Adam

     Moonless night so dark and deep the stars were concealed. A flash of lightning ripped and penetrated. Rolling thunder moaned in pain then pleasure. He slid out of the channel created by the lightning to unfathomable depths below. As he descended tissue formed and bone gave it shape. He grew eyes and opened them just as he landed in the sea. Waves carried him to shore and presented him on a white sand beach. He lay for a while on the beach, his back relaxed on the white sand feeling  gentle ocean waves caressing his body.

     The present moment was all there was. The past whispered no secrets to him about where he had been before he arrived here. No future beckoned him to plan or fret. He stood and walked a short distance into a jungle, uninhibited and unaware of self or time.

Shameless Appeal For Mister R

Here's a link to my project submission to Amazon Studios, MISTER R.

Please take a look. Write a review, even if only a line or two. I can only learn from whatever you may feel about the work. I appreciate your willingness to allow me to entertain you a little.

Thank you for your support.

Best,
Mdan

http://studios.amazon.com/projects/65549

The Back Porch

1782

     "What are you doing? Spot, I told you to stay away from there. Go on now. Go catch yourself a rabbit or something if you're hungry."

1882

     "That's not for you. Go on, now, Ringo. Look at you with blood all over your face. People will think you've gone mad."

1992

     "Dammit, Patches. How did you get back here?  I thought I hooked that screen-door. That meat has to last us a while. Drop that now."
     Patches looks at her master, wags her tail, but she doesn't drop her quarry.
     Patches, I mean it now. Drop that.
     Patches drops her prize on the plank floor of porch and sits looking up at the man.

    " Good girl, Patches."

     Her tail still wagging, she bows her head. She takes a quick lick of the fingers she had nibbled as her reward.

Manhattan Spirit Guides

     Wind plays dry leaves hanging on the dry oak trees like Chumash turtle rattles 

as he walked along the bank of the Hudson River. Flotsam caught in cross-current 

formed the ripples of spirit canoes. Early winter limits food sources as wildlife 

holes up in their dens. The village depends on its band of hunters for survival. 

Squirrels rustle in the dead dry leaves on the ground looking for fallen nuts. The hiker

turns to look, but the squirrel disappeared without making another sound.

     The hiker pulls his hat down to cover his ears and his coat

up tighter around his neck as he surveys the woods around him. The occasional crackling

of almost frozen earth and the turtle rattles in the trees keep his eyes sharp.

     A firm grip on his shoulder pulls him into the underbrush. The branches arch

into a low canopy providing a place out of the wind to sit a few minutes and

get a little warm before continuing on his journey. He relaxes. An arrow whirs

near his ear and pins a rabbit to the ground a few feet away. Before he can get

on his feet again, the rabbit and the arrow vanished. The sound of the

turtle rattle fades in the distance. He is warm enough to continue on his way

to the car park at the beginning of the trail. 

     A wolf howls and others join in. On impulse the man also howls in reply. A good howl seemed like the polite thing to do.

A Christmas Ghost

     A doorknob turned. The front door opened. The old wood floor creaked moments after I settled into bed and turned off the lamp on the nightstand. Creaking footfalls led to the other bedroom and that door opened and closed.
     My roommate was on his way to Europe for the holidays. He and I possessed the only keys, yet he sound of the front door opening was preceded by the click of a key in the locks. I lay still and listened. Minutes after the other door, the one to my roommate's bedroom, opened and closed it opened once again. Once again the floor creaked with footsteps. This time the footsteps paused outside my own door.
     Silence and curiosity overtook me and I got out of bed. I clasped the doorknob. I listened. I sensed someone waiting on the other side of the door. I took a deep breath and opened the door.
     The other door once again opened and a hooded black silhouette emerged into the hall. the door closed behind it. I stood agape. Whoever this was, he was searching for my roommate.
     There were no lights on in the apartment, so the blackness of the entity was indeed a deeper black than night. Ignoring me, the ghost proceeded down the hall to the front door. Outhouse stench trailed this being. No, the odor was worse than an outhouse. Death, slaughter mixed in. Rotted meat with maggots I once discovered in an abandoned refrigerator dumped on the side of a country road sprang to mind. I held my breath and observed the being as it passed through the front door.
     The noxious odor left with the being and was replaced with the smell of a Spring garden. I returned to my bed wide-eyed by the scene I witnessed. I couldn't help but to wonder why this entity was looking for my friend.
   
   

Memory of a Memory?

     I've been reading the short stories of H.P. Lovecraft on the recommendation of a co-worker. Until now I had no idea my books could be classified as horror stories. I've learned a lot from reading!
     One story in particular 'The Reaminator' brought to mind an episode from my elementary school years long forgotten. I didn't like science class all that much, but our fifth grade teacher, Mr. Cashman, made science more interesting to me. One of our class assignments was to enter the school Science Fair. This was something I always shied away from, but as this assignment made it mandatory there was no escape. Our first step of the assignment was to write a project plan for his review. We were to include a list of the materials we would need. Mine resulted in me having to meet with Mr. Cashman after class.
     My list of required materials included two mice, a pump, plastic tubing with insertion needles, glass beakers, hypodermic needles, copper wires, a dry cell battery and liquid nitrogen. I think of all the items, the liquid nitrogen was the reason for this meeting.
     "Let's discuss your experiment."
     "Okay."
     "Tell me what exactly you plan to do."
     "I'm going to drain the blood from the mice as I pump liquid nitrogen into them to freeze them. Then I'm going to put them in our freezer at home for a week. Then I'm going to pump out the liquid nitrogen and pump the mouse blood back in and then shock them back to life with a charge from the battery."
     "I see. Have you discussed this with your parents?"
     "No. I can't let my Mom know I've put mice in her freezer."
     "How do you plan to buy the the hypodermic needles and the rest of it?"
     "They sell needles at the drug store for diabetics, so I figured they'd be easy to get. The rest I thought you could get."
     "I don't think I can buy liquid nitrogen for you?"
     "Oh. I thought teachers could get stuff normal people can't."
     "Maybe you should come up with a different project."
     "I like this one. I'll just make posters with drawings of how the experiment would go."

     I made three posters which I taped together as a triptych which illustrated the procedures. I didn't win a prize, but I did get an honorable mention. Some people thought I had stolen the idea from some story or comic book I must have read. The truth is, I didn't like to read when I was younger, not even comic books. There was nothing like this on television in the early 1960's. I operated purely from my own imagination.
     Then again, I might have been remembering something I experienced in a future life time.

Lucid Rescue 5

“Mascara?” The unexpected voice startled her causing her to drop the tube into the sink. “No mascara, Daphne. I’ve told you that before. You are a natural beauty. Hold on to your innocent looks for as long as you can, Sweetheart.That’s how Daddy loves you.”

“But I’m not innocent, am I, Sweetheart?” She didn't anticipate the slap that knocked her head into the medicine cabinet mirror. Her face caught the corner of it causing a small bloody gash.

“Great! Now see what you made me do? You can’t come to the party looking like that! You’ll have to stay here and stay in your room. I’ll go alone.” Her father slammed the bathroom door as he left.

Daphne gazed into the mirror fascinated by the power of a little trail of blood. She wondered if perhaps she had just discovered her best weapon of defense. She carefully washed her face with soap and water before applying a cotton ball of alcohol to the cut and applying a bandage. The stinging was mild and didn't last very long. She could live with it.

Daphne turned out the light and walked over to her bed and got under the covers. With visions of cuts and dragons floating around in her head, she certainly had a lot to dream about. She closed her eyes and smiled as she imagined having a scar above her left eyebrow. For starters.