November on The Ink Owl


Hello and welcome to November on the Ink Owl. This month’s theme for November is Food. And I have to admit, I love food. Who doesn’t? We’ve had a bit late of a start on the month, but have a nice variety of submissions, some stories from friends, anonymous submitters, and a few writers/bloggers from around the globe. I am ever so grateful to all who have submitted their work and I can’t wait to share what they have created! So without further ado, here’s to our guest writers on The Ink Owl. Happy reading!

-M.E. InkOwl

 

Last day Announced for Guest Submissions, November on the InkOwl

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So the holiday took a bit of a turn with getting all of this blogging stuff together, forgive the abrupt end to October on the InkOwl. All of your comments and likes were appreciated! Hopefully, I was able to thrill a few of you. One day I’ll finish sharing scary stories from my own life.

But now November! I will be out for the month participating in National Novel Writing Month and will only be featuring guest posts that have been submitted to me. That being said, I don’t have a lot of posts to feature so I am moving the deadline to accept submissions to the end of this week, so November 5th.

Here are the official guidelines to follow:

Submissions must be about food. They can be any genre of writing as well.
Entries must contain no less than 50 words, no more than 1700 words.
Photos are a must, even if they are taken from the internet (please give credit).

Please list your website or blog so I can give you credit for your work and answer these three question for your author bio:
1. Where are you from?
2. What started you writing? (Why do you like to write?)
3. What is your dream for your writing?

*Pictures of yourself for the author bio are encouraged.*
**Pictures and content submitted with graphic language, violence and/or pornographic nature will not be accepted**
***Please give credit where it is due, I do not accept copyrighted work***

Send submissions to Michael.erickson512@gmail.com no later than November 1st.
I love forward to your submissions! Feel free to share, reblog, or ping this post as much as you can! Thank you!

I look forward to your submissions!
-M. E. InkOwl

On The Road

The road stretched before our car, thumping under all four tires. All around us desert and mountains stretched for miles.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” I thought and loved it. This was my favorite part of our family road trip. It meant that we had finally left our home state and were now plunging headlong into a new adventure.

“Honey,” my mother said from the front seat to my father, “Pay attention to the road, you’re drifting.”

I smiled as my father nodded and pointed the front of his hat to the windshield. He loved this part of the journey as well, I could tell. The car always wandered between the white broken lines on the road.

My two siblings slept, their bodies fidgeting with dreams. I sighed and looked out the window again. We were traveling up the pass, and hills were transforming into mountains.

And that was when it happened. The rumble of an engine shifting gears from behind. It was a comforting sound, one that I had been listening to the entire trip. From behind us, an engine roared and a rusted bumper came into my view.  The car swayed to the right shoulder and mom cried out.

“Richard! Pay attention! You’re going to get us killed!”

We all jumped in our seats and I almost looked away from the passing truck. It was covered in dust, it’s paint job having long since rusted out. Stained windows reflected bug smears and even more dirt. But for a moment the sun disappeared behind the roof of the cab.

I stopped squinting and looked into through the window. An aged man gripped a slightly bent steering wheel. A cigarette was clamped firmly between gnarled lips. He was bawled, with skin the same dusty worn color as his truck. He stared resolutely out the windshield ignoring our car.

Next to him sat a younger person. I could tell because they were shorter and had smooth white skin. Bib overalls hung loose, over skinny shoulders that sat hunched down in their seat. I felt a chill run to my bones as I watched a ragged towel bounce over the child’s head.

It wasn’t right. The cloth laid over the kid’s face as if hiding the child from view. I only saw the pair for a total of five seconds, while my mother continued to scold my father. But time stopped for me. I saw a rigid back, etched with terror. The kid sat stalks still, unmoved by car nor bumpy road.

I knew, deep in my heart this was wrong, it was all wrong. The light from the late afternoon sun wasn’t even on the kids face, so why would they need it to be covered.

I opened my mouth to say something, but the engine of the truck revved even more and before I could get anything out the truck was gone down the road.

Our car was slowing down. Broken from the trance I looked around and realized we were pulling off to a rest top. Ahead of us, the old truck disappeared into the mountains.

-M.E. InkOwl

Death By Anticipation

“I’m gonna give you till the count of three.” The man screamed, spittle flying out of his mouth. His eyes were bloodshot, beard covered in spit, vomit, and heaven only knows what else. Beyond us, sand drifted in the morning light kicked up by the revving truck before us.

“What have we done?” One of us asks, as calmly as possible.

Expletives fly from his mouth as it twists with rage.

We’re going to die.” I thought, feeling my feet go numb.

“You stole my ATV! You stole it! I know it! And now you all are going to pay.” He waved the gun in our faces, black muzzle glinting before our noses.

He pointed the gun to the side of the dirt road, motioning us over, “Now line up over there! Now! Don’t ask questions just do it!”

I’m never going to see my family again.” Was all my mind could think.

We stepped over to the sagebrush covered hill.

“Honey,” said a woman’s voice from the cab of the truck, “I think you have the wrong guys, they’re just kids.”

“Shut up, woman. I know what I’m doing.” The man screamed. He stepped closer, a waft of alcohol blew from his twisting mouth.

“What is this guy on? He’s chewing up the inside of his mouth.” Even as I thought this he spit to the side, blood spattering the sand at our feet.

The man squared his shoulders, and spoke with in a dangerous whisper, “Alright.  You’re all going to tell me where you’ve been tonight, and then you’re going to show me the bottom of your feet.”

“What?’ Another of asked, bewildered and terrified.

“Show me your feet!” He screamed, stepping right up to us, all but shoving the barrel of his handgun up our noses.

We’re dead.” I thought, lifting my foot towards the man.

A look came over his face, making us pull back as one.

Then he screamed.

-M.E. InkOwl

By The River Running

Don’t you understand honey?” She said, trying to sound helpful. “They’re taking it all down all of it all the trees the river the forest, they’re already bulldozing it down.”

I ran, bushes and leaves slapping against my legs. A bird took flight from its hiding place, calling out with an ugly voice.

Raven.” My mind stated as the black wings disappeared beyond a stand of trees.

Behind me my grandmother’s apartment shrank behind the usual hedges of scrub oak and lilac.

I ran on, heedless of the noise and destruction I was causing. The trail wound it’s way up and over a small hill. For a flash I could see the green tops of trees leading off into the distance, ending in a long line of roofs

My thoughts returned back to what my mother had said, “It doesn’t matter anyway, Michael, Grandma is moving somewhere else, a better place.”

“But what’s better than this place?” I growled between taught jaws. It wasn’t fair. None of it was, especially for grandma. She was different, always had been. But now they were taking her away from this, from her home where it was safe to be different.

I continued on, now slowing my pace, daring someone to catch up with me pull me back inside.

As trees passed me I again heard my parent’s voice. “Now Michael it’s alright, this move will be good for grandma, they’ll take good care of her.”

Ahead of me some vines hung low over the path and I swung out at them, dashing greenery aside.

Why move from here? It’s perfect for Grandma. She doesn’t-” Thoughts suddenly derailedmy steps faultered and I tripped, almost sprawling head first into a bubbling stream.

I stopped for a moment, realizing just how deeply I was breathing, ears burning in my eyes. But the silence was too complete, my ears rang from it.

Something was not right. I stopped and scanned the forest where I stood. Large trees spread wide overhead, while the elevated path I stood on made up the river bank. Everything was normal, everything except. . .

Something swung in the gentle breeze, lazily circling in and out of view. It looked like a woven basket.

I walked up to the grizzled bush and pulled vines away. Something large swung out toward me and I leapt back in shock.

“What the?” I said, feeling my stomach twist. A woven form half the size of my body hung from a tree. Vines wrapped around most of its twisted limbs securing it to one side.

“Are you some kind of voodoo doll?” I asked, realizing that if a reply came from the woven form I’d most likely need to change my pants. There was no answer, just the sound of vines rubbing on branch. My attention focused beyond the vine. My eyes went wide. Nothing could prepare me for what I saw beyond the swinging form.

A small clearing sat to one side of the stream and path. A makeshift leanto sat between two trees, various objects and trash lay scattered about the space.

A fowl smell of rotten trash filled the air, making my neck tingle.

Maybe it’s a homeless person’s home.” I thought, trying not to panic.

Wind blew through the clearing picking up leave and trash, and throwing fetted air into my face.

I coughed and gagged, covering my nose and looked around. That what when I saw it, saw them. Dozens and dozens of twisted woven forms hung from the trees, swinging the wind. Their knobbled forms tossing this way that, faceless heads turning to look at an intruder, at me.

Dread fell upon me like thick oil. I did the only thing I could, I ran.

And I never looked back.

-M.E. InkOwl

Sinister Countdown Finale

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I had planned on posting several fictional stories and poems, but some unforeseen events have altered my plans. Please, bear with me as I share so much more than fictional accounts of sinister proportions. I intend to thrill you, horrify you, and terrorize you with true stories from my own life that haunt me to this day. Some will be gory, others bizarre, and still other’s will bend your perception of reality as you see it. Now allow me to pull you into my mind’s eye. Sit back, do anything but relax, and prepare yourselves for this year’s Sinister Countdown Finale.

-M.E. InkOwl

Eyes Closed Tight

Darkness fell outside my bedroom. I watched as lines of lamplight stretched across the walls of my room, throwing bizarre shadows into every corner.

“Good night.” Said, mom, as she kissed our foreheads. My brother and I murmured our love into the night as sleep filled our consciousness. Our lamp glowed red, giving off the calms scent of lavender.

From the top bunk, I surveyed our small room with ease. My eyes felt heavy as I watched the shadow of my toy against the glowing diffuser. Red light outlined the gaping visage of a dragon, my dragon, with great leathery bat wings and a green scaley body. It had been a Christmas present from the year before and I loved it.

As I drifted off to sleep, my mind registered movement within the room. I thought it was mom opening the door to check on us, but the door was closed tight. Again a flicker of movement caught my eye and I slowly looked around. I was getting tired.

There! The toy dragon swayed back and forward against the diffuser as if nudged into action by someone’s hand.

“But who’s hand would be doing that?” I thought, my consciousness giving way to subconscious control. A prickle of fear ran down my spine as I registered that something was amiss. But my mind was too slow, too sleepy.

The dragon moved again, black against red. And I watched as a large finger pushed the toy to the floor. It thumped against the carpet, breaking the soft silence.

We’re not alone here.” My mind said, but no panic came. No feelings stirred within my slumbering body. Below me, my brother snorted and rolled over in his bed.

A shadow moved against the lines of light on my wall. With it came a sickening smell of sweet candy and old leaves. I wanted to sit straight up and call for my mom, but my body didn’t move. I just laid there, watching with heavy-lidded eyes.

The shadow moved across my room. It was huge, reaching up to the vaulted ceiling of my room. Long arms stretched out towards our bunk beds, fingers grasping wide. I saw what could only be reindeer landers extending from a head covered in long clumpy hair.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw myself off the edge of my bed and turn on the light. But nothing happened. I couldn’t move.

Lavender rolled out across my senses, choking off all ability to rise to the threat now standing beside my bed. Red reflected light glowed in bizarre black eyes. They stared down at me, malic glinting within their depths. I felt titanic hands press me down into my bed, suffocating my person, without covering my mouth.

A thought struck me, as calm as talking a walk in the daylight hours. Those reflective black eyes were set too low, almost were where the chin should be. Again I tried to scream, as a gleaming mouth opened wide in a sinister grin. A grin that spanned the forehead of the beast by my bed. Another scream rose below the one that couldn’t get out. Both turned to a gigantic yawn that matched the open visage before me. My vision dimmed to darkness as I closed my eyes to sleep.

Above me, the upside down face grinned  at me as I fell into unconsciousness.

-M.E. InkOwl

 

Nonus Naeniam

Gleeful are we, three sisters of darkness,

Come dancing now to thee.

The signs are crushed, and wards are broken,

Draw near our time has come.

For now, we have, the Greenwitch fair,

Far innocent that was hoped for.

And now with her, the dying begins,

Our mission here is ending.

Come forth from wells deepest sprung,

This world awaits consuming.

We spill our powers upon the ground,

Your shadow now forthcoming.

-M.E. InkOwl

Chip, Crack, Crash

Chip, crack, crash.

We break the ice, jagged and clear.

Washing our hands from blood through the years.

Chip, crack, crash.

Our work here will never be done.

Eternal frost and broken bones.

Chip, crack, crash.

We are buried beneath an unending load.

Backs bent, skin slick with sweat and liquid ice.

Chip, crack, crash.

A mountain falls, consuming our unholy obligation.

For bodies we cover in ice and stone.

Chip, crack, crash.

We keepers of the dead,

Never forget our commitment to The Stone.

Chip, crack, crash.

Guest Submissions Needed

I’m going to be doing daily reminders about this now because I need more submissions! Please for the love of food, send me your posts about food. Any genre, any style, just make sure it fits within specified guidelines. Now is your chance to have your blog and writing featured! Read more to know what’s what:

Submissions must be about food. They can be any genre of writing as well.
Entries must contain no less than 50 words, no more that 1700 words.
Photos are a must, even if they are taken from the internet (please give credit).
Please list your website or blog so I can give you credit for your work and answer these three question for your author bio:
1. Where are you from?
2. What started you writing? (Why do you like to write?)
3. What is your dream for your writing?
*Pictures of yourself for the author bio are encouraged.*
**Pictures and content submitted with graphic language, violence and/or pornograpahic nature will not be accepted**
***Please give credit where it is due, I do not accept copyrighted work***
Send submissions to Michael.erickson512@gmail.com no later than November 1st.
I love forward to your submissions! Feel free to share, reblog, or ping this post as much as you can! Thank you!
-M. E. InkOwl