The Charred Tree

Archive for the category “InMon”

Wake Up To Reality

This is a continuation of the InMon story from a month ago, The Unanswered Phone. If you’ve not yet read that story, I recommend you start there.  ~DBJ

 

Peter and Shaun ran through the fading twilight. Neither had a destination in mind, knowing only they needed to be far from the apartments and the chiming phone before the murderous creatures arrived to investigate. Their knowledge of the area since all hell broke loose almost a week ago was what could be seen from their windows. They avoided the jagged edges Read more…

Some Things You Can’t Hide

“It don’t look too bad,” Steven said over the wind blowing through the windows of the blue and rust Chevette.

“What do you mean by ‘too bad’? Is Mom gonna notice it or not?” Dan divided his attention between the road, his kid brother in the passenger seat, and the rear view mirror.

“Oh yeah. You ain’t hiding that. Read more…

Somewhere Out There

Cheryl Watson sipped from a corrugated paper cup. It wasn’t that good—just what the hotel provided with the coffee maker—but it was hot and it woke her up. She stood on the room’s balcony overlooking the pounding surf. The windows provided a great view of the beach but the torrents of rain beating against them through the night had made sleep impossible.

Read more…

Friends In Low Places

“I can’t help you, Rob. Sorry.” The chain stretched across the opening drooped into a mocking smile as the door started to close. This was the fourth person he had tried since the phone call had startled him from his bed. Robert Penman’s patience broke. Read more…

The Funeral

“No, I should be home by 2:30. Just a graveside service with the family.  Sure, I can stop by the store on the way home. Mmhmmm. Anything besides milk and sugar? OK, Honey. See you in a bit.”

Lloyd Kirkland replaced the receiver on the rotary phone at the corner of his desk at Faith River Covenant Assembly. He jotted a few words on a sticky-note Read more…

The Unanswered Phone

Everything was quiet on the second floor of 39 Brooks Lane as Tuesday drew to a close. The light reflected in through the bank of broken windows at the western end of the littered hallway changed moment by moment through most of the yellow-orange-red part of the spectrum before beginning to fade. Nothing moved in the corridor Read more…

I Dream In Static

I dream in the static. No, not fantasies played out or surrealism run amok; mine are glimpses into the near future through the eyes of those who will destroy us

Read more…

Post Navigation