Leshy

My grandmother had told me stories about the Leshy. She told me that it had taken my father away because he did not respect the land.

My mother told me that she was a crazy old lady. She told me that he had been killed when a tree fell on him in the woods. My mother told me that he had died because he was not careful.

Today, I am sitting in the woods. Firewood stacked in the wagon, but I never cut live trees. I only take dead ones. I even do my best not to take limbs off of other trees when I drop one.

I am resting, my elbows on my knees and my butt on a stump, when I see it. To be honest, it scares the crap out of me. I have spent my life in the woods. I can sneak up on most animals and I have never been seen if I didn’t want to be. I have caught trespassers and poachers. I have stopped dumpers and even saved a lost cat. I am not usually caught by surprise. This thing, the size of a tractor, was a few feet away and I had no idea. I jumped, I admit it.

I looked at it, thinking I was done for. Remembering my grandmother’s stories and wishing I had my gun. It might not have done any good, but it would have made me feel better than the empty chain saw on the ground.

It stared for a bit, but neither of us made a sound. After a couple of minutes it turned and walked behind a tree that it didn’t come out from behind of. I didn’t move. I would guess I sat there, stuck in place like a bug in sap, for almost an hour. I just couldn’t do it.

I still cut wood every winter. I still make sure that the tree is dead and I still avoid hunting unless I need the meat. I am careful and I should be safe, but I keep looking over my shoulder.

So would you.

Punch

The sound of skin smacking against leather was methodical, almost mechanical.

~ Whack ~

It had been that way for longer than anyone expected.

~ Whack ~

The single motion of the swing.

~ Whack ~

The focus on the task.

~ Whack ~

It was a form of meditation, of single mindedness to exclude other thought.

~ Whack ~

He was doing it to keep away the memories.

~ Whack ~

So that he wouldn’t be thinking about the things he had lost.

~ Whack ~

So that he wouldn’t cry until his eyes were so swollen that they couldn’t open.

~ Whack ~

They way they did when he in his empty house.

~ Whack ~

The one that used to be a home.

~ Whack ~

Nobody had understood why he had purchased the heavy bag.

~ Whack ~

And after six months of using it, his body had changed.

~ Whack ~

He was toned in ways he had never been before.

~ Whack ~

Not that it mattered.

~ Whack ~

He never went anywhere except for work.

~ Whack ~

Eight hours of staring at a screen and typing what he was told to.

~ Whack ~

A few more than eight hours throwing punches at something that couldn’t have its lawyer protect it.

~ Whack ~

One day, he would see the other driver again.

~ Whack ~

He would be ready.

~ Whack ~

 

Fang

The man looked around the room and sighed. His stomach rumbled and he snarled at it. “Patience,” he muttered.

“You want a bite to eat Sugar?” Margaret asked. She placed his beer on the bar in front of him and sat a menu beside it. “Kitchen has really good wings.”

He gave her a tight lipped grin and shook his head. “I am here to pick up a date for dinner, but thank you.”

Margaret nodded and eyed him for a moment, “If your date hasn’t shown up by closing time you can take me out Sugar.”

He winked at her over the top of the glass before turning his back on her to look at the bar again.

Margaret sighed and walked away. She knew she wasn’t the most beautiful girl in the county, but with a total population of less than three thousand, she also knew she was near the top. Most of the time, if she started flirting with a guy, he flirted back.

The man sat there for hours, nursing a couple of glasses but his date never arrived. At last call, he didn’t bother with another glass.

“I’m sorry your date didn’t show up,” Margaret said as she wiped the bar beside him. She thought about Marty and Shane. She wasn’t hard up and she could have called either of them up for a booty call. She didn’t need to be pathetic and ask him again.

She didn’t need to, but she was going to. Margaret knew she had issues with acceptance and rejection, but at least this guy was cute. “You going to take me up on dinner after all?”

He turned, and smiled. It was a big, toothy smile and lifted hit cheekbones so high that the guy looked like the joker. “Alright,” he said, his voice hissing out and giving Margaret goosebumps. “I would be honored if you would join me for dinner.”

Margaret gulped. She took a small, involuntary step backward, and then shook her head. “I would be delighted.” She pushed aside the sudden queasy feeling. She stomped down the cold that creeped into her as she looked into his dark, hooded eyes. She painted a smile on her face and fought to keep in place. It didn’t matter what made her worry, he was still better than any man she would normally be taking home.

She had intended to tell him that only the pizza place was open. She intended to offer him something from her house and then offer him more once she had him through the door. Margaret had not expected him to pull her against him and then pin her to the telephone pole beside her car. She hadn’t dreamed that he would be licking her neck. She hadn’t thought he would be able to kiss her and leave her skin tingling.

“Wait,” she said while pushing back to try to disengage his mouth. “Wait.”

He stepped in closer and jammed his leg between her thighs. She might have worried, but since she was wearing pants it wasn’t like he was going to force things right here.

“Wait, I …”

The word died on her tongue when he pulled back and she saw his face. The glowing eyes, mismatched green and yellow glared at her. The dessicated flesh around his mouth that made him look like he was wearing a tire forced her breath to catch in her throat. He snarled and opened his mouth wide. A single fang pushed its way down out of his mouth and the creature that her date had become hissed.

A single fang, on the left side, jutted down over his lip. The lone gnarly tooth twisted out a little and forced him to keep his mouth open.

Margaret snorted. She couldn’t help it. He hissed, but he looked so pathetic. Like an ugly puppy in the pound.

She saw her reaction hit him. How is shoulders fell and how the corners of his eyes drooped into a pout.

Then his eyebrows spiked in rage. His skin blotched red as anger filled him. He tore into her, ripping and gnashing in anger and humiliation. The kill was messy. Margaret suffered, and whimpered, and cried.

Afterward, kneeling over the top of her corpse, so did he.

Wow

Normally, I am pretty happy to write without a plan. In fact, a lot of the point behind this blog was a practice to keep me writing. Plan not needed.

Until I tried to write this serial and got lost in a story that I just hate. And by hate, I honestly mean despise. There is no direction for this serial that I am happy with. So, being a slacker at heart, I just stopped writing. I thought finding a way to finish this was the point. It isn’t. That defeats the point.

This overly short serial is dead. I never really had any more ideas for it and when I said, “Sure, let’s keep it going.” I was wrong.

Next week things get re-started. Sorry about the delay. It was unprofessional of me.

L.