Reboot

I took the brush into my hand and rolled it between my fingers. It was the same Filbert that I had used on the last canvas I had sold. That had been such a simple job. A contracted piece for a florist who wanted red tulips leading to mountains.
It had been so simple. It had not been a creative piece.
That project had drank the last drop of creativity from my well. I felt empty.
I put the brush back down and picked up the hooked knife. I had emptied my red, but their blood would refill it nicely.

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Pet

Mara tried not to smile as she walked down the street. The clicking of each heel marked her passage in a slow, echoing staccato that turned heads. Most of the men who looked up as she passed blinked and stared. Most of the women snarled and smacked their men.

When she had lost the bet with Tom, she had assumed she would be paying in bed. the idea that he would have sent her to run his errands while dressed to impress had never crossed her mind.

The bank was another block down. She should have been there in no time. Today though, was a day full of surprises.

The hands that dragged her into the old dress shop were gloved. The lights were off and windows curtained.

“Pretty, pretty, pretty,” the old man’s voice rasped as he said it. “So very pretty.”

Mara opened her mouth to scream and a fist was jammed between her teeth before a sound had come out. Her jaws were forced wide by that hand, and she gagged on the taste.

“Quiet pretty.”

She was on the floor, pinned under the weight of a much larger body, with the back of her head stinging from its impact with the old, polished wood. The second hand moved over her, but didn’t stop her from opening her purse.

A soft hiss, like air leaking out of a hole in a tire, came from the bag. It was followed by the sound of bubbles in a sink and then by the smell of rotting flowers.

The man didn’t make a noise when he was ripped off of the top of her. She assumed it was due to the tentacle that was jammed into his mouth.

After dusting herself off, Mara rummaged in her bag for a minute before she found the tiny wooden box. She sat it on the floor, open, and turned to leave. It was hard to walk away. Her pet shouldn’t have been left unsupervised, but she couldn’t stomach the sight of it feeding so soon after her own lunch. “I’ll be back when I finish at the bank,” she said over her shoulder. “If you are a good boy and clean up after yourself, I’ll get you ice cream before we go home.”

Mara stepped back into the street, and this time she did smile at the sound of her heels on the sidewalk.

Still Dark Blog Tour Stop

Switching it Up

There’s an age-old question that writer’s always get asked: Pantser or planner? In non-writer language that means do you plan your novels or do you go by the seat of your pants?

Over the years, I’ve written around ten novels. Some of them will never see the light of day, but they served their purpose of giving me a chance to practice and hone both my writing and my method. In the early days, I was a pretty meticulous planner. I knew what I wanted the story to be going in, and I didn’t let myself deviate from that.

Those were also the years where I was finding who I was as a writer. More than anything, I struggled with character development. I was so set on the delicate house of cards I was building that I refused to let the characters just breathe and move around in the space, much to the detriment of the story.

With Still Dark my fourth written, first released novel, I started to loosen the reins a bit. I knew what the story was, where I wanted it to go, but I also started to see certain settings as playgrounds or stages. It was my job as the writer to get everyone in place where they needed to be, but once they were there, I started to let them play a bit. Some scenes went longer than I planned. Others sprouted off into new scenes, new conflicts, new moments. In short, when I started to trust the characters to behave like real people, my books started to get better.

In the novels since, I’ve switched it up even more. I’ve started novels without much of a plan at all, just a vague idea. The end result has been a change to my process overall, putting more effort into editing instead of fretting so much over the first draft. All of this is not to say one method is better than another, just better for me. I’ve finally figured out which parts to plan and which ones to leave up to chance.

At the end of the day, it’s all about trusting myself as a writer. Back in the day, I would hold on to a single idea, a single scene or conflict that I just knew would make a book. I would pad out everything around it, refusing to just get to the damn point already because I was afraid that one scene might be all I had. One of my favorite quotes is, “What do you do after you lay down all your cards? You find new cards.”

Still Dark is a living example of that mentality. Scenes that could have been the climax come in the first 50 pages, and guess what? It only gets more tense from there. I finally figured out how to find new cards.

 

Still Dark

D.W. Gillespie

When a thunderous explosion rocks an idyllic cabin resort in the Great Smoky Mountains, animals and humans alike begin to act strange. Jim, along with his wife Laura and son, Sam, are cut off from the outside world, but they soon realize the true nightmare is just beginning…

Deep in the snow-covered woods, something is waiting. The creature calls itself Apex, and it’s a traveler. Reading the minds of those around it, Apex brings the terrifying fears hidden in the human psyche to life with a singular purpose: to kill any that stand in its way.

Locked in a fight for their lives, Jim and his family must uncover the truth behind Apex, and stop the creature from wreaking a horrifying fate upon the rest of the world!

 

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR — D.W. Gillespie has been writing dark fiction in one form or another since he was old enough to hold a pencil. He’s been featured in multiple horror anthologies, both in print and online. Still Dark is his debut novel, and his second book, a short collection titled Handmade Monsters, arrives in 2017. He lives in Tennessee with his wife and two children.

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Just a few drops

The man who walked in had to duck to fit under the door. He also had to turn to the side so that he could slip his shoulders through the frame.

“You ready?”

The big man looked to the left, at the short, balding guy in road worn leather and a pair of scratched glasses. He nodded to the little man and after putting a few bills on the table in front of the guy, the big man was waved back through the curtain.

Inside the room, a pale, skinny blonde was sitting in a chair. Her head was hanging down so that her hair hid her eyes from view and her hands were pulled behind her. There was a little table beside of her with a glass, and spoon and a knife on top of it.

The man knelt beside the chair and grabbed a handful of hair to haul the tiny woman’s head up. He peeled her eyelid up so that he could see her pupils and after a moment, they contracted. He chuckled and reached for the knife.

The woman whimpered as the cold steel slid into one of the spots on her arm that didn’t have a scab on it. The man put a little spoon against the wound, waiting for a few minutes as a few drops of blood settled into the tarnished dish.

“That’s the stuff,” he said before putting the spoon into his mouth with a satisfied smile and a groan of pleasure.  A moment or two later, he sat on the floor beside the door and let his eyes close.

Lights began to flash and dance in front of the man and he relaxed so that he slid down the wall. “Oh man,” he whispered. “Damn.”

“Please.”

The big guy opened one eye. The girl in the chair had her head turned so that she could look at the man with one eye. From where he was sitting, he couldn’t see her mouth move but it had to have been from her. “What?”

“Please.” The word was almost too soft to hear. As he stared at her, the little bouncing lights danced around the girl like fairies around a mushroom. “Please.”

He wanted to ask her what she needed, but for some reason he couldn’t figure out how to move his tongue. He tried to open his mouth, but it seemed like his lips were glued together.

She looked down again and they sat together in silence.

There was a soft thump from the first room followed by a scraping sound. The big man thought it would be a good idea to go see what was going on, but with his legs being made out of ribbons there was no way he could float in. Instead, he turned his wide face to look at the curtain.

The edge of the fabric moved a bit on one side and there was a soft hiss from the other room.

The other edge of the fabric moved, then everything settled back into place.

“Wwwhhhaaaaa,” the guy said.

A foot stepped through the doorway. As he focused on the scuffed, black army surplus boot the big biker slipped over until his head rested on the floor. The boot and its twin moved into the room and the guy watched as the boots stopped in front of the woman tied to the chair. The black toe tapped the dirty bare foot of the captive, then turned to face the man.

“Wwwhhhaaaa?”

As the person who walked into the room knelt beside him, the big biker still couldn’t move. He saw tiny spheres of light swirl around the the dark hole of the person mouth. Then, slim white spikes appeared to grow down into the darkness before the man shivered at the warm air moving across his neck.

There was a quick, sharp pain before the guy closed his eyes. He took a huge breath, released it in a massive sigh, and then everything went dark.

Hard Copy

He sat at the little desk, focused on his hand as though he could look through it. The bandage wrapping around his palm was red to the knot and he wondered if the bleeding would stop this time. The last time he had drawn his blood, the little cut had bled for over three days.

The paper was almost clean. Two words dried in the middle of it. Wasted space did not matter.

He had used his magic to make the world in his image. The cost be damned, he had forced the world to bend to his will. For him, the expression ‘written in blood’ was real.

The child remade him.

He lowered his head, tears leaking down his cheeks. Broken of both body and soul, he was out of currency.

Some prices were too expensive to be paid.

One last breath whispered across the page. The passing of the air drying the words, “She lived,” to the page.

****

I wanted to point out that I have updated my links to include the PRINT copy of my book. Forever is now available in paperback from Amazon.

 

I am sitting on the porch, a beer in my hand, as I watch the dark cloud that is making its way towards me. The sky is overcast. It has been for over a week but now a line is rolling towards me that is black against the gray.

I take a long pull, wishing it was cold but happy to have it regardless.

The wind shifts and because of that I can smell smoke. The storm line is still at least an hour away but I can already smell the smoke.

I finish the bottle and crack open another.

I know some people are hiding. I know some are acting stupid. Each is dealing with the coming storm in their own way.

Me? I plan to be drunk.

There ain’t no way to hide from them. There ain’t no way to stop them. In a situation like this, all you can do is numb yourself. The pain and horror is coming and there won’t be anything you can do.

Storm flies were coming and that would be the last of it.

Visitors

Each tiny foot made a soft sound as it touched down on the rough industrial carpet that filled the office. She could hear them since her ear was pressed against the door, but only if Rayanne held her breath. She had to be careful not to hold her breath too long though, because then she would gasp. If they heard her gasp, they would come to investigate. They would find her. That would be the end of it all.

Rayanne heard them find Mark. He was hiding under a desk when she darted into the supply closet. His voice was so deep that when he walked up behind her and asked if she needed anything for lunch, she could feel the bass rumble against the back of her neck. His yelling had been just as deep. The scream though, she would always remember how much higher his screaming sounded.

A group of guys started yelling. It was followed by the sounds of breaking glass and thumping, like someone were beating on a door. Rayanne backed away from the door and bit her hand to keep from crying. The glass must have been the windows on the conference room. Since it was Wednesday, that meant the software guys would have been in their weekly meeting. If Mark couldn’t protect himself, then they had no chance.

She fought to keep control as she listened to their yells change into screams. It lasted for a while, but not very long.

She sat in the closet, listening to the tiny foot falls, praying that they wouldn’t hear her. Rayanne watched the shadows cross the threshold of the door. They twisted the knob and one even knocked, but she didn’t make a noise.

Something Clever

I always thought I was clever. I figured out how to get things free and how to get in when I wasn’t supposed to. I did things I shouldn’t, but wasn’t the one who got caught. I was smarter than they were. I was clever.

When the spiders started crawling down the shelves, Tony and Sam freaked out. Marcus stayed with me and we finished loading our bags. A little hairspray and a lighter sent the skittering away. A few of them were even burning as they ran.

Tony was lying on the stairs two floors down. He was swollen and kinda purple.

He was also covered with em.

I told Marcus to check his pulse and one of the hairy little beasts dropped down on the back of his neck. He was spinning and smacking at it when he tripped on Tony’s leg.

I heard the snap when Marcus his the stairs. He was crying, his leg bent in three places, when I jumped over him. He grabbed for me, but missed. I glanced back and saw him throw me the bird but I didn’t go to help him.

The spiders were coming down the wall.

Two more floors and I started to hear screaming.

The big freight entryway was covered in creeping black dots. Some moved slow and steady, while others darted and zig-zagged around. The only thing they had in common was that they were all headed towards Sam. He was standing in the middle of the room, spinning in circles, smacking his bag down on the floor.

I headed the other way. Security system or not, I was headed out the front glass even if I had to smash through it.

I grabbed a chair from the receptionists waiting area and slammed it against the window, but it wouldn’t break. I tried another window and a door before the chair broke. I turned to grab another and stopped because it was covered in bugs. The freaking things were all over the room. They were crawling through the door, using the floor, walls and ceiling so that more of them could get in faster. There were so many of them that I could hear a hum from the noise of them walking towards me.

We weren’t supposed to have guns, it changed what we could be charged with if the cops showed up. Of course, I still had one in case one of the others thought he might be the clever one. I drew and aimed at the window. five shots into the glass and if it was bulletproof, I was going to put the other in me. I took a deep breath and fired.

Bulletproof, and the ricochet hit me in the hand. The gun went sliding over o the wave of legs and eyes that started slowing down. I looked around, thinking that they must have known I was trapped. I lunged after the gun, but fumbled it and had to back away when a monstrous brown one crawled on top of it.

I thought I was clever, but they were going to prove me wrong.

Together

In all the things we tried during those early days of our work, I had always held doubt as to the possibility of success. My rational mind could not fathom why muttering words and making strange shapes with your hands might allow you to channel some esoteric energy to change the world around you.

But she believed, and that was enough to keep me there.

We worked together. Spending our evenings on strange and alien research. We had no family, though not for lack of trying, and that was why we worked as we did. She wanted a family and I wanted her happiness.

The first time we achieved some repeatable result, the pair of us had celebrated for days. Our bodies fused as our shadows held hands and danced. We bound ourselves together in ways that most people didn’t believe were possible and because of it, we stood apart.

I believed, but we were still just the two of us.

She was pregnant when we tried to open the gate. She miscarried, lying on the basement floor. I wanted to hold her hand, but I was struggling to keep something black from walking out of a shadowed corner. By the time it was gone and I was sure she was safe, she had fainted. Her shadow was hiding underneath her.

I carried her to bed. Washed her body; changed her clothes, and mopped up the blood that was staining the concrete.

It wasn’t long before she disappeared.

The state called me, telling me that she was in the hospital. Telling me that she had attacked a free clinic and that she was now restrained. I sat in silence as she raved about what they were throwing away. I watched as my shadow tried to hold hers, but her own darkness punched and kicked at mine. I was holding her hand, but watching as her heart disappeared through a door I hadn’t closed. Part of her walked away and I wept.

I watched the long, dark shape reach out of the corner. I thought about leaving, about having my shadow hide from whatever it was, but I couldn’t. It grabbed my shadow and dragged it away as she took her final breath.

The color drained out of everything as I felt the cold begin to cover me. My final words were a prayer, to a god I didn’t worship, begging him to let us be together again.

Pursuit

My lungs were burning. There was a sharp pain in my side. There was a dull ache in my head. I looked ahead and there was a black ring around my world. I didn’t know what the thing behind me was, but I knew I had to keep it behind me.

“This will be fun,” he said.

“My god you are cute when I’m drunk,” I said.

“Come with me and I can guarantee you are going to have a great night,” he said.

Now, that boy who thought I could be his man was nothing but a smear on the walls. Now, whatever it was that we found in the woods was chasing me.

When I tripped, the world just slowed down. I felt myself falling. I could see the ground coming up to meet me. I hoped that it would knock me out. That way I would be unconscious when it found me.

The flash of pain was followed by a warm feeling as blood ran down my face. I knew I was still awake. Now, all I could do was lie there listening as it came towards me.