Steampunk novel - "The Uninvited"

Another small excerpt from my Steampunk themed novel.

The door chime roused Edmund from his thought, like the snap of a therapist’s fingers.  His eyes quickly opened, his pupils dilated, absorbing his surroundings.  His senses were immediately calibrated.  Placing his hands on the armrests of his chair, he slowly lifted himself to his feet.  He paused to adjust his vest, removed his pocket watch by its chain and observed the time.  Nineteen at the forty second.  He replaced his time piece, walked across the salon and stopped at the iron bypass station.  He found the valve with brass lettering above it saying, “Hull” and gave it two turns to the left.  The copper pipes hissed to life as the steam flowed from the bypass station to the heavy, iron door at the other end of the salon.  The iron gears above the door creaked to life, working together to move the massive structure away from the passageway.  Patiently waiting at the threshold stood 3 men; two behind the third, flanking him on either side.

            “Impressive!” exclaimed the man in front.  He was a slender, gaunt individual with dirty blonde hair, hidden by a grey tall hat with a lavender band.  “What a brilliant construct you have there, sir.”  His lips parted into a forced smile that unveiled a mouthful of yellowish teeth with gaps between them large enough to reveal the silver tongue caged within.  “Permission to enter the premises, my lord.”  He said with a hint of a bow.

            “Granted” returned Edmund.

            The thin fellow took two steps into Edmund’s den and stopped.  His eyes briefly surveyed the ceiling and walls on either side before his gaze affixed on Edmund.  His eyes as grey as his hat and just as soulless.

            “I assume you were expecting my good coming?”  The thin man questioned.

            “I was not.”  Edmund lied.

            “And yet you open your hull without the forknowledge of what may lay in wait?  You surprise, my lord.  You should take more care to whom you open your hearth to.” said the thin man.

            “I was unaware my wellbeing was in peril, sir.  Perhaps you are in the company of whisperings to which I have yet to be acquainted.” Said Edmund.

            “Please, sir.  I do not presume to suggest impending danger is upon, rather I warn against such carelessness.  We live in a troubling era in an unpredictable metropolis, where unwary citizens are disappearing faster with each passing hour.  And with the elections briskly approaching, the populace seems to be sprinting to the grave.”  The thin man said with a smirk.

Steampunk novel - "The Bout"

R. Baxter knew the punch was coming before his opponent even thought about throwing it; there was something in his eyes that gave it away.  R. Baxter stuck his chin out subtly, luring the brawler to swing.  The muscles in his opponent’s shoulder twitched, his torso rotated slightly on his hips and his fist began its ascent to the exposed target.  As if moving at two times faster than that of his opponent, R. Baxter stepped to his left, letting the brawler’s fist soar over his right shoulder and delivered a flurry of savage left hooks to the brawler’s ribs before circling away to his left.  R. Baxter knew his opponent was in bad shape; he had felt the bones crack against his knuckles and the brawler’s side had already begun to turn reddish purple.  The brawler turned to face R. Baxter, visibly frustrated by the older gentleman’s speed and precision.  As the brawler edged towards R. Baxter, he lowered his right arm to guard his damaged ribs.  He threw out a lazy jab only to have R. Baxter slap it away effortlessly.  The brawler stepped in and unleashed a massive, sweeping left cross.  R. Baxter ducked under the haymaker and delivered a devastating overhand right to the brawler’s temple, staggering him.  R. Baxter decided that he was done with his opponent and swarmed him, throwing several punishing body shots before felling the brawler with a cataclysmic uppercut.  As the brawler lay motionless on the dirty floor, R. Baxter look out at the writhing mob of onlookers and nonchalantly combed the corners of his mustache with his bloody knuckle.

Sam and I (Pt. 3)

Here's a little dream sequence from Sam and I:

The conversation stopped and sleep slowly came over me.  Despite the talk we’d just had, my dream was not that of zombies going door to door introducing themselves as sex offenders moving into the neighborhood, but rather a recurring dream I’d had as a child.  I grew up in a very rural area with lots of land.  Our property was broken up into five parts; there was the main lot with the house, a garden area, a barnyard and then 2 pastures.  In my dream, my brother and sister and I are playing in the barnyard.  I’m only 7 or 8 years old, which would put my brother and sister at 12 and 16 respectively.  The barnyard was positioned between the house lot and one of the pastures and beyond the pasture was a spring.  It was a strange thing because the area where we lived was fairly flat and any vegetation was hewn down, but the spring was like a little oasis of trees.  It was a bit scary though, as the trees were twisted and intertwined with each other creating what looked like a gateway to some other realm.  As my siblings and I played in the barnyard, one of us would notice something emerge from the spring.  It was always the same thing; a white dog.  We would stand there motionless and watch the beast sprint right for us.  As it got closer, my sister and brother would start to tremble and whimper with fear.  I was strong and only watched the dog in silence.  It soon dawned on us that the dog was not friendly, but rather on the hunt and we were the prey.  My siblings abandoned their posts and ran for the safety of the house, but I stayed.  For some reason I believed that I could fight the beast and win.  It got closer and closer; I could see its eyes fixed on me.  Adrenaline pumped through my body as the dog approached and I could hear its fur rustling, its paws hitting the ground and its heavy breathing.  A rage built up inside me as the dog leapt at me.  I instantly realized the gravity of the mistake I had made.  The beast ripped at my body, shredding my clothing and tearing my flesh.  I could feel its hot breath on my face and neck as it bit down, sinking its teeth into my skin.  I would grunt and reach wildly for anything that would assist me in escaping from my attacker, but there was nothing but barren earth.  It would shake me violently from side to side and lift me off the ground only to slam me back down, knocking precious breath from my lungs.  Then I would wake up with cold sweat on my brow and tears in my eyes.

*Sam and I (Pt. 2)

Here's a new excerpt from "Sam and I".  Enjoy!

“Martin?” said Sam, tapping on the underside of my bed.  “Martin, you awake?”

            “Whaaaat!?”  I whined.

            “Oh”, Sam said.  “Well, I wanted to ask you something”.

            “Dude, I’m so tired”, I said.  “Can’t it wait?”

            “Probably, but this has really been killing me and I need closure.”  Sam said.

            “Fine; what is it?”  I asked.

            “Why is it that in all the zombie movies you dumbasses never know about zombies?” Sam said.  “I mean, Night of the Living Dead came out in 1968 and there have been hundreds or thousands of zombie movies since then and still every time somebody sees a zombie walking around they’re like, ‘What’s wrong?  You sick?’  And I’m like, fuck no you moron, it’s a zombie!  What the hell’s wrong with you?!  I mean, I may be biased (for obvious reasons), but you guys being so stupid makes it that much easier to root for my undead brothers.  You know what I mean?”

            “I don’t know, man.”  I said.  “I don’t write the screenplays.”

            “Well, no shit.”  Sam said.  “I’ve seen your writing and let me tell you, Uwe Bol wouldn’t even touch that shit.”

            “I’m going to bed.”  I said.

            “Wait wait.  Okay I’m sorry about the Uwe Bol comment.”  Sam said.  “But seriously, why do you think that is?”

            “I don’t know.”  I said.  “They probably need that ignorance present in the story to create panic amongst the characters.  I mean, if everybody knew what a zombie was from the get go, they would just bash ‘em in the head and go on with their day.  But I see your point.  If I saw a zombie, the first thing I would think was ‘Oh shit!  It’s a zombie!  Someone shoot it in the head.”

            “Pffft, hahaha.”  Sam laughed.

            “What?”  I asked.

            “You sure you wouldn’t freeze up and shit your pants?”  Sam said.

            “Whatever.”  I said.

            “Man, the first time you saw me I thought you were gonna cry.”  Sam said.  “Now, I know I don’t smell like pumpkin spice, but fuck me; I couldn’t sleep that night with the load you dropped in your Fruit of the Looms.  I had to lay face down in hopes that the carpet would act as a filter.”

            “You’re a dick, Sam.”  I said.  “You took me by surprise in a totally vulnerable state.  That’s not really fair.”

            “Well, how do you think it would happen?”  Sam asked.  “It’s not like we’re going to go door to door a week before the apocalypse and announce ourselves like sex offenders moving into a new neighborhood.”

Sam and I

Here's a small excerpt of my new story "Sam and I".


It was a torso.  It’s long, thin arms would reach out and anchor to the carpet before dragging itself ever closer to the edge of my bed.  It’s gray, leathery skin reflecting the ambient light; I could see several areas where the skin was no more and bone and muscle fiber were exposed.  Beyond the waist there was nothing more than a spinal cord tail and what I can only presume were what remained of the cadaver’s intestines, which looked like nightmarish tassels.  The creature’s head was down and I could see that the skull was only three quarters intact.  A gaping, black hole on the left side of its head gave a preview of a decaying brain, which would almost fall out of the skull as the corpse jerked from side to side as it crawled.  Just before it disappeared under my bed, the creature lifted up its head and looked at me with its lifeless, cloudy gray eyes.  One eye was slightly dislodged from its socket and was missing both eyelids. In lieu of a nose, a crimson outlined cavern of the deepest black.  Dried up lips shriveled back like burnt paper revealing a mouthful of unbecomingly white teeth in a sinister grin.  It stopped as our eyes met and let out a grunt.  Seconds passed like hours; the thing seeming to expect a reply, but nothing escaped my lips, not even breath.