No longer available. Will be found in Flashy Shorts 2 by Good Guy Publishing.
Author’s notes: This is a serial fiction about kidnapped children who live like mushrooms in a child rapist’s basement. Please start reading at Piece 1 if you are new to this serial fiction, found here
Life in a basement is horrible. With the lack of light and the already apparent dark, evil – shit, its just plain shit – energy, it left your body frail and pale. Uncle John did feed his captives, but they were lucky to get two meals a day. Usually a single meal consisted of cheap burgers and a handful of fries he had picked up picked up for himself but didn’t finish. Ryan had already grown weak and his body began to hurt in places he never imagined would hurt. It was if his organs wanted to give it, wanted him to die. He bleed from two different wounds, both from the day before but he was alive.
Sam smiled while painting crooked shapes, with all the best supplies Ryan had earned. He watched but he just wanted sleep to grip him at his neck so he could escape this reality.
Uncle John had returned for the day with their daily meal – fried chicken on the most flimsiest of paper plates. The grease had almost torn a hole in Ryan’s plate. His stomach hurt and as he twisted a drumstick to bite it he noticed someone had already beat him to it. There was no plate for Sam. Instead, she was taken upstairs to the kitchen where we could see her shadow cover the little bit of light that shined through the crack in the floor.
He could hear the quiet. The silence that plagued the room upstairs. It disappeared and was replaced by moaning and the rocking of the kitchen table. The porcelain plates danced and then they shattered on the floor and as if nothing happened, the table began to bang against the floor.
Three weeks. It took three weeks for Uncle John to become tired of her. The excitement was sublime for Ryan. He smiled in the dark as she was escorted down the stairs with a large red hand print on her face. A little drop of blood trailed down the side of her lips and as she was escorted back into her cage. Uncle John had pulled Ryan out of his cage and whispered into his ear.
Ryan looked at the girl who had changed considerably through the weeks, growing weak through the abuse. He didn’t realized that he had grown even weaker than her. When Uncle John left he dug through his paints and brushes and had found many bristles destroyed, overused and dirty. He let Uncle John know when he returned with more food that he needed better supplies if he wished for Ryan to prepare for her departure.
Uncle John had noticed Ryan’s disgusting presence. He resembled an old man who had been a zombie for two long. He was skeletal and ghost like and that disgusted Uncle John.
Sam sat quietly watching. Ryan could have sworn the words “I love you,” darted through the air towards Uncle John but either he didn’t listen or didn’t care.
Ryan waited three days for more supplies and he had already begun a new mural. Sam tried to talk to him, but he ignored her. She would be dead soon and he would witness it.
Uncle John didn’t take any of the two upstairs because he had already found a new captive to live with them her name was Jolene. Ryan liked Jolene. Sam now knew that she was going to die. Ryan had warned her that all this would happen.
Next: Piece 12
It’s quite strange how we met. The patter of electronic signals passing through the lines. The sound of the computer fans buzzing by my ear. The moaning of the woman I was currently having sex with. Across from us was her husband who was having sex with a much younger girl. She was closer to my age than the couple was.
We stood outside the doorway to the apartment building fully dressed. “Got a ride?” I asked her. She seemed too innocent to be meeting strangers on the internet and having sex with them. She just nodded her head no. “Neither do I,” I said and she smiled. She was quiet when I first walked in the apartment. She sat on the couch next to Greta, the married woman. Greta played with her hair as I approached them. I knew their would be another person there but I didn’t expect anyone as young or as fragile as she looked.
“Catching a bus?” I asked her. She nodded yes.
“Do you live far?” I continued to attack her with questions. She took some time to answer and she kinda wobbled her head along with her hand.
“Does that mean maybe?” The whole night I never heard her voice beside the moans that escaped her lips.
“Let’s walk,” I suggested, “I’ll walk with you.”
I didn’t really have a home. I have a friend that lets me stay at his place once a week but usually I relied on these little hook ups to keep me warm and safe. I know it’s kind of odd to think of this as safe, but it’s the only life I trust. I mean, I have sex with a stranger, then sleep in a warm bed and most of the time they offer a quick breakfast before I’m forced out. It’s better then living on the streets.
She nodded and walked down the steps and she stopped to see if I would follow. She had short black hair that hung a little below her chin. Her skin was pale and her eyes were dark almost black. “I’m not going anywhere ’till you say something to me,” I said.
She smiled and at that minute I knew I was in love. Her beauty was multiplied by her smile.
“Come,” she said.
I did. We walked through the cold grey streets watching the steam pass through the vents. After the first block I held her hand. She blushed as she accepted it. The night before as we lay on our backs, our eyes met. She seemed ashamed to make eye contact with me at first but eventually she held her gaze on me the whole time. We didn’t make love with each other but I imagined I was making love to her, not Greta. I somehow hoped she did the same.
She actually lived a lot further than I thought she did. We walked for at least an hour before I asked for a break. I reached down to my calves and rubbed them. She laughed.
“How much further is it?” I asked.
She finally said a whole sentence to me. “It’s a couple more blocks,” she said smiling. Not far from us was a playground. “Come on. I’ll push you,” I told her hinting to the swings. I tried to run but my legs hurt. I still tried and eventually I made it to the swing. She slowly walked behind me and she quietly took a seat next to me. She stared at the ground and her smile faded.
I lifted her chin with my hand and said, “I know this may seem weird, but I …”. She kissed me.
We talked for hours as I pushed her on the swing. We never brought up what happened at Greta’s apartment or that night. We never brought up previous engagements or any other encounters like that, but I did ask her if she had a boyfriend.
“No, why?” she smiled.
“Well, if the position is open, I would love to apply,” I said.
“Well … do you have a job?” she asked.
“Um, no … but I’ll get one,” I promised.
“Where do you live?” she asked, the questions were already starting to get hard.
“Um … I really don’t have a place,” I honestly answered.
“Hm …” she said, “I guess you could live with me.” I smiled and somehow that caused her to smile too.
“My name is L, it’s short for Eli,” I finally introduced myself.
“My name is Autumn,” she said as she brought her face close to mine.
“Nice to meet you …” but before I finished we were hugging while our lips and tongues danced with each other’s.
I pulled away from her and at first she seemed upset. “Wait. I didn’t finish earlier. I don’t know what it is about you. But I …” It was a tough sentence to finish. I’ve only told one other girl I loved her and she ended up telling my best friend the same thing behind my back.
Autumn stood against me and said, “I know. I … I think I love you too.”
So I decided to self-published the infamous collection of stories that was responsible for the whole Trestlegate scandal. So without further ado I bring to you all for a $5 paperback. Also, use the coupon “RETAILMENOT25” to get it for $3.75. Buy it here.
“Silver Bullets”: A vengeful tale of love and immortality.
“The Online Devil”: Sit down and chat with the Grim Reaper – online.
“The Children That Watch Us”: A child’s grandfather finally grows crazy enough to fire his shotgun at his own family. After he’s put away, during the following Halloween the rest of the family learns why.
“The Horror Suicide Show”: In a booth where everyone can see you die, a woman takes her life. The others watch in amazement, because sometimes death is never enough.
“As A Dead Girl Rots”: Curiosity killed the cat and soon it will kill you too.
“Forever Tired”: A boy runs through a field for his life, carrying the only thing the murderous giant wants from him – his teddy bear.
“. . . Dinner With A Vampire. Bullshit”: A twist on the average vampire story. This time it’s the human’s turn.
Rape is such an ugly thing. A man or woman steals something and leaves something more damaging in its place. The trauma is life changing and at best, hard to control. Ryan wouldn’t wish that on anyone, except maybe a person who had done it to someone.
Ryan was raped. Uncle John had raped him and had plans to continue to rape Ryan, but Ryan was strong enough to stay alive. He sought refuge in his artwork; it was the only reason he wanted to be alive. When that was taken away from him, he wanted to die.
He stared at his mural in the dark. He remembered every detail that plagued that wall. He imagined the mushrooms crying, hoping that Ryan would help them. “Ryan,” another mushroom said as she held onto the bars of her cage.
“I’m going to die here?” she asked.
“Yes,” Ryan said. He had explained in detail the scene that would take place upstairs.
Ryan had noticed a minuscule beam of light. It came from the room above. Must be the kitchen, Ryan thought to himself. The light disappeared and Ryan had realized it must be nighttime.
There were no clocks below the house. Many times it felt like time refused to be there. It was a place where even time didn’t want to exist.
Sam was awake. She rocked in her cot, while she held her knees to her chest. She was lost in thought, thinking of her friends and family. She wondered if Tommy Rosen would still want to date her. She wanted Tommy to love her and maybe one day marry her. They could have two, no three babies and two dogs. Her mother danced in her head as she twirled in the kitchen with her apron on, she missed waking up to the smell of bacon. The toast that awaited her at her plate would push the smell of butter into her nostrils and when she opened her eyes, she expected
Ryan drew with his mind and painted with his thoughts. Rainbows, grass and life he whispered to himself thinking of the butterflies that flew around the old tree and over the mushrooms. One stopped on a mushroom and flapped its wings as if it were staring back at Ryan.
Sam continued to daydream. Now she was thinking about having a baby. Perhaps Tommy would want at least one boy, she thought but the thought escaped her suddenly. “What if I’m already pregnant?”
“You’ll die before you find out.”
“Fuck you, Ryan.
“Fuck you and your fucking face. You know you are just as responsible,” she screamed.
The light upstairs shined through the tiny hole and moments, seven clicks later, Uncle John appeared at the door.
“What’s going on?”
The light remained off as Uncle John continued to flick the switch. He leaned back into the other room and kept trying the switch. He disappeared after several tries.
Ryan grew scared. Uncle John grew frustrated and when he was frustrated he would take it out on one of his captives. Please not me, Ryan thought.
He returned with a flashlight and stomped down the steps. “What the hell is going on down here?” he asked.
“I missed you,” Sam said. “I . . . Want you inside me.”
Ryan was shocked and confused. It was a weird sensation that made his face twitch. Sam was taken upstairs and, unlike before, she didn’t return.
Next: Piece 10
If you are not up to speed with Trestle Press’s issues over the last week. Please visit my deviantArt journal here.
Many of the vocal authors made a stand last week. They decided that even though they had contracts with their pieces and project’s they wanted nothing to do with a company that steals art. When I first discovered the art theft, I was then worried about my art. Would that get stolen too?
Here’s a list of the authors who have stated they are leaving along with their corresponding Blog that states it. If I missed any, please let me know and I’ll add it to the list.
The Sinking Ship
Trestle Press had also released a statement that they later had pulled. It can be found here. They also plan on continuing their radio show, like nothing ever happened. I wish I could get on that radio show. 🙂
Here’s the list of people who have posted that they are staying, regardless of proof. Most of them seem to only stay stating that they signed a contract and will stick to it and calling others unprofessional for doing otherwise.
We strive. We learn and move on. In many cases Trestle Press was just hurting writers with bad editing and stolen covers. They would then take a larger percentage of the profits just to “Advertise”. I’m sure many of the writer’s work speaks for itself like Nigel Bird and Paul D. Brazill’s and all the others. So buy their books.
Don’t buy them because you feel bad, buy them because you want good literature. Buy them because you can and you know that all their profit goes to them, not a man who steals and lies. Buy from them to keep literature alive and because they are honestly good people who just want people to be happy. They write, because you like to read; and you read because of people like them.
So buy a short story from an indie writer or just drop them a comment, because reading your comments is like fuel. It’s fuel that we pour into our pencils and laptops and then we do that little waltz with our fingers. In the end, that dance is for you.
Samantha’s anger had lasted for only a couple of minutes since Uncle John was quick to correct the that kind of behavior.
Fear. Fear was something Uncle John was good at invoking. He never had to open the cage to induce fear. He just needed a little prodding, sometimes with an actual cattle prod. The sparks flew as he tapped the metal bars of the cage. His eyes lit up and spit began to fall down the side of his mouth as he stunned her repeatedly. She tried to reach for it – she wasn’t agile or fast enough – but only ended up zapping herself in her hand.
Her eyes even seemed to sweat, Ryan had thought to himself as the blues of the arcing light danced.
She became tired which had made it easy to handcuffed her. He carried her like an old finished up tag doll no one played with and took her upstairs. Ryan had finally finished his mural during the mayhem.
He stepped back and shined his flashlight at the grassy knoll. He followed the dirt path through the clouds of butterfly and over towards the dirt patch. There stood eight mushrooms. Each one represented the captives that had died in the bedroom up above.
Further, next to the trove of mushrooms stood a large diseased oak tree. He didn’t know what compelled him to add it but he thought it completed the project – and it did. Its branches twisted into the sky away from the dirt patch of mushrooms. The center one he had thought was his – in case he were to die. Maybe I’m already dead the idea was intriguing to the boy and he sat back, stared at his mural, moving the flashlight across the different pieces, and thought to himself the many intricate details of his short life.
Samantha was carried back into her cage moments later. She was too tired to struggle, too tired to care, Uncle John made sure of that.
Samantha entered stage four and was the first to reach it at such an incredible speed. She was also the first to reach a new stage – vengeance.
Next: Piece 6