MALicious Tales: A M.A. Lachnicht Halloween Anthology

South Dakota

March 5th 1990

 

Robert and James stumbled out of the darkened forest. The wheat field behind them swayed in the nights pale moon. The house loomed in front of them.

 

“I wonder who lives here” said Robert, the older of the two. He was 16 a year older than James. The pellet rifle was slung over his shoulder, Him and James had been hunting squirrels and birds earlier. The windows were shattered and grimy, planks shuttered some of the windows. A translucent clouds dipped in front of the moon shrouding the two kids in darkness. The house creaked as if in answer for the sudden darkness. The two boys grouped forward towards the house. The rotting floorboards creaked under the heavy footfalls of the boys.

 

“It sure is dark eh Robert?” asked James. The cloud disappeared and the moon shone bright and clear. The two boys crept into the decrepit house. Inside the house was a mess. Scattered about was trash, the wall was spotted with dried blood and on the floorboard was an ax crusted with blood. The boys began to freaked out. Robert wailed, his eyes filled with tears. The pellet gun fell from his hand. James slumped to the floor.

 

“What the hell happened here?” He asked Robert. In the corner sat a chair with arm restraints on it blood coagulated on it. The boys smelled the tangy, salty smell of blood. James stooped and picked the pellet gun up. The boys began to walk around the broken down house. Scatterings of desks and bookshelves were shoved everywhere a T.V. Broken lay in the middle of the room. The cracked tubes hissed and sputtered electricity. The boys flinched at the very sound of the spit of electricity from the T.V. James tightened his grip on the pellet gun. The two boys walked into the next room. They wandered in and the moon disappeared behind a cloud. The boys began to freak out again. Grouping the two boys kept going in. The room smelled of mold and wetness. The squish under their feet was a bad sign. The smell intensified, a small light flickered in the darkness. A match struck in the darkness. A small black shape appeared. A glint of a blade hit the light. A body lay bloodied on the floor beside the dark shape. The two boys stood petrified. James lifted the pellet gun. His finger depressed the trigger. The pellet flew towards the dark shape. It was deflected by the dark shape. The light began to seep from the room. The small match came close to the face. A hideous mass of scars and cuts, festering and infected, alighted on the face. The lips like smudges hung open, the stench stagnant made the boys choke. The creature stepped forward but the boys where out the door instantly. The boys ran home and past out in fright. They never journeyed back to that house for it was torn down the next day. They often wonder what that creature was. But I was there and can tell you what it was, but I rather not.

 

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3. Preface to the Darkest of Nights

 

 

Writing is a marathon it is also a passion much like fire. A fire takes dried stick as a book needs words.Words become sentences, sentences become paragraph this is the fire catching and that fire becomes a book. Without special skills of creation any book would not be created. It takes adquit skill with words to be a story teller. In this sense this book is dedicted to all the writers but especially to H.P. Lovecraft and Stephen King for theirs alone is where my inspiration to write horror comes from. Ever page is a mile in this marathon of writing. If as a writer I fail to reach my audience I have failed in my goal as a writer as well as failed myself. For writing is not just for the readers but also for the writers themselves. I write for my family, friends and members of Booksie.com. I would like to thank my father, Gerald Lachnicht and my mother Lisa as well as my friend Benji Crow for their dedication to expanding my writing. As well as the site www.Booksie.com where most of my writing up to date can be found. I am a poet, a writer of Sci-fi and Fantasy as well as Horror. It is with this passion of spreading words to paper words that make sentences which make paragraphs that I set down to tell you the tale of “The Darkest Night.”

 

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4. Doth Spake The Black Wizard (poem from The Darkest of Nights (upcoming)