Tag Archives: prose

The Summons: Part 1

Posted on by CM Schofield

Jay was not having the best day, trudging god knew where with their hands bound behind their back. They’d given up struggling – that only resulted in exhaustion and pain. Between the bag on their head and the binder on their chest—which should have come off hours ago—breath was short. Jay didn’t know for certain why they were here but they could certainly guess. Their talent, unusual as it was, must have been discovered. Jay knew this because it wouldn’t work on their kidnappers.

As they were roughly pushed into an icy cold room, something stirred. Fear crushed the last breath of air from them. There was something in the room. Something inhuman. Jay could hear its ragged breath, hear the soft scraping of claw on stone and, most frighteningly, Jay could hear the creature’s mind.

Finally feeding time, is it? the thing wondered, thoughts oozing with gleeful malice.

“At last,” came a cool, feminine voice from directly in front of Jay. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

The mental image of white lights, electrodes and scalpels crossed their mind, as had happened many times on the journey here. Along with the image of the bus. Jay shuddered, red flashing before their eyes. How many people had been on that bus?

“Mmmph umph,” they replied, as good an expletive as they could muster through the gag.

“The subject has been… uncooperative,” said a voice to Jay’s side. One of the kidnappers from the bus—a chunky, block—headed man if they recalled right.

“As has ours,” said the feminine one. “It’s about time they met.”

“Are you sure we should be rushing into this, Caine?” the man asked.

“Why don’t you leave the thinking to someone who’s a little more than a paid grunt? I know what I’m doing.”

Jay was forced deeper into the room as the man grumbled something foul under his breath and shoved down onto a chill metal chair. Rope was threaded between their still bound hands and used to secure them tightly to the seat. What sounded like high-heeled shoes clicked across the floor towards them.

“Now, I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here,” Caine said. “There are many people out there who’d kill to get their hands on you, to study your gift. You aren’t here as an artefact though – you’re here as a tool.”

The bag was pulled from Jay’s head, their eyes filling with dull red light. The room was long and sparse. Close to one side was a sharply dressed woman in a skirt suit—Caine, presumably—and to the other was the squarish kidnapper they expected. Both wore a band of metal around their heads, glinting in the crimson glow. Some kind of blocker? Jay wondered. In front of them, the lengthy room tapered into darkness. From the shadows, that soft scrape could be heard pacing back and forth.

“You’re going to communicate with the beast,” Caine continued. “Ask it our questions, give us its answers.”

Enough with your pomp, the creature thought, just give me the meat. Its impatience was palpable, emanating from the end of the room.

The man to Jay’s side stepped up to them, jerking their head to the side as he cut the gag free. Jay gasped for breath, still fighting their constricted chest, and flexed their aching jaw.

“What is it?” Jay asked.

“That’s none of your concern,” Caine said, pacing slowly to close the distance between them both. In a sudden movement, she grabbed a handful of Jay’s short hair and yanked their head back. The woman glared down, eyes cold and empty. “Your only concern is self-preservation. Believe me when I say it will be a difficult task that will require all of your concentration. Understand?”

Jay did their best to nod with their hair still in Caine’s bear-like grip, and they were released, head falling forward jarringly. The woman ambled to a low desk by the wall, the echoing of her heels filling the room again, and leant against it.

“Now,” she said, reaching onto the desk and clicking on a recorder. “Ask the beast its price.”

They screwed their face up. “What?”

Caine flicked a hand dismissively. “Harris.”

The man to Jay’s side balled a fist and took a step toward them.

“Okay, okay, I’m doing it!” Jay quickly added. They turned their attention from Caine to the shadows. It wasn’t really an improvement.

Scraaaape. Scraaaape. Scraaaape.

Jay pushed their fears away as best they could, focusing. It was always easier if they could see the person—or thing—but they were skilled enough that it didn’t matter much. They inhaled slowly and began to project.

What are you? Jay thought at the creature.

The pacing stopped abruptly and Jay felt eyes on them.

It speaks the infernal? the creature mused. A moment passed then the realisation struck, that Jay was in its head. Jay didn’t need to see its face to know, they could feel the change on the air – and so could their captors. Both of them straightened, becoming more alert.

Jay sensed the thing throwing itself towards them and screamed just as a deafening thunderclap rang through the room. Everything that followed sounded muffled and far away. More thunder rang out, each strike bringing a flash of light. Jay saw the thing in brief glimpses, watching as it hurled itself against an invisible barrier. In one flash Jay saw a torso, frigid blue in colour. Another revealed an arm. Despite the hue, both looked human but it was a boar-like wail that came from the darkness.

Caine calmly reached behind herself, flicking a switch on the wall. Pain seared Jay’s eyes as brilliant white light flooded the room. Their eyelids were promptly jammed shut but even then it still hurt. The creature’s wailing intensified and they could narrowly hear it scrambling about. A last single thunderclap sounded before calm descended. As their ears began to recover, Jay heard sobbing.

First my body, invaded and violated, and now my mind, came wretched thoughts. They would take from me everything and leave me a husk.

“Tell that beast the light will stay on until it has answered our questions,” Caine said. Her voice was utterly unchanged. Unfeeling.

Jay peeled their eyes open, adjusting to the blazing, clinical glare. The room was properly visible now, a long, grey rectangle of smooth concrete. At Jay’s end were a few desks with paperwork, computers, the recorder and other equipment that they didn’t recognise. The other end was devoid of any furnishings but was covered in a web of black painted runes. The symbols were not like anything Jay had seen before, sharp angled and complex. Right at the far end, huddled in the corner, was the creature.

Human in shape, its skin was vibrant azure. Its only attire was a pair of ragged black trousers, a long, slim tail protruding from the back and wrapped close to it defensively. It faced away, giving the room a good view of the ridges that ran down its back and along its arms. Its hands and feet had long, black claws. Pointed ears rose up far above its head, quivering.

“Tell it!” Caine barked, and Jay flinched.

“All right, I’m doing it,” they replied, voice cracking. They returned focus to the miserable creature.

I’m sorry, Jay thought at it. I didn’t mean to hurt you. They reached out with their mind but with the stress and anxiety they could not concentrate enough to find purchase there. They clenched their teeth, exhaling sharply.

I am a prisoner here, came the deflated reply. You experiment on me. Burn at my flesh with your light, and you do not mean to hurt me?

Look at me, Jay urged, I’m as much a prisoner as you. They kidnapped me to talk to you.

Tell them to return the darkness.

They won’t, Jay told the creature, a little of their courage seeping back. Not until you answer.

It released a long, slow whine.

“Is it cooperating?” the woman asked.

“Slowly,” Jay said.

“Ask it its price.”

Jay took a deep breath. Who are you?

They care? the thing thought bitterly.

I do.

I was Gelethil, it replied. He was strong. Fearless. Now I am a worm, caged and broken.

That makes them the pricks, not you, Jay thought to it- to him. One of his long, sweeping ears twitched. How can I get you out of here?

That ear flicked again. You would help me? I would have gladly eaten you.

A cold prickle ran over their flesh, but they forced a calm demeanour. Eat them instead.

Finally, Gelethil turned his head from the cradle of his arms. Greasy black hair framed his face and his eyes were slits, braced against the light. His thin-lipped mouth burst into a wide, menacing grin, baring pointed teeth.

I like you, he thought.

Part 2 coming soon!

NaNoWriMo 2020

Posted on by CM Schofield

Like so many other people, my year started out on a strong note, creativity wise. Perhaps unsurprisingly, that had gone more or less out of the window by the time May rolled around and the rest of the year has been like wading through treacle. Looking back at my original goals for the year, a lot of them are going to go unmet. Given everything that’s happened, I’m trying not to let that bother me too much but it’s not always easy. It’s been A Year.

No matter how bad things get though, there always seems to be one event that kicks my brain back into overdrive. That’s right, it’s the 1st of November and NaNoWriMo is back, baby! Given the nature of the year, rather than carrying on with a project that I’d already started as I had planned, I’m instead going to be starting on something new. Why, you ask?

This year has been hard and, while Monarch Necrotic is a story very dear to my heart, writing something that has a character severely suffering from the mental illnesses I share with him might have been a bit heavy. I want to have fun this month and pour out words with gay abandon, rather than dissecting myself on a deep emotional level. I want to write something invigorating, not exhausting. So that’s what I’m going to be doing. 

Trashy? Possibly. Tropey? Definitely. Banter? 98% of my word count this November. And I can’t wait!

Be kind to yourself, even if that just means writing disaster monster friends causing chaos in some rich dude’s mansion.

Autumn

Posted on by CM Schofield

It happened with the turn of the leaves, when things change from green to precious gold. I didn’t know what I was looking for, just that I was looking. I didn’t need anything to search for because I never found it anyway. Just looking was enough. The shiny disk of the metal detector glinted in the sun, offering promises never fulfilled. I didn’t mind. It was a nice excuse to go outside. I always needed one; I could never allow myself to enjoy the world without some tangible reason for it. So I looked for metal.

Then one autumn’s day I actually found some.

The detector startled me as it bleeped wildly – after all, it was a sound I’d only heard once before, when I tested the thing as it came out of the box. I stared at the flat, bare ground before me, confused as to what came next. I’d never anticipated this moment. Eventually I got onto my knees and dug into the soft earth with my hands. It wasn’t particularly cold yet and the soil came away easily. I kept digging and never found anything but I was so curious I couldn’t stop. When I got to about a foot down with still nothing, I tried the metal detector again. It bleeped, so I kept digging.

The sun was setting and I was still digging. I would periodically check to see if the mystery item was still there. It was. I kept going, until I was certain I’d gone down further than the metal detector’s range. My hands bled but by that time I couldn’t feel them anyway. I plunged them down to take another scoop of earth and they smacked into something cold and hard. I dusted the loose soil away frantically, revealing something smooth beneath.

I frowned. The full moon was high in the sky, casting silver light into the hole. It was a face. A metal face with dead, circular eyes and a hollow rectangle for a mouth. Everything smelled like soil and blood.

“HELLO.”

I flinched at the metallic voice. It hadn’t come from the face. It had come from behind me. From the metal detector.

“GREETINGS.”

I looked back to the face. Both eyes were lit with a soft blue light, the left one flickering. My mouth was dry and slowly the feeling was returning to my hands. They burned and shook.

“IS IT TIME?” asked the metal detector. I turned and picked it up, inspecting it. It looked normal, with no spot I could guess at as being speakers.

“Time for what?” I asked it, feeling silly.

“IT IS TIME,” said the face behind me, and something hit me on the back of the head.

I fell face first to the ground and darkness took me, and when I finally woke again Edinburgh was already gone.

Musings on Pitch Contests

Posted on by CM Schofield

With the completion of Through the Black looming ever closer, I’ve been thinking more and more of how and where I want to get my MS out there. Traditional querying will almost certainly be my number one method, but these days online pitch contests are also a hugely popular way to get your short pitch seen by agents and publishers.

The downsides of these are that you only have a very limited amount of characters to make yourself stand out. The upside is that there’s no quicker way to get huge swathes of publishing professionals all at once.

Of course, you might attract the attention of agent who aren’t the right fit for you or you might not attract any at all. The thing is, if you don’t put yourself out there then you’ll never know. The best that can happen is that you find someone requesting a query. The worst is that you’ll have honed a neat, concise pitch for your work.

I actually tried my hand at one very recently. The creative industries festival XpoNorth held one this month and, as they were accepting pitches for manuscripts that weren’t 100 % complete, I decided to have a go. Unfortunately I didn’t have any success with that but I didn’t have much time to prepare my pitches. What it does mean is that I now have a couple of them that I can work on and polish well for when more roll around, and hopefully be more prepared for. Mostly it was good practice for not obsessively staring at my phone or refreshing my internet browser.

There are a few lined up for after my deadline, so I’m hoping to have some nice polished pitches and a finished manuscript all ready to go by the time they roll around!

 

Paper

Day and Night

Posted on by CM Schofield

When the sun is high, the world is full of the babble of laughter and voices. Cars rumble past in a persistent, growling stream. Little bells jangle as the shop doors on the street open and close, the crinkling of shopping bags constant.

Only twelve hours later and those sounds are gone. The babble is replaced by a cool silence to those who do not wish to hear the night. My steps are gentle footfalls on the concrete. A soft rustle to my right – just a cat inspecting a bin. At this time, my breaths are loud and the soft breeze whispers to me. Just as I feel peace in this serene nightscape, there are footsteps behind me. I turn quickly. But behind there is only empty space and the footsteps remain. When the sun is high, the world is loud and I am safe from the sound. But it isn’t.

It is dark and it is cold and still the footsteps remain.

Thin banner with blurred out lights at night.

Aurora Borealis

Posted on by CM Schofield

Icy air gusted softly by as we stood beneath the stars, staring upwards past the looming grey pillars of the hilltop monument and into the crisp night sky. Specks of silver glistened in the void above us, stiff bristles of heather rustling by our feet. A couple of snowflakes twirled on the salty air, the very first of the fall. It wouldn’t be long before the encroaching grey clouds obscured our view and snuffed out our chances.

Dad held his camera aloft, hoping for those eerie green lanterns to splash across the sky. They never did. Never on the nights we tried. But we always went. And tonight, deep between those twinkling dots of light in the sky, something moved. We both tensed, excited, my numb hands clenching tight. This was it, our time. The thing that moved did shimmer with emerald wonder but it did not spill across the night. It moved closer, growing larger. I held my breath, the crunching of my raincoat falling silent as I stood stock still. Drifting up high was a perfect viridian disk.

My mouth fell agape, breath misting on the air. I glanced at my dad, the camera clutched white knuckled in his chill burned fingers. His brow furrowed, disbelieving and almost annoyed by the object above. Whatever it was, it drew nearer, silent as the snowfall. The quiet drew out long enough that the gentle whispers of the wind became unnerving.

The sudden click of the camera startled me and the haunting thing rose so swiftly upwards it was a dot within a second. It became a pinprick among the starts and then it was gone. I stared a long while, just in case it returned, while Dad scowled at the little preview window of his camera. The display showed perfectly the eerie form of the green glowing UFO, proof that the incredible spectacle we’d witnessed was real. He muttered under his breath and shook his head.

“We’re never gonna see those bloody lights.”

NaNo Reflections

Posted on by CM Schofield

winner

Another NaNo down! And I won (just) for my fifth consecutive year. This was the closest I’ve cut it that I recall but I made it in the end. And, as I was doing a rewrite of the very project that got me into writing again after my long, university induced hiatus, there was a lot of cringing along the way. Really.

On the positive side, it let me see that I’ve improved a huge amount at writing over the past five years. I already mentioned just how many words I was cutting in my progress post and that trend continued. At least six full scenes got completely binned, as well as others getting merged and whole paragraphs of absolutely nothing being skipped as well. There was so much superfluous, unnecessary and boring guff in there. There’s also the prose itself which is, in my opinion, miles better than the original even in its NaNo-form. If I ever get to the stage where I can edit this it might even become readable!

Practice really is the key to anything. I’m so much happier with my writing now than I ever have been – and I know there’s still massive space for improvement. I still don’t consider myself “good” (but will I ever?) but I’ve come leaps and bounds. It makes me so glad that I’ve stuck with it, even through the low moments. It’s like with art – I would love to improve at it but I always get disheartened when I try. Things never work out the way I’d like. I stumble and struggle and eventually end up taking long, substantial breaks from it and every time I do I end up back at square one. It needs a lot of time and a lot of practice. Unfortunately time isn’t something I have in abundance.

The only difference with writing is that I’ve stuck with it even through the hard times. From scenes I just couldn’t write, things that sounded awful, bad plots all the way to crushing beta feedback and rejections. Time and practice has brought me to where I am today. And I’m happy with where that is, even though I hope to keep improving as I go. If you love something and want to get good at it, stick with it. No matter the setbacks. Keep at it. Some people say you need to write every day but I don’t think that’s true. Just keep it regular and don’t let your skills slide.

Now if only I had more time for art too!