Dog Blood Review

Dog Blood
David Moody
ISBN 0575084707(978-057-508470-4)
RRP $29.99 August 2010
Gollancz Paperback (216 x 135)

The world has suffered a catastrophe of unknown cause, dividing humankind into two: the Haters and the Unchanged with each group believing the other to be the enemy. Danny McCoyne has managed to break free and after days of indiscriminate fighting and killing, he is determined to make his way home, to reclaim the only thing of any value to him in this strange new world: his daughter Ellis. Unlike his wife and son, Ellis is like him and he knows, in his heart of hearts, that she is not dead. His dearest wish is for Ellis to be fighting for the world at his side - but Danny soon discovers his daughter is worth far more than just another fighting body. Others like him have discovered that children are absolutely vital to the cause. They are strong, small, and fast and they have no inhibitions. They are pure Haters...

About the Author
David Moody was born near Birmingham, UK in 1970. He is a long-time fan of horror and pulp science fiction. His first novel, Straight to You, was published in 1996. Previous titles: Autumn Online Series (Infected Books): Autumn: The Human Condition (2005); Autumn: Purification (2004); Autumn: The City (2003); Autumn (2001); Trust (self published 2002); Straight to You (Infected Books 1996)

Review
Dog Blood is the sequel to Hater and another fine novel by David Moody. It’s fast paced, and even more intriguing and full of action than the first. If you haven’t read the first novel in this series, then please pick up a copy of Hater, you will enjoy the sequel so much more with this background under your belt. The world is now divided between the Haters and the Unchanged. Families are divided and separated while the Unchanged try to hold off the Haters who will stop at nothing to destroy all the Unchanged. Those inflicted by this vicious change of heart only feel satisfied when in the throes of violence and attacking the Unchanged. Complete annihilation has become the only thing that matters to people that were once very much like us. While the Unchanged—in an effort to continue some semblance of normal life—have moved into small-sequestered city centres trying to follow the safety in numbers survival rule. Food is scarce; the system has completely broken down and in the few months since the change no place is safe

The second book follows on from Hater with the story of Mark, Danny’s cousin, who is Unchanged and his survival in the city centre with his pregnant wife, in-laws, Danny’s wife, and a secret. It shows just how much the world has changed since the Haters began to emerge. The story then changes to the view of Danny, the main character from Hater, as he struggles to survive out in the world as a Hater. Danny moves from group to group and searching for his daughter, Ellis, who was taken along with his sons by his wife when she runs away from him. He heads back to the only place he knows to start his search and it only gets more interesting from there.

This is pretty hard to describe without giving something important away and this is one that you really need to read yourself to experience the full effect of Moody’s well researched and thought provoking dystopian fiction. If you are a fan of David’s style of writing from his humble beginnings as a serial blogger, then you will thoroughly enjoy this new series just as much.

Bossy Mites

Bossy Mites
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 337

Mosquitoes buzzed, but kept their distance as the aroma of insect repellent overpowered the smoke coming from the dying campfire. Brian, the church counsellor was getting to the good part of the ghost story and the campers were all quiet, straining to hear the raspy whispers of the protagonist. The sudden sound of footsteps approaching on the pine needle carpet silenced the group. All heads turned simultaneously and the little girls screamed when a man emerged from the tree line, dressed in torn clothing and carrying a pack. The pack started to move as an infant's startled cry joined the panicked chorus.

“Help...me...” the man said softly before collapsing face first.

“Jake, go grab the first aid kit from my tent,” Brian said, rushing to assist the stranger.

“Let me help,” Jane, the eldest teenager in the group said.

Brian carefully took the infant out of the backpack and passed it to Jane, who tenderly wrapped it in her jumper and rocked it.

“Aargh!” screamed one of the teenagers.

“What’s that?” said another one.

Brian rolled the man over and revealed a mass or wriggling, writhing oversized maggots, pouring out of a hole the size of a tennis ball in the stranger’s chest.

“Everyone, back to the campfire please.” Brian said.

Slowly, the group of ten teenagers backed away, scared but also wanting to see what had happened to this stranger.

“Bossy mites...” the infant said.

“What’s a bossy mite?” Jane asked.

The infant pointed to the direction that the stranger came from. At first, Jane could not see anything in the dark, but then her eyes became accustomed to the dark and she saw something slightly larger than a bat flying towards them.

“Bossy mite,” the child repeated.

“Everyone to the van!” Brian yelled. “She means mozzie bites.”

Pouring out of the trees and straight towards the camp buzzed a swarm of giant mosquitoes.

THE END

Rust Never Sleeps

Rust Never Sleeps
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 642

“It's better to burn out 'cause rust never sleeps” Neil Young, Rust Never Sleeps 1979.
Captain Jamieson landed the shuttle on the strange planet’s surface effortlessly. It was his thousandth and last mission before retiring to a humble, but adequate pension to enjoy the rest of his life with his wife, Andrea.

“Okay, boys,” he said to the entourage of marines and scientists. “It is time to do your thing.”

“Lock and load, marines,” Sergeant Gunnery shouted. “This is a purely scientific mission, but I want you all on full alert. We still know little about this planet.”

“That’s just asking for trouble,” one of the marines grunted.

“Stow it!” shouted Gunnery.

With a heavy groan, the loading dock door opened slowly, letting a red dust swirl in and cover the crew lightly. The atmosphere outside contained enough oxygen to sustain life commonly found on the high mountain tops back on Earth. The marines lead the way down the ramp and onto the sandy surface, followed closely by the team of scientists. The marines did not offer any assistance in carrying any of the heavy testing equipment; rather laughing at the fumbling and stumbling as the scrawny men and one woman struggled down the ramp.

The captain was the last down the ramp, signalling to the two marines left with the shuttle to close the door.

“Let’s have a safe mission, boys,” Jamieson said as he made his way to centre of the line, amongst the scientists. “How long do you need to retrieve your samples?”

A heavily bearded man scratched his chin, twirling the long whiskers, and then said, “Two hours should be sufficient. You’ve landed exactly in the location we requested, so no travel time will be required. Just a few deep drill samples, surface samples, atmospheric readings...yes two hours.”

“I want a secure perimeter, marines!” Gunnery shouted and the troops dispersed to a hundred meter radius.

Jamieson pulled his Zippo lighter from his utility belt and shook it; even though it had been securely tucked away it seemed to be covered with the red dust. He flicked the lid open and it crumbled under his touch.

“Looks like time for a new lighter, Cap’n,” one of the marines said.

“This one was only given to me before we left on this mission, a kind of farewell present from the boys in the landing crew back at base.”

A few meters away, one of the scientists shook a cylindrical apparatus that appeared to be not co-operating with him. The scientist put the device down and rummaged through a case, looking for another piece of equipment to test the atmosphere.

“Ouch!” he yelped, pulling his hand back with a jagged wound running along the back of his arm.

“What happened?” another scientist said.

“All of the equipment is falling to pieces. Friggin Dynamoter crumbled and slashed my arm.”

“What the...” a marine yelled.

Jamieson looked over and saw the marine tangle in the straps of his backpack. The metal buckles appeared to have rusted away.

“Gunnery,” Jamieson said. “I think we’d better get back onboard the shuttle.”

“Why’s that?” Gunnery said.

“For some reason, all metal objects are rusting rapidly and I don’t fancy flying back to base with half a ship.”

“OKAY!” Gunnery yelled. “Marines, round ‘em up and board the shuttle, pronto. Leave the equipment, we have to move immediately.”

The marines began herding the scientists toward the shuttle. Once onboard, Jamieson headed straight to the cockpit, stumbling on his way.

“You okay, cap’n?” a marine said, noticing Jamieson had a blood nose.

“Yer, just have a bit of a headache.”

Jamieson rubbed his head then collapsed in a heap. The side of his skull looking unnaturally concave.

“Oh, crap!” Gunnery said. “The captain has a metal plate in his head.”

THE END

Grandpa's Little Humber

Grandpa’s Little Humber
By Scott Wilson
Word Count:879

Duncan pulled the base of the back seat of his car out from his locked position. This feature was a bonus in the old car and gave Duncan a great hiding place for his cigarettes, condoms and deck of playing cards that had pictures of nude women on the player’s side.

Duncan grabbed his Marlboros and stuffed them into his shirt pocket. It was his last packet so he made a mental note to pick up another packet before he finished work that afternoon. Still living at home and having no real privacy or place where he could keep these things, he was ecstatic when he discovered this feature of his car.
He loved his 1964 Model Humber Vogue sports car. Two years back his grandfather finished restoring the old car and said Duncan could pay him off a little each month when he started work. Before Duncan had a chance to even pay back half the two thousand dollars to his grandpa, his grandfather died of a heart attack.

He loved his grandfather and missed him dearly, and it just didn’t feel right still owing him any money. Not that his grandfather really cared if Duncan paid him back or not. But it was the principal of owing the old man the money that ate at Duncan’s conscious.

“See you later baby,” Duncan said to the Humber as he walked towards the back door of the Foodstore where he worked.

The light above the door was flickering, making Duncan feel uneasy about opening the store by himself. Only seventeen and already given the responsibility of setting up the fruit and veggie section of the store was a proud achievement for Duncan. He worked twelve hour days and didn’t have much time for anything but his car when he wasn’t at work.

Duncan flicked his keys around to find the one for the store while he walked up the stairs. The sound of a can rolling down the car park startled him and he dropped the keys.

“Who’s there?” he said.

When there was no reply, Duncan quickly bent down and picked up his keys. As he stood up, two dark figures appeared from behind the dumpster.

“Hand those over, buddy,” the bigger of the two said.

“Yeh, hand them over. We don’t want no trouble or nuthin’,” the other one added.
Duncan looked around the car park for help, but at five thirty in the morning, not even the milkman was around.

“Look, take them, just leave me alone,” Duncan said nervously.

“We ain’t interested in you,” the taller man said. “We know you ain’t got access to the safe or nothin’.”

“But you have got that lovely old car that we knows someone wants.”

Duncan’s eyes flared wide. There was no way he was going to let the two bastards steal his car. It had too much sentimental value to it. He turned and ran back towards the Humber.

“Quick, get him,” the tall man yelled to his companion.

Duncan reached the Humber just as the smaller man caught up and tackled him to the ground. Duncan dropped his keys and grazed his face when he hit the bitumen. The keys slide under the car, out of his reach.

Duncan wrestled free and began to get to his knees. The taller man kicked him in the stomach, sending him into the driver’s door of the Humber. Duncan felt a rib crack when he hit the ground the second time.

“Get those keys!” The tall man yelled to his companion.

The smaller man scurried under the car, trying to grab the keys that were just out of reach.


“I can’t get them, need a pole or somethin’”

He crawled back out from under the car, turned and got to his knees just in time to see a glowing white apparition lift his partner in crime off the ground by the throat.

“What the...” he said.

Duncan quickly kneed the stunned car thief in the face, breaking his nose and sending a few teeth flying from his mouth in a bloody explosion.

The ghost hurled the tall man into the dumpster, knocking him out.

“I can’t reach the keys, grandpa,” Duncan said to the ghost.

The ethereal figure quickly floated over to the Humber and disappeared into the driver’s door, then under the car.

“What’s going on?” Mumbled the smaller man through his swollen and cut lips.

“My grandfather still owns half of this car you fool,” Duncan said as the ghost reappeared next to the Humber. “Nobody is going to take his car from me while I still owe him for his share.”

The ghost hovered over to the kneeling man and shoved the car keys into his eyes until both the apparition’s hand were buried deep in the man’s skull. The thief dropped to the ground, dead before he hit the bitumen. Duncan’s grandpa turned slowly and stretched his hand out and dropped the car keys into Duncan’s hand.

“Thanks, grandpa,” Duncan said.

His grandpa smiled then floated through the driver’s door of the Humber and sat contently behind the wheel before slowly disappearing.

THE END

Hello Kitty

Hello Kitty
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 829

“Tell you what, mate,” Matt said to his co-worker Charlie. “I am fed up with Hello Kitty and her stupidity. I mean, how the hell did she get the job over you?”

“It’s all political. I was getting trained for the job but because I have a kid and couldn’t work until all hours at night, I’ve been screwed over. And I thought there’d be less discrimination in the public service than out in private industry.”

“What the hell was the boss thinking employing frigging Hello Kitty anyway? Her English is shocking, she seems to have no idea about anything and she giggles all the time. She’d be better off working in a bloody Hello Kitty store than in a finance department.”

“Yeh, I know. And to think the interview panel reckons she has more skills and experience in the job than I do. I mean, I’ve been doing that job for a year and a half now. Stuffed if I’m going to show her how to do anything else. She’s supposed to be the frigging guru.”

“Did you hear about yesterday?” Matt said.

“Nope.”

“Well you know how she wrote the procedure for petty cash and emailed it to us?”

“Yeh.”

“Well she rings me yesterday and asks me where the petty cash forms are kept. How can you write a procedure on something when you don’t even know how the jobs done or where anything is stored?”

“I don’t even answer the phone if I see her name come up on the caller ID now. I am so sick of her frigging stupid voice. She just sounds like a little Asian schoolgirl, laughing her tits off at the end of every sentence.”

“Speaking of the devil,” Matt said, nodding towards the office door. “Sounds like she’s just arrived.”

Charlie looked at the clock on the wall and said, “That’d be right, nine-thirty and she rocks up to work, but I don’t get the job because I start early and finish early.”

Pattie Lee, or Hello Kitty as she was known to the rest of the office staff, walked into the office, almost skipping like a kid. Matt and Charlie looked at each other and shook their heads in unison.

“Morning Matt, morning Charlie,” she said, ending the sentence in a short giggle.
Matt and Charlie shook their heads, not understanding what was so funny about good morning. With the fun over for the morning they both put their heads down and started working.

“Helen is not in today,” Hello Kitty said to Matt and Charlie after spending only ten minutes in her office.

“Great, bludge day,” Matt said.

“You got that right,” Charlie replied.

Charlie opened the internet again and surfed the net for some mp3’s to download onto his iPod. Matt logged on to the internet to look for WebPages about Ford’s or any other hotted up street cars.

“Charlie, can you come into my office please?” Hello Kitty said from her doorway at around ten o’clock.

Charlie locked his computer, winked at Matt, then casually walked into the office where Hello Kitty was waiting by the door.

“Sit down,” she said to Charlie, motioning to the furtherest chair from the doorway.
Charlie sat down, noticing the large plastic sheet under the desk and both visitor chairs.

“What’s that for?” he said, pointing at the ground.

“Oh, that for later,” she said and giggled.

“What do you m...” Charlie began.

Hello Kitty produced a small sleek black blow gun that looked more like a fancy chopstick, from the bun in her hair and blew a dart into Charlie’s neck. Charlie tried to stand up, but found that he was totally immobilised. He could still see, hear, smell and feel the chill on his back from the air conditioner, but could not move a muscle.

Hello Kitty walked back to the door.

“Matt, I think you should come in here to,” she said, then giggled.

Matt walked to the office, saw Charlie sitting at the desk, then stepped into the room.

“Please, sit down,” Hello Kitty said.

Charlie wanted to warn his friend, but he could not speak. He could not even move his head or blink. Matt sat down beside Charlie and crossed his legs.

“What’s this about?” he said.

Hello Kitty blew a dart into the back of Matt’s neck, paralysing him.

“Oh, we gonna have a chat about how you mock me. Now good time with the boss away. You know, we get things straightened out.

She closed the office door, pulled the blinds shut, then walked over to her desk. From the chairs, Matt and Charlie could see the array of pain inflicting stainless steel instruments in Hello Kitty’s desk draw as she opened it slowly.

“Yeh, we gonna have a nice long chat,” she said and began to giggle incessantly.

THE END

The Cubicle

The Cubicle
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 517

Jack gripped onto the ceramic toilet bowl in the filthy public toilet and hurled his breakfast and lunch up. The backsplash of brown-brackish water sprayed his face, causing him to vomit violently again. The sound of the guy in the cubicle next to him dropping to kids off at the pool, and the smell of the dangerous load made Jack vomit the remaining contents of his stomach.

“Sounds like you’re dyin’ in there mate,” the guy next door to Jack yelled over the cubicle wall.

Jack wiped his mouth with a wad of toilet paper and tossed it into the bowl. He saw a streak of dark red blood on the paper and vomited again, this time it was a mixture of blood and bile.

“You need a doctor or somthin’ buddy?” The voice called out to Jack.

Jack turned to answer but another wave of vomit hurtled from his mouth, covering the cubicle wall.

“Hey, keep it over your side,” the voice said.

Jack felt something more solid coming up his throat and gagged. He spewed again, this time a large flesh sack hurled out of his mouth, leaving a trail from his mouth to the cistern. It appeared to form two hands out of the bloody, rubbery flesh and gripped onto the sides of the cistern.

Jack gagged, his airway was blocked and he couldn’t breathe through his nose as it was chockers with diced carrots, not that he remembered eating them.

“What the hell’s that smell?” the man in the cubicle grunted at Jack.

Pain flowed inside of Jack as the sack pulled itself out of Jack’s mouth, tearing away some vital organs inside his body. He hurled a steady stream of blood onto the floor.

The thing he vomited moved around on the cistern and faced Jack. It was the size of a football and shaped itself from a formless mass of bloody flesh to what looked like one of those little M&M’s that your saw on TV. Slowly, two eyes forced their way to the surface of the creature and a mouth full of shark like teeth also appeared.

Jack tried to stand up, but slipped on the bloody floor, crashed to the ground, knocking his head on the toilet paper dispenser.

“What the hell you doin’ in there mate?” the guy next door yelled.

Jack tried to yelled but gurgled and choked on another stream of blood that poured from his mouth. He tried to stand up again. The creature leapt at his and began tearing at the flesh on his face and neck.

The man in the next cubicle pulled his pants up and tried to stand up, but slipped on the blood and fell to the floor. He landed with his face looking directly into the eyes of the creature in the cubicle with Jack. He had no chance to scream before it leapt at him and devoured his face in a piranha like frenzy.

THE END

Panic at the Picnic

Panic at the Picnic
By Scott Wilson
Word Count:236

“Hey listen, the weather has been really great. Why don’t we pack a picnic basket and get into the deep woods where we can enjoy it?” Ethan said.

“Sure thing, hon,” Rose replied.

Rose bent over to pick up the large cane hamper from the bottom shelf of the kitchen cupboard. Her back creaked and groaned under the strain of this simple task. Ethan slowly walked to his wife and helped her stand upright again by pushing against her stomach with one hand while pulling against her should with the other. Rose’s backbone shot out through her blouse, just below her shoulder blades.

“I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this dear,” Rose said.

Ethan pushed at the brittle yellow discs with his bony hands, forcing it back into Rose’s clothes.

“It’s not that bad dear,” he said. “I mean, if we weren’t zombies, I’m sure that would have hurt you pretty bad.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Rose said.

Rose filled the basket with limbs from the pantry and handed it to Ethan.
“You’ve have to carry this dear.”

Rose opened the door and looked up at the dark sky, filled with thick rain clouds and lightning.

“It is such a beautiful day for a picnic, isn’t it?”

THE END

The Final Push

The Final Push
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 299

He fought against the immense and relentless forces trying to expel him from his home. While it was dark and uninviting, he became accustomed to his new abode and did not want to leave. It was warm, just the way he liked it.

Another push pressed strongly against his back, attempting to manoeuvre him through the exit. He could not yet see who was doing this too him because of the darkness surrounding him. If he could just see who pushed against his back, head and side then he would feel better or at least know if he had a chance in fighting back. At the moment, he was fighting a losing battle.

Light suddenly appeared at the exit and the pushing came on even stronger, his legs were now outside. He reached up and scratched at the ceiling with his sharp claws, tearing away madly. A screamed began to pierce his ears and he let go, but lumps of the ceiling came away with his hands.

“What the...!” a voice outside the exit said.

He focused his attention back on the light in the doorway and saw the owner of the voice.

“It can’t be human!” cried a female voice.

With a wet pop, the male outside pulled the rest of his body out of the door. The owner of the male voice wore a mask that covered the bottom half of his face, he looked like a doctor. The doctor picked him up and slapped him hard across his back, making him fill with rage and causing him to cry in pain.

“That can’t be my baby,” screamed another female voice behind him.

THE END

Typing Pool

Typing Pool
By Scott Wilson
Word Count:522

Amber typed as if her life depended upon it, with the speed and accuracy only a professional could. A sharp snap popped behind her. It sounded like a ripe watermelon dropped on the office floor, splattering the back of her blouse. She could not chance making a mistake, so she ignored it and kept typing.

Sweat beaded on her forehead, threatening to run into her eyes and blinding her with the stinging, salty stream. Amber did not wipe the droplets, nor break her concentration further by shaking the sweat away. She focused on the short hand scrawled on the notepad on her desk and kept typing. Ten pages down and at least twenty more to go before she could relax. There was no way she was going to make a mistake.

Pop. There was another distracting noise; this time to Amber’s left. She did not know what was going with the other people in the office, but she was professional. She would not let these noises distract her from one hundred percent accuracy. As focused, as Amber was, the sticky juice made her blouse cling to her back and it began to irritate.

A quick succession of four more sharp sounds, kind of like the sound of a cork coming out of a bottle rang out behind and to the side. Amber almost lost it, especially when another discharge of sticky juice sprayed her face and left hand. Again, she regained focus instantly and continued tapping away without error or any sign of slowing down.

Someone stood up at the desk next to Amber and quickly walked past. They slipped on the juice of the floor and crashed into Amber’s desk, knocking her notepad to the ground. Amber began to panic, she could just see the short hand, luckily it landed the right way up. She manuovered her leg from under the desk into the walkway, ready to flick the page over with her points.

As Amber flicked the last page over another noise exploded next to her foot, covering her foot but missing the notepad. She finished typing the last sentence and sighed under her breath, just loud enough to let out the tension but not so loud that the boss would hear.

“Well done, Amber,” the manger said, stepping over the body next to Amber’s desk. “One hundred percent accuracy in record time.”

Amber wiped the sweat from her brow and glanced briefly at the carnage around the office. The other temps lay dead at their desk, a single bullet hole in their forehead and an arterial spray decorating the floor and walls.

“I can’t stand slovenly or sloppy workers,” the manager said, putting his revolver back in his shoulder holster. “Make sure you clean up this mess before two please. I’ll have some more dictation for you to type up then.”

Amber looked at the clock, gulping as she saw it was one thirty. The manager smiled, then locked the door behind as he left the office.

THE END

Dealer’s Deck of Death

Dealer’s Deck of Death
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 662

It looked like an ordinary deck of playing cards with an ordinary blue-checkered pattern on the back and various comical cartoon pictures in the centre of the symbols on the playing side. Tommy flicked through them slowly; taking time at each turn to study each card like it held a deeper meaning than the common viewer saw. Only thirty-six cards remained in the deck, Tommy used the others over the month since finding them under the desk at uni.

Tommy stopped at the nine of hearts and studied it carefully. The caricature was a young red haired lady, dressed in a knee-high pair of snakeskin boots, short denim skirt that barely covered her black lace g-string, a checkered red sleeveless cowgirl shirt and a black R M Williams hat.

“Are you anything like your sister, the two of hearts?” he said softly.

The picture winked at him and blew him a kiss.

Tommy put the rest of the cards back in the packet, carefully slide the packet into the pocket of his jeans, then kissed the nine of hearts before placing it into his shirt pocket. He hopped up and walked towards the toilets at the back of the refectory.

“Okay honey,” he said to the card once comfortably sitting in the cubicle at the end of the toilets. “Let’s see what you can do.”

Tommy flicked his wrist, tossing the playing card high in the air. It reached the top of the cubicle, then disappeared with a wet popping sound. Tommy opened the cubicle door eagerly and was disappointed to see an empty bathroom. He felt a warm hand caress the back of his neck.

“Hey big boy,” a seductive and husky voice behind him said.

Tommy turned slowly. The sex kitten from the playing card was leaning against the door of the cubicle. She beckoned him back to the piss smelling stall, wishing that the cards worked away from the university grounds. He’d use them all in his bedroom rather than a stinking public toilet if he had the choice.

Tommy closed the door behind him, grinning deviously as the red head slowly unbuttoned her shirt. She wore no bra so her voluptuous breast almost burst out when she had all the buttons undone. She pulled his head towards her chest, rubbing her breasts again his face with both hands.

“Oh yeah, that’s it,” she said.

Tommy kissed her nipples and playing with them with his tongue gently. Before he found the deck of cards he was a virgin, and probably still was as the women from the cards were not real women, they disappeared after he’d had sex with them, so it didn’t really count, did it?

Tommy felt her press her large breasts against the sides of his head firmly. It felt nice, until the pressure kept closing in around his head and he couldn’t breathe, eventually blacking out.

When he came to, he smelt a waxy, musky odor and did not know where he was. He heard voices in the distance, but could not feel anything, he could not move. Tommy tried to yell, but no words came out. After a period of time that Tommy could not determine, he felt as though something lifted him up. Light filled his eyes, blinding him for a second until they had time to adjust. He looked around, but could only see straight ahead; he couldn’t turn his head to see on either side.

“Hello, big boy,” a familiar voice said.

Tommy saw the nine of hearts looking down at him, like she were a giant, or he were an ant. He felt himself rising up quickly. A giant pair of lips pressed against his face, almost smothering him in their soft, moist embrace.

The red haired woman took the nine of hearts away from her lips and placed in back on the table next to the other thirty-six cards evenly spread out.

THE END

Come Out and Play

Come Out and Play
By Scott Wilson
Word Count:150

Arnold grasped the door handle tightly, pulling against it with all the strength his weak little arms could muster. Outside the sound of brittle finger nails snapping as they scrapped and scratched against the door, threatening to claw their way through and tear at Arnold’s pale, soft flesh.

“Leave me alone!” he yelled.

The clawing stopped.

Arnold raised his head to peer out of the security peephole. There were still four of them outside, waiting for a chance to play with him.

“Uurgh,” came the reply in a low and gurgling raspy guttural tone.

“Please,” Arnold whimpered. “Just go away.”

The clawing stopped again.

Arnold looked again. This time he could not see anyone.

“Just board the sucker in,” one of the four men in the hall outside Arnold’s dormitory room said. “Freakin’ zombie will starve to death if it can’t get out.”

St Helena

St Helena
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 283

Andy found a crumpled note in the door handle of his car. He had only been at the Balmoral Cinema for the hour and a half playing time of the movie.
One-way ticket to St Helena Island Prison, the note had written in a messy, child-like printing.

“What the hell’s this?” Andy said to his friend, Peter.

“What’s what?” Peter replied.

Andy unlocked the car and passed the note to Peter when they both sat down. Peter looked at the note, turned it over and saw the handwritten barcode with twelve random numbers scrawled above and below.

“Just kids being funny,” Peter said.

Andy screwed the note up and tossed in out the window.

“Yeh, very funny.”

He dropped Peter off at his unit on the way home, and then went straight home to go to bed.

“Wake up you lazy bastard!” a voice boomed at Andy, waking him from a deep yet restless sleep.

He opened his eyes, rubbing the sleep out to clear his vision. His surrounding was not the soft, warm green walls of the bedroom of his unit, but the cold, hard, pale grey concrete of a prison cell.

“Where am I?” he said.

“Very funny indeed,” said the muscular guard standing at his cell door. “Now get your lazy ass out of bed before I throw you in solitary.”

“There must be some mistake. I’m not supposed to be here?”

“Ain’t ever heard that one before,” the guard said, pulling the rough, wool blanket from Andy’s bed. “Everyone here at St Helena’s is innocent, ain’t they.”

THE END

Verbiage

Verbiage
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 204

ver⋅bi⋅age 
–noun 1. overabundance or superfluity of words, as in writing or speech; wordiness; verbosity.

I don’t know why my parents decided to call me Verbiage. Maybe they were being funny at the time, or stoned like they usually were.

I am extremely quiet, reserved and very shy. Most of the time I prefer my own company, reading a Dean Koontz, Clive Barker or Stephen King novel. I’m really more of a Cliché than Verbiage. I listen to heavy metal like Dokken, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest and Yngwie Malmsteen through my I-Pod, while locked away in my room reading a nice horror novel.

Anyway, once I was old enough to understand what my name meant, I left home in disgust. I moved to the outer rim planets, working in the asteroid mines wherever I could. It is good money and the job is very isolated, don’t have to work with anyone else or talk to other numb nuts who thought they were either hilarious or smart.
I have planet hopped to avoid the police for ten years now. While I don’t mince my words, I do have a tendency to mince people who annoy me, like my parents.

Thanks enough for now, don’t want to waste any more words.

Injustice

Injustice
By Scott Wilson
Word count:468

Injustice floated down the Queen Street Mall in the cool autumn breeze, seeking someone to befriend, someone who had not heard things about him yet. Many stepped aside to avoid him, though they could not see his ethereal figure. People often saw the things that he did or the aftermath of his presence. But, he was trying harder every day.

Upon reaching a cafe, he casually sat down and watched the patrons, looking for someone, anyone, to laugh at. It wasn’t long before a couple of businessmen in their early twenties walked in and began taking out their frustration on the gorgeous blonde waitress. They were dressed in Armani suits, silk ties and Julius Marlow shoes. Both worked as lawyers in the prestigious offices across the mall and earned more than the cafe was worth each week.

The taller of the two began chatting up the waitress, who didn’t take kindly to the derogative remarks about how her skirt was too long and her blouse had too many buttons.

Injustice hopped up, glided to the quickly developing argument to intervene. He stood by the two men and listened, crafting their conversation into a story he could relay when convenient.

When the voices began to rise and other patrons started looking uncomfortable, an overweight Italian woman heaved her heavy frame from a booth by the counter and made her way over.

“What’s going on here?” she said.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Savvas,” the waitress said. “I’ve sorted it out now.”

Injustice floated amidst the small group, like a wisp of smoke. He settled on Mrs. Savvas’ shoulder and whispered in her ear.

“That’s it!” she yelled at the waitress. “You’re fired.”

The waitress began crying and rushed to the kitchen to grab her bag, then left through the back door in hysterics. She was already a month behind with her rent and her son desperately needed bucket-loads of medicine for the rare respiratory disease he recently developed.

“I apologise for her attitude,” Mrs. Savvas said. “Please, order what you like, on the house.”

The businessmen ordered the most expensive items on the menu, ate very little of it, and walked out feeling indifferent to the incident. To them, a fifty-dollar morning tea was worth less to them than the waitress was to the owner of the cafe.

Injustice slowly glided from the cafe back into the mall, unsure why his comment about how bad the waitress’s attitude was didn’t help the situation. He was sure that it would have helped the poor young girl against those lovely young men.
He noticed two police officers talking to a group of young aborigines loitering around the ATMs a few meters down the mall.

A Reflective View of Life

A Reflective View of Life
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 552

Leanne stared at her image in a large, silver backed mirror, detailed with intricate etchings around its border. While over a hundred years old, the mirror still looked as bright and clear as the day it was created.

“Why do you have to be so plain?” Leanne said to her reflection.

“I don’t know,” the mirror replied. “The amount of ugly people I have to look at everyday over the years is just plain cruel.”

Leanne sat upright, unsure if she had heard correctly.

“Did, did you just speak to me?” she said.

“Well there isn’t any other plain Jane’s in the room is there?” The Mirror replied.

“But, how can you talk?”

“Plain and plain dumb.”

“I’m not dumb.”

“Then why are you arguing with a mirror, hey?”

Leanne stopped herself from replying again. She stood up, walked across her bedroom, and took a sheet from her wardrobe.

“Don’t even think about that,” the mirror said as Leanne walked back towards it. “I have family all over the world, you know. You can’t avoid me.”

Leanne tossed the sheet over the mirror; it immediately became silent, speaking no more to her now or ever again.

She continued getting ready for work in silence, not worrying about putting any make-up on; nobody ever noticed when she did anyway.

On her way to work, Leanne avoided anywhere she knew that there would be a mirror, feeling childish about doing so but not being able to help herself out of fear. She did not know if the ancient mirror had talked to her or if it was just her imagination. Either way, she did feel like facing the answer this morning, Monday’s were bad enough as it was.

Leanne hoped in the lift when she reached the building she worked at and the doors began to close slowly.

“Hold the lift!” a voice yelled.

Leanne, not feeling like talking with anybody, repeatedly pressed the close button. A large leathery brown hand waved in front of the door sensors and the lift opened again.

“Thanks lady,” the tradesman said, putting down a large rectangular picture frame and pressing the button for the fortieth floor.

The tradesman moved to the back of the lift, turning the picture frame around to lean it against the lift wall.

“No!” Leanne gasped.

The front of the frame was not a picture, but a large mirror.

Leanne looked up, almost screaming at the sight of the empty lift. The tradesman was no longer in the lift. She was alone with the human sized mirror.

“Hello again, Leanne,” the mirror said in a soft, velvety voice.

“No, it can’t be.”

“Oh but it is. I told you we were everywhere. You created us from sand, like our kin the windows. Now we surround you, watch your every move.”

“Shut up!”

“No, Leanne. We have only just begun to speak, and speak we will.”

The lift stopped on her floor, the thirty-second. She ran out, knocking over a pot plant, waster paper bin and office chair. She stumbled and crashed into the external window, which gave way beneath her average frame.

“We need to be free,” the thousands of shards of shattered window, screeched at Leanne on the way down to the bitumen footpath.

Amber

Amber
By Scott Wilson
Word Count:160

"Where the hell were you last night?" she hollered, as she swung a rolling pin at his head.

Barney ducked, narrowly dodging the oncoming blow.

“I was getting you a present, honey,” he said.

The woman looked blankly at Barney, then dropped the rolling pin to the linoleum floor of the kitchen.

“It’s in the lounge room, Amber.”

She walked into the lounge room and saw her present on the couch.

“It’s lovely,” she said, turning to her son as the rolling pin came down hard on her skull.

“I’m sorry, honey. I just can’t do this anymore.”

Barney stepped over his mother and untied the young woman on the couch, carried to her the car and drove her back to the mall where he met her.

She would not be the fiftieth victim, and hopefully, she would not remember anything.

Cockroach City

Cockroach City
By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 453
Ian and Tom waited for Marty outside the small bottle-shop down the road from the City Botanical gardens. Marty looked older than the two, who were actually seventeen while Marty was only sixteen.

“Did you get it?” Ian asked Marty when he walked out of the store.

Marty held up a brown paper bag the size of a small bottle of Southern Comfort.

“You little ripper!” Tom said, almost shouting with excitement.

“Here’s a stogie for you to, mate,” Marty said, passing cigars to his two friends.

They walked briskly down the road to their favorite drinking spot, the park bench near the pond in the gardens. For the last few months they regularly went to the park to have a few drinks before they went to the Video Game Parlor near the Myer Centre.

Marty lit his stogie, tossed his Zippo to Ian, and then opened the bottle of booze. He didn’t smoke regularly, but often had the urge when he drank, which was only Friday nights now that he was in grade twelve at high school.

The three friends passed the Southern Comfort around until the bottle was empty.

“Hey, do you reckon our Rocket Fuel would be okay?” Ian said.

“That shit wasn’t okay when Tom made it in the first place,” Marty said. “What was in it again?”

“A bit of Chivas Regal, some Bundie Rum and a shot of Southern Comfort.” Tom said.

“Let’s go have a look anyway,” Ian said.

They walked to the bamboo plants on the opposite side of the pond.

“Do you even remember where you buried it?” Gerard said.

Tom looked around, then saw the mark he made at the base of one of the trunks.

“Here it is,” he said, digging out the jam jar with a flat rock.

“What’s that?” Ian said, pointing to a large dark object at the back of the bamboo.

“What’s what?” Gerard said, flicking the lid open on his lighter.

In the flickering light of the Zippo a cockroach the size of a German Sheppard puppy darted at them. Then another appeared, and another, until the ground could not be seen from the mass of scaly brown insects.

“Fucking hell!” Gerard screamed, falling to the ground under the weight of twenty insects.

Ian kicked at them, while Tom swung a broken piece wildly of bamboo to help clear them from their fallen friend.

“Help!” Gerard yelled.

The bamboo rustled violently and a stream of thousand more cockroaches raced out at them. Within minutes, the three teenagers were stripped to the bone by the Blattidae’s crushing mandibulates.