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A Sock Puppet on a String by Luke Evans

A Sock Puppet on a String

by Luke Evans
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Page 2

Aubrey awoke between soft sheets. His head throbbed without mercy. He lifted himself and placed his feet on the floor. Light pricked his eyes like splinters as he gradually opened them. Whiteness overwhelmed him.

Objects came into focus slowly, and the white faded. A strange bedroom; a strange view out large bay windows, overlooking the ocean; a strange man’s clothes on his body; and a woman, curled on her side, on the other side of the bed.

Lana.

Aubrey stifled a gasp. How could this be? His head swam. He pulled back the covers on his side, saw a fresh stain in the center of the mattress, looked down at his shorts—no, another man’s shorts.

This can’t be. No, no, no, it’s all wrong.

He stumbled from the room. Everything was strange, nothing right.

He looked out a window. A great storm brewed over the ocean. Lightning, darkness, clouds prancing like dogs beneath a treed prey. Raindrops bounced off the concrete walk, trees vacillated in the ever-changing breeze.

But this was not an ordinary storm. Aubrey saw it for what it was: the coming of the devils.

He backed away from the window. His foot caught on something, and he fell to the floor. Stickiness covered him. Blood. He looked behind him, to the object on the floor that had tripped him. A man’s body, handsome, tall, smartly dressed.

Dead. A massive blow to the head.

A sound came from the bedroom. Lana was awake, getting dressed, running water.

He reached down and slung the dead man over his shoulder, and carried him from the house.

Darkness is blotted by specters hovering before me. Sneering faces lunge out in stark detail, contrasted against the hollow, unfocused nothingness surrounding them. The door has shut behind them, and they have gone. Through the gate, to the land of the living.

Hollow voices rise from the depths—familiar voices, one of them my own. They sound distant, faraway, filtered through two cans and a long string. “Keep your senses alert at all times, Aubrey. They are devious and clever beyond all thought. Take naught for granted. Be it hundreds of years, let not your guard down. Do you ken?”

“Yes, Master Everitt. I ken.” But I did not. And so I am tormented with vision after vision of my blindness.


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About the Author

Luke Evans

Luke Evans has had stories published at MuseItUp Publishing, Gryphonwood, and TQRstories, among others.

Story Discussion

Stories by Luke Evans

A Sock Puppet on a String by Luke Evans

A Sock Puppet on a String

Aubrey stifled a gasp. How could this be? His head swam. He pulled back the covers on his side, saw a fresh stain in the center of the mattress, looked down at his shorts—no, another man’s shorts.

This can’t be. No, no, no, it’s all wrong.

He stumbled from the room. Everything was strange, nothing right.

He looked out a window. A great storm brewed over the ocean. Lightning, darkness, clouds prancing like dogs beneath a treed prey. Raindrops bounced off the concrete walk, trees vacillated in the ever-changing breeze.

But this was not an ordinary storm. Aubrey saw it for what it was: the coming of the devils.

He backed away from the window. His foot caught on something, and he fell to the floor. Stickiness covered him. Blood. He looked behind him, to the object on the floor that had tripped him. A man’s body, handsome, tall, smartly dressed.

Dead. A massive blow to the head.

Read More

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In The Shadow of the Watch by Barbara E. Walton

In the Shadow of the Watch

Alitza scrambled backward until she hit a barrel then pulled herself up on it, trying to keep her feet on the wet and thrashing deck. The serpent caught her movement and turned its head toward her, baring its teeth. Its neck was narrow and writhing, its claws lashing at the ship.

“Alitza!” someone yelled. She couldn’t have responded if she’d wanted to, and didn’t try…

Will Alitza survive? Will she earn one of the coveted Apprenticeships? Find out in this new original fantasy story by Barbara E. Walton, author of Quantum Leap: Odyssey.

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A Mynah for the King

“I burned the papers. The stories are in my head.”

The prime minister turned to the captain of the soldiers. “You heard what he said?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you heard what the king said. The king wants the stories and not the story teller.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The stories are in this man’s head.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Split open his head and get the stories.”

The captain pulled out his sword.

“No,”

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