Once Upon a Time

 Greeting friends!
The last page I had dedicated to stories was, I must say, absolutely horrendous. I believe the best way to describe it would be: Me and my puny attempts at drama.
If you had read those stories, you would probably agree. But, I have worked on my writing skills ALOT since then, and I hope these tales will make you laugh, cry, or simply run and hide.
If you find any errors or if there is at any time in the story that you find it hard to read, please let me know and I'll work on it. Thank you!

***

The Worldwide Flood

By Ruby Pauly

Anais’s Story

It was a bright day in Gilead, when 17-year-old Anias burst out of the small two-story house. Someone was yelling his name from inside, it was Eliezer. “Anias! Anias! Come back here! Your work is not done.” Work he calls it, Thought Anias, The never ceasing, back breaking labor of copying. It should have been called an impossibility.

“Bah to all writing!” Anias retorted, “What is the point if it just sits on shelves for eternity?” Eliezer stormed out of the house, “You know good and well the reason, Anias! In years to come, what shall mankind, as we know it, read? Pray tell?” The enraged old man went on, “It is our duty as the sole copyists of Gilead to prepare for the coming ages of learning! Now come back here and finish your work!”

But Anias didn’t turn around; he continued walking, “No! I’m going to Zathan’s house, do it yourself!” Eliezer started as if to go after him, but stopped, as if thinking better of it, and went back inside grumbling something about “young folks these days….”

Anias walked down the dirt road, through the center of Gilead’s cathedral, and out to the Eastern side of the city. On the way he saw the vegetable man, Jehoida, putting out some carrots, Anias called him, “How’s the business going, Jehoida? Do you have any apples?” The man looked up, surprised, “Well, Anias, I didn’t think you’d be out this early. Did you get off light today?”

“Nah, I left. Sometimes that Eliezer is too much to bear.”

Jehoida nodded, “Yeah, he can get on anyone’s nerves with all his preaching, but, to answer your question, I do have apples, several bushels in fact.”

“Oh, good, I’ll have to stop back by to bring some home for Rebecca, to make pies.” Anias replied. Rebecca, a pretty, red-haired lass, was the house keeper.

The boy continued through the city, chatting to people he met, until he finally arrived at Zathan’s place. He walked up to the door and pounded on it, he heard a crash inside and, moments later, Zathan’s shaggy head poked out the window. The dark-haired boy smiled, “I thought you’d never come, I’m stuck in here doing house work, ever since the maid left I’ve had to do the women’s jobs.”

Anias grinned, “So, mister high and mighty finally has to get his hands dirty.” Before Zathan could respond, a large hand grabbed his neck shirt and pulled him back inside. A mighty yell rang out and there was a clatter then the front door burst open wide. Zathan hurtled through, past Anias about 20 meters down the road. Anias called to him, “What is the matter? You act like a rabbit being chased by a tiger.”

Then an even bigger form rushed out the door, it was Absalom, Zathan’s father.

“And stay out! Until you start earning your keep around here you can sleep on the streets for all I care!” The big man turned around and spotted Anias, “And you! You can go back home and forget about helping him!” Absalom stormed back inside, and slammed the door. Anias felt the door slam and ran down the porch steps calling, “Zathan! What did you do this time? Did he actually mean all that?” Zathan walked towards his friend, “Oh, I stopped doing the house work long enough to sit down to read and the bread burned. That’s what the tyrant was so worked up about, especially since that flour was all we had money for this week.” He paused, considering the other question, “No, I don’t think he mean all that, but if he did, I have the knowledge that he’s very forgetful so by tomorrow he'll let me back in and have forgotten this whole thing.” Anias nodded, relieved, Zathan was his best friend, he couldn’t stand knowing he was out on the streets, alone, in Gilead. “Well, since I escaped from Eleizer, is there something you’d like to do?” Zathan winked, “Well of course, we could go see some pretty girls, or if you’re chicken—“ Anias stopped him there, “Chicken! We’ll see about that! I’ll bet you can’t force a word out in front of that Zelena.” The other boy turned red about the ears, “Yeah well you can go boil your head if you think that, besides, I’ve seen you around Naphtali, you couldn’t move if your house was afire.” Naphtali, she was the prettiest girl Anias had ever met, brown hair, green eyes, and a laugh like bells ringing over hills. “Bah! All this girl talk makes me hungry, let’s find something to eat.”

/*\

Later, after eating lunch, the two friends found the rest of the gang, Ahijad, son of Barsalom, Jatari, son of Ud, and Lari, son of Micah. Altogether the five proved to be loud and boisterous; Lari spoke up, suggesting the idea of going to see that big boat some man was building. Anias corrected him, “His name is Noah, and it’s an Ark he’s building, not just some old boat, and he is prophesying that a flood is coming to wipe us out.” Ahijad snorted, “A big flood indeed! What are the odds of that? One in a million? I feel sorry for his family, having to follow that kind of husband. When I get a wife, I’ll be sure to not go after some silly escapade and shame my family.”

 Anias listened abstractly as all 4 teenagers voiced their opinions, he wasn’t so sure to put off such things so easily, he had heard other great stories like floods, like the Tower of Babel. Most people had forgotten or disbelieved that old story, but Anias was uncertain of what to believe, he didn’t entirely agree with his friends, but if he said that, he would be kicked out of the group and shunned by his friends. That he could not have.

The group of young men began to move to the southern edge of the city, it wasn’t long before they saw a great mountain of wood in front of them, it was already cut up, but that did not diminish its sheer size. One beam must have been 20 feet wide and over 80 feet long. But they did not even equal to the behemoth before them.

It was a great Ark made of gopher wood, and upon its deck was a man. This man was about 5’ tall and had a graying beard. He turned to look at the quintet of boys, his deep voice rolled out, “Hey! Don’t leave! I must tell you a flood is coming! Join me and you and you’re families can be saved!” The man, or Noah as he was commonly known, disappeared inside and came out the big door in the side of the Ark. “Please listen! If you come with me you can be saved from this catastrophe! You and—“ 

Jatari interrupted him, “Yeah, yeah, and your families can be saved. Blah, blah, blah, I’ve heard it before; you are the craziest person in the world!” Noah looked hurt but didn’t respond, and the others took up where Jatari let off and began jeering him. The man simply turned around and sadly walked back to the Ark, which, Anias now noticed, was swarming with animals. Big ones, small ones, there were even some snakes! Once the 5 grew tired of their fun, they began to go their separate ways. Anias was the last to go, still looking at the Ark and wondering if what Noah had said was true.

/*\

He got back home late that night, but Eliezer had stayed up for him. Upon entering the house, Anias noticed Eliezer sitting with a sorrowful expression on his face. The teenager didn’t hear anything from him though, but Anias took the hint. “I’m sorry for running out on you like I did Eliezer…..Good night.” Eliezer’s countenance brightened and he, too, went to bed.

The next morning, Anias noticed dark storm clouds brewing, Eleizer had told him at breakfast that he could spend and hour outside in the morning’s if he promised to be back and work diligently on his copying task. Anias had agreed and now he was outside, enjoying the weather.

Suddenly it started to rain Anias didn’t care, he loved the sound and feeling of the cold water. Some small children ran out into the street frisking about in the rapidly forming puddles. Anias joined in good naturedly, picking up a small girl and playfully began tossing her about. Then an ear-splitting boom sounded and a geyser spouted up into the air. This only increased the fun had by the smaller children. Then another crack sounded and yet another rush of water shot into the air. Anias enjoyed it as much as the others, until he noticed the water gathering around his ankles. “That’s strange.” He thought.

He retreated to higher ground and played about for a while longer, it was only when he started back towards the house when he heard it. It was faint at first, but it grew in sound gradually until it was almost unbearable. He began looking frantically around, when he spotted the source. To the Northern side of the city, was a hill, and with unnerving rapidity a huge tidal wave was hurtling towards the town. Anias couldn’t move, he thought back to the dire warning of the old man. He knew now, and he was not on the Ark, he was about to die.

And he couldn’t do anything about it.

The wave hit, Anias watched as the buildings in front of him collapsed with surprising ease.

Then all he knew was blackness.

The End

***

Fateful Dreams

By R. J. Pauly

There are dreams, reader. There are dreams, and then there is fate. Of course, some dreams are fate—but not usually. Sometimes dreams are just fleeting, others: forever. But there are still other kinds of dreams. Like those you finally complete, only to find they are not what you thought. Or those that are perfect in every way—you’ll never regret having them. But then, there are more dreams; those that, at first, seem promising, and then turn to something of a nightmare.

It happened on a blood moon night, but started in the twilight.

A cold breeze rippled through the deserted street, the wind crying in a frightful howl, and the few trees around shook their limbs in an eerie clacking song. A flickering streetlight cast a shallow pool of light on the dark asphalt, fighting to stay alive though the shadows looming warred with savagery. At every small blink, the shadows would leap forward, gaining ground, and then the light would press back—to no avail. Suddenly a fiercer wind leapt up, blowing against the tiny glimmer, and the light was snuffed out. The sun’s last rays disappeared behind a hill and darkness reigned.

There was no sound; not a quiver of waves down the shadowy thoroughfare. The blinds to every rickety, squeaky house were shut tight. There were no lights, no sound, not even a breeze any longer.

And suddenly, a solitary thud echoed throughout the avenue…then another.

A daring pair of leathery brown working boots stood just at the beginning of the road. They took a step closer and the moon revealed this trespasser: a man—a man of dark hair and light skin, wrapped closely in a worn cloak—with wary eyes and thin lips. He halted, peering into the profound darkness, straining his eyes to catch even the smallest detail. The moon’s light shone on the street, painting the smooth asphalt with a dim glow of radiance, and the man took a few more steps into the shadows.

His name was Henry Casteel—or it was by birth, he had recently altered his last name to Casteele to try to distance himself from his family heritage—and he was fortunate enough to live his dream: come to New York. His light blue eyes darted around, searching for anything that would give him his bearings; the first sight of New York had been all that he hoped for…but this? This abandoned alleyway? It seemed he had either taken a wrong turn, or his destination had fallen into disrepair. Henry stopped again, shivering as a frigid wind chilled his skin, and drew his threadbare old cloak tighter around his shoulders. He glanced at the closed and yellowed shutters, fear and dread beginning to grow in him every second he remained still, and wondered who in their right mind would ever consider living in this foul place. Suddenly the wind blew harder and a trash can lid flew out in front of him, clanging so much that it aroused a nearby raven. The bird squawked and soared over him, screeching it’s derision at having been waked. Henry couldn’t help jumping when this happened and, when the bird was past; he growled at himself for being such a wimp and immediately began to walk forward. He made it no more than 10 feet before the moon disappeared behind a cloud again and he stumbled over a strategically placed cat. He leapt back as the animal hissed and growled, claws and teeth bared and shining in the minute light, and shooed it away. The cat faced him sideways for a moment, considering fighting this newcomer, but then seemed to think better of it and scampered away into the darkness.

Now thoroughly shaken up, it took Henry a good minute to get his nerve back—and press on. His steps were slower and less sure now; the darkness seemed almost palpable and pressed in on him, threatening to vanquish him. Henry forced his breathing to slow and halted again, this time at the intersection of the sidewalk and an alleyway, but before he could do anything: something happened. He didn’t pause on a cat again, nor did the wind blow more vigorously, but a tattered old man—a tramp, if you will—dashed out of the shadows of the alley and grabbed the intruder.

Henry, too paralyzed with fear and revulsion to do anything, just stared into the hard, bloodshot eyes facing him, smelling the putrid breath coming out from between decaying teeth, and heard a rasp from the man’s throat. “Please, take this.” He pressed something damp and crinkly into Henry’s hand, “Before they catch me. But beware, and get out of here as quickly as you can or el—” he stopped in mid-sentence and glanced behind him, into the shadows. Pure terror leapt into his eyes and he released his victim. “Run.” He whispered.

And then, just like you or I would snap our fingers, he was gone. Henry stared into the darkness where the hunched old man had vanished, the same terror beginning to overtake him, and trembled. He dared look down at the crinkled wet thing in his hands and carefully unfolded it. Henry’s eyebrows furrowed; it was a one hundred dollar bill. He wondered at it, then glanced into the dark alleyway. The shadows loomed high up the deteriorating brick walls, rotting garbage littered the ground. Henry gulped and looked again. Two red eyes peered out of the darkness.

With a strangled yelp he dove to the side, taking him out of view of the probing things. Henry watched the corner for what seemed like hours, until he once again found his nerve. He noiselessly picked up the garbage can lid that had careened off its base earlier and held it in front of him like a shield. With a shaky breath and pulse of bravery he leapt back into the alleyway with a wild yell. The red eyes did nothing more than blink at him—in amusement perhaps—and Henry began to feel a little childish. He picked up a stone; his eyes glued on the shining red ones, and then threw it at the offensive thing. The rock clattered over some unknown junk and the red eyes seemed to widen and whatever it was scampered forward, hovering just above the ground, and ran between Henry’s legs. The man wrinkled his nose as the dirty tail of a rat passed underneath him and he dropped his “shield” to the ground, not bothering to watch how much noise he made. He leaned against the wall, caught his breath, and began to chuckle. What was he? A two-year-old? He wasn’t afraid of the dark. Five years in the military had taught him to not be afraid of anything. This was not only pointless, but stupid! What was he doing here anyway? Trying to find some old myth that some old man had told him about? That was rubbish. He should have never come in the first place.

Henry laughed outright; New York was his dream, not this silly busting myths business.

He was still giggling to himself when another pair of eyes appeared. Unlike the rat’s, one glowed neon green while the other: a dark, crimson red. They stood about two inches over six feet and glared down at the laughing person underneath them. They seemed to narrow in anger and caught sight of the wrinkled hundred dollar bill in Henry’s right hand. Fury burned in them and the creature took a long, rattling breath.
Henry froze, listening to the new and most frightening sound he had yet encountered.

The trespasser slowly turned, hardly daring to breath, and the moon cruelly revealed itself from behind the clouds. Henry’s brain fought to override his leg’s inability to run, and the man did nothing but stare at the creature in front of him.

It was shaped much like a human being—except for the long sharp nails, festering flesh, and rattling breaths—and stood several feet higher than himself. Henry saw its red-green eyes focus on the hundred dollar bill in his hand, and the creature screeched. It was a loud, long sound, much like a woman’s scream without pause or break, and it jolted Henry to his senses so fast that his legs hardly had time to react with his feet and dart out of the alleyway.

The shade rushed out of the alleyway after him—floating, not walking—and the terrible scream rent the air once more. Henry, still grasping the hundred dollar bill tightly in his hand, chanced a look back…and his sight went dark.

The shade glided up to the prone form lying on the ground—a knife handle protruding sharply from betwixt his victim’s eyes. A ghastly portrayal of a smile lifted the shade’s rotting, thin lips, and he bent down to take the hundred dollar bill from Henry’s colorless hand.

But as soon as it pried open Henry’s death grip; it found the bill to be torn. The crimson and green eyes burned with such a fire that it seemed it could leap out and burn the world at any moment, and the shade fell to its knees. It screeched again, this time sounding more like a lamenting call, and pieces of its rotting flesh began to peel off in flakes, being blown away by the breeze.

In mere seconds the wind had torn away every last scrap of the deteriorating body, even taking the remaining skeleton with it, and there was nothing left on the darkened streets except for a dead man, a torn hundred dollar bill—and a knife.

/*\

So, you see, reader, there are some dreams that aren’t meant to be followed. Whenever you think you may try to follow a dream, beware—remember what happened that blood-moon nighttime: when the shadows snuffed out the light.