It has been less than a week and another story has been posted. This time, a short, short story. I am unsure of how the concept came about. I started to write words in a sequence, found that they worked and turned it into a story.
Short stories are my weakness. I have never been able to write them. As ideas swirl around, I can always visualise a great story for the characters or situation which then either turns into a script or potential novel.
I needed to change this and found this a good forum to release works. I have also been teasing myself with the idea to post the first chapter of a novel on here to test the waters, but that can wait for another post.
So please, as always, provide feedback, good or bad(not rude, writers have feelings too) and let me know what you think.
Just a word of warning, the story below follows a horror theme.
The taste was metallic and the touch magnetic. A moment later he would be dead.
The cube had been located at the back of an old shelter Den had been scouting. He was told by a reliable source that the shelter would be the perfect hideout after his next job and followed up on it. The structure was made out of rustic corrugated iron sheets, blood stained windows and a faded red painted door that hung loosely off the hinges. It had the feel of abandonedment from the appearance of the structure and from the overgrown shrubbery surrounding it. To say Den had broken into the premises would have given him too much credit. His thin frame was enough to squeeze through the gap he made himself when bending the door back.
The shelter was all Den had expected it to be. It was dark, damp and had a stench of urine and faeces, which was not necessarily human. The concrete flooring was scattered with debris and made it difficult to walk on. Each step was met with a crunch or a click which echoed throughout.
Den illuminated the area with a pocket torch, bright enough to survey the items and dim enough to avoid attracting himself to the outside world. The structure was empty with the few exceptions. Car body parts and newspapers were scattered around. A table resting against the back of the shelter caught his attention immediately. A silver cube sat on it and he felt it radiate, not heat, but a magnetic source of energy that pulled him in.
The cube gave off a little shock each time Den placed his hand against the cool surface. He left his palm resting on it as the shocks vibrated against it. He had never been mesmerised by such an item before.
It was a cube, the size of a small safe. There were no markings, no idiosyncrasies, no stamp and nothing to identify its origin. It was beautiful and mystical. Den was transfixed.
Den removed his hand from the cube once it got too much and stared at his palm. It was cool to touch but once away scalded. He bit his lip, stifling a scream. The pain grew and grew. Den’s skin flaked and disintegrated in front of his eyes. The remaining flesh flamed, igniting his whole arm. Den could not hold on any longer. A wail emitted from his mouth, his arm flailing as he attempted to extinguish the torture. No matter long or hard his arm waved, the flame would not part, instead engulfing his shoulder and chest.
The heat was unbearable. Den felt his arms melting away, his clothes burning, catching his skin and fusing together. A metallic taste swirled in his mouth. It was definitely blood, but Den could not concentrate. The pain was too much.
He sensed himself falling, the motion of his arms slowing. Den staggered into the corrugated walls, his torch long forgotten on the floor as the flames lit up the shelter. Soon, his whole body would be aflame and his life would slow to a bitter end.
Den slumped to the floor, body engulfed in flames, skin blistering, pain soaring through him, his voice defunct and movements minimal.
His eyes dimmed with the last thought being of the cube and its power. The cube shimmered as if acknowledging Den with a knowing smile. The unknown can be a deadly thing…