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valarltdSounds of the Season:
We'll start with a few Cthulhu carols.
Merry Moments:
Saturday Storytime:
From "Closing In" by John Dennehy
ebook: https://squareup.com/market/inkstained-succcubus/winter-shivers-pre-order
paperback https://squareup.com/market/inkstained-succcubus/winter-shivers-paperback-preorder
10% discount if you order from the Square website
Amazon
Wind whipped off the frozen lake, rattling the windows, and batting the cedar-shake siding. Everything inside was still. It didn’t seem like anyone was in the house, at least right now. The chill caused him to shiver.
Chase peered out a window toward the lake, a massive expanse of ice and snow. There were footprints, partway between his house, and a stone wall lining the shore. Somebody had walked off the ice onto his property. Tracks meandered by the wharf they hauled from the water every fall. The imprints were familiar, large Sorel boots. Chase didn’t own a pair. He hated them and he had small feet.
The thought of big Sorels, crimping across the ice, turned his stomach. He wanted to retch. His mind drifted, almost hearing dreadful sounds: a toboggan being dragged across the clumpy ice, loaded with wooden trunk, chisel, and ice fishing equipment; a wooden sled scraping over the ice; the eerie sound that rhythmically accompanied each expedition- thump, thump.
Below, the starting and ending points of footprints were indiscernible. He couldn’t see where they had begun. It was as though an interloper had emerged from the frozen lake, and walked toward the cottage. The trail abruptly ended, like the trespasser had taken flight, a phantasm. Snow could have drifted over the boot prints, he tried to reason. There wasn’t any sign of where the footsteps originated, or ended. Chase shuddered.
He pictured the ominous sight of a hulking man trudging along, wearing a ratty parka, matted with snow, as the storm beat down around him. Then, the interloper merely dissipated into the cascading snowflakes, a spirit bandying about in the storm.
Something dark in the snow caught his attention. Chase squinted, peering through the downy flakes. A fish lay nestled near the last boot print. The distinctive stripes brought back memories. Perch, like the kind they often caught ice fishing when he was a boy.
Chase started trembling. He suddenly felt thirsty, wishing for afternoon. A drink would help settle his nerves, but it was too early, even for a bender. He wasn’t a complete boozehound, and refused to drink throughout the day.
Turning, he rubbed his arms, feeling the cold. Chase headed toward the thermostat, putting the footprints out of mind. He wanted to check the temperature setting, and get the place warmed up. Thump, thump.
He paused, wondering if it were a memory, or an actual sound.
Silence, except the wind outside.
Hard to tell what he’d heard, walking across the creaky floor. Chase stood still listening, but the cottage remained quiet.
Shaking his head, Chase trundled over toward the thermostat. Boards creaked beneath his thick socks, but that was all he heard. Chase peeked at the dial, and found the temperature reading 68 degrees.
Why did it seem so cold?
He turned it up a tick and heard the furnace, clanking. Thump, thump. The heating system was rattling, so he wasn’t sure what he’d heard.
Thump, thump.
There it was again, but this time, he definitely heard it, coming from the back of the house. Chase figured a tree branch had banged on the siding. Wind gusts. That could explain the sound.
Thump, thump. Scrape.
Now, the pounding was accompanied by a scraping sound. The scraping was rough, like wood being dragged over ice, all too familiar. Chase shuddered with dread. “Leave me alone!” he yelled. Maybe the branch scraped the house.
Standing there, the heating system leveled off. He couldn’t hear a thing, merely the gentle quiet of landscape filling up with snow. A serene tableau outdoors, and the cottage warming up inside, everything was fine, or so he told himself.
We'll start with a few Cthulhu carols.
Merry Moments:
Saturday Storytime:
From "Closing In" by John Dennehy
ebook: https://squareup.com/market/inkstained-succcubus/winter-shivers-pre-order
paperback https://squareup.com/market/inkstained-succcubus/winter-shivers-paperback-preorder
10% discount if you order from the Square website
Amazon
Wind whipped off the frozen lake, rattling the windows, and batting the cedar-shake siding. Everything inside was still. It didn’t seem like anyone was in the house, at least right now. The chill caused him to shiver.
Chase peered out a window toward the lake, a massive expanse of ice and snow. There were footprints, partway between his house, and a stone wall lining the shore. Somebody had walked off the ice onto his property. Tracks meandered by the wharf they hauled from the water every fall. The imprints were familiar, large Sorel boots. Chase didn’t own a pair. He hated them and he had small feet.
The thought of big Sorels, crimping across the ice, turned his stomach. He wanted to retch. His mind drifted, almost hearing dreadful sounds: a toboggan being dragged across the clumpy ice, loaded with wooden trunk, chisel, and ice fishing equipment; a wooden sled scraping over the ice; the eerie sound that rhythmically accompanied each expedition- thump, thump.
Below, the starting and ending points of footprints were indiscernible. He couldn’t see where they had begun. It was as though an interloper had emerged from the frozen lake, and walked toward the cottage. The trail abruptly ended, like the trespasser had taken flight, a phantasm. Snow could have drifted over the boot prints, he tried to reason. There wasn’t any sign of where the footsteps originated, or ended. Chase shuddered.
He pictured the ominous sight of a hulking man trudging along, wearing a ratty parka, matted with snow, as the storm beat down around him. Then, the interloper merely dissipated into the cascading snowflakes, a spirit bandying about in the storm.
Something dark in the snow caught his attention. Chase squinted, peering through the downy flakes. A fish lay nestled near the last boot print. The distinctive stripes brought back memories. Perch, like the kind they often caught ice fishing when he was a boy.
Chase started trembling. He suddenly felt thirsty, wishing for afternoon. A drink would help settle his nerves, but it was too early, even for a bender. He wasn’t a complete boozehound, and refused to drink throughout the day.
Turning, he rubbed his arms, feeling the cold. Chase headed toward the thermostat, putting the footprints out of mind. He wanted to check the temperature setting, and get the place warmed up. Thump, thump.
He paused, wondering if it were a memory, or an actual sound.
Silence, except the wind outside.
Hard to tell what he’d heard, walking across the creaky floor. Chase stood still listening, but the cottage remained quiet.
Shaking his head, Chase trundled over toward the thermostat. Boards creaked beneath his thick socks, but that was all he heard. Chase peeked at the dial, and found the temperature reading 68 degrees.
Why did it seem so cold?
He turned it up a tick and heard the furnace, clanking. Thump, thump. The heating system was rattling, so he wasn’t sure what he’d heard.
Thump, thump.
There it was again, but this time, he definitely heard it, coming from the back of the house. Chase figured a tree branch had banged on the siding. Wind gusts. That could explain the sound.
Thump, thump. Scrape.
Now, the pounding was accompanied by a scraping sound. The scraping was rough, like wood being dragged over ice, all too familiar. Chase shuddered with dread. “Leave me alone!” he yelled. Maybe the branch scraped the house.
Standing there, the heating system leveled off. He couldn’t hear a thing, merely the gentle quiet of landscape filling up with snow. A serene tableau outdoors, and the cottage warming up inside, everything was fine, or so he told himself.
