Matthew R. Stitt // The Writer’s Archive

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  • A-Z -The Blob – Part 2

     

    “Yes, yes I know I’m busting our budget but we have a monster epidemic going on.  I need to hire more investigators.”  Brian Tipene explains as he sits with his feet upon a small desk.

    “No, we are the only investigators right now.”  A small brunette woman walks into the room.  Her face hangs as tears fall from the corners of her eyes.  Brian’s gut sinks before he excuses himself from the phone call.

    “Susan, what’s going on?”

    Susan brushes the tears from her face and struggles to talk.

    “Please, don’t tell me something happened to Alan.”

    Susan stumbles.  Brian struggles to move from behind his desk but catches her before she falls.

    “My god, this is not good.  What happened to him?”

    After some time Susan explains that Alan was involved in a chemical accident within his truck.  She relayed that he was stripped to the bone.

    Brian swallowed hard.  He was responsible for the death of his brother-in-law now what was he going to do?

    Brian helped Susan, called her family, then sat within his small sportscar.  “I have to check out the scene,”  he thought to himself.  “He told me he picked up an odd box.”  Guilt washed over him as he started the car but he couldn’t drive forward.

    “I have six agents now.  They are all family and friends.  What have I got myself into…”

    “…Brian?”  A CB radio installed under the dash broke the thought.  “I just heard about Alan.  What are we going to do?”

    Brian picked up the CB receiver and replied.  “Tom, we are going to figure out what happened.  What do you know?”

    Tom explained the details of the accident.  He explained the chaos when the firefighters opened the door of the truck.

    “They said a green goo fell from the truck.  They talked about bringing in the FBI but apparently they got impatient and opened the door.  The blob of green goo then chased off the rescuers.”

    “Are you serious?”

    “Yes, that’s what I heard. What are we going to do?”

    Brian snapped out of self-reflection and back into work.

    “We are going to figure out what this is and defeat it.  That’s what we do.”  Brian pulled from the driveway of his small home and headed toward the accident scene.

  • How to Make a Book Cover in GIMP

    Working on this Right now Wanted to post for future reference and viewing of my readers.

    Joleene Naylor's avatarSelf-Published Authors Helping Other Authors

    I’ve been discussing covers, and I am supposed to be posting the final part – “How to Make a Pesky Back Cover”, however, I’ve changed my mind. I had some questions on the wordpress blog, so I’ve decided to actually do some short tutorials on making the cover – using the three programs I mentioned: Paint brush, gimp, and Paint Shop Pro

    We’re going to attempt to make the same basic cover in each program. Though, you’ll see that it won’t look identical, still, the idea is there.

    Yesterday I showed you how to use Paint Brush to make an eBook cover, so today I am going to show you how to make the same cover in Gimp. Why are we doing it in multiple programs? Because, that way you can get an idea of the difference between them.

    First, you may need to get GIMP. It’s a free program…

    View original post 1,309 more words

  • A-Z -The Blob – Part 1

    Alan’s truck was beaten and ran badly but it got the job done. The strange gelatin sat in a the box he found it in.  The gelatin seemed to move but he couldn’t confirm that and headquarters wasn’t helpful, like usual.  Alan placed the box on the back seat and left the farm.  The pot holes from the dirt road jarred Alan’s old truck but he eventually made it to Interstate 75.  The sun hide behind a set of clouds as it settled in for the night.  Alan turned the truck lights on and drove South.

    Nearly two hours into his trip Alan began to get drowsy and he pulled into a truck stop.  He relieved himself, bought a cheap cup of coffee and got back into his truck.  He checked the box in the back seat and noticed the lid sat a little off center and corrected it.  He felt something push up on the lid slightly but ignored it.

    Alan got back on the highway, noticed a thumping.  Looked back and saw nothing.

    The highway droned on for another hour when the thumping began again.  Alan looked back and noticed the top of the box was jarred again.  He reached back.  He knocked the corner of the lid to the left but the lid leap ajar again.  Alan adjusted the steering wheel before he drove the truck off the road.  He looked back and noticed the box lid was half off.  The gelatin substance rippled.  Alan reached back, grabbed the box lid and covered the gelatin.  As he slid his fingers from the box pain racked the tips of his fingers.  His left hand struggled to hold the wheel straight.  Alan pulled his fingers from the box, noticing the tips were dark pink and pulsing with pain.

    Alan held his right hand in a tight fist waiting for the pain to go away.  He listened as the lid of the box leap and slid to the seat next to it.  Alan looked back and watched as the gelatin draped itself over the right side.

    A small exit approached and Alan quickly took it.  Street signs posted the name of the city as Grayling as be began to slow down.  Alan listened as the box flipped up and spilled the gelatin.  A small car sat quickly at the end of the exit.  Alan looked back to verify what he heard and slammed into the back of the small car.

    Everything in the cab was thrown forward.  Trash in the passenger seat. A pair of jumper cables in the back seat and then the gelatin.  The mass of green gelatin flew toward the front of the truck and struck Alan in the back of the head.  The remainder of the gelatin wrapped around Alan’s head and held tight.  Alan attempted to breath through his mouth only to inhale the mass.  The small amount of air available under his nose was replaced within moments.  The pain started at the bridge of his nose and extended along his cheekbones then the left side of his head.  His lungs screamed silently as they were starved of air.  His face burned as the acidic nature of the gelatin burned away at the layers of skin.  Alan placed his hand over the gelatin only to have the pain transfer to the palms of his hands.  He tried to clear his mouth only to have it replaced by the mass.  After calmly trying to clear a breathing path Alan began to panic and shook his head.  He screamed but the noise was muffled.

    Outside of the trunk a young woman stood.  She examined her wounds then looked over the remainder of her car.  She looked at the driver of the truck and stared as the man shook his head like a maniac.  His hands, covered in a green goo, were planted on the driver’s window.

     

  • The Pie Project

    So I am changing gears for a moment.  Stressed out a bit and my writing gets to deal with it..

    I have a Project that is bugging me a lot.

    The Pie Project

    Medium: Acrylic on Glass

    Medium II: TBD – I may add a background seen.

    Material: Old wooden windows I have stacked in my garage.

    The Plan:  Paint a pie in the window and add a scene to paste to the back on the window.  The idea will be to make it look like the pie is sitting on a window sill.

    Due date: End of December

    I have never set goals for my art so this is new.

    I have started on a pencil sketch of the scene.

    This should be done by next weekend.  I will then start another in a different medium.  I want to be comfortable before I try to paint this on the glass.

    the pie

  • The house on the hill by Charles Richard Brentner

    NOTE: This is not my work.  I really like this and requested permission to post this.  Enjoy the read and comment.
    ——————————————-
    The house on the hill by Charles Richard Brentner
    How I came to find myself lying on the grass in front of the old house I never have been able to discover. Perhaps I had walked in my sleep from my college dorm, perhaps I was the victim of a prank on the part of my fraternity brothers after a keg party. That night has always had a bit of haziness about it. How ever it came to be though there I was though I do have to admit to having been unimpressed by the sight of the old house when I finally laid eye on it. It didn’t look like something to be feared. In point of fact it looked to be a rather dilapidated old structure that would fall over if the wind were to pick up just a bit more.
    Local legend had it that the house had been built by a local sea captain as a wedding gift for his young bride. Certainly it was a large structure that had the smack of the sea about it, though that could also be because it was built not far from a cliff that descended some fifty
    feet to a shoreline of sand and rock. The air had a bit of a nip to it in point of fact and if nothing else it may provide some shelter from the cool autumn night air. Especially as I had neglected to bring along a jacket and it was a good mile walk at the least to town.
    As I approached the moon was rising and reflected light on windows that hadn’t been broken gave the house an almost surreal and homey look. As if the house were somehow welcoming a visitor after having been alone for so long. Of course such was ridiculous The old captain had been dead for over fifty years, his wife longer than that. She had died in childbirth taking their infant son along with her so the legend went and the captain, never a neighborly man to begin with, had gone into seclusion, coming out only once a week when he had to restock his meager larder.
    According to the story there had come a week when he hadn’t come into the town, and people’s tongues began to wag about possible reasons for this departure from so old and established a routine. The local Pastor, a man named Jones, who had known the Captain and his late wife came to hear of it and set out with the village Dr. to discover what had happened. No doubt the captain had fallen ill and as he lived alone he had been unable to summon aid.
    Upon arrival they had knocked at the door, expecting that either the captain would come to answer it or at least call out. No answer came from within however. With mounting dismay and disquiet the good man and his companion proceeded to enter the house. All was quiet within save for a low, constant creaking sound that at first they couldn’t locate. After several minutes search they determined it came from the parlor. Opening the door to this chamber they found the Captain. He had apparently suffered a fit of despondency and hung himself via the use of a rope attached to a metal hook which he had screwed into one of the solid oak cross beams which made up the ceiling.
    I shivered, though whether from the cold of the night , or the thought of the old Captain’s end I cannot say. I have often been given to understand in these later years that a suicide can leave an unhealthy impression upon the environment in which it occurs, and that this impression can grow in strength if not dispelled by the presence of life. The house had stood empty since the Captain’s death, aside perhaps from infrequent visits from young boys dared to enter it by their friends.
    In any event I had little choice in the matter. The weather was cooling off and other signs pointed to the rapid approach of a storm. Better the shelter of an old wreck like the Captain’s house than no shelter at all. And even without the storm it would be dangerous to walk too near the cliffs at night. Even with moonlight it would be possible to misjudge ones step and find oneself plunging to one’s death.
    Turning the knob of the door I found it stiff, but unlocked and proceeded to enter. The atmosphere was stuffy and unpleasant, but then the house had been closed up for fifty years so how could it be otherwise? My feet left deep footprints in the dust upon the bare floor as I searched for a safe place to spend the night. Meanwhile the storm that had been threatening struck and the rain fell upon the old house’s roof in a torrent. I had made it inside just in time.
    I considered my options. Upstairs no doubt there would be beds, but then could I trust the stairs? Better to stay on the ground floor than risk a broken leg from falling through decayed steps I thought. Finally after groping about for several minutes I determined that the best room for my repose would be the parlor. I had found the door almost by accident in the dark. Moonlight clear and crisp illuminated the room, showing me that there was a low shape on which I might hope to pass at least a somewhat pleasant night. Pulling a dust cloth from it I found a well padded divan. Excellent. There was even a cushion which might be pressed into service as a pillow.
    I lay down, and slept. Sometime later, perhaps shortly before dawn I sat bolt upright upon my makeshift bed. What had wakened me? I couldn’t figure it out. Then the glow appeared. It was just a speck of light at first but then it grew larger and began to take on a definite shape. The shape of a man! I felt the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. There was no doubt in my mind who this specter was, or rather whom he had been. I anticipated a scene wherein a ghost objected to an uninvited guest, but strangely he took no notice of me. Instead he went about doing something that I couldn’t quite understand at first. The light dawned. He was reenacting his suicide! I was certain of it. And when he at last hung in the air with a spectral rope around his equally spectral neck I breathed a sigh of relief. And that was very nearly my undoing. The Captain heard me, and his eyes fell upon my form. His eyes, oh lord his eyes. Never before or since have I seen such a look of malevolence upon any
    countenance. He reached out for me, and I bolted from the room. I would gladly take my chances with the cliff than that. Better to risk the death of the cliffs than to deal with the Captain’s ghost.
    Somehow, I don’t know how, I made it back to the village. I never told anyone about what I had seen that night. For a brief instant I feel sure I had seen into Hell itself, and I wanted no further interaction with ghosts. Believe this tale or not, you who read these words, but mark my words well. Ghosts do exist!
  • Vampire Diary: Connections

    Vampire Diary: Connections

    Juliette Kings's avatarVampire Maman

    Dear Diary,

    The cat and her kitten refuse to be quiet, except when they sleep. Then it is as if they are dead. I can hear the low rumblings of their purring. They know I am writing about them. They are sly creatures.

    ~ Vlad

    ————–

    Dear Diary,

    Last night was a complete success then it was strange.

    I go to the local club and women come to me. They are forward and fresh. No fear. No males watching over them. They do what they want.

    My blood almost ran warm after spending time with them. I was full – enough for an entire week. Their blood is healthy and so much better that what it was like so long ago when I ruled the land of Vampires.

    Sitting at the bar, finishing a glass of wine, a beautiful dark haired woman sat next to me.

    “Come with me,” the…

    View original post 685 more words

  • Followers of Elderon

    Dontarius looked to his right to see a thin man tied to the tree next to him.  The rope constricting his chest and belly.  

    Broken limbs and leaves crunched behind the men followed by a low chant.  

    “What now,” Dontarius cursed and struggled the loosen the rope.  His right foot slipped from a small slab of wood nailed to support his feet.  

    “Stop brother.”  

    “I have to find the train.  I’m looking for my wife,” Dontarius replied.  

    “We all have our missions my friend my you are human and you are alive.  I wish for you to stay that way.  If you faint sleep the followers of Elderon will spare your life a little longer.”  

    Dontarius placed his right foot back on the stand and waited.  The chanting grew louder till small men marched past.  The followers of Elderon wore hoods over their heads and marched in columns.  The columns were measured and the men stepped in time.  The men stopped and stared upward at another human in front of him.  Within seconds a spear was thrust upward into several men and the blood was collected in buckets.  Another creature stood beside him and suffered the same fate.  Dontarius hung his head and feigned sleep just enough to watch the procession.  After the men had been drained they were removed from the trees and carried away.  

    A jab from a spear poked Dontarius’s side but he held quiet.  He stared downward within partially closed eyes to see the face of the follower below him.    The follower’s face was painted black, He had small pale eyes that hung above the nose. Another follower spoke briskly and the man below him stood forward.  The small men then marched forward.

    “They are the mirror-keepers.”  Said the man next to him after the followers disappeared into the forest.  “They capture the unlucky ones trapped by the mirrored pools of water.  After the rain they have a glut of victims to go through so our chances are good.  I am Jacob and I am with the tribe of Eros.  We tend to stay within the mountains but that I am now here.”

    “I am Dontarius from Earth or whatever realm you call where I can from.”  

    “Nice to meet you Dontarius.  Now let’s work on freeing ourselves.”  

    Free —

    The weight from Dontarius’s chest pulled on his shoulders as he struggled to loosen the ropes.  His elbows burned as he twisted.  The knot was behind him and just out of reach.    

    “So crazy monk-like creatures spear men at dawn.  What happens at noon, blood tea?”  Dontarius said as he paused.  

    Jacob stared at Dontarius for several, uncomfortable seconds.  “Have you had blood tea?”  

    “Are you serious?”

    Jacob smiled. He wiggled his right wing slightly bringing the knot behind him closer.  He grabbed the knot and pulled it forward a bit more.  Dontarius worked to pull the knot toward him and managed to move it only inches.  Jacob wrapped his fingers around the knot and pulled it apart.  The rope fell, he pulled his wings forward and fell.  His bare feet touched the floor of the forest within seconds.  Dontarius watched as Jacob negotiated with himself.  He could see through the motion of his eyes that he was thinking.  

    “I have a knife in a pocket under my skirt.”  Jacob wore an opaque brownish skirt and a white button down shirt that was draped loosely over a very, hairy chest.  

    “You openly admit you are wearing a skirt?”  

    “Oh, we are well aware of the customs of the living world.”  The angelic man smiled broadly and offered Dontarius a small blade with a carved ivory handle.  Dontarius worked on the rope that held him to the tree.  When the knife tore the last of the tendons holding him, the rope separated,  Dontarius grabbed the loose ends and used them to help him to the ground.  

    Upon the ground Jacob was quite a bit taller than Dontarius.  The angelic man stood over him and smiled.  “The tribe of Eros huh..”  Dontarius began. “Can you get me back on the train so I can find my wife?”  

    “I am from the tribe of Eros and we have to get out of the forest first.  I barely know you human so I’m cannot guarantee you will be alive long enough for me to help you.”

    “That’s just awesome.”  

    Dontarius walked around the thin, winged man and began toward his assumption of the edge of the forest.  Jacob followed.  

    After several hours Dontarius stopped.  The forest seemed to circle around.  

    “You tired yet?”  Jacob asked.  

    “What are you saying?”  Dontarius shouted. “Do you know something?”  

    “You can’t walk out of here.”  

    “Oh, that’s nice to know after an hour.”  

    “Stop thinking like a human,” Jacob said as his turned to fit between a pair of trees.  “This is an enchanted forest.  A world of magic unlike, what did you call it?  Earth?”  

    “Earth logic doesn’t work here.  The is a world of puzzles.”  

    “Ah, and I’m just a dumb human man.  I can’t play your stupid magic games!”  

    “I’m sorry.”  

    “Listen,” Dontarius said as he stepped up to Jacobs thin frame.  “I’m not here to play games.”  

    Dontarius grabbed Jacob’s shirt and held him still. “Tell me how to leave this forest and send me on my way.  I don’t want any trouble. I just want to find my wife.”  

  • The man called Anger

    My mission tonight.. visualize anger.

    A tower of muscle and testosterone.  His skin burns red and orange like a flame burns slowly just under the surface of his skin.  His face is screwed inward forcing his lips to purse.

    A thunderstorm of emotion waits within the muscular structure of the big man but he sits and he waits patiently.  This is the thing with Anger.  He is patient.  He will wait…

    Anger stands behind me, hovering over me and waiting for just the right moment to step in.

    “I got you, bro” He assures me as life punches me in the gut multiple times.

    “I can handle this,” he offers but I decline.  “Bro, you need some backup.  I got this.  I can punish with the best of them other emotions.”

    The situation gets dire and I’m tired and sick.  My own strength is waning as Anger grows bigger.  Soon he is twice his size and towers over me.

    “I’m done asking,” his says.  His voice booms as he shoves me to the side.  Lightning bursts from the sky above me as thunder shakes the ground beneath me.  Others tremble in fear or run from Anger as he tears through the world.  Within moments,  it’s over I stand up.  The large man, that was Anger is gone.  Nowhere to be seen.  The village beneath me burns.  The small homes fall apart leaving only the skeletal remains.  The world is set ablaze and the man that did it is gone leaving only me to take on the responsibility.  So…

    I do what I have to do whenever Anger gets involved and fall to my knees to pick up the pieces that he destroyed.

  • NaMo – Hello

    “Hello!”  

    A light appeared then others till a hallway appeared.  The hallway was lit along the center of the ceiling revealing six doors along the left and right.  Dontarius stood in silence with darkness behind him and the hallway in front of him.  His first step echoed and his next silent.  

    “A dream,” Dontarius thought.

    A door opens and Dontarius walks forward.  He looks within the entry to see the sliver of a dirty pale carpet, a child’s bed and a familiar dresser.  Upon the dresser stood a young gold covered basketball play, frozen in the final shot of a game.  A golden baseball play stood next to him waiting for the final pitch that wins the game.  

    “My room,” Dontarius said aloud.

    Dontarius pushed open the door, but stood outside the threshold.  His childhood room stood in front of him.  The posters of musicians and the stuffed animals he called friends.

    “Ok, it’s my room.  Other than freaking me out… What purpose does this serve?”  

    Another door opened.  The noise of the old hinges spun him around.  He stepped toward the door and then shook as the door to his room slammed shut.  The second open door sat at the end of the hall and on the opposite side.  He stepped toward it then stood silently staring at a red light that surrounded the edges of the door.  He pushed open the doors and could see wood paneling upon the walls and two people dancing to music he barely recognized.  He opened the door farther and recognized the man on the right as his father.  The fedora and over-sized suit coat give it away.  He noticed near a far corner of the room was a small crib with a child inside.  

    “I remember this,” he thought.  “I never let them know I caught them dancing.”  

    The door closed abruptly and another door opened.  This door was on the opposite side and to the right.  He opened the door to reveal his wedding day.  The ceremony sat between rows of large oak trees.  His father stood off to the left beaming with pride.  The wooden platform they both stood upon was built by the man standing next to it, a small miracle due to the arthritis in his hand.  The small, unfinished wood platform sat them slightly above the crowd.  His wife, in all her splendor,  stood in a pale green ballroom dress waiting for the pastor to speak.  Dontarius smiled.  Tears welled and the door closed.  

    “No, stop!” Dontarius shouted as he banged on the door.  Another door opened on the opposite side.  He walked to it slowly dreading the end of her life.  A hotel stood a ways out.  A car, maroon, drove toward the hotel.  Tears began to fall as Dontarius recalled his honeymoon.  

    “She wore the worst color pants on the day,” he said loudly.  “She had this obsession with green.”  Dontarius’s smiled but the door closed abruptly and another opened.

    The noise of her gasps for air straightened the hair on the back of his neck.  She gasp again and Dontarius rushed to the door and stepped in.  The bedroom was laid out in front of him.  The bed sat in the center of the room with the dresser on the right, the large sliding door behind the bad and another dresser on the right.  A large man stood over his wife as he strangled her to death.

    “Stop!  Stop now!”  Dontarius shouted and rushed into the room.  A large kitchen knife sat upon a dresser to his left.  Dontarius grabbed the knife and thrust it into the back of the large man.  He pulled the knife and stabbed him again.  Blood covered his hands.  With the man struggling for life upon the floor Dontarius stood and looked over his wife.  She was already pale and life had left her.  She laid motionless on the bed and he struggled to figure out his next move.

    “Rebecca, please,” Dontarius begged.  “Please don’t die again.”  

    Dontarius sobbed as he relived the moment Rebecca died.  He waited to see her spirit rise but it didn’t.  Rebecca’s body sat dormant.  The body of the large man lay at his feet.  His hooded masked soaked in blood.

    “Who are you?”  Dontarius asked.  He then bent down and pulled the hood from the large man’s head.  The man has a beard along the sides of his face then cut sharply near the bottom of a thick chin.  He was overweight and his eyes did not yet have the callous, white film characterized by the recently dead.  They were blue and stared up.  

    Dontarius stepped back as the man stood slowly.  He took off his dark colored shirt and wrapped it over the wound in his shoulder.  The man then stepped around the bed, opened the back door and stepped outside.

    The train approached from the left side.  The light above the engine lit up the trees and the fields behind his house.  Dontarius stood at the doorway when the white light overwhelmed him and the memories disappeared.  

    The world reappeared in front of Dontarius as he blinked heavy lids.  His arms felt numb and his legs ached.  Daylight rushed in from a large hole in the forest canopy revealing the ground beneath him and the tree Dontarius was tied too.  

    “What is going on?”  Dontarius’s voice was raspy, he cleared it.  “I am tired of this world already.”  

    “I advise silence, my friend.”  

  • Short Story Sunday: The Hunter

    Short Story Sunday: The Hunter

    Fan as always.. is this in Tangled tales? I

    Juliette Kings's avatarVampire Maman

    The Hunter

    A short story from Juliette Kings

    “We pumped quite a bit of blood out of your stomach. We’re not sure where it came from.”

    She heard the words but was the noise in her head was still loud…

    “Your heart had stopped beating. You weren’t breathing. You were cold.”

    A hospital bed. She was in a bed hooked up to equipment. Her throat hurt.

    “We still can’t get your body temperature up to normal and your heart beat is extremely slow.”

    She’d been found in a room of an abandoned house wearing nothing but a black silk cocktail dress and black high-heeled sandals. The nails on her hands and feet were painted silver. Aside from that there was no jewelry, no purse, no identification. The man she’d been with had received minor injuries and would be in soon to see her. He said he was her boyfriend. Panic…

    View original post 1,249 more words