1) Belly of the Abyss
A gray form stood beside him.
"Angus?" it said.
Four Short Stories of Suspense
"Delaying me will not help you, I am the only way to death, and perhaps for you peace, follow me!" Said the grass mass.
And by outcome he followed him, across the deep dark city of Caracas, and he looked about as he followed, at last it was full night, and they were on a plane, or at least he was, to the jungles near Angel Falls; night, it had closed in all over the land, and there was a great noise a water, before the plane landed, it was the great falls, and within the following day, he found himself, standing on top of its cliff, Angel Falls, peering below it, it covered all other sounds. Then the gray mass led appeared again to Angus, it was as if-up to this point, he was in a trance. And Angus, stood on the edge of the cliff, a foot away from the wild winds grinding like teeth.
"Angus, it is I," said the gray mass, that had eyes and ears and a wolf-like configuration,
"I love death, a man can love many things, but I dreaded life as a physical human being, it made me shiver, I guess I was always wondering when, and where it would be, death, now I am in its scheme, its substance, its existence, nights are no longer chilled, nor do I get drenched with rain, and if the abyss, or the caves or any pathway within them, get narrow too narrow for a physical being to walk, and if it grows darker, I simple go forward nonetheless, I am not smoldered by it," and the gray mass snarled, and Angus, wondered who and what it was.
Then in the Venezuelan sun, on the top of Angel Falls, Angus fumbled a way, and he fell, his head dizzy beneath this reeking spirit, he got back up, slipped, and clambered, trying to cling onto the airless being, that could only be seen, whose strength was waning to no avail.
"Come down to the abyss with me, if you can find your way out, I will give you anything you ask, die there and let me resurrect you, I have permission from a Hell Lord, to use your soul as I wish. Truly, you are a man whose dark ravine, is kept inside your mind, your dreams, I will rip out a faint strip from the sky, and make all your dreams possible. We will be brothers, as we once were."
Then it occurred to him, it was his brother, who had died several years before, committed suicide, but he would not disclose this any further.
At that moment, the great walls of the falls quivered and echoed,
"Grab the moment," he said to Angus, Satan has his tongue on fire."
And Angus, saw strange things in the sky, shadows were flying all about the rocks, and waterfall, beneath it, and a trail of smoke followed them, and stones crashed down into the waterway below the falls, and the gray mass, hurled himself over the cliff, and with its mighty paws, he climbed slowly back up the falls, in physical form, he had shape changed, turned into a Manta core.
Now there was need for Angus to be bold if not swift, and both would be to his advantage, the gray mass, had turned into a Manta core, the head of a wild man, and body of a lion, and a tail with spikes in it, and it was physical, and he peered over the edge of the falls, heedless, he came forward, Angus, lost all hope: he should not have followed him in the first place, now before him was a deadly creature, the heat and stench of hell followed him.
The creature, mentally summoned him to jump, lest he be torn apart by his paws. At that point, Angus found a strength in his heart, and body, and jumped down the side of the cliff, onto a slender tree, a tree that grew out of the side of the mountain, the very one that harbored the falls, but the body of the great Manta core, towered over him, and with his stretched out paw, swayed the top of the tree, pale was Angus' face, and then the beast heaved the tree as he fell and transformed his shape back into the grey slime he was, and Angus fell to his death, stabbed a hundred times as he fell 3000-feet to the floor of the gully, stabbed by sharp stones and branches from trees and bushes, and he sank into the mud below to his death, and he went into the belly of the abyss, and when he woke up there was his brother, waiting.
Written 10-18-2008, at home, in the evening
2) In a Birdless Sky
(WWI, France)
Chapter One
Facing Death
When dying becomes easier than living, it is easier to face your enemy, thus, peacefulness with repose, even under the harshest conditions, prevails, everything else, means very little.
With a mud covered face gasping, beguiled of being three years in a war, one he never understood, in a country which was foreign to him, in a trench, he never dug out, only lived in, ate in, paced in, sweating from foot to brow in, soot covered him from waist down, creatures, and spiders and disease seeped along the trenches-trenches he never imagined he'd call home.
He thought, now at a corner of the trench, in a hollow by himself, on guard duty to secure the silent and lonely spot, until morning, he thought, looking at a standing German, erect, looking eye to eye with him as he peered over its edge-he thought, facing death at that instant (twilight seeping in-between the waning day): said, to himself, looking into the eyes of the German, perhaps one or two minutes,
"Look here, we are both armed, a few feet apart (thereabouts) you have a rifle, and I got a pistol, both aiming it at one another-somewhere, does it matter where, one must die. But it doesn't necessarily have to be here and now."
Chapter Two
Just one Bullet
It would take just one bullet to finish what he was being paid to do-trained by the British to do, sent overseas by the Americans to Europe to do, and above all, given orders by a French Colonel, and an American Command Sergeant-Major to do, to kill Germans. Just one bullet would put him out of the doughboy war, out of the war business for good.
He, Corporal Anton, didn't even have his helmet on; he dismissed it long ago, hours ago that is, long ago for him: it got in his way, while lying against the wet, damp muddy walls of the trench.
An hour ago he thought,
"I wonder what the colonel would say if he found me without my helmet on, or perhaps the Sergeant-Major," then his second thought was,
"The Colonel and Sergeant-Major, and their entourage, would never be caught in such a position-as in this dirty, muddy and smelly trench, it is like saying, Satan would never be found in the pits of hell, what for, even if it is of his own makings, he has his puppets, they can do the dirty work. Most likely, they, the Colonel and his clan are drinking rum and coke, smoking cigars and eyeing up young French girls, in their cathedral-like, underground den, so secure, a thousand bombs would not penetrate it (he saw it once, and only once, earth and clay and thick broad wooden beams, with six-feet of cement, encased around it, to absorb the shocks)."
"No...!" he told himself, "you'd never find them out here," and in three long years, he never did-one exception, when there was a photo shoot, and then they stood tall and brave with the other cleaned up soldiers, the doughboys, and a week later you read about their feats in the international papers, all with pictures and beautiful phrased sentences, that told about victory at hand, the glory of it, the medals to be handed out after the last great battle.
Chapter Three
In a Bird less Sky
There the German peered overhead, erect as a crane, looking down, rifle in hand, aimed: it must had been a minute or two, they stared into each others eyes (somewhere, one may have thought, had a thought; they were indubitable brothers, at first glance, had they been given a chance to have met under different circumstances that is: had neither one of them been foolish enough to have listened to the drums of war, and followed for glory or whatever treasures they sought, perhaps they both deserved to die for it, for war, it is all part of anarchist-youth).
The German, perhaps the same age of Corporal Anton, the same rank, perhaps even the same ancestry, looked frightened as he stood there rigidly looking into the other's face (Anton lurking into his face), both openly, the German in a frenzy, thoughts vanishing, vanishing...in a birdless sky, vanishing, gone...two bullets hitting their targets, an echo as if in an auditorium.
Chapter Four
Death
Downward sedately-without haste he, Corporal Anton, fell back into his mud like grave, his dirt dugout, now encased in death.
Off balance, the German aimlessly tried to hold his legs straight, in fury he tried to pull his body back up from falling backwards, with one last thrust, to pull himself up, then he zoomed backwards, immobile; now he watched the birdless sky, what he would have thought, was already too late, save, a fading prayer.
When the Colonel saw him, saw, Corporal Anton, the following morning, he was all cleaned up (the body was brought to him), there he stood along side Corporal Anton, a photo shoot took place, the Colonel's face was empty of expression, yet angry words came out, when the movie camera was in motion, "He will get a metal for his bravery," he said to the media, several standing about. There was no exhaustion in his face, not like the same that covered Anton's, not even anguish, just old recognized sentences that came out of a tongue with no hair, words that provoked revenge and steadfastness. Then he went to join the Sergeant-Major, in the Cathedral-room.
Written 10-18-2008, inv Huancayo, Peru, at the Mia Mamma Café, in El Tambo: somewhat inspirited by my Grandfather, who was in WWI, Anton Siluk, born 1891, died, 1974, dedicated to his memory, and his war.
3) Shooting Painted Horses
(A Short Story on Betrayal-1820, along the Mississippi)
Chapter One
Along the Mississippi
The cliffs were all painted with horses, so they looked for Nelly de la Cruz; there was no trace of neither her, nor no sign of her husband, those who had been with them two were dead, shot dead, by smugglers.
By and by, she'd be found, but for now she had escaped the pirates who scanned the upper (northern part, to the central region) of the Mississippi waiting in hollows and crevasses, and caves, and then like sharks, by way of canoes, or rowboats, even barges, they'd, if not by land and horse (gallop to their prey), they'd quickly overpower the innocent, shanghaiing anyone and everyone, for rape, sale, blackmailing, or whate're profit they'd bring, it was treasure they were after; they called themselves the Drake Clan or Gang, after their leader Adam Terrance Drake and there were twenty of them (pirates of the Mississippi, operating in the years of 1810 to 1824).
But today was different, upon their approach two escaped their grips, seldom done, and the chances of getting off in secret, as they did were seldom accomplished, but the patches of the morning fog had allowed just this- the shores were difficult to see, becoming misty, as was the houseboat, a source of inconvenience for the pirates, thick patches of white fog, drifting from one side of the river to the other. But soon abandonment would prevail.
They, the family group with Nelly de la Cruz and her husband Mauricio, who came down on a houseboat all eight of them, were told by Sam Nelson, of the upper Minnesota:
"Don't dare go anywhere beyond Pig's Eye Point, along the shores you could be cut off by pirates, make sure you hire some guns, good shooters somewhere along the way, lest you want to be taken captive for ransom by the pirates."
But hired guns cost money, and they didn't listen of course to Sam, preferred to beat out the river, and kept their cargo aboard, and slowly went down her, "Sam, was right," Nelly's husband would say, just before they jumped into the river to escape; find a place just such as they would wish, and hide until the danger was over.
Seven canoes, with painted faces to cover their identity, white men portraying Indians (the pirates), in canoes had surrounded them, shooting, not taking prisoners, hence, all would die but the two.
They, the pirates had set a watch in the cliffs by what was called, the 'Cliffs by Painted Horses'. The ancient Indians had painted the horses onto the cliffs hundreds of years before, and you could see them with the naked eye while approaching them going down the Mississippi, if indeed one knew the spot and were looking for it. There are dozens of places between the Cliffs of Painted Horses, and others, meaning rock art, on cliffs and rocks, along the Mississippi, but most were hidden from where folks on a boat could see them safely enough.
Chapter Two
The Cave by, Painted Horses
There was a narrow opening between two cliffs, near Painted Horses, and Mauricio crept between them, hiding from the pirates, coming in from off the shore with the booty they had taken from the houseboat, looking for him and his wife, especially his wife, for their personal pleasures, for they had gotten a glimpse of her beauty, and adoring shape, and that immediately sat down deep into their lustful brains, like flags waving in the wind (especially for, Keystone, a young lustful, and bloodthirsty pirate who kept her every inch embedded into his ceremonial mental vaults of what he'd do to her once captured), as I was about to say, they, the pirates had seen her, before she jumped into the river behind her husband, who had jumped off the boat, without even telling her to follow, she simple followed his footsteps nonetheless.
Behind the angle of the well he could see the entrance of the cave called "Painted Horses," the pirates were shooting at his wife, who had entered the cave, and Keystone who had follower her.
By and large, as we can see at this point, he had let her fend for herself, abandoned her. She had looked for him, had lowered her eyes, her brow, her head just a moment, as she ran from the pirates, and when she brought it up to the level where she saw the cave she would enter, he disappeared, she thinking he went inside the cave, where else could he have gone-she instantly pondered, he said not word, not one single solitary word to distract her from going into that legendary cave, the cave known as the maze, the labyrinth of all caves along the Mississippi, that is why the Clan shot at Nelly, and let be bygones thereafter, and let Keystone chase her into a habitat where screaming wildfowl would not dare enter, eminently suited the pirates with less lustful intentions; for the most part, the smuggling had accomplished what they set out to, as for the husband they felt he had drowned.
Chapter Three
Inside the cave of Painted Horses
She had run inside the cave, the mist kept coming, in frequent belts, seeping along the floor of the cave to where Keystone the Pirate could not follow her, he took one forked entrance, Nelly another, as she called in echoes for her husband, whom never answered, and then came sunset, one she did not see, but felt it must be for she had run, then walked and then held her hand against the damp walls of the cave to assist her in her next to crawling erect.
Everything was near to indistinguishable inside the cave, her eyes somewhat adjusted, but she was beyond light, and one entrance let into another, and she could hear the echoes of the pirates voice, not her husband's, and then she knew he had abandoned her, she wanted to believe, had second thoughts even, that out of the confusion, he did what he did, but she knew now, wherever he was, at one point they were both earshot-within a audible range of hearing one another and he did not call out to her, but here the lustful, young pirate, did what a substitute she felt. The trumpeting of his eager voice had dangerously went to a pleading for them to get-together to find a way out, she figured sooner or later they'd bump into one another, then what? was the question: lest they die beforehand, and that would be settled.
The paths were endless, and the young man's voice was always either behind her, in front of her or on the sides of her, but not far from her. Her instincts becoming keener, she knew they'd meet at some crosswalk.
Chapter Four
Mauricio's Escape
Mauricio looked into the cave, the following morning, dark it was, the mist lifted, the pirates gone. He saw Nelly enter it, and he saw the pirate enter it as well, his long knife tucked into his belt, a woodened looking pistol in his hands, a bandana around his forehead, paint on his cheeks, chin and around his eyes. He was frightened of the image he had just formed, and said not a word into the mother cave; elaborate care he took in stepping back from the entrance, satisfied he would not go into it, he felt there was no sense in sticking around-she was not insight, he had done his duty as best he could, his attitude during the dominance of this previous crisis was found to be unconsciously more desirable in saving himself, not getting shot, than saving his wife, and himself, and perhaps getting shot in the process: in which, that would not do anyone any good, so he convinced himself, and thus, she would have to do the same, and so not an evil tough overhung his conscious for wrong doing, nor did he build a rude wall of shame for abandoning his wife-at lest not at this juncture, it was a parallel he felt, saying, "...she ran one way, I ran another..." but of course it wasn't that way, was it?
He found himself climbing up the cliff then once over the edge of the cliff, cautiously throwing himself forward he peered over it once and for all, then ran into the woods, all in fair weather, he ran until his head got dizzy, an old woman fund him on the ground, took him into her home, as though he was her child, or better, a stray cat, in a small town-let deep in the woods.
In time, he would hear after every sunset, wake up, if sleeping, startled by a voice behind him, it was always Nelly's voice calling out: he never said a word on this matter, he lived with the old lady, for eight-years, and thought the matter would be over with his wife, never mentioning her name. But if ever there was a need to talk, he was the one, but never did. So after the old lady's death, he tried to master his purpose, one he never found, and died two years later of alcoholism, at the age of thirty-nine: a bloated body, with a liver that was likened be being frostbitten.
Chapter Five
Nelly and Keystone
There was no end to the cave, its paths, its corners, its entrances, no light, it was now the third day, she heard footsteps, it was his, the pirate's, from silence came a towering body over her's, she was at wits end, laying down against the damp walls of the cave, coughing, dying slowly.
She had thought the matter over for her, death was eminent, and he would not find her, but he did fine her, tired and no longer hiding, just laying where she was, dirty, turned into a prisoner of the mother cave.
She felt his dark human hand on her leg, it was the least likely thing she expected, she said with a bellow-at this stage of the hunt anyway, "What is the matter with you, we are dying, we will be dead soon, and you are thinking of sex?"
He had a sack of rum that was attached to his side belt, oh, just enough to make a person more thirsty, it held perhaps a pint, no more, he had drank most of it, but gave her the last drops of it, saying, "This is my contribution," then received her unwillingly, as if he was entitled to his booty, and she was it. There they lay for two more days, him taking her several times, right up to her death. Then he, died twenty feet down that cold damp passageway from her, and wouldn't be found, until 1902, when a child would be playing above them, falling through a weak spot in the upper crust of the earth, a hole formed by perhaps animals, and thereafter, discovering their bodies.
Parts written 10-15-2008, and 10-17-2008, Huancayo, Peru.
4) Uamak's Demonic Escape
((Part two of: 'Uamak's Aquatic') (The Demon's Sea, over Iceland))
As the evening progressed, I could see there was no peace in the sea below me, the boat was barely in view. I had returned after a year, to see if Uamak was still where I left him, this demonic being, from some ancient culture of the past; this monstrous figure was still on the rock where I had left him (forty miles out of Reykjavik, Iceland), gazing over the cliff into the sea. Thus, I took provision with myself for the night.
The weather was becoming misty, with patches of white fog, drifting towards the shore, with a rising wind, this all made me quite anxious, especially with fading observations.
From the boat, lights from the eyes of its skipper Hela (one of the Hell Lords, under the bondage of Satanae, the lord of eternal night, darkness and no hope) had made a pack with death, to capture by wit, or force all souls, if not half souls, as was Uamak, to his personal realm, for his personal pleasures if not play.
Thus, the lights from his eyes could be seen, they appeared to strike the figure sitting on the rock, Uamak, strike him as if, wrapping him-this half demonic beast, with a penetrating light that paralyzed him, it closed in on every side of the demonic being, from where I could see, and I was on the edge of the cliff, I could see the vessel below me, the inlet, along with the narrow rock that extended out into midair, where the demon was sitting, this titanic being on this great rock.
Uamak, saw me, and of course knew me, from our last visit, a year prior, when he sought my second-insight, to tell him how his death would be, which was at that time in the hands of Hela, it looked like.
The inlet looked almost as if it was a smuggler's den. I could hear the waters below drawn forward and back, banging against the hardness of the rocks like a galloping horse; within a few minutes, I witnessed the vessel swing up onto the shore and rocks of the cliff below, it perhaps remembered me from a year ago, neither one of us seeing the other close up, but both of us being curious.
Under some need to see this being, I lowered myself by rope, desperate and reckless down to the sea's surface, the vessel, determined to see this devilish creature in the flesh, if in fact he had flesh. Once upon the surface, it was rough at best, I stood behind a corner, a wall, stone and clay under my feet, the cliff to by back, I had come down by sheer nerve and guts, not sure where I got them, but they appeared out of nowhere, and here I was.
I now peered into the boat, the blanket of fog had shifted somewhat, and spread back into the sea, leaving me and the boat, and the granite rocks about-staring at one another, clear, visible to the naked eye. Out into the sea I could hear, the thundering sounds of waves, as if there were monster demons waiting for a new soul to be plucked from earth's soil: when one is face to face with the peculiar, and dark side of one's mind imagines the unthinkable. Now this creature in the boat, started spouting black smoke from its mouth, then came out of the smoke, a hand, it reached out to me, it reached beyond its definable limits, my heart beat as I scanned this being and his haunting hand, along with his glass like eyes, there was little chance indeed, I would leave this location, if I was put under his spell, and he was waiting.
He took no shelter from the storm; obstacles were of little offence to him, as to his surroundings, as they were trying for me. My heart now was pulsating wildly. I had been a fact of many strange incidents in my life, of early and later years, but nothing like this had ever crossed my brow.
I moved forward to the creature with imperceptible slowness, I took a very short study of his movements, it showed me he was no longer watching the demonic being he had put into a trance (the one who begged me a year ago, in his somber pleading, to find a way to set him free, to tell him of his death, after death). I noticed Uamak, was out of his trance, I could see him partly peering over the cliff, putting his head forward, I kept the Hell Lord's attention, and he saw that, then Uamak, was no longer looking-unconsciously, like a bullet, imitating one anyhow, he dashed off, I knew he would.
Stiff and still as if incased in stone I stood with both ears listening to the sharp winds building up, the anger of the Hell Lord, I expect. He tried to make a deal with me, saying, he'd give me his power, for my soul, just name the time, a year, ten years, even twenty. But who knows one's time on earth, perhaps I only really had less to live; thus, he'd have gotten the better of the deal. In any case: why would I seek power out of control, it is what he was offering. For once one loses his soul, if indeed he has power, why would he not use it to its limit, no restraints. I said no, and he was again enraged, the first time when he noticed Uamak was gone, now he was losing me.
I knew one thing and perhaps one thing only, being a Christian, and upon him learning I was a Christian, his intent on binding me, decreased, and he became cautious, allowing me to re-climb the rope to safety.
Once on top, I did not see Uamak, and surely there is good reason for that, he escaped the clutches of Hela: once and for all.
Four Short Stories of Suspense
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