The darker shadows of the trees, cast down by the full moon’s light, left him disoriented. Smith had misread his map, taken the wrong trail and was now irrevocably lost.

Making matters worse, there were the odd noises coming from all around him. Some he knew, such as the scurry of a mouse, still others like the snapping of a branch or a heavy footfall left Smith questioning his safety.

“Please don’t be that thing again,” he mumbled tearfully.

He felt like he’d been this way or that way before as nearly everything took on the same dense tonality. Still Smith knew he could not stop for any reason – his intuition told him that danger was nearby – that he was being watched and to halt would be death.

“So, as you can see Mrs. Smith, your husband’s delusions are increasing,” the head of the psychiatric ward cautioned, “And the prognosis of a cure, to be completely honest, is becoming less and less likely.”

Jimmy pulled up in front of the house. He casually opened the side door of the white work van and began pulling material out, carrying it to the front door.

With everything unloaded, he closed up and locked the van. Then, with the same casual manner, he worked his magic on the front door lock.

Within seconds Jimmy was inside the house. He then set about unrolling the large plastic sheet over the carpet and up the walls.

Finished, he sat down to wait and as he waited, Jimmy screwed and unscrewed the silencer to his pistol in nervous excitement.

The only thing flat-earthers fear is sphere itself.

https://soundcloud.com/sierra-tom-darby/in-20200226

He had raced ahead of the beasts throughout the night and his pony was nearly played out, but Brady knew that if they stopped or the animal faltered, it would mean death for both. They had either ambushed Brady or Brady had accidentally found a hidden lair.

Having no time to find out, he turned and urged his mount to run as fast as it could. Not even his Colt could bring down one of the gargantuans. Over the course of several hours, he heard the growls, the pounding, and the heated breathing of the leathery beasts as they continued to pursue him across the open Nevada desert.

Only once did he and his horse fall, rolling down a slight embankment that both knew should not be there. The horse sprang to it its feet and continued with Brady hanging on to the saddle horn for dear life.

Ahead of them, sunlight finally broke the ridge of mountains. It burst the crisp morning air with a silvery haze that caused shadows to lengthen and time to shorten.

With the light came an odd silence. No longer were the large beasts giving chase, no longer could Brady hear their guttural threats, their bodies as they crashed through the pine nut trees and sage, over the rocks and sand.

With a start Brady suddenly realized that he was no longer in the Nevada he knew. He had entered another reality. But when?

He had never seen such large reptiles before, save for their bones in a museum. Now he had to back trail his movements. Find where he’d slipped through time and see if he could return or learn if he was stuck in a bygone era that was not his own.

Delores Hart decided to stop and see if she could find the grave of the greatest pitcher in the history of baseball. Unfortunately, it was nearly dark by the time she located the needed cemetery.

“It shouldn’t be that hard,” she told herself, even though it was practically dark.

After a number of frustrating minutes, Delores finally found the marker. As she stood there, looking at it in the ever fading light, she saw an orb form and fly passed her head.

In quick succession, it was followed by another one and than again. She found herself ducking and dodging the glowing balls of energy as they continued to form and fly at her.

One came very close to hitting Delores in the left hip. The 75-year-old woman stepped back out the way only to trip over a thick tree branch.

Picking it up, she choked up on it as if the branch were a baseball bat. As the next orb came zooming towards her, she swung at it.

With the brilliance of a spotlight flooding her eyes, the orb exploded into thousands of dazzling pieces, falling like glitter to the darkened earth. Surprised, Delores stood there waiting for the next orb to form and come at her.

It never came.

Suddenly, from behind her in the dark came a single beam of light, followed by the sharp voice of the nightwatchman, “You done playing baseball? I wanna lock this place up.”

Though he couldn’t see it, Delores smiled sheepishly, answering, “Jus’ leaving.”

Without another word she dropped the tree branch and walked back towards her car, certain she had hit a pitch thrown by the greatest baseball pitcher that ever lived.

An old grain silo used to stand in the vacant field down the way. The kids used to pretend it was a rocket ship or a castle, and it remained this way, until a family bought it, turning it into a home.

They worked on the place day-in, day-out and sometimes at night for nearly a year. Then one morning it caught fire, smoke and flames bellowing out from every crease and crack in the structure.

Then to everyone’s amazement, it rose from the ground with a massive trail of vapor gushing from beneath and thundered skyward. All that remains today is the scorched cement pad that was the foundation.

The family has never been seen or heard of since.

One minute, I was young and fun, the next, I found myself turning down my truck’s radio so I could see better.

the Queen wants chairs
high-backed and over-stuffed
never throne away

It might seem a tad-bit paranoid, but last night, my dogs did their best to scared me half-to-death. As I laid in bed later, I imagined their conversation going something like this:

“I’m kinda bored,” thinks Yaeger, “Wanna freak the old man out?”

“Yeah, but how?” Buddy asks in silence.

“Jus’ follow my lead,” Yaeger snickers with out a sound.

Yaeger then began cocking his head from one side to the other and staring unblinkingly into the corner above the front door, located behind me. Buddy, laying next to me as I sat on the couch, suddenly sat up, turned and faced the door, cocked his head side-to-side and also stared like he too could see something that I couldn’t.

“Have you ever seen a werewolf smile,” the old man stated matter-of-factly.

No one in the crowded watering hole spoke a word, not even the 20-something he held pinned against the bar.

“That’s right,” he growled menacingly to the young punk who had been picking at him, “And you don’t want too, either.”

Once released, the punk backed away, soaked in the crotch, leaving the old man to nurse his several beers and shots of whiskey in peace.