Tag: Weird Fiction

The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.7: ‘Jesse’

On By Alex V. WeirIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

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1.1  Sketch of Sam Monroe

1.2 The Cajun Prayer

1.3 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter One: The Cambridge Gable Scene (‘Gator is Waitin’)

1.4 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.4 – The Cambridge Gable Scene – (Horticulture)

1.5 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.5: ‘To Luckadoo Cove’

1.6 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.6 – ‘Is there anybody out there…’

It was cold, and there was that pine dampness to contend with. I was glad that our guests were too stunned for words. I didn’t like talking while I worked.

Having carried the logs from the basement to the hearth I proceeded to light them.

“Don’t you boys have central heating?”

“It ain’t enough on a night like this,” Sam answered for me knowing my disdain for conversation during activity.

Luckadoo’s lodge was large. We sat in one of the most impressive rooms. The ceiling stretched twenty feet overhead. Five feet above the Buck’s head above the fireplace. There were the obligatory fox hunt paintings and animal skins about. Bespeaking the English pretensions of the moneyed classes of the region. Though, come to think of it Luckadoo actually was a Limey.

With the aid of a bit of kerosene, a roaring flame brought a humanizing cheer to the somber masculine poshness of the room. Our guests were sat in great mahogany leather chairs, while we occupied an assortment of beanbags and lazyboy’s that we’d brought to keep the antique, haunted vibe of the place from overwhelming us.

I reached under my seat and produced a flask.

“Jesus,” Officer Fabre chuckled. “A flask for every occasion? How many of them things do you got?”

“You’d better be glad he has those. You should see him au natural. Patience was never a virtue for Alan Baird.”

I always felt that people overstated the ‘problem’ with my temper. I simply had no use for the excesses and liberties most people thought normal. Generally, I’d let them know nicely, the first time.

“Oh, come on now, I’m a regular sweetheart,” I protested. “In fact, how about I get everyone a round.”

“A round of what?” The Doctor inquired.

“A round you’ll like,” I said rising to my feet and making my way towards the kitchen.

“Alan never disappoints in spiritual matters.” I heard Lucas say with a chuckle as I rounded the corner.

Almost immediately the voices of guests and companions alike were muted. Replaced by an eerie sort of silence broken only by the muffled cry of a nearby owl. The place was a nightmare from a security standpoint.

A coked up sorority with air horns for shoes wouldn’t be any less stealthy than a SEAL team. The stolid nature of the log and stone made the transmission of sound a near impossibility. It was preternaturally quiet. Like being in a well-appointed sensory deprivation chamber.

It got unnerving from time to time. Which is why I was glad for our motion sensors. But the two boffins we’d taken on board had forced me to minimize its use or risk another round of false alarms. I really wished that they weren’t high all the time. But I suppose that was part of the project.

Yeah, I’d bet we’d have caught our French friend if I hadn’t dispensed with arming the thing. Though I’m glad we hadn’t. This present situation was far less awkward than having to phone Langley. I might still have to make the report.

Despite the size of the kitchen it was as cluttered as the comically tiny one in the apartment I’d grown up in. None of us had the time or inclination to do much dish-washing. I really didn’t mind mess except that mess made it hard to know if something had been tampered with.

As I turned on the light and saw a few woodland roaches scatter over greasy pans I couldn’t help but feel that something was off.

I shrugged away the sensation as I stepped behind my minibar. I wasn’t an expert mixologist. I really didn’t care for overzealous bartending. A mint leaf here, a dash of vodka there, a good ice ratio… Really all the magic you need, provided that you were serving up the good stuff.

After pausing for a moment I headed to the fridge. A couple of beers or so would probably be welcome.

As I carried the tray out the door I could have sworn I heard footsteps. I paused to listen. It was probably my imagination.

As I headed towards the parlor I heard the unmistakable sound of falling silverware. I continued on my way as if I hadn’t noticed.

My friends were chatting merrily amongst themselves as I set the tray on a round oak table beneath a Tiffany lamp.

“Ach!” I said in as loud a voice as naturalness would allow, “Ach! I forgot the chasers!”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, that looks fine enough.” The doctor offered.

I shook my head and tapped Lucas thrice on the shoulder. He rose and produced something from behind a bookshelf.

Our guests picked up the funky vibe.

“Act natural,” I mouthed.

“Yeah, I always forget the damned chasers,” I said loudly as the conversation around me recommenced. “Hey, Lucas come help me carry the damned things. That’s the trouble I tell ya…”

As we approached the kitchen I switched to a no less enthusiastic but somewhat more subdued volume. “Yeah, how did you like that plum stuff from Serbia?”

“Was alright,” Lucas said just as we reached the door.

“Here try a shot of this before I put it back,” I announced. Pausing to listen.

I didn’t have to listen very long, for the sound of someone trying to open the kitchen door that led outside. A kitchen door with no keyhole controlled from a keypad in the hall.

Lucas handed me a small dark green cylinder. I removed the pin, and ever so lightly rolled it in the direction of the kitchen’s sole egress.

We moved away. As far away as we could. But not so far that we couldn’t hear coughing and swearing.

TFJ Vlogs – Mr. Vesterby and the Elvish Dreamer – Impromptu Story

On By Alex V. WeirIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

I decided to make up a story on the go during my drive back home from work. I think it came out ‘ok’ with its chief strength being atmospherics. There did seem to be a bit of unconscious plagiarism in the borrowing of elements from Lovecraft’s: Music of Erich Zann, and Poe’s: A Tale of the Ragged Mountains.

The title was a post-production decision since I felt the strange and nebulous description of one of the characters could best be subscribed by ‘elf or troll’. Trollish dreamer doesn’t have quite the same ring though.

Thanks for stopping by and check out http://www.fractaljournal.com for essays, stories, webcomics, and more.

Cheers.

The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.6 – ‘Is there anybody out there…’

On By Alex V. WeirIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

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1.1  Sketch of Sam Monroe

1.2 The Cajun Prayer

1.3 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter One: The Cambridge Gable Scene (‘Gator is Waitin’)

1.4 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.4 – The Cambridge Gable Scene – (Horticulture)

1.5 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.5: ‘To Luckadoo Cove’

It always felt like bursting into another world. The only sensation I could effectively liken it to was cave diving. Something I’d done once on the dime of Lucas’ dad.

The thing was like swimming through some narrow submerged corridor, and bursting into one of those vaulted dagger studded chambers that knew no light, save the febrile beam of your headlamp.

Luckadoo’s estate sat in a clearing in the thick woods denuded just enough to afford a modest yard.

I heard the sheriff’s car pull up beside us. We’d dimmed our lights ten whole minutes ago but the squad car illuminated the oak and stone walls with an officious glaring brightness. Lucas hopped out of the driver’s seat and ran over to tell Fabre to cut it out.

He was back momentarily. We heard the sound of a cell phone. Pierce answered: ‘Hello.’

After a second. He put it on speaker.

“What the hell did you just blabber about, why should the lights be off, what the..”

“We need to secure the perimeter,” Lucas replied matter of factly.

“Secure, the perimeter, what are you talking about, listen…”

Lucas popped open his cell phone and tapped on the screen as Fabre’s protestation continued to pour from the doctor’s device.

Suddenly there was a very odd sound. One that bespoke suspense and familiarity at the same time. Fabre’s voice grew still.

Out in the sea of trees, as far from the reach of civilization as one could get in a global village, the sound of a THX soundcheck rang out through the valley.

Suddenly there was another sound, it was some simple spoken words, done in a sing-song chant to a certain pitch and rhythm, it was Roger Waters, “Is there anybody out there?”

“The wall…”

Graham flipped a metal switch on the dash. The house, the yard, the woods, and what we could see of the lake beyond were illuminated by harsh glaring floodlights that may as well have been the noonday sun.

“Holy shit!” Fabre was apparently still on the line.

Lucas reached down beneath the armrest and pulled up a mouthpiece on a black coiled wire.

“This is Colonel Schmidt of LRD, Army Corps of Engineers, you are within a federal jurisdiction, you are advised to immediately beach all watercraft, and give a report of your position. Having done so you are to step into our immediate line of sight. The line of sight being in front of the vehicles. Drop all weapons and proceed with your hands held high. Be advised that we are authorized and capable of using deadly force.”

“What in the fuck…” Doc Pierce muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

I chuckled. It was always funny to see Lucas Schmidt with his surfer boy haircut deliver such stentorian tones. I suppose having an admiral for a father does make a difference.

There was a five-minute wait for a response.

“If you are military, federal, or law enforcement personnel, state your rank, file, serial number and purpose clearly. If you are within fifty yards of our position we will hear you. Do you copy?”

Again we waited five minutes.

“I repeat, military federal, and law enforcement personnel, are advised to give a prompt and clear report of purpose and station. Failure to comply may result in disciplinary measures. We wish to avoid friendly fire but are authorized to engage, should the need arise. Do you copy?”

We waited five more minutes. There was no response.

Each member of our team put on headphones. I handed a pair to the doctor who complied wordlessly. Lucas ran out of the car with another pair. We heard his voice and the sheriff’s voice arguing through the doctor’s cell phone speaker.

Out of the car window, I saw Lucas’ screen shine dimly in the glare of the spotlights. Then the floodlights died.

Suddenly there was a pulse and a harsh shrill sound, that was thankfully muffled by the deadening in our headphones. You could feel it on your skin, it was like an air dryer, the pressure pushing the hairs on my arms in every direction.

The cars shook gently, the window panes rattling, the windows of the house also rattled, leaves and weaker branches fell from the roof and the trees.

I put away my flask and picked up a P320 from under the seat. The doctor shied away from me mid-process. I motioned for him to stay in the car.

Lucas opened the doctor’s door and extracted the Mossberg 500 off of Pierce’s lap.

Graham, Chuck, the Doctor, and the Sherrif had been pantomimed into staying put as Sam with his own Sig joined me and Lucas in a serpentine toward the door.

I punched in the keycode and Lucas dashed in sweeping the area. I tapped him on the shoulder and saw his flashlight mount head off to clear the eastern wing. I heard the door shut behind me and felt a tap on my own shoulder. Sam headed to the western wing as I made my way upstairs.

We then reconvened in the parlor to clear the basement, backyard, and dock.

The whole process took eight minutes. At every point at least one of us had a line of sight to the vehicles.

At the end, the sound died and we took up position one man prone on the front porch and two flanking the sides of the house.

Sam and I held our position with our sidearms at the ready as Lucas escorted the Doctor, the Sherrif, and our two civvie comrades to the door.

Once inside the rustic wood-paneled lodge with its gentleman hunter’s décor we felt the comedy of contrasts and laughed.

“That is one hell of an ADT system,” Fabre remarked.

Image Credit: https://www.thoughtco.com/cave-diving-isnt-crazy-2963325

The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.5: ‘To Luckadoo Cove’

On By Alex V. WeirIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

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1.1  Sketch of Sam Monroe

1.2 The Cajun Prayer

1.3 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter One: The Cambridge Gable Scene (‘Gator is Waitin’)

1.4 The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.4 – The Cambridge Gable Scene – (Horticulture)

To Luckadoo Cove

The Wagoneer was totally silent, save for the rushing of cold country air through a window cracked just enough to vent Graham’s cigarette.

It was eerie. I was the least spiritual of the bunch. Generally taking all our little rites and chemical adventures as so much psychodrama for creative stimulation. Yet the way the gibbous moon hovered above the solitary spire of Foley’s United Methodist Church. The general sleepy stillness of the hollow, like some perpetual dream, was beginning to stir things in my imagination. As we rounded the last ‘civilized’ corner of Foley proper to enter a wooded country road the feeling was compounded.

The still searching faces of my comrades didn’t help matters. There was only one face that showed no fear of magic. It was that of our unexpected guest. Whose implacable thin-lipped smirk would probably outlast the reaper.

Doctor Pierce was with us. He’d made just one single remark in the past quarter-hour. He was clearly of a reserved nature. His eyes were of an indeterminate color. Perhaps hazel but they were absolutely resolute. Chuck’s comment about his age rang true until you glimpsed those eyes. These were old eyes. Ancient with experience, they seemed to drink in everything, and find it daft.

Officer Fabre was following us in his squad car. Not that he needed to. I’d now had my suspicions confirmed. There weren’t many deer with two legs. Neither did deer rifle through ones papers. I did have to give him credit though. He was a stealthy git. I did really attribute all such happenings to inattention and wildlife till a few days ago when I found boot treads round the greenhouse.

I was quiet impressed that after forty-five minutes of plowing through the inky hills we’d heard nothing but the weird cry of an ocassional owl. Normally there was much protestation even from my preternaturally silent ex, that dirty blonde Finnish number, I really missed her quiet energy. She’d gone back home after the last semester. I really do hate family values….

My musings were cut short as they always were by the change of surface. The smooth silence gave way to a quiet sort of crunch as our tires found Kentucky clay.

The woods here were deep and thick. They pressed in closely on either side. There was scarcely room to lean an elbow out the window. The old growth branches vaulted overhead suggesting a foyer. It was as if we were being borne along to some sacred ancient temple.

In some sense I suppose we were. These hills, with their attendant mountains, the valleys and meadows, and woods were positively primordial. especially here where geology chose to become Swiss Cheese. Strange noises did at times carry on the air. This was due to winter wind passing through grid lock caverns like some vast pipers breath through a hoary chanter.

These especially when combined with the subtle rush of subterranean streams made it seem as if a thousand voices were reciting some subtle litany. We had arrived where nature worshiped. The prayer it offered to the glimmering heavens at times answered by the shooting tear of a falling star. It was as if some great god wept with joy at the song of his children.

Yes, this was indeed a temple. I began to feel some certain pious trepidation. This place was perhaps no more ancient than my own blood and bones but my conceptions had only the faintest inkling of the purpose of my blood and bones. These hills knew, they knew why marrow fed the ligaments of the things that scurried through them. They knew and they brooded in a rapt vesper.

Perhaps they were now toying with us. Putting things into our head. Since we’d come here just for that purpose. They honored our request for their influence. I do not know if we are meant for such influence…

I broke my trance by taking another swig of Jim. There was something in its warm cheery sting that quickly dispelled any ancient terrors. Though in such a place, where the thing called time stands still, the aeons are merely muted by such tricks. Muted but not drowned.

“This is a Mossberg.” Came the quietly surprised voice of the doctor from the seat behind me.

I turned round to see him inspecting the gun appreciatively.

“Yes it is,” said Lucas who was driving, “and we’re here.”

 

 

The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter 1.4 – The Cambridge Gable Scene – (Horticulture)

On By Alex V. WeirIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

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Intro/1.1 – Sketch of Sam Monroe

1.2 – The Cajun Prayer

1.3 – The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter One: The Cambridge Gable Scene (‘Gator is Waitin’)

Horticulture 

“Just look at these curls….” Said the nurse running her fingers through Hoyt’s golden ringlets.

“Yeah, they probably smell like patchouli.” Lucas said wryly.

“You might wanna sterilize your hands. Who knows what’s been nesting in there…”

“Ya’ll should leave him alone. He’s the handsomest one…and so tall…”

Graham wasn’t handsome but she did have a point about the height. He looked ridiculous hunched up on that little examining bed. With his long thin arms between his knees he looked like some kind of shagged out alien. He seemed very tired.

“He might be tall. But I’ll have you know that I’m the handsome one.” Sam said dramatically tossing his own brown mane to shoot her an I’m so sexy stare.

We all laughed because of how plain he was. He wasn’t ugly just incredibly typical. There was nothing to suggest itself as pretty or ugly in his WASPY features.

“Well, I suppose you’re all charmin’ in your own ways but…I do mean that you should leave him alone, he needs to rest, make sure he drinks plenty o water too.”

“We will.” I said as I nervously pondered what exactly was going to happen. Pierce had remained outside with Fabre and we were all anticipating some fresh sentence when the officer regained his wits.

I fingered my flask.

The nurse continued chatting pleasantly with Sam whose thirst for female attention knew no bounds. I think she enjoyed humoring him. His poorly disguised attraction must have been flattering to a woman approaching middle age.

“Well now…what do you have there…” she asked snatching my flask away just as I got the barest sip of Jim.

“O mercy.. whisky..this is strong…how do you stomach it…” Her disgust was so genuine that I couldn’t suppres a smile.

“Twice barreled, top shelf, twelve years in the makin’ ain’t something to turn your nose up at ma’am. Besides it helps with the nerves.”

“And what does a young man with enough money for the ‘top shelf’ have to worry about? What are you boys upto out here? What did you do to your friend?”

“Well, I guess it’s the purdy girls that make me nervous,” I said with my most winning smile.

“Flattery ain’t gonna work on me none sugar,” she said laconically, “’fess up, what’s all this gentry doin’ out in Foley?”

“We’re here for the inspiration, we’re artists and….”

“Yeah, yeah, they’re artists uhuh….” said the Doctor upon entering the room with the somewhat recovered looking sherif.

The pretty lady laughed. Her upturned little nose scrunching up a dozen darling little freckles that may as well have been the stars of a Kentucky night. ‘I need a date.’ I laughed to myself as I realized how long I’d been in the hills.

It was this state that made me particularly keen on noticing that unmistakable sort of familiarity between our Frankish chief and the nurse. Jealousy does have its uses I mused as I ruefully gripped my recently reacquired flask firmer.

I was glad we hadn’t told her anything…but more than a bit worried about what she might have extracted out of Graham. There was no reserve in Graham Hoyt. He was nothing like his English father. He talked with his hands like his mother. Italians…

Pierce was laughing. “Well boys, old Philly Fabre here’s just told me the most coonass story I ever heard. Full of magic, and bayous, and Catholic guilt. Definitely displaying some hyper-religiosity…”

“Coonass…?”

“Means Cajun…” Chuck whispered. He was our resident Trebek. His mastery of trivia did have its uses despite being largely insufferable. He was a hipster caricature a bourgeoise Google savant. Memorizing more irrelevancies in day then a Trekkie does in a lifetime.

“Yeah, coonass and shrimp boat reeking as they come.” Pierce laughed. “Hell I think he actually did work a shrimp boat as a boy…” Pierce was really laughing now.

“Ain’t no shame in the trades.” I said.

“Of course, of course, I meant no offense, only that the man is so damnably iconic. I suppose Americana survives in the weirdest of places. Now…” He said with a glance at Graham.

“Your friend seems to be fine enough to go home.”

“So we can go…” Lucas was excited.

“….Yes…of course…but…as I have told the Officer here…the best way to surmount your fears is to face them head on, that’s what got me through Pnomh Penh…”

“You seem a little young for that one.” Chuck said.

“I age well.” Pierce responded. He was the iciest man I’d ever meet.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

“Anyhow,” the doctor continued, “Fabre here has it in his head that you’re all some sort of magicians, he thinks you talk to something in these hills, he says he’s been watching you, and he knows a thing or two about the plants you grow in your garden.”

O shit…

“I’m not much for ghost stories but I am a chemical engineer.”

Double shit…

“…so, the officer and I are going to visit you out at the cove.”

The Sketch of Sam Monroe – Chapter One: The Cambridge Gable Scene (‘Gator is Waitin’)

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Chapter 1.1: Sketch of Sam Monroe

‘Chapter 1.2:’ The Cajun Prayer

This is a book that I will upload as I write it. This is still technically part of Chapter One like the rest of the entries.

Chapter One – The Cambridge Gable Scene

‘Gator is Waitin’

The mid-February evening grew chill quickly. I shivered and pondered as to how our retreating ‘boy in blue’ could sit so comfortably, on the faded green metal bench outside Pierce’s practice.

Graham had fallen into a neat little heap of lanky limbs and golden Afro soon after the dramatic episode. Currently, he was being comforted by a nurse (who despite being a tad older) still retained that magnetic auburn haired sort of charm common among the locals. Lucky dog….

Fabre was a picture of calm as he sat there gazing into the middle distance with a particularly offensive clove cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

“What in the hell was all that about?” Pierce queried.

The Gallic sheriff remained impassive. His cold grey eyes held none of their former mischief.

The doctor was a reasonable man but his patience did have a limit. After the span of a quarter hour he remarked sternly.

“Well, come on man! Remember your Norman heritage. The blood of William courses through your veins and you would let a little of the old country spook you like that?”

It took some minutes still before Fabre responded.

“In Louisiana there are very wild places…”

“And many Alsatian fools,” Pierce remarked wryly. He had an odd habit of simultaneously praising and dressing people down.

“Yes, yes, I am a fool, and an Alsatian. But better to have my blood and my folly then to remain composed through that…”

Another long pause.

“I’m sorry, but I still don’t gather what ‘that’ is?”

This pause was even longer. I couldn’t suppress a yawn despite my interest. There was something dreamy, hypnotic in these hills. It was as if at every moment they threatened to drown you in some strange ancient honey.

“’That’ is voodoo…mssr”

Pierce laughed derisively. “Come off it man, you don’t even go to church.” It was now that I noticed that Pierce had an accent too. My Carolina ears were keen for the foreign sound of Yank inflection. And Yank he was. He was less a son of Kentucky than I.

“I tell you the truth. You have the benefit of your education and distance as buffer. But this is…this is old stuff…this is not drugs…I’ve seen it before too…but not like this…”

“You are a superstitious fool.” Pierce scoffed. “The fair haired boy was having a pull at your leg. It’s that Irish mother of yours.”

“That was just a rumor I am as Cajun as they come. Perhaps too Cajun…I have hot blood….a bad temper…you see…that is…”

I thought I spied a moment of panic in that expressive face.

He puffed at his cigarette for a time before he continued:

“That is voodoo mssr. That is very bad stuff…I have nothing on it…”

“Pfft…OK…fine it’s voodoo what did the blasted lad say?”

I was beginning to grow as weary of the pauses as Doc Pierce.

“He say…he say…’the gator is waiting.’”

It was a bizarre expression.

Yet, something about the way that the officer said it that sent a shiver through my spine. I noticed that Pierce was suddenly subdued as well. Though not for long.

“Ok and what does that mean exactly.”

“It means I am lost.”

This statement was followed by another litany of papist prayers. Latin, English, French…what I eventually came to recognize as Creole intermingled in a fluid entreaty to what of God may still reside in a world of drive throughs and porno.

“Look, I think it very touching that you’ve suddenly found the Lord but he helps those who help themselves. So what is this gator business?”

Officer Fabre used what remained of his initial clove to light the second.

“As, I have said it means I am lost. That was the end of Jack Montreux and it will be the end of me.”

“That, is a long story doc…”

Image credit: https://fineartamerica.com/featured/haunted-houseboat-ray-congrove.html