Showing posts with label patreon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label patreon. Show all posts

Saturday, July 15, 2017

“Serialized Novella: ALLEN TOMBES – FIRE FROM WATER (Chapters 14, 15, and 16)” by Richard F. Yates

[Rubber meets road. Horror comes home. In the previous section of Allen’s story, he met a couple of monsters and was attacked by a witch. With this section, it all goes to Hell. Read on and see what I mean! ---RFY]

ALLEN TOMBES – FIRE FROM WATER (Chapter 14)

Allen grabbed his sword, Kitsle's box, and his bag off the floor. "Just go! Out of the room!" he yelled. "We don't know how long she's going to be paralyzed." Rose pushed her friends out the door. Allen followed, closing the door behind him.

"Kitsle?" he said, holding the box up to eye height. The panel clicked open and Kitsle's sliver head poked out of the opening. "Can you block the door or electrify the doorknob or something so she can't get out?"

The little head swiveled toward the door, looked it up and down, then nodded. It pointed a claw past Allen down the hall.

"Okay, I'll go," Allen said, and the bug hopped over to the doorknob. Allen saw the walls of the hallway glow bright yellow-green, as he raced after Rose and the other girls, who had already dashed down the stairs at the end of the hall.

"Allen, what was that thing?" Rose asked as he jumped down the last few steps at the bottom of the stairs.

"According to Chaz, he's a sprite. At least I think it's a 'he.' Is Kitsle a boys name?" A glittering flash flew down the stairs and landed on the box. It tapped the side panel and slipped inside.

"Oh, God," the girl with purple hair wimpered.

"Jesus, Allen. What's going on?" Rose asked.

"I don't know, for sure, but I think our family is under attack," he said. "I guess we know too much." He put Kitsle's box into his bag and zipped it most of the way closed, then set the bag carefully on the floor next to the couch.

"I don't understand any of this. Why did Krystal go berserk?" Rose asked. Allen shrugged, then Rose’s eyes went wide. "Allen, where's Mom?"

"Mom!?" he called loudly. “The kitchen still?”

Rose shoved her friends out of the way and dashed toward the kitchen. Allen followed. Rose pushed through the door.

Allen saw his Mom standing at the sink, unmoving, her hands resting on the edge of the counter. She appeared to be staring out the window over the sink.

"Mom, are you okay?" Rose said, timidly, and their mother shook, slightly. She turned to Rose and smiled.

"Hey, honey. Dinner's not going to be ready for a bit, yet," she said and turned away from the window. She took a timid step toward the fridge, then staggered.

“Mom!” Rose yelled, and reached out to catch her, but her mother caught herself before she fell.

"Huh," she laughed. "Almost lost my balance. You know, it's the damnedest thing. I thought I saw a huge dog in our backyard---then I spaced out." She looked at the clock.

"Oh my God! Is it that late? I must have taken too long with the shopping! I haven't even started dinner yet, and your father's going to be home any minute! What happened to my afternoon?" She rushed over to the refrigerator and started putting ingredients on the counter for dinner.

"I think she's okay," Allen whispered to Rose.

"I'm going to check on Stacey and Angie," Rose said.

"Two extra for dinner! Oh, Rose, why didn't you tell me earlier!" their mother mumbled something to herself and set a pan full of ground beef on the stove.

Rose went out the door to the living room, leaving Allen and his Mom in the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, Mom," Allen said. He was sorry for a number of things.

"Not your fault, hon'. You didn't bring anyone extra over for dinner and not tell me. Oh, well. We'll make do. Do you have any homework you need to get done?" she said.

"Not really," Allen said, thinking that he didn't know when he'd even be able to go to school again. He walked over to his mom and hugged her, then went back to the living room.

Stacey, the green haired girl, was sitting on the couch crying silently, dark lines from her mascara were drawn on her cheeks. Rose and Angie were standing by the window, talking. Allen heard a scream from upstairs. Krystal must have woken up and tried the doorknob. Allen's chest began to burn, and he looked down at the charm around his neck. The eyes were glowing, brightly. He walked over to his bag and pulled the sword out. He felt the urge to unsheathe the blade and rush upstairs to fight, but fear got the better of him. He stared up at the ceiling where he imagined Krystal was trying to find a way out of his bedroom.

From behind the house, Allen heard a deep, savage yell, and nebulous, hissing screams. He shivered---the shadow creatures were back.

"What was that noise?" Stacey asked.

"I don't know," Rose said, then looked at Allen. His eyes were wide, but he didn't answer. Telling them wouldn't help; it would only terrify them more.

"There's a car pulling up outside," Angie said, looking out the front window. Allen's father had parked in his usual space on the street, directly in front of the house. Allen rushed to the window.

His father stepped out of his car and closed the door. Almost immediately, the air around him began to swim, and Allen saw four Shadow creatures solidify in the street, mere feet from his father. His father, apparently unaware of the danger that hovered so near, took a few casual steps toward the house, whistling to himself and looking through a handful of papers.

"What are those things, Allen" Rose asked.

"What things?" Angie said. "Isn't that your Dad?"

"Oh, God! DAD!" Allen yelled and dove for the door.

Rose watched out the window as one of the creatures floated up behind her father. It raised a dark, misty claw and thrust it through her father's back, bloody nails suddenly bursting out of his chest.

Allen threw the door open and stepped out onto the walkway in time to see his father’s eyes go blank and his body begin to tremble all over. He fell to the ground, and a darkness, a rot, appearing first around the hole in his back, began to spread over his whole body. It grew towards his arms, legs, and head, melting his flesh, turning him into a smoky, shadowy mass, until the man who was Arthur Tombes, Allen's father, became one of them.

There was a deep roar, like a mountain crumbling, as Haro galloped toward the smoky creatures in front of Allen's house. His claws glowing bright red, Haro slashed in huge arcs, tearing through the Shadows, as they hissed and shrieked, then dissolved.

"You must get back in the house!" Haro bellowed, standing over a smoking pile of teeth and claws.

"My Dad..." Allen said, feeling dazed, lost.

"Now is not the time, child. More are coming. Back into the house," Haro said this more softly, but
still with a massive rumble in his voice.

Allen backed to the door. Then, as Haro bounded for the side of the house, Allen slipped back inside.

ALLEN TOMBES – FIRE FROM WATER (Chapter 15)

"He's gone," Allen said, softly. "Dad's gone."

Stacey sat, panting, on the couch. Her face was slack, her eyes huge.

Rose and Angie continued watching out the window. Allen could hear Rose crying, but he was too much in shock himself to go over to her.

Angie turned to Allen, her face was a mask of confusion. She looked almost angry. "What just happened?" Angie said. "It looked like your Dad was having some kind of an attack, a seizure or something, then he fell on the ground and just..." she shook her head, "...and then he just vanished."

"She didn't see them," Rose said, sniffing and wiping her dark tears from her cheeks.

"Most people can't," Allen said. "Dad couldn't. He didn't even realize he was in surrounded."

"And what was that other thing, the monster that tore up those ghosts and then yelled at you?" Rose asked.

"That's Haro. Chris sent him to guard the house," Allen said. "He and his brother were disguised as dogs earlier, remember?" Allen wiped his own face with his left hand. His right still held his sword.

"Where is Chris? Why isn't he here?" Rose said.

"I don't know. I talked to him at Chaz's shop, and he sent me home with Haro. He said he'd come here to get me in a few days."

"Come get you? To take you where?" Rose asked.

Before he could answer, Stacey yelled, "What is that sound? What is that sound!?" Rose, Allen, and Angie all jumped. Stacey was staring at the ceiling.

Then Allen heard it, a chanting coming from above, growing louder every moment.

"It's Krystal," Rose said. "She's up to something. I can't make out the words. Angie, can you tell what she's doing?"

Angie cocked her head to one side, listening to the sound, but shrugged her shoulders.

Suddenly their Mom pushed her head through the doorway from the kitchen, making everybody jump again. "Dinner's going to be ready in just a few minutes. Better wash up. Is your father home yet? I thought I heard someone come in the front door."

"No, he's not home yet," Allen said, sharing a look with Rose. He couldn't tell her.

"Are you messing with that sword again!? I told you, it's going back. Giving a fifteen year old a sword---what the Hell was Chaz thinking? And Rose, it sounds like you left your stereo on upstairs. Could you go turn it off?" she said, and disappeared back into the kitchen.

"Rose, what do we do about---about your stereo?" Allen asked, pointing at the ceiling.

"I don't know. I've been studying with her for almost a year, and she's always been so sweet---until she saw you." Rose glanced at Allen's necklace, the eyes still glowing red, and then at the sword in his hand. "This all seems so wrong," she whispered.

There was a rumble all around the house, like a small earthquake, and the chanting from upstairs stopped. Allen walked towards the stairs. He heard a crazed cackle from above, then the sound of glass shattering.

"I think she's out of the room," Allen said. His throat felt too tight.

"Allen, I think the protective spell is gone," Rose said. "I can't feel it in the air anymore."

"I can't take any more of this!" Stacey yelled. She jumped off the couch, bolting for the door.

"Stacey! No!" Rose yelled.

Stacey pulled the door open, and Krystal appeared in the doorway. Her face and neck were dripping blood from several small cuts, but she was smiling a huge, evil grin again. Stacey was frozen, her mouth wide open and her hand still on the door handle. Krystal, her arm moving in a black blur, stabbed Stacey in the neck. She pulled the blade out, cocked her arm back, and then stabbed Stacey again, this time driving the blade into the girl’s chest.

Krystal shrieked with laughter as Stacey, her eyes still open, fell to the floor.

"Your protection spell is gone," Krystal said, her voice suddenly calm and sweet again. She stepped over Stacey's body. “They can get in now,” she said, still sweet, then her face contorted and she screamed, "And you're all going to die!"

"Kitsle!" Allen yelled, panicking. But before the sprite appeared, Haro dove through the open front door and bashed Krystal with his huge claws. The witch was struck at chest height and flew sideways, slamming into the wall with a bone shattering crash. Her body fell to the floor in a shattered heap.

Rose and Angie both screamed.

"The house is surrounded," Haro said. "Oro is dead. We must hold against the Shadows until your brother arrives with help. Haro whistled a strange, chirping sound, and Kitsle appeared from inside Allen's bag. Haro clicked and popped in Kitsle's language. Kitsle nodded and disappeared in a bright flash.

"I've sent the sprite to tell Christopher that our situation is urgent," Haro said.

Allen heard glass breaking in the kitchen and his mother screamed.

"Mom!" he yelled and dashed toward the kitchen door, pulling his sword out of its sheath. The blade pulsed with a blue-green light.

He burst through the doorway and saw a shadow creature hovering over his mother, who was laying on the floor in a quickly growing pool of blood. Her face and chest were torn open, and blood dripped from the creature’s misty claws, but his mother's body didn't change into a Shadow as his father's had.

Allen raised his sword and rushed at the creature as the Shadow's dark, misty face turned toward him and smiled.

"The boy," it hissed and seemed to laugh as Allen slashed through its head and chest with his glowing blade. The creature howled and gurgled, and then the Shadow's flesh began to dissolve. The teeth and claws fell to the floor.

ALLEN TOMBES – FIRE FROM WATER (Chapter 16)

Haro charged through the kitchen door, tearing it from its hinges and tossing the useless wood out of his way. Rose followed immediately after and saw her mother lying on the floor. She knelt down next to her.

"Allen---she's..." Rose sobbed.

Haro saw the remains of the Shadow melting on the floor and said, "You have destroyed a Shadow. I'm impressed, child."

"Why didn't she become one? Like Dad did?" Allen asked. Rose laid across her mother's chest, weeping.

"Her family line," Haro said, "cannot be corrupted by the Shadows' influence. She was not able to see them, not everyone from her bloodline can, but all three of her children are able to, apparently. That is why the Shadows want your family destroyed, fewer eyes to watch them," Haro said this with a snarl. It was obvious that he had nothing but contempt for the Shadow creatures.

Angie slowly stepped into the kitchen. "Oh my God," she said, seeing Rose laying on her Mom. Her hands shook as she raised them up to her cheeks.

"More are approaching," Haro said. His claws began to glow red again. Allen's charm as well. The backdoor of the kitchen crashed open and the air swam with dark mist. Haro roared and dove into the swirling cloud, slashing with his great claws. Allen saw more shadowy forms pouring through the broken window over the sink and heard hissing from the living room. He raised his sword and stepped between his sister and the Shadows coming through the kitchen window and moving towards them.

"Leave us alone!" Allen yelled, fury in his face, and as he yelled, the blue-green light coming from his sword darkened. His eyes, even the whites, began to burn with a midnight blue flame, and his sword flashed with licks of dark blue fire. Rose looked up from her mother just as the room was filled with a blinding blue flash and a huge, bird-like form, its body smoldering with blue flame, appeared in front of Allen. The bird tore through the air, screaming with a deafening call, engulfing and destroying every Shadow in its path, blowing completely through the kitchen wall, and streaking outside into the backyard. Allen watched it incinerate the creatures massing there, then it flashed back through the kitchen, flew by Angie catching her hair on fire, and off into the living room, consuming the Shadows that had entered from the front as well. It then burst out the front door into the yard.

Rose, seeing Angie's hair ablaze, leaped up and grabbed a hand towel off the counter to smother the flames. All of this happened so quickly that Allen was still holding his sword up as Rose patted the last of the sizzle from Angie’s hair. Allen, his saucer-sized eyes still burning dark blue, turned to Rose, as the fire bird came flying back around the house and reentered the kitchen through the hole where the wall used to be. Rose was holding Angie, and the two were pressed up against the cupboards, shielding themselves from the bird. Allen lowered his sword, and the blue flames slowly left his eyes. The smoldering bird hovered on wings of fire, staring at Allen.

Haro tore into the kitchen from the back of the house, then stopped abruptly. He saw the fire bird and his mouth opened in shock. He stuttered something to himself, then bowed, deeply, to the bird.

"My Lord," Haro said, his eyes on the floor, "we thank you for your protection."

The bird remained fixated on Allen for several seconds, then let out a sharp call, flapped its burning wings and vanished in a blue flash of flame.

The kitchen was silent for a few seconds, then Haro stood back up, although he was still hunched, gorilla-like, and shuffled over to Allen.

"Child, you are full of surprises," he said, growling in a low way that Allen guessed was probably a laugh.


[See!? I told you! This was totally a “not messing around” section. Am I right? Suddenly, Allen and Rose have become orphans, Allen has shown himself to be something dark and dangerous, and we become acutely aware that Haro is a serious bad-ass… For those of you who haven’t read the first thirteen chapters of this wicked adventure, you can find them at the Primitive Patreon Page, where you can also contribute, if you like, to the creation of MORE stories like this one. Thanks for reading! Hopefully, I’ll get back to the regular schedule of one new section per week from here on out! ---RFY]

---Richard F. Yates
(Commander in Cheap of The Primitive Entertainment Workshop)

https://primitiveentertainment.wordpress.com
https://www.patreon.com/primitiveentertainment
http://readadamnbookwithrfy.blogspot.com
http://themuseumofwhatilike.blogspot.com/

Saturday, June 17, 2017

“Serialized Novella: ALLEN TOMBES – FIRE FROM WATER (Chapters 12 and 13)” by Richard F. Yates

[Greetings Urban Fantasy Fans! The long wait is over, and I can now share the exciting 12th and 13th chapters of Allen’s adventures with you all! Fecal matter hits the proverbial rotary spinning blades in this ACTION PACKED section! For those of you who are new to the ALLEN TOMBES universe and haven’t read the chapters before this section, feel free to scroll down to the bottom of this page and I’ll post links to the first eleven chapters! For those of you who have been waiting with baited breath for the next part Allen’s story, feel free to proceed!!!! ---RFY]



ALLEN TOMBES – FIRE FROM WATER (Chapter 12)

Allen dialed the number on the back of the card. It rang and rang---so many times that Allen almost hung up, but before he did the line connected.

"Who is this?" Chaz said in a quick voice that Allen found terrifying.

"It's me, Allen! Your note said to call A.S.A.P.!"

"Oh, Allen! Jeeze! I didn't recognize the number," Chaz said.

"This is my sister's phone," Allen said.

"Okay, okay. Right. So here goes, kid. We got bad business ahead of us. Did you make it to the safe-house okay?"

"Yeah, I'm..." Allen started to say, but Chaz cut him off.

"Don't say it! Jeeze, kid, who knows who could be listening," Allen flushed, switched the phone to his other ear.

"Keeping you alive is going to be tougher than I thought. Anyway..." Chaz is caught with a small coughing fit. "Sorry, anyway, did you look through the bag yet? 'Course you did, that's how you got this number. Sorry, man. I'm packing stuff while we chat. Kinda scattered." Chaz shuffled the phone around.

"Where are you going?" Allen asked, not liking the idea of Chaz being out of reach.

"Secrets kid, secrets. You gotta get better at keeping them. Anyway, the goodies. You saw the flares?"

"Yeah," Allen said. He dug one out of the bag.

"Those are military grade, magnesium flares. They are super bright, but they only burn for about a minute. Use those to scare off the Shadows. It won't kill them, but the bright light hurts them pretty good and blinds them. Might give you a chance to make a quick gettaway, if you need to. Here, just a sec!"

Allen heard Chaz set the phone down. He waited. A few seconds later, Chaz returned. "Sorry kid," Chaz said. "I'm gettin' the Hell outta Dodge. Probably meet up with you in a few days, though."

"Meet up where? Where are you going?" Allen's asked.

"Never mind right now. You see the knife in the bag? The one with the bone handle?"

"Yeah," Allen said.

"Be careful with that. The blade is laced with a neuro-toxin. If you cut somebody with it, even just a scratch, it should paralyze them for twenty, thirty minutes or so, depending on who, or what, you cut. If you stick Haro with it, it's just gonna piss him off." Allen didn't imagine that would be a pleasant sight. "But anything roughly human sized," Chaz continued, "will be knocked out for a while."

Allen could hear Chaz breathing hard, like he was moving fast or carrying something heavy.

"Next, the little red box. I'm proud of that one!" Chaz laughed. Allen found the ornate box and lifted it up. Again, he felt something moving inside and heard a scratching sound.

"There's a Lightning Bug inside, a sprite," Chaz said. "It's name is Kitsle. When we get off the phone, set the box down and tap on it a couple of times. Not too hard. When he gets out, be very polite, and mention that you're a friend of mine. Sprites can be pretty shy at first, and downright vicious if they don't like you, so be nice to it."

"How did he get through the shield spells? I thought only humans could come into the house?" Allen said.

"The box. It's like a portable doorway linking our world to Kitlse's. Very ancient magic," Chaz said.

"A doorway? You mean... Could other things come through?" Allen asked. He was uncomfortable with the idea of having a doorway between worlds in his bedroom.

"Not unless Kitsle wants them to. It's his space. I wouldn't worry," Chaz said laughing. "Oh, and it might help to bribe him every once in a while. He loves candy. Wouldn't hurt to toss him a chocolate bar when you go knocking on his door.

Allen picked up the box, gingerly, and the "bug" inside continued to tick and scratch. Allen carefully set the box back on his bed.

"I can't believe any of this," Allen said, shaking his head.

"You mean you don't want to. Well believe it, kid. Last thing---the sword. It was made for a special class of samurai who fought demons. The sword was designed to help demon hunters focus their mental energy, tap into sources of power that most people can't access. Keep that sword safe---it's going to be your lifeline!" Allen heard Chaz grunt like he was lifting something heavy, and then what sounded like a car door slam.

"Okay, kid. That's the short course. Stay put until Chris comes for you. Don't try to call me again unless you absolutely have to! It's too dangerous. I'll see you pretty soon!"

Allen said goodbye and push the "end call" button on the phone.

ALLEN TOMBES – FIRE FROM WATER (Chapter 13)

Allen looked at the little, ornate red box again. He swallowed and tapped gingerly on the top with his finger. The box jumped and something fluttered inside. Allen took a step back, and for a few seconds nothing else happened. Then Allen heard a soft click and one of the side panels swung open like a door, and a thin insect, about as long as Allen's finger, peered around the edge of the box. It was silver, and reflected the room like a mirror, but with a bluish tint. The bug twitched and cocked its head looking at Allen, then it spread a pair of wings that had been folded on its back and fluttered them, sending sparks in all directions. The wings began to glow with a yellow-green light. The bug stretched all its limbs wide, like a sleeper just getting out of bed, then folded the wings against its back again, and the glow faded.

"Um, hello," Allen said, awkwardly. He bowed just a bit, uncertain of how formal he had to be. The bug clicked and ticked a few times. Allen wondered if it was laughing. Then the bug did a little curtsey. Allen laughed, but nervously.

"My friend, Chaz, said your name is Kitsle?" It was a statement, but it sounded like a question. The bug nodded. "He also said I should introduce myself. My name is Allen. Allen Tombes. The bug curtsied again, clicked and ticked. It tilted its head, moving its nose in the air. It walked a few paces on Allen's bed then its wings flashed out again and, glowing brightly, it sizzled into the air. It looked a bit heavy in the air, bobbing and weaving like a thick bumblebee, its body swaying under the bright wings. Allen moved back a few steps, trying to get out of Kitsle's way, and the bug flitted over to Allen's desk. It landing near his schoolwork and a small paper bag. Kitsle reached up toward the edge of the bag, leaped into the air, and pulled the bag over with a thin, delicate claw. The bug stepped inside the bag then backed out dragging a chocolate bar.

"Oh! You're hungry!" Allen said. Kitsle looked at Allen then tapped the candy bar.

"Of course! Help yourself," Allen said and laughed.

Suddenly, Kitsle's head turned toward the window. In a cloud of sparks, the bug launched off the desk and landed on the windowsill. It paced back and forth a few times, then tapped the glass.

"What is it?" Allen asked.

Kitsle put a claw up to the glass and began writing on the window in thin, spidery letters made of pure, silver light. Kitsle spelled out: "Someone coming---Magic" The letters hovered for a second, then faded.

Allen reached for his gargoyle charm and found it. It wasn't warm.

"Is it the Simmerons? We have friends outside guarding the house."

Kitsle wrote: "No"

Allen shivered. He didn't know what to do. He heard the door open and close downstairs.

Kitsle flew back to the desk and scooped up the candy bar in a pair of claws, then fluttered back to Allen's bed. Kitsle held the candy bar up to his box, but it was clearly too large to fit inside. With one claw, the bug slashed at the candy, slicing it cleanly in half. It tossed half into the box, snatched the other half under a thin, silvery arm, then gave Allen a little wave and dove into the box. The side panel closed with a click, and although the box seemed to be made of nothing but thin wood, Allen had no doubt in his mind that nobody he knew would be able to open that box if Kitsle didn't want them to.

Allen heard voices outside his door in the hallway, and his doorknob began to twist. Rose walked into the room followed by two girls her age, both dressed in standard goth attire: black pants, black shirts with fishnet mesh on the arms and necklines, and black leather boots with little skull buckles. One girl had dark purple hair, and the other had loose curls of deep, emerald green. Following Rose and her two friends was a tall woman, perhaps in her late twenties, maybe older, wearing a simple but elegant black dress, not too low cut at the top. Her hair was black, very straight, and fell to her shoulders. Unlike Rose and her friends, the woman wore very little makeup.

"Krystal, this is my brother, Allen, and that's the charm I told you about. There's something really odd about it," Rose said. Allen's hand involuntarily reached up and grasped his necklace.

"Hello, Allen," the woman said, smiling brightly. "It's good to finally meet you. Your sister is a good friend of mine. She's told me all about you and your family." Her voice was soft and comforting, but it made Allen feel very nervous. The charm in his fingers began to feel very warm.

"Rose tells me you've found an interesting necklace. May I see it?" she asked.

"It's a protection charm," Allen said. "I'm not supposed to take it off."

"It's okay, Allen. I'm not going to take it from you. I just want to look at it. Who told you it was a protection charm? They're very rare."

Allen felt himself moving toward the woman, his legs dragging him forward against his will. The charm began to burn against his fingers and he stopped. The woman reached toward the charm and Allen took a step backward away from her.

"You moved away?" Krystal said, looking confused. "How very curious."

"I can't let you have the necklace," Allen said.

"I'm impressed. I've never met anyone who could resist my spell," Krystal said, smiling brightly at Allen. "The charm must be very powerful," her grin grew very wide and sinister.

"How did you get past the protective barrier outside?" Allen asked, his voice shaking. "It's supposed to keep anything that isn't human away." The woman laughed. Allen backed further away from her. She was now between him and the bed where his bag and all his weapons lay.

"Silly little boy, do I look like some kind of monster to you?" She laughed again. "Witches are human, too, you know. I'm just a sweet lady who's been promised god-like power if I kill a certain family. Can you guess which one?" Krystal's evil grin returned as she reached into the sleeve of her dress and pulled out a large black blade, with a curved, jagged, edge.

"Wha---what's going on," Rose said sleepily, snapping out of Krystal's spell.

"Run, Rose! She's here to kill us!" Allen yelled.

"What are you talking about," Rose said. She glanced at Allen, then at Krystal---and spotted the black blade in Krystal’s hand. Krystal raised the knife and dashed at Allen. Rose screamed.

And then the room exploded in light and sparks. Rose continued to scream, and Krystal stopped, her smile melting as Kitsle buzzed over to her and landed on her shoulder. Krystal twisted, trying to brush the bug off, but Kitsle held on, then fluttered his wings, wildly, sending showers of sparks into the air. Krystal staggered and dropped her knife. The bug, wings glowing brightly, stabbed a needle-like claw into Krystal's neck and shot lightning into her body, which jerked violently, then went rigid. Her eyes rolled backward and her mouth opened as if she were about to scream, then she fell to the floor and lay still.

Kitsle fluttered over to Allen and pointed at the sword on his bed then toward the door, then the bug flashed back to his box and the panel clicked shut.

"Oh my God! Is she dead? What was that thing!?" Rose said, waving her hands frantically.

Allen leaned over the body on the floor. The eyes were still open, and swiveled to look at him.

"She's not dead, just paralyzed," Allen said. "We have to go."

"Go?" Rose said. "Go where?"

Allen looked at the girls standing by Rose, then back at the witch on the floor. "I don't know," he said. "For right now, we need to get away from her!"


[SEE! Didn’t I tell you!? Weird alien bugs and creepy witches and assassination plots… I hope you don’t start biting your nails! Anyway, to help support the author (that’s me, Richard F. Yates) and the society of weirdos who make great stuff like ALLEN TOMBES, head on over to our Patreon page and kick us a couple of bucks! We’ll be grateful, and you’ll feel like you’re doing something worthwhile with your dough! I promised a list of links to the earlier chapters in the story, and you’ll find those below the signature! That’s for stopping by!!!]

---Richard F. Yates
(Commander in Cheap of The Primitive Entertainment Workshop)


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapters 3-4

Chapters 5-7

Chapters 8-11

Sunday, May 7, 2017

“Serialized Novella: ALLEN TOMBES – FIRE FROM WATER (Chapter 1)” by Richard F. Yates

[Greetings folks! I’ve decided to give away the first four chapters of my ALLEN TOMBES novella as a sort of sampler to let people have a taste and see if they want to read more! This is the first chapter, and just so you know, my chapters are sometimes pretty short---like Douglas Adams!---but there are a lot of them (37, to be exact.) The total word count on the story is just under 38,000 words, and it has never been published before! (Exciting!) For those who want to read the whole serialized business, all you need to do is head to the Primitive Patreon page and sign the heck up! I’ll be posting a chapter a day for the next four days, then after that the rest of the chapters will be available for patrons only! Meanwhile, enjoy the FREEBIE! ---RFY]

_______________________

ALLEN TOMBES – FIRE FROM WATER (Chapter 1)

 Allen Tombes was ten when his older brother, Chris, was taken. Chris was sixteen then, competitive, and kind of macho. He was a superstar athlete---football, wrestling, track---and too smart for his own good. He fought with their Dad, sometimes, mostly about coming home late, drunk, while driving their Dad's Porsche, that sort of thing, but Allen thought he was a good brother. And one morning Allen woke up and Chris was gone.

The cops said he'd probably run away. His window was open, and it didn't look, to them, like any "foul play" had taken place, but Chris hadn't taken any of his things with him. Not even his shoes.

The night he was taken, and Allen knew he had been taken, Allen had heard voices coming through the wall from Chris's room. Maybe not voices, exactly, more like whispering or hissing, and one sound that was so low and terrifying that it sounded more like the Earth moving than a voice, though Allen was certain that it had been a voice.

When Allen told his Mom and Dad what he had heard, they ignored him, but he wouldn't let it drop. He pleaded with them to believe him, and eventually they took him to a "grief counselor," to let him "talk things through." That "asshole," as Allen called him when he described him to his friends, told his Mom and Dad that Allen had probably just heard Chris when he was slipping out the window with his friends, although none of Chris's friends had disappeared the same night that he did, and according to the counselor, Allen had then "incorporated the sounds of Chris's escape into his 'dream-state.'" The hissing and the low voice that Allen thought he heard where part of his dream, and Allen had just latched onto the fantasy of Chris being taken because it helped him to deal with his "sense of loss." Allen, of course, thought all of this was "total bullshit." He knew what he had heard and he knew that Chris hadn't run away. He had no reason to go anywhere because their life was pretty good.

Allen's sister, Rose, took Chris's disappearance even harder than he did. She was twelve when it happened, and she cried for, it seemed to Allen, an entire year. Now, at seventeen, she'd become all witchy-gothy. She didn't talk to Allen much anymore, but she had mentioned on a couple of occasions, that she too knew that Chris was still alive. She said that she could sometimes "feel" that he was nearby, and the thought of her having these kinds of "feelings" gave Allen the willies.

Allen would have like to believe her, but he had his doubts. If Chris was still alive, why hadn't he ever tried to contact them, even once, in five long years? And those voices...

_______________________



[Stay tuned for Chapter 2, coming tomorrow! As I said, I’ll post four chapters over the next four days, and those will be completely FREE! To receive the exciting, serialized chapters beyond four, you’ll need to sign up as a Primitive patron for at least a buck a month. I’ll most likely post a few chapters per week until the entire story is up! Head over to the PrimitivePatreon page now to see what else you can get! And don’t forget to check back tomorrow for the next exciting chapter of ALLEN TOMBES – FIRE FROM WATER!!!]

 ---Richard F. Yates
(Commander in Cheap of The Primitive Entertainment Workshop)


Saturday, May 6, 2017

"Primitive Entertainment Support Team (Be a P.E.S.T.!)"

[If you don’t like long-winded discourse or weepy nostalgia, feel free to skip straight to the sections called “The ISSUE” and “The SOLUTION” for the meat of the matter… —RFY]
Mission Statement:
The Primitive Entertainment Workshop is a dedicated repository for stories, art, prose poems, micro-fictions, and other simulated meaningful entertainment experiences. Our intrepid team of artists, writers, poets, satirists, prophets, outsiders, zinesters, postal artists, collagists, bowlers, dreamers, and other creators have three primary goals:
1. Make the world a more enjoyable place to live.
2. Promote community building, through understanding of differences and mutual respect.
3. Provide a platform for the expression of individual voices that might not find any other platform for self-expression.
[Regarding these goals, I’m rather proud of how much we’ve accomplished in just a few short years.]
History:
We went Primitive about four and a half years ago (Dec. 2012), and we haven’t looked back since.* [*This is, obviously, a lie to make us appear more human—in reality, we look in ALL directions ALWAYS!] Since that fateful December, we have produced nearly 5,000 posts, and included contributions by I-DON’T-ACTUALLY-KNOW how many contributors (I’m guessing upwards of thirty maybe???) These posts have been viewed 44,525 times by 17,945 visitors, and we currently have 1,296 people who FOLLOW the site. That’s a LOT of interaction—when you consider we’re just a couple dozen outsiders and misfits making simple, punk, d.i.y. art and literature in southern Washington State… And, as I mentioned in a post a few months ago, it would now take a person over an hour and a half on a fast computer just to scroll to the bottom of the available content—and that’s without stopping to read ANYTHING AT ALL. (I know—I tested it…)
To quote from the “About” page:
“I started this project in December of 2012 as a sort of on-line ZINE, if you will. I love to make little collage zines out of paper, with micro-stories and weird poems and punk attitude sprinkled all over them, but as a POOR artist/writer/editor, I was finding it increasingly difficult to pay for photocopying and postage to distribute the fruits of my efforts, so I turned to the INTERWEBS…” And I started to make stuff. LOTS AND LOTS of stuff. And then Scott Sparks sent a few poems, and Randy Long wrote a few stories, and then a few more people contribute (Richard O’Brien, Josh Erdahl, Michael King, Mark Counts, Joseph Madamba…), and then a few more, and so on… And now we’re at almost 5,000 posts.
And I, for one, would hate to see the party come to an end, or for the old material to start disappearing just so we can add NEW stuff…
What We Do Here at THE PRIMITIVE ENTERTAINMENT WORKSHOP:
Art, humor, poetry, satire, fiction, book reviews, mood enhancement, BOOKS!*, ART PRINTS*, t-shirts*, backyard art barbecues*, free art shows*, zines*, alternative religions, fake news, secret society starter kits, and much, much more…
[*THESE items in particular require CASH (aka: dough, moolah, moneys, capital, bills, investment funds, clams, bucks, hot doggies, etc…) to produce, perform, print, pay postage on, or to put into practice. Unfortunately, like REAL outsider artists, we are POOR. Poverty is the Mother of Invention, for sure, but our wage slavery doesn’t produce enough DISPOSIBLE INCOME for us to do the ART that we want to do very EASILY or as often as we’d like to do it.]
We try to make the world more enjoyable, funnier—if you will—and to counter the forces of ENTROPY and DEATH and ELITISM by engaging in the aforementioned actions/activities. There is a certain amount of “Extract of Gallows” in all of our humor, no doubt, but we’re definitely trying to bring the world up, not put it down.
And you know what, we could use your help!
The ISSUE:
Since we began The Primitive Entertainment Workshop, we have used the FREE service provided by WordPress, and that has proved adequate for our needs, until now. We are at the decision point. Our free service allows 3 gigs of online media storage space, and we are about 80% of the way full. I for one believe that it’s time to make the leap to FULL TIME and get the PREMIUM service. It’s only $100.00 for a one year subscription. That doesn’t seem like a large amount of dough, but when you’re eating ramen, sewing your buttons back onto your pants, wondering which bills can be put off the longest, and scraping change for gasoline—A HUNDRED BUCKS in one go ain’t very easy to justify. (My wife is VERY generous and patient with my “HOBBY,” but I know when I need to back off…)
The SOLUTION – PATREON PATRONUS:
In the INTERNET AGE, crowd funding has become a THING. (Not like a John Carpenter THING, but close.) We are hoping that we can TAP THAT THING (not like that—sicko!) for some pocket change and try to come up with the needed $100.00 to go PRO. (I think it’s actually $99.00, but you get my meaning.)
What going to the PREMIUM level will mean to The Primitive Entertainment Workshop:
1. We can continue to create the fun, goofy, outsider, punk, satirical content that you’ve come to expect and enjoy, and continue to post it in the same way and through the same service that we’ve gotten to know and love. (No moving the content or starting over from scratch and losing all of our followers and regular customers.)
2. We can SAVE THE ARCHIVES! If we go the PREMIUM route, we don’t have to start erasing older posts or artwork to put up new work.
3. We have the option of putting advertisements on the site. Right now, I think most of our FOLLOWERS see advertisements when they view our posts, anyway, but we don’t get no dough from that inconvenience. If we go PREMIUM, then the P.E.W. can get the revenue for these ads, and then use that money to print new books or shirts or to rent a space somewhere throw a DISCO DANCE ART PARTY! (That would be awesome…)
So if you think you can spare a cup of coffee a month (or more, if you’re a bazillionaire with tons of extra cash and nobody to go golfing with this weekend) then head on over to our PATREON page and click on one of those FANCY BUTTONS! We will be extremely grateful and will tell you how much we appreciate you with our art!!!

Levels of Support:
$1.00 per month—
For one buck a month, you will get mentioned on the FANCY (and CHARMICALLY ENHANCED) Contributors List as an OFFICIAL MEMBER of The Primitive Entertainment Support Team! (Yes, you too can be a P.E.S.T.!)
In addition to mention in the roles, you will also be given a PDF of the OFFICIAL Certificate of Membership in
The Primitive Entertainment Support Team, Order of the Patrons of the Primitive Panorama
(which can be framed and hung on a wall next to your other fancy awards and certificates of recognition) and be INSTANTLY recognized as a true P.E.S.T. by all your friends and loved ones!
—–
$5.00 per month—
In addition to the extremely enticing $1.00 awards, for a mere $5.00 per month you’ll also get THIS fabulous prize:
You will get to PICK A TOPIC for an original drawing (draw by Richard F. Yates, unless we can find someone better to do it) and that image will be DEDICATED TO YOU!!!! (One topic pick per month, for each month that you choose to contribute at this level!)
—–
$15.00 per month—
For 15 smackers per month, you’ll get all of that AWESOME $1.00 and $5.00 junk, as well as the following:
A new, collectable, Primitive Entertainment ART PRINT mailed directly to your door (or the alternative door of your choice) for every month they you contribute, along with a PRINTED copy of the OFFICIAL Primitive Newsletter: The PRIMITIVE ENQUIRER!!!
—–
$75.00 per month—
For the TRULY ILLUMINATED, this level of support (in addition to all the previous awards AND the PRIDE you can feel knowing that you are helping with our world domina….UHM, I mean, HELPING THE WORLD THROUGH ART!) you will also get THIS! (Phil, open the curtain, please…):
An original, hand painted, ON CANVAS, work of art mailed directly to you (or to wherever you want it sent!) One original Richard F. Yates painting, EVERY MONTH that you contribute at this level. Tell me how much of a bargain THAT is! (I used to sell a single canvas painting for upwards of $300.00 at the, now defunct, Matter! Gallery in Olympia, WA… Just sayin’!)
Further Considerations:
We are also considering some interesting paraphernalia like decoder circles, merit badges, a Church of DIM holy book, a book of Primitive One-Act plays, and a book collecting our Manifestos and Art-Theory essays—but these will come later, time and money permitting…
Thanks for reading the pitch, if you made it this far down! Keep making stuff, and send us a comment if you have ideas that can help the cause! Much appreciated!!!
—Richard F. Yates (Dude in Chief & Holy Editor of The Order of The Patrons of The Primitive Panorama)