Short Story Workshop

[Caleidah]

This story is still a WiP, and will probably turn into some setting for my Dark Heresy campaign in the future. It will also probably expand on itself, given that I've begun working up some background on it all. With that, I give you the beginning to my story: Fog.

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Darkness tightened its grip on the forest as a tyrant would wring the neck of a traitor. Silence was not its partner, though. The noise of wildlife was as loud as ever it had been. Bird calls rang out constantly, and whatever larger creatures there were sounded the end of the day. For many of the men that sat huddled in their camp, these calls heralded the end of their lives.

The fire that sat in the center of the ring around them was burning brightly, holding back the gloom of a fog bank that was beginning to roll through. It was thick and eerie, killing vision no more than ten feet out of the camp. The men had been warned about it, and warned to keep near their campfires that night. The five of them were all sitting closer than they ought to, hungry for both the warmth and the light. The ground was wet and sloppy from a rain earlier in the day. The meager pile before them showed all of the dry wood that they had been able to find. In their hands was the last of the rations they had been issued at the beginning of their trek. Now they had been out for nearly a week, and were beginning to run short on food and on good spirits.

At a sudden noise in the trees one of the men flinched heavily. His hand gripped his rifle more tightly, the light of fear filling his eyes. “Did you hear that?” His voice was quiet and strained, more of a rasp than a whisper. “I coulda sworn I heard somethin' moving around out there. Somethin' big.” His eyes remained on the trees for a long moment before returning to the fire. He cradled the rifle to his body, holding it like a lover would. The wood stock was his comfort for that moment.

“I didn't hear anything, Alder,” said one of the others. He shook his head and poked at the fire with a stick, shifting the glowing embers slowly. “Not a thing out there but for your big imagination and the big cats. As long as we've got a fire going, at least one of those things will keep the hell away.” The other men shared a quiet but nervous chuckle at the jab, Alder included. They had enough wood to make it through the night and at least one of them would be keeping watch at all times.

One of the men, Kerman, lost the laugh a bit more quickly than the others. “You know, they say there's something else out here. Something not quite human.” Whatever mirth was left quickly fled at that comment. “The locals back at that village had a myth about it. Some 'pale ghost,' or such. They say it's a man from the area that got lost in the trees and went mad from it. Kept chasing after the fog, thinking it was the way out, but never made it.” Alder began to shift a bit, not looking toward Kerman for even a moment. “They say he goes after folks out here in the forest and takes their skins to make ones for himself. Really wacky stuff.” Seeing the nervous looks on the faces of his comrades, the man forced a quiet laugh. “Just a silly rumor, you know.”

But this 'silly rumor' had sparked something in the men. The man that had spoken earlier, Hanson, leaned toward the fire a bit. “I've heard something similar, but from what I heard, it wasn't any kind of man. They say that it's some kind of beast out here that walks on two legs. It has the power of changing its shape, taking on the form of anyone that comes through. Then it kills them and eats the body, using its newly found form to keep hunting after anyone that comes looking for the prey.” By now, all eyes were focused inward, listening to the grisly tale. “Then it just keeps cycling through, taking on new bodies and hunting more and more men.” They all shivered at the thought.

The next man, Bairns, shook his head. “Nah, those are both good, but the one that I heard is that the fog around here isn't just fog. Some say that the fog is alive. Like the thing has the ability to enter the body of anyone that goes out into it for too long. It can't keep itself together too well during the day, so it only moves out at night.” This seemed to be the most eerie proposal thus far. The men moved a bit closer to the fire, shifting about nervously. “It would have to be some kind of bug or spore. Something with a gestalt consciousness that can get into a body without any issue.”

Hanson shook his head at that. “How would it be able to control your body if its just a bug or a spore like that? Doesn't make any sense to me.”

Bairns gave him a hard stare. “There's fungi that can take over ants. It tries to get them to go back to their hive and spread the disease, so that the fungi can grow. Millions of ants can be killed off by one little spore.”

The next man, Rorke, shivered. “That s**t is just too much, man. I say that we get all of that bullshit out of our heads and try to be reasonable. We are in a forest. There are trees all around us. It was a hot day with a heavy rain. The ground would have been warm, and that much moisture would have made fog. It's not a psychotic murderer, it's not some monster, and it's not a cloud of spores. It is fog, and we are all blowing things out of proportion.” As he said the final word, there was a massive crack from the trees directly behind Rorke. He dropped to his knees in the mud and took cover against the log he had been sitting on, clutching his rifle as he looked out. The others had gathered there, looking out toward the noise.

“What do you suspect that was,” Hanson asked, his voice low as he crouched against the log.

Bairns shook his head. “Mighta been one of those big cats breaking a branch.”

“Good lord,” Kerman said, sighting along his rifle into the trees. “If they're actually that big, I'm glad they're not our enemy.”

Slowly, all of their moods lightened at Kerman's statement. They began to laugh as they settled back into their places. As they rested down, Alder and Bairns remained standing. Together, they nodded and stepped out into the brush. “We'll be right back,” Bairns whispered, patting his rifle. “Just a quick check to make sure that we're all clear. The rest of the group waited in a tense silence, their eyes flicking from tree to tree as if expecting to see something more leap out at them. In but five minutes, though, the two were back. Bairns was smiling and laughing quietly, and Alder's front was covered in mud. He had his helmet low, head hung as if ashamed.

“Big man Alder here thought he'd just stride out in all this mud. Boy went flat on his face out there. Good news is there's nothing to worry about. At least, nothing up close.” They both sat down, everyone going into a peaceful silence.

After a bit, Alder leaned forward slightly and smiled. Something was immediately different about his face, or what was visible of it under his helmet. “You know, I heard something about it all too. That stuff about the woods being haunted.” His voice was deeper, more raspy than it ever had been before. “I heard that it's a man that makes a habit of setting small traps outside of camps on a time detonation. Almost inevitably, a few folks go to check out the explosion when it happens. When the folks go out, he snares one of them with a trip wire or a garrote, silencing them before they can shout out. Quick as he can, he snags their clothes and muddies himself a little to hide his face. Before he even sets the bombs, though, he watches them. Learns their quirks and their little idiosyncrasies well enough to take their place for a bit before taking down the rest of his friends.”

Realization dawned upon their faces slowly, and the last thing that they saw was grin on the face of the wiry man in Alder's uniform.  

[Caleidah]

Bumping for critique.  

[Hoxtalicious]

Apologies for lack of feedback.

Something of a standard boogie man story really, suspense is somewhat lacking, however the idle but fearful banter of the soldiers does help set the scene. There is a mention of bombs? What bombs? Is he a saboteur or a sadistic killer? Some confusion.

You mention it is still work in progress yes?  

[Caleidah]

Piece 2: Yet Unnamed Noir

She was just another dangerous dame. I knew it right away, but here I was behind the wheel of my car yet again. The cigarette on my lip was burning just brightly enough that it gave the world a bit of a red tint through the windows. Not that the city needed it. She never got dark enough that a little spark like mine could be seen. She sat there, tall and pretty as they usually do. I was thinking, she's just like any other dame. Thinking that she can get a John like me to do whatever she wants just by pouting her lips and giving me the Come Hither. Her cash was paper, though, and she had good taste in smokes. If somone was going to insist that I ride with them to the estate of an employer, it could have been a lot worse.

"So tell me," I said to her, not taking my eyes from the pavement serpent that ate through the city, "What exactly does this 'Doctor' want from a guy like me? I'm better at giving him work than taking it from him." She looked at me and gave a look somewhere between a laugh and a snarl. Dames that come looking for me seem to be of the opinion that I'm just some bloodhound to be set on the trail.

"I do believe," she said, "That I will let the doctor tell you himself." A thin curl of smoke came with the words, dancing up into the haze around the roof, floating away through the open windows like the crushed hopes of the city around us.

"Listen, doll, if this Doc wanted me so much, he could have come to get me himself." I knew that wasn't the case, though. Nobody ever came to me for themselves. You see, I'm not the sort of private eye that sticks to the shadows and goes to the coppers as soon as I've got my evidence. I'm very much a 'hands on' sort of man. It always seemed like I was lying to folks when I followed them from the shadows, and that just isn't how I operate. The bombshell confirmed this for me a moment later.

"The doctor is a very nervous man, you see, especially given that there have been attempts on his life recently."

I hate it when I'm right. The dame knew my reputation. I suppose that I'm nothing if not a man of action, though, and that is what keeps me and my pistol loaded. "So this doc of yours, I'm gonna guess that he's not a family practicioner. In fact, I'm going to guess that he's not licenced to do medicine." I didn't even need to hear a response. I already knew enough about the broad to know that she got silent when people read more from her than what she said. "What sort of 'doc' is this guy?"

She gave an exasperated sigh, the kind parents use when they are explaining something to a child. It was frustrating, but I didn't mind. I knew the dame couldn't stand having me in her head and would do just about anything at that point to get me out. "He's an engineer and a physicist," she said curtly. "And that is all that I'm going to tell you. I would appreciate it if you would hold off until we get there. He wouldn't like that I'm talking about him."

With every clue the dame gave me, I was getting more curious about this doc. He was some number jockey with knowledge of machines, but he went under the title of doctor. Why would someone have it out for an old timer that had likely spent more time with books than people? It didn't really matter, in the end. I would be finding all of my answers soon enough if my gut feeling was right.

The dame took another long drag on her cigarette and let the cloud out in a single burst. I didn't notice right away, but she was looking straight at me and likely had been for a while. Something in her eyes seemed predatory. For a brief moment I felt like a mouse must feel under a hawk. I smiled, though, because this mouse was rabid and deranged by most standards. "So tell me, what got you into the detective game? Surely a big boy such as yourself had bigger dreams than this when he was a kid." To an extent, she was right. I had in fact hoped to be just another plain jane officer, out there upholding the law and the good old American way. Apparently, though, no stations are willing to hire someone with a service record that spoke of psychological discharge and a rap sheet that spoke of repeated aggravated assaults. None of them were my fault. If they had been, I wouldn't have left any of the victims of those crimes alive.

For the first time in the ride, I took my eyes off of the road and gave my passenger a smile. "Nope," I said, giving her as smug of a look as I could. "My dream was always to put my neck on the line for people I've known for ten minutes." It was the truth, but she never needed to know that. The disgusted roll that her eyes gave was enough to tell me that I had won at least a small piece of the battle.
The rest of the ride was mostly silent, interrupted occasionally by the sound of other cars sliding past us in the night. My radio was off. All it ever brought was bad jazz and worse news, and neither of those things agreed with my ears. I got the news firsthand from people that I trusted, though. Cops, veterans, bums, really anyone that kept their ear to the ground professionally. Folks that had no reason to be lie. Unlike this woman. Thus far, she had at least a few reasons to lie. The first was that I hadn't paid her anything to tell the truth, while this Doc probably had a pretty good stipend laid aside to keep her telling folks whatever he wanted.  

[Vikki Stardust]

Cheese! blaugh