H is for Horror

Posted on Sunday and now posting on Monday, but I am staying up way too late and it is catching up with me. Must post and go to bed.

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From A to Z

The first part of the story came to me in a flash from something my daughter said, but wrapping a story around it was difficult and took me a very long time. I also learned my ability to spell, or maybe type, is dramatically reduced when I am tired and that is saying something because the red squiggly lines are my stated nemesis. On to the H story.


She was standing in the middle of a clearing with an enormous tree at the far side behind her giving an impassioned speech. She looked around up in the branches and said, “He doesn't control you. Your hatchlings should be safe. You shouldn't have to live in fear anymore,” There was a twittering and the trees seemed to sway though there was no wind. “He has cut down your trees and it's destroying our home. If he isn't stopped he will cut down Geamur’s tree and set him free,” as she said that the birds in the trees exploded with screeching and flapping. They were listening to her, they understood what must be done. The girl appeared to have stopped her speech and be observing the birds. Their wee voices wove together to form a tapestry of mounting fury.

A big black raven came flying through the trees and landed on the girl's shoulder and cawed as soft as a raven can. She spun around and screamed, “ No, you can not be here. You do not have the right!” She raised her arms and screeched like the most monstrous bird that had ever been heard. Her brigade rose into the air as one. Darting and barely missing each other they focused their attentions on the man standing opposite the ancient tree. The hoard acted more like a swarm of angry bees than any birds ever witnessed. He threw himself to the ground with his hands over his head for what little protection they offered as the dive bombing became more vigorous. The birds began to draw blood and one after another they pecked off the biggest chunks of him they could take.

Finally this menace will be dead and our family can rest. She whirls around as she hears a thudding behind her. The same man whose demise she had just ordered was standing before her chopping at the sacred enclosure. Her jaw dropped and she looks from one to the other losing valuable moments in her confusion. “How could you betray us? You are supposed to be one of us,” she bellowed the rest of her body suspended by her rage.

“I haven’t been one of you freaks for over a century. Stuck in the past is why you will fail,” he said while not missing a stroke.

She threw her hands in the air and again came the monstrous screech that spurred the birds into terrible action. They turned on the identical man still chopping away at the ancient tree.

They pecked and scratched showing no mercy and still he chopped as best he could. “I have a debt to pay,” he shrieked.

“And I have a job to do,’” she said evenly, but her eyes were focused and squinted in anger.

He made his last feeble chop planting the axe in the trunk and fell toward the ground landing on top of the axe handle. His weight knocked the axe out of the tree with a huge chunk flying into the forest. Acid green light shone from the hole and black ichor dripped to the forest floor.

“Fly you fools!” She screams at the birds. They obeyed instantly, but before they could get far a bright and terrible green light burst from the tree in a ring and incinerated every last bird in the clearing. “My babies,” she whispers and took a deep breath. She ripped a gold acorn necklace from her neck and yelled, “et confortabitur anima mea,” while running at the tree. She threw her body at the wound in the tree. Another tree sprang up alongside the huge tree where her body landed. The light faded as the new tree grew into the old and became a hundred year old tree in a matter of seconds.


I am not really sure if I did the horror genre justice. Book Country says that, in horror stories, the evil force lives on at the end and I am not sure the true evil force was enough of a threat or that it is clear it survives in the tree. What do you think?

It is strange I would have so much trouble with horror because the first time I ever really read a book for pleasure was Stephen King’s It during the summer between 6th and 7th grade. Before that I read slowly and would lose interest because I hated almost every book that was available at the elementary school library. My father took us the the huge library in downtown Orlando several times a week, but I spent most of my time there reading news clippings on microfiche. Does anyone even remember those? What was the first book you remember reading purely for your own pleasure? Let me know in

the comments.

Camp Nano Update

I am at 5,878 words written and should be at 7,333. I am sitting at 29% of my goal. My plans for later today were canceled so I am hoping to get a bit more than the bare minimum writing done. I hope you all are on target with your writing goals.

Photos by Pixabay.