Howlietzer Publishing

Category: FICTION

  • Hush part 1

    Thomas Pipkin felt like he was walking on air. The balls of his feet effortlessly pushed him towards the love of his life. Her house was just a block away, and with a dozen roses in hand, he was about to take her out and share his big news.

    He just made the best sale of his life. Romo Cola was going to be sold at Wal-Mart! It had taken many months of negotiations, but Romo Cola would be raking in lots of money, meaning he’d be raking in lots of money. They’d be set for life!

    He laughed. He couldn’t contain his joy, but as he neared the driveway of her home, he noticed an unusual car. He’d never seen this vehicle before. Perhaps her father had traded his old one…

    He rounded the driveway and stepped up to the door, but just as he was about to knock a gentleman opened the door that Thomas had never seen before. He was holding his love’s hand… and smiling!

    Thomas clenched his fist and struck the man in the face, sending him back inside.

    “Thomas!” shouted the woman, “What are you doing here! This is my house and you are not welcome if you’re going to behave like that!”

    “Who is he, Bev?” said Thomas. “Why is he here?”

    “He’s my boyfriend, Thomas. We’ve been together for a month now.”

    Thomas’s face went from red to white instantly. “I… Thought, you liked me?”

    “Thomas, we had one date, and I wasn’t interested. Why do you think I was always unavailable?”

    She backed away towards her boyfriend. He was rubbing his jaw. Thomas hoped he broke something. The man put his hand down and glared at Thomas. “Please leave. We are going out.”

    Thomas’s knees buckled; he caught himself and absentmindedly stepped aside. He didn’t even notice when the stranger took hold of jacket and guided him to the end of the driveway before taking Bev’s hand and guided her to his car.

    Thomas watched, like it wasn’t even happening, like he was watching a moving picture, the love of his life just drifted away, the licence plate growing and smaller and smaller…

    His knees gave way; he couldn’t catch himself this time. He collapsed on his knees. His hand instinctively reached for the mail box inches away from him. He walked her up that driveway. She smiled at him and said she had a wonderful time… What did he do wrong?

    He had to prove to her that he was worthy. Then she would love him. He pulled himself up and trudged back home.

  • Vengeance

    This story is dedicated to the fuck face at Goodwill one Sunday morning…

    Lyndon Crallis drove his car to Goodwill because he had a small donation to give. He drove down the path to the back entrance and found a mound of boxes and garbage bags full of stuff waiting to be picked up by the Goodwill handlers. Parked outside the door was another vehicle. Lindon didn’t think anything of it; surely this person wouldn’t hamper his progress

    He opened his trunk and pulled out his intended donations, and stacked them neatly with the rest of the pile. He went back to his car, hoping that the person in front would move so he could pass.

    It did not move. Lyndon saw the man sitting there in his seat, just waiting… Perhaps he was waiting for help to carry some heavy donations out of his SUV, but since Lindon didn’t want to stay trapped behind him, he walked up to the driver’s side door to ask if he would move closer to the building.

    “Excuse me sir,” said Lyndon, “Could you please pull up closer to the side of the building so I can pass through?”

    “No. Just put your vehicle in reverse and leave.”

    Lyndon persisted. “I’d really hate to run into someone while I’m backing up. There is plenty of room on the side that you could move over and I could pass through.”

    “I’m not moving. It’s your fault for getting here early. You should just wait. Or you can go in reverse.”

    Lyndon’s patience had left him. He didn’t want it to come to this. He was trying hard to turn a new leaf and be a good citizen, but his pride wouldn’t let him.

    “Alright sir,” he said, turning around. And then, loudly enough for the man to hear out of his open window. “May all your tires burst and you are stranded here for 3 hours.”

    Lyndon stepped back into his car and watched as the man flipped him the bird. Lindon put his car in reverse and backed up around the corner to a side parking spot. He parked his car and  pulled a large tactical knife out of his glove box. He stepped out and walked back to the SUV and jabbed his knife straight into the back passenger tire. It popped and hissed as Lyndon pulled the blade out and made his way to the driver side back tire.

    “What are you doing? You mother fucker!” the man stepped out of his car as Lyndon popped his second tire.

    “Making good on my curse,” Lyndon said, a crooked smile stretched across his face. He hadn’t felt this joyous since his last vengeance.

    “I’ll call the police you lunatic!”

    Lyndon pushed past him and slashed the driver side front tire. He turned and stared at the man. “So?”

    The man shook as his car sunk to its hub caps with Lyndon’s final stroke. Lindon walked back around to the man.

    “Aren’t you glad I didn’t curse you with a knife to the gut?”

    He brandished the blade near the man’s belly, making quick slashing movements. Lyndon’s skin grew hot with the intensity of his furious ferocity. He loved it. He felt free; alive!

    The man backed up into his car, his eyes welling, streaming with tears.

    Lyndon jabbed at the man’s eye, the man yelped, but Lindon’s blade did not cut. He simply dabbed the flowing water at the man’s left eye, wetting his blade. He brought it to his mouth and a savored the emotional outburst on his tongue.

    “You’re lucky. You saved yourself this day, you old fuck. Be kinder to people from now on, won’t you? I’d hate to run into you again.”

    Lyndon folded his knife and walked away. The man fell to the pavement as the Goodwill employees finally opened the door.

  • Frost Wraith

    Annabelle sat at the family piano in the great hall. The candles lit; the chandelier, glistening, spreading the light, revealing the room to any onlooker. There were none, however, though even if there were, their presence would be lost in the music. Annabelle’s nimble fingers gently rapt the keys melodiously, her prodigious skill echoing in the manner, a symphony of her own design grasping her consciousness leaving little to distract her.

    Even her long golden hair, which tempted her fingers to set it in place could not attain her attention. Her keen focus lay on the keys as she spread the width of the instrument, delicately tapping from one key to the next.

    It seemed like she would never stop, but silence abruptly overtook the great hall and all that was left was a remnant reverberation of the final key struck. Her head hung low. She stared at the keys, searching for the next one. Her meditation lifted and her mind raced to figure out what was next until she heard something peculiar.

    It startled her right out of thought. She looked up to see a gentleman standing there, his white gloved hands clapping. He was handsome, and Annabelle blushed as she was in her nightgown; this was highly unusual for a gentleman caller to be here at such an odd hour, without even an announcement. Her servants must be asleep by now.

    Her face reddened and her lips tightened. How rude of him! She stood up, forgetting her present garments.

    “Excuse me! Who the hell are you? It is 30 past midnight, and I am without a chaperone. If you wish to see me, you need to talk to my father at a decent hour.”

    “You play beautifully,” he said. He had a handsome face, his smile beguiling. Though a gentleman, he had not shaved, a pleasant stubble grew on his chin, his jaw line pronounced, leading to a set of emerald green eyes that Annabelle couldn’t help but linger on. Bewitching, with a beckoning call that almost made her forget her anger. Almost.

    Her eyes ignited again and she raise her hand to strike him across the face… There should have been a cracking sound, of five digits colliding with a bristly cheek, but there was none.

    Had she missed? Her eyes had blinked for a second, but as she saw, he stood there, unshaken, practically laughing at her.

    “That was very unsavory,” he said. “Treating a guest so enraptured with your… fingering…”

    His eyes trailed down her body, they were cold, icily prickling every skin through her thin dressings. Her whole body tightened. She brought her arms inside her body instinctively, trying to stay warm, trying to stay safe.

    Backing away, she said, “I’m warning you, my father has taught me boxing. I will fight.”

    “I like a fighter,” he said, instantly closing the distance between them.

    She gasped. It was as if she blinked and he was upon her. His hand caressed her cheek. “I find a dose of adrenaline,” he continued, “really makes it extra juicy.”

    She pushed against him, but her hands went right through. It was so cold.

    He smiled.  “Tsk tsk.” He body changed. He became like vapor. A cold, icy fog that gripped her. His fingertips, piercing like talons, clutched her inner being, brought her closer. His face, skeletal now, opened its mouth, a stench of decay, breathed as it enveloped her mouth in a soul crushing embrace.

    The servants found her the next morning. Her lips torn off, eyes rolled to the back of her head. Her nightgown stripped, her back sliced with ten claw like marks…

    This was the first encounter with the frost wraith.

  • The Plot Whisperer: Prompt 8

    Affirmation Prompt:

    A force deep within me pulls me forward and keeps me clear and focused on the writing task at hand. I write to better my word count every day.

    Today I write.

    Plot Prompt:

    A core plot of your story revolves around your protagonist’s inner development. To satisfy this inner plot, the protagonist must undergo a deep and fulfilling transformation. You accomplish this by exposing to the reader the character’s inevitable flaws. In the latter part of the story, she will have to face her largest flaw and overcome it in order to achieve her ultimate goal.

    Scan earlier scenes for examples of the protagonist’s chief character flaw. If she acts in one scene like a victim, unable to take responsibility for her actions, develop that aspect of her. If she appears controlling in one scene or you find her argumentative in another, or she lies in one scene and cheats in another, use her stubbornness and need to always be right to your advantage. Pin her with that flaw.

    Perfectionist, procrastinator, judgmental, quick-tempered, angry: every one of these flaws allows for a different character emotional development and transformation, and yet every one is universal within the human race.

    Writing Prompt:

    Demonstrate the character’s flaw as she takes another step toward her goal. Show how she interferes and sabotages her own progress to the reader. However, keep this self-reflective insight a secret from the protagonist until after the crisis, about three quarters of the way through the story.

    Show how the protagonist’s flaw manifests itself in her typical actions in contrast to how you imagine she may behave later in the story.

    Try using all dialogue first and fill in the action later.

    “You really see yourself as a hero?” said Parkinson. “What have you done?”

    Daryl stood up straight. “I’ve defeated a super villain. She was trying to capture me. She had all these cool gadgets…”

    “Yeah, but what did you stop her from doing? Was her only goal to capture you?”

    “Yeah, but, you know, it was an epic battle! I had to pull out all the stops to get rid of her.”

    Parkinson rolled his eyes. “So you didn’t save anybody. You didn’t stop a criminal. you just had a fight. Was there property damage?”

    “Yeah,” said Daryl, “But I stopped her before it got bad.”

    “So all you did was make a mess? You didn’t actually help anyone.”

    “Ted,” said Lucas, “Stop.”

    “Lucas here actually stopped a rape. Twice. In high school he fought guys 3 times his size, who were causing trouble like that. I guess I’m wondering if you’re a hero, what does that make him?”

    Daryl was quiet. Parkinson smirked. “You’re not a hero. You’re just a monster terrorizing a city.”

  • Just a part of Chapter 8 of BMCR that I just wrote.

    Growing up, Daryl never had brothers or sisters, but he now found himself sharing a living space with 29 other males in an open living space called a barracks.

    The barracks was a one story, cement block building without any distinguishing features except for a 001 posted on the top of the entrance. On the inside, however, there were two lines of bunk beds that ran down the long sides of the building, and separating them were lockers. The beds leaned up against one set, while on the other side was six feet and the lockers dedicated to that bunk.

    Daryl walked down the center of the room, his suitcase rolling behind on the gray epoxy floor. He looked around for an empty bunk, but most bunks were taken. He saw some guys laying in their bunks, others were setting up their lockers, but in the back Daryl’s eyes were drawn to a muscular boy sitting lotus style on top of his bunk. His eyes were closed and he sat perfectly still, like a statue.

    As Daryl passed by he nearly ran into another.

    “Watch where you’re going!” said a tall boy with short brown hair. Daryl turned to look at him. He had arrogant eyes, much like an old enemy of his. He could tell they were definitely not going to get along.

    There was a shorter boy next to him with red, poofy hair and freckles. He looked bored as he sighed at the taller boy’s agitation, almost as if it was such a nuisance for him that his mind was fixed on a humdrum plan of action that often remedied his friend’s state.

    “Ted,” he said calmly, “We’re not fighting every person who looks at us funny.”

    Ted smirked. “No way to know how strong these guys really are until we fight them.”

    Daryl’s body quaked in anticipation. He hadn’t had to fight in a while, and something about this guy made him eager.

    “You scared, Fro boy?” said Ted, not backing down.

    This caught the attention of the others instantly. The boy on the top of his bunk, had also opened his eyes.

    Several of the boys came over to Daryl’s side, including a boy a little shorter than him.

    “What do you have against fros?” said the boy stepping in between Daryl and Ted.

    “Navy, huh?” said Ted looking down at him. “Couldn’t be a Marine?”

    “That’s right. My recruiter said I was too smart to be one, so I went Navy.”

    “Too smart? Or too chicken?”

    Everyone had moved to the center of the barracks now. Daryl had began to notice that most of them were wearing uniforms. Four different uniforms; four different military Branches were present.

    Another tall boy walked into between Ted and the other boy. “Guy’s come on. We’re all here for one thing. Hunting monsters. There’s no reason we have to fight each other.”

    “Shut up, chair force!” said Ted, while the other boy glared at him.

    “Why don’t you both shut up,” said another boy entering the fray. This one, however, was one of the biggest guys there. He locked eyes with Ted.

    “Stand down,” he said. “We all just arrived; we’re all a little tired. Just go back to your bunk, and chill out.”

    Ted looked down at his name tape. “Womack. I’m coming after you.”

    “Soon, I hope,” said Womack.

    Everyone dispersed, going back to their areas.