Showing results by author "Wayne Kyle Spitzer" in All Categories

Shekalane looked at him with something akin to pity. "You speak as if Ursathrax were a person. A lover, perhaps." Jamais laughed. "I suppose that's true. It is the hallmark of lonely people, to anthropomorphize. They do it to their pets quite frequently. But that is just one of her secrets...for while not a person same as you or I, she is, I believe, sentient. She is self-aware. Surely you have felt it, on those days when the leaves of the trees rustle even though there is no wind? She is alive...."

"The hologram faded away and a silence fell over the glade as Dravidian reseated himself upon the rock. Sthulhu remained respectfully silent. In his mind's eye Dravidian saw Pepperlung on the deck of their great dragger, The Vorpal Gladio, saw him glance over his shoulder at the prefect as his tone became grave: 'Beware, Dravidian. The bride is just sightseeing but Asmodeus is here for you. You are the only ferryman up for elevation this year. Watch yourself. There will be a test, surely.'"

It's the dawn of the 1970s, and everything is changing. Enter "The Kid", a panic-prone, hyper-imaginative boy whose life changes drastically when his father brings home an astronaut white El Camino. His birthday arms him with a pair of novelty X-Ray Specs - and as the Camino muscles them through a decade of economic and cultural turmoil, the Kid comes to believe he can see through metal, clothing, skin - to the center of the universe itself, where he imagines something monstrous.

Lonny hesitated, trembling. "Y-you mean it's just trying to scare us?" Handlebar tweaked his nose. "That's right." The fire returned to the young man's eyes - almost. He looked around the shattered dock, at the riddled corpse and the oily, bloody water, at the spitting power lines and the dead lights, the peeling boardwalk on the shore. "No, it's not. It-it doesn't pretend, like you. It's gonna kill us, that's all." He glanced at the corpse. "And we probably just killed its mate."

Napoleon napped as rain spotted the habitat's skylight. Tonight as any other, he'd fallen asleep listening to the footfalls of spiders. But now, his super-keen ears detected something else - something more than rain ticking off glass. It was a faint squeaking noise, like chittering rats. His eyelids parted moistly, revealing yellow crescents which shined in the dark, and he blinked several times, awakening. The sound was that of his nemesis. Drawing closer.

"You know me to be a ferryman", I said, pushing the circlet up and over my forehead. "How?" "Why, by taking one look at you, that's how! You've no mask, that much is true, nor have you a scythe, as I've said...you've the cloak, all right, but that can be purchased at even the lowliest of costume shops; I've one just like it in my wagon here, in fact. No, this is something in the face itself. It's an aura." He paused, appraising me coldly. "You've the heart of a ferryman."

The ferryman turned to face her and she quickly looked away, as if an owl had suddenly focused on her in the dark. Now that they had reached the trunk of the river he had relaxed the intensity of his rowing to a more casual pace, and was allowing the current to do most the work. (She didn't dare risk activating the ring now!) Instead she looked at the floorboards, and after a few moments, remembered the book lying next to her. She reached toward it habitually, but froze when the raven cawed loudly and its red beam fell upon the back of her hand.