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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with a wonderful story from gmarrow, entitled

“The Smokehouse”
I am also delighted to welcome our newest narrator, Solstar.
Musical background is “Desolate Landscape” by Smartsound.

The Smokehouse
(author unknown)
A man returning from a day’s hunt stepped from the forest into the clearing surrounding his woodland homestead. Long shadows from a westering sun reached from the tree line and wrapped around the small cottage. Light spilled through the open door and spread across the empty yard.

“I’m back” he called out.

He had expected his boy to be waiting, eager to see what game he had caught. Or at least the dog to come bounding out. But all was quiet.

A disappointing homecoming for a disappointing hunt. All he had to show for the day were two quail. They made a fine dinner for tonight, but he needed to start putting away stores for the coming winter. Not that he was worried about insufficient food. In another two weeks it would be cold enough to slaughter the hogs and smoke the hams and sausages that would last them until spring. But more variety meant a less bleak winter.

As he approached the cottage door, he heard soft crying. He stepped inside.

His son sat on a chair near the fire of the kitchen hearth, legs pulled up, knees under his chin, arms wrapped around his shins. His eyes were red and puffy.

“What’s the matter son?” he said. “Where’s your ma?”

The boy looked up and took a shuddering sniff. “She ain’t got back from the market yet.”

The man’s throat clenched. She should have been back hours ago. He glanced over the empty cottage.
“Where’s Burley?” It was unlike the hound to leave the boy, especially when he was distressed.

“He runned off when the monster showed up.”

The man blinked.

“The what?”

“The monster.” The son buried his face behind his knees. “It was horrible. I was so scared pa.”

“Monster? What are you talking about?”

The son looked up, his voice now prideful. “But I caught it pa, I trapped it in the smokehouse. You’d be proud of me. I caught it, Pa!”

“What nonsense are you talking? You’ve got some animal in the smokehouse?” It was typical of his son’s boyish imagination. He probably trapped a raccoon in there. And the rafters were still hung with smoked trout from this summer’s fishing trip. The critter would be gorging itself. The man flushed with anger. He dropped the quail on the table next to his son and walked back out the front door, leaving it ajar.

He walked around to the smokehouse. The small outbuilding was constructed of stout oaken timbers, grayed with age and streaked with black stains where years of smoke found exits through chinks in the boarding. It was meant to keep out scavengers and protect the precious contents during the long smoking process. Now it was holding something in.

The man paused at the door and listened. He thought he heard something faint, like rope stretching against wood. What could the boy have caught in there?

He slipped his hunting knife from its sheath and pushed the door open a crack. The setting sun no longer reached through the surrounding forest, and the growing darkness, coupled with the black, smoke-stained interior of the smokehouse made it impossible to see inside. The man waited a moment, satisfied to let whatever animal was inside run free into the forest, no doubt with a belly full of fish.

But nothing emerged, and the man heard no noise from within.

He pushed the door open slowly and stepped inside. He could make out nothing but smoked fish hanging from the closest rafters. He moved further in, and as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he discerned a tall shape suspended from a rafter in the back of the room. He stepped closer, gripping his knife.

His wife’s body dangled from the rafters by a rope that bound her wrists. Next to her, their only son was similarly suspended. Behind him, the dog hung from its hind legs.

His son’s head lifted slowly and one eye opened.

“Pa, there’s a monster,” he said hoarsely. “It looks like me.”

Stars exploded before his eyes as a tremendous weight impacted the base of his skull.

His face hit cold, packed dirt. He tasted soot. He was vaguely aware that he was on the floor of the smokehouse.

As if from a great distance, a voice cackled, “Oh, how well I will eat this winter!”

Blackness consumed him.

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with a wonderful story from Boomer, entitled

“Dolly”
Musical background “Like Family” and “Restless Soul”, by Smartsound.

Little Lynette ran to the end of the garden to see the parade. She was six going on seven, cute as a button, and loved by all. Her mom kept her dark hair in pigtails that flew all over the place when she ran.

The doll was sitting with its back to a fence post. Shiny gold hair, clear blue eyes, pink cheeks, rose bud lips, all framed in a perfectly symmetrical face. A work of art in a blue dress, white pinafore, blue and white striped stockings, completed by shiny patent leather shoes. Lynette reached through the fence, grabbed the doll, and clutched it to her heart. She ran back to her house.

“Look Mommy, look. See what I found. Her eyes close when I lie her down.”

Her mom took the doll. It was perfect, spotless, and smelled faintly of lavender. “Ohh Lynette , you can’t keep it. She must belong to another little girl who has lost it. We will have to give it back.”

“No! No! She’s mine. I love her,” cried Lynette, stamping her feet. “She told me she wants to stay with me.”

“Sweetheart, she can stay the night, but tomorrow we must look for her owner. If we can’t find who lost it, then you can keep her.”

“Dolly says all right. But she told me no one else wants her.”

“Good girl. Now put Dolly on your bed, wash your hands, and help me candy these apples. Everybody will want one at the bonfire tonight.”

“Yes Mommy,” Lynette answered tucking her new doll into bed. “Dolly says we really must keep her.”

As Lynette left to wash her hands, the doll’s eyes opened, turned slowly towards the mother’s back, and glared.

“She was a really good girl for me tonight,” said Lynette’s Aunt. “A little scared about all the commotion outside, but settled down once she got into bed with her new doll. It’s quite beautiful isn’t it. Lynette wanted to know what was going on, so I told her people believe that on the last night of the tenth month, the wall between this world and the next grows weak, so everyone is out making fires and noise to ward off evil. She just smiled and said that Dolly was here and would look after her.”

“Thanks Sis. I am glad you didn’t tell her that this is also the night of the Cataclysm. She doesn’t need to know about that for some time yet. You go out now, have fun, but stay out of trouble,” said Lynette’s mother as she shut and bolted the door.

It was well past midnight when Lynette awoke. The bedroom was dimly illuminated by the light from the largest remnant of the shattered moon shining through the window. Dolly clung like a backpack as Lynette carefully climbed out of her bed. The doll’s eyes were now an icy transparent blue, its rosy complexion chalk white, red lips turned down, and the perfectly symmetrical face distorted with malice. Together, they dropped silently to the floor and crept silently closer to the sleeping parents. The faint aura flickering between Lynette and Dolly brightened as they got near. Streamers of ethereal fire flared between them and her sleeping father. He appeared to inhale the glowing filaments and suddenly sat bolt upright.

Her mother, awakened by the light and commotion, was halfway out of bed before her husband seized her around the neck and crushed her windpipe. Lynette and Dolly stood and watched the struggle. A cruel smile played around the doll’s mouth as it licked its lips They were the last thing Lynette’s mother saw before death took her. At that moment, the aura now surrounding them all momentarily brightened, then collapsed into an intense ball of light that flew silently out the window. Lynette’s father collapsed onto the floor and Lynette and Dolly climbed back into bed.

The next day Lynette’s father was arrested for murder and taken away to jail. Three of Kingsport’s guards were posted inside Lynette’s house to keep order and prevent any looting, but they quickly set about looking for something to steal. In the child’s bed were two beautiful dolls, arm in arm, one with golden hair, the other in dark pigtails.

“Well,” said the skinny one, “I guess I’ll take these for the kids in the orphanage.”

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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with a great story from reebdog. It is entitled

“The Guard and the Lily, Part 2”

I am also delighted to introduce Sir Stile Teckel as guest narrator.

Musical background “Leap into Eternity – Live orchestra” by Matthew Pablo at www.matthewpablo.com

The Guard and the Lily (Part 2)

The day was rather humid for the season but all the while hauntingly familiar. When Randall was a young child his family was forced out of their home on a day similar. He could remember the sweat dripping down his father’s forehead as he tried to explain to him why they had to find a new home and why his mother was crying hysterically. But he also remembers not long after moving to a farm where his grandparents raised sheep and cleaned wheat for neighboring farmers in exchange for their water. Those were some of the happiest days of his life. That farm is where he learned his trade, learned to read, and met a sweet young lady named Gilly. And it all led up to this great moment in his life. He felt like he owed it to Gilly after all the time they’d spent together and all she had done for him. It was a rough day to be out in the sun but it felt good. Each time he’d stop to water the horse or take a break under a tree he felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. That is what really kept him going. He could imagine their faces upon his return home to Owl’s Nest. Gilly’s bright as the moon smile and flickering eye lashes. His humble mother steadfast in the kitchen reaching for a hug. His father grabbing his shoulder and welcoming him back to the farm. These thoughts continued to drive him down each and every stretch of dusty trail. He finally reached a point on the trail he recognized. An old cobblestone statue set atop a mound of dirt with a large gargoyle pointing toward the sky. He didn’t understand its meaning but would never forget the blank look in its empty stone eyes. He could smell fire as well which meant he was close to a gypsy camp. Gypsies were usually kind folk but have been known to get their heads listed on a bounty for various crimes. He had never experienced fear while his father chatted with them trail-side but knew not all men were kind. He knew dark would be coming soon and setting camp would be easier amongst a clan of gypsies. If he offered them a little coin or gathered firewood they would surely let him camp and eat and water his horse. He scanned the horizon for plumes of smoke and noticed it coming from the treetops near a tree line crossing the trail. Just as the horse started moving down the trail he heard a strange noise come from behind the behemoth statue. It sounded like a crossbow being drawn but he wasn’t as sure. As he peered around the statue a deep, cracking, voice yelled out “Stop there or you’ll get a shaft through the heart!”