Howlietzer Publishing

Tag: wolfsalad

  • The Psychic Society Part 2: The Specter

    James Perry: The Specter

    “Who is James Perry?”

    …

    James Perry, my mentor and founder of The Psychic Society, was raised knowing one thing: that America was freedom. No other nation was as blessed as the United States of America. No other land had the opportunity, the resources, the people who the US had. We, as a nation, were blessed beyond that of any other, an example for other nations to aspire to.

    He told me, once we had found each other, that it was a great lie. That though our country was in fact richer than most, we were still just as poisoned as all. With the desire for more and the lust for everything, our covetous nature was the cause for the disparity in our nation.

    James wished to destroy the United States and recreate it… He was a bit of a fanatic, of that I am certain. Still, given all I had learned in the time I spent with him, I would follow him anywhere.

    James Perry grew up with his twin sister, Jillian, in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. The two lived with their parents on the outskirts of the city, far enough to be close to the old battlefield and really get a glimpse through a soldier’s eyes.

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  • The Unfortunate Caroline Todd

    The pain came and went for a while now. Caroline didn’t know how long she’d been sitting, strapped down, in what felt like a straight-back, wooden chair, all she knew was that she couldn’t feel her hands.

    She couldn’t feel most of her body, all she felt was the pressure of a needle in her arm from time to time, but afterwards of world of nothing-numbness swept over her until the next shot. She wasn’t sure how long this had been happening. She tried counting once, but lost count after 12.

    Falling in and out of consciousness was certainly not a good way to keep track of time, and the blindfold didn’t help either, if only she could see the sun or the outside world, escape would feel more possible. Instead, as she struggled with the nylon ropes binding her arms and legs to the wooden chair, hopelessness spread like a rash. She was stuck, captured, in an unfamiliar place with no possible way out.

    But all of that fell behind her preoccupation with her hands. She could still wiggle her toes a little; she felt them in her fish-net stockings. Her hands, her fingertips, she could not move them as if they weren’t there at all.

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  • The Psychic Society Part 1

    Introduction

    Kurt Williamson sat in a dimly lit, white room on a metal folding chair and leaned against a long, folding table opposite a large wall mirror. He stared at his reflection and rubbed the brown stubble on his face and ran his fingers through his now non-regulation cut hair.

    ‘When did I shave last?’ he thought, immediately the answer came to him as, ‘three days ago.‘

    His fingers also slid to his forehead, right above his nose where a diamond cut piece of amethyst was planted and then to his throat where a similarly cut blue lapis was stowed. They were smooth, and Kurt could feel his energy within them. Whatever happened next, he knew all was going according to plan.

    Just like his inevitable capture, just as he sat in that chair, all was divined by his master, and as his final order, he would tell their tale.

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  • The Game

    No one knows who created the game. Maybe it existed when the first cars drove off the lot and onward to their destinations, but whoever it was probably didn’t see this coming or intend for it to happen.

    The game, as Harold Pfinster and his friends called it, was a driving game. On any stretch of road with two lanes, driver A would pull up to driver B in order to drive with him/her, side by side. The fun was to make driver B uncomfortable, so they would, inevitably, slow down or speed up. Driver A, in turn, would keep pace, in order to keep the fun going.

    Harold would argue that he invented the game. No one he knew of mentioned it, and his friends were shocked when he taught them the game. It was fun until one Friday night when he and his three friends went driving late at night looking for something to do. Unfortunately their little town didn’t have any cool hangouts for teens. At age seventeen and an itch to explore the adult nightlife, the group had very few options.

    “We could go walking around Wal-Mart again,” said one of them.

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  • Son of Santa

    Eric, the miracle child of the Claus’s, in the tradition of his father, slung a brown leather sack over his shoulder, pulled on his Elven snow boots and set out to visit his friend Cready in his little cottage in the Elven suburb of Spotted Elephant.

    The North Pole had several Elven suburbs that surrounded Castle Christmas, the home and workshop of Santa Claus, and Spotted Elephant was one of the largest. Cready, Eric’s friend, had left the long tradition of toy making to become a doctor, much like his great uncle Hermy, who went on to become a dentist.

    His family didn’t understand at first, but just as a dentist became necessary, a doctor did as well, as Eric learned all to well on their many great adventures. And many other Elves followed suit, opening shops, boutiques and doing other odds and ends for Santa and all the other citizens of the North Pole.

    Today, on Christmas, however, Eric was visiting Cready for a simple Christmas party. All their intimate friends would be there, since Cready wasn’t fond of large gatherings.

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