The following day as soon as the office opened he handed in his keys and then drove his meager belongings to the compound. As soon as he got out of his car and talked to the Prophet, he remembered no more.
THE NEXT THING MIKE knew his eyes blinked open. He looked around and determined that judging by the machines attached to him he must be in the hospital. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed Will sitting in the chair next to him. “Dad? Are you awake? Are you there?”
Mike nodded, his neck feeling stiff. “Yes.” He croaked, his throat dry and hurting. “What happened?”
“You disappeared to that damn cult and it nearly took me and the police too long to find you. I went to you apartment and you were gone. No forwarding address. All I knew was the name of the cult and that you were in the nearby mountains. It took three days to find it and then another day to get a warrant so the police could raid the place. You and dozens of others were in comatose states, hooked up to weird machines that seemed to be draining your essence for lack of a better word, the cream color solution that was found is being analyzed as we speak. We thought we were too late. We were for some.” Will looked away.
“People died?” Mike asked.
“We found nine bodies in the cabins. That’s not the worst though, they found a trench at the back of the property and they have no idea how many bodies are back there.” Will said, looking pale just talking about it.
“And the Prophet?” Mike asked.
“Disappeared. No one know who or what he really is. And he is free and probably killing more people as we speak.” Will said disgusted.
“Am I going to make it?” Mike asked.
“They said if you woke up you stood a good chance. Once you are out of here you are coming to live with me and Lynne, no arguments.” Will said.
Mike only nodded. He really couldn’t argue that plan considering he had given everything to a monster, a monster still loose in the world. Now that his mind was clear, Mike wondered what the Prophet really was. No matter what, the man was a mad genius prey only on the lonely. If not for his son... Mike shuddered to think of his end and there were so many people all alone in the world.
Sheri Velarde
Sheri Velarde lives in New Mexico with her spouse and their dog.
Being an avid reader since an early age, she has wanted to be a writer for as long as she can remember. She has been writing all her life, but only recently started to actually try to pursue her dream of writing for a living. She specializes in all things paranormal and that go bump in the night. Her heart truly lies in exploring unknown worlds or adding the supernatural to our world. If it goes bump in the night or has magical connotations, Sheri writes about it.
She is constantly putting out new material with various publishers, so it is best to keep up with her on her website www.authorsherivelarde.weebly.com.
During the day she works in accounting and in her spare time Sheri is an artist, independent comic writer/artist and freelance non-fiction writer. She can often be found with her nose in a book, or playing various games with her spouse and their friends. This includes D&D and Warhammer. Yep, Sheri is a nerd and proud of it.
Links:
Website/Blog: http://authorsherivelarde.weebly.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorSheriVelarde/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Sher_V
Street Fail
Thomas M. Malafarina
“Well, I try not to think about the general public since I have no idea what the general public is and I don't think anybody does.” - Elliott Smith
“Unfortunately, science cannot be reduced to short, catchy phrases. And if this is all that the general public can comprehend, it's no wonder that we spend so much of our time in the interminable debate about belief in God, or lack thereof.” - Greg Graffin
The air was full of the many strange and wonderful smells of the street fair. There were a variety of sandwiches available for sale along with French fries, funnel cakes, ice cream candy cotton, candy apples, pizza, hamburgers, hot dogs and just about every such food you could imagine.
The unhappy-looking man sitting under the shade of the pop up tradeshow tent behind the metal and plastic folding table was starting to question his decision. As he sat squirming on his rickety folding chair staring across the expanse to the milling crowd of people he wondered if the girl was really worth this effort. In fact, he wondered if any girl was worth the effort.
After all, she may have been a girl and his friend but Elsa was not yet his girlfriend. In fact, Quentin hadn’t even mustered enough courage to ask her out. But when the beautiful young blonde librarian batted her gorgeous blue eyes at him and asked if he’d be willing to volunteer to man the local library’s informational booth at the small college town’s annual street fair, he was unable to say no. Quentin wrongly assumed for at least some of his four-hour shift Elsa would be accompanying him but to his displeasure she was nowhere in sight. The surface of the table in front of him was covered with a variety of free brochures and other such items promoting the library and reading in general but so far, the crowds had not showed even the slightest interest.
Quentin Steadman was an Assistant Professor of English Literature at an area university and was most definitely out of his element this day. For one thing, he didn’t care for people in general and especially hated crowds. His life was one of quiet academia, dealing only with those who were on or at least close to his own intellectual level. In his classroom, he was king. He was at home at small, intimate academic events. He tried never to have to deal with the general public, what he referred to as the “great unwashed”. Yet here he was among them. He felt like an anthropologist researching some never-before seen primitive civilization.
The town had cordoned off several blocks of its main thoroughfare to allow for a variety of local businesses, organizations as well as food and craft vendors to set up their tents along both sides of the street. There were also a large number of food service trucks set up, although Quentin thought the word food was a bit of a stretch for what he had seen and smelled so far. It seemed as if every ounce of air around him reeked with the stench of a variety of burning meats and greasy fried garbage. Several such food preparation tents were set up nearby and whenever a light breeze blew he was accosted with the odor of fried, something or other. Quentin had never experienced anything so revolting in his entire life. Now sitting alone in the shadow of his tent looking out through the opening at the spectacle unfolding before him, it felt to him as if he was watching wild animals roaming about the African planes, while he was safely hidden inside a protective blind.
Yes, that was it, he suddenly realized. These so-called people, members of the “general public” didn’t fit into what Quentin thought of has real humans. He knew the idea was snobbish, bigoted and downright ridiculous since of course they were human. Still, when he looked closely at them he had to wonder. They weren’t the typical, well-educated, well-dressed intellectuals he was accustomed to but were... well... they were just regular people. Quentin suddenly realized just how regular such people were.