Archive for Fiction

BROKEN BELL part 2

The arched doorway of an old Californian mission chapel (with maybe some cracks and holes in the adobe on the exterior wall to reveal human skulls among the bricks) with a hooded monk (no face or perhaps just the brow and nose and cheekbones peeking out of the murk). He’s lurching partway out of the strong shadow like a vampire at noon, with one hand beckoning to us and the other making an occult gesture…

They left the dining hall by another door and followed Fray Joachim across a paved courtyard and into a chapel. If anything, it was darker within than without, though a single tapered candle guttered in the vestibule. Moving like clumsy puppets, the men shuffled past the friar into the musty darkness of the chapel. They fumbled through layers of heavy sailcloth curtains infested with dry rot and moths; and when they had won through to the lightless cavern, they fumbled blindly for the pews and settled into them. 

There was a rustling of heavy wool and a scuffling of leather sandals as the last leaden echoes of the bell dissolved in the air. Fray Joachim’s voice came from the altar, the guttural drone so low and slow that it seemed to take a score of minutes for each syllable to pass his lips. 

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Simon Says

A little boy in his back yard playing Simon Says all by himself. Maybe where the other person would be is a shimmering distortion in the air

Jason was facing a tree in his backyard, jumping up and down, seemingly alone. His mother watched him from the kitchen window, finishing up the dishes from last night, and smiled. She used to worry about him being an only child, but she didn’t anymore.  He knew how to entertain himself and never seemed lonely.  The six-year-old suddenly stopped jumping and clapping his hands before suddenly freezing in place.  He stood motionless as if waiting then laughed and spun around three times. Dishes finished Jason’s mother made him lunch as she watched him play, putting his hands on his head, then on his knees, before launching into some jumping jacks.  Jason started running in place but stopped, laughing and stomping his feet in frustration before falling onto the grass in exhaustion.  Apparently, his game was over.

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A Question of Compatibility

Two brain halves jaggedly stitched together inside a migo brain jar

          I don’t know where I was five seconds ago, but it sure as hell wasn’t here.

That was the thought that pounded, and pounded very painfully, through my skull as I stared down at the small porcelain cup sitting only inches from my shaking hand.

My entire body hurt. It was a sharp pulsing pain that started at the base of my skull and coursed all the way down my body before the next wave would start. That didn’t change the fundamental truth of my situation, though. My hand wasn’t shaking because of the fire that was racing across my nerves. My hand was shaking because I sure as hell wasn’t here five seconds ago.

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The Miracle of the Strigoi

Swollen shriveled undead infant

Nadja saw the Strigoi when she went outside to fetch snow to cool Stanoska’s brow.  It was riding her one remaining cow, drumming its heels into the mooing, stumbling animal’s heaving sides and bending low to snap and nuzzle at her straining neck.  The full moon shone on the snow, providing more than enough light to make out the revenant’s darkly discolored face, its bloated naked body.  She thought it was Stavra the Miller, one of the first to die from the plague, but she wasn’t sure.  Stavra had been a thin man, and the Strigoi, like all its kind, was swollen with the blood it had taken from the living.  She knew better than to call out for it to leave the cow alone, for that would surely bring it to her doorstep after her.  Instead, she quickly turned around and went back inside, not forgetting to scoop some snow into her bucket.

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The Angels of Pestilence

a ww1 soldier sobs in a fox hole as an ghostly insectoid thing hovers above him

Prologue:  The Madness of Herbert West

Madness is a terrible thing, and an even worse thing to be accused of, particularly if one knows for a certainty that one is truly not mad.  I suppose it is the nature of madness to deny being mad, but this was the situation in which my colleague Herbert West found himself.  I did what I could to defend him, but the military tribunal would hear none of it, and threatened me with arrest as well, suggesting that I may have not been a simple bystander, but rather a co-conspirator in the rampage that left one of our colleagues dead.

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Mouth of the Faceless

Dark art/bizarre surreal

Cybil opened another can of Monster Zero to fuel her third-day stretch of no sleep. The windows and curtains of Cybil’s studio apartment remained closed. Stale smoke swirled amongst the sour tang of energy drinks, mingling pungent in the air. She had rid her residence of anything possessing holes. Fresh sunflowers—in the trash. Her hairbrush, once she had cleaned it off her hair—had too many holes. The fridge once contained watermelon, strawberries, and swiss cheese—gone. The latte was once delivered from Starbucks. The foam. The holes! Now, energy drinks are delivered by Insta-cart—no straws, please. 

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A Yellow Yule

The blood moon sigil (Yellow disc w/ a drop of blood on the lower right) with The King in Yellow speaking to a Brown Jenkin

Cassilda and Cassandra and Caterina and Calliope and Cassiopeia were all seated at their places, the King wasn’t presently in attendance, and the others were all on their own. The other two sisters had already gone to their rewards.

Back in his chamber, Jenkin was frowning into the vanity mirror.

Keziah was trying to keep him relatively calm, as this was probably his last chance to both attend the buffet after the Play and, maybe, possibly, renew his humanity, if he could keep from making a beast out of himself. It was a time of rejoicing, the anniversary of the victory against the Foe, He Who is NOT to be Named.

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Broken Bell part 1

The arched doorway of an old Californian mission chapel (with maybe some cracks and holes in the adobe on the exterior wall to reveal human skulls among the bricks) with a hooded monk (no face or perhaps just the brow and nose and cheekbones peeking out of the murk). He’s lurching partway out of the strong shadow like a vampire at noon, with one hand beckoning to us and the other making an occult gesture…

The sun at high noon was a curse on the earth when the exhausted pinto mare that bore Lope Obregon and Eight-Finger Nate into the dooryard of the long-forgotten mission dropped dead under their weight. The two men slashed their saddlebags free of the dead horse and ran for the arched doorway at the foot of the bone-white church, and the gaunt, hooded figure that stood in its shadow as if awaiting the desperate men.

“Bless me, padre, for I have sinned,” said Lope Obregon, crossing himself while his partner drew his mismatched pistols. “We claim sanctuary…”

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NaNoWriMo Check-In!

Checking in! I hope you’re all doing well, fellow writers. My story just crested the 26k spot, which means that I am a little behind, but I am looking forward to catching up this weekend.

Also, don’t be afraid to sign up for the Advent calendar thing we’re doing for December. If you’re looking to pad your word count, that’s an easy way to do it!

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Cthulhu in December preparation continues!

We’re still looking for submissions for December. We’ve got two award winning writers already on deck. Submit today to get your fiction displayed along side theirs!!

Image is Adam Scott Glancy, a bearded middle aged caucasian man wearing glasses.
Adam Scott Glancy Delta Green, numerous Delta Green books, Horrors of War
CODY GOODFELLOW has written nine novels and five collections of short stories, and edits the hyperpulp zine Forbidden Futures. His writing has been favored with three Wonderland Book Awards. His comics work has been featured in Mystery Meat, Creepy, Slow Death Zero and Skin Crawl. As an actor, he has appeared in numerous short films, TV shows, music videos by Anthrax and Beck, and a Days Inn commercial. He also wrote, co-produced and scored the Lovecraftian hygiene films Baby Got Bass and Stay At Home Dad, which can be viewed on YouTube. He “lives” in San Diego, California.
CODY GOODFELLOW has written nine novels and five collections of short stories, and edits the hyperpulp zine Forbidden Futures. His writing has been favored with three Wonderland Book Awards. His comics work has been featured in Mystery Meat, Creepy, Slow Death Zero and Skin Crawl. As an actor, he has appeared in numerous short films, TV shows, music videos by Anthrax and Beck, and a Days Inn commercial. He also wrote, co-produced and scored the Lovecraftian hygiene films Baby Got Bass and Stay At Home Dad, which can be viewed on YouTube. He “lives” in San Diego, California.
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