About Those Monsters...

Feb 21, 2008 11:42

Yeah, we all have our little monsters-writers included. It's a stark reminder that nothing comes without a price. And I mean nothing. I have been striving to achieve the status of a full time writer for a long time-I am not there yet even after almost ten years of work, but that means that when I do achieve it-it will mean that much more. Like they say-if it was easy and anyone could do it-then what's the point?

As I teach college level English-it disappoints me when I have students try and cheat their way through writing classes. Do people honestly think that they can effectively communicate without being able to write? And what is it with all the people who think that they are "special." You know the ones-the I can park anywhere people-or the I don't want to wait in the line kind of people and try and cut in. Okay, I know I'm ranting-it's been that kind of week-well month.

To add to my own mayhem, I have had some disturbing experiences the past few weeks with business associates and other professionals. No one wants to say what they mean-instead they either don't communicate or they tap dance around issues. What is that about? I thought we were in this great electronic revolution of communication? Unless this great electronic communication network is a monster in itself-a cold one that simply says we don't have to communicate if we don't want to-that is why we have the delete key. Are we heading into a personal as well as professional ice age?

Okay…time to lighten up. Here is a short story called Freddy. It's a favorite-so much so that I have written a manuscript for a novel dealing with the same topic.

Welcome to all the new friends from Columbus, Ohio and Greensboror, North Carolina. I met some in Columbus last weekend and am looking forward to my trip to High Point, North Carolina in March.

Enjoy.

Freddy

"WHAT THE HELL are you looking at? I would just love to wipe that stupid grin off your face, you ugly SOB!" Ray said, as his bloodshot eyes stared at the morose looking figure that sat on the dusty bookshelf above his desk.

"What good are you anyway? You're supposed to give me...inspiration."

He paused, waiting for a rebuttal from the inanimate object.

"Instead, you sit there, with your fat little body, that stupid smile, and all of your teeth hanging out. Uggggly. Damn ugly is what you are. Maybe that's what I should call you instead of Freddy. Uggggly. What do you think about that?"

Freddy was a gargoyle. Not an evil or mean looking gargoyle, but what is known today as "cute." He was about thirty inches tall, poised in a pose that was supposed to reflect innocence. He had a grin from ear to ear, and yes, his teeth did all hang out of his mouth. His arms were crossed in front of him like a prissy little girl who has just been told she was the cutest thing on the face of the Earth.

"What's the matter, teeth got your tongue, Fred? Well that's a surprise." Ray leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

He'd bought Freddy at an estate auction on the outskirts of town. The sale had been at an old mansion that had been deserted for years because the city could not find any descendents of the owner's family. Their sudden disappearance was still a mystery to this day. Finally, the city had sold off the contents of the estate and plans were to level the site.

Ray wasn't really sure why he had bought the damn thing. Maybe he'd thought it would give him inspiration to write his stories. He'd heard or read somewhere that writers could look at an object with a past and write an entire story based on it.

Well, Freddy the gargoyle had been taking up space on the shelf for over a year now, but inspiration was nowhere in sight. There was only a layer of settled dust and cobwebs that covered his dark gray body.

Ray had been writing on and off for many years, more off than on, one might say, based on his publication credits. Fortunately, he hadn't given up his day job at the super market, because he would have gone hungry if he tried to live on his writing. Actually, the last story that actually paid anything had been published eighteen months ago.

Ray yawned in frustration. He had been at it for hours now. The paper in front of him still was as blank as when he had started, and he didn't seem to be spouting any fresh ideas.

"That's the way it's been for...how long now, Fred?" he asked the gargoyle in disgust. "Well, a long time. Inspiration is just not making any stops at Ray's place these days."

Ray took out a cigarette from the pack on the desk. His stomach balked at the thought of yet another cigarette, but he lit it anyway. The ashtray was almost overflowing from the evening's deluge of angry smoking. He lifted the coffee cup to his lips and drank deeply. Expecting the feel and taste of warm coffee, he gagged on the cold stale tasting liquid.

"Jesus Christ, I can't stand cold coffee!"

He slammed the cup down with such force that coffee shot upward and splashed onto Freddy. The gargoyle sat dripping the brown sticky fluid. Ray stared at it, and couldn't help but laugh.

"Looks like we're both having a crummy night, huh, Freddy?" Ray said as he watched the drops of copper liquid that clung precariously from the teeth of the gargoyle.

"Now, there's a novel idea. No pun intended," Ray said snickering, as he put the cigarette out in the ashtray.

"Maybe just a couple of minutes stretched out on the sofa will help. Give that old inspiration a chance to find the house and make a pit stop."

As he lay down, he looked at the gargoyle for several minutes.

"Hey, Freddy, how about you do me a little favor there, guy. While I'm catching forty, how about you just go ahead and crank out a couple of thousand words or something? Earn your keep."

Ray was soon fast asleep, but he did not sleep restfully. He dreamt of a deep menacing forest entrenched in the night. He was caught in the unsettling darkness, lost and disoriented, as strange sounds taunted him. Rain began to pelt his body as he ran for any shelter he could find.

He awoke with perspiration covering his forehead, thankful the dream had not gotten any more real. The clock's neon numerals flashed ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />3:00 A.M., reminding him he would have to be up soon. He fumbled toward the lamp on the end table and turned it on. The light blinded him momentarily, but when his eyes finally adjusted, he got up and headed for the bedroom.

He casually glanced toward the desk, thinking about his inspiration, which seemed to have become fuzzy after his nap. But, something caught his eye that made him stop dead in his tracks. The blank and untouched paper he had left on the desk was now covered in handwriting. He picked up the stack of papers and saw that there was a sizeable amount of paper, maybe twenty-five or thirty pages.

Ray studied the pages and the style of the print. It sure looked like a dead ringer for his handwriting, and lots of it.

"Could I have done this?"

He began to read.

"Wow...this is some really good stuff," he said in awe, after reading the first ten pages.

He read until he reached the end. Then, he neatly stacked the paper on the desk and stared at the pile.

"When the hell did I do this? I don't remember writing it. What the hell is going on?"

Ray paced around the room.

"Did I wake up earlier and do this? Could I have been half-asleep? Did I sleep-write the thing? Damn this is weird stuff."

He looked up at the grinning gargoyle, which now had dried brown stains covering his body.

"What's up, Freddy? Did I really do this? What do you think? You've always got your eyes and mouth open."

Not expecting or waiting for a response, Ray continued. "Of course I did it...who the hell else is here? I must have woken up, sat down and wrote, forgot about it, and went back to sleep. Makes more sense than you writing the story, huh, Freddy?"

Ray thought about his earlier request to the gargoyle about writing some stuff, and he chuckled.

"Yeah, right. Did you do this, Freddy? Well, hell of a job there, guy."

Ray sat down to re-read parts of the story again. It was titled: Please Make Up My Mind by Ray Short, a science fiction short story of about seven thousand words. Feeling totally impressed with himself, Ray neatly stacked the pages on his desk and headed off to bed.

"Good night, Freddy. Sweet dreams, fella. We did real good tonight didn't we?"

Freddy stared back, grinning, as he always did.

As Ray clicked off the ceiling light, he wondered if Freddy's smile was meant to be innocent or sarcastic.

The next morning on his way to work, Ray decided to fax his story to an old buddy who worked on the editing staff of a science fiction magazine. When Ray got home that evening, he had a message on his answering machine. His buddy loved the story and told Ray that it was sure to be bought for publication within the next couple of months. Congratulations were most certainly in order.

Ray jumped up and down as he listened to the message. This was cause for celebration! This had been the first sale in...well...in a long time. He grabbed a beer out of the fridge and sat at his desk. As he poured the amber-colored liquid in a glass, he watched the foam slowly edge its way toward the top rim.

"Well, little ugly fella, this is it. Success!" He raised the glass in a toast to the gargoyle and drank deeply.

"Ahh...now that's good," Ray breathed with pleasure. "Really hits the spot when you have something to celebrate, doesn't it, Freddy?"

Ray continued to stare at the gargoyle as he finished his beer. Something was different about it. He couldn't place his finger on what it was, but something had changed.

"What's up, Freddy? You get a new haircut or lip-snarl job done or something? I know, you've been watching that guy on TV who jumps and shouts to the oldies with all those fat ladies, haven't you?"

The gargoyle sat grinning and unresponsive, devoid of any previous coffee stains. He didn't seem quite as dusty either.

Ray, still reveling in his newfound success, took out some blank paper. He laid it in front of him, pen poised in hand. He closed his eyes and searched for some ideas for the next story. He rested his head on the palms of his hands, then glanced up at Freddy, who just grinned.

Two hours and three beers later, Ray gave up. The paper was still as blank as ever. However, he wasn't really bothered by this because of all the beer he had drunk. He got up and walked over to the window. It was dark and stormy outside. The wind was driving the rain against his house making a rat-a-tat sound.

"Nice night out, huh, Freddy? Maybe for someone like you? This is a perfect night to write a horror story, I can just feel it. I just need to get started. Just a couple paragraphs to get me going, then I'll be like a race horse in the home stretch."

The thoughts of his dream the night before came back to him. He remembered that hopeless eerie feeling he had. He'd been scared. Damned scared, lost and alone in the menacing woods at night. He decided to channel those thoughts to the paper in front of him.

Hours later, two more beers were giving him that warm drowsy feeling. He felt the fuzz taking control of his mind and his full bladder taking over the rest of him. He headed for the bathroom and for another beer.

As he returned to his writing, he felt satisfied with what he had put to paper so far. In fact, it even chilled him just a little as he read it over. He yawned. It was now time to take a little break and get comfortable on the couch.

He looked back at Freddy.

"Hey fella, time out. Let's take a break. Take five or whatever the hell it is you gargoyles do."

Ray lit a cigarette as he sat back on the sofa. He inhaled deeply so when he exhaled, smoke rings formed from his mouth. He watched sleepily as the rings floated through the air, quickly dissipating as they traveled along. Feeling a bit drowsy, he snuffed out the cigarette and went horizontal on the sofa. It wasn't long before he was snoring.

He was in the woods again. This time a small crescent moon glowed with an eerie light over his surroundings. He slowly surveyed the area in all directions. On the horizon above the tree line, he saw what appeared to be the outline of a castle.

He moved warily in that direction. As he walked, he heard noises from the woods, leaves being stepped on and twigs crackling, the obvious sound of someone following him-and pretty close. Ray began to run in terror as a bell tolled somewhere off in the dark of night.

He awoke to the sound of the telephone ringing. It was light outside now. He glanced at the clock. It was 8:00 A.M. and he was late for work once again.

"Aw, crap!" he yelled as he leapt for the telephone.

It was just as he suspected, his boss calling to ask what was he going to do without a paycheck. Ray had been late one too many times. The conversation ended with a, "To hell with you!" and a slamming of the phone.

Ray's head throbbed. It wasn't so much from losing his job, as it was from the excess of beer last night. He went to his desk to get some aspirin. He opened the center drawer and fumbled for the bottle. As he labored to get the childproof cap off, he saw the new stack of pages. He read the title page: Human Nature by Ray Short, word count 10,000.

"It's happened again?" Ray sat down and began to read.

An hour later he placed the last page on the stack. "Excellent story!" he said, very pleased. "I'm getting really good at this. The best part is that I don't even remember sitting here most of the night and writing it. Unbelievable! Freddy, old buddy, we're on a roll."

Freddy simply sat grinning.

As he moved toward the sofa, Ray glanced in Freddy's direction and he immediately felt his stomach roll. The gargoyle was no longer sitting on the shelf, but instead had moved slightly as if in preparation to get into a crouched position. And, he no longer had that semi-friendly cute grin on his face. It was more like an evil leer now.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" Ray said, suddenly dropping the manuscript.

He observed Freddy's new position, but dared not touch the gargoyle. Cautiously, he studied the gargoyle from different angles in the room, trying to figure out what possibly could have happened to the thing.

"Hell, it's probably some cheap shit made in Japan or something, starting to warp and bend from the heat. Not worth the crap it's made out of. Yeah, that's it," Ray said nervously. "Well, look, uh, Freddy, we'll figure this out later. I've got to get this new story faxed out to my buddy."

Ray picked up the stack of papers from the floor and headed down the stairs. He quickly got on the phone with his friend at the magazine. Of course they wanted to look at it. Ray headed out the door to fax the latest story, and quickly forgot about the Gargoyle.

RAY TOSSED DOWN the beer to chase the shot of whiskey. He was celebrating at a local bar not too far from the house. He called the magazine a couple of hours after faxing it. Of course the magazine loved the story. They wanted more, possibly even a novelette. Could he do it they wanted to know? Of course he could do it, he had told them. No problem.

He shared several renditions of his newfound success with his friends, who were ready to celebrate anything imaginable as long as the booze continued to flow. After reveling for a while, Ray decided it was time to head home. Maybe even get started on the next story. He left the bar and began his walk home to the dismay of his drinking buddies.

Ray lived in the older part of the city. It was a section that could go either way, up or down. There were old homes, which were ornately decorated with gothic statues. Some houses were in the process of being renovated and some were past the point of any revitalization. Many had amazing remnants of art in the woodwork and ironwork.

It was then Ray noticed all the gargoyles. They were perched at precarious places to prevent the water from doing damage to masonry.

"I wonder why they made those guys so ugly?" Ray said. An answer quickly returned in his head. To scare away demons or something, you idiot.

As he continued to walk, Ray felt a strange eerie sensation. It was as if he could feel eyes staring at him. A shiver went up his back, and goose bumps formed along his arms and legs. He walked as quickly as the alcohol would allow. He thought he heard murmurs from the shadows, but when he looked around in panic, he saw no one. Yet the sound continued. It was just barely below a discerning level. But, it slowly grew in intensity. He realized it was a chant.

"Be careful what you ask of the Gargoyle. The success that it may bring you, has a high price you cannot afford to pay."

Ray whirled around too quickly, became disoriented and fell down. From ground level he looked around, yet he saw nothing.

"Damn bullshit! Too much boooozzze...(hic)... Way to go there, Ray," he laughed, half from fear, half from alcohol.

Ray knew only one thing for sure...he had to pee. He quickened his pace to get to his house.

Once home and relieved, he headed up the stairs to his study. He chuckled to himself thinking how he'd thought he heard chanting. He knew better than to mix whiskey and beer.

Everything was as he'd left it. Except...Freddy was now thoroughly in a crouching position, ready to jump. But to Ray's alcohol bleary-eyed condition all looked fine. He stepped back and leaned in, weaving.

Ray placed his face up to Freddy and kissed the gargoyle full on the teeth, almost knocking it over. His lips met the cold metal. If he had been sober, he might have felt the effect of the searing cold on his lips. But right now, he could barely feel a thing.

Ray did a perfect forward dive onto the sofa and was asleep in no time at all. Freddy glowed in the corner with the scowling smile of a creature ready to attack its prey.

RAY STOOD ON the eave of a house overlooking great areas of woodland. A mist hung above the ground and clouded his vision, yet he knew something approached the house. The evening sounds from the woods became silent as whatever it was drew closer, moving slowly but with a purpose. Ray scanned the area, searching for whatever it was. A sense of dread settled over him as acid churned violently in his stomach.

Movement...he caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. He concentrated his efforts to squint through the darkness. Then he saw it. He could now make out the outline of whatever it was that approached. It appeared to be the shape of a large monkey or maybe a short pudgy man. An aura of darkness surrounded it, making it look like a...shadow with substance.

As it came closer, an odor assaulted him. Something hideous like wet decaying wood. It was as if something had been buried for too long and was now exposed to the air.

Ray's mind told him it was death approaching as the rest of his body shook with disjointed thoughts. It was almost in plain view now, just a little closer and he would see it clearly enough to look into its face. The stench was almost overpowering. His stomach somersaulted with revulsion.

Teeth hanging from its mouth distorted the face that approached him, but the rest of the face looked incredulously familiar.

It was Ray's own face! His face on the body of a gargoyle.

Ray screamed in horror, "Get away! Why are you here? What do you want from me?"

It continued its approach, climbing deftly up the side of the steep wall, oblivious to Ray's screams. It advanced with ease even though the walls were very steep. It chanted something barely audible as it climbed.

Ray watched as the creature used its long fingers to grasp at seemingly nothing and hoist itself up. The closer it came, the more Ray could smell the foulness. Bile rose in his throat.

The voice became louder and louder, and he could almost make it out now. Ray tried to piece the sentence together.

"Geeettt oooooff meeinn sssssppoooot, (hissss)!" it slobbered. "Geeett ooofff meeeeinn sssssspoooott (hissss)!"

As the creature got closer, the words become clearer, as did the reptilian hiss. "Geett ooff my sssssppoott, (hissss)! Gett off my ssppott, (hisss)! Get off my spot, (hiss)! Get off my spot, (hiss)! Get off my spot, (hiss)!"

It continued chanting the same phrase over and over again.

"G-Get off of my spot? H-Hell, if that's all you want, don't worry, I'm outta here!" Ray stammered in sheer terror. He tried to turn but was shocked to find he couldn't move. He jerked and pulled to no avail.

Ray looked downward at his body and realized in horror that he had become a permanent attachment to the castle eave!

"Get off my spot, (hiss)! Get off my spot, (hiss)! Get off my spot, (hiss)! Get off my spot, (hiss)!" The words now smelled fetid. "You have used the power of the gargoyle and now you must pay the price, (hiss). Pay in full, (hiss)!"

Panic now roosted on Ray's shoulder and he could do nothing. The creature edged closer. Ray stared into his own distorted face. He watched the slimy drool drip down the creature's face and fly towards him as he continued the same chant.

"Did you think success was free? (hiss) Get off my spot! (hiss) That there would be no charge for my inspiration? (hiss) Get off my spot! (hiss) It is time to pay! (hiss) Get off my spot! (hiss) Prepare for what awaits you (hiss)."

The creature stood directly in front of Ray. Panic had now taken the form of hysterical laughter as tears rolled down Ray's cheeks. The smell from the creature was overbearing, and stifling.

The creature grabbed hold of Ray in a steel grip and began to pull and lift him. Its fingers wrapped around his arms. Ray could feel the tension on his bones as he was bent and twisted in all different directions. The pressure increased. The creature was grinning, his teeth hanging out of his mouth. The slimy drool flowed freely.

Crack! An unimaginable pain shot up Ray's side. He looked down in delirium and saw his ragged left hipbone protruding out through his ripped flesh, blood flowing freely.

Crack! Now, the right hipbone stood out in a similar position, blood spewing from the ragged tear. He nearly fainted into blessed darkness as the gargoyle ripped the last remaining threads of flesh that held his torn body together.

"Stick this in your next story, Ray. You wanted some inspiration. Well, here you have it. Now you get off my spot for good (hiss)! Go back to where you came from! (hiss) See what you get when you ask for the help of a gargoyle!"

The shock of the creature's voice made Ray brutally aware of himself and the excruciating pain and his body being torn to pieces. Screaming, he finally lost full consciousness as the gargoyle stuffed a manuscript down his throat.

RAY AWOKE ON the floor next to the sofa drenched in sweat. The illuminated red numbers on the clock said 3:00 A.M. He was breathing very hard and fast, but realized he was in his home and not being torn to bits by a creature that looked like himself.

"God damn, can't get much more real than that," he said shakily.

He froze as he spotted a bloody manuscript lying next to him. In red he clearly read the scribble, which looked as if it was written by a child's hand.

"Return it to where it came from if you choose to live."

As he read the statement aloud, he remembered the chant.

"Be careful what you ask of the Gargoyle. The success that I may bring you, has a high price that you cannot afford to pay."

Ray looked frantically at the shelf. Freddy's face had changed; it was beginning to metamorphose into him. Suddenly he knew what he had to do if he wanted to live.

Ray grabbed a cheap blanket off his sofa and spread it on the floor. Warily, yet quickly, he snatched Freddy off the shelf and laid him in the center. He wanted to carry it securely, and yet not really touch the artifact. He carried it downstairs and out to his car, where he threw it unceremoniously in his trunk.

He drove like a madman to the estate where he had purchased the gargoyle. While driving, he felt the flesh on his body becoming rigid and very taught. Also he thought he heard sounds coming from his trunk. He drove faster.

As he reached the site, he was not sure how to react to what he saw. The area had been leveled and cleared and a foundation was being laid. The smell of drying concrete was heavy in the air. His headlights glared on the wooden sign: Coming soon, Green Run Mall and Industrial Complex.

Ray could hardly move. His joints ached even with the slightest movement. He forced himself to get out of the car and open the trunk. He was suddenly caught off guard by what he saw. A gnarled gray hand was sticking out from the blanket, its fingers flexing, in and out. Ray suddenly lost feeling in his left hand. Using his right hand, he grabbed the bundle and moved as quickly as he could to where an area of cement which had been poured recently.

His right leg stiffened causing him to fall and spill the bundle. The side of the bundle now revealed a right leg of the gargoyle, now flexing as the hand did. Ray scooped up the bundle, got back up on his feet, and awkwardly limped on.

Nearing the pit he now heard the chant again.

"Be careful what you ask of the Gargoyle. The success that it may bring you, has a high price that you cannot afford to pay, R-A-Y...(hiss)"

This time the voice came from the bundle he held. Ray could no longer feel the muscles in his face. He knew he did not have much time. He lunged the last couple of feet toward the edge of the cement pit and tried to throw the bundle. He didn't quite make it. The bundle hung precariously on the edge. Ray crawled and wormed his paralyzing body on the ground to push it over the edge. Neither of his arms now worked. He tried to butt the bundle with his head the last couple of inches. His head was met with the sting from the sharp needles of teeth.

TWELVE MONTHS LATER, stories from Ray Short appeared in several science fiction and horror magazines. A month later his novelette appeared. They gathered a following and launched a virtual unknown into quite a bit of notoriety. Future novels and possibly a series were currently under negotiation.

An interesting article appeared in the Review of Science Fiction Writers of North America. The review was conducted by telephone and was pretty much straight forward, but listed several interesting comments about the author.

During the interview Ray Short indicated he considered himself a recluse to the point of not going out into public. Although not unlike many celebrities, many of Ray Short's prior acquaintances remember him as a very outgoing and people-oriented person.

Also, the reporter issued a standing disclaimer that any misinterpretations of any answers given by the author might be due to the unfortunate speech impediment, which caused a distinctive lisp-a hiss-like sound-in many of his words and sentences.

THE END

www.tonyruggiero.com
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