Fall is a Dancer

This is kinda based on these really short stories I wrote where the seasons where these four sisters and their father was Time. Anyway, I wrote this kinda on the fly, William is not a huge fan of it, but there was something about it that I was kinda unwilling to change. Anyway, it touches lightly on the theme for the week, something we both have been doing a lot, which makes me question the whole theme concept if we are so unwilling to abide by it. Also this is being posted early, probably because I have another story on my brain and I want to dedicate some time to it. Also this is a much more cheery story than usual, enjoy.

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Title: The Dance of Fall
Theme: Myth/Relationship
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Most people will try to tell you that raven’s bear with them bad tidings and ill fortune. Perhaps in some cases this is most definitely the case. However in my family, story after story is passed along about how they more often than not carry with them the change in the season, and like you or me, are just people with a job to do. I myself have often come upon the Raven’s of the seasons, sharing in conversation with them, or falling away from what they bring with them. However this is nothing new, stories of my families dealings with them go farther back than dates do. And it is in these stories that we have become so familiar with them, so un-startled by them. For instance, did you know Fall is a dancer?


He was but the first among my family, and with him he carried no name, the kin of a man and a Sidhe, some might say, details however to which he did not care. What the first of my line did care for were the things he saw around him and the things that people so often seemed to miss in their hurriedness. There was very rare a time that he was not gallivanting through the woods near the town to which he was so estranged, further stoking the rumors that he was the spawn of such an odd union. The boy would not wear shoes on his feet, claiming that there was only one way to experience the wood, and that was with the earth moving through, under and over your feet, allowing yourself to fully experience it. It was one day, trying to make his way home from traversing perhaps just one stream or one field to far that the first of us did meet a new friend, forever changing the course my family would take. He was crossing a gentle stream when perhaps an even more gentle breeze did pass him by. And carrying with it were several dancing leaves of a color he had never seen leaves before. The leaves carried with them the varied range that the copper the villagers used seemed to carry.
“Many a distance I have traveled these woods, and not a leaf nor a blade of grass have I ever seen carry such beauty! I will move against the wind today, mayhap I will find the home to these strange leaves!”
And so, without thinking, as my family often seems to do, the first of us did wander off against the wind in the hopes of finding something new that the others did not know a thing about.

It would be more than a strange leaf that the lad would find, soon he found his forest floor, carpeted with greenest moss you could hope for, was covered in fallen leaves. The leaves delicately draped themselves over the forest landscape, resting and colorizing every hill, ever crevice in a beautiful range of golds, crimsons, and coppers.
“I am no longer in my forest. Have I been taken by the fair folk, for truly a wood of this elegance must be theirs.”
The boy continued with his walking, swearing to himself that he could hear music, a sweet humming off in the distance. Moving against the wind once more, the lad was walking into the setting sun, into a golden forest, so much more different than the green one he was used to, and it was in a vast expanse of trees amongst an ocean of moss and fallen branches that he did see her. She moved in front of the golden rays that seemed to be creeping in through the trees and he lost her to a silhouette, but it did not stop him from hearing her song.

The spring is done, its come and gone
Summer has had her turn.
And now I dance with the woods
Waiting for Winter to return.

My time is precious, for it is short
But I cherish every moment
Every step among your branches
Toot sweet I must lament.

The warm wind blows around me now
Carrying your leaves
I must carry on my dance
As I move amongst the trees.

Her song continued, it seemed as though she was making it up as she went along, but the boy did not care. He was enthralled with her dance. She stepped lightly upon the forest floor, up and down trees, twirling as she did so. It seemed as though she never touched the ground. If I could compare it, the dance was everything that any dance would aspire to be. I cannot mention just one dance, for I would have to believe all dance draws upon its desire to move the way Fall was. And as twilight began its approach, it was then that the boy finally got his first best look at Fall and he found himself further enchanted by her. Her skin was fair, and her hair seemed to shift almost as much as the falling leaves did, moving through the colors we so associate with fall. She wore a dress woven from leaves, but flowed like silk, that moved with grace with Fall’s every step. She wore a shirt one would have to assume was woven by light and carried the color of a setting sun, sharing even its glow. Even this was changing as the sun began to set, the fabric slowly filling with flickering stars. And lastly around her neck was a scarf knitted using yarn from the wind, for it to danced endlessly. Lost in his rapture, the boy hardly took notice of the fact that she was, with unbelievable grace, stepping towards him, her golden brown eyes carrying with them a smile as warm as the one spreading upon her pink lips.
“You can see me?”
“How can I not? What is it that you are doing?”
“I am changing the seasons. Summer is over and I must make ready for Winter’s time.”
“What are seasons? What is Winter?”
“Winter is one of my sisters.”
The lad had no idea what seasons were, this was his first time meeting one of them. But he liked Fall, he was quite smitten by her to say the least.
“You should come back to the village with me, it will be dark soon.”
Fall chuckled, as most seasons tend to do when one does not understand their work.
“I can’t dear boy. I must get going; I have much to do, and very little time to do it in.”
The first of my line became sad; he did not want Fall to go away. He wanted to watch her dance; he wanted to continue to hear her song.
“Then I will come with you.”
“Where I go, you cannot come I am afraid. But I will be back.”
“When? Will it be for longer?”
“The same time next year. And no, I am afraid I won’t be here much longer than I am now.”
“Your time is so short here, and yet with you comes things I have never seen before. I won’t forget them. I promise, there will come a time when one of my line will get to walk with you while you dance. Until then I shall tell them about you. And they will keep watch for you. Every time they see the leaves fall, they will know you are back, and they will listen to your song and they will watch your dance.”
Fall had no more words for the first of my line, instead she gave him a gentle kiss upon his cheek and smiled at him. She started to sing her song, and dance once more, and the boy could only hear but a few more words of her song fade off into the woods.

I dance now, through song and tale
As Inspiration has now been born
He waits for me every year
That he may see me dance once more.
That he may see me dance once more.

Bedhunter Vol: 1 and my lack of experience for the theme.

I don't know if this is very thrillerish but I don't know how to do a thriller so whatever shall I do? So here is a Occult Spy story that is a little bit like a thriller. It's part of a series and I wrote it awhile ago but it's good, enjoy and don't break your head trying to read my bad grammar. lol

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Theme: Occult Spy Thriller
Title: Bedhunter Vol: 1

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I remember the look it gave me before I tagged it, well maybe look is not the right word. Its not like it had eyes, it was more of a mental message and even that I don’t think conveys what I am trying to get at. It was a message of pain and sorrow and of anger and hate, these things know that I am their enemy and they want to kill me but at the same time this one wanted me to help it. To kill it and set it free from its task.
Perhaps I should start at the beginning.
You don’t know me, but I know you. I have seen you, I have talked to you but if I came up to you today you would not remember me. I am an easy face to forget I have been told. I work for the government, a secret division of the Canadian government that is secretly protecting you from a hidden threat that you would never suspect.
What if it was your own bed?
Allow me to tell you a story; a story about how the realties of what you think you know is nothing but a lie. Let me show you my life.

The light entered the room filling it with a golden brilliance, revealing everything that was hidden a second before. The room was a pale peach color; chips of paint were coming off the wall in large chunks from years of mistreatment. The room was smoky and had an air of dampness to it, like something out of a horror movie. The bar was stained from who knows what, peanuts were scattered around the few bowls that were present. The door swung slowly shut and the light vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by a dull yellow light. The place was mostly deserted, a couple were sitting at the far end of the bar drinking what I thought were martinis but then again I was never quite sure.
The Bartender gave me a dirty stare; he was dressed in a brown shirt stained by the drinks he slung. He was cleaning cup as he watched me, I could feel his eyes burrowing into me trying to find my secrets more then likely trying to find out if I was a cop or not. I raised my hand and called out for a coke; he gave me some unintelligent grunt and began to fill a glass with a brown liquid.
I surveyed the bar I was in again, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Not that I was looking for anything in particular but I do like to take notice of my surroundings. I saw a bush in one corner, desperately in need of a prune perhaps the owners attempt to spruce the place up. Several windows had been bored up, perhaps to ward off the sun from shinning into the bartender’s eyes.
My train of thought was lost however when the Bartender slammed down my drink on the table, he was a grisly fellow. He wore a pair of blue jeans too tight for him; they forced his large stomach mass to pop out every which way. He was still staring me down with his dark brown eyes, eyes that were hiding something. Perhaps he sells drugs, or better yet maybe he is a slave trader. I have heard of people doing that sort of thing in these parts.
“Seven fifty.” He says in a gruff voice scarred by smoking
I look at the drink he had placed in front of me, a small by any standard. “Seven fifty? For this?” I replied in my most outraged voice. It’s not that I cared but I know when I am getting ripped off, it’s the principle not the price.
The Bartender that I have made a mental note to call Sid because well he looked very much like a Sid, or maybe a Hank However I digress. Sid gave me an even stare even harder then the last one and held out his hand for a payment of some kind. Reluctantly I reached into the black jeans I was wearing and pulled out a ten dollar bill. Sid grabbed the bill up quite quickly and walked back to his bar where he did not put the money in a till or bring me back my change I might add.
I was about to go up to the bar and ask for my change when the room was filled once again with the golden light from outside. My eyes were blinded for a second before they adjusted and I viewed what I can only say is the vision of beauty.
She was tall for a woman, perhaps five ten, maybe six feet high. She curved at all the right places, and had hair the color of honey. I thought I was in love, well at least for a second. Soon the harsh reality of what I had to do rushed back to me and with that in mind I took a sip of my drink.
She walked into the bar, looked around once and then moved to an open seat a few tables away from me. I watched her for a few moments, not quite sure how to approach her. She took out a book and began to read, the dim light inside the bar did not give me the chance to see what she was reading before the bartender Sid came out to get her order.
“What do you want?” He said in that smoky voice only a mother could love.
“Water. In a god damn clean glass.” Her voice was like a river, it flowed out and washed over you filling you up inside with its beauty.
She at least knew what she wanted, so as soon as Sid left to go and get her drink I made my move. Picking up my Coke I walked the five whole steps to her table and introduced myself. “Hello there, sorry for the trouble but what are you reading today?” She gave me a look filled with ice and hatred and simply tilted the book so that I could read the title myself.
It was a book on Faith and Science or something, I honestly can’t remember. However I remember I did have to talk my pants off before I could get her to actually talk back.
“So are you in school or do you just read this stuff for fun?” I asked in my most serious but playful voice. “Oh? Is that important for you to know?” She retorted with her own Serious but not too playful voice. I simply burst out laughing; she was quite the girl if I do so say myself.
We ended up talking for quite the time, the bar filled and then emptied and then filled again before I knew it and soon Sid was turning chairs over telling us to get the hell out. So taking the hint we got up and moved outside.
I took a glance at my cell phone and checked the time, I always wondered if people thought I was rude when I did that. The time read that it was three in the morning and that I had just spent eleven hours in a bar talking about science and religion and babying a coke worth seven fifty all in all not a bad night.
“So did you want to continue this talk somewhere else? Or are you leaving?” She asked in that same smooth flowing voice she had. “I can keep the conversation going for a bit still, where did you have in mind?” I replied, a smile climbing on my face as the realization of what may come to pass danced in my mind.
She simply laughed and walked down the street, leaving me to simply follow behind her like the little puppy dog she was turning me into.
We ended our walk in front of a large building; I wasn’t quite sure what it was supposed to be. I didn’t see any signs or markings telling me what it was, I do remember that it was filled with books so I guess it was a library. We walked the rows on rows of books, commenting on what we found and what we might be looking for. I think she worked there, she just walked through the front door, no alarm no nothing. So we strolled through the books and found books on theology to books on how a seal breeds. I remember seeing the sun break over the other buildings from the windows in that place and then I remember the taste of her mouth and the way she wiggled under me as I entered her.
I woke up next to her on a bed of books, I don’t remember much more from that night but I remember I liked it. She stirred as I began to move, our clothes covered us like a blanket. I stood and dressed as she watched from our bed of books. A smile played on her face; I was never sure what she was smiling for.
“That was fun.” I said as I dressed. A moan was all I got from her as she slowly began to dress her self.
She stood and grabbed her bag that I had all but ignored last night, the image of an eagle or maybe a falcon I wasn’t sure was on the side. I pulled out my phone and checked the time, just after noon. I guess you can’t sleep very long on a bed of books, which as I mention it my back cramped for weeks after that.
“Did you want to continue this back at your place?” I asked. I was going to pull it out a winner by the end.
She looked at me then an odd look. It was filled with guilt and suspicion and something else I couldn’t put my finger on. However it was gone as quickly as it came and soon she was dragging me back to her car in the bars parking lot.
She lived in the city; it was about a ten minute car ride from the bar maybe a bit more then that I can’t remember exactly. The area her apartment was in was one of those slum areas that every city has. Filled with crack addicts and winos and who knows what else. A place a young women should not be living in.
The car came to a stop in front of a large apartment building, at least ten stories or more. She happened to live on the fifth floor with a corner suite. Not a bad place really, the outside looked pretty bad but the inside was well kept. We entered her apartment and I could feel the presence of what I was looking for right away. The malicious and violent thoughts against me were evident within the first few steps. It knew who I was which was odd considering up until now I didn’t think they had any way of communication. I made a mental note and walked all the way in.
The main living area was well furnished, a full leather couch set and a set of dark wooden end tables and coffee table. I moved in and sat on one of the lather couches, I watched as she stood there not quite sure what to do. I noticed something then, I never did ask her what her name was. I never even told her my name. Somehow this didn’t matter though, it wasn’t important. I simply sat there on the leather couch in my black jeans and my crappy throw away white tee shirt, waiting for her to move away from the door way.
She however just stood there.
“Is there something wrong?” I asked in genuine concern
However she never replied, she shook her head and moved into the bathroom. I heard the shower turn on and then I heard signing, a rich sound that like water flowed over you. I don’t think I will ever forget the song she was signing.
I just stood there, in front of the couch listening for several second before I heard it coming.
However I was too late, the sheet whipped out of the bedroom and wrapped around my head. I reached up and tried to release the linen from around my head but the sheet tightened and I could feel a pull from the other end. The pull knocked me off balance and I found myself struggling as I was slowly pulled towards the bedroom, over the couch and the table behind it. I could feel the wood of the table break under my weight, the thin legs meant to hold ornaments could not support my weight and several jagged pieces of wood jabbed into my back and stomach. I tried to find something to brace against, anything to slow my advance towards the bedroom and my death.
Then I found my savior, my hand reach out and grasped a metal rod. Desperate for my light I clung to the rod for my life. My advance to the bedroom seemed to stop, I tried to regain my feet, to try and walk back away from the direction I was being dragged. However the thing was too smart for that. As soon as I got to my feet, I was yanked once again back to the ground.
My body raked with pain, I had been stabbed by some of the wood and was bleeding. I couldn’t tell where I was bleeding from but I could feel the damp material of my shirt as it soaked up the blood.
I struggled still with the cloth wrapped around my face; there seem to be no opening. As if my face had merged with the cloth itself. Then as I searched one more for a seam or opening to rip the blasted thing away and free myself, the pulling stopped and the cloth was lifted from my eyes.
I found myself surrounded by clothing, I could make out the faint outline of a desk covered with clothing and what I thought was a television it’s white snow sending out a low hiss. Then as I regained my feet I saw what I had come for.
A king sized bed, complete with four posters and a canopy, perhaps one of the most dangerous types of beds known to mankind. They are considered royalty among the beds. Back in ages past only royalty and people of important placement had them and as such they became the leaders of their kind.
I was not prepared for this; my intelligence told me she has a twin at the most. Something simple, something easy! I was in trouble.
I looked around for anything I could use as a weapon. Something that the bed would be afraid of, then out of the corner of my eye I saw it. A trash can with a pie tin in it.
I was in luck! Perhaps I wouldn’t die.
I made a dash back to the front room, dodging tendrils of sheets and the occasional pillow. She was still signing in the shower, that rich relaxing sound. I made my way into the kitchen and flung open the fridge, using the door to protect myself from the pillows being thrown from the bedroom.
I scanned the fridge; I saw the mustard and the milk and lots of veggies. Then in the back I saw what I wanted. I pulled out a Tupperware container and opened it.
Almost instantly the barrage of pillows stopped, I could feel the fear it had now. I could feel the beast looking for a way to kill me quickly instead of toying with me. I wasn’t going to let it though, I was going to take this thing out and I wasn’t going to let it or anyone stop me.
I pulled out the apple pie from the Tupperware, it wasn’t blueberry but it would do. I moved out into the front room, a pillow came straight for my head but I batted it aside easily. The pie piece held before me. As I entered the bedroom two sheet tentacles came at me, grabbing my right leg and left arm. The sheets pulled me down to the ground. The pie piece fell from my hand as I hit the ground. The sheets pulled me closer and closer to the bed; I could see the top mattress lifting up and the millions of teeth dripping with anticipation of the feast I would provide it.
Looking around I found the apple pie piece a few fee away lying on a shirt. As a final desperate act I grabbed the shirt and pulled it and the piece of pie towards the gapping mouth of the bed.
The beast swallowed the shirt not even thinking the pie could be contained within it. However as soon as the mouth closed the bed began to shudder and spasm, the beast spewed forth clothing and items it had stolen for all the years it had lived. Then with a last shudder its box spring collapsed inwards.
I moved out of the bedroom, the living room was a disaster. Pillows and broken furniture lay everywhere. The signing still came from the shower that must now be cold. However when I knocked on the bathroom door I got no reply and the song did not falter.
I left that place soon after, taking a small note book out of my back pocket and writing down the mattress serial number on it.
I left that town the same day, my job was finished and I had other things to take care of. However I will never forget her, or the Bed of Books that’s we made that night.

So now you know what I do, whether or not you believe me or not is up to you. Just remember. They are our retreat for when we get tired, they protect us during the night and we give them no thought. However what if they were intelligent? Would you still sleep on them? Would you still feel safe around them? Have you ever come home and went into the bedroom and seen things moved around? Perhaps you are missing some socks? Maybe the pile of clothes is no longer in a neat pile, or the books that were scattered around are now in a nice pile. These are the signs of a bed no longer willing to live the life it was meant to.
That’s where I come in.
I am William Evans, Bed Hunter.

We are so lazy!

My Goodness are we ever lazy! Two poems in a row. I was so far behind in writing my story for this theme that I plum ran out of time! I, it seems, am a very busy man. But if it means anything, I have a fair chunk of a fresh notebook dedicated entirely to half finished stories and ideas! Anyway, this poem is based on a story I heard from someone, and I think it was my father. It was about this town in England, like way back when, that woke up one morning and found these hoof prints burnt into their cobble stone streets. Not just their streets, but up lamp posts and their houses and roofs. Walking in a straight line until it reached a field and stopped, didn't continue at all. Who knows what could have done this, but I got to thinking about this story recently and wanted to try my own crack at it. I focused more on the occult and danced around the spy part of our theme. I don't think the story is all that thrilling, but whatever.

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Theme: Occult/Thriller/Spy

Name: In Stone

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Through the fog I did feel a creeping chill

As cats of eight did sit and stare.

I ventured onward safety fleeting still

And of the consequences I did not care.

Those who seek to hurt and cause harm

Are at their deeds this night.

Hurry before I fall for a phantom’s charm

To put their evil deeds right.

Upon my spine I did feel a creeping tingle

As ghostly fingers did make their way.

Upwards and downwards every single

Part of my dear vertebrae.

Upon the field of which I now do tread

I saw a most peculiar sight.

A young child swinging up overhead

On this fog filled moonless night.

This work I do is but by an employer

For if not, I would find other work.

They hire me, a paranormal voyeur

To find where the dark things lurk.

A child was swinging upon the swing

No features for me to see.

For innocent blood it seemed to be calling

Before walking away from me.

The swing still swang on its direction

No rider on which it bore.

The rider moving towards its selection

Of which I was to see no more.

Its walking straight was not imposed

Nothing to mar its way.

Hoof prints on stone the thing embossed

Nothing moving it astray.

A raven did caw its mourning somewhere far

As the creature did continue to trod.

May it find no home in which it can scar

Was my prayer to Holy God.

The town slept as I kept my watching

Jotting down letters in my notes.

I watch the small child as it kept on its walking

With hoof prints that looked like a goats.

It walked over houses, clear over poles

Nothing did stop where it walked.

Leaving the sleepers and leaving their souls

As I ran after and merely gawked.

To a field, did the child finally stop moving

Standing amongst the sheep herds.

I swear to you now I heard the thing crooning

In a voice to which there is no words.

In a moment, the child did get swept away

In a fire to which there was no light.

I can’t fully explain what I saw to this day

And none would believe the tales of my sight.

So I wrote to my employer my final notes

About the events in that town.

About the child whose prints were like goats.

And walked over all who slept sound.

Only one thing that tells my story real.

Hoof prints burnt in stones.

All across the town like a burning seal.

Walking over top their homes.

Apologies!!!

Sorry folks but I totally forgot to write a story this week! I got caught up with real life or something. I will replace this post with a story as soon as I have written it. In the mean time here is a poem.


Shadows dance across the pond
the waves of men come and gone
Soon the wind will come again

The man sits by himself
wallowing away in his tin cup
too lost to find his way again

The song has disappeared gone and dead
full of loss and full of dread
He sits there and starts to weep again

His love has left him, his love is gone
full of pain and confusion with a clouded dawn
He wallows in his drink once again

Wallowing in the dirt he cries out loud
his skin breaks as he turns around.
weeping in the night again.

The night has ended, he is still alive
forced to considered why he did not die
the song is gone, the song has faded
only to be replaced by something greater
never to bother him again.