await y'all's rating on authenticity)

OK, just as a warning there will probably be some mistakes in here. And don't be afraid to point something out to me.


Jessica’s breath formed a fog as she shivered and clunked towards the youth group’s van. She adjusted the purple ear ban around her ears and wished she could feel the cloth’s fuzzy warmth on her hands.

She also wished the ban didn’t fill her hair with static, but it was either that or freeze. Her ski boots were making blisters on her heels.

She rubbed her eyes.

Why can’t ski trips involve not getting up at five in the morning?

Her best friend, Tiffany, leaned against the van as the youth pastor, or Pastor Brian, sat in the driver’s seat and scowled at his cell phone. Tiffany rubbed her arms and glanced up as Jessica walked up. Her nose was red from the cold and she wore a black coat.

She looks so cute when her nose is red.

“So,” Tiffany said, “You got up this morning.”

Jessica shrugged, wishing she had a witty comeback.

“It’s got to be the first time in all of your sixteen years.”



Jessica rolled her eyes and smiled. “Maybe. Have you seen Josh?”

Tiffany’s blue lips lifted into a grin. “Don’t you want to know where Dirk is?”

“Oh stop it. I didn’t invite Dirk.”

“Someone’s a little testy this morning! Are you feeling guilty about Dirk?”

In a way Jessica hated talking with Tiffany; she understood her thoughts too well. She sighed. “I didn’t know Dirk couldn’t snowboard, but I was just talking to a group and said I loved snowboarding. For some random reason,” Tiffany raised an eyebrow but Jessica ignored her, “I asked if he could snowboard.

“He said he’d give it a try, but I remember the first day of snowboarding and all the falls. He’s probably going to hate me after today.”

Tiffany nodded the way she always did. “You know he probably wants you to teach him all day, don’t you?”

“What! I didn’t volunteer for that.”

“But that’s what he’s probably thinking. Say, are you two a pair?”

Jessica blushed. Dirk was cute in a way, but she hadn’t thought of him that way. “Tiffany, sometimes I think you’re a little boy-crazy.”

“Well, are you?”

The youth pastor leaned out of the van and shouted at a group of teens standing around the rental building. “Come on people! We gotta go.”

Jessica loaded the van before Tiffany could pursue her question. The air inside the van was warm and stuffy. A few guys sat in the front seats and laughed at some joke. It was hard moving through the van with her snow boots, but finally she managed to plunk down on the back seat closest to the window.

Tiffany sat beside her and grinned as more people loaded into the van. She gestured with her head towards the window. Jessica glanced up. Josh marched towards the van, car keys in hand.

He was his school’s team captain for the hockey and football team. There also didn’t seem to be anyone who could score better grades than him on just about every subject.

He had a square jaw and black hair that was cut short and neat. He wore a blue coat his mom had gotten him for Christmas. He’d told her that.

Jessica hoped she wasn’t blushing as he poked his head into the van. His eyes, blue around the edges and light green in the middle, shot straight towards her. He waved the hand with his keys and they jingled in his palm.

“You wanna ride in my car?”

Duh! Now if I can only get out of here…

“Sorry, Josh,” the Pastor Brian said as he counted the van’s passengers, “I need everyone under eighteen to ride with me. Would you be alright with driving to the slope in your car? We only have room for one more person, and Dirk hasn’t gotten his gear yet.”

Josh frowned and stopped whirling his keys. Jessica strained to hear what he was saying. “Well, I guess. I’d be happy to save a bit of gas but…”

“Oh whatever man!” Pastor Brian laughed. “That’s your mom’s truck.”

“Alright, alright! I’ll see you guys at the resort.”

Josh strode towards his blue pickup and exited the parking lot with a rumble and a plume of exhaust hanging in the frigid air.

Pastor Brian cuffed his hands and shouted at the rental building. “Hey Dirk! Let’s go.”

The door to the building swung open and Dirk nearly tripped on his face as he tried running in his ski boots. He wore a hat with Looney Tune characters on them. Zits seemed to have attacked his face with a vengeance, and his blue coat looked too big for him.

Jessica rolled her eyes as she studied his snowboard. It’s too small! Didn’t anyone tell him what to get?

A rush of cold air invaded the van as Dirk opened the backdoor. Jessica heard Dirk’s board clatter as he threw it onto everyone else’s gear piled in the back.

He slammed the door and boarded the van in a huff. He climbed over several people to reach the middle seat in the row in front of Jessica. “Sorry for keepin’ everyone.”

Pastor Brian nodded distractedly. “Is that everyone? Let’s go!”

The people within the van chattered as the van rolled out of the parking lot. Jessica turned to Tiffany. “Do you remember Amy last year?”

“Yeah! She brought that wool jacket and it got soaked in a spot of melting snow. Didn’t she have to stay at the lodge after that?”

“She cried all the way home! I think that was her first outing with a youth group.”

Tiffany yawned. “It’s too bad we can’t take jewelry on the slope.”

Jessica’s mouth dropped. “Why not?”

“Because the metal gets so cold that it hurts. Besides, what if you lose it? You didn’t bring anything, did you?”

Jessica frowned and noticed Dirk wasn’t saying anything to the guy talking to him, but his left ear was pointed towards her.

She pulled off her glove and held up her sweaty hand. A slender ring with a red stone in the middle sat on her index finger.

She twisted the ring around her finger as she looked away from Tiffany. “This was my grandma’s ring she gave to me before she died. The stone’s not real, but it still looks good.”

Tiffany studied the ring for a split second. “Looks nice. I’d leave it in the car if I were you.”

“What! My mom would kill me if something happened to it.”

“But, there’s more of a chance of something happening to it if you take it with you on the slope.”

Jessica put her glove back on as though to hide it from Tiffany. “I’ll be careful.”

“Fine. Have it your way.”

“Did you like your grandma?”

Jessica glanced up at Dirk as he turned around in his seat. Sweat beaded down his face and he licked his lips slightly. Jessica had never heard a goose being strangled, but she imagined it would sound like his voice at that moment.

“What?” she said.

Dirk swallowed. “I mean, where did you grandma grow up?”

Jessica studied him for a few seconds and then she scanned the other people in the car. Is anyone going to tell Josh I talked to him? Will Josh want to have anything to do with me if he thinks I have feelings for this guy? I don't want to lead him on, either. Just say a few nice things and let the awkward silence take over.

“She grew up in San Francisco. She did a lot of traveling. Eventually she moved further north.”

He made eye contact with her and she felt the whole weight of his attention shift to her. Not a big deal, but it felt good being the center of attention. “I used to have an aunt who lived up north during the pioneer period,” he said, “and she and her family worked on a farm. She told a story once about how she was so frustrated with a cow that she wrenched its tail. The only problem was that the tail came off because it was so cold.”

Jessica stared as Dirk’s Adam’s apple bobbed up down in his laughter. He must’ve noticed she wasn’t laughing with him because he stopped and swallowed. He rubbed his arm as though it were cold.

“Uh, what was your grandma like?”

Jessica grinned. “She was impossible! Every time she came home for Christmas or something she would bring a huge cauldron. It must’ve weighed five tons. Every morning, at exactly five, she would bang that thing with a ladle till one of us kids staggered out of bed.”

Dirk nodded. “What did you enjoy most about her?”

“Well,” Jessica tapped her leg and stared at the ceiling for a minute, “She always wanted to give something to us kids, and the things she gave were from all around the world. There was one time…”

Dirk nodded, laughed, and continued to make eye contact every now and then. If the conversation lulled, he always had a good question to spark another line of thought.

Maybe he’s not such a nerd after all!

The van came to a halt. Jessica wiped her foggy window and peered out. “We’re here already!”

Dirk stretched his arms and turned around. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll see you on the slope sometime today.”

He stood and joined everyone else as they filed out of the van. Tiffany shook her head at Jessica and leaned forward. “Are you going to spend all day with him now?”

“Are you kidding? This is going to be one of the few chances I get with Josh.”

Jessica scrunched her nose, noticing the stench of sweat in the van for the first time.

The Slingstone

My old youthpastor's son, Garret, has been diagnosed with a disease that leaves him unable to even climb the stairs at age seven. They think he might live to be twentyone, but it's not certain. I wrote a story for Garret, and I was hoping maybe you all could say if it sounds OK for a seven-year-old. Sorry, but I couldn't get my picture to load.


Tom was a turtle. He wasn’t fast, he couldn’t speak well, and he smelled horrible. Day in and day out, he basked on a rock in the river and watched as a jackal, serpents, and mice frolicked on land.

He sighed one day. Why am I so slow? This shell is so heavy and hard I can’t do anything!

“Hey, Tom,” Jason the jackal called, “I’ll bet you wished you were as fast as me.”

The other animals laughed, hissed and squeaked.

Tom shrank into his shell. The sounds outside became silent. He glanced out through the small opening, but the others had vanished.

That’s funny…they always play for hours.

His heart nearly stopped as something lifted him into the air. He lip quivered as he saw a human boy with thick curly hair. The boy played with a sling and a walking stick in his other hand as he dropped Tom into a pouch at his side.

Let me out! I’m not a rock!

He was bounced around as the boy ran. In the darkness of the pouch, Tom listened as many voices became louder and louder. They all hushed and one pair of feet patted the ground. Tom stretched his neck to look at the boy. The boy whispered to himself, “God, help me, your servant.”

Tom shrank into his shell as a voice shook the sky. “Am I a dog that you come a me with a stick?”

The boy tensed, and Tom saw sweat trickle down his cheek. His voice didn’t quaver as he looked up and shouted at someone. “This day the Lord will hand you over to me.”

I wish I was that brave to shout at someone like that! Who’s he speaking to?

Tom trembled as the voice roared and the ground shook. The sun blinded him as the boy snatched Tom from the pouch and slipped him into his sling. Tom nearly threw up as he was slung round and round. He glimpsed two armies, but he couldn’t make out anything else. He shut his eyes.

Iiiiiieeeeeeeeeee!

Tom’s cheeks filled with air as he rocketed through space. He peeked through an eyelid. He shot towards a giant with bright armor and an enormous spear. Tom screamed as the brown giant’s eyes widened. Tom crashed into his forehead.

Tom spiraled towards the ground as the giant roared and stumbled. He hit the ground and looked up; the giant staggered, held his head, and fell forward.
He’s going to fall on me!

Tom scurried away as fast as his stubby legs could go. A cloud of sand rushed through his shell as the giant hit the ground an inch away from him. Tom sighed and crawled back towards the river, leaving the sounds of shouting and swords clashing behind.

“David has defeated Goliath!”

The brush on the bank of the river rustled as Tom returned home. Jason and the other animals erupted from the undergrowth.

“That was amazing!” The mice squeaked.

“Stupendously spectacular!” A snake hissed.

Jason patted Tom’s shell and smiled. “I wish I had a shell like yours. I never could have done what you did!”

How to Deny a Hummingbird

The sun rose shone over the tree canopy, and the gardener shuffled from his open pavilion. He stretched his thin shoulders, and straightened his vibrant robe. He pushed a wheelbarrow and studied his reflection in a pond surrounding the pavilion. He adjusted his grey hair and grimaced; the top of his head was the only plain colored thing in the garden.

A grass path stretched through a clearing of rocks into perfect lines. Rows of large vegetables and fruit grew to the left of the path, and a small stream trickled from the mountain’s top to water these plants and fill the pond. The path disappeared among the mighty pines and oaks, and the scent of his flowers wafted down by a breeze from the mountaintop.

A hedge grew around the sprawling garden, and overlooked a ram shackled town.

“Leithart!” a voice called from outside the hedge, “its me…the mayor.”

Rakes, picks, and shovels toppled from the gardener’s barrel and destroyed the rock formation. Leithart stormed across the rocks, clenching his fists as he destroyed hours of tedious work from the previous day with his bare feet. He never bothered planting a path to the gate; he never left the garden.

He wrenched the small gate open and his sharp nose reddened as he glared at a cowering little man in sackcloth.

“Go away!” Leithart shrieked, “I’m not helping any of you villagers! Figure out how to grow your crops on your own, and quit pestering me.”

He slammed the gate in the man’s face and used his previous steps to storm across his rocks again.

After eating fruit and calming his nerves with a bath in the pond, Leithart gathered his wheelbarrow and trekked uphill among the trees. The trees leaked sap and the gardener stopped to pick pine needles from the path.

Rows upon rows of flame balls, lavender ladies, red roses, daffodils, and sunflowers grew in his garden higher the mountain side when he’d cleared the trees. He removed blossoms that appeared wilted so new ones could grew and made sure the tiny streams from above were feeding them the right amount. The mountainside was draped in silence, and Leithart scowled over his work.

He glanced at the village far below at midday as he sat beneath a sunflower’s shadow. Fields stretched every-which-way on the valley floor, and brown clad figures labored away on them.
Leithart snorted, “Fools,” he muttered, “this is harvest time, but where are your crops? I might’ve told you crops can’t grow in the bottom of valleys! It’s too cold at night. I don’t know how you’re all going to live through another winter.”

The gardener sat up straight as a thrum filled the air. He stood and shaded his eyes, listening as the thrum grew louder. Leithart organized his tools in his barrel and leaned over a flower.
A brilliant ball of color vibrated beside Leithart, and the thrum settled to a hum as a tiny bird hovered. The creature’s tiny eyes glittered as he studied the hunched gardener.

“Your garden is doing fine,” the tiny bird spoke as though controlling great strength, “you’ve done well with my gift.”

Leithart stood and stared into the creature’s tiny eyes. He averted them suddenly and folded his hands, “As you please.”

“But it’s not as I please!” the tiny creature twittered excitedly as it hovered to eye-level, “what have you done with my gift? You can sow and reap anytime you wish, you can grow things out of season and region, and the best of it. Yet I look at the poor village and wonder how you’ve used it to help anyone but yourself. Why haven’t you helped them?”

Leithart scowled and crushed dirt between his toes, “I…I don’t know.”

The bird’s wings buzzed and it flashed red for an instant, “You will share your gift, or I will take it back. I’ll take the life from this garden, just as I put life into it.” he hovered beside Leithart’s ear, “You have much, and much is expected of you.”


Every night, all harvest time, the hummingbird visited the gardener and whispered, “You have much, and much is expected of you.”

Leithart hated these visits, and he imagined he dreamed the tiny bird could speak. Six days till the end of harvest, the hummingbird’s voice grew less and less audible. The gardener rejoiced as the bird twittered more and more angrily around his head, and he shrugged his shoulders. Soon, the words sounded just like another bird’s hum.

Leithart awoke on the last harvest day with the buzz of many bees filling the air. His eyes widened, and he threw off his blanket and tripped over his colorful robe as he raced to his pavilion’s entrance. A scream gurgled in his throat as countless bees swarmed everywhere, followed by locusts.

He swung with his rake and through rocks, but more insects took their place. Finally, Leithart sat dejectedly and watched as his garden was devoured. Nothing bright or green remained minutes later as the horde flew away.

They swarmed into the valley below and landed on the villager’s pitiful crop. Leithart watched as the land sprang to life. His great garden took form in the valley, and soon the crops sprang everywhere. The villager’s danced in great rings as the bees and locusts flew away.
Leithart slumped to the ground and covered his face. A single tear rolled down his cheek, but his head snapped upward as one of his trees collapsed like a thunderclap.

“Now what?” he groaned.

“Termites,” someone buzzed next to him, “all your trees will collapse within an hour.”

The gardener leapt to his feet and stared at the scarlet humming bird. His fists clenched.

“Why?” he bawled as his jaws squared, “my garden was beautiful! Why’d you take it?”

“I haven’t taken it all away,” the tiny bird whispered in the man’s ear as he wept, “life is still in this place. See that sunflower? It’s still the largest anywhere, but I can take the life from this place and leave it as it once was. I saw no beauty before, only flowers and bright green. You’ve learned a hard lesson, but it’s not over. If you share your gift in the coming year, this garden will flourish again and so will you. If you don’t share your gift even now,” the bird’s wings droned and its eyes narrowed, “I will take away even the life from this place. What say you?”

A Christmas Tragedy

“Casey, its time to wake up.”

Casey’s head shot off the pillow and the light flooding through a window blinded him.
“What time is it?!” he exclaimed as he leapt out of his bed and tripped on clothes and junk strewn on his floor.

Superhero posters hung on the walls, and a desk was littered with first grade schoolwork abandoned a week before. A pair of glasses sat on his dresser beside his bed. A chalkboard hung on his doorknob that said, “one day till Christmas.”

“It’s Christmas!” Casey’s Mom laughed and moved out of the way as Casey darted to his chalk board and scribbled a big zero.

“But its light out, in Montana, in winter!” Casey blinked as he opened his shades, “what time is it?”

“It’s three in the afternoon.”

“What!”

Casey scrambled for his glasses and realized his alarm clock wasn’t working. “The electricity is out?” he gasped, “but…how’re we going to have Christmas dinner?”

His mother shrugged, “Uncle Sedgwick wants to go to Macdonald’s.”

Casey’s little legs worked harder than they ever had as he exploded out of his room, shot down a hallway, and dashed upstairs. He gaped as he entered the spacious living room. His family always put the TV away during Christmas to make room for the tree, but his Dad and his two uncles hunched around the large screen, oblivious to everything but a bag of microwave popcorn. One of his uncles slapped his leg and laughed at a show’s antics and his Dad spilled Dr. Pepper on the carpet.

“Where’s the tree!” Casey cried as he danced around the living room and looked beneath the couches as though it’d be there.

His father didn’t turn as he laughed, “We decided we’d put it up early…it was either that or we’d miss our favorite show.”

“But…but…” Casey’s lip trembled, “what about the presents?”

Casey’s Dad scratched stubble on his chin and turned long enough to wink at Casey, “We already opened ours; we didn’t want to wake you up though.”

“Then where are my gifts?” Casey held his breath, and his long brown hair fell in his eyes.
Dad turned the popcorn bag up and emptied the last of the greasy kernels into his mouth. He crunched them as he muttered, “we put them over there,” he gestured to the table in the kitchen, “help yourself to the pork rinds we made for breakfast.”

A lump formed in Casey’s throat as he rushed to the kitchen. He noticed for the first time that the table was a cardboard table. A metal chair scraped on the wooden floor as Casey pulled it out and stood on it to see his presences.

Half of them were already unwrapped, and the rest were wrapped in newspaper. Casey studied the little tags on the packages.

“Half of these aren’t even mine!” he wailed.

He slumped against his chair’s back. The seat tipped over. Casey’s tongue stuck to the top of mouth as he toppled through the air. He wanted to move, but his body moved in slow motion as he toppled toward the floor. He hit his head and screamed.


Casey groaned as his Mom shook him gently. The boy shot up and nearly knocked the plate of cinnamon rolls his Mom held.

“Easy!” His Mom laughed as she adjusted her hair.

Casey sat up and looked all around the room. His stocking sat on top of his desk with its contents spread out. He squinted at his clock, put his glasses on, and gasped.

“Its 7:30! It’s not in the afternoon?”

His Mom raised an eyebrow before waving her cinnamon roll’s aroma under his nostrils. “Hurry or there’ll be none left for you.”

She spun on her heels and darted from the room as the oven beeped upstairs. Casey set his feet on the carpet shakily as though he wasn’t sure it would stay beneath him, and then he leapt to his feet and charged upstairs.

The fireplace crackled and the Christmas tree glittered with lights. Gifts nearly escaped beneath the tree’s circumference, and his uncles snuggled a few more packages beneath the tree sheepishly.

A nativity scene over the mantle watched as the family munched on cinnamon rolls and drank orange juice over breakfast.

Snickers

I thought I'd try and doing something a little less seroius this week....here's a story about trick-or-treating in a small town. This was one pretty fun because I lived in a small town for six years. If anyone's interested, I've never actually gone trick-or-treating. It runs about 1700 words.

Snickers

“Carl! Get down here!”

The ceiling over Mrs. Dibber’s creaked and drywall sprinkled her grey head. She sat facing the stairs with her wrinkled hands clasped on her tabletop. The groaning steps announced Carl’s descent.

Carl bounded into the room holding a pair of enormous shoes by their heels as Mrs. Dibber’s brushed her tablecloth.

“You called?” Carl scratched under his wig.

Mrs. Dibber rose, arranged a waxed fruit in her table-decorations, and leaned on a bookshelf as she approached her grandson.

“Come back tonight, will you?” she coughed and brushed at the paint on his cheeks absentmindedly, “don’t do anything stupid, and you’re raking the leaves tomorrow, understand?”

Carl nodded and tried not turning away. The paint on his face cracked with a smile, “It’s not like there’s much of anywhere to go in Bell….they planted the football field before building city hall!”

“Oh hush!” Grandma whistled between her teeth, “this town is huge compared to when your great-grandfather first came….don’t get hurt, don’t be the first to bite into a caramel apple, but let someone else check for razor blades…”

Mrs. Dibber’s hobbled to her table and Carl helped her sit. She stared through the dining room’s large window into the night, admonishing Carl five minutes about Halloween’s dangers.

Carl slipped his shoes on and played with his overalls as his grandma talked. Those waxed fruits were beautiful! He thought as he stared into the oil lamp on the table, then again, how many hours did grandma spend in this room? It made sense she’d do something.

Retired farmers are seldom rich enough to travel. Her waxed fruit littered the house, with the only real food being a bread loaf, milk, and seven eggs. Carl fooled himself into thinking they were camping, especially when the only source of light came from oil lamps.

Carl removed his rainbow-colored wig and scratched. Dandruff fell onto the tablecloth without him noticing, and he sat up as Grandma stopped talking. He stared transfixed as she turned and leaned forward. She glanced from side to side and tried lowering her voice; it came out raspy instead of quiet.

“Bring me a snickers if Mr. Murphy hands them out.”

Carl nodded, slapped on his wig, and stood. Floorboards creaked under his monolith shoes as he made for the front door. He passed through the kitchen and opened the door. “I’ll do that, Grandma….thanks for letting me go.”

Mrs. Dibber tried standing, but just waved and muttered, “I want that lawn raked tomorrow. Will isn’t around anymore. Understand?”

Carl nodded and adjusted to the cold before stepping into the dark. “I’ll do that; see you in the morning!”

He shut the door gently and crunched leaves in the lawn to join his friends on the sidewalk. An orc mumbled beneath a mask and Caesar shivered beneath a toga.

“Can’t hear ya’.” Carl chuckled as he followed his friends down the sidewalk.

The orc lifted his grimacing face and gasped, “You’re late.”

“You know Grandma,” Carl grinned as he walked faster to escape his house’s large window, “had to talk about the dangers of Halloween and probably mentioned Will.”

“OK,” Caesar chattered, “who’s Will? I hear about him every time I see your grand…gran…grandma.”

Carl avoided one of many large roots that’d broken up the sidewalk; it wasn’t easy in shoes twice his size. “That was her first boyfriend from 1930. Doesn’t really remember grandpa anymore.”

“That’s messed UP!” Caesar blew his big nose.

“Well, she IS 93 this year….I wonder what you’ll be like in 80 years.”

The orc smiled and slapped on his mask. The trio neared a house with pumpkins in the front and the porch light on.

The inhabitants dropped morsels in the boy’s sacks. They suspected the owner gave 5 year-old candy.


Mrs. Dibbers watched as Carl and his friends disappeared into the night. She scrutinized the large clock over the window tick slowly; 10:02….10:02 and five ticks…

How long ago had her father made that? It seemed she watched it just as long waiting for Carl to come home everyday. She sighed, blew out the lamp on the table, and struggled to her room with the moon guiding her.


“Well, that’s the first block,” Caesar muttered as he shook his bag’s contents, “not much to show for…and we only have three more blocks!”

“Look at the bright side,” Carl chuckled, tripped on his shoes, and caught someone’s wooden fence, “we’re the only ones trick-or-treating! Two more years, and we’ll be able to drive to the big cities. I heard a Burger King is coming to town.”

“No foolin’!” the orc nearly dropped his bag, “We’re going to have a real Burger King?”
Carl stopped at the second block’s end and glanced over his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” Caesar and the orc mumbled through blue lips.

“We’ve only got a few more blocks and they’re not going to have a lot of stuff…you guys wanta’ surprise my grandma? She’s wanted the lawn raked for a while, but I’ve been too busy with school and working on Mr. Jeffrey’s farm.”

Orc refused, and even Caesar proved immovable.

“Well,” Carl sighed and slung his bag over his shoulder, “I’ll see you guys at school.”
Carl turned and walked home, rubbing at the face paint. He avoided he sidewalk and used the road instead; less broken.


“Bob?” Mrs. Dibber’s whispered into the phone at her bedside, “There’s someone out in my lawn! Listen.” She held the receiver shakily to her window that looked on the front yard and hoped the Sheriff heard the scraping.

“I’ll send someone over, Mrs. Dibbers.” A voice sighed on the other end.

Mrs. Dibber’s set the phone on her bed stand, and pulled her quilt to her chin. She studied the barren room. The wooden floor, the small shelf with pictures, her dresser with owls made of differing materials and sizes…it all needed dusted.

The bed creaked as she sank further beneath the covers. She seized the phone and trembled, “The sounds getting louder, Bob!”


Carl puffed, picked at a splinter in his hand, and removed dry grass and leafs from his rake. He glanced at the moon; kids would be going home and pranksters would be coming out soon.

Absently he polished a huge button. He glanced up as a car screeched around the corner and sped down the block. Carl made out the lights on top and a sheriff badge on the side as it neared.

The car roared off the street, tearing dry grass and scattering leaves.

“Hey!” Carl leapt aside as the vehicle roared by, and gagged from car fumes as a figure rolled from the cab.

“Bill!” Carl shouted as he approached the figure on the ground, “What are you doing?!”

The moon reflected a barrel and something clicked.

“Put your hands behind your head!” the figure shouted as he leapt to his feet.

“That you Tom?…”

The barrel aimed upward and lit the night. Carl covered his head, slipped on leaves, jumped to his feet and dashed behind a tree before the deputy could reload.

“You’ve forgotten your meds again!” Carl shouted as he pinned against the tree.

A walky-talky crackled from the police cab, “Red alert! Red alert!” a voice squeaked, “Burglar has studied the law enforcements and even knows our names….will resolve situation as quickly as possible.”

“Tom! Don’t do anything drastic! Tom, what do you mean by ‘resolve’?” a voice demanded over the radio.

“It’s me! It’s me!” Carl waved his hands and stepped out from behind cover, “Can’t you see it’s Carl?”

The deputy wiped his face with a scarlet bandana and cocked the gun.

“I am sooo telling Doc….”

The branches over Carl exploded. Twigs fell on him as he pinned himself on the ground with hands covering his head.

He glanced up; the deputy wasn’t there.

“Tom?”

A hand wrenched him from the earth and dragged him over to the police cab by his overalls.

Caesar and the orc walked by just then, glanced over, and kept walking. “Wow….” Caesar muttered a few houses down, “Carl’s face is going to be in that cab’s exterior for a while.”
“That was Carl?” the orc asked after lifting his mask, “Tom threw that coat over his head too fast for me to see.”


An exhausted clown knocked on Mrs. Dibber’s door the next morning with Sheriff Bill. Carl rubbed his wrists and wiped his black thumb on his overalls as they waited.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Bill looked down and his square features were genuine, “You know how Tom is on Halloween, and especially when Doc forgets to remind him about his pills.”

He wiped his large nose and shifted in his boots. He rubbed the side of his tanned uniform and a bovine smile sunk into his face dotted with pockets from zits.

“That WAS pretty funny though! Did anyone get pictures?”

“If I wasn’t so tired,” Carl glowered, “I’d sew the police department, all two of you.”

The door cracked and half of Mrs. Dibber’s glare was revealed. “Where’ve you been all night?” she demanded before Carl bustled in, “I’ll bet you were doing something stupid while a shootout happened in my yard.”

“Grandma, I did something stupid, but I did go tricker-treating…”

A hand extended through the crack, “Snickers?”

Carl’s features dropped and he massaged his neck, “I didn’t get that far…I’ll buy some at the grocery store…”

The door slammed in his face. “Just as I thought! You take that boy and lock him up till I feel like getting him!”

Bill’s jaw dropped and well-concealed gum splattered on the sidewalk, “But….”

“That’s my last word!”

Bill shrugged and patted Carl’s shoulder, “Let’s get some doughnuts…a day out of the house and not working would do you good. Anywhere special you’d like to go?”

Carl flicked away his last blotch of face paint and smiled through a yawn. “Burger King?”


Mrs. Dibbers polished a waxed apple and nibbled at white bread. She gulped a glass of milk, retched, and glanced at the clock.

“Five! What happened to him last night? I think he said he’d be back...my brain aint what it used to be…”

Mall Shoppers

I got the idea for this story while working on the side of a fast-food counter you usually don't want to be. It spans 1477 words, so if you go blind from staring at the computer, its not my fault THIS time. I asked several friends questions about dialogue, so I hope its realistic.

Mall Shoppers

Two girls exited a mall beauty shop and joined the flow of people. Kristine swung her purse in rhythm with her walk and conversation.

“That’s only eight stores…and the mall is over a mile! How can you be hungry?”

Amanda, or Mandy as she preferred, blocked the sun coming through a skylight and the glitter around her eyes stopped sparkling. “We’ve been walking for hours, and you walk WAY too fast! This tile doesn’t help, either,” she stamped the floor gingerly, “and I’m getting sunburned from the skylight (it’s like a magnifying glass!), and the last store smelled funny, and my feet are sweaty (people can see ‘cause I’m wearing sandals!), and the clerk at the second from last place looked at me funny, and….”

Kristine glanced at a sign in the middle of the spacious hall, partly to study the map and partly so Mandy wouldn’t see her rolled eyes. She slipped through the flow of people, Mandy prattling on like a windmill. Kristine snapped gum and traced the map till she found what she was looking for.

“Will this work?”

Mandy braced herself with a bench beside the sign, and nodded till her brown hair bounced into her eyes.

Kristine slowed to Mandy’s pace as they trekked the mall. They took a wrong turn, but a fry aroma honed them in on target. The restaurant had one large ordering counter with napkin and straw dispensers neatly arranged along the front. Food was prepared on a stainless-steel counter where everyone could see. Two cashiers took orders, an old woman and a girl whose head barely reached topped the register. The line stretched into the mall.

“Try a free sample.” A pretzel salesman called and waved his product in a wide arc without bothering to stand.

“Can they take people’s orders any slower up there?” Mandy whined loud enough for the cashiers to hear.

Finally the girls stepped up to the counter and Kristine scanned the menu while Mandy charged the cashier.

“Are you guys always so slow?” she tapped her painted nails on the counter and tried staring the girl down.

The cashier wore a nametag with Shelly printed across it, and she rolled the back of her neck as though she couldn’t scratch. She leaned on her register and shifted weight from foot to foot as they shook her head.

“No, mam,” she mumbled, “sorry for the wait. Can I help?”

Mandy gave her order and wanted to know the cost. Shelly glanced turned and glanced up at the menu board.

“I know what’s up there.” Mandy said slowly so the cashier would understand, “How much is it going to cost after tax?”

Shelly hesitated, sighed, and punched “Total” on her register.

“$5.12”

Mandy’s eyes dilated, her jaw set and she leaned forward slightly, “That’s WAY too much! Let me re-say my order…”

Mandy changed her order three times, and each time Shelly called her manager to erase the last transaction.

“That’ll $4.99.” Shelly said in a hurry, glancing apologetically at her manager, “is that going to be it?”

Kristine finally decided what she wanted and ended by asking for a handful of barbecue sauce. The cashier dug into a tray and slapped some packets on the counter as she scrambled to get the drinks.

She glanced up as she scooped ice into cups, “That’s going to be about three minutes for fries…I’ll bring it out when it’s ready.”

“After all this time…” Mandy started, but someone tapped her shoulder. “Pastor Will! What’re you doing here?”

Pastor Will avoided the stream of the line and adjusted his hat, “Just handin’ out fliers to people for our church.”

Kristine plucked a straw from the dispenser and shot the wrapper across the room with a puff. “We could’ve helped!” she took her drink from Shelly and snatched a handful of napkins from the napkin holder.

“Ah well…” Will scratched stubble under his chin and shuffled his feet, “not many people seem interested …did you know Mrs. Wilson works here?”

The girls stepped out of line with their drinks, “No….” Kristine thought aloud, “Where is she?...That’s her on the other register!”

“Yup.” Will waved to the girls and handed a flier to the nearest person in line.

Tables lined the walls with flower vases on top, and Kristine picked one of these. She collected two handfuls of ketchup, salt, pepper and a sugar packet from the condiment stand opposite the ordering counter, and spread them on her tabletop. She flopped down so she faced the mall. Mandy complained to the manager about the waiting.

Kristine concentrated on her barbecue packets as a Goth strode into the store. The line had died, and the man’s chains and earrings clinked as he strode directly to the counter. He brushed scarlet-streaked hair back, pulled up his pants by the spikes in his belt, and placed his clasped hands on the counter.

Mandy’s complaining ceased abruptly and she took a seat across Kristine.

“Yikes!” she whispered with her back to the man, “Ya’ gotta feel bad for that register person...I’m glad Mrs. Wilson didn’t have to take his order.”

“I like your sandals,” Kristine commented as she tapped a ketchup packet.

That sparked a conversation that twisted and turned at will, starting with Mandy’s sandals and ending with their youth group’s last camp.

Shelly rushed out minutes later clutching a bag. She navigated the dining room, barely avoiding three people as they scooted out, and plopped the bag on their table.

“Are ya’ all going to need anything?” she wiped her face on her sleeve as Mandy and Kristine tore the bag.

“We didn’t want it in a bag,” Mandy rolled her eyes and didn’t look at Shelly, “but that’s fine, I guess.”

Shelly spun on her heels and asked some customers how they were doing.

Kristine tore salt, pepper and sugar packets and laid the bag out. She squeezed so much ketchup and barbecue on it seeped through the paper and looked like thick gravy.

“You put sugar on your sandwiches?” Mandy wrinkled her nose and tapped her salt pack once over her fries.

“Yeah, it’s weird but I like it. Hey! You want to see something funny?” Kristine whispered.

She pounded a ketchup packet and it squirted up the wall and reached the ceiling. “Oh! That’s awful!” Mandy giggled around the hand over her mouth. The girls tittered for over twenty minutes and soon everyone left. Shelly busied herself with wiping tables and chairs.

Mandy glanced over her shoulder and exhaled, “That Gothic guy is gone. Did you see his wrists when he put them on the counter? All bandaged up! I’d probably come to the mall more if,” she removed her lid and waved her cup at Shelly, “there weren’t so many weird people.”

Shelly stopped working, took the cup and returned with a refill. Wordlessly she resumed work on the opposite side of the dining room. Mrs. Wilson wiped the ordering counter and the manager scraped the inside of the fry-henny, careful not to touch the liquid within.

Shelly ran her towel over a tabletop and knocked a vase into thin air. She dove for it, but it shattered on the tile.

“Whoops!” Mandy called through cuffed hands.

Shelly bit her lip. Tears sparkled in her eyes as she glanced at Mrs. Wilson and her manager.

“Clean it up and grab a new one.” The manager’s cheeks flushed and she shook her head without glancing sideways.

“It happens all the time, sweaty,” Mrs. Wilson called as Shelly darted through a door into the restaurant’s back area.

The shopper’s chairs scraped the tile as they stood and stretched. “Don’t bother with the mess,” Kristine sipped her drink and shook the ice, “someone’ll come around.”

“We need to say ‘hi’ to Mrs. Wilson before we leave…”

“It’s too late for that, Mandy.”

Mrs. Wilson’s grey hair was pinned back, and her thin features hardened. She crossed her arms and her green eyes flashed. It seemed a miracle words slipped between her pursed lips.

“Mrs. Wilson!” Kristine hugged the frail woman, “you look so different with your uniform.”

“That girl knows exactly who you two are!” Mrs. Wilson exclaimed as she recoiled with her arms still crossed, “She knows what to expect from Christians! She’s gone through a lot, and I just persuaded her to give church a try. You made her life hell without even thinking about it, like it was natural for you.”

Mrs. Wilson let her words sink in, and continued in her normal tone, “That Goth came though, the one you two were talking about so loudly, and he didn’t try intimidating anyone, sat down, ate, and cleaned up after himself a bit. Shelly asked how much it hurt to cut…

“You’re a customer and entitled to 100% service, but as Christians you missed a great opportunity.”

Unkoostika III

Here's the last part of this long, short story of mine. Its 2,064 words, nearly 600 less than the last part. From now on I'll put down what audience would enjoy the story the most....no more thrillers with no warning!
Next week's story will appeal to mall shoppers....and no body dies. Honest!

Unkoostika
Part III

“No! No! Nooooo….”

Sitka crashed about in the river beneath the glacier, doing anything to stay above water. Soon his jaw froze, and the most protest he offered was his chattering teeth. A waterfall roared ahead in the dark, but the boy didn’t care.

He shut his eyes the blackness and wished more than anything that Kenai, Grandfather, or even father was there. The river bed disappeared and he toppled through space.


Unkoostika scaled the ice cliff and sniffed the ground. His head snapped upward and fixed on the river below. Was it possible one boy could be so stupid?

“Unkoostika!”

Saami’s spear hissed upward, its ivory-like tip glinting. The uncles shook their weapons as it struck its mark, but triumph died on their lips. The monster’s bony hand caught the spear point as it protruded from his ribs, yanking it through.

Unkoostika spun round and hurdled the spear like a thunderbolt. Saami tried to prevent what happened next, too late. The weapon made a soft thudding sound as it pierced layers of warm clothing, and quivered in Knuckle’s chest. Knuckle’s spear dropped to his side, and he stared at the shaft. He swayed and smiled weakly at his brothers.

“This is going to hurt in a minute….”

Saami caught him and his brothers helped lower Knuckle to the ice. Sweat lined his brow and his grip tightened on his spear. Knuckle’s eyes riveted on the spear in his chest as he whispered, “I always liked you, Saami, and your boy, and all of you,” he struggled to grin, “A moment ago…I was completely happy. By the way, brother,” he turned to Saami, “you know all the hours you spent sharpening your spear? You did good work…BELIEVE me!”

He gasped and screwed his eyes shut, “You know what?” he sighed, “I wish I had salmon right now. Did we bring any?”

His head rested on the ice and the brother’s stood in revered silence.

Shrill laughter shattered Knuckle’s moment of peace. “Father! Father!” someone mocked, “A monster’s got me by the throat! He’s drawing back his talons to strike!”

An eagle shriek reverberated about the icy barren land. Saami and his brothers stared all around, weapons at the ready.

“Come find me if you dare!” Unkoostika cackled, and the men of the Inuit clan grimaced.
“After him!” Saami roared. He pried Knuckle’s fingers around his spear loose, clenched it between his teeth, and scurried up the ice cliff.


Sitka dreamed of glaciers falling on him and he moaned. Presently his eyes cracked open; he was alive! He sat up slowly and held his aching head. The glacier towered a hundred or so feet away, its river gushing forth. He looked up and down the beach he’d washed up on, and felt the silt between his fingers.

The boy tried remembering what Grandfather said about silt. He’d said it was little pieces of rock the glacier ground to powder. It followed the river wherever it went making sand-like beaches and clouding the water.

Had Grandfather said something else? Yes! Sometimes the silt suctioned onto a person and held him….

He sprang to his feet and found a rock to sit on. Sitka brushed the silt from his clothes, and held his face in his hands as he studied the river.

He’d crossed the glacier, and the only thing separating him and the Hunting Plains was a narrow path along a cliff. He glanced at the sun; he’d been unconscious awhile. Sweat coursed down his back and he looked about for his spear. He laughed and shook his head; he hadn’t let go of it when he went down the river!

Sitka dropped the shaft, and noticed how white his knuckles were. There was his spear, he was still ahead of his father, and the Hunting Plains weren’t far away. Suddenly he realized he didn’t care anymore. He wanted to be loved like a child more than respected as a man.

Tears dripped off his nose and the silt soaked up the drops. Sitka’s head shut up suddenly; something moved in the forest. He listened; brush moved again. He reached for his spear, dried his eyes, and crept toward the forest crouched over.

The vegetation was thick, but he saw the hide of something large. What luck! He didn’t need to go to the Hunting Ground, not with something right here. He brushed mud off the spear tip, drew back as his father showed him, and took aim. He waited on the edge of the forest a whole minute for the caribou to show its hide again.

The boy didn’t know how far it was, but that hardly mattered. Sitka heaved with all his might and cheered as something groaned.

“Got ya’!”

He didn’t have time to inspect his prey. Branches snapped and brush flattened beneath a bull moose’s hooves. Sitka’s tongue stuck to the top of his mouth as the monster shook its antlers and bellowed. The boy stepped aside just as the creature exploded pass, spear stuck in his hunches.

Sitka’s legs shook beneath him as he darted away, and the ground trembled beneath him. The moose’s snorts and bellows gained on the boy, and he remembered something Grandfather told him.

He ducked into the forest, running through anything in his way and snapping branches that got in his face. He weaved in and out of the thin trees, and the crashing behind grew more distant. The next minute he was alone in the forest. Sunlight cast brilliant rays through slits in the foliage overhead and lit the leaf-strewed earth and mossy rocks.

Sitka sunk to his knees and screwed his eyes shut. Tears dropped onto his clenched fists and he sobbed brokenly.

“I can’t even make a kill!” he struck the ground and lowered his head.

How could his father accept him after all his trouble and his son couldn’t do the simples thing? Who would think he was a man? How could he bear Kenai looking up to him when he was nothing?

Sitka staggered to his feet hours later. He shook his blurred vision and focused ahead. A mountain trail hill towered ahead, a cave gaping in its side.

“Sitka!”

Father! The boy wanted to go and cry on his shoulder and say he was sorry a thousand times….he couldn’t. His father couldn’t forgive him, and Sitka didn’t expect him to.

He sprinted to the cave in the cliff, tripping over logs and rocks in the darkness. How long had he been crying?

Darkness shrouded the cave interior and the boy knelt behind a moss-covered boulder. He clasped a hand over his mouth and the cave fell silent.

His father’s and uncle’s calls seemed to shake the mountain. Sitka pressed against the rock at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. He didn’t want his father to find him, but he didn’t want the owner of that voice to find him either. He couldn’t make out exact words, but the stranger seemed to be taunting.

Silence.

Sitka felt the veins throb on his head. Still nothing. He sighed and slid down the boulder, rubbing his sweaty hands together.

“Sitka!” the boy stood and peered into the dark, “It’s me…Kenai! I’m scared. Come to me.”

Resolve vanished in Sitka. Someone needed him! He raced into the moonlight, tripped on rocks and sprang to his feet without glancing at his hands.

“Where are you!?”

“Over here!” Kenai squealed, “Come quickly.”

Sitka dashed toward the dark forest where the voice came from, ignoring the calls of his father and uncles.

“It’s a trap! Sitka! It’s a traaaaap!”

The boy weaved in and out of the trees, gasping, “I’m sorry I didn’t stop today….I was wrong to run off.”

“I forgive you.” The voice exclaimed to the left.

Sitka peered into the darkness, espying a black figure in a moonlit clearing. The boy rushed forward, oblivious of a talon at the figure’s side that caught the moonlight.

Sitka reached out to grab Kenai’s shoulder; everything happened too quickly for him to see. An eagle shriek pierced his ears and his lips convulsed as the robed figure seized the boy and stared at him with twin golden eyes.

“Fein!” Saami roared as he and his brothers stormed into the clearing with torches lit and spears drawn.

Unkoostika shoved Sitka to his knees and ripped his head upward by the hair and prickled his neck with a talon. “Come closer, little warriors!” the monster shrieked and clacked his beak, “I’ll kill him if you approach!”

Saami’s face clenched in the torchlight and he lowered his spear. The uncles slowly complied with a motion from Sitka’s father.

“What would you take for the boy?” Saami growled.

Unkoostika tickled Sitka’s throat, “What do you have to offer?” he clacked his beak and his eyes glinted in the shadow of his hood.

“Let the boy go,” Saami breathed hard, “and you can have me instead.”

The monster craned his neck and shrieked to the moon. “You have a bargain!” he cackled and kicked Sitka away. “Come to me!”

Saami rushed forward and hugged his son. Sitka choked tears and pounded his father’s back.

“Don’t do it!” he screamed, “I deserve this!”

Unkoostika seized Saami before he could reply. Talons flashed in the moonlight and Saami groaned and held his chest as he fell. Sitka shrunk away in horror as the monster kicked his father, and laughed wickedly.

“Unkoostika!”

Lin roared as he bounded into the clearing. The monster turned as the man plucked a torch from an uncle and drew his sword in the same movement. Spears flew from the uncle’s hands as Lin hurdled the torch at the creature.

An anguished scream shook the stars as Unkoostika’s robe burst into flames. He caught the two spears in midair and thrust it at Lin. Lin chopped the weapon in two and laughed.

“Murdering children is easier, isn’t it?!”

Unkoostika threw his robe aside, and the flaming mass landed on Saami. The monster stood as a skeleton with an eagle’s head and talons; nothing more. Sitka dashed into the combatant’s ring and tried putting out the flames on his father. Unkoostika’s beak widened to nip Sitka’s neck, but Lin kicked so hard the creature flew backward and landed on it’s hunches.

The uncles charged, and Unkoostika leapt to his feet. His eyes burned scarlet, but he backed away with a spear clutched in his talons. The spear whistled as he thrust it at Lin, but the samurai cleaved the weapon in half from the spear’s point down to Unkoostika’s hand.

The monster clutched his hand and the light faded from his eyes as he saw his talon hit the ground. Lin charged with a war cry beyond the sea, aiming a sweeping blow at the monster’s neck.

Unkoostika raked the samurai across the face, somersaulted over the uncles as they swung sticks, and disappeared into the darkness. His bones clattered shakily, and then silence.

Lin touched his face and examined the blood. “Stay here.” He ordered the uncles, “None of you’ve seen the last of him. We have his robe, and without it he’ll slowly wither and grow weaker. That’s the only reason he ran.”

One of the uncles examined the cleaved talon between his fingers, wincing as he tested its tip. “How do you know that?”

Lin wiped the blood off his face with a sleeve and smiled wryly, “Don’t you listen to Grandfather?”

Saami’s chest heaved gently and Sitka examined his wound. Unkoostika cut deep, but missed the heart. Lin walked up behind, wincing as pain started along his cuts. “Stand up, boy.” the samurai ordered.

Sitka hesitated before rising slowly. His knees trembled as his uncles and Lin stared down.

“My son is dead….and much of it is your fault.” Sitka’s jaw dropped and he shook, “You owe me a son, boy. All of us have a claim on you now. So what are you going to do?”

Sitka cleared his throat and tried speaking, cleared it again and whispered, “I’ll be a son before I try being a man.”

Lin nodded and patted his shoulder. The uncles embraced the boy and he shook like a leaf, crying so hard his throat ached.

“Your father will live!” the uncles comforted, “and someday Unkoostika will come for his talon and cloak, what’s left of it.”

Unkoostika part II

All right, here's part II of Unkoostika. Sorry it took so long. If anyone reads this who's from Alaska, it'd be good to know if my description of a glacier fits reality. Hope y'all enjoy!

Unkoostika
Part II

“Your boy’s worthless.” Lin muttered as he polished his sword hilt.

Sitka’s father shifted on a log and puffed smoke from his pipe. He checked the uncle’s faces, and they watched him intently through smoke.

“Lin,” Sitka’s father said softly, “you said you were a samurai once, whatever that means, and we’ve respected you as one of us. You’ve carried the heaviest loads, taken the longest shifts as guard and always brought down the most prey.” Lin nodded and caressed his sword.

“You’re a part of this clan, and I apologize for what my son said.”

Lin spat and waved away wisps of smoke. “I don’t take offense from the mouth of a boy,” he lifted his chin, “and I’m angry for the family….your boy and mine are the only two in this clan. We can’t afford the older to be a fool. Kenai looks up to your boy; I get sick to my stomach thinking about the future.”

“Well said,” Knuckle muttered. The two other uncles nodded and inhaled.

Lin gazed at the dark sky, “Something must be done, Saami, before it’s too late. Either you deal with your boy, or we as a clan must.”

Saami stiffened and knocked the ash out of his pipe. “I’ll take care of my boy,” he stood, “and all of you remember that.” His eyes pierced everyone before he strode to Sitka’s tent.

Knuckle stifled a laugh, “He always looks like a bear when he’s walking,” he muttered to one of his brothers.

Lin rubbed his neck, and his features screwed up. “I’d say you’ve got another week before you need to shave,” Knuckle observed.

Lin glanced at him haughtily for a second, but he nodded. “I used to not let my beard grow so long….back when I had my own estate.”

Knuckle nodded, “You like hunting, don’t you? I swear I see you smiling after sneaking up on a caribou and, slice! one more carcass to carry home. Two, I mean.”

“I try to adjust.” Lin smiled a large row of white teeth.

“Sitka!” Saami roared within the boy’s tent and things crashed within. The men instinctively turned. The rampage continued for a whole ten seconds.

“Satisfied?” Knuckle mumbled, “He’ll never give you lip again.” He took a deep breath and blew so hard the ash flew out of his pipe.

Sitka’s father rushed over to the men, ignoring the women and girls who peeped out of their huts. “He’s gone!” he panted, “he’s run away….and your boy’s missing too.”

Lin paled and he stood shakily. He stared at the mountains, and especially at a jagged peak silhouetted against the moon. “They’ve gone after the caribou…” he mumbled, “with no one with them. They’ll try crossing the mountains….Let’s get after them!”

The men stormed out of camp after Saami explained what had happened to Grandfather. The old man’s eyes widened and he looked to the sky. “It’s a dark night,” he said, “beware of the Sly One. Those mountains are his hunting grounds.”




The moon casts light on many things, but there’re things it even wishes to remain concealed. A cave’s mouth was chiseled out of a cliff face overlooking a plain. The entrance towered hundreds of feet over a narrow pass. A cloaked figure hid in the cave shadows, and eagle eyes glowed as they followed two figures on the plain, coming closer.

The figure leapt from the cave. Its skeleton-like limbs flashed as his black cloak flapped in the wind. He bounced from one wall of the pass to another, till he found an outcropping. Nestling into the shadows, he clicked a talon on a stone, its keen edge catching the moonlight and holding it captive in a fluorescent glow.



Sitka’s legs wobbled beneath him. He rested on a boulder and glanced up the mountain slope. He’d crossed the tundra, but the mountain towered before him. It was the quickest way to the hunting grounds, but it cut up the mountain’s slope.

His clan never came this way to get to the hunting grounds, but every clan knew of the shortcut. The path cut between narrow cliffs for what felt like an eternity, and led across a glacier. From there he’d have to skirt the edge of a cliff as he descended onto the plain on the other side.

Sitka patted Wolf’s neck, and the dog yelped. The boy gasped and withdrew his hand. “It’s a little haunted, isn’t it?” he chuckled between quivering lips, “But it’s too late to turn back…father probably discovered we aren’t there anymore.” He gestured back to camp, and something caught his eye.

It was dark for summer, even for the early hours, but he thought he espied a figure coming closer. He groaned and slammed his spear butt in the ground.

“That pest!” he growled to Wolf, “Kenai’s following. He’s going to ruin everything!”
Sitka cuffed his hands and shouted over the plain, “Kenai! Go back! Go back! You’re not fooling anyone.”

The figure halted for a second, and then kept coming. Sitka charged up the mountain side, sliding occasionally on loose dirt. He grabbed small brush and leapt back to his feet. Wolf panted beside him, never passing when he fell and never falling behind.

Sitka slumped against the cliff’s cool wall as he reached the top and held his side. The sound of his breathing echoed down the narrow pass, and reverberated as he shouted. “Don’t follow me!” he gasped, “I’m not waiting for you.”

Rocks and boulders clattered and broke the deathly silence as the boy dashed forward. Wolf seized his pant leg and tugged him backwards.

“What’s wrong with you?” the boy panted, “don’t you know we’ve got to kill a caribou before father catches up?”

Wolf shook his head and pulled harder. Sitka wrenched his leg away, not carrying that the dog lost a tooth.

“Sitka?” Kenai’s voice reverberated from behind, “I’m scared! Let’s go home.”

“You go home!” Sitka trudged on, “I don’t want you here anyway.”

A gasp emanated somewhere far away, and Kenai’s gentle scream shattered the still night.
“Help!”

Wolf barked and growled, the hair rising along his spine. “Nice try,” Sitka laughed nervously, “I know that trick.”

No response. The dog whimpered and shifted on its paws.

“Kenai?”

“Sitka, come and help me!” someone called, “there’s a caribou. It’s attacking me! That’s why I screamed. It’s getting away!”

Sitka clutched his spear and darted back toward Kenai. Something heavy landed on his back and bore him to the ground. Sitka barely missed cutting himself on his spear.

“What’s wrong with you?” he screamed at Wolf, “the caribou’s getting away!”

Wolf seized the boy’s pant leg and charged down the pass, in the opposite direction of Kenai and the caribou. The lead dog retreated faster than Sitka had ever seen him pull a sled, and he was amazed at the strength in the animal’s thin legs.

“Go back! I said go back!”

Wolf ignored his master’s plea. The fur on his neck didn’t lower even as his paws stepped on the glacier. It was a barren place, covered in many places with small pebbles that had been heated by the sun and melted into the ice. The landscape rolled with hills and snow hadn’t relinquished its grip from this place. Jagged ice peaks rose to the left and gaping cracks dotted the landscape. Mountains towed on either side. Wolf ran across the slippery terrain like a seasoned expert.

Sitka lashed about on the ice, trying to get his spear into a throwing position. Wolf started panting between his clenched teeth and his pace slackened enough for Sitka to aim. The dog released the pant leg and collapsed with the spear between his ribs.

Sitka gasped; he hadn’t meant….

“Wolf!” he rubbed the animal’s ear frantically, “Get up! Are you alright?”

The sled dog’s head rolled over in a last effort, and his dying eyes gave such a mournful look that Sitka gasped. He caught the animal’s head as its strength ran out and its eyes closed to the harsh North.

“No.” Sitka rose to his feet, hypnotized by Wolf’s prone figure. His lip trembled and a single tear melted a tiny hole in the ice.

He tore his gaze away as the sound of clacking on stone came from the narrow pass. He glanced at his dog’s body one more time, stroked his head, and sprinted across the glacier. Occasionally he tripped and bruised himself on the ice.

Sweat dripped off the end of his nose, but he didn’t stop; what would Kenai say when he saw Wolf? It shouldn’t matter! But it did.

Towers of jagged ice loomed over Sitka, and he leaned over and gasped as he studied his situation. He’d run for nearly an hour, and almost crossed the great block of ice. This tower of ice separated him from the mountains on the other side. He craned his neck and stretched his arms; the peak loomed a hundred feet at least and the surface dripped with ice melting in the early sun.


Saami, his brothers, and Lin dashed up the narrow pass, stones clattering in their wake. The cliffs on either side felt small as the men panted and pushed harder and harder on the pursuit.

“This is your….fault!” Lin gasped as he pointed a finger at Sitka’s father, “If you’d kept a firmer grip on that boy….”

Sitka’s father stopped cold in the lead and spun around. His knuckles whitened on his spear and his chest heaved, “We’re after your boy too….Samurai.” he pronounced the title in a mocking tone, “Remember that!”

The clan’s leader turned his back on Lin and commenced the chase without waiting for a reply. The Samurai glared, but followed in the rear. Uncle Knuckle observed from the corner of his eye how Lin pounced from boulder to boulder with the ease of a cat. Perhaps more of a lion, he thought as he avoided Lin’s sharp glance, he looks ready to kill.

Sitka’s father and uncles pulled up short as Lin’s anguished scream filled the pass. “You’re going to give away where we are….” Knuckle’s voice trailed off in the harrowed silence.

The uncles passed a small alcove in the cliff face without noticing it, but not Lin. There was Kenai shoved in the alcove, and it smelled of blood. Lin seized the boy and the Samurai’s lip trembled as he studied his son. Kenai’s head slumped to one side as though it would never move again. His clothes were shredded, and blood formed small pools on the ground.

Saami and his brothers dropped spears from their unnerved hands or knelt with heads bowed. Lin’s hard face, the one that could watch unflinching as a cub was killed, slowly sunk. The lines always hidden under imperviousness came out at his dimples and stretched across his forehead. He clutched his boy, cradled his cut face in his hands.

Slowly, he lowered his son on a boulder and kissed his plump cheek despite the dirt. He staggered to his feet and gazed at the end of the pass with hollow eyes. His hands hung at his sides as though he didn’t know he had them. “He’s dead….he’s useless now….lets think about the living….he’s useless to me….”

Sitka’s father gently placed a hand on Lin’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Lin shook from head to foot. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he roared through trembling lips, “Of course I’m not alright! My son! He’s gone! gone! Gone! vanished! Deceased….”

He dropped to his knees at Kenai’s side, and bit the knuckles on his right hand as he gripped his son’s thin arm. That arm would never grow large enough to hunt for his wife and children.

The Samurai’s powerful shoulders quivered from gasps of sorrow. The uncles formed a circle and bowed their heads. “We’re sorry.” Knuckle patted the man’s shoulder, “He was…”

“He’s dead.” Lin didn’t raise his eyes, but his words were accompanied by the grinding teeth, “Saami,” he whispered so his voice wouldn’t crack, “your boy is still out there, with Unkoostika.”

Sitka’s father grimaced. He wanted to say something, but nothing came from his mouth. He stood in reverenced silence; Lin had never cried.

“Go away!” Lin roared as he pounded the rock and continued gazing at his boy, “Just go away all of you!”

The uncles backed away and picked up their spears. Saami picked his up last. He gazed at Lin’s broken figure a moment, and dashed down the pass with a bloodcurdling cry. “On the hunt!”

The brothers saw the end of the pass as Lin’s cry shrieked over their heads, “Gone! Dead!”



Sitka took a deep breath, stuck his spear butt down the back of his coat, grimaced from the chilled rod, and climbed the cliff of ice. He never looked down, and his breath melted holes in the ice when he rested his trembling limbs. The boy felt the higher he went the more he felt something would pull him off into space.

He rested his chin on some ice as he looked up; only ten more feet! Five more….two…he hoisted his body onto the cliff’s summit and gasped. A river coursed down the glacier in a deep crag, disappearing into dark blue under the ice’s surface. On the other side loomed the side of a mountain with trees and a path cutting upward.

His family always took a longer rout than this, but he guessed what was on the other side of that path; the hunting plains!

Grandfather once said there were streams and rivers beneath glaciers, and even caves. He’d told a story about a tribe that’d lived in a glacier, but Sitka hadn’t believed him.

Sitka clutched his knees to his chin and rocked back and forth. Maybe grandfather was wiser than he’d thought! No time to rest; his uncles had to know he’d run away. He took his spear from his coat and pushed himself up. Brushing the ice from the seat of his pants, he gazed over the glacier’s barren landscape.

Judging by the sun it had to be noon, but why was it moving so swiftly? It seemed eager to leave the world in darkness as it sped toward its resting place. Very strange for summer….

From nearly half a mile, he spotted Wolf’s figure against the blue ice, and he squinted. Was Kenai kneeling over the dog? Had he ever owned a black cloak? He could see the uncles emerge from the cliffs. They separated and combed a wide area of the glacier, spears at the ready. Shouts bounced off the cliff faces over the glacier and they charged….they must be furious with me.

Kenai leapt to his feet and appeared to listen to the approaching men, who were obscured by the rolls in the ice.

Sitka cuffed his hands and air chilled his throat as he yelled, “Turn back, Kenai!”

Kenai spun around and fixed Sitka with eyes hidden beneath a hood; did Kenai ever have a hump in his back? The figure’s white arm glowed in the sun, and a long finger, visibly long from a half mile, beckoned to the boy.

Sitka’s gaze riveted on the figure, and his tongue stuck in his mouth as an eagle’s cry shrieked over the barren ice. The cloaked figure sped forward like a wolf, leaping obstacles and not slipping once on the ice.

Sitka’s spear shook in his hands as he stepped back and he screamed as he slipped down the slope to the glacier’s river.

“No!” he screamed as he splashed into the water.

The river swept him away with the force of a great herd of reindeer, and he gasped in the cold. He braced his feet on the river’s bed, but to no avail. The river washed him down a crag before he could scream, and he vanished into the glacier’s dark recesses.

Unkoostika

I've been thinking about this story since a mission trip to a small Alaskan town . I thought it'd be a good idea to write this story in two or three parts. I wrote the first part this week and started working on the second. The second might be a little late; I'll be gone next week. I don't recommend reading this at night....well, the first part should be fine, just watch out for the subsequent ones!

My apologies to those who've watched Brother Bear; I hadn't realized I used two names in the movie until my brother pionted it out. Oooops.....oh well.

Unkoostika
Part I
“Beware of the evil one, the sly one.”

The storyteller supported himself with his gnarled cane. The grey hair on the back his hand curled as he waved it over the crackling fire. Youngsters leaned forward on stumps, and the flames danced in a soft breeze. The men sharpened their spears and arrow tips, murmuring among themselves as they glanced at the mountains across the tundra plain. The old man tapped a rock with his cane. The men rolled their eyes and stopped long enough to listen.

“The danger of the far north,” Grandfather murmured as he leaned forward and stared into each child’s gaze in turn, “the death of blizzards, the bane of great hunters and strong sled dogs….is Unkoostika.”

Mothers held their wrapped children closer and the men instinctively formed a ring. The children glanced at the sky. Good! It’d be day for hours yet and darkness worsened Unkoostika’s stories.

Sitka plucked a tuft of tundra from the earth and surveyed the mountains ahead. He tried listening, but the next day would be his first hunt.

“The hunter of hunters does not attack herds,” grandfather continued softly, “as a young man, I hunted with my father and his brothers. Never did we lose anyone to him, but we heard from others. Always it was the same….a lone man, believing he was too strong to be overcome, wandered ahead. “Few escape the monster after seeing, but those who have all say….”

The family’s lead sled dog paced over and lay beside Sitka. Most of the dogs were tied to stakes, but not Wolf. The animal nuzzled the boy with his wet nose, and Sitka petted his grey fur. The dog rolled over, but Sitka gazed out from the high place where his family had camped. Lakes dotted the flat country in green drops, giving way to the rise of great mountains to the north.
The boy imagined his first kill, and wondered how it would feel. He could see his sister’s faces when he returned with his own caribou. He’d be a man; he smiled as he envisioned herds stampeding from him.

Story-time ended sooner than usual. Sitka didn’t notice his father and uncles standing over him, arms crossed. The boy glanced from the mountains to his father’s fur boots. He gulped as he realized the silence and everyone’s stern gaze. Wolf scooted away and tucked his tail between his legs.

“Well?” his father said as his dark face wrinkled and hardened, “what did you learn from the story?”

Sitka cautiously raised his eyes, up passed the caribou fur his father wore as pants, and higher till he stared at his father’s bear-skin coat. The boy’s lips chapped, and his cheeks flushed.

“Well?” Uncle Knuckle said gently, “what did your grandfather say?”

Sitka caught Knuckle’s sympathetic gaze, saw he wasn’t glaring like everyone else.
The boy shrugged, stood, and retrieved his spear where he had set it on the ground. He sharpened the edge and tested its keenness. No one went away. He nicked himself with the spear-point.

“Does it matter?!” he snapped as he wiped the blood on his pant leg, “Grandfather tells the same story every night!”

The uncle’s wives, Sitka’s cousins, and even grandfather and the sled dogs found jobs on the other side of camp.

“Kenai,” Sitka called, “would you mind making my bed? I forgot to do that this morning.”
A small boy with round cheeks and hair cut straight across his forehead nodded. He knocked over a spear as he scuttled away.

Sitka frowned at the spear and would’ve picked it up had his father, two uncles, and Lin not blocked his way.

“Sit!” they barked.

Sitka groaned inwardly; when would they see they’d already told him everything they knew? He sat on the rock Grandfather just left, and propped his chin in his hands.

“Who do you think you are?” Knuckle exclaimed, “Have we and your father taught you nothing? Respect your elders, especially your grandfather; his old head contains more wisdom than all our arms do strength.”

The fire reflected in Sitka’s dark eyes. His father stepped forward and towered over his son with thick arms resting on his chest. Sitka sat up, and stared at his father’s shoulder.

“You don’t respect us,” his father muttered, “and so you can stay with the women and children one more year.”

Sitka’s eyes snapped upward to his father’s neck and his set jaw. “What?!” he grasped his spear to himself as though it would be taken, “you said I was going with you this year; you said I was to learn how to hunt; you said….”

“Enough.” His father growled and Sitka’s jaw snapped shut, “Next year, son, next year. There will always be a good caribou, but we want men. We’d rather a servant’s heart than twenty caribou. Someday you’ll be a leader, perhaps head of your clan, and we’ll all need you.”

“You mean because I’m the only boy in this whole clan, besides Lin’s boy, but Lin’s not really part of our family.”

Lin’s squinted eyes slanted, and his jaw tightened.

“You’re finished with today!” his father roared, “I don’t want to see you awake till tomorrow, understand?”

Sitka’s jaw dropped and his spear clattered out of his hands, “But…but….”

“Now!” the uncle’s roared.

Sitka rose, kicked his spear into the fire, and stumped away. He glared at anyone who stared at him, and stood for a moment before his hut. He stroked the fur thrown over the hut’s structure and leapt as someone spoke.

“Your father loves you.”

Sitka whirled on his grandfather who leaned against a hut’s support pole. The old man’s eyes were gentle and a gentle breeze played with his thin grey hair.

“No he doesn’t.” the boy gritted.

“Sitka.” Grandfather called as the young man ducked to enter the hut, “Don’t do anything rash.”
Sitka glared at the animal hide that made his ceiling, and tossed and turned on his fur bed. He could hear his family as they ate around the fire. He heard his name, but it could’ve been his imagination. The air stifled him, and he opened the tent flap a little.

Finally, Kenai entered retired for the night. The boy’s cheeks flushed as he lay down and got comfortable in his musk ox hide.

“Why aren’t you looking at me?” Sitka demanded as he sat up, “am I so bad a perfect little boy can’t look at me?”

Kenai turned over so he faced Sitka and his eyelids drooped. “I was tired; do you want to talk?”

Sitka frowned and cuffed his hands behind his head. “No.” he mumbled.

The sled dogs moved outside and a few whimpered in their sleep.

“Do you believe what Grandfather says about Unkoostika?” Kenai ventured after a pause.

“I don’t believe anything Grandfather says,” Sitka muttered, “he’d probably have a story for why it’s so dark this summer.”

Kenai’s eyes widened, “He does….he says it’s a sign Unkoostika is near. Of course I don’t believe it; even if it were true I wouldn’t be afraid. Would you?”

The older boy chuckled, “No; I’m not afraid of anything.”

“And I’m not afraid of Unkoostika….would a half-man, half-eagle monster really don a black robe? And I don’t think Grandfather ever found anyone torn to shreds as though by a great bird.”

Kenai glanced to see if Sitka approved of his words. The older boy rolled his eyes.

“Go to sleep,” he muttered, “You’re making me tired.”

Kenai gaped at the ceiling and squirmed for an hour before his eyelids closed and his chest heaved gently.

Sitka sat up and crawled to the tent flap. The dogs and the fire were on the side of the camp closest to the open plain before the mountain. He listened at the entrance; his father and uncles talked on the opposite end of camp. Good! None watched the side he needed.

He parted the flap lithely and slipped into the night. His eyes adjusted to the dark, and his heart nearly stopped; Grandfather was leaning against a hut not five paces away. Sitka fumbled with an explanation till the old man’s head slumped forward and he snored softly. Sitka grinned, and crawled through camp.

The camp was set up as a barrier for the women and children’s hut in the center, with the men’s on the perimeter. Sitka plastered himself against the woman’s hut as he espied the men in a circle. They murmured quietly, and their pipes glowed in the darkness.

The runaway crawled on his hands knees and reached the fireplace. His spear leaned against a stump, probably where his father had left it. He tested its point. That would kill a few caribou! Next he looked over at the dogs. It was hopeless trying to unleash one; if you undid one, they’d think it was sled time and they’d barking and yammering.

He thought for a moment and crouched beyond the light of the dying fire. Sitka whistled softly. Wolf appeared a minute later, his ears raised and tail straight in a hunting position. The animal padded over after a second whistle.

The dog sniffed the boy, and looked at his spear questioningly. “We’re running away for a day or two.” Sitka whispered as he descended the hill into the tundra plain, “they won’t miss us till dawn, and by that time we’ll be too far away for them to stop me from getting a caribou.”

Wolf stood like another stump around the fire as Sitka descended into the valley. The creature shook its head sadly and followed with its eyes darting about in the night. The boy crunched tundra brush without concern someone might hear. He patted the dog when they were far from the camp and felt the animal’s raised hair.