(A taster of a short story I’m currently working on, probably as the final entry into Filmic Cuts 6. Hope you enjoy… OJ)
The message came through early that morning, serving as a wake up call to the men stationed at Fort Hamilton.
It was not a wake up call they wanted.
Orders had been made for a Captain Montgomery and his men to come inspect Fort Hamilton within the next few days. While reasons were left vague in the telegram, one of the men – Freeman – theorised that it was just a quick check due to their position.
Fort Hamilton was based deep in the heart of Grover Forest, a think, dense cluster of nature in the Pacific Southwest. The Confederates had built it upon the only path through the Forest, giving them a key strategic position should any Union troops try to come south. The inhabitable character of the Forest was such that, should a troop wish to get through any other way, they’d have to trek many miles to circumvent it. Therefore, Fort Hamilton was an important structure for the Confederates, and one that had to be protected at all costs. Continue reading “Fort Hamilton”
This is the preliminary report for our most recent discovery, the presence of a town called Wilthaven – or P1983, as we are to designate it. This P-Class Dimension was uncovered due to the discovery of several historical documents found at a local car boot sale in Bursledon, and brought to our attention by a civilian who reported the documents to one our of agents who poses as a historical expert at the local library.
These documents range in both value and scope, but all suggest a place that is outside our dimension. P1983 has geometry that is unusual to ours, and a variety of people, places, and events that did not occur in our known history. Therefore, as is procedure, we are to class Wilthaven as an unknown dimension, hence its designation as a P-Class Dimension. Continue reading “BPD Preliminary Report (07/02/1966) – P1983”
(I started writing this as a short story, then realised it would spiral into something more befitting of a novella. Lovecraft inspired, with a hint of paranoia infused within. More than likely going to be the meat of Filmic Cuts 6. Hope you enjoy – OJ)
I write these words on some old scraps of paper provided to me by Fez, an orderly who has taken a slight pity on my plight and who, I dare say, sees me as one of the few people in the God forsaken place who treats him as an equal rather than an immigrant. He is a good young man, very pleasant, and who I would heartily recommend to Dr Friend to be seen for a better position in due course.
That brief tangent aside, I am writing to explain to you – whoever may read this – about my aforementioned situation. You see, my life was very different not too long ago, but like many who venture down life’s strange alleyways, I find myself at the edge of sanity and close to worlds unknown.
Continue reading “To Be Observed (part 1)”
(A short tale inspired by a song, and soon to be part of a Filmic Cut. Hope you enjoy… – OJ)
Looking back, it was a beautiful day, especially given it was April in England. The blue sky was barely punctured by cloud, and the breeze was cool but not cold. It wasn’t quite T-shirt weather yet, but it was decent enough.
Which made the image of the man perched on the edge of Denton Bridge that little bit more chilling. It added an atmosphere that was completely at odds with the day’s surroundings, one that made the air feel a little cooler, and that added a dark silhouette to the clearness above him. By the time I had arrived, a crowd had gathered both on the Bridge and at the various points below that flanked the deep, calm waters that the Bridge crossed. The Denton River wasn’t a giant ocean, but it was a deep, watery cut that had taken many lives before; and today, in spite of the Samaritan warnings and call-boxes they had placed on the Bridge, it looked to take another one.
Continue reading “Denton Bridge”
1 – An Introduction
I fear it is time for me to finally write down in words the full truth to how I became Mayor of the small town of Wilthaven, and how I have come to hold that position for so long, in spite of local grumblings.
For, you see, for many years now, my position here has been under question. Many feel that my appointment was done under duress, and that the continuing plagues that befall this poor dwelling is somehow my doing. I can only hope, that through this telling of my tale, the people of this fair town and beyond will understand what it is I have sacrificed in order to be in this position, and what I must continue to sacrifice in order to stay in it and – for lack of a better word – keep it safe.
A preposterous notion, I’m sure you’d agree, especially if you were a resident within Wilthaven itself. The nightly terrors that strike our town, combined with the great losses we still suffer to this day do not give creed to the idea that we are better off. However, by knowing the alternative, one can come to realise that it is a lesser of two evils. Why, is it better to divert the train cart yourself so it kills a solitary man, than to leave it be and let it kill dozens. Why, when one talks of the plague in Wilthaven, one usually means that terrors and abominations that are a constant occurrence. Only I suffer the true pain of knowledge. Continue reading “The Musings of Charles Crest – Chapter 1”
(The beginning of the Mr Blank saga, which is now available to pre-order on Kindle, presented here in its earliest form. If you like pulp-style noir, then this is for you. Enjoy – OJ)
I woke up in Hell.
At least, that’s how it felt. First thing that hit me being searing heat, the kind that pokes and scratches at ya like a hungry dog. I mean, damn, I felt like I was slow roasting in an oven just in time to be served up. Turn me over buddy, I’m done.
Anyway, the heat was the first thing I felt. The second was the pain.
Now, it weren’t one of those screaming kinda pains. Nope, this was a dull pain, you know the kind. The one that ain’t making you shovel pain pills down your throat, but sure lets you know it’s there. Making sure it’s just discomforting enough for you to not sit so pretty. A slow, damp throb that jabs and pulsates under the skin. It ain’t happy with you, brother, and it’s gonna keep letting you know.
That pain, I felt everywhere. My whole body. Head to toe.
I’d soon find out just why that was. Continue reading “Wrapped Up In Nothing: A Mr Blank yarn (Chapter 1)”