Thursday teaser: Things That Are Just True

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A frightful fragment from

Corinne O’Flynn

I was nine years old when the darkness claimed my daddy. I watched it happen with my own two eyes. I know what you’re thinking; I can see it in your face. But you can file that under the heading of Things That Are Just True.

It happened right over there, just across the other side of the cemetery. It was summertime and that magnolia tree was in full bloom. You can’t tell it now, what with it being winter and all, but believe me when I say the smell of those flowers filled the air so thick it was as if the good Lord above had thrown open the Pearly Gates to welcome my grandpa, spilling the heavenly scent over his funeral like a blanket. I was just a kid back then, but God as my witness; I will never forget the smell of the flowers on that tree. 

The funeral ended and everyone milled around—tossing flowers into the grave, and giving my daddy condolences as he stared down at my grandfather’s coffin. Most people shook hands with the pastor from the next town over who had come to stand in for my father, who was a pastor himself but wasn’t expected to preside over his own daddy’s funeral. I was a shy child then, so I hung back, content to watch from a distance instead of being in the thick of any activity. 

Photo by Scott Rodgerson on Unsplash

And that’s when I saw it. 

The darkness slithered right up out of the grave. It spread across the too-green sheet of fake grass covering the dirt pile they would later dump on top of Grandpa’s coffin and tamp down flat. Eventually real grass would grow over it, leaving the world to think that Grandpa had always lived right there in his hole.

The darkness pooled like a smoky black cloud for a moment near the base of the dirt pile and then it moved in my direction. I remember holding my breath as it slinked across the top of the tidy neighboring graves, snaked unseen through the legs of the mourners, and covered a patch of dandelions as it coiled up over the tips of my newly shined shoes. One of my laces had come undone, and as my feet turned icy I worried if my untied laces had acted like an invitation, an open door to let the darkness get inside.

The night before, my daddy had shown me how to polish my leather shoes. He seemed nervous and a little distracted but soon fell into the familiar rhythm of daubing and buffing, daubing and buffing. I sat across the kitchen table from him, each of us with a shoe over one hand and an oily brush in the other. He showed me how to rub the black polish into the leather and buff it with a rag until it gleamed. The air in the room had filled with the tangy smell of gasoline and wax that was both delicious and sickening as he explained the procedure and told me with a wink to file that under the heading of Things Every Man Should Know.

The mourners continued to disperse from the graveside as the darkness wafted away from my cold, cold feet and found its way to my daddy. I watched and waited for it to pool around his shiny black shoes and turn his toes icy before moving on to someone else. 

But instead, it stopped. 

Then the darkness just seeped right up into him as if his feet were a thirsty sponge and the darkness was a cool, wet puddle. 

My father turned to me at that moment and smiled. It was a good smile, a real one with kindness and truth. But it was his eyes that stopped me cold. The dad-ness had gone from his eyes, replaced by something not-my-daddy.

Sometimes, when the light shines through glass just right, it breaks into slices of color so bright and pure you could almost forget about the darkness. And sometimes the darkness is so strong it conceals the true nature of everything so completely you could forget the light even exists. That was the kind of darkness I had felt in my feet back then and had seen in my daddy’s eyes when he smiled at me all those years ago. You can file that under the heading of Things I’ve Never Told Anyone.

About the story 

Believe it or not, the genesis of this story came from a real event. While the true story did not entail a seeping darkness creeping from the grave nor any missing persons, it did have to do with an evil spirit that possessed someone, and impacted their family in disturbing ways. Of course, my mind exploded with the possibilities of how to develop this as a fictional story, and thus Things That are Just True was born.

Where to get it

Readers can get this story for free by subscribing to my newsletter (they actually get three stories, and this is the third) or they can grab it online in the anthology Dead Night: Four Fits of Fear

Corinne O’Flynn

Corinne O’Flynn, romantic fantasy

is a productivity geek, graphic designer, ghostwriter, and the author of an ever-growing list of fantasy and mystery novels and short stories.

Married, raising four kids, she is the founder and executive director of a non-profit organization, and a professional napper. She also serves on the board for Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers (RMFW).

You can check out all of her books on her website or on Amazon.

Anyone interested in staying connected can sign up for her emailsWhether you’re a fan of mystery or fantasy stories, or a fellow busy human looking for ways to build your own productivity systems, Corinne O’Flynn invites you to join her as she shares what she learns on her adventures.

“I believe in doing things with intention, and making sure those intentions are good. :)”

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Villains: Probing the darkest waters of evil

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David C. Cassidy

continues exploring how and why authors love to create villains, and how audiences respond.

villians-the darkest waters of human evil“Conscience is the window of our spirit, evil is the curtain.”
—Douglas Horton

Brikker burned her eye. Stepping out of the light from the overhead lamp and into the shadows, he moved to the camera, admiring his handiwork. The screaming would go on and on, an annoyance he had learned to live with as part of the job, and so he worked efficiently, almost effortlessly, loading film as required, clicking the shutter several times during this bothersome but still-useful downtime, catching unique moments of suffering he would later develop and reflect upon, all the while savouring the very cigarette that had provided this opportunity. He waited patiently for the coming silence, and then it came, just like that, storm to calm in an instant, as if the woman’s mind had suddenly snapped from the agony. It was always the same.

Of all the villainous characters in my books—and there are some truly vile ones that even I love to hate—perhaps the most detestable of them all is Brikker, the brilliant but sadistic scientist in my time-travel thriller, Velvet Rain. Brikker is to evil as Clark Kent is to Mr. Nice Guy. Peanut butter is to jam as . . . you get the picture.

Where do villains come from?

Velvet Rain has one of the most evil villains of all

 

Brikker is the fictional equivalent of Josef Mengele. I’d be lying if I said that the real-life “Angel of Death” didn’t inspire me as I explored the darkness that burns within Brikker. He’s cold. Logical. Laser-focused. There isn’t an ounce of remorse in his make-up. On the flip side, despite being blessed with an out-of-this-world power that fuels his madness, he is not without flaw or frailty; he can be defeated by the one man he seeks to possess and control, and he knows it. For all his inhuman traits, he is very human, very vulnerable, indeed.

What can I say? Writing him was F.U.N. Diving as deeply as I could into the darkest waters of human evil, I discovered things that were genuinely disturbing. To reveal how base one can sink—and not blink an eye—was at times titillating, at times distressing. There were many moments when I thought, “No way I can keep this in the book.”

But I did.

About Velvet Rain

A mysterious drifter, Kain Richards is the last of his kind–and a man on the run. Once a tortured prisoner and pawn in a deadly experiment, his freedom hangs in the balance against the relentless pursuit from an obsessed and brutal madman who will stop at nothing to possess him. So when Kain falls for a beautiful and sensible Iowa farmwoman, his very presence puts their lives in peril. A tragic accident forces his hand, and his astonishing secret—and godlike power—threatens not only his life and the woman he loves, but the fate of the entire world. 

Bestselling author David C. CassidyDavid C. Cassidy

is an author, photographer, graphic designer and a half-decent juggler. He spends his writing life creating tales of terror where Bad Things Happen To Good People. Raised by wolves, he grew up with a love of nature, music, science, and history, with thrillers and horror novels feeding the dark side of his seriously disturbed imagination. He talks to his characters, talks often, and most times they listen. But the real fun starts when they tell him to take a hike, and they Open That Door anyway. Idiots.

David lives and plays in Ontario, Canada. From Mozart to Vivaldi, classic jazz to classic rock, he feels naked without his iPod. Suffering from MAD—Multiple Activity Disorder—he divides his time between writing and workouts, photography and Photoshop, reading and rollerblading. An avid amateur astronomer, he loves the night sky, chasing the stars with his telescope. Sometimes he eats.

Get to know more about David C. Cassidy and his books at:

And follow him on Twitter @DavidCCassidy.

 

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