Tales From the Weird - The Larry Czerwonka Company LLC

Tales From the Weird
A COLLECTION OF SHORT STORIES
Dhruva D. Sulastri
The Larry Czerwonka Company, LLC
Hilo, Hawaiʻi
Copyright © 2016 by Dhruva D. Sulastri
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information
storage and retrieval system, without written permission from
the publisher.
For information email info@thelarryczerwonkacompany.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places,
events and incidents are either the products of the author’s
imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely
coincidental.
First Edition — January 2016
This book is set in 12-point Garamond
Published by The Larry Czerwonka Company, LLC
czerwonkapublishing.com
Cover art by Mallion
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN: 0692600698
ISBN-13: 978-0692600696
For Al-Boy, David, Rasi, and Stephanie
1
~ Introduction
4
~ The Poetry Stone
6
~ Green Lake
16
~ Tale of the Corpse Plant
42
~ Figure Beneath the Window
48
~ The Intrepid Hitchhiker
72
~ Vistas of the Padded Cell
74
~ Shades of Paradise
86
~ Battle of the Screaming Souls
104 ~ The Lonely Wild
128 ~ Proprietors of the Concrete Dawn
158
~ Behind a Backwards Sun
160 ~ Message of the Muscle Twitch
Introduction
The world we live in is a strange and weird place. We might not
notice it as we go about our daily routines of work and relaxation, but the unknown is always there, lurking just beyond the
threshold of our inadequate perceptions. The uncommon sense
that something fantastic or dreadful might be nearby observing
us with curiosity or cruel indifference is a primal fear; a
memory of some frightened thing in hiding while beasts of
living nightmare prowled about.
Yet it would seem the beasts of nightmare have never
wholly left us, tramping on through the endless ages in lonely
places, hidden away from the harsh scrutiny of the public eye.
Stories abound with frightful creatures or apparitions of the
dead fill every culture on every part of this planet, so it is only
natural that such fascination lies in the realm of the unknown,
in the world that lurks just beyond sight as we stare out from
our dull prisons of normalcy.
What is daily life for something that lives wild and free,
held by no boundaries of law or social influence? What does
the elusive Sasquatch contemplate as he broods atop his lonely
mountain? Does he recognize beauty in his silent nature retreat;
is he a poet in his own right? What of the Mo’o, the Lizard
people, the Nagas that live deep within the earth? Countless
legends from numerous cultures speak of these beings. Are
they akin to the human race? Are they a true evolution of
bipedal species, downsized from their lumbering ancestors?
What of the other races deep underground that the ancients
speak of, of giants and people with blue skin in the hollow
regions of the planet’s core?
Now rip your thoughts out from of the inner earth and fly
deep into the vastness of abysmal space, where stranger things
can be found than this singular world can claim. An infinity of
beings and moons and planets and stars and galaxies stretch off
into the far reaches of reality, whilst man fumbles about on his
planet, eating, drinking, excreting, reproducing and dying;
always with his face towards the ground.
Refusal to acknowledge that something out of the ordinary
exists does not render that thing nonexistent; it merely renders
oneself limited in thought and imagination. To willingly stifle
one’s gain of knowledge on the basis of the lack of tangible
proof, or the necessity of a worldwide consensus through the
security of majority belief, is a devolution on the expansion of
humankind and consciousness. There are many things that we
recognize today that if you brought the concept of up to someone, say, two hundred years ago, they would have called you
mad, and you might even have been outcast from the social
scheme of the time. The same still pertains to this modern era.
We are so assured of our technological advancements
that—to the average person—it seems preposterous that there
could be anywhere in the world that we cannot scan or locate
or scrutinize like some ethereal God. And yet there are still
undiscovered tribes of people in secluded places living as they
have for thousands of years, or ruins from civilizations that
stretch back through the eons, shattering with discovery the
theories of modern science and humanity’s historic timeframe.
The world is too large to be wholly claimed by the likes of mere
man, for all its secrets to be laid bare by such a blundering and
ignorant species of simple survival.
Be assured, my friends, that you should never assure yourself of ultimate knowledge of the things about you, of some
finality or cap to your wisdom of life and death, or of what is
real and what is not. If you do, you will go through life without
wonder, with no amazement at the strangeness of the mere act
of breathing.
To think that we are the only intelligent creatures on this
planet, in this galaxy, or in this universe is inexorably boring. It
is somewhat of a comfort to think that if there is a higher
intelligence looking down upon us from out of this world,
whether it is life from another solar system or some unexplainable entity, that no matter what, they have the technology or
the developed senses to understand our conceptions of them.
And it is strangely reassuring to me that if aliens can study
us, then they can also study our media, and they have seen what
a Wookie is. And the world grows ever weirder…
Dhruva D. Sulastri
12-13-15
The Poetry Stone
There is poetry deep within every page that you must, with pen,
shape and chisel away; to fill with glowing fields of night and
observe the sun through veils of shade. To wait with patience
until the want inside becomes desires haunt, then with feverish
hands cast mind away and type upon forbidden things.
Sit quietly and stare out at scenes of home and think of
things that bring life to stone, as mountains rear and illusions
flee and fabulous things wake from slumbering dream. To
catch the daemon in its frenetic flight and give form to the life
of the black of the night; to sail through the seas of the stars of
strange galaxies and depict what is seen on the lowest of planes.
For there is attraction in which a life decays and for the average
mind an exotic fantasy; of someone who sees the dark of the
light and the chill that it brings under trees in the day.
But from the up-to-date dull comes vile conceit, from the
ones who understand not what the artist perceives. They ridicule and rant and label him weird for they see not the hand
above guiding their steer, and thinking the choice of opinion is
theirs, they recklessly write-off what doesn’t fit their prayers. But
what they cannot take from him is that what cannot be seen; the
limitless realities for one whose thoughts can conceive.
So chisel the stone upon which our karmas entwine for the
words that you speak gain new life out of mind. For what
makes a man barely more than a beast?—verbal communication and the will to write what he sees. So describe in a way
what you cannot describe and put feelings to words that take
off in flight; from books which lay quietly untouched where
they sit, as ghosts we must be amongst technology’s crypt.
Green Lake
Damned is he who lies down to sleep and awakes to the familiarly foreign places of dream. Lonesome is the one who abides
along putrid pools in odd twilight hours; who wanders aimlessly
through grotesque fantasies of jungle clad craters in which
forbidden bottomless lakes lie.
For that is the place I found myself one sweltering tropical
night, befuddled as to how I had come alone to the abhorrent
spot at such a disquieting hour of evening. I gazed out across
the waters of the mirrored pool, my imagination bespeaking the
invisible leering of hideous observers just below the surface—
ghastly creations left over from an age when man coexisted
with the sea on a much deeper level. I had visions of sunken
aquatic temples fathoms below where titanic idols were worshipped by octopod-like devotees in shrines of antiquity. I
shuddered at the thought of caves and caverns connecting to
the ocean large enough to house the movements of ageless
leviathan gods.
A golden glow atop the waters roused my attention as I
espied across the lake a single hut with a window spilling its
light out into the hazy gloom. In all my years of coming to this
place I could not recall ever having seen a dwelling of any kind.
Which was perplexing as the state of this shack was one of
obvious decay through long rotting years of liquid assault.
I curiously made my way around the broad expanse, half
nervous with the thought of the uncouth aspect of whatever
type of wretched being I would encounter inhabiting this phantasmal abode. For what type of person could willingly live in
these squalid type conditions? There were known droves and
filthy communes of dissociative troglodyte-like youths in the
surrounding areas, but none were ever allowed to set up camp
along this particularly auspicious body of water. This place was
sacred to the ancients and not to be disturbed, which is why the
appearance of this crumbling shack intrigued me so.
As I made my way around the north-eastern edge of the
lake, I heard what had to be the lone piping of some sort of
nocturnal bird. The noise grew louder as I drew closer to the
shack, emanating from some yardage off to the right through
the thickly growing ground foliage. The sound began to morph
into the throaty cough of a wailing child choking and gasping
for air.
I rushed headlong into the dense vegetation, heedless of the
razor grass slicing like paper cuts through my skin and the
hundreds of tiny barbs left embedded from the biting touchme-nots. I ripped through a particularly tight woven mass of
stinking vines into a small trampled clearing, in the midst of
which lay the grotesque originator of the mournful wailing.
The creature, whatever it was, was young and most likely
just out of its weaning stage, which accounted for its frightened
and helpless demeanor. The thing was not small in size, as
expected from its apparent age of neglected infancy, it being
nearly four feet in length with its limbs fully out-stretched. The
overall appearance was vaguely humanoid in the head and torso
yet in place of the arms and legs of a bi-pedal species it had the
eight sucking tentacles of an octopus. Two flailing feelers
replaced each arm while the other four comprised its squirming
legs. The form of its gelatinous body alluded to the utter absence of bone structure throughout. Its skin had a rubbery
pale-green hue that turned to a sickly white on the belly and
face. But perhaps the most frightening and repulsive aspect of
this impossible creature was its alien-like visage. It had two long
almond-shaped eyes that pointed menacingly downward on
each side of its bulbous head. There was no noise of any kind,
the bottom half of its face splitting up into another eight miniature tentacles from the center of which a vicious beak-like
mouth vocalized its frightful agony.
I reeled backwards in utter loathing, wanting nothing else
than to be away from the hideous blubbering being. But halfway back through my newly ploughed trail I felt a wave of
obligatory pity that helped wash away my repulsion somewhat.
I could not simply leave this creature out here to die, no matter
how wretched or detestable it seemed. Maybe it was the lost pet
of whoever dwelt in that mysterious abode? Or maybe it was
the twisted creation of some mad jungle scientist? No matter
what it was, it was helpless and in need of rescuing.
Hardening my heart and stomach, I walked back and stood
above the sobbing infantile octopod. I crouched down and
began to scoop my hands under its many flopping tentacles,
but this interaction spurred it into a startling response. It leaped
at me with sudden ferocity and wrapped its many suckered
limbs around the base of my torso, bringing its face inches
away from mine and screaming its putrid breath into my lungs.
I closed my eyes, trying to put my fear in check as I began to
convey soothing sounds of reassurance, even reaching up and
stroking the back of its squishy head. It slowly quieted and even
began to stroke my face with its searching tentacle lips. I
opened my eyes and saw a look of love in its deep gaze, but
that look was quickly replaced by fear then wailing sorrow. But
the creature felt safe enough to release its grip on me slightly
and willingly gave itself over to my care.
I resumed my trek to the shack bearing my new burden.
Wondering if the land owners would think me mad to come
waltzing up to their house in the middle of the night with a
large distressed squid-child in arm. Looking up above the haze
I saw the rising moon, yellowed and large and just beginning to
loom over the edge of the canopied crater rim. The surface of
the lake was serene, yet nonetheless I could not help but feel a
nervousness and impending danger as if from some unknown
onset yet to be revealed. It was as if something full of unrestrained anger and malevolence was coming from somewhere
and would soon be unleashed directly upon me.
I broke into a run straight for the dilapidated shack, heedless of the cries of the being I swore to protect and stumbled
breathlessly up the uneven steps and onto the porch. I began
pounding loudly on the door and hollering wildly for help but
no reply came from the silent cabin. I tried looking through the
curtained window but could only make out a blurred, dimly-lit
room. I resumed my pounding with a new flurry of attacks, my
fear slowly building to hysteria, until reaching down I turned
the knob and swung the door inward, spilling the light out into
the night like a beacon to anything with searching eyes. I
rushed inside and slammed the door, yelling for help and turning to find the single vacant room devoid but for a single gas
lantern on an antique desk. The creature leaped from my arms
and rolled on its tentacles quickly over to one corner. I found
nothing else upon closer inspection of my new surroundings
and so turned back to my attempts to soothe the frightened
thing. But this time I met with no success as the infants’ wailing
cries grew louder and my resolution began to falter.
It was then that I began to hear a low murmuring, as of the
sound of a large pot of water coming to a boil. The noise grew
louder as I went to the window and peered dreadfully out. The
once placid surface of the lake was now roiling and pushing
itself upwards, successfully expanding its circumference inch by
bubbling inch. Then the large things began to flop out from the
fathomless depths. In the darkness, I could see hundreds of
squirming bodies, my imagination affiliating the attributes of
the infant with that of the larger adults. And these were much
larger, nine to ten feet from head to tentacle, yet shrunken
down to roughly the height of a man as they verily rolled
around on their undulating limbs, searching this way and that in
a maddeningly frantic way.
Then that helpless creature I had taken on reached a new
decibel in its alarming screech, drawing the attention of the
closest octopod people as they responded with similar gurgling
ululations. All at once they turned their attention to the hut and
began to converge on my location. I quickly killed the lamp and
peered out the window again, only to see hundreds of glistening
monstrosities moving as one around the lake under the moonlight. Fear tightened my throat as I almost wretched from the
overwhelming shock of my approaching doom.
I remained frozen in place for an eternity, stricken as I listened to every audible noise with a horror and dread that I
never thought to know. The sound of creaking boards and
popping suckers outside roused me from my stupor as I ran to
the front door and slammed the single bolt into place. This
elicited a roaring chorus from my assailants as they began
flopping against the outer walls, their many tentacles searching
every surface in hopes of finding an opening large enough to fit
the width of their beaks. The entire edifice shook as more and
more of the creatures piled up onto the porch. Reaching feelers
began to squeeze through the cracks, groping blindly in the
dark for their human target and filling the room with living
horror.
I looked down to the inky corner and saw that even the infant had taken on an aggressive opposition towards me, sensing
from its elders the overpowering hatred for the one alien thing
amongst them. I had succeeded, in a way, in reuniting the
hapless creature with its kind, but I now had to escape their
misconceived wrath.
The flimsy door began to creak and groan on its hinges,
splintering with each resounding heave of the bulky, boneless
bodies. With a surge of desperation, I grabbed the extinguished
lamp and sent it sailing through the small window, completely
demolishing every inch of glass in its rotting frame. I leaped
headlong out the opening just as the door behind burst open,
allowing the ghastly horde to pour into the stinking hut. I fell
maybe ten feet to the noxious mud, landing flat on my back
and knocking the air out of my lungs. Gasping in copious
amounts of fetid atmosphere, I rolled onto my stomach and
saw that all the octopods had gathered around the front and
sides of the swamp house, strangely leaving this side unguarded.
I struggled to my feet and slipped quietly away along the
north-western edge of the water. The only escape out of the
damnable crater was towards the south-east and I hoped to go
unnoticed around the further side to keep out of sight of the
frenetic mob. I had not stumbled far when I heard a loud
splash from somewhere behind followed by a sickening plop.
Another creature emerged from the water a hundred yards to
the south. Before I could even think one came bursting out and
landed in the muck right next to me, its large eyes locking with
mine and reflecting celestial images of the stars above. The
thing slowly rose up on its four large base legs, throwing its
upper arms to the sky and heralding with odious fish-breath my
sealed doom.
I ran, my fear like a tangible thing bursting out of every
pore and crawling over my wretched skin. I scrambled up into
the forested valley to the west, my legs pumping till I could
climb no further. Quickly I turned to face my foe and make
some sort of stand upon my new high-ground. I was elated to
find that the creature was still some distance behind; its slow
grab-rolling momentum not able to keep pace with that of a
running man. But my elation soon turned to horror as the bulk
of the creatures from the attack on the dwelling were now
swimming en masse to the opposite side, anticipating my
movements and attempting to cut off my every hope of escape.
I quickly struggled awkwardly along the steep slope, my fear
redoubling with each aqueous sound emitted by the unnatural
beings. I knew if I could just reach the southern end of the
great bowl the incline would be gradual enough for me to make
my ascent up the green mountain. I raced along, ripping
through the dense foliage and stumbling through tightly grown
bunches of slender trees. Tentacles and searching things in the
dark shot out from the shadows as the creatures were suddenly
all around me. I ducked a whipping arm aimed viciously at my
head and went down, tumbling through the dirt back to level
ground and mercifully putting a distance between my abhorrent
assailants and myself.
I bolted through a clearing near the lake and bounded
breathlessly up the trail leading to the lookout on the mountains ridge. I could still hear my pursuers moving through the
trees with single-minded purpose as I stopped to catch my
breath. They were terrifying beyond anything I could ever
conceive and menacingly deadly yet I could outrun them. As
long as I didn’t let them corner me I could yet escape these
ancient creatures of the deep. I gave no thought as to how I
was going to make my descent down the outer rim of the
jungle-choked crater; the lookout was merely the furthest place
I could get from the squirming nightmarish horde.
I finally arrived at the top of the ridge and stood upon the
edge, my heart sinking as I gazed out over the distant green
landscape. The sheer drop on the far side was much higher
than I remembered, the tops of the waving trees eerily swaying
far below. I looked both ways along the cliff but nowhere could
I see a decline.
And then I heard it. The ground trembled at its approach as
the very winds on the mountainside shifted, sending flocks of
nesting birds to scramble into the sky on an unexpected flight
under the moon. I watched in mute horror as the waters of the
lake abruptly rose up in one unbroken body, then came cascading down around the head and shoulders of an unspeakable
titanic nightmare. The surge of the deluge reached half way up
the bowl of the crater, then rushed back down to swirl and lap
against the beast of the nether. The forest below came to life
with writhing feelers as the octopod minions had finally gained
the mountain. The massive creature suddenly reared up to a
new height and, throwing back its head, roared up to the sky.
The sound shattered the heavens and resonated through to the
very depths of the cosmos.
My mind must have snapped at that point for the next
thing I knew I was crashing through the tops of trees and
painfully cracking from branch to branch until I landed in a
heap at the base of the mountain. I mindlessly picked myself up
and shambled out into the open papaya patch. When I had
limped a fair distance through the field, I chanced to turn and
look back at the horrors I had escaped. And there, high up on
the ridge could be seen the squirming arms of the octopod
men, some moving to and fro, some standing still as stone. But
all were staring directly at me with eyes ablaze under the gibbous moon. I felt a warning to my very soul as a massive black
shadow sank below view behind the leering cephalopods.
Madness overtook me again as I staggered away, not
knowing if I was alive or dead, conscious or travelling through
subconscious, but I knew this; that I would never go back, in
waking life or in dream, to the place known as Green Lake.
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