Welcome to my new site!
Read No-Injury Policy
C.M. HUMPHRIES
  • Home
  • Less Taken Pod
    • Less Taken Blog
    • Store
  • Library
    • No-Injury Policy >
      • All Things Beautiful Excerpt
      • Facade
  • Delusions (Blog)
  • Connect
  • Home
  • Less Taken Pod
    • Less Taken Blog
    • Store
  • Library
    • No-Injury Policy >
      • All Things Beautiful Excerpt
      • Facade
  • Delusions (Blog)
  • Connect

Forbidden Blog

Fear, focus, and the future. Here, C.M. Humphries writes about whatever. ​

12/21/2014

0 Comments

Winter Solstice Spoiler: "Strife" from Ashland's Asylum

 

FIRST PREVIEW OF ASHLAND'S ASYLUM 

Picture

"STRIFE" 
Excerpt

Every Winter Solstice, I do something a little different on the website.

Sometimes I have a special guest in the blog or write about cabin fever, but this time I've decided to give you a sneak peek of Ashland's Asylum, my novel in stories tentatively scheduled to released mid-2015.

Continue reading for an excerpt of the one of the more sinister tales, "Strife", from my novel in stories. It's about a farmer who needs a second source of income, and unfortunately finds it one day. 

"STRIFE"
EXCERPT

PROLOGUE

FOR THE RECORD, SARAH, MRS. DOUGLAS NEVER MENTIONED THERE’D BE NO BODIES. SHE JUST PROMISED ME THERE’D BE MONEY--PLENTY OF IT. I’M SO SORRY, SARAH. PLEASE DON’T DIE.

           Sarah, you just sit there in your wooden chair, underneath that lonely light. Never mind this dusty silo. Never mind this farm. Never mind all of this nightmarish equipment from the Asylum around you. Sarah, you just sit there in the dark, as I tip-toe closer to you until our feet tap and then I crouch down. 

            Forget about when you ran off in the woods, although I certainly can’t. Your breath broke the stillness of the woods behind my countryside home on the outskirts of Raven’s Crook. Each footstep of yours, Sarah, echoed back to me, a rumble I felt at my feet. Forget all that, Sarah.


Under a break in the forested overhang, moonlight peered down and kissed the barrel of my shotgun. I squinted as I focused on a young brunette woman around 2,000 feet ahead of me. That was you, Sarah. Forget about that. 

Drawing a deep breath, I pulled the trigger and then finally closed my eyes. Unfortunately, I could not forget all that, Sarah, but you can. 

            Forget all that, Sarah, and just let me close. Let me near your cold lips. Feel the heat of mine. Please, Sarah, take my breath. Breathe. Live. Damn it, Sarah. Don’t die. Mrs. Douglas never said there’d bodies, Sarah. 


I. THE BUSINESS DEAL

Picture
Late one evening, I held my hands over a small fire next to a pond. Near the mile-long gravel driveway that led to my countryside Raven’s Crook home, I walked back over to a plastic patio chair and watched a bobber float still on the water. With my fishing rod now in my right hand—a cheap thing I picked up a garage sale—I gazed out at my desolate fields. I missed hearing the corn whisper some nights. When my eyes returned to the water, I noticed a ripple run from the South side.

Soon, the hum of an engine drew near and gravel dust polluted the air. I stood up and saw her for the first time.

Mrs. Douglas shined in the nightfall—she must have been a smidgen over thirty then. Of course, the wealthy could stay whatever age they wanted to. Story went this blond bombshell in a business suit married a guy name Raphael Douglas, Jr. One could have told by his name what a spoiled, cocky prick he was. His daddy ran a Lumber Mill until one Daddy Dearest lost his marbles and himself. Literally. That left the Lumber Mill and all the remaining Douglas assets to the next akin: Susan Douglas, Senior’s Wife. But she wanted nothing to with it after several other stories about deaths at the Mill broke out, whereas dumbass Junior did. Enter Gold-Digging Linda, who renamed it “Douglas Factory,” married Junior, and somehow, not only ended up with his last name, but with 60% of the assets. Bitch.

“Oh hey,” I said with the friendliest tone I could muster, “how are you?”

Mrs. Linda Douglas stepped in front of the fire and asked, “How are you this evening, Mr. Strife?

To my surprise, she brushed the loose dirt off of a stump and sat in front of the fire, business attire and all. I couldn't believe a millionaire sat next to me in the middle of nowhere Raven’s Crook. 

“With all due respect” I said, “I believe I asked you first, ma’am. And it’s Bob.”

“No, it’s not.” There was something pretentious about her laugh that followed. 

“Yes, it is. Robert, to be exact.”

“Mr. Strife,” she said, “I’m well. I came here on business, I’m afraid, so if I may—”

 “—Would you like a beer?”

To be perfectly frank, I’m not sure why I said that. Out of nervousness? Maybe because I needed a drink. Setting my tackle aside, I started to turn for the cooler. Hesitant, my eyes kept note of Mrs. Douglas’ reactions, but she didn’t seem to refuse the offer. So I grabbed each of us a beer. 

Again, she caught me off-guard by guzzling down nearly half of the can before I even popped my tab. 

Mrs. Douglas, in a matter-of-fact tone, said, “I essentially want to rent the south end of your fields, including the silos and sheds, indefinitely.”

I slammed my beer down on a stone and watched it foam out of the can. Before I became too sidetracked, I asked, “So you want to pay me, why?”

 “Suffice it to say, Mr. Strife, new standards have been imposed on the Hospital—”

 “—Asylum?” I asked. 

“The Hospital,” Mrs. Douglas continued, “and we need to quickly find a home for outdated—”

“—Outlawed?”

 “Yes, Mr. Strife, we have certain equipment and supplies that are outdated and/or ‘outlawed’ that we must dispose of before the inspected at the end of the month. I assured, this is only temporary and we will pay you handsomely.”

            Sipping on the foamy beer, I asked, “What makes you think I need the money?”

            Mrs. Douglas stood up from the stump, and with a centered stare away from the fire, lobbed her empty can across my fields. In between the soft crackle of firewood cracking and popping in the pit, the initial clink from the beer can colliding with the dirt and rock echoed across my land. Without stalks to serve as walls, noise travelled for days. Yet, in my neck of the woods, still no one would’ve ever heard it. 

            We both spent quite a while gazing out at the nothingness of my farmland. Nightfall started to retreat as and orange glow burned across the horizon. Mist served as ash across the far north end of my lot. One rarely saw such beginnings. 

            “Let me be frank with you, Mr. Strife,” she said dryly, as though unimpressed by the picturesque moment, “here’s the situation we’re faced with: Nearly twenty years ago—probably the last time you made a modest income, I’d imagine—some of our equipment was outlawed. That, Mr. Strife, was okay, because long before that the practices which necessitated said equipment were too. Needless to say, we shoved the old scientific equipment in out South Wing and locked the doors for good. Until now.”

            Mrs. Douglas paused and gestured for another beer. Close to finishing my first anyway, I obliged her. In the midst of the hand-off, Mrs. Douglas withdrew a long, skinny cigarette from a metal scale. The edges caught the mix of the stars and early sunrise. 

She offered me one, but I waved it down. “Sorry, I don’t smoke.”

At the sound of both beer tops clicking, there was an awkward silence, occasionally broken up by guttural sounds. 

Placing her beer to the side, Mrs. Douglas continued to work on her cigarette. In between puffs, she continued, “We’ve held onto the equipment, having nowhere to properly dispose of it, but now we face an investigation. We feel it’s better to keep such matters quiet and remedy this situation than cause a stir that could disrupt our processes.”

Snubbing out her cigarette before flicking it into the dwindling fire, Mrs. Douglas asked, “Why don’t you come visit the hospital tomorrow morning and see for yourself?”



End of Excerpt
More to Come


Where It Began

Picture
The perfect short story collection for a busy winter.
Check out More

More Ashland's Asylum 

Picture
My latest work-in-progress is a novel in short stories called Ashland's Asylum. 
Preview More

More Stories 

Picture
Be sure to check out many of my other stories for free in the library.
Visit

Back to the Blog

0 Comments



Leave a Reply.

    About

    Fear, focus, and the future. C.M. Humphries talks about writing, horror, and whatever. 

    Archives

    October 2018
    September 2018
    August 2018
    April 2018
    March 2018
    December 2017
    November 2017
    October 2017
    September 2017
    August 2017
    July 2017
    June 2017
    May 2017
    April 2017
    March 2017
    February 2017
    January 2017
    December 2016
    November 2016
    October 2016
    September 2016
    August 2016
    June 2016
    May 2016
    April 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    December 2015
    November 2015
    October 2015
    July 2015
    June 2015
    March 2015
    December 2014
    November 2014
    June 2014
    May 2014
    March 2014
    January 2014
    December 2013
    November 2013
    October 2013
    September 2013
    August 2013
    July 2013
    June 2013
    May 2013
    April 2013
    March 2013
    February 2013
    January 2013
    December 2012
    November 2012
    October 2012
    September 2012
    August 2012
    July 2012
    June 2012
    May 2012
    April 2012
    March 2012
    February 2012
    January 2012
    December 2011
    November 2011
    October 2011
    September 2011
    August 2011
    July 2011
    June 2011
    May 2011
    April 2011
    March 2011
    February 2011
    January 2011
    December 2010
    November 2010
    October 2010
    September 2010
    August 2010
    June 2010
    May 2010
    April 2010
    March 2010
    February 2010
    January 2010
    December 2009

    Subscribe.
    ​We'll keep in touch.

SUBSCRIBE
Picture
© 2009-2022 C.M. Humphries. Any unauthorized use and/or duplication of the content without expressed and written permission from the site and content author/owner is prohibited by law. ​ Not intended for audiences under the age of 13 years old.
Photos used under Creative Commons from moedermens, hans s, gidovd, Federico Limonta, Marcin Wichary, heather aitken, Caren Mack Photography, Guilherme Yagui, Latente 囧 www.latente.it, miss_rogue, quinn.anya, Javier Kohen, sampitech, Gerald Gabernig, the_black_room, Bernt Sønvisen, jamalfanaian, andrewrennie, Elizabeth/Table4Five, quirin.thalhammer, swruler9284, Kryziz Bonny, Miguel Virkkunen Carvalho, chuck4x5, Mountain/\Ash, Jonathan Kos-Read, Niels_Olson, h.koppdelaney, Matthew Paul Argall, DidWee, Sweet One, osseous, Tony Webster, maf04, Gustavo Minas, poptech, r.nial.bradshaw, marcoverch, emilianohorcada, porschelinn, markbyzewski, dannywebs, amanessinger, declanandrews, Artotem, M. Martin Vicente, davescaglione, Gamma Man, ell brown, glasseyes view, LukeDetwiler, ephotography, Luiz Fernando / Sonia Maria, Filter Collective, cdedbdme, mhx, Enokson, gagilas, Max Wolfe, Ted Van Pelt, Sigfrid Lundberg, Sean Loyless, Mr. T in DC, Key Foster, marimbajlamesa, Fitsum Belay/iLLIMETER, Vectorportal, Alberto_Montoya, carianoff, luc.viatour, >>> Silly Rabbit, Trix are for Kids <<<, electricnerve, Nanagyei, crimfants, Editor B, gordontarpley, eleanor ryan, eviltomthai, shanon wise, dutchlad, Rick Moerloos, Poetprince, david_shankbone, Kurt and Sybilla, Abode of Chaos, grilled cheese, quinn.anya, Xoan Baltar, Marko Milošević, little blue hen, uzi978, SweetOnVeg, procsilas, Robin Hutton, Thruhike98, zaneology, Cameron Nordholm, CarbonNYC, Enderst07, dollen, LunaMoth116, swanksalot, aturkus, ElvertBarnes, Paul Jerry, Pip R. Lagenta, Joshua Kaufman, currybet, Oh-Barcelona.com, Joe Shlabotnik, Will Folsom, Helena Liu, David.R.Carroll, Robert Bejil Photography, Patrick Doheny, Hachi Gatsu, Justin Marty, Julie Lyn, Scott LePage, Daquella manera, Markusram, ginnerobot, Zach Linder, StevenW., denn, h.koppdelaney, TheeErin, aaron.michels, davidflanders, Dustin and Jenae, Mike "Dakinewavamon" Kline, mr_t_77, gordontarpley, brewbooks, coconut wireless, Håkan Dahlström, Mr. T in DC, urbanshoregirl, cathyse97, The Cleveland Kid, iamliam, andy jou, 666isMONEY ☮ ♥ & ☠, julesxt, MonkeySimon, Carlos Aguilera Espinosa, twentymindsomething, Xanetia, ♣♦♥♠, vonguard, sillygwailo, Geraint Warlow, Alyssa L. Miller, chadmagiera, how will i ever, Parker Knight, Unhindered by Talent, wwarby, teresawer, Lo & Behold >> Shrie L. Spangler, Larry Tomlinson, magnetbox, Very Quiet, prendio2, j_anet, timhettler, David Boyle, hang_in_there, krossbow, robertrice, Schmirn, Fitsum Belay/iLLIMETER, an iconoclast, samlavi, Ron Bennetts, Jagz Mario, eugeneflores, LetTheCardsFall, Rochelle, just rochelle, JaseCurtis, Ivan Marianelli, Dave Catchpole, mike 23, ANSESGOB, Catalin Vrinceanu, kio, kevin dooley, Amanda M Hatfield, Smath., rick, Grace Hebert, auntjojo, Kryziz Bonny, jwillier2, Al Pavangkanan, anokarina, my camera and me, IntangibleArts, Pink Sherbet Photography, hodgers, arohasilhouettes, Neal., greenfaerietree, sidewalk flying, Miles B., Luxxian Flair, amelungc, romana klee, dcJohn, Mitchypop, simonsmith001, Bruna Schenkel, zayzayem, KJGarbutt, simonlesleyphoto, torbakhopper, Glutnix, Panegyrics of Granovetter, Karamellzucker, h.koppdelaney, Photos by Mavis, perpetualplum, FutUndBeidl, NASA Goddard Photo and Video, b0jangles, suburbandollar, UnnarYmir, ohdarling, amulonphotography, Zach Dischner, _Fidelio_, OakleyOriginals, andertoons, little blue hen, rococohobo, FutUndBeidl, Pop Culture Geek, ben.chaney, theilr, genvessel, mariachily, Seth Mazow, Looking Glass, jslee_, lindsayloveshermac, Brett Jordan, AndYaDontStop, danperry.com, functoruser, gcfairch, Mikamatto, Thomas Claveirole, goodnight_photography, cometstarmoon, Ack Ook, Don Hankins, celesteh, Pip R. Lagenta, Cpt<HUN>, stvcr, Andreas.