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It's been a while since I've written horror, but I'll give it a shot. Hit me with one of those flash rules.
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Oct 13, 2018 12:23
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Aleph Null posted:My first stories were entirely dialogue with no indicators of who was speaking. Although it worked for the one about the schizophrenic whose best friend was a tree named Krysta. Haha would this be a good time to mention that the story I'm finishing up for this thread is 99% dialogue? (I'm not completely green, though, so it'll at least be intelligible.)
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Oct 24, 2018 02:17
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It's been a long work week and I've been getting poo poo for sleep because of the World Series, but I did manage to finish the story: Untitled Click. “Powell County Sherriff Deputy Isaiah Davies reporting. Interview number 9-9-0-3-0-4-M. Please state your name for the record.” “L-Louis. Uh, Louis Montaigne.” “Settle down, Mister Montaigne. We just want your side of the story.” “S-sorry. I’ve never been pinched by the cops before. I mean, police. Well, I’ve been pulled over a bunch of times for speeding, but—” “Calm down, Mister Montaigne. We need you to give a clear statement so we can sort out this here situation. You want a cig? A coffee?” “A cigarette would be nice, yessir. And some water if you don’t mind.” Flick. Fl-fl-fl-flick. Fsssssss “Thank you kindly. That’s nice. No offense, but I’ve always preferred cigs to that there dip you got. Tried it when I was a youngster, but having to spit in a bottle like you got there was a hassle.” “Mm. I’m just jotting down your name here in the report. Is that ‘Louis’ with an I-E?” “I-S, sir. L-O-U-I-S. My family were French fir trappers up in the mountains for a long time. Not me, obviously, but right up through my grandpappy’s time.” “Alright. Let’s get back to the incident. Can you tell me how you came to be involved with Zeke Cornwall? “I’m a rodeo clown. Well, I’m a trucker, but I’m a clown in a few rodeos around Montana and Idaho. Mister Cornwall is a rancher. He sends bulls and stallions to the rodeos all around Montana. Our town is right near his ranch, so he usually sends livestock to our local rodeo.” “And what does your role at the rodeo have to do with these bulls and stallions?” “You been to a rodeo, sir?” “Assume that I haven’t, for the sake of the record.” “Oh. Right. I protect the riders. When a rider gets thrown and the bull or stallion is still fired up and bearing down on them, it’s my job to get in the way. That’s what the colorful duds are for.” Snap. “Like the rainbow suspenders? Gets the attention. I run a few circles around the animal to give the rider time to get on out of there, and then I jump into a barrel and wait for the handlers to round up the beast. Comes with some bumps and bruises, but it keeps things safer and the kids love it.” “Have you had encounters like these with Zeke Cornwall’s bulls in the past?” “Yessir. Up until recently, all I knew about Cornwall was that he ran a big ranch north of town, and that he would send livestock to the rodeos from time to time. So I’m sure I’ve faced off with them before, even if I didn’t always know where this or that bull came from.” “What was different this time? What is your understanding of the Cornwall Ranch now?” “Well, in the weeks leading up to this here rodeo, I heard some things around town about the ranch. Folks at the Get-n-Go have been talking about how the Cornwall Ranch is more of a, uh, compound now than a proper ranch. Meaning they raise livestock for sure, but they’re a real secretive bunch now.” “We’re all Montanans, Mister Montaigne. We all value our independence and privacy.” “Yessir. But the way people were talking about the Cornwall Ranch was different than just your regular old ‘Get the gently caress off my land’ type of folks. Pardon my French, sir.” “It’s fine.” Spit. “I mean, the townies have been saying that folks who go to the Cornwall Ranch weren’t going there to help drive herds or anything. They were going to church.” “Church?” “Zeke Cornwall built a big church up on his land ‘bout a year ago. More and more folks had been flocking there, if you forgive my pun. Lots of them have been staying up there, supposedly. Old Ned Barrows hasn’t been seen in a couple months, and I used to see him—” “Wait. What does this have to do with today’s rodeo incident?” “Nothing yet, sir. My point is that some weird stuff started going on up at the Cornwall Ranch, at that church. Folks around town started saying Zeke Cornwall started talking about some particular Bible verses right around the same time folks started holing up at his ranch.” “Which ones?” “Dunno. Not Revelations, but some other grim stuff. Stuff about end times and signs and…” “And?” “Sorry. Um, it sounds weird to say it.” “We need it on record, Mister Montaigne. Please continue.” “Alright. Zeke Cornwall started saying stuff about signs of the end times and sacrifices. Specifically, this bull he was raising.” “Is there a specific animal?” “Yessir. A red bull. Pauline Archer told me that her husband started going to the Cornwall church. Chet Archer was always a Doubting Thomas type of guy, so that was kind of weird to hear. But I guess he told Pauline that they had been spending years breeding bulls to produce one of a particular size and color. To, uh, sacrifice. Then he stopped coming home altogether.” “Forgiving all this hearsay, what is your understanding of the sacrifice?” “It has to do with the Bible verses. Something to do with the sacrifice being necessary to building ‘The Last Temple,’ and final push toward end times. I haven’t read the verses, though. I’m afraid I can’t say much more about what the Good Book says about it.” “People should read their Bibles. But is this directly relevant to today’s incident?” “Yessir. Listen, I don’t know much more about Zeke Cornwall specifically, but I do know a bit more about his ranch. Pauline asked me to check on her husband, so I took a trip up there a few weeks back. Got a real prickly reception. Two men I hadn’t ever seen were guarding the entrance with shotguns. They let me in, but under close watch. Felt like North Korea.” “What happened? Did you come into conflict with Zeke Cornwall prior to today’s incident?” “No, not exactly. I asked to see Pauline’s husband Ricky, and they led me to the church Zeke had built. It was…” “Go on, Mister Montaigne.” “S-sorry. I don’t know what my problem is right now. I’m still pretty worked up from what happened at the rodeo, but this is different. It’s hard for me to talk about the church for some reason.” “Please try.” Flick. Flick. Fsssssss “When’s the last time you looked at the sky, deputy? I mean, really look at it like you’re not looking at anything else?” “Been a while, I’m afraid.” “They call this ‘Big Sky Country,’ right? That’s about right, but the sky around the Cornwall Ranch is… different. Something about that place gave me the creeps, and it wasn’t just the shotgun-toting goons. I couldn’t put my finger on it until I got to the church, though. When I looked up at the building, the whole world seemed to bend under it, like a fisheye lens. The sky, big as it is already, seemed to expand over it. The church, me, and the land itself seemed to shrink. I wasn’t just getting smaller, though. I was getting less… significant. It was like the opposite of that nice feeling you get from looking at a big, wide, clear blue sky.” “God’s presence has powerful effect on men’s souls, Mister Montaigne.” “Forgive me, deputy, but this wasn’t God’s presence. Don’t know much about God, but I’m sure it wasn’t that. I thought the great blue yonder might rip open and something terrible might come screaming out. I have never felt so small and so helpless since I was a boy. The sky was a gray like the hour before a storm, but somehow worse. It as a deep gray, almost green, like I’ve never seen. All of that looming over me in front of that church. “Then Zeke Cornwall stepped outside. He didn’t recognize me, but he gave me the sales pitch anyway. He talked, ranted really, about God and his new church. He didn’t call it a temple, but he did say that ‘a great sacrifice was needed to consecrate it as The Temple.’ I barely got around to making sense of it when he started going on about how he’d spend years raising cattle to breed this particular heifer. He said its blood would consecrate the church, and that The Adversary would claim the church soon after that. “I got up enough nerve to speak up and asked, ‘Isn’t the adversary Satan?’ He said sure it was, but that Satan’s triumph over the temple would signal the end times. I guess it’s a honeypot to draw out Satan. I dunno. The whole idea sounded…off to me.” “So, you think today’s incident is occult related?” “I do—I… Listen, deputy. I don’t know quite what to think, but I know I saw some things at the Cornwall Ranch and at today’s rodeo that I can’t explain.” “Just stick to what you can explain, Mister Montaigne. Just the facts. We need to know what you know.” “Sure. I’ll tell you what else I remember of what Zeke Cornwall said that day at his ranch. He said the bull would need to have its own blood consecrated by its own sacrifice. He started to get real fired up and spit a bit while he talked. Thought he was going to have a heart attack.” “Why?” “I thought I saw something under his eye. Thought it was blood, but it might have even been black. Didn’t stop him, though. He went on spitting and ranting and raving about this and that Bible verse and the End Times and The Adversary. Like I said, it was all a bit much for me.” “Hmm.” Spit. “Tell me about what happened today.” “Well, I had a while to put the visit to the ranch out of my mind. Never did find Pauline’s husband, by the way. That was a few weeks ago, so by today’s rodeo I wasn’t thinking about it anymore. Still having some weird dreams about the ranch, but I was focused for the rodeo. Things went pretty normally until Zeke Cornwall set that bull loose.” “What did you notice about the bull?” “The first thing I noticed was the smell. Clowning in the rodeo usually just smells like dirt and leather and poo poo and sweaty horseflesh. It’s very… earthy. But right before that bull got turned loose, I smelled something terrible. It smelled like burnt hair. I took my place off to the side of the ring anyway and got ready to do my job. Sometimes the bull riders get thrown after just a few seconds, so I had to be ready to jump in and clown that bull off the rider. I looked across the ring toward the pen as the rider mounted the bull. I noticed two odd things.” “What was odd?” “The bull was still. Like, completely still. The bulls are always riled up before they pen them and the rider mounts up. I mean, that’s the whole point, right? The rider usually has to fidget a bit right from the moment of contact, and the handlers help with that until the bull is turned loose. But this guy just sat up on that bull like it was a sofa. “Then I saw the rider’s face. He was terrified even before the gates opened. He was looking down at the bull, and then the handlers. I couldn’t see them yet because they were behind the fence. But I could see the rider plain as day over the fence, though, and whatever he saw down in the pen scared the poo poo out of him. He started looking around at the bull frantically and… patting it, I guess? He was moving his hands around, like he was feeling around for something when he should have been on the reigns.” “What happened next?” “They turned the Cornwall bull loose. I was straight across the ring from him when the pen opened, and he looked right at me. This is going to sound weird, deputy, but I saw some evil poo poo in that thing’s eyes. I saw violence and anger way beyond an animal. That thing… is not just a bull. “That felt like forever but I’m sure it was just a second. After that, the carnage started. The bull took a sharp left out of the gate and bucked right up next to the wall of the ring. It reared up like a stallion, like you never see a bull do. They usually buck on their front legs. Anyway, the crowd over there is right up close, and one teenage girl leaned in to cheer on the rider. In one motion, like he meant it, the bull went up on his hind legs and twisted his head and horns toward the wall. At the top of its buck, its horns cleared the top of the wall and caught that—that poor girl. I… I’m sorry.” “Take your time.” “The horns caught her in the head, and the motion of the bull pulled it’s body back toward the ring, and her head toward the outside of the wall. I couldn’t see the result from my vantage point, but her head got caught between the horn and the wall. The only other thing I can remember about that is the sound, which I don’t care to describe.” “That’s fine, Mister Montaigne. Take your time and tell me what happened next.” Fl-fl-fl-fl-fl “Goddamn it.” Fl-fl-fl-flick. Fsssssssssssssssss “Alright. I remember an older man right next to her in the stands. He stood up and just about jumped into the ring. He didn’t have to, or get a chance, though. As he was screaming at the bull and leaning over the wall, the bull twisted its bulk around and shot up to gore the man right through the bottom of his jaw. With one more twist of the neck, the bull tore the man’s jaw clear off. “The bull threw the rider almost immediately after that, threw him higher than I’ve ever seen any animal throw a rider. There was a gross crunch when the rider hit the ground on the back of his neck. I saw his legs kick out once, twitch, and then stop. He was still struggling, though, but it looked pretty bad already. I could tell he was in dire straits, so I did my job and ran to clown the bull. I found a way to forget all of that grizzly poo poo and just let my adrenaline take over. I just hoped that the bull would behave like any other bull when I faced him down. “The bull stood over the rider before I could get there. I skidded in that loose sand and ended up kneeling next to the rider as the bull looked down on both of us. I noticed then that the bull had this sickening sheen to his hide. Bulls and stallions in rodeo will get shiny with sweat, but this was different. The rust color of the bull’s hair was tinted by a brighter red. I don’t know for sure what it was, deputy, but it was thick and red and wet and all over the thing. I didn’t dare look in its eyes after what I saw from all the way across the ring, but I did see something thick and black leaking out of the eyes and nostrils. To boot, that burning smell was overpowering at that distance, and the bull’s breath just about made my head swim. “I knew I couldn’t move the rider if he had a broken neck, so I had to draw off the bull. I flashed a scarf in front of him and ran to one side, expecting him to chase me. Instead, it stayed put and reared up again, coming down on the rider. He landed on the rider’s legs, and then again on his pelvis. I—I can’t stop thinking about the screams of the rider. The bull coming down on his ribcage put a stop to that, but not soon enough. It was sadistic, deputy. That’s why I did what I did right after that. The thing was evil. That bull finally pulverized that poor guy, with a focus and anger I’ve never seen in an animal. So I pulled out my hunting knife and tried to cut the bull’s throat while it was still up close. “It’s har to kill an animal that size with a knife like that, deputy. I couldn’t finish the job. The bull just turned to me, four feet on the turf, and huffed that hot, acrid breath at me. More of the black poo poo was running out of its eyes. I expected it to kill me right then and there. The fact that it showed me mercy is probably worse, but I still don’t know exactly why. Fsssssssss “I swear on my mother’s grave, deputy, that bull aimed to kill every one of those people. I… suspect it’s for the sacrifice.” “No one’s going to believe any of that, Mister Montaigne.” “Why not? The crowd saw the same people die! They might not have been up to the ranch, but plenty of folks in the crowd must know that wasn’t a normal bull.” “They will, when we tell them that you drugged it to go mad and kill those people.” “What? Why?” “Does anyone else care? It’s a dangerous world, full of crazy weirdos that do terrible poo poo for no good reason.” “But why me? Why the frame job? Why not go question Zeke Cornwall?” “He’s a fine, upstanding citizen of the community, Mister Montaigne. A man of God. You, on the other hand, are a goddamn rodeo clown.” A thin line of black trickled down the deputy’s chin as a smile slowly curled his lips. He shut the soundproof interrogation room door just as Louis opened his mouth to scream.
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Oct 27, 2018 02:23
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Thanks for the crits! In a weird way, it's good to hear my misgivings about the clown's voice were justified.  Thanks for running the contest and coaxing me into writing horror for the first time in a long time!
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Nov 2, 2018 02:44
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