Shaila O’Hara

Yes, the second story in a week. I’m amazed- and I’m sure my nonexistent readers are equally thrilled.

(Keep in mind this is the first draft of a rather bizarre story, so I know it needs work).

Where Serpents Have Human Faces

Thick green stalks towered high into the sky, but the pink fog of night drowned everything but the bottom stumps from sight. They trekked through the red dirt, the Captain’s guiding light unable to penetrate the heavy cloud.
“Maybe we should have stayed at the ship,” Lieutenant One complained. Lieutenant One was always questioning the Captain’s decisions.
“Maybe I’ll send you back there. Go ahead, find your way.” the Captain retorted.
First-Mate glanced back. He was surprised that Captain had decided to wander away from their ship into an unknown territory, practically smothered by this strange, glowing cloud. It had looked ominous from the shore where the grand ship, newly gilded in gold, was banked. But First-Mate didn’t talk much, and he plodded along behind his captain, trying to keep his boots away from the perfectly circular pools of purple liquid that seemed to be appearing more regularly as they continued along.
A whirring echoed from some vague direction.
“You hear that?” Lieutenant One whispered. Why am I whispering? he thought right after. He also felt a bit fidgety. Probably the tension of being lost in this bizarre wilderness.
“It’s out here somewhere,” Captain muttered.
There was no warning; The whirring sound never got louder and the crew advanced nervously unaware. Then something burst out of the fog and grabbed all three. Captain tried to reach for his gun, but his arms were trapped; Lieutenant One stifled a yell, and struggled fruitlessly in the solid grasp of some creature. First-Mate remained calm.
Tossed in a large cave, the three sprawled on a soft, bumpy surface. The same gentle whirring rang in their heads as they woke up. None of the men could see anything in the darkness. Then Lieutenant One looked up.
A mass of buzzing black hovered above. The Insects. He had thought they were a myth. Creatures that looked like huge flying ants, supposedly friendly in the stories he had heard, but then those were stories and why would they capture three harmless men? A slow, grinding sound gradually grew louder as a huge shadow descended over the land outside the cave.
“The Elevator” the Insects hummed, their eyes glowing bright blue in the now complete blackness.
One shadow zipped down from the horde.
“Stay. Danger.” the words were barely distinguishable from the buzzing tone in which they were said. Then it dashed back up and the horde, swiftly and quietly fluttered out into the pink-misted darkness, one of the giant ants flying underneath the rest of the crowd.
“She’s the Queen,” said First-Mate, noticing Lieutenant One’s puzzled gaze. “That’s how the army protects her from the Enemy.”
“What Enemy?” Captain endeavored to ask calmly.
“You’ll see,” First-Mate turned around to sleep.
A loud groaning woke the group as The Elevator, a huge dome of inexplicable origin, lifted, letting light flow over the red dirt and endless green plants outside the cave. The morning sun tentatively stretched her fingers into the dark recess where they lay, but was rebuffed by solid blackness. The pink fog had lifted outside, revealing the faint purple sky that would burst into a violet bloom as the day progressed. Whirring grew outside the cave.
Lieutenant One ran toward the entrance, but First-Mate grabbed his arm firmly. The whistling of darts or arrows rang out in the air, followed by shrill screams, and the group saw brown bodies crash to the ground outside. The horde of Insects zoomed inside soon after, but something else still darted around out in the growing daylight. The Captain and his men peered out, and watched huge metallic-looking beetles tear apart the fallen Insects. Some of the struggling ants screamed in high-pitched whistles; others writhed around as the robots chewed and ripped with silver fangs.
Globs of dark purple dripped to the floor from some of the returning troops. One injured ant spiraled to the ground after fluttering haphazardly into the cave.
Lieutenant One glanced around anxiously, and even Captain looked perturbed.
“They have to go out nightly to drink nectar from the Yadox flower,” First-Mate explained calmly. “They have to drink it directly from the plant, or it loses all nutrients. They’re safe as long as the thing they call The Elevator is blocking The Enemy out. I’ve heard that lately they’ve had to travel farther to find food, so now The Enemy often attacks them before they can get into the cave.”
The Captain tried to comprehend all this strange news. “Well how are we going to get out of here? And why did you bring us somewhere if you knew it was so dangerous?” he questioned, easily angered because of his growing apprehensions.
First-Mate shrugged, “You want the treasure. Sometimes you have to fight for it.”
The Captain almost responded, then remembered he was supposed to be the tough one, the leader through this danger, and he shut his mouth.
One of the Insects swooped down to the group.
“The Queeeeeen” it gently hummed. And forward flew a larger ant, her eyes glowing bright yellow instead of the customary blue.
“What is it you want?” in gutteral tones. A splotch of dried purple near her mouth explained the uncharacteristic harshness of the voice.
“Well…ha…. we’re looking for this spe- I mean, this child we lost,” the Captain blabbered, changing his story swiftly. Maybe they’ll help us out if I come up with a story thats pathetic enough. “Yes, a mere child,” he repeated, gaining confidence. “Ran from the ship last night to search for food. Oh, what a foolish error. I just couldn’t desert him in this wilderness, so me and my best men have come to search for him.” The Captain ended his tale with an expression of what he considered a mixture of tragic grief and selfless courage.
Lieutenant One looked puzzled, and glanced questioningly at First-Mate.
The Queen’s eyes flashed brighter then dimmed. “I have heard of no such happening. Maybe because…” she paused, seeming to debate, her clear, veined wings fluttering furiously in the dark. “But I will send some to help you look.”
It was bright daylight, the world outside bathed in a glowing purple. Since The Enemy had recently eaten, the Queen decided to send her sentinels out now. The trio wandered out cautiously, their flying bodyguard buzzing bravely overhead. First-Mate pointed a direction, and the group set off.
Finally the doubts began to nag at the Captain’s mind. The complete trust in his second-in-command facing an uncomfortable affront from myriads of questions. Why have I never even heard of this ‘treasure’ before? Why is First-Mate always so annoyingly calm? What are we really doing out here, wandering around with ants in this nightmarish land?
With a sudden suspicion, he glanced around to check on First-Mate, who had insisted on bringing up the rear.

First-Mate was gone.

His last conversation with First-Mate on the ship flashed through his mind. He vividly recalled standing in his quarters, beneath the bejeweled chandelier which dripped with ruby and sapphire adornments.
“There’s some spell out in that wilderness, buried by a pirate long ago. Promises to make a fleet and its command indestructible,” First-Mate had said, his eyes glancing over the jewels as if they were no more than ocean water.
He played it well the Captain now thought.
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” the Captain had replied, but his small black eyes glinted with eagerness. First-Mate was a man of few words, and not one to waste his breath saying something that wasn’t true.
“It must be sought at night. You, I, and Lieutenant One could go this eve. I’ll take you by the sea where serpents have human faces.” First-Mate knew the Captain had an obsession with new and strange wonders.
Captain was painfully aware that First-Mate had explored foreign lands, and he was jealous of the rumors claiming his first mate had seen many odd spectacles that the Captain had missed. The Captain’s curiosity and greed piqued, he had arranged to take his two best men out on the search.
“Serpents with human faces…imagine what they’ll say back home when they hear,” the Captain had mused to himself.

There is no buried spell- no human serpents. The realization struck the Captain suddenly and nearly blinded him. He stopped walking; the Insect protectors looked down questioningly. Glancing around frantically, Captain saw what he expected: the robots flying above, ready to plunge into the helpless group.

First-Mate stole off through the field of green stalks, and pulled the control out of his pocket. He paused a moment before pressing the “Attack” button, then stopped to hear “the Enemy” swoop down on the traveling party. The expected yells and buzzing shrieks rang out from behind him, and First-Mate smiled dryly. All the preparation had rewarded him: wiring those odd robotic beetles so they would obey him, encouraging the circling rumors of his grand exploits, and, greatest accomplishment of all, earning Captain’s trust.
Bringing out the compass, he headed toward the shore. The ship was his.

This is the first story I’ve completed in eight years, so don’t expect to be overwhelmingly impressed.

Globophobia

Globophobia: the fear of balloons. Jeff remembered in the playground when his peers had first discovered this source of endless entertainment. They’d bring a balloon and wave it near his face, the crueler kids popping them over his curled up, trembling body. Some teachers would run up, chasing away and scolding the bullies. When he was nine, Ms. Sally, her usually smiling lips pressed tight in disappointment, punished the whole class by making each student stand up and describe a personal fear. Coach Johnson, the 10th-grade gym teacher, had merely stood behind the crowd laughing and eventually yelling, “Get up, boy. You’re becoming an embarrassment.” And Jeff, shaking violently, had tried to slowly stand up; then one of Coach’s best runners ‘accidentally’ stepped on the balloon he had been holding. Jeff collapsed in spasms, while the rest of the boys burst into laughter, and even the surly Johnson couldn’t regain order for the rest of the class period.
Despite the contempt, the counseling, and the logic, Jeff sensed there was something sinister about balloons. He hated the way they floated, the squeaky sound they made, always threatening to pop but waiting to burst until his anxiety was strung its highest. Jeff compared his phobia to the more widely accepted fear of clowns- they seem innocent and fun, but something darker often lurks beneath that bright facade.
In college Jeff managed to hide the fear that really should have been such a small part of his life. He had learned in high school that girls weren’t too impressed by a boy who threw a fit every time a balloon popped. Luckily for him, balloons weren’t regular on the college campus, and he had enrolled overseas, far enough away that even the most derisive laughter from his hometown couldn’t disturb the peace of his new life.
Sophomore year Jeff met Melony in biochemistry. He loved the wisps of blond hair that fell over her face, that she impatiently brushed back during lab experiments; he loved her laughing brown eyes and the way she smiled when she knew she had made a mistake but didn’t want to admit it. Apparently she had been decently fond of him as well, because they married senior year, despite their parents’ advice that they should finish school first.

****

Jeff glanced at Melony, who sat sullenly in the corner of their Brooklyn flat. Linoleum floors complained of years of use, the original jaundiced yellow now marked with stains, cracks and dirt. The walls were also splattered with random substances. Jeff always wondered how anyone actually managed to stain a wall, but somehow all sides of their little apartment were speckled with blood- Not literally blood, Jeff reminded himself, things just always end up drying to look like blood on these walls. Must be because they’re painted brown, he thought.

A dramatic sigh from his wife roused him, and he glanced over at her. The blond hair that had once charmed him was now dry, a frizzy nest piled on her head. He couldn’t even remember the last time those brown eyes had laughed; they always snapped with reproach or were dull with boredom.
“Bobby wants to go. I want to go. Children aren’t afraid. Babies wouldn’t be afraid,” she said spitefully.
“Why can’t you two go?” Jeff answered wearily. “I’m not stopping you. I don’t think it’s safe, but I know that’s just the phobia speaking. I can let you two go, but I won’t be able to handle it. You know that. I can’t even bear to see a regular balloon on TV.”
“I’d never thought I’d marry a guy who’s such a wimp,” Melony glared at him. “You could have told me- given me the chance to find a real man.”
Jeff’s heart flinched. She’d repeated those same words for years, ever since they’d taken Bobby to another toddler’s birthday and the parents brought balloons out. Jeff had tensed up and stopped breathing, and then one popped. In front of all their friends he had run out of the house, screaming and crying hysterically, finally diving into a bush and rocking back and forth, his chest heaving. He wasn’t even aware of his actions until he looked up and saw his wife staring down at him, her face concerned and confused, but mostly repulsed. That expression of revulsion had haunted him every day for the five years since.
Jeff had never thought this fear would ruin Melony’s love for him, but since that day she hadn’t respected him, and there was always a hint of scorn glimmering in her eyes. For awhile he had been ashamed and doggedly bore her malicious comments, but now he often lashed out, helpless and hurt, trying to regain all that he had lost in her eyes. This time he remained calm.
“Fine, woman. You want me to go, and you don’t care if I suffer. I’ll take you and Bobby; now leave me alone.”
A twinge of surprise momentarily transformed Melony’s face, and thoughts flashed through her mind: Do I really want to put him through this? The Macy’s Day Parade has the largest balloons in the world. He’ll go ballistic. Why am I testing him?
But pride and the overwhelming contempt toppled down, burying her better thoughts and leaving only a triumphant smile on her pale face.

Thanksgiving morning they woke up while it was still dark. Jeff didn’t wake up because he hadn’t slept all night. He had lain in bed trying to prepare himself for the most frightening day of his life. He wanted to run, grab his son and just escape to a country where people were too poor to afford junk like balloons and where society could value a man beyond one accursed fear.
Melony was quiet and unusually gentle with him while they ate breakfast and walked to the bus stop. She even intentionally touched his arm at one point when walking past him to get Bobby’s coat. Jeff would normally have been silently thrilled by these signs of affection, but today he was too preoccupied.
The November wind nipped at their faces and struggled to penetrate their sweaters and jackets until early morning sun emerged, gradually softening the chill with its gentle but powerful rays.
“We don’t have to stand up front,” Melony suggested hesitantly, as Jeff pushed his way through the steadily growing crowd.
“If we’re going to do this, we’ll be up front, and we’ll have a good view,” Jeff said shortly, something cold inside goading him to face his fear in its most terrifying form.
The music and announcements blasted across the bubbling crowd. Jeff had never before retained this amount of composure while knowing he was in the vicinity of balloons.
The SpongeBob float emerged from around the corner. Jeff gasped and had to stare at the ground to control the hysteria welling up in him. He heard Bobby laugh and gazing at his son’s smiling face, managed to regain some calm. He looked up again. The balloon loomed above, tugging at the strings, trying to get away so it could attack.
Not attack, Jeff muttered to himself. It’s not alive. It doesn’t want to hurt me.
The bright yellow made him dizzy; the peculiar squeaky, stretchy sound made him sick. He noticed Melony looking at him; he saw that for the first time in years her expression was completely of concern. Swallowing the surging panic, Jeff tried to steady himself and watch for the next balloon. Ronald McDonald floated ominously around the corner. Bobby clapped his hands, and the crowd yelled and cheered. Jeff saw the white face and gaudy red grin approaching. He needed to run; this was too much. Jeff searched around frantically for an exit path, but his feet wouldn’t move. The monster approached slowly, its minions struggling to hold it down as a strong gust of wind rocked it backward.
And then one of the clown’s legs began to deflate. The crowd laughed at first, then began to converse anxiously. Some of the workers holding the float down were trapped in the material of the deflating balloon.
They are attacking us. It’s all true. I’m one of the few who knows. I need to get out of here and get my family out. He reached to grab Bobby’s hand, but saw the clown’s shrinking face out of the corner of his eye. The float was making a horrible sound as the air came out; Jeff knew it was the balloon laughing as it suffocated people under its heavy folds. He tried to breath but couldn’t take in air. The balloon was smothering him as well. He gasped and panted, and then he saw the great float wink. Jeff’s heart wrenched and stopped.
ABC later reported that one man was suffocated under the deflating float, while another man was apparently asphyxiated by plain terror. Some who had stood near Jeff Brentby in the crowd claimed they saw the float wink at the deceased before he fell over from a heart attack. Most viewers sighed in momentary mourning and attributed the crazy claims to people desperate for their five minutes of fame.
But Bobby knew otherwise. He knew with a child’s intuition that the float had been evil. It was aware that his dad knew its secrets, and it had wanted his dad gone. Now Bobby knew those same secrets, and soon the balloons would sense that and want him gone too.
Now the kids taunt him on the playground, and tease him with mean tricks. And Bobby lies awake in the dark, crying after nightmares of the balloon that will one day discover him and cause an agonizing end to his fears.

So I’ve finally decided to blog. I didn’t for the longest time because a site containing writings solely about myself didn’t sound too interesting even to me. I don’t know if this is actually a ‘blog’ because I intend for it to contain mostly short stories. I don’t write much and I don’t like writing for people to read. However, barely anyone even knows this site exists so I’m thinking anyone who ends up here is probably just a random creep who accidentally found it. (That said, if you are just such a random creep please feel free to comment on my writings. I need all the help I can get). I’m hoping to use this as a place to post my practice creations. I have a bigger project in mind, but my writing skills have grown a bit rusty due to limited use over the past eight years. I’m thinking that the act of posting will motivate me to actually write and complete my stories, hopefully improving as I go.