Siren's Abyss

This is an experiment for me (and quite honestly a bit out of my comfort zone), in that this story is narrated by yours truly. I hope you enjoy this bit of Halloween inspired fun, and as always feel free to let me know what you think. So without any further interruption I present: Jay Nystrom's Siren's Abyss

Candles to Curtains

By Jay Nystrom

The clack of typewriter keys echoed in the small wooden shack that Alexander called home, sweat dripped from his brow, past his eyes and nose finally resting in the four days growth of hair that grew upon his face. The soft glow of several candles illuminated the cramped quarters, the room was a bedlam of half finished manuscripts, stacks of reference books, and piles of refuse and rubbish. Alexander had not slept in nearly a full five days but the fury of his conviction could not be stopped, this idea for a novel had swirled and coalesced in his brain for a full year and now it yearned, no… it begged to be unleashed onto paper and out into the world from the ether.
A half eaten bowl of soup sat adjacent to a warming glass of bourbon, the food and drink was consumed only as a way to keep his body from failing, he took little pleasure from it. Alexander was in the zone now, a stack of paper was piled high on the desk containing the words that would be his bestselling debut, it was a much stronger story then the previous four he had discarded into the corners and trash can. It wasn’t that they were all that bad but this, this was the one, he was sure of it.
His fingers stopped their frantic scrambling at a small noise outside, he glanced through the single window with it’s torn, dry, and old curtains hanging limp on the windless night. An owl had perched itself in the tree outside, the bird stared with it’s large yellow and unblinking eyes, then it slowly turned it’s head the nearly one hundred and eighty degrees to face forward again. Alexander felt unnerved by the sight but all at once excited by the sense of the macabre and he started at the typewriter with renewed fervor.
With a flourish chapter twenty four was complete, he took a small break to scoop a few spoonfuls of the cold soup into his mouth, he washed it down with the remaining bourbon in his glass. He got up to refill, his feet creaked on the ill built wooden floor with every step, he paused…to him it sounded like something else had also creaked the slats. He shook the thought away and grabbed the bottle on the mantle, he took a swallow right from the bottle then crossed the floor back to his chair. He thought briefly about other things, he often did when the loneliness got the better of him. His mind raced with thoughts of what ifs and maybes, this self exile was the best for him as far as actually finishing his novel but it was still depressing at times.
Alexander closed his eyes and thought of a pretty little redhead he knew from town, she was just the last in a long line of women he was too scared to approach. That was really the story of his life, a string of close calls and scares but nothing of any real substance to speak of. He wouldn’t change a thing about it though, it was the miles that made then man. He took another drink, loaded another sheet of blank paper and began to type again. He worked without stopping for another two hours before he jumped at the sight of something moving in the shadowed corner of his domicile.
He flinched again as something scratched at the wall, he swept out of his chair casting the bottle of alcohol to the ground breaking it into a million shards of penetrating glass. His heart was beating wildly now, the scratching increased in rhythm and intensity. He had heard the mice and rats in the walls before but this seemed to be something bigger, he pictured inch long claws trying to burrow into his skin. He cursed his over active imagination and rushed to the kitchen.
Alexander drew a long bladed hunting knife from the drawer and crept over to the source of the sound, he thrust the knife into the rotting wood with force. He wiggled the blade free but found no blood or gore stuck to it’s tarnished finish. He sat back down in the chair, his head swam with drink and lack of sleep, he knew he must be hallucinating. It wouldn’t be the first time he had had a breakdown, his last episode is what prompted his move out into the wilds in the first place.
A low drone woke Alexander hours later, he must have dozed off without realizing it. He stood up from the chair to stretch his tightened muscles loose, the floor groaned with his weight and he swung his arm wildly in fright. A nearly melted candle fell from the desk, it’s small flame licked and caressed a stack of papers on the floor. The dampness of the air prevented the paper from catching immediately, had Alexander paid any heed he could have stopped them from catching at all. But as it was he was screaming and swinging his knife with fear, the cold, cutting fear that only the unknown could produce in the pit of your stomach. His feet were cut and stuck with the glass of the bourbon bottle, as he moved across the floor he left bloody footprints in his wake.
The paper caught fire at last, the flames leapt with seeming sentience from the paper to a heap of unwashed linens. From the linens to the alcohol soaked floorboards, from the floorboards to the miscellaneous books that laid in uneven towers. From the books to the coarse wool of the bed sheet, and from the sheet to the curtains. So stood in flames o’ plenty, a madman with sharpened blade and frantic mind…consumed by imaginary ghosts born of insomnia and drowned with fire.

END  

Scarecrow Grins in Moonlight

By Jay Nystrom

Travis perked his ears at the distant scratching sound, he listened closely…the tiny electric motor that controlled the sliding panes of glass whirred. A small chime rang out over the speaker system but he couldn’t hear any footsteps, he grunted as he placed his hand on one of the lower shelves and lifted himself up from the kneeled position he had taken on the floor. The scratching could be heard again, this time a whoosh and howl of the wind accompanied it, Travis laughed at himself, a small huff of derision that chided himself at his edginess. The sliding doors were stuck open again, they did it often at this little grocery store that was his second home.
He watched as the wind from outside blew the crisp maroon and golden leaves further into the store, he wiggled the door until the motor engaged and the doors slid gently together. Travis scooped the leaves into the waste bin and cursed his luck of having drawn the late shift tonight, he knew the rest of his crew would be halfway to wasted by now and here he was being frightened by the wind. He hoped that the party would still be going by the time he locked up, he so desperately wanted to show Teresa that he was a funny and sweet guy in a setting other then work. Travis took a deep breath and let it out with depressed huff, not that she would even notice him, not that she would even care.
As he rounded the corner back to the aisle he shook his head at the mess he still had to fix before he could leave, he struggled to get back onto the floor again. After a few minutes of turning soup labels forward he heard the doors open again, this time the noticeable clack of high heels could be heard on the tile. A woman in a blue dress turned into the aisle, he could see her from the corner of his eye. He readied a charming smile, a pretty woman was about the only time he bothered to provide anything close to good customer service. He turned his head with a snap only to find that nobody was there, she must have headed to another section of the store in the time it took him to muster the effort to help.
He heard the heels again but a little more towards the door this time, he waited for the familiar beep of the register scanning but found it silent. Just as Travis turned his attention back to the shelf the lights shut off, the entire store was pitch black. He cursed the night janitor who must have forgot there was still employees here, with the wide glow of his cell phone Travis made his way to the switch located in the back hallway. The light shone on the knob, it was still in the on position, he turned it off then back on and the lights flashed to life. After another half hour of tedious, pointless work he called it a night and rushed to his car. The drive wasn’t more then ten minutes to the little farm where his coworkers and friends would hopefully still be partying, he pulled up to the edge of the property and continued on foot.
The moon hung big and bright in the sky, as he walked Travis began to remember snippets of a dream. He found it odd that he would take this long to remember a dream from the night before but somehow it bothered him that he couldn’t form the scene in his mind. The cobwebs of his head swirled around confusing him further, he remembered something about Teresa being there, although to be fair he dreamed of her often. Then he remembered something about a scarecrow, then he felt a whispered breath on his neck. He turned violently but nobody was there, it must have been nerves from strange events earlier that had him on edge.
Travis neared the spot where his friends would be, it was a clearing in the middle of an orchard where nothing would grow. It was a near perfect circle of blackened ground that was rumored to be the site of a witches coven from long ago, it was now just used by teens to drink and paw at each other in the night. He stepped into the circle and his mind was flooded with memories, it wasn’t a dream from the night before that had bothered him so much. No… it was the nightmare of remembering what had happened, in the middle of the circle was a lone scarecrow that had long worn out his clothes and spilled his straw. Now it was just an empty sack with a torn hat upon it’s head, at the foot of the scarecrow were the bodies of his friends.
He started to cry at finding them again, the nightmare relived and remembered. It was like it was fresh again, he looked around the circle and saw the wraiths and apparitions of the people he knew weeping at the sight. He was always the last one to show up, he was last on the night when this happened the first time. It didn’t spare him the blade of the madman who had lurked in the shadows, the man who dug himself from a prison and rampaged across three states taking sixteen lives before being stopped.
Travis watched as the bodies on the ground faded away, he looked at the deflated face of the scarecrow and thought that it had a sinister grin beneath the moonlit brim of his frayed hat. His friends stepped towards the center and he found his feet following suit, the night would be replayed again next year, now he remembered that it always was. The spirits weakened and were blown away by the wind as they neared the decrepit scarecrow, Travis looked to the woods to see the woman in the blue dress standing at the edge of the circle. But the figure gained shape with his memory, it wasn’t a woman though, no… it was the man who had taken his life, a bloodied maniac in a cocktail dress he had taken from a girl four towns over.
Travis almost screamed when he bumped into the scarecrow, a small tuft of hay scratched his cheek with a dry rustle. Then he felt himself being pulled away, he cried but no tears came… he was always last to leave…without ceremony and without company.

END

Uncut

By Jay Nystrom

Bahia, Brasil 1998

I stumbled slightly, the wounds screaming at me to stop moving… I would not. The night air was cool but I could feel the heat of the gunshots in my leg and shoulder, the older blood that had coated my right hand and forearm had dried, plastering my shirt to my arm like paper mache. That greedy bastard had taken my emeralds and the considerable amount of cash in my pockets, he would pay with his life. My body had protested every step but in less then an hour I had made it into town, the thing about amateur thieves is that they liked to talk; braggarts and idiots the fucking lot of them.
The loud music and cheering emitted from the little bar told me I had found the place, I looked through an open window and saw Thiago dancing like a fucking moron. My former partner and friend celebrating my death just a touch prematurely, I entered the bar but barely got a second glance. I fumbled for my pistol and leveled it with an unsure left hand, I was close enough that it hardly mattered. He turned as I squeezed the trigger, the bullet caught him high in the chest and he painted the table behind him with his blood.
I knelt to the best of my ability and took the folded white packet of jewels from his pants, I made it into the street before my body betrayed my rage. I hit the ground hard, the dust danced and swirled with each labored breath I had left. I managed to move the biggest emerald to my face and with squinted eye I held it towards a light. It sparkled and shone with the delicious light of a good rock, my world went green… then faded to black.

End

Untitled (Watercolor with sharpie)

Who is Unit 33?

By Jay Nystrom

Unit 22 walked down the sidewalk briskly, the night was cold and the wind had picked up speed. She glanced at her Omni-watch, the LED gauges on the readout confirmed her feelings: 44°F, NW 18MPH, 8.34PM. She drew her coat closer to her body, her mind raced at such lightning speeds that no single thought was able to form, she feared the consequences of her work. Unit 22 had spent the last eight years of her life with one singular goal in mind and now, in less then four hours, she would come to regret every minute of her work.
She took a few deep measured breaths and recalled the events of the day, it all started when her supervisor announced the news. “You’re all wondering why I’ve gathered you here today, well some amazing news has come down from above. Thanks to the tireless work of Unit 22 we are able to push up Transition Day to midnight tonight!” The room erupted in whoops and thunderous applause, those Units near 22 slapped her back and shook her hand. At that moment she felt a great pride in her work, she had helped advance the human race to this new level of complete integration. It was what happened next that had shook her to her core.
Unit 22 had escaped the festivities and into the restroom, when she heard the whoosh of the electric door she lifted her legs closer to her chest. She didn’t know why she did it but she was glad she did, one of the people who had come in checked under the stalls to make sure the room was clear. An electronic click signaled that the door had been locked, she could hear two voices talking, one male and one female. The male started talking first, “So this is it, the big day. I’m assured that all of your government contacts are fully aware of the transition plan correct?” It wasn’t a voice she recognized but the female sounded like Unit 601, “They are one hundred percent behind the plan, everything is in place. Starting at midnight all information, books, music, all vids and pics will be uploaded into the W.I.N.S (Wireless Information Network System) and it will be slowly edited and formatted to the specifications of The Council.” The two voices continued on but Unit 22 knew she had all the information she needed, they were going to destroy everything. The entire catalogue of human history was going to be changed or erased by the whims of some council. She sent a coded message on her Omni-watch and tried to steady her breathing.
The two people soon parted ways and after a few minutes Unit 22 crept out of her stall and headed for the exit. She was stopped by some scared Units, “Did you hear 22? A Unit has gone rogue, there were explosions at one of the W.I.N.S. facilities!” 22 asked which Unit, the answer caused her pupils to expand against her will, the answer was 33. She ran out the door and hurried home.
Unit 22 checked her Omni-watch again, only a few minutes had passed but each step was more dangerous then the last, they would realize what was happening soon enough. Just as the thought crossed her mind she heard the squeal of tires, she glanced over her shoulder and saw two Omni-cycles turn the corner. The cycles were a single giant wheel with the driver seated inside, they were designed to be agile and fast, the vehicle of choice for the government’s quick response teams. Unit 22 took off in a sprint, her shoes slipped off and bounced in the street but she kept going faster.
The two Agents increased their speed, the tires leaving heated smoke in their wake. They caught up to her in just a few seconds, she was tackled to the ground and her blows were deflected by the padded armor of the Agents. A few punches found her face and torso stopping any resistance from her, the Agents leaned her against the wall, “I’m Agent 724, we have reason to believe you have ties to the suspected dissident Unit 33. Who is Unit 33?” 22 steeled her jaw even as the tears fell from her eyes, when it became obvious she wasn’t going to talk a baton cracked against her skull. She fell to the cement with her head swimming, Agent 724 grabbed her hair and held her upright. The other Agent took out a black box, a silver needle slid out, the box was shoved into her temple.
Unit 22 cried as her memories danced before her as holograms, the image of her husband popped up and the two Agents agreed it was the suspect they were looking for. They let 22 drop to the ground with a sickly thud, blood leaked from her eyes mixing with the flowing tears. The two Agents laughed and joked as they went back to their Omni-cycles, Agent 724 reached to his sidearm and found it missing. The Agents turned in time to see Unit 22 propping herself against the wall with the gun aimed, two shots fired and 724 fell bleeding profusely. Four more shots rang out in the night and the other Agent fell, he convulsed for a few seconds then was still.
22 slid back down to the ground, a nearly perfectly arced smear of blood was left on the wall. Her breathing slowed as her heart began to run out of blood to pump, another explosion shook the ground. A monstrous fireball lit the night sky, Unit 22 closed her eyes and her heart stopped beating… she died with a smile on her blood stained face.

End

The Devil and Sydney Crowson; Or the High Price of Living Well

By Jay Nystrom           

            The arid dust swirled and settled with each labored footfall, in the distance a shimmering veil promised nothing more then heat and asphalt. The sun hung large in the summer sky seemingly taking up the entire realm of heaven, its rays relentless in their efforts to ignite the world. Sydney Crowson covered his face with his arm and glanced up to see buzzards circling lazily on thermals, ever patiently waiting for some poor creature to succumb to the desert. Sydney unscrewed the top of his canteen and tipped it back, not even a single drop fell to his tongue, he shook his head and remembered that it had only been a few minutes since he last tried to drink. His mind felt clouded and it was hard to focus on anything, his thoughts drifted back and forth between the past and the present.

            He remembered fondly the cheering fans, the packed stadiums building excitement until he stepped on the stage to an eruption of emotions. It was a feeling that couldn’t be matched anywhere else in life, thousands of people willing to pay big money to cram into tiny plastic seats just to listen to the wail of your guitar and the sound of your voice. Sydney stumbled on a rut in the ground snapping his focus back to his present troubles, he cursed the ground and called out obscenities so vulgar that sailors would cover their ears in shock. Sydney’s heart jumped in his chest as a coyote crossed the road in front of him, it seemed to come from out of nowhere, it stopped and looked in his direction. The coyote followed the road towards the sun, it was then that Sydney noticed that the sun was lower in the sky and he hoped it would set soon although the cold of night would prove just as challenging as the heat of day.

            The bottom edge of the sun touched the horizon, in the distance a small wave formed at the visible end of the road. Sydney squinted hard at the wave as it grew bigger and bigger, a tidal wave of fire was bearing down on him. He turned to run, as hopeless as that was, what little energy he had left was mustered to move his bone weary legs. His muscles burned in protest to the physical exertion but he couldn’t stop now, he was running for his life. The wave caught him easily, he was slammed to the ground by the weight and his skin began to scald. The skin went quickly but with much pain and soon his writhing muscles melted away but in some unholy happenstance he was still alive to feel it. The fire made short work of his bones and then the world went black.

            Sydney awoke with a start, a cold sweat covered his body and his heart did its best impression of Houdini trying to escape the confines of his chest. The sun was high above him so not a single shadow could be found as shelter from the heat. He stood wearily and with great effort, the nightmare started to fade from his mind and he was glad to forget it. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his arm and it was quickly replaced with more, with heavy heart and heavier feet he began to walk.

                The arid dust swirled and settled with each labored footfall, in the distance a shimmering veil promised nothing more then heat and asphalt. The sun hung large in the summer sky seemingly taking up the entire realm of heaven, its rays relentless in their efforts to ignite the world. Sydney Crowson covered his face with his arm and glanced up to see buzzards circling lazily on thermals, ever patiently waiting for some poor creature to succumb to the desert. Sydney unscrewed the top of his canteen and tipped it back, not even a single drop fell to his tongue, he shook his head and remembered that it had only been a few minutes since he last tried to drink. His mind felt clouded and it was hard to focus on anything, his thoughts drifted back and forth between the past and the present.

            He remembered warm-heartedly the chaos of the backstage after shows, dozens of girls in various states of undress flooding the dressing room shared with the members of his band. There was never a shortage of alcohol or cocaine when they traveled, every single hedonistic desire was filled on a near daily basis and the lifestyle was just as addictive as any form of booze or drugs. But out of everything Sydney most enjoyed the groupies, young women so very eager to surrender their bodies to you and he gladly indulged them. He of course had heard stories of such things while growing up but it was something completely different when it was experienced first hand, the days on the tour bus spent in drug and alcohol induced comas and the nights filled with rocking and sex.

            Sydney tripped on a divot in the asphalt falling to one knee on the rough ground scraping his knee. He looked down at the skin that had torn open and had to pick small pebbles from his flesh while the blood seeped from the wound, it was deep and in the desert it was most likely a death sentence. He tore a strip of his shirt off and wrapped it tight around his leg above the wound, his hands shakily tying the makeshift tourniquet was made a harder task by the blood that covered his hands. After he was satisfied with the effort he trotted onwards towards the horizon, the blood loss caused his head to feel light.

            After what felt like miles Sydney looked back despite promises made to himself to never do such a thing, a long trail of blood was left in the road, an impossible amount from one man he thought to himself. The coyote darted from behind a cactus and began lapping the blood from the pavement only pausing once to look at Sydney standing in the road. Sydney averted his eyes from such a ghastly scene only to find that the road ahead of him was filled with dozens of buzzards waiting impatiently. Their ugly wrinkled faces stared straight at him expectantly and he knew there was no way he could outrun them, Sydney took the strap of the canteen and wrapped it securely around his hand. He took a few futile swings at the birds but they simply hopped back from his reach, it was then that his gashed knee gave out and he fell to the ground. The buzzards slowly moved in for the kill, they didn’t need to rush because they all knew that this was an easy kill. The birds pecked savagely at the wound, Sydney screamed in horror as the buzzards moved up to his stomach. Entrails spilled to the street but not once did he lose consciousness as the pink faces flooded his vision, it would be the last thing he would see but not the last thing he would feel. Then the world went black.

            Sydney woke up slowly and knew that when he opened his eyes they would be met with the blazing sun and an inhospitable desert. He laid in the road and could feel the asphalt burning at his exposed skin, he drifted in and out of sleep but no dreams or nightmares found him. After awhile he sat up cross legged in the road, the sun hung high casting no shadows once again. It had taken this long for Sydney to realize what was going on, this endless cycle of his death. His mind drifted back to that fateful August night when the whiskey and coke fueled bender destroyed his mind and after four days on a hospital bed in a medically induced coma it destroyed his body as well. It was all so clear to him now, when he opened his eyes the desert began to lose the browns and tans that colored it. The pigments washed slowly away like a painting in reverse, they revealed the deep reds and fiery landscape of his true surroundings.

            A deep chuckle echoed in his skull, the coyote wandered towards him without speed. The creature started to grow larger as it drew closer, the red of it’s fur turning to a scaly hide. The face flattened and ears were replaced by the curled horns of a ram, the skin fell in clumps as it stood on it’s hind legs.

            The full vision was soon revealed as the Devil himself stood before Sydney. The naked muscled body heaved with deep breaths, the behooved feet clopped on the ground, and between the horns sat a mighty burning crown. “Sydney Crowson, son of Charles Crowson and Margaret Smith, welcome to the final resting spot of your immortal soul. When you first came to me at your darkest hour you knew what fate would befall you, a deal with the Devil in exchange for fame. In the end it wasn’t worth it, I see it in your heart you regret your actions. I’ll let you in on a little secret my son, it’s never worth it, never has a deal been in favor of man. At least you enjoyed your life Sydney for there is no God and no Heaven, all just things I’ve created for the fun of it. You can’t imagine the joy I feel when those holier then thou assholes find their fate in my kingdom of death. Fare thee well Mr. Crowson, enjoy your stay.”

            The bellowing laughter continued as the Devil shrank down and once again the coyote walked away, in it’s wake the colors of the desert sprang back to life and the sun took its place high in the sky. Sydney Crowson’s vision wavered and the world went black. He woke with a start and struggled to his feet, his body protesting his every move. The buzzards circled high in the sky and with little choice left Sydney began to walk.

            The arid dust swirled and settled with each labored footfall, in the distance a shimmering veil promised nothing more then heat and asphalt.