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     Last year, I entered a short story in the Renderosity Halloween contest. Other categories were for artwork which makes sense considering it is an art forum. The theme for the contest was Urban Legends. Forgot how many entries there were for the story competition, sixteen maybe, but my story won out.

     For those who enter writing contests; it really helps to read the rules of the contest. Just mentioning.

     This year the theme is Zombie Apocalypse. I entered a story titled Love Letter, about someone coming to grips that their loved one has been turned into a zombie. It is safe for me to put up last years entry for everyone and anyone's amusement. I wrote it in one or two days. Here is Blood on Ice;

Blood On Ice


D. H. Lewis

      Pauly struggled toward consciousness as dim memories from the bar swam through his mind. There had been a pretty lady. She had bought him a drink.

      He felt cold and pain. The sharp clack of a plastic hotel bucket of ice being emptied on his bare skin brought Pauly to mental clarity. He locked eyes with the malformed man with the bucket. Pauly would have screamed but his jaw felt like lead. The strange man was the size of a thin twelve-year-old child, the head appearing too big to be supported by the slender frame. Sparse patches of facial hair marked the dry and scabbed skin. The man's mouth opened to reveal disproportionate teeth set in red gums and a tongue wiggling like it wanted to escape. "Nuh, yud nut sup-pozed be wake yet! Nuh! Sis-tur!"

      Pauly saw the woman from the bar enter the bathroom. Her tight red dress was now covered by a stained smock. A shining scalpel twirled between her latex-gloved fingers. "I thought that batch was old. Things expire, you know, just lose their punch. I'm sorry you woke up, Pauly. You seemed like a nice guy."

      Paul tried to sit up, but his muscles refused to respond. "W-what...what are you--"

      "I'll explain things," said the pretty woman. "Roggie, be a dear and fetch a mini-cooler. And get more ice." The small man bolted out of the bathroom. The woman looked at Pauly and sighed. "Silly me made a mistake and grabbed an older vial of...hm, let's call it "sleepy juice", and that's why you're awake. Normally, you’d be out for the entire procedure."

      "You can't ... this isn't--"

      "Y'see, there are many wealthy individuals that need things like kidneys, for themselves or a family member, and are willing to pay a nice sum. It's just business. Don't take it personally. And you really did seem like a nice guy."

      Pauly concentrated on making his mouth work. "But I'll be okay, right? In the ice, until I can call for help?" Roggie returned carrying a small red plastic cooler and a piece of notebook paper with clear tape attached. Pauly could make out the words CALL 911 FOR HELP. Larger shapes hidden in the shadow of the foyer moved behind Roggie.

      The woman shook her head. "No-no, Roggie, not this time. Throw that away. Times are tough all over, Pauly. The recession, higher gas prices; it's just a mess."

      Pauly struggled to call for help, but his voice hadn't the strength. He stared at the woman. "What do you...this isn't how--"

      "Things go? No, not normally. But bills have to get paid. Need to adapt for the future." The other forms moved closer to the bathroom door edge, revealing misshapen bodies like their brother, all carrying colored mini-coolers. Pauly pushed against the tub, but his limbs still were unable to find the power needed for escape.

      "We want everything this time, Pauly. Whatever you've got, goes. Really, just sorry." The woman placed a folded towel on the floor before kneeling on the linoleum. The scalpel appeared again like a magician's trick. "And just so, so sorry about the juice not working. My bad. Help hold him down, boys." The twisted men pushed down on Pauly's body as the woman flexed her hands.

      "Oh, Roggie--go and get some more ice, and just put it in the coolers. That's the good thing about hotels, always have lots of ice."


( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
Nov. 3rd, 2011 02:08 am (UTC)
Okay, I . . . shall keep that . . . in mind . . . thank you?

Unless you are referring to Roggie's skin in the story. Roggie prefers scabby and scaly skin. He picks off little bits and constructs dioramas of his favorite wrestling matches. Weird kid.

( 1 comment — Leave a comment )


what hell
Eldon Litchfield

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