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AN ECHO OF WHAT ONCE WAS

By Melissa L. Webb

Stepping off the curb, Carla tucked a strand of long dark hair miserably behind an ear.  Head pounding with each step, she hurried across the crosswalk.  She had no clue where this blinding headache had come from, she’d felt fine earlier.  Even happy for a change.  But the pain in her head squashed that like an invading bug.

Stepping up on the sidewalk, she quickly headed past the people making their way through the city, barely noticing them as she pushed by.  She wanted to get home and crawl into bed.  Hide from the pain in a fort of blankets, shielding herself from the harshness of the world.

She glanced up at the tall buildings around her, standing proud as they reached for the sky.  On any other day, she would have thought them beautiful, but not today.  Today they only reflected the sun with their metal and glass, sending it deep within her, making the pain grow.  Home.  She needed to get home.  Now.

She sucked in a jagged breath as the pain in her head increased, shooting bright white flashes through her synapses.  She doubled over, panting from the impact her body took.  Tears seeped from her eyes as she clamped them shut and bit down, trying to lessen the pain inside.

The agony that had her immobilized suddenly lessened, letting her slip through its fingers, back in control of herself.  She opened her eyes slowly, ready to adjust them to the glaring sunlight.

Carla froze, her pain temporarily forgotten.  The city lay around her, a sickly corpse of what it had been.  Streets empty, pavement cracked and worn, chunks of it in piles.  The sky was tinted red, a bloody stain against the horror of what now was.

The tall proud buildings and skyscrapers silently begged for mercy.  Their forms now nothing more than skeletons; half-remains, crumbling as she stood there.  Torn metal and bits of glass rained down around her, nothing more than fading drips of a forgotton storm.

Turning, she looked as a roaring engulfed the silence behind her.  What wasn’t falling was burning.  Flames danced around her, like savages making an offering to their gods.

Carla stepped forward, wanting to see more of this charred and ruined city, wanting to understand what had brought it to its knees.  She moved and another wave of pain slammed into her mind, rocking her back with a violent cry of distress.  Staggering, she closed her eyes trying to fight the pain growing inside of her.

“Watch it, lady,” someone shouted.  She felt warm hands as someone shoved her out of their way.

Opening her eyes, she stared at the people around her.  She was back on a busy sidewalk.  The world peaceful in its rude and crowded way.  Buildings stood, cars hurrying by on the streets.  Everything was as it had been.  Unchanged.

She raised a trembling hand to her head.  The pain fluttered, weaker than before, settling into a dull buzz.  She didn’t know what was wrong with her, but it couldn’t be good.  Not with seeing things that couldn’t possibly be there.

Home.  She needed to get there before the pain shot back up, coming to claim her in its blazing caress.  She bolted forward before the headache could change her mind.  She glanced around as she ran, not caring as she bumped people out of the way.  She wasn’t far from her apartment.  Two blocks and she’d be there.

She ducked into an alley near an old faded drugstore. This shortcut would shave a block off her trip.  Hurrying down it, she sprinted as if her life depended on it.  And maybe it did.  Maybe she was dying of an aneurism right now and didn’t even know it.

Carla got halfway down the empty alley when the pain started again.  It struck with such intensity her knees buckled under her.  Falling to the ground, she gasped for breath.  After a few seconds, she reached out trying to gather her bearings.  Crumbling brick met her fingers in reply.  Hoisting herself into a sitting position against the broken wall, she opened her eyes.  The red stain of sky greeted her beyond the fallen city.

She was back.

The nightmarish landscape surrounded her once again.  Where was she?  Why was she here?  Head throbbing, she tried to understand what was happening.  Why was the world changing around her?

The muscles in her head tightened quickly, causing a strangled cry to escape her lips.  The world changed in front of her as she did.  The harsh red glow fading until a loud and nosy living city appeared in its place.  Before she could even begin to wrap her mind around that, it faded, replaced by the hellish inferno.  She moaned as reality kept whirling around her, back and forth they went, like some insane tug-of-war game.

Bowing her head, she cried softly into her knees.  The sounds of both worlds drifting in and out of her ears.  Cringing, she hoped the pain would escalate, drowning out what was happening around her.  She couldn’t take it.  The distortion happing beyond her legs was too much to bear.

Carla’s body shook in despair.  What was happening to her?  Where did she fit in to all of this?  She sobbed as doubt filtered through her chest as memories of the world she thought she knew fragmented.  Who was she and which world was really hers?

© 2012 Melissa L. Webb

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LEARN FROM THE PAST, OR YOU’RE DOOMED TO REPEAT IT

By Melissa L. Webb

Edward gripped the steering wheel tight and stared out at the red light.  He squinted, his old eyes aching from the strain.  Rain hammered against the car, the wind shaking it while he waited for the light to change.  It was late, darkness making the evening even more unbearable.  All he wanted to do was go home and stay there.  This old man had had enough for the day.

The light turned green.  Squinting out into the darkness once more, he started forward, turning left into the night.  A horn blared.  Sounds of metal grinding filled the air as his car rocked back from an impact.  His head jerked sideways as he kept on driving, passing the dark shape which suddenly had filled his view.

He pulled ahead of it, hesitating.  He was on his way home.  He could still make it if he kept driving.  He could barricade himself in his house, make some lovely tea, and forget any of this had happened.  He glanced into his rearview mirror.  The dark shape he had struck was a car.  It sat there in the middle of intersection, headlights illuminating the fat drops of rain still coming down.  The cars wipers still swishing back and forth furiously, as if it could wipe away the mess in front of it.

Edward realized the driver was standing next to it, phone pressed tightly to their ear.  He looked around.  People were everywhere.  It was too late.  He couldn’t leave.  Too many people had seen him.

Putting the car in park, he slowly got out, his old bones creaking.  He stood there, looking around at the growing crowd, the rain running down his face.  What was happening? How had this happened?

“What the hell were you doing?” a voiced screeched next to him.  “You pulled out in front of us.  Why would you turn in front of a car going straight?”

He barely heard her words.  He watched as emergency lights flickered around him.  This wasn’t right.  None of this should have happened.  He was a good driver.  Even if the night was dark and his eyes were tired.  There was no way he would have caused an accident.  Never.

“Sir.  Are you okay?” someone in a uniform asked him.

Edward nodded absently.  He was fine, if only a little dazed.  Who had done this to him?  That car had appeared out of nowhere.  Why were they doing this too him?

“What happened?” the same uniformed man asked him.

“He just pulled out in front of us,” someone spoke from the crowd around him.

He shook his head.  He couldn’t be the one at fault.  He was never at fault.  Not once in all his 80 years had he been at fault for anything.  “No, I was turning left,” he told them, looking around at all the faces.  “I didn’t do anything wrong.  It wasn’t my fault.”  He felt the breath rush from his lungs at his words.  Something was wrong.  He was supposed to say something else.  But how could he?  It wasn’t his fault.  It was never his fault.

The scene around him turned blurry. The alarmed voices around him thinned and then disappeared all together.  He was back in his car, behind the wheel.  He needed to do something.  He needed to right something, but what?  He couldn’t remember.  It was all so fuzzy.  Too much had happened today.  Too much always happened.

Gripping the steering wheel tight, he stared out at the red light.  He squinted, his old eyes aching from the strain.  Rain hammered against the car, the wind shaking it while it waited for the light to change.  It was late, darkness making the evening even more unbearable.  All he wanted to do was go home and stay there.  This old man had had enough for the day.

© 2012 Melissa L. Webb

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INK STAINS

By Melissa L. Webb

She opened the worn leather book in front of her, its over-sized pages crackling with age.  She sneezed as the movement stirred the dust around her.  Turning to the last page, her eyes immediately drifted to the last bit of blank space left in the book.  How quickly the time had passed.  She had written the first prophecy before time had even started.  Now here she was, pen poised to document the Last Prophecy.  The one that would change everything.

She stared at her hands as she wrote, worn and wrinkled as the leather book.  The prophecies were her burden to carry; and she had for so long.  The words burning into her mind with such intensity they had to be bled onto the paper; either that or she would surely burn from within for containing such knowledge.

They weren’t hers to keep.  She was just the messenger; forever a slave to the paper and ink.  But no more.  This was the last.  They were letting her go, because there was nothing else to write.  Laying the pen aside, she stared at the words, weariness building in her like a wave.  Why was there only one left?

Leaning closer to the page, she blew, letting her old dry breath seal in the ink, forging it there forever.  Her eyes drank in the words one last time, trying to release them from her mind.  Two lives separated must now become one.  The changing world must be undone.  The light in the darkness needs protected at all cost.  If it should fail, then all is lost.

She pushed the curiosity from her mind as she closed the old book, placing it on a shelf.  It blended in with the other books around it.  Now obsolete in this time of transition.

She walked slowly away, her old bones creaking as she went.  The prophecy was no longer her burden.  It now sat upon the shoulders of the oracles in the world below her.  Let them worry and fret, making sense from the words her mind bore.

It didn’t matter what it meant.  Only that it was the last.  She could move on, no more words and ink stains.  No more messages being forced into her mind.  She was free.

© 2012 Melissa L. Webb

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STORM FRONT

By Melissa L. Webb

Joy Westcott stood at her window; streaks of light in the sky dancing merrily, heralding in the dark bank of the clouds looming behind.  She shivered as the first drops of rain struck the glass, beating out a hypnotic rhythm, lulling her into false tranquility.

She breathed out; condensation coating the glass where her foggy exhale touched it.  Stepping back she checked the thermostat on the wall.  70 degrees and holding.  She tapped at it, convinced it was broken.

“But it’s so cold,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself, her teeth beginning to chatter.  Moving to the window once again, she was mesmerized by the lightning tearing apart the sky outside.  Thunder boomed overhead.  The floor beneath her shook, quivering like a frightened child.  She looked around confused.  When did the ground ever react to the sky?  The tremor grew stronger and then stopped, falling silent before the storm.

Joy gasped as the air chilled even more around her.  She felt as if she was on a tundra, exposed to the harsh elements instead of tucked away in her own home.

The lights flickered and then went out, as another rumble split the sky.  She glanced at the emergency candles glowing brightly in the gloom.  Thank God, she’d thought ahead.  Tonight wasn’t a night to be in the dark.  It wasn’t safe.

She was surprised that thought would creep into her mind.  This was her home.  Her haven.  She’d always been safe here.  Why would one little storm change all that?

But, as she watched the clouds drawing closer, she realized it was true.  A prophetic shudder crept up her shoulders.  It weighed upon her as much as anything alive would.  This very well might be the last night of her life.  It might also be the end of every life on this Earth.

She pressed her face closer to the glass.  Lightning flared, turning the large bay window into a mirror.  Immediately her eyes moved to the reflected candlelight burning behind her.  In that instant, a figure moved, blocking one of the candles from view.

Joy gasped as the lighting died, once again gazing out onto her neighborhood.  Fear flooded through her, fast and hard, cementing her to that spot.  Something was behind her.  It couldn’t be.  She was alone.  The house was locked up tight.  There couldn’t be anyone behind her.  Yet she knew there was.  She’d seen it move.

A jagged gasp emitted from her throat as a slithering occurred behind her.  She wanted to turn, to see what lay in wait for her, but fear still held her body tight.  It constricted around her as real as any solid bands.  She was helpless, nothing more than prey for whatever lurked behind.

Hearing a sharp hiss of breath, the room filled with darkness.  A scream ripped from Joy’s throat, terror crushing the sound into nothing more than a gurgle.  This was it.  She was going to die and she’d never even see it coming.  Her mind raced.  Why her?  Why now?  These were things she wanted to know.  If her life was going to end tonight, shouldn’t she at least be given that much?

Opening her mouth, she tried to force actual words past her lips.  “Did you blow out the candles?”

The slithering sounded again, moving closer.  “Yes,” a voice answered, barely more human than a garbage disposal.  “After all, it is my birthday.”

Joy cringed at his choice of words.  Something had been born into the world.  Something dark and sinister.  Something that should never be.  “What are you?” she asked.  She had to know.

“Hungry,” it hissed, moving so close she could feel it behind her.

Closing her eyes, she shook in despair, waiting for her demise as the storm raged on outside.

© 2012 Melissa L. Webb

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FADING

By Melissa L. Webb

He opened the old chest and pulled the red coat out, shaking the dust from it.  Sneezing, he wiped his bleary eyes.  This was all there was to it anymore.  Opening a chest and taking the old thing out.

He remembered when there was dignity in it.  A ceremony of sorts, where he took up the mantle for another year.  Pure delight would reign as he put it on.  Those around him, rejoicing in all that he was.

But those days were gone.

The spirit of what he represented was failing.  It laid in its deathbed, waiting for someone to pull the plug.  He knew that.  He felt it in every fiber of his being.  There was nothing good left in the world.

Greed and hatred flowed freely.  It was easier now to turn your back on a person than it was to even offer a smile.  People had now become the hot commodity.  Something to be used and tossed away with last week’s garbage.

Wiping at the tears streaming down his face, he pulled the matching hat out of the chest.  He couldn’t bear to see what this world had become.  No more joy or laughter.  No more wonder or innocence.  They had traded it all away for momentary pleasures of the here and now.

Pulling on the coat, he wearily prepared for the bitter ride.  This was his last year.  He could feel that, too.  No one believed anymore.  The magic of youth had all but run out.  Soon, he’d be just another old man, desperately in need of a diet.

Stepping into his sleigh, he took up the reins with a sigh.  He’d make the journey one last time, all the while hoping to spot one last spark of Christmas hope in this very merry-less of times.

© 2011 Melissa L. Webb

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THE TAKER

By Melissa L. Webb

T’was the night before Christmas

And all through the house,

A creature was stirring

But it wasn’t a mouse.

It crept in slowly

Looking for bad girls and boys

It scurried about

Taking back all their toys.

They didn’t deserve them

It was plain to see

So it set out

To deliver some misery.

It emptied their toy boxes,

It emptied their room.

It emptied their closets,

Leaving nothing but gloom.

It took their video games,

And even their pets.

The children needed punished;

To repay their debts.

It left the kids without anything.

It took everything fun.

It then searched the house,

Making sure it was done.

It crawled up the chimney

Taking all Christmas cheer.

Then hurried to the next house

Swifter than  reindeer.

So, dear Children

Always remember this;

Santa gives to those who deserve

But the Taker takes what you’ll miss.

So always be good

Santa will give to you, too

But if you are naughty

The Taker knows what to do.

© 2011 Melissa L. Webb

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WEAVER OF DARKNESS:

Seventeen-year-old Liss Taylor wants nothing more than to be normal. All she wants is to graduate high school, go to college, and marry her childhood sweetheart. But she knows normal is something she can never be. The constant nightmares of desolate wastelands and the tattoo she was born with is proof enough; normal is not in her future.

A Darkness is now creeping into her town. A Darkness which is weaving its way into the fears of those around it, causing terror to come alive and death to stalk the night.

Who is the new guy in school? What part does he play in all of this, and why does he seem to awaken a piece of her she never even knew existed?

Now Liss is in a race against time, joined by friends, old and new. It will take her places unknown and show her things she never dreamed possible. Will she be able to rise above the darkness and save those she loves, or will she lose everything, and succumb to the evil known as the Weaver of Darkness?

RESTLESS HIGHWAYS:

Venture once again into the world of darkness with these 23 short stories that are sure to make your heart race.

Featuring Black Days And White Knights, a brand new never-seen-before companion story to Weaver of Darkness.

DARK FLUTTERS: STORIES FOR A MOONLESS NIGHT:

What flutters under the cover of darkness? What lurks in the darkest corners of the imagination? Venture deep into these 26 short stories and you will find out. From a puddle that holds a deadly secret, to a country that will not die. You will soon see what the night holds. So sit back, relax and begin your journey. Just be sure you leave the lights on.

HARVEST MOON:

The Harvest moon has a way of bringing certain things to light. See what’s lurking in the shadows this year with 21 short stories sure to make your skin crawl.

And in honor of the big guy himself…

CHECKING IT TWICE:   Get it FREE!!

There’s been an accident at Santa’s Workshop. He needs to desperately replace what he lost at the North Pole. This Christmas horror story will make you think twice about being on the naughty list. Christmas horror short story

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THRESHOLD

By Melissa L. Webb

The walls of magic are strong. If you do it right. They can be like invisible steel barriers between you and the darkness. Protecting you, keeping you safe.

There is always a chance something will go wrong, but, if the rituals are well planned and researched, they can be the key ingredient in saving your skin.

Odds are if you’re in need of that strong of magic, you’re very much in danger. There must be something twisted and depraved breathing down your neck.

Steps must be taken, actions prepared. This is the time you call forth everything inside of you. You take what you’ve been taught and you put your very essence into it, sealing your spell against those who lie in wait.

If you don’t put everything you have into it, if there is any fear or doubt in your heart, you will fail. There will be a crack in your wall, which, sooner or later, will be found.

That is what I am searching for. That little chink in the armor that I know is there.

I have been around for eons and every wall I have encountered has fallen in the end. There is no certainty in their hearts when it comes to me. I inflict fear and doubt in all I set my sights on. There is weakness in this barrier. Nothing can keep me out forever. I will get in eventually.

© 2011 Melissa L. Webb

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By Melissa L. Webb

“You can’t hide from us,” a voice whispered in my ear; an icy chill coating my neck as it did.

Anger in my eyes, I turned, looking around. I was alone. No one occupied the darkened street but me. It had been like that for the last week. Every since that day.

The day I died.

People say when you have a near death experience you come back with something. I always thought that was absurd. How could your body gain anything as your cells shut down one by one? If anything, you should come back with less than what you had to start with.

Death is a decaying process. It strips you down until there’s nothing left but dust and bones. No more than nutrients for the ground below us. It doesn’t add layers to us. It doesn’t bestow anything upon us.

I continued on, trying quickly to regain the composure I needed to get on with my life. Put the whole damn mess behind me as fast as I could. But I’m not that lucky.

“We will never leave,” a hollow disembodied voice informed me; a smile coating every word. “We will always walk beside you.”

Grimacing, I pushed open my door, trying to hide in the confines of my home. But it was pointless; the voices followed me as if I was a beacon of light. It didn’t matter where I went. They were right. They’d always find me. I was the flame to those voices, they fluttered around me, drawn for reasons I will never understand.

When I died, I wasn’t given anything. Instead, I had things taken from me. My life, my sanity, taken from me in a blink of an eye. I wasn’t given any special gifts. I can’t see the dead, but they sure can see me now.

© 2011 Melissa L. Webb

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THANKSGIVING SURPRISE

By Melissa L. Webb

Betty Joe pulled the ground meat out of the pan and tossed it into the bowl next to the oven. She tasted it, adding a pinch of salt. This was going to be a wonderful addition to her stuffing this year. Her family was going to love it.

She quickly threw the stuffing together, setting it in the middle of the table with the rest of the feast. A knock sounded on the front door. Done just in time. Straightening the front of her apron, she hurried to the door.

“Hello,” she greeted as she opened it.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mom,” a woman said, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek, before pulling two children in behind her.

“Grandma,” they squealed, throwing themselves against her, disappearing in her arms.

“My darlings. Look how you’ve grown,” she cooed to them.

They giggled in delight as she turned back to her daughter. “Where’s that wonderful man of yours?”

“He’s outside talking to Robert and Dana. They pulled up the same time as we did,” she told her, taking off her coat. “It smells wonderful in here, Mom.”

“Thank you,” Betty Joe said, proud as ever of her Thanksgiving dinner. She smiled down at her grandchildren. “Why don’t you two go play in the living room until we’re ready to eat? I think there might be some new toys out there.”

They cheered, racing each other to the toys.

“You didn’t have to do that. They already look forward to coming here.”

“Now, hush. It’s a grandmother’s right to spoil her grandbabies.” Turning, she headed back to the kitchen, her eyes searching for anything she’d forgotten.

Her daughter followed behind her. “Where’s Dad? I would have thought he’d be in here, underfoot.”

Betty Joe waved a hand absently at her. “He’s on a business trip. And, I say good riddance. He ruins every holiday we have together.”

“He’s not that bad, Mom. He’s just an old man set in his ways.”

“No. He’s horrible. You didn’t see it because you weren’t married to him. But any kindness that was in your father has dried up now,” she told her, grabbing plates out of the cupboard. “He’s been around here more since I’ve divorced him than when we were married. I can’t take it anymore. I just can’t.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” she said, placing a hand on her arm. “We’ll figure out something.”

Betty Joe shrugged as she grabbed silverware, placing them on top of the dishes. “I’ve sat down some ground rules. I think things will much better now.”

“Good,” her daughter said, taking the stack of plates. “I just want you to be happy.”

“Oh, I will be. Come on, food’s getting cold,” she said and went to fetch the children.

Betty Joe looked around the table and felt tears in her eyes. Her daughter and her family and her son and his wife. These were the only people she needed at her table. She was glad that monster of an ex-husband would never be here again, ruining it with the negativity flowing from his mouth.

She grabbed a chunk of stuffing from her plate with her fork, placing it in her mouth. The richness of the special meat coated her tongue. Her ex-husband had finally done something right. He had found his purpose in life.

Her granddaughter looked up at her, swallowing her own mouthful of stuffing. “Grandma, do you think Grandpa is thinking of us?”

Betty Joe couldn’t help but smile as she speared another chuck of the meat. “Oh, I’m sure he’s here in spirit, dear.”

© 2011 Melissa L. Webb

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