11/13/2020

10/31/2025 7:13 PM

1131

3

132 wins / 101 losses

Sage

Emperor's Fireworks

24 hours to save the ceremony, but is it even worth it?

Author's Notes

Multiple/Full readthroughs strongly recommended.

Entry for Endmaster's Crisis Contest, 2024

In 3

The Red Church

"In your dreams, you see the crimson spires rise from the fog menacingly... a voice, whispering 'come back' over, and over again."

Author's Notes



Entry for Endmaster's Prompt Contest 3, 2024
Prompt: A story about making a deal with a demon/devil.

This article gives basic information on HTML in the text editor. Things included are paragraph, line breaks, bold, italics, underline, strikethrough, links, and images.

“It’s … not a very common condition, Arthur.” Doctor Aris clicks his pen, then sets it down onto the counter with a quiet clatter. “You have developed a very rare form of photoreceptive degeneration. In simple terms, your eyes… they’re becoming less sensitive to light.” Arthur stares at the doctor. Seeing as the old man doesn’t fully comprehend, Aris continues. “Well, the world’s going to be somewhat darker for you, depending on how fast the condition progresses. Shadows might get deeper, more substantial… I’m sure you’ve already noticed it.” Another moment of silence passes before he gives a stiff nod in response. Doctor Aris sighs. “We’ll schedule a follow-up in six weeks, and check in on the condition then. My receptionist has a pamphlet for you.” *** The afternoon sun lies low against the horizon, golden and brilliant. Pausing by the fence, a hand resting on the glinting handle of his car, Arthur stares out for a moment… then another. A minute passes before he shuts the door and lets himself into his house. He nods in approval at the living room, almost glowing with every light and lamp on, just like he requested. Out of nowhere, a figure darts out from the room adjacent, slamming into his leg. “Grandpa!” “Hey, Leo,” Arthur says, voice a little rough. “Look at me.” The 7 year old grins, and looks up. Arthur studies the boy’s face, as if memorizing it: fine, light-brown hair, a gap where a tooth was missing, and those bright, blue eyes. “You okay, Dad?” He hears Sarah call from the kitchen. “What did Dr. Aris say?” “Just tired,” he replies, ruffling Leo’s hair. “Said something about my eyes getting less sensitive to light, and something about shadows… all harmless, I think. Just keep the lights on, like I said.” He hears her call out an ‘okay’ in response amidst the clattering of pots and pan in the kitchen. Leo takes the opportunity to wriggle free from his arms and bolts through the doorway, dragging a long, soft afternoon shadow behind him. *** “I really can’t find anything on this ‘condition’, Dad,” Mark looks up from his laptop, face half-illuminated by the blue glow of the screen and the warmer yellow of the table lamp beside him. “Are you sure Dr. Aris didn’t mention any names?” “Probably didn’t want to scare me with those terms,” Arthur mutters, eyes following the vague shadow of the lampshade. “I’ll see him again in two weeks, anyways. Ask him then.” “As long as it’s harmless, like he said. I’ll come with you then, I have a day off.” Mark shrugs, and shuts the computer, passing it to Sarah, who takes it into another room. She returns with a few cups of warm tea. She hands one to her husband, places another in front of her seat, and leans in, offering the final one to Arthur. Instinctively, his hands rise to take it, but he pauses. “What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice soft. He doesn’t respond, eyes fixed on her face. The shadow cast upon her familiar features doesn’t just rest on her skin, it sinks in with inky, thick strokes. Her deep set eyes feel unnaturally dark, like deep bruises, and the shadow under her nose looks like a smudge of soot… He blinks, hard. Still there. “...nothing,” he mumbles, grabbing the cup from her. “Just the eyes.” *** “Dinner’s ready!” “I’ll be just a moment, kiddo,” Arthur calls out from the kitchen. The fluorescent lights are bright enough there for him to read. At least, that’s what he tells them. After a few attempts, his hand finds the bookmark on the counter and slots it between the pages of text. With a hand on the armrest of the chair for support, he stands, peering towards the pale gloom of the dining room. He glances back at the sound of footsteps behind him. A figure emerges, and his eyes dart to recognize it. Dress, long hair… Sarah. She pauses, too, as if she just noticed him. "Dad? Dinner's ready," she says again, her voice warm. She takes a step towards him, into the full glare of the kitchen's overhead light. Arthur looks closer, and his breath catches in his throat. The bright, merciless light doesn’t illuminate her face. It simply creates deeper shadows against her defined features. The hollows of her eyes are not just dark, they are absolute, impenetrable black. Her mouth, too, is a vague, shadowed line, devoid of any discernible expression. She was speaking, he heard her voice, but he doesn’t see her smile, or any hint of warmth or concern. He scrambles back, his hand slamming against the chair he just left. "What... what's wrong with your face?” Sarah stops, was that her smile faltering? "What? Dad, it's just me." She takes another step, her head tilting slightly in a gesture of concern he was all too familiar with. "Stay back!" Arthur shouts, his voice cracking. He fumbles for the chair, grabbing its back and holding it between them. "Don't come any closer!" Sarah freezes, her hands half-raised. "Dad, you're... you're scaring me." "What's going on?" Mark's voice, sharp and low, rings from the doorway. He and Leo are standing in the doorway to the dining room. Arthur feels his hands slip, and the chair clatters to the ground. Sarah flinches, features still dark and unreadable, and buries her head in Mark’s arms. *** “Some unexpected stuff came up at work today, Arthur. I don’t think I can take tomorrow off, and I don’t think you’re in any state to drive to Dr. Aris’ office tomorrow, so I rescheduled it for you, okay?” Arthur makes no response. “Now… that… thing, in the kitchen.” He shakes his head at Mark. “It was a panic attack,” he continues, voice firm. “You’re scaring Sarah. You’re scaring yourself. There was nothing in the darkness.” “It’s not the darkness…” Arthur whispers, staring at the lamp. Unfazed, Mark continues. “You’re cooped up, I think. Remember those evening walks you used to do? We’ll go. We’ll take Leo with us.” Arthur shakes his head again. “Come on, it’ll be some fresh air, and you’ll see that there’s nothing to be afraid of in the dark,” Mark insists. “A short one,” Arthur mutters. The twilight air feels cool on his skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of Leo’s little hand, which Arthur holds close. The first streetlights are just beginning to flicker on, though in his eyes they only manage to leave a weak, blurry smear of yellow against the darkness. “We’ll turn left here, take the short path around the neighborhood,” he hears Mark say, guiding him with a hand on his right shoulder. “Look, grandpa, the dark’s not scary at all!” Leo’s chipper voice rings out from his left. He could see the boy skipping along in a bright orange shirt. Or, rather, the dark, smudged figure of the boy. “See? It’s fine,” Mark says, from the right. Arthur turns, but quickly flinches and looks away from the faceless void of his son in law. “I’m actually pretty good at seeing in the dark, grandpa. I’ll help you. There’s Chloe’s house, Jackson’s, Dillion’s the one past the corner…” “Very nice,” he manages to squeeze out a few words and a smile. “I’m not done! That’s Mrs. Gable’s house, her porch light is broken again. And see that tree by her driveway? The big oak one? There's a bat hanging from the third branch. No... wait, the fourth one. It's sleeping.” Arthur’s smile freezes and his grip tightens. "And look!" Leo chirped, pointing. "Mr. Henderson's black cat is hunting by that big rose bush. It just caught something! A mouse, I think. A brown one. I can see its tail." “It’s so dark, Leo,” Arthur whispers, his knuckles creaking and going white with force. “How… how can you see all that?” “I don’t know, Arthur,” the voice from the left responds. “Guess my eyes are just really good!” “That’s enough, now,” he hears from the right. “Relax, Arthur, you’re gonna crush his hand.” Arthur lets out a breath, and pries his grip off of the boy’s hand. After a few moments, he musters up a few feeble words. “Can we go back, now?” “We’re back, already. Let’s head in.” *** He must have dozed into a thin, feverish sleep, because a sound jolts him fully awake. A slow, deliberate creak on the stair outside his room. Then another. Shuffling. He holds his breath, straining. A whisper. He can’t make out the words, just the soft hiss. It’s coming from right outside his door. He smells it, too. Faintly. Sarah's lavender perfume, the one she wears when going out. He stares into the absolute, swimming blackness of his room. The doorknob rattles, just once. Then, a click. His heart drops. The small, metallic snick of a key turning in the lock from the outside. The door swings open with a slow, soundless groan. His sight, with only the moonlight, registered nothing. No hallway, no light, no features. Only... shapes. Three silhouettes darker than the pitch-black room. A tall one (Mark). A medium one (Sarah). A small one (Leo). They stand there for a heartbeat, perfectly still. Then, the voices. Warm. Loving. Concerned. "Dad, we heard a noise. Are you okay?" (The Sarah-shape's voice). "We were worried, Grandpa. You were breathing so loud." (The Leo-shape's voice). "It's okay, Arthur. We're here." (The Mark-shape's voice). “Let’s take you to Dr. Aris’, okay? Right now.”

I think it's pretty common knowledge that I suck at writing short stories. Proof? Somewhere in the Thunderdome. Don't go looking. But seeing as it's spooky season, I got inspired and wrote a bit. No promises on anything scary, because if there's anything I'm worse at than short stories, it's horror.

CYS is truly a haven for bored school kids with unnaturally strict parents. Been a while since I’ve seen a pair use it like a chatroom though.

I don’t think there is any support for sqrt, but you may be interested in reading up on some approximations of the square root function online.

I don't think constructive criticism counts as mean, if that's your whole gripe with the site. If you were truly passionate about writing, you'd see past the banter and apply their advice to better your own works. The only thing you're passionate about is your own image and ego.

You certainly think very highly of yourself.

Welcome, fellow procrastinator. I'd give you some recommendations, but maybe tomorrow. ...I think the others have got some good recommendations, already. If you want to do some searching for yourself, the top rated of each category is always home to good picks. Otherwise, you could go read some newly created stories and make the author's day with a review, or something. Hope you enjoy your time on the site.

Maybe I'm just used to bad thunderdome stories and bad writing in general (cough cough my contest entry), but I was pleasantly surprised first reading story A, as I found it to be quite solid. Not many complaints, other than the narrator perhaps handing a little too much to the reader, too easily.

Story B was more faithful to the song, and captured the delerium and deterioriating mental clarity of the protagonist well. I found it to be a better entry than A.

I vote B.

Don't call me out like that I'll give them a read over later (not tomorrow)

Neat story, I found it to be pretty interesting. The flashback was well integrated into her final thoughts and everything seemed to flow together well enough. I'm reminded of a few videos I saw recently describing some pretty gruesome cave diving deaths. Unpleasant, but props for stirring up those memories.