Despite the Darkness #9 - My, My, My Mitchel

The name Mitchel will forever be tied to the MST3K sendup of the movie also named "Mitchell", so please forgive my little nod to that in the title. From here on out it serious business.

Last time... Steve and Stu found Lola hiding in the Dambuster, but then shots were fired outside and Steve raced out to protect his family.

He threw himself against the door frame, took a breath, and then peeked out. A good way to get yourself killed was to run out a dark doorway unannounced while a bunch of yahoos were shooting at God knew what.

“Coming out,” he yelled and he slowly came out with his hands raised. A gun swung over his way but then the man embarrassingly turned it away. Jill and Isaiah were still huddled together in the center of very skittish men, all pointing their weapons up the road and even firing occasionally.

“She got Mitchell!”

He looked down the road and saw the body about twenty yards away sprawled out, its arms and legs at odd and unnatural angles.

“What happened?”

“He was checking something out, went off on his own, and then something pounced on him from the roof – gotta be Lola!”

“It ain’t Lola,” Stu growled, emerging from the inside of the bar with Lola in his arms. “Whoever and whatever it is going to pick us off one by one if we let it, so none goes alone. Nick, Benny, and Duncan go check out the first haus, we need to get inside and out of the open.”

The three men looked long and hard at Stu before nudging one another towards the A-frames.

“Where did the thing go,” he asked the man he’d been talking to, noticing his wife’s mouth drop open and the hurt in her eyes out of the corner of his own.

“Back up the roof, I think I got it.”

“You can’t hit a barn Trent,” Stu interjected, he then forced Lola into his arms and unslung his own rifle. “Come with me,” Stu said and fixed him with a cold gaze. The two separated from the group.

“Steve,” Jill called after him, but the two men continued on.

“Go check on Mitchel,” Stu motioned with his rifle when they got close. He stepped closer and kneeled down beside the torn remains of the man. Four great gashes rand from his right hip to his left shoulder from which his insides were splaying out of.

“He’s dead.”

“Get his gun.” He picked up the old shotgun that had been thrown away in the attack. As soon as it was in his hands the familiar scream started to build up again and his eyes were drawn to the buck, intricately carved into the dark wood stock. The buck moved its head, perhaps picking up their scent. It was a magnificent elk, easily a twelve points – an old soul of the forest. It swept the woods and then its black eyes found him and the scream was all he heard.

“Hey!” Stu yanked the shotgun out of his hands. “I said give it here.”

He stood up, shaking and sweating, but refusing to meeting Stu’s watching gaze. Stu laughed, it was a short and biting laugh that held no mirth or warmth. “I almost believe you have a soul.”

He looked away again, the scream had died away when Stu had taken the gun, but hadn’t fully abated; now it started to build up strength again. He looked to Jill, but she was purposefully avoiding looking his way. Isaiah was watching however and his lips were moving. The scream stopped suddenly, the resulting silence was equally as sudden and even more surprising. He watched Isaiah, who despite all the turmoil and chaos around him appeared serenely calm and content – Isaiah looked older, more mature than his ten years of age somehow; he couldn’t put his finger on how but he was seeing his son differently from across that snow covered road.

“My brother would know what to do.” Stu seemed to be coming out of his own thoughts.

“He’s one of the folks the preacher killed.”

Stu snorted and looked away. “Forgot you were a cop for a second. Yeah, him and two others. Killed them all with a hammer, bashed their heads in.”

“Your brother deserve it?”

“Excuse me?!” Malice was etched into Stu’s face.

“Only two reasons for a man to bash another man’s skull in. He wants to be sure the job’s done and he wants them to know it’s him.” He refused to wither under Stu’s hateful stare, he’d endured worse.

“We talking about people that deserve it then we’d better add you to the mix.”

“O.K. Stu, you know everything about me, you know how everything went down, so walk away. Baby killer, that’s what you called me, so walk away. Pass judgment. I’ll wait right here for that thing to do to me what it did to Mitchel. Will that satisfy you?” His voice had been calm and his tone reasonable, but he could see his words had gotten round the big man’s staunch defenses. The two continued their stare down in the middle of the street.

“It’s all clear Stu!” One of the men had stepped out of the first Haus and was waiving his arm to indicate all-clear. Next there was a howl somewhere close by, loud enough to drown out the stillborn scream from the man who was now being picked up and tossed into the front of the haus. The howl hid the snap of the man’s neck as it struck the façade. Shadows had hidden whatever had grabbed the man, so imaginations filled in the space with frightening alternatives.

Its going to be a long night for everyone and not everyone is going to live to see the dawn. Plus, things seem ready to come to a head with Steve and Stu, maybe it will next time. Thanks for reading and please comment, shares, like, retweet, hashtag, and favorite.

Despite the Darkness #8 - Lola

Last time... Steve, Jan, and Isaiah are surrounded by Stu and his men, the lot of them confused, scared, and angry - and all of them packing heat. Heath the cook steps out to see what the ruckus is about and then Heath is just snatched by something and pulled back into the Dambuster. Is it Lola or something worse?

Stu fixed him with a stare and then Heath’s legs were pulled into the dark recesses of the bar. “Flashlights!” Stu looked ready to lead the pack when he stopped and turned towards Steve. “You’re the cop. You go first.”

Jan shook her head slowly and her eyes were actually filled with concern. He looked from the armed mob to the still and quiet Dambuster. Isaiah was smothered in his mother’s embrace but a single eye watched his father intently.

“Let’s go.” He went up the steps and peeked into the darkness. The room beyond was a mess of turned over tables, chairs, and the rubble from the collapsed ceiling - light from outside filtered in from the gaping hole giving enough light to see faintly in. Heath’s body was draped over a table in the middle of the room, still.

“Lola,” he called out. Silence.

“Get in there,” Stu whispered. Refusing to look back he pushed himself into the gloom. Shadows were deep in the corners and further into the bar, especially in the kitchen. Stu lit a flashlight and started to sweep it across the room. The two of them crept up to Heath’s body.

“The head’s missing,” Stu said with an almost clinic tone as if such a thing was a regular occurrence.

“I need a gun,” he whispered.

“Lola,” Stu ignored him. Something fell in the kitchen. “Kitchen.”

“At least give me the flashlight.” Stu seemed to weigh the decision, but then relinquished the flashlight. Feeling only the slightest bit of comfort from the plastic handle and yellow light, he started towards the back of the bar. He took his time, stepping carefully around the rubble, sweeping the light slowly and methodically. He didn't want to betray his fear by throwing the light at every sound he heard. Carefully he used the light to check behind the bar and down the hallway to the bathroom. That left the hallway to the back with the kitchen off the side. He put his back on the opposite wall and inched his way along it. The light traveled down the opposite wall and then bent over the doorway of the kitchen; lighting a countertop and some cabinets.

He took a deep breath, thought of Jan and Isaiah, and then slipped across the wall so that he passed the doorway and with the flashlight lit the whole kitchen. It was empty, although he couldn't see past an island covered in pots. He looked to Stu and motioned he was going to go inside. Stu’s grip tightened on his rifle.

He first went to one side of the door jam, keeping the wall between him and the kitchen and played the light across the room. Seeing nothing he went in, staying to the right while his light covered the left. With his other hand he motioned for Stu to wait at the door and cover the left side – he’d play the foxhound for Stu.

The light played against the myriad of surfaces; metal and glass reflecting and twisting the light at odd angles and casting more shadows. Finally he reached the end of the kitchen and had to make his way around the island. He took a deep breath and started. He first saw a shoe and then a leg.

“Lola?” The leg moved and there was a slight whimper. He moved more quickly. There was Lola huddled on the floor, a large kitchen knife brandished ineffectually from her right hand. Her eyes were squeezed shut. Stu came in to the room and took a hold of the knife.

“It’s ok, honey.” Lola dared to open an eye and gave a gasp when she saw Stu.

There was a shot fired outside. There was no hesitation, He tossed the light to Lola for the two of them to use and rushed out back out through the bar. He tripped and slid across the debris, each step taking  him closer to the doorway. More shots were fired.

You thought it was Lola didn't you? Next time will learn what they're shooting at, plus Steve and Stu have a little heart to heart. Awwww.

Despite the Darkness #7

“What was that?” “I don’t know!” “Stu?! What was that?”
They were all talking at once, so he let them blather while he tried in vain to follow the beast in the inky darkness.

“What was that?” It was Stu, his voice cutting off the panicked chattering of his peers. Stu took ahold of his arm and forced him to look back at him. “What was that,” he asked again.

“You don’t know Stu.” The voice was a powerful baritone and it came from somewhere in the woods where the thing had retreated back to. Stu’s eyes went wide with fear. “Haven’t you known that this day would come? It’s your retribution… all of your retributions.” A man stepped out from the trees. He wore a black duster and a wide brimmed hat.

“Brady?” It was a whisper, carried from one mouth to the other.

“Some respect… Father is the appropriate title.” The man took several steps forward. Stu raised his rifle and the rest followed suit. “You think those will be able to stop me?”

“You’re no Father! You’re a murderer and awaiting your day in Walla Walla.”

“Tisk. Tisk. You had to know that wasn’t how this was going to work out. You don’t get to do what you did and not have your sins find you out… you and your brother.” The man’s smile was confident, while his eyes burned with malice.

Stu looked ready to pull the trigger, but Steve put his hand on the barrel and forced it down. “What are you doing?”

“What are you doing,” he asked again.

“Justice. Now get out of my way.”

The golden light flashed again as the man passed his hand along an invisible wall. Looking at it now he could see what looked like golden blocks.

“Impressive.” He pressed against it, the wall not yielding to his full weight. “Very impressive. Although it will profit you very little. There is always a chink in the armor and this can’t last forever. I have time, Stu.” The man turned his back and started back towards the woods. “Besides, she’s already inside.”

Stu forced his rifle barrel up and took aim at the retreating figure. Everyone’s attention was drawn to a flurry of lights some distance to the left and when they looked back the man Brady was gone.

“Stu… Stu... what are we going to do?”

Stu’s jaw worked and his eyes seemed to weighing two great calculations, finally he turned to Steve. “You’re going to tell me how you knew about…” he searched for the words.

“The wall,” he offered weakly.

“The wall.”

“Because I’m the one who did it… well I’m the one who walked it.”

“You’re not making a lot of sense, friend. Grab him.” Strong hands took ahold of him and started him off towards the Dambuster.

“What did he mean by she’s already inside,” Stu asked taking his arm from the other man and shaking him a bit.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not going to cut it.” Stu followed his gaze back towards the haus where Jan and Isaiah were standing clutching each other in the door frame. “Get those two over here,” Stu barked.

“They don’t have anything to do with this.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Things weren’t going crazy until you showed up.”

Jan and Isaiah were trundled over, joining the crowd now in front of the Dambuster. The men’s nerves were frayed as gun barrels swung in the direction of every sound real or imagined. Stu grab ahold of his arm and started to drag him away from the group.

“Keep them there. We’re going to have a little chat.” Stu released his arm roughly once they were out of eaves dropping distance. “I know who you are.”

“OK.”

“That’s it?”

“I don’t know what you want to hear.”

“I want to hear how a baby killer shows up and the next thing the devil himself is walking in the woods. I want to hear how you knew. I want to hear what YOU are going to do about it.” Stu’s rifle was used as a pointer swinging from the woods beyond back to his chest.

“I’ve got nothing to do with this… they have nothing to do with this,” he pointed to his wife and son hidden in the middle of scared, armed men. “I don’t know who that man is, but you do.”

“Pastor Brady, he and his wife lived up here during the summers. He’d preach at all the little towns and camps around here. One day he snapped and killed a bunch’a folks. He should be at Walla Walla hanging from his neck!”

“Sounds to me like this has more to do with you than me.”

“What in the world is going on out here?!” They all turned up to look at the cook who had just stepped out of the Dambuster to eye them all with bewilderment.

“Put a pot of coffee on Heath, we’re pulling an all-nighter,” Stu ordered.

“K, K, you gonna tell me why?”

“Just put on the pot Heath!”

“Hey where’s Lola,” one of the men asked, he held a double barreled 12-guage in shaking hands. “He said she was already inside right? What if its Lola?”

“That is the dumbest thing…”

“Lola?” Heath asked with a puzzled look.

“Yeah where is she?”

“She’s washing dishes in back,” Heath offered.

“Get her out here!”

“K, K…” Heath started back.

There was the creaking of wood and then a loud crash. At the same time all the lights in the Dambuster flashed, sparked, and then went out. “Hey?!”

Heath seemed to fall through the door way, his feet dangling outside on the porch. “Heath?”

Heath started to scream and thrash.

“HEATH!”

The man with the double barreled shotgun fired both barrels into the doorway and was quickly followed by his compatriots. Rounds ate away at the door frame; the sound of further damage inside only spurred the shooters on further. Heath had stopped moving.

“Stop shooting! Stop Shooting!” Stu ran amongst the men and swatted their guns down. “Stop shooting you idiots!”

“Its Lola!”

Or is it? DUN! DUN! DUN!

Despite the Darkness #6

They completed the circuit around the town, he realized later that they had walked right up to the start of Isaiah’s trail creating an unbroken loop; of course he didn’t realize at the time because Jan was barreling towards them.

“Isaiah!” A part of him shrunk when he noticed she didn’t bother to say his name.

“I caught up with him on the backside of the buildings there.”

“What were you thinking? Its freezing and its dark,” she smothered her son in a tight embrace and then started him towards the haus. “This is not alright.”

He fell back a step and let the two of them go ahead. He was now coldest he’d ever felt, far worse than the time the “igloo” he and his brother had built had collapsed. He’d been trapped in snow while his brother ran for help. Now, the chill came from the inside not the outside. He looked off into the dark treeline. How easy…

There was a howl, close… very close. Another answered but in the opposite direction. The townspeople were starting to file out of the Dambuster, slapping each other’s backs and staggering in a few different directions. One brushed off the windshield of a Dodge Dart.

“Hey! Next time Pete just record the good parts!” Stu barked from the steps.

“There’d have to be good parts to record!” The assembled throng laughed loudly and without reservation.

“They ain’t never gonna be any good.”

“Ain’t winning a Super Bowl, that’s for sure.” Another bout of laughter.

Pete jumped in his car, started it up, and threw it in reverse.

“Bye, Pete,” they all said in unison.

The Dart started down the road, blazing its own trail through the fresh snow. Everyone had turned to go their separate ways. A loud snap caught their attention and they quickly looked back. A tree fell across the roadway right in front of Pete’s car, both blocking the road and crushing the front of the Dart. The horn wailed in the quiet night.

“Pete!” Even Jan was looking back to see what the commotion was. He was already running towards the crash, cutting across a field, while the others stood dumb struck. The horn stopped and a bloodied Pete forced his way out of the car. There was a noise, a mix between a growl and a laugh, so close that it raised every hair on his body and it seemed Pete had a similar reaction because he was looking around wildly for the source.

He was about thirty yards from the wreck when he saw a dark shape leap out from the trees, bound into the roadway, grab ahold of Pete, and then drag him screaming into the woods. He slid to a stop. The act had happened so quickly it was impossible for his mind to make sense of any of it. Pete’s scream were loud and insistent – then there was a snap and the screams stopped. A howl erupted from the woods and the scream started in his own mind; the scream was now a mix of the first and now Pete’s.

“Oh… my…" The man crossed himself.

The half dozen men finally awoke from their stupor; Stu grabbed the collar of the man closest to him and barked something about “guns”. The man ran off to a building past the Dambuster.

“Steve!” Jan’s voice broke, but the commanding tone was still clear. The men were arming themselves now, a mixture of shotguns and scoped rifles landing in ready hands. He looked from them to Jan and then back into the woods. Everything was moving slowly now; a part of his mind nagging him that he was missing something. He looked down and his breath caught.

Stu was leading the pack, his jaw set and his eyes fixed on the point in the woods where they all thought Pete surely was – he didn’t even notice the man standing stone still until his arm came up to block his path.

“What?!” Stu’s breath was pregnant with the smell of alcohol.

“You can’t go out there.”

“Who are you to stop me?!”

“You have to trust me. You can’t cross the trail there.”

Stu and the rest gave him a mixture of incredulous and bewildered looks. “The fu…”

Three senses were flooded simultaneously. First there was a bright golden light that blinded everyone huddled around the two men. There was also the sense that a great force had just crashed into a granite mountain face. Finally, there was a powerful growl that died out suddenly in a whelp. Three men fell back into the snow from the shock and everyone else jumped.

Struggling to look through the bright spots still blurring his vision, he tried to spy what it was that had caused all the commotion. There was a bright golden light that dimmed and then flashed back to life, again and again. It started low and then went upwards, then to the left, and then low to the right, just a few feet from where they all stood. Eyes adjusted to the explosions of light and they all started to catch glimpses of what was causing the ferocious thrashing. It was still too dark, even with the flashes of light, to see anything with definition, but it appeared to be as large as a man and covered in course hair. He thought he spied claws during one swipe.

The attacks stopped just as suddenly as they had begun and the shape disappeared back into the darkness of the woods.

So I had a hard time with this part for kind of an interesting reason - swearing. You see before I posted this I had a little more colorful terminology for the guys to say, but that was really bothering me. Anyone that knows me, knows I don't swear (mostly), so its not really something I'm comfortable with or want to encourage. Course big tough guy Stu would have no such problem. So how do you reconcile that? I sought out the advice of another writer (Marcus Brotherton) and he gave me a few things to think about. One take away was that swearing can be an easy out, lazy even. I'm still thinking about it, but that one take away has got me writing differently later in the story, so when posting this I changed this section to hopefully reflect my current thinking. And if you are wondering about, "The fu..." that just from the Sound of Music... you know Doh, Ray, Me, Fu, So, La, Te, Doh... isn't that how it goes?

Despite the Darkness #5

Continues immediately after his dream...

He shot up in bed. Jan had long ago learned to cope with the suddenness of her partner waking in bed and simply turned over with a groggy curse exiting her lips. The feeling of warmth and comfort was suddenly stolen from him by a breeze of frozen air. He searched the room for an open door or window… none were. He got up and went into the front of the haus. Immediately he saw the front door wide open. Then a quick look to Isaiah’s bed chilled him more than any breeze could – it was empty, the covers thrown off. A vice was spun tight around his heart and his lungs longed for a breath that refused to come. The door frame opened up to a halogen lit blanket of snow that was pristine in nearly every direction. He gripped the door jam and leaned out, spying a series of footsteps that went down the stairs and then turned left.

He held back the urge to shout his name, it’d wake Jan and this would be his fault somehow. Instead he slipped back into the bedroom and from years of practice working early mornings he dressed in the dark. Jan shifted once when he stubbed his toe looking for his shoe. She rose up a bit and gave a low growl.

“Isaiah’s outside,” he said hastily. He was out the door and outside before he could hear her ask groggily for him to repeat himself.

The moon was at its zenith and the clouds seemed to content to part and let it shine down on the world below. The tracks led away from the cabin and then turned at the tree line that started at the end of the play field. Beyond in the darkness a creek bubbled cheerfully. The footsteps came to a large depression of snow. It looked like Isaiah had knelt down and then his trail continued. He started to follow but a second set of prints caught his eyes and he stopped so suddenly he slipped. In a fall worthy of the Keystone Coppers, he fell backwards into the snow.

“Isaiah,” he yelled, mixing call and curse.  He then got up and took a moment to brush himself and then find undisturbed tracks, he wondered what it was that was now walking beside Isaiah. The prints were small and at the base of them was a hoof. A goat? Pig? Sheep? A touch of warmth surprised him at that final thought and a soft bleat further ahead flushed him with adrenaline. His training kicked in and instead of freezing, he bottled the flush of energy up, pushed any conscious thought off to the side and instead focused on the trail. He started slowly but was soon haphazardly sprinting alongside the trail. The tracks curved with the woods which now turned back towards the buildings and then across a wide treeless gap that must have been the service road up to the dam. He heard a soft bleat across the way, this time in the trees as they grew closer in on this side of town.

He spied Isaiah trudging through the snow, blazing a trail beside a white lamb that effortlessly traveled over the snow. “Isaiah,” he called and the boy turned around. He was smiling broadly until he saw his father’s stern face. He took a hold of Isaiah’s shoulders, partly to make sure he was real and partly to hold him in place. “What in the world are you doing out here?”

“I had a dream dad.”

I had a dream dad, the words echoed and seemed to call back to a distant memory. He brushed snow out of his son’s hair and tried to soften his countenance, trying to find the right mix between disappointment and love.

“Your mother is going to kill us, let’s go.”

“We have to follow him dad,” he motioned towards the waiting lamb who eyed both of us politely. “The wall, dad.”

“The wall?” His dream nagged at him.

“We have to keep going.” He turned to move closer to the lamb but a hand stopped his progress.

“What did you see in your dream Isaiah?”

“There was a man standing in front of a door, he was painting it with blood. Then there was a man walking around a city.”

“Then a man in a boat,” he offered, but Isaiah looked confused. “You didn’t see that?”

“No.”

He held still. There were two thoughts fighting for supremacy; one took the form of his wife you glared back at him, cutting him with her gaze; the other was the lamb who simply looked back at him.

“Listen Isaiah, when I was your age I had strange dreams too, o.k.? I thought they were real, but I had to grow up.” The wind swept between them and he noticed the thin layers he was wearing were not enough to keep out the wind. “Your mom is going to be worried sick about you, ok? We need to go back, let’s go.”

Isaiah now seemed to struggle with his own thoughts. His eyes were downcast and his breaths came slowly. “The man painting his doorway with blood was great grandpa…”

“Isaiah…” He took a step away from his son, time slowed and a well of emotions suddenly strained against their restraints, “…how would you know that?”

“He was making his home safe. The man walking the wall is you; you’re making this place safe.” Isaiah spoke in a far-off voice that was sure and absolute.

I had a dream dad. The two thoughts were wrestling for control of not just his mind but his heart as well now. The first was large and powerful, hidden in shadow, but he could see well enough that it was his father. The other was a smaller man whose eyes were bright and looking back intently even as he dodged and paired the attacks of the other. There was a howl somewhere off in the woods. It lingered in the cold, crisp air but his mind grasped onto it and it changed into the scream. He closed his eyes and the world became pitch black and bitterly cold.

He jumped suddenly, a wet nose nuzzling his hand. Through the trees he could see the backside of the buildings, they were on the other side of town and going forward was the same as going backwards.

“Come on… we need to get back.” He then started forward.

I don't know Isaiah's "The man walking the wall is you; you’re making this place safe." feels heavy handed or forced - but he's also kind a weird kid. Thanks for reading Russian Bot Net and the rest of you.

Despite the Darkness #4 - The Dreamer has awakened...

The story continues and we begin to get a glimpse of something...

He found himself alone in the bathroom again, the image of a guilty man staring back at him. Even when he dropped his own gaze, the accusatory eyes bore down on him and the scream started to build in intensity. A wolf howled off in the distance, matching pitch with the terrible scream.

Then he felt something tough his hand. The touch was soft but it sent a jolt through his body. Jolted, he searched the whole room with his eyes, seeing no one, he then stepped out of the bathroom but both Jan and Isaiah were lying in their beds. He was suddenly very uneasy and was about to go back into the bathroom when Isaiah called to him, “Dad?”

“Yeah Izai?”

“Did you hear the wolf?”

“I did, you scared?”

“A little.”

“It’ll be o.k., we’re inside and the sooner we get to sleep the sooner it’ll be morning. You’re safe.”

“You are dad, you’re safe.” The boy said it with enough certainty that it caught his breath.

“Uh… thanks Izai.” He searched for something else to say, but instead settled on giving his son a kiss on the head and patting his shoulder. “Sleep.”

He slid under the covers and brushed his wife’s leg. She moved it away.

“Night,” he said lamely and waited for a response. None came.

He turned the light out and they were now separated by darkness too.

At first there was a doorway. It was roughhewn timber set into mud daubed walls. A sheep waited patiently at his side. He stooped to its level, gave it a gentle pet, and looked at it with admiration.

The blood applied poorly to course surface. The brush had to be applied several times to fully cover. The dark red dripped from the lintel and pooled on the ground.

The walls were only a few foot high in this section, but just up ahead they were raised much higher. He ran his fingers across freshly cut stone, expertly crafted to offer no handhold or seam. The sun cast golden rays across the white stone.

Seven times he walked around it, as darkness fell, his hand on the wall, leaving only at the gates.

The boat rocked in the gentle waves of the sea. The coastline was wilderness except for a small beach where a campfire burned. Before the boat could ground against the sand he fell into the water and stumbled towards land. Fish cooked over the hungry flames.

A white lamb rested beside the fire; it locked eyes with him.

I don't remember of I mentioned that this story is a horror story with a strong supernatural bent to it, but its a horror story with a strong supernatural bent to it. Dreams are a pretty powerful way for the supernatural to connect to the natural, so they factor quite a bit in this story. I was striving to write a dream sequence that can easily be forgettable but have that lingering foreboding a good prophetic dream seems to have. I tried to emulate Biblical dreams like those Joseph and Daniel interpreted; seemingly innocuous with simple iconography but troubling to the dreamer because of its deeper meaning. I wonder who has similar dreams in this story? Hmmm.... Let me know what you think of my dream and of course please share.

I'm in a coffee house and I just spilled my words... Despite the Darkness #3

...I should probably get a rag. The story continues, unless you just started reading - in which case the story started elsewhere and you need to catch up.

They traveled back down the pass, more slowly now that the road was thoroughly covered with snow. The sign for Canyon Creek was miraculously not hidden by snow as he feared it would be, so they were able to turn up the narrow road leading off into the hillside. 

The single lane track that meandered its way alongside Canyon Creek the creek to Canyon Creek the town was covered by a layer of snow that looked to have been freshly plowed yet tree boughs hung low and dropped their snowy payloads as the van brushed against them. Jan’s teeth were on edge anytime they scrapped past another branch that’s wooden finger scratched the length of their silver van.

“You’re scratching the car,” she offered after a multi-fingered attack had no doubt peeled all the paint from the left side.

He was about to retort when the lights of Canyon Creek (the town) came into view. It was a mixture of single story buildings of either cinderblocks or logs lining the left-hand side; while the right-hand side was two or three chalet style homes built around an open field with baseball backstop. The lights were on in most of the buildings, but they shone the brightest in what the signed heralded as The Dambuster. He parked and the three got out, stretching sore legs. He led them inside and they were instantly greeted with a loud “CLOSE THE DOOR!” from the entirety of the room’s occupants who were intently transfixed on the screen against the far wall. Dave Kreig was taking a snap from the center in what looked like the first quarter of the game. They were already trailing.

“Lola! Guest,” barked a voice from the back, only a white hat, dark eyes, and moustache visible through the window to the kitchen. Lola, a skinny young girl in her twenties got up from the table where the occupants were clearly saddened to lose her company.

“Welcome to The Dambuster, sit wherever you like.”

“Where’s the restroom,” Jan asked and was directed to a dark hallway past the kitchen.

“I’m guessing you tried going over the pass.”

“You’d guess right.” He smiled and took the offered menu. “The officer at the roadblock said we might be able to find a place to stay the night here.”

“I’ll have Stu come over and give you the rates. You might not want to stay after hearing how much it’ll cost you.” She laughed and it filled that little corner of the room with some much needed light.

“I’m sure.” He looked at the game and cocked his brow. “Didn't they already play this game?”

“Oh sure, but we don’t get reception up here so Pete has to record it and then drive it up. You’re not going to spoil the score are you,” she said with a mischievous smile and twinkle in her eye.

“No ma’am.” He raised his hands in false surrender.

“You let me know when you’re ready to order, o.k.?”

The girl turned and walked slowly back to the gathered throng. He watched her go, appreciating her “uniform” and the way it accentuated her figure, and then turned back; his son’s eyes were watching him closely. He cleared his throat and looked down at his menu.

Jan returned and the three ordered their dinner, which they then ate in silence. Lola’s reception was much more tepid now so she didn’t come by often. Instead the man named Stu came over during the second quarter and offered them one of the vacation Hauser he owned and operated. He took them across the street to the second haus from the main street, mentioning it would be quieter for them to be away from The Dambuster – Jan agreed as she eyed the faux Bavarian façade in the dim moonlight. The three settled in, prepared their sleeping areas, and went through their nightly routines.

I'd like to dedicate the Seahawks reference to my mother. whose long suffering was finally rewarded last year. As always I'd love feedback and if you would share with your friends - they might like a story about some people going to a bar.