Memories at Red Tail

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fulcilives2003
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Memories at Red Tail

Post by fulcilives2003 »

Well i figured I'd start things off here. I've been writing off and on for the past year, mostly just short little things that spring from ideas that i think are pretty cool. This one I wrote for my family to enjoy. The camp in the story actually exists as do the notebooks. We go up there every year except the past couple years my girlfriend couldn't make it. this led to many questions as to where she was. This story was my creative way of explaining what happened to her. enjoy!

(so i guess i can't add it as an attachment for some reason.)

Domenic Betters 6700 words
1175 St. Rt. 136
Bellevernon, PA 15012
cthulhuchrist@yahoo.com


MEMORIES AT RED TAIL
By
Domenic Betters



Hey it’s me, Dom, everyone’s favorite relative, heh. I know, I know, I bet you’re reading this going, “Oh no, what did he do now?”, since the last time I was mentioned in this book it was for hitting my girlfriend in the head with a golf club at the driving range. Yea good times huh? Well unfortunately the events I am writing down once again involve Samantha, however they are far worse than a simple lump on the head.
I still can’t hold this pen with out my hand shaking violently. It’s like my doubting mind and the truth of what I’ve done are waging war and my body is caught in the middle. I can’t believe she’s gone. She was the love of my life; I would have done anything to make her happy, to see that warm, caring smile on her face. It had to be done though. To any reading this, please understand that I had no choice in the matter. Oh if only I had someone here to comfort me, to tell me what I did was the right thing; the best thing for her. That what I did was what anyone would do in my situation. And Christ, what a situation it is. I don’t think I’ll ever know why this is all happening to me. My only hope is that anyone reading this, my family most likely, will understand and that what I write here in these pages adequately explains my actions as well as gives fair warning to all the others that stay here at the “Red Tail”. For the love of Christ, I am not crazy!
I am writing this in the kitchen of our little run down trailer here at the camp. This notebook is getting pretty full I see. It’s just tradition to jot down all the happenings of your stay here at the Red Tail in one of these books. I look behind me and I can even see the old notebooks full of stories and people, some not even with us anymore. God I miss pap, he would have been able to make everything seem better, I’m sure. He loved all of us even more than this camp, and that’s saying a lot considering how much work over his life he put into it. Ah Hell, I’ve started to ramble a little bit. It’s good though that my mind can still wander to happier times in my memories. It helps block the harsh, terrifying realities awaiting me just outside this trailer. I do find it a small marvel than I have held up this well all things considered. Dom’s mental fortitude 1 – bitter agonizing truth 0!
Well like I said, this notebook is here for us to write down the events of our time here, and that’s exactly what I am going to do now. Besides, I think it would help for me to write down all that happened. Maybe, if I’m lucky, writing all of these events will give some clarity to the mess in my head.
It all started with a phone call like any other from my girlfriend of 6 years now, Samantha. I’m sure anyone reading this already knows who she is rather well and knows what a wonderful person she is. The call was one of her usual, fuck traffic and fuck stupid people who cause fuckin traffic, rants that I love dearly. She commutes a lot to get to work and, well I guess the stress was getting to her in a big way. I could tell; I have a pretty good sense about these kinds of things with her. Even when I was able to mercifully change the subject to something more pleasant, I could tell by the sound of her voice that she was not well. I offered to come over that night and she gratefully accepted. It was there that she finally let it all out.
“I’m just not happy.”
That was the first thing she said when I got there. And wow, it doesn’t look like a lot on paper, but God if you could see her face when she said it. There was such a look in her eyes like I have never seen before. It was the look of someone who just found out that the entire world has given up on her and who would sooner crawl into her own grave than make herself toast for breakfast. I didn’t know what to do. Normally if something’s wrong I can fix it. If she’s sad, I could say the right things to cheer her up, put my arm around her and tell her everything will get better. If something is broken I could fix it or simply go buy her a new one. No matter what I could solve the problems in her life. But no words, gestures, or promises, were going to solve the broken female behind those joyless eyes. Although I knew it wouldn’t help, I went to her and held her. Her warm body was a complete contradiction to the freezing cold I knew was inside her. And while she sobbed in my arms I started racking my brain, trying to think of something, anything, which could help this situation. The only thing I could think of was to get Sam away from all the traffic and the people and the everyday life that were constantly vomiting on her. It wasn’t long after that realization; I decided the best course of action to take. I knew exactly where to take her. “Red Tail” camp of course, our camp. A sanctuary to my family for years and years, where no matter what you have dragging you down, you leave it all behind when you’re there. That was the perfect solution, I was positive that when we got there every single worry would simply fall off her like old dead skin and a shiny new woman would emerge.
So the plan was put in motion. We both got the days off from our respective jobs, and once that was taken care of, everything was set and we left for the camp on Monday the 3rd. I picked up Sam at her apartment in Pittsburgh around 6 PM on what was probably one of the nicest days I’ve seen and felt in awhile. The temperature was cool and breezy. It felt like the fresh autumn air I used to love so much right before we went trick or treating on Halloween night. Eh who am I kidding with that used to shit, I still go trick or treating and I still love that air. And as for that stupid bright ball of crap most call the sun, my good friends, the clouds, made sure he would not bother me at all on this trip. Well things were looking good so far for me, and quite honestly I didn’t expect it to last long. I was certain that something was gonna go wrong very soon. Samantha wasn’t going to be ready, my car would break down, aliens would invade at that very moment. Something was gonna happen to ruin my day. I was so certain of disaster, my stomach got that sinking feeling you usually get right before you are getting the results back of a test you are most certain you failed in a class that you can not afford to fail that test in. I lightly knocked on her door and in my mind I already had the scene played out. She would open the door, tears flowing down her face, and cry out, “Dom, my grandma died, the funeral is tomorrow.” Good bye trip, good bye relaxation, and good bye romance.
The door opened, snapping my head back into reality, and there she stood bags in hand, smile on her face, ready to go. “Hey sweetie,” pausing there to give me a lil kiss on the cheek, “Can you help me with this bag? It’s kinda heavy.” I went to say something about how we’re gonna be gone a couple days not ten years when she gave me one of those cute, you have to love me no matter what I do, smiles that just makes me melt. I decided to shut up instead; and besides, she was already looking less stressed than the last time I saw her. It felt good to finally have something that you planned out actually work as planned. There is a first time for everything I guess, haha.
The drive went smoothly enough; you know, aside from having to stop every five miles for Sam to pee. Two hours later and we are cruising down that o’ so familiar road lined by huge trees and not much else but said huge trees. It felt good to be back in the middle of nowhere. It’s an almost Zen like feeling I suppose, to be where no one else is. It helps clear your head, as if everyone else’s brain waves are fuckin up your own.
We pulled into the camp around nine and immediately took care of all the usual mundane tasks like turning on the water and electricity, unpacking all our stuff, and letting some air into musty old trailer so we don’t suffocate. Originally we weren’t gonna bother doing much of anything and just get some sleep. But when we saw that there was some left over firewood and some left over rum from some other family member, my guess uncle Danny, we decided to start enjoying ourselves a little bit earlier than planned. That night was great; we sat around the fire, just talking about old memories and laughing at some of the more ridicules ones, all the while drinking what the good captain has provided for us. I really wish every night could have been like that night, perfect in every way.
It’s kind of funny now that I think about it; I sat there praying to God that every night was going to be like that night while we were there, and instead I got entirely the opposite.
One camp fire and one bottle of rum later and we were off to bed. I never slept better.
I woke up the next day feeling good all around, and positive that Samantha would feel the same way. I glanced over expecting to see her still sound asleep, but to my surprise, her eyes were staring right back into mine. I gave her a wonderfully gross morning breath kiss and said good morning. I asked if I had woken her up, and if so apologized for the transgression.
“No.” came the reply. A very weary, worn out reply I might add.
“Aw, too much to drink?”
“No.” she said in that same tone.
“Too cold? Did you need more blankets? ”
“No.”
“What, was the bed not comfy enough?” I asked, running out of ideas. I was sure it was the cold thing, she is always complaining about how cold it is here.
“No.” yet again.
“Well what?” I replied, my tone hardening a little to compensate for the frustration I was feeling from hearing that apathetic “no” over and over again.

“Voices.”

That was her reply. I stared at her for a couple minutes, my brain taking the word that came out of her mouth but not knowing what to do with it. And I while I tried to comprehend what she meant, Sam just continued to look at me with that disconnected gaze. Finally she spoke again, telling me that she heard voices. Still I couldn’t really grasp what she was talking about, and asked her what she meant by “voices”. She went on to tell me that all through out the night she was kept awake by these voices she heard. Not the kind a crazy person hears in his head, but definite, concrete ones, coming from somewhere outside. She finished all this by saying, “I’m still soooo tired,” and laid back down. I did my best to reassure her that it was nothing. I tried to explain that it was probably just a combination of her being a little too drunk and some obnoxious neighbors down the road a ways being way too rowdy. She replied that it sounded far to organized, almost like chanting, for it to be some neighbors who forgot how to control their own volume. In the end she conceded that I was probably right and that it was nothing; just too much alcohol combined with some really annoying people. She said these things but the look on her face told me a completely different story. That look was saying, “No Dom, you are so wrong. I know what I heard and damn you for not hearing the same. You can stare with those loving, reassuring eyes of yours all you want, but you probably just think I’m a little nuts, a little crazy, you bastard!” And yea I’ll admit I did think she was starting to loose it. Not enough that I was gonna go and have her committed or anything, but still, you know, enough to make me wonder. And now here I am writing this, wondering if I am the insane one. I hold this pen in my constantly shaking fingers wanting to cry for thinking she was the crazy one, knowing now what I know.
Needless to say the rest of that day was pretty uneventful. There is one thing I would like to mention though. I only bring it up because of the significance it’ll have later on. You see, while Sam was busy showering and doing her regular morning activities, I was taking a walk. It dawned on me that we used all the firewood last night and our stock needed replenished. So I started off into the woods right behind our trailer where the old rope swing use to be. I guess one of my uncles took the chainsaw because the only thing I could find was an old ax. It didn’t take me long to realize that I could spend all day trying to cut something down with that dull blade, and that really isn’t how I wanted to spend my vacation. So I continued on deeper into the woods looking for some loose tree limbs that Mother Nature may have knocked down for me. At last I found some, not a lot, but at least enough for that night. It was when I stopped to lift the dead wood and drag it back to camp that I first noticed something odd. I stood there for five minutes trying to put my finger on exactly what it was that was unsettling me. I couldn’t figure it out for the life of me. For the time being I resigned to leaving it a mystery. I thought that maybe I could have gone back later that night and worked it out, but deep down I already knew that I was just fooling myself. I wasn’t going back there.
I returned triumphant and that night we had a marvelous feast of hot dogs and marshmallows. I wanted to stay up later and just talk at the fire, but it was easy to see that Samantha was tired past the point of normal human conversion. Any attempt I could have made at small talk would have been met with a cranky, hateful retort. So, much to her relief, I suggested we got some sleep.
That night, as I was about to fall asleep, a fairly strong wind broke out. I heard it beat against the walls of our trailer in such a way that you would have sworn that someone was trying to burst into our room. I didn’t let it keep me awake however and instead just let its tuneless whistle lull me into sleep.
Sitting here now I realize how odd it was that there was such a strong wind, considering that the entire time I was outside that day there was not a single cloud in sight.
The next morning I woke to find Sam sitting there on our bed, awake, but barely. She was crying. Before I could even say anything she looked at me and said, “I heard them again.” I laid there at a loss for words. What could I say? She wasn’t drunk this time, so there goes that excuse, and blaming it on the wind just sounded way to cliché for it to be feasible. There were still the neighbors as an explanation for the voices, but it was easy to tell that she wouldn’t buy that anymore. I thought she was probably still just a little too stressed out. No that’s a lie; I was at that point, seriously thinking she was becoming unstable.
“mmmmhhhhh! Feels like I haven’t slept in weeks!” she said.
Flinging herself back down on the pillow, she began to moan and cry some more.
“It’ll be alright, just try to get some sleep, you’ll feel better when you do. And when you get up I’ll make some breakfast. Uncle Danny’s super spuds included.”
And that’s what she did. Sam slept for about two hours, and after getting up I did indeed make breakfast. The only problem was my super spuds weren’t so fuckin super.
Later on I was able to convince her to take a hike with me. I decided that we would go into the woods across the street from the camp. I told her it was because there were actually trails and such over there. And while this was true, I was honestly still hesitant to go back into the woods behind the trailer. Either way, Sam seemed glad to be out and about. The walk was a lot of fun but right about half way through our trip I got smacked in the face with a rather unsettling revelation. There were crickets, birds, and all other forms of wildlife making noise; singing their nature song. The kinds of noises you really don’t notice after so long, your ears just adjust to them I guess.
Sam wasn’t dumb though, she noticed there was a sudden change in my expression. One second I’m all smiles and the next I’m filled with unease.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, now freaked out a small bit herself.
“Nothing, Let’s just get back…hungry, that’s all.”
I told her this cause I didn’t want to worry her or freak her out any more. She’s already hearing voices in the night for god’s sake. What got me though, what really shook me, were those noises. The reason being, simply enough, they didn’t exist behind the trailer. Those woods were devoid of any natural sounds. Dead Silence.
That night we stayed inside and watched some movies, snuggling on the couch. Sam liked it because we got to cuddle up on the couch. I liked it because I didn’t have to venture back into those cursed woods for more firewood. Not long after “Billy Madison” was finished we retired for the night. I was dreading the morning; all too sure it would bring more tear filled ramblings about voices. Once in bed I eventually dozed off. I do remember waking up around midnight. The wind was assaulting our trailer again and there was now an empty space where there should have been a Samantha. I really thought nothing of it at the time, assuming she was in the bathroom. I quickly slipped out of consciousness again, but right before I did it felt like my half sleeping mind was playing a trick on me. I thought I could hear chanting coming from somewhere far off. Before I could even begin to debate whether what I was hearing was real, I was asleep. I didn’t wake again till morning. That was the morning things got much weirder than just talks of voices.
It was Thursday the 6th by this time and I awoke to a day that felt like any other. To my left I was relieved to see Sam laying there still sound asleep. Finally those stupid voices left her alone. Seeing her sleeping so peacefully also convinced me, at the time, that what I heard was just part of a dream or something.
I went into the kitchen closing the drapes that looked out to the woods behind the camp. It felt kind of silly, but I couldn’t even stand to look at them anymore. The more I thought about them the more I dreaded them. As I closed the ones in the kitchen I couldn’t help but stare. To me the woods were starting to look like a giant maw, waiting to close and devour anything that would dare step in. Is that what they did? Did those damned woods swallow all the life in the forest? Did they eat all the creatures that usually fill the air with noise?
After awhile I began to make breakfast. I kept Sam’s food warm in the oven for when she got up. About two hours later, in she walked, all smiles. To me it looked like she was feeling way better. She sat down on the couch and stared contently at the drapes. I gave Samantha her food and went back into the kitchen to wash the dishes. She ate well, but the entire time she just kept staring at those drapes. No, not the drapes, she was staring through the drapes, to the woods beyond.
After the dishes were cleaned, I sat down next to her. I just wanted to talk for awhile and get her attention away from the woods. We did talk, but I couldn’t break her gaze. Despite my best efforts, she never looked at me, but continued to stare through the drapes.
At first I was thinking to ask her what she was looking at. I figured I’d ask her a little later though. There were other things to complex me about the conversation we were having. The things she asked and talked about were completely in character for her, but everything was spoken with a certain dislocation I really can’t describe. The best way I can explain it would be like a kid in a play. He is just given his lines for the first time, and although he is able to say them all, there is a certain lack of character. This is normally the result of no rehearsals that would help understand the character you play. And that is what talking to Samantha felt like. Someone who hasn’t had to time to rehearse being them self.
We talked about a lot of the same things we always do, I just couldn’t shake the feeling that she was different. I was becoming afraid of her.
I really can’t remember all the details of our talk, but two things in particular still stick out in my mind. One was admitting that she felt a lot less stressed. The other was mention of a book she was reading. It was about the mind and body. Not so much the physical squishy brain mind, but that state of consciousness. That didn’t sound like the kind of thing she would ever read about. She just babbled on, all while staring at the drapes, about how the book says that the mind and body are barely even connected within each living creature. That it would take little to no effort to separate them from one and other.
“You mean like how people try to meditate and have outa body experiences and shit? You know, like Nirvana or something?” I asked.
After saying this she looked at me for the first time. “Yea, something like that.” She said. She smiled at me although there was a layer of contempt beneath that smile that I didn’t have trouble picking up.
I stood up and went into the bedroom, leaving her there, staring. I didn’t dare ask her about the woods at that point. I was completely mortified at the thought of what sort of answer she would give. I was afraid of her, plain and simple. I stayed in the room all day avoiding contact with Sam as much as possible. Only breaking that barrier to eat and feed her. I was sure she was crazy at this point but she was still Samantha and I couldn’t let her starve. She took the food with no argument and ate it all with out complaint. She eventually went outside. I heard the door slam and looked out the window to see her sitting at the fire circle looking in the same direction she was earlier. She sat there like some invisible fire would keep her warm. I stayed inside and watched. I was afraid to go outside.
As darkness crept closer and closer, I grew more and more anxious. Part of me wanted to go out there, get Samantha, and bring her back in before nightfall. The other part, the chicken shit in me, wanted to stay inside and lock the doors. As dusk approached I decided that no matter what awaited me out there, Sam was more important.
I went outside to find and empty seat in front of the fire circle. She was gone. Although I looked around acting clueless to where she was, I already knew where she went. I was simply delaying the inevitable. I had to go into those woods to find her.
I started at once to make my way into the wilderness behind the trailer. Ever step was a challenge, my legs fighting my mind every inch of the way.
It was already dark in there thanks to the thick coverage the trees gave and it was getting darker still. Night was coming faster than I expected and it was now taking every last ounce of will power I had to keep my feet moving forward. I was getting closer to where I found the fire wood that first night; where I first noticed something was horribly wrong with these woods. I felt my heart getting restless, and once I got closer still it felt like it was gonna claw it’s way out of my chest. The wind was now picking up, blowing against my face, adding to the chill that was already running down my spine. Then I stopped.
I heard them, the voices. No mistaking it now, there was indeed someone deeper in these woods, chanting and praying to some dreadful, unknown thing . I wanted to turn and run but I knew in my heart that they had Sam. Against all better judgment I continued.
Even though I’m sure whoever was chanting couldn’t hear much over their own voices, I went as slowly and as quietly as I could. Every time a twig snapped beneath my boot I cringed expecting the chanting to stop and an uproar of anger to burst forth, calling for the head of the twig breaker. Each time however the chanting just continued, growing louder and louder the closer I got. And although I was very close now I still couldn’t tell you what they were saying. It was in some sort of language I’ve never heard before. It didn’t remind me of anything I’ve heard on TV or in movies or spoken in school. It had a very guttural quality about it that made it sound down right alien.
By the time the voices hit an ear splitting quality I was crawling military style on the ground. The earth was damp and covered with moss. It also smelled odd now that I was this close to the ground. It smelled of an ancient rot that has been bottled up for centuries. I can now imagine what it would feel like to crawl through a long lost catacomb where thousands were buried.
Louder and louder the voices got and more hideous the chanting grew, and finally I saw them. At least twenty full grown men, nothing but silhouettes in the moonlight, stood in a circle raising there voices up to the heavens. I felt faint, my feverish eyes searching amongst their ranks, trying to find my beloved Samantha. I began to hold my breath, so sure someone would hear me. And there she was, in the circle, chanting just like the others. There was my Samantha, or at least the shell of what was once my girlfriend. I was looking around, rapidly trying to think of a way to get her out of there with out invoking the wrath of this ghastly congregation.
Then I saw it.
I lost all control of my own body. I felt much like a kid strapped in a safety seat in the back of a car, forced to go wherever the driver wanted. A rather insane driver I might add. I let out a scream. I jerked up and began to flee back towards the camp as fast as I could. My legs felt weak, causing me to stumble and fall. I couldn’t move fast enough. It’s as if I was trapped in one of those dreams where you want to run away from some nameless horror but you can’t so much as break a snails pace. Invisible claws were latched into my skin, pulling me against my own will. I looked over my shoulder to see Sam standing there, face contorted into a blasphemous rendition of a smile. I screamed again, and this time I didn’t stop, I kept on screaming. I got up and forced my legs to move, breaking the claws that held me in place. I ran faster than I ever have before, leaping over dead trees and ducking under the branches of live ones. But no matter how fast I ran, I couldn’t escape the chanting. My entire body was revolting against me. It didn’t want me to move another step, cramping up in places I didn’t think could cramp. Finally it said no more, collapsing to the ground, unable to move. And there I lay, my shrieks matching volume with the wretched voices calling upon some horror I shudder to even think of. And so mercifully, I black out.
I am growing faint and sick to my stomach recalling all of this in my mind, but I will continue to write it all down anyway.
I woke the next day in the grass right outside our trailer. I was soaking wet, whether from morning dew or sweat, I’m not sure. I would have thought it was all a bad dream, except I remember everything with painful detail, the kind of detail you would loose instantly upon waking up if it really was a dream. I don’t know how long I just sat there sobbing, letting my fear ooze out of me through my tear ducts. After I regained some composure, I went inside. From the door I could hear someone crying. My heart jumped a little as I opened the door and found Samantha there on the couch, tears running down her face.
“You ok?” I asked.
“I had a really bad dream. I was so scared. I woke up, and you were’t there, and…and...”
“About what?”
“…Huh?”
“The dream. What was the dream about?”
I thought I already knew the answer, waiting for her to tell me about the woods and the chanting, instead I got, “I don’t know. Can’t remember. It was really bad though. Where were you? I was so fuckin scared, and you were gone. ”
They erased her memory!
“Well I’m just gl…”
“What’s wrong with me?” She asked, cutting me off.
“I don’t know. I do know it was a mistake coming up here. Go and get your things, we’re getting out of here.”
“Ok.”
She walked away looking relieved. Probably feeling even more pleased to get away from here than I was. I gathered some of our things from the kitchen, taking the time to glance out the window opposite the woods. I dropped everything in my hands and ran outside, hoping my eyes were tricking me. They weren’t. My car was gone. I think I started to cry again at this point.
The indentations were still in the mud from where the tires rested, but there were no tracks to show where it could have rolled off to. It simply just disappeared. I didn’t know what to do, worse yet, I didn’t know what I would tell Sam. Any more shocks like that, and I was afraid she would finally kill over.
Call for help! That’s probably what anyone reading this is thinking. Why haven’t you called for help yet? Well the majority of those who would happen upon this notebook already know that it’s impossible to do that. Cell phones just can’t get a signal up here.
I walked back into the trailer feeling helpless and defeated. Sure I could have walked down the road to that little store, camper’s paradise, to find someone to help us, but I knew that whatever made my car disappear would have no trouble making me disappear as well if I tried to leave.
I looked in the bedroom for Sam but all I saw was her half packed belongings. That’s when I heard her in the bathroom.
“Are you alright?” I asked.
“No…gglloo…I feel si…RRRHEEEKKHH!”
The familiar splash of water sounded as what ever was in her stomach was now in the bowl of the toilet. I walked in to find that it was much worse than a simple upset stomach.
Samantha was there, leaning over the toilet, blood covering her mouth and the front of her shirt, the inside of the bowl a bright red.
“It hurts sooooo bad!” she said.
I went to her, clueless as to what I should do. She just sat there hacking up a stringy red mixture of phlegm, blood, and something…chunkier. So I just sat next to her, holding her, telling her things are alright.
It finally looked like things were slowing down. She was now just crying. I held her tight. That’s when the first of the muscle spasms threw her to the floor. She twitched violently out of my arms, writhing in pain. No longer crying, she was now shrieking in pain. Blood wasn’t just coming out of her mouth now. It was coming out of her nose, her ears, her eyes, Christ, even her pores were bleeding. Small crimson rivers were forming all over her pain wracked body. I tried to hold her down, to stop the thrashing, but all it got me was a swift kick in the face that sent me sprawling against the far wall. I just lay there at that point, helpless to do anything at all but watch in horror as Samantha, the girl I loved, the girl I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, was ripping apart at the seams.
I began to scream to at some point, watching this all happen. I believe it might have been when I looked at her face and saw such despair and pain in her eyes that it felt like my heart was ripped apart, much the same way she was being ripped apart. And oh Jesus that’s exactly what happened. Invisible hands pulled in all directions, tearing skin, muscle, and finally bone, all greedily wanting a piece of her. The sound of the flesh tearing and the bones popping and snapping was still nothing compared to the shrieks coming forth from her. I couldn’t take anymore. I ran out the bathroom and out of the trailer, her voice calling after me, chasing me as I ran, “Noooo, come back!!!! HELP!!!”
I fell to the ground and began vomiting. My body was assaulted by spasms as I threw up everything in my stomach and eventually was left dry heaving in the mud. I blacked out again.
What awoke me was what I feared the most. It was night time again, and in the woods, somewhere far back, was the blasphemous chanting that still echoes in the back of my skull as I write this. I stood up, covered in mud, sweat, and vomit. It was freezing out, the wind bit at my skin and clawed at my face. I stared off into the woods. I don’t know how long I just stood there and watched but as I did a light appeared at my feet. It was the light cast from inside the trailer, someone opened the door. I turned around and came face to face with such horror that I’m sure my mind just snapped in several places.
I’m sitting here trying to write this all down, painfully recalling all the details, twice having to stop. I’m afraid if I keep going I’ll simply lose it and drive this pen into my eye, reaching for the brain with all my might. But I can’t, everyone must know. I must tell it all, for my own sake.
There she was, Samantha, standing in the door frame. I take that back, not so much standing as suspended. Some unknown force was moving her along like a marionette. Arms limply stretching out in a sick parody of embrace, barely connected at the elbows but by a few white tendons. Feet moving awkwardly out of sync with the pace at which she came towards me. Head laying to one side, all the arteries and veins ruptured, still finding a way to pump the blood that was cascading down her body. Her face. Crimson tears covering her once beautiful features, now contorted by anguish and pain. Eyes looking at me with such a hopeless longing. Her mouth, moving to silently form the word “help” over and over again.
I backed away, heart pounding, vision blurring, brain hammering against my skull. Each step back I took, she came closer. The Samantha/Marionette reached out to hold me one last time. I tripped and fell over a tree branch. No not a tree branch, it was the ax. Looking up, I saw her face, still tortured, still lost, still mouthing the word help.
I knew what I was about to do would be the hardest thing I will ever do. But I had to. This goes far beyond mercy killing. It’s what I knew she wanted, what she needed. I got up, raised the ax, and stared into the eyes of my friend, my lover, my Samantha, one final time.
Her scream jolted everything back into focus. The wind stopped, the chanting stopped, and my vision was clearing; and it became all too clear what I had done. There lay Samantha, not torn apart by an invisible demon, not bleeding out of all parts of her body, not a puppet that just had the strings cut, but Samantha. Perfectly fine in every way, save for the ax now buried in her skull.
She was dead…And I had killed her.
So now I sit here in this trailer writing this all down. It’s no use trying to leave. My car is back in its spot, but I know if I try to leave, they’ll stop me. There is no hope for me.
I know what I did was right though; deep down I know. I swear I am not insane, all this has happened just as you are reading it. If any of my family does find this notebook, I want you to know that I love you. You all mean the world to me, just as Samantha has meant the world to me. I want you to know that they never did get me. I found a really sharp steak knife in the drawer. I will finish by saying farewell to all my family and friends, please don’t ever think me a monster or a psycho, I am your beloved Domenic always and forever. I can hear the chanting again, it’s growing louder than ever. I can see out the window. There they are, those men with there strange rituals. And beyond them, further back in the woods. I see it. It’s shapes defying all the laws of nature. That large obscene thing. All those appendages, mouths and eyes. Eyes that can see right through me. Oh Christ, the EYES!



The End
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welsh
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Re: Memories at Red Tail

Post by welsh »

Nicely done!

Thanks for you submission. I greatly enjoyed reading this. The tension builds very well as the story reaches its climax. It follows a lot of the conventions of your Mythos fiction and also seems to pay some homage to the Evil Dead movies as well- the cabin (trailer) in the woods, the strange things happening. Creeping madness, uncertainty, fear, loss of one you love due to your own action, the motives behind violence are blurred and distorted, strange things that are not explainable- good Lovecraft elements and good horror elements.

DO you want criticism as well as praise? A couple of elements stand out-

Form- perhaps its the way you present the story, but thick long paragraphs are frequently hard to get through. Readers tend to go for shorter quicker paragraphs. I think some quick layout would make this a smoother and easier read. YOu might want to use breaks- a line or so, between the paragraphs of the story above. This might help the reader figure out where paragraphs come and go.

Plot- It interesting that you never really get to why Samantha is feeling down at the beginning. Is it connected to the main story? Is it just a fluke? Are we not supposed to know. This is uncertain. But what the reader chooses to reveal in a story is often as important as what he chooses not to reveal. While rough drafts often may miss details that were intended by the author, I normally look at a story as a complete whole- that everything done (and not done) is intentional.

I think the tension in the middle is a bit weak. You are taking a bit too much time in the build up. A short story is a lesson in economy. Every word, phrase, paragraph. And if you can tell the story with greater impact and brevity in a tighter narrative- do so. I suspect that a revision of this could drop the story down 1 or 2 pages, but make it more compelling.

Elements- I think you could have dropped the cult, emphasized the chants, developed the environment. As for the monster- less is probably more. More- inner dialogue and growing sense of dread.

Narrative- The relationship between the main character and Samantha is a bit thinly developed. It is simply- loving boyfriend, loving girlfriend = cute couple. Not much darkness there, and there is darkness everywhere. A little more selfishness with these people might make them more real. In part this is due to both limited inner dialogue (which would afford your main character greater depth- right now he kind of comes off as "mid 20s dude" ) as well as limited use of the sense.

Have you read Writing the Senses (I think that's the title)? Developing greater sense of the other five senses would make your story come more alive.

Much of your story reads as a narrative of events. We went to a trailer, we had a nice time but she was worried, she said she heard voices, I tried to reassure her, she thought I was an asshole, I heard the voices too, I went out, we spoke, she sounded weird, my girlfriend turned into a monster, I chopped her up with an axe. That's ok, up to a point. Given the notion of the narrative structure-essentially a letter to your family, that might be fine, but I think your mind would want to respond or recall the senses, if only to escape the memories.

Language- honestly, I think its a bit too playful and the use of curse words a bit unnecessary. Language flow is probably the hardest part of writing. Poetry is so helpful in good language use and flow. But since you are writing horror, you need to rely on the language, the sentence structure, the word choice and not merely the plot to build suspense and terror. Near the end, you do a very good job of that, but in the middle its a bit weak. One thing I tell my students- too much language can be your enemy by distorting what you try to convey.

Is this too critical? Overall, I like what you did with this. I think its a great start but a revision might make it come more alive. Nicely done!
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Re: Memories at Red Tail

Post by fulcilives2003 »

wow, thanks for all the help. your comments are the most helpful i've had so far pertaining to my writing. after i finish the first draft of another story i'm working on i expect to go back to this one. all your comments are def going to help. thanks :)
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Re: Memories at Red Tail

Post by Mi-Go Agent »

I wish I could have posted my response sooner, but my RL addiction sometimes interferes with my Mythos involvement.

I’ll agree that this is a good story. However, I’ve always found criticism to be more useful than praise-so that is what I will give. Remember that these criticisms are only my opinions, and I’m still impressed with the story overall.

Introduction: By making the introduction as long and as un-Mythos as it is, you provide a nice contrast with the rest of the story. However, this also can put readers off. Ultimately, its your choice what sort of compromise you want. Just use AtMoM as an upper limit. I don’t think that you need to characterize anyone any more. To paraphrase Lovecraft, the real hero of a Mythos story is the event, not the characters.

Characters: I would disagree with Welsh. There is darkness everywhere, yes, perhaps. However, any kind of trouble or selfishness in the relationship would just make them nasty in a very human and unappetizing way. You could add in a little reference to a relative who attended Miskatonic University or something of the sort, but it would not be necessary. To me, the misanthropic old cultist, a relationship as typical as Dom and Samantha’s is a bit nauseating-but that is not really your problem, since few readers are as jaded as I. Making them hedonistic little troublemakers would not improve anything.

Atmosphere: When I read the first few sentences, I thought I would really yell at you about this, but the story won me over. Stylistically, it is pretty far from classic Mythos writing. There is none of that adjective-stacking prose poetry that starts the Mythos feel long before the first tentacle appears. This is actually a good thing, since it means you are finding your own style and voice. At first, it feels like the frequent profanity and the slightly goofy, confused, not particularly skilled narrator is ruining the atmosphere, but halfway through it becomes a very effective one. An original Lovecraft piece can make the narrator seem like an insignificant insect. “Red-Tail” does not go that far - it takes luck, effort, skill, genius, and a pinch of madness to do that - but it does make the narrator seem like a confused and fragile rodent which is certainly close enough for fan fiction. I can tell that this is an average guy who, unlike a scholar or a scientist, really cannot begin to grasp what is going on, and so has no choice but to lurch confused and fragile. He cannot describe the indescribable horrors enough to scare the reader with them, but his reactions show something about them.

The Cult: The cult feels a bit more traditionally satanic than Lovecraftian for a while. You might want to minimize them a bit, and perhaps throw in a little more dark suggestion. Perhaps some of the voices don’t sound quite human, or at least seem “different” somehow. Perhaps he is able to see at least one “full grown man” but he is not able to see the other chanters clearly enough to tell what they looked like-although Dom would never be observant or creative enough to imagine them to be creatures other than man, you could word things so that the reader gets a suspicion.

A One-Line Error: “They erased her memory!” is probably the weakest line in this story. The narrator goes from encountering a mysterious gathering as the climax of rising suspense, and then jumps to thinking them as a “they” which has taken a specific action. Sam’s not remembering should certainly disturb Dom greatly, and I’m glad in a way that he is too dense to start fooling himself that it is all a hallucination. However, “erased her memory” makes one think of science-fiction aliens in a universe where they have specific abilities known to the men who deal with them, compared to the vague lurking Mythos entities who are certainly capable but who work in mysterious ways. Dom might think instead “How can she not remember?” or something of that sort.

Another Problem: In the beginning, Dom wishes his father could be there to make things better, somehow. If this was truly a Mythos experience for Dom, than he should have suddenly had a vast drop in his estimation of the human race and its component individuals. A loved family member can provide comfort in times of struggle or tragedy, not mind-blasting cosmic horror. If anything, Dom might hope his father never returns to Red-Tail.

Something I Like: Although the ending seems somewhat reminiscent of “The Curse of Yig”, it is still powerful. “I backed away, heart pounding, vision blurring, brain hammering against my skull. Each step back I took, she came closer. The Samantha/Marionette reached out to hold me one last time. I tripped and fell over a tree branch. No not a tree branch, it was the ax. Looking up, I saw her face, still tortured, still lost, still mouthing the word help.
I knew what I was about to do would be the hardest thing I will ever do. But I had to. This goes far beyond mercy killing. It’s what I knew she wanted, what she needed. I got up, raised the ax, and stared into the eyes of my friend, my lover, my Samantha, one final time.” These are effective lines. If I had written it, I might say “stared into the eyes which were no longer those of my friend…” , and “the Thing which had been Samantha reached out…” but this is your story and you should write in your style. When even someone as clueless as Dom realizes that a step as drastic as killing Samantha is necessary, things are bad. When she looks unharmed after she is killed by the axe, it only heightens the supernatural effect. (Oh, and axe is spelled with an e at the end).

The Conclusion: Fine, up until “Oh Christ, the EYES!” You’ll never get a reaction from something that old hat - remember The Tell-Tale Heart? The old Poe piece in which the old man’s eye drives the narrator mad? You’ll have to think of a more effective kicker. If nothing else, refer back to the story. When the narrator can actually make out the words chanted, are they enough to make him stab himself? Perhaps the narrator could see blood coming out of the pores of his hand just as happened to Sam?

Speaking of Poe: When Dom says “please don’t ever think me a monster or a psycho” , this helps increase the sense of him stumbling around confused. However, a lot of the other “I am not mad” stuff just verges on pastiche. It would be a good idea to find a way to make it subtler or replace it.
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