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DARKER:
The middle third of DARK, a collection of original eerie poems and delightfully frightening short stories by
James A. Brakken
Author & Illustrator of The Treasure of Namakagon
Autographed softcover copies available at BadgerValley.com.
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DARKER
Copyright2012 James A. Brakken.
All rights reserved.
Published by James A. Brakken at SmashWords.com
More graphics, autographed softcover ordering information and more at BadgerValley.com
Email:
[email protected] Content herein may not be reproduced, transmitted, conveyed, copied, or printed without the author’s written permission.
Other than Chief Namakagon, no characters in this book represent actual individuals. Any similarity to real persons, either living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental. Unlike the text, all illustrations that follow are copyright free.
All writings in this ebook and in the softcover version of DARK are original and copyright 2012 by James A. Brakken. The images are public domain. They are not intended as illustrations for the poems and stories. Rather, they are intended to serve as visual relief. More information on the artists can be found at BadgerValley.com on the DARK webpage.
The author expresses sincere gratitude to the gifted authors in the Yarnspinners Chapter of the Wisconsin Writers Association for their steadfast support and creative counsel.
Because this ebook was published after the softcover version of DARK, it may contain additional copy.
Notes on “The Zombie Apocalypse” series: Following several gruesome 2012 murders in several U.S. cities where the suspects ate parts of the remains, Google® announced “zombie apocalypse” was their most-searched term in June. The author chose to begin a series of short stories designed to explain how a pandemic with attributes similar to zombie behavior could, in fact, happen. The theory is based on modern day, medical research in nano-robotics already successfully administrated into patients’ bloodstreams. The benefits of nano-biotics is clear. Risks, however, often accompany great scientific discoveries. The author prays the hypothesis suggested in his series always remain fictitious. Future chapters of Brakken’s “Zombie Apocalypse” series will be offered through BadgerValley.com along with other writings.
DARK is neatly divided into three sections: DARK, DARKER, and DARKEST. The author recommends DARK be experienced in that order as some of the works are sequential in nature. Each section of DARK is offered as a separate ebook on SmashWords.com at a very reasonable price. Alternatively, the complete DARK text is available in ebook format through Amazon/CreateSpace for a significantly higher price. Similarly, the softcover edition of DARK may be purchased from a variety of online vendors but the most economical opportunity is BadgerValley.com where all copies are signed by the author. This service is not available through most other venues.
No-risk fund raising plan: Purchase 50 or more copies of DARK or THE TREASURE OF NAMAKAGON at a much-reduced price. Sell the books at list price. Following your fund raising event, you can return all unsold copies for a full refund, provided returned books are in like-new condition, making this a no-risk plan. Consult BadgerValley.com for complete details.
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“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there,
wondering—fearing—doubting
dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.”
Edgar Allen Poe
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Peer into this DARKER than DARK at your own risk.
HERE THERE BE DRAGONS!
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Table of Contents: DARKER & DARKEST
DARKER
Thief of Dreams III
Nevermore
Like Magic
Thief of Dreams IV
The Ballad of the Ne’er Do Well Boys
The Great Makwaa
Oh, Shanty Boy
That’s One
Beneath the Clay
The Widowmaker
Beastly Feastings
The Zombie Apocalypse Part III
Gramma’s Noggin
Three Dragons Part II: The Second Dragon
Death’s Dreadful Schedule
# # #
Thief of Dreams V
Them
Something in the Shadows
Three Dragons Part III: The Third Dragon
Dare not Swim in Devil’s Lake
I—Have—You—Now
The Zombie Apocalypse Part IV
Our Lovely Lucy Brown
A Pinery Tale
The Kinabalu Affliction
In Gloomy Wood
Thief of Dreams VI
The Ghost of the Apostles (Not in present softcover edition)
Death Deceived
Beyond the Laterals
The Zombie Apocalypse Part V (Not in present softcover edition)
Move Not Cold Stones by Midnight’s Mist
The Zombie Apocalypse Part VI (Not in present softcover edition)
Thief of Dreams VII
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DARKER
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Thief of Dreams III
Clearly, reader, you are not faint of heart.
You trod ahead,
With neither fear nor dread
Of what might be found
Down ’round the road’s next bend.
And to that end,
I offer yet another warning.
Scorn not my words, dear friend,
For, should you turn the page again,
Into darker nightmares we descend.
Nevermore
(A tribute to Edgar Allen Poe)
One moonlit night in late December,
How well that night I yet remember,
Shadows cast from dying ember,
Splashed across the floor.
Poe’s darkest volumes I did ponder,
And let my mind within them wander.
That’s when I found I had grown fond for
His lover, fair Lenore.
When sweet Lenore my heart did take.
Soon, like Poe, my heart did break.
It deeply ached, make no mistake.
How I adored Lenore!
“Fool,” said I, “this adoration,
Driven by imagination,
Cannot result in sweet elation.”
Yet, I craved her all the more.
“Fool!” I shouted to the rafter,
“Lenore long passed to the hereafter.”
Echos fell resembling laughter,
Fell to my chamber floor.
’Twas then Poe’s Raven came a-calling
A call that sent my skin to crawling.
A call that struck me so appalling,
Beyond my chamber door.
Before the door latch I could grab,
Inside it flew into my cabin.
Seemingly, keen knives did stab
Into my heart, I swore.
“Fiend,” said I, “What are you after,
Perched there, far up o’er my rafter,
Perched there in the chilly draft?
Where hail thee? From what shore?
“Sail thee from some unknown quarters
Thick with Devil’s dark supporters?
Be ye Satan’s soul transporter?
Say thee, I implore!
“Why linger you? What’s your intention?
Why this sudden intervention?
Why curse me with such apprehension,
Bird upon my door?
“Mention now, if you are willing.
This tension my poor heart is killing
&nbs
p; With suspense! What word so chilling
Wish ye to explore?
“Speak ye now, foul bird so near.
Say that word I do so fear
You came to share with me in here.
Say thee, ‘Nevermore.’”
This evil raptor at me stared.
With burning eyes at me it glared.
But “nevermore” was never shared.
My fear grew ever more.
“Tell me now, why wait you there?
What is this reason you won’t share
With me a word? Demon! Declare!
Remark thee, ‘Nevermore!’”
Still it sat there, darkly glaring.
Still it lingered, through me staring.
Saying nothing. Never sharing
The dark word, “nevermore.”
“Oh, feathered friend, why do you daunt me?
Befriend me now. Don’t haunt me so.
Know that I mean not to taunt thee.
Pray thee, share my cabin floor.”
It seems those words our fence had mended.
My softer voice, its heart befriended
’Tis then the deafening silence ended
From there above my door.
But “nevermore” remained repressed,
This term that had me so obsessed.
Low, from her breast, the bird expressed,
“I am Poe’s love, Lenore.
Now, fear me nevermore.”
Copyright 2012 James A. Brakken, author of THE TREASURE OF NAMAKAGON. BadgerValley.com
# # #
Like Magic
“May I have a volunteer from the audience?”
Hands snapped high into the air.
“You, miss. Yes … you. Please, join me on stage. Together we will astonish and thrill the audience with an amazing journey through the black, brackish alleyways of horror—a gaze into the eyes of Death himself.”
He took her hand as she stepped on to the stage. Some suspected she knew him. From behind the curtain came the device—a black, coffin-like box on wheels. The magician flipped the sides open, revealing nothing odd.
“Miss, if you please?”
She climbed in, a perfect fit for her petite frame. He closed the box, leaving exposed only her head and feet. The snap of the locks echoed in the now-silent auditorium.
“Ladies and gentlemen, observe,” he said, pulling a large, gleaming saw from below the crate. “No tricks. No gimmicks. No different than what your butcher uses daily to saw through muscle, sinew, and bone. I am about to do the same.”
With flair and a flip of his black, flowing robe, he spun on his heel, stepping behind the coffin. “And now, I fear, a murderous thing I do. So, say adieu to our fair miss.”
He started the cut. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Staring at the audience, she screamed and thrashed and screamed again, blood flowing below. As the show bill in the foyer had proclaimed, her performance that night proved to be the thrill of a lifetime. Back and forth went the gore-laden saw—back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
The audience sounded their delight. Perhaps this show would be worth the price of admission after all.
It was in the morning paper. A magician was found behind the old theater, bound and gagged. His costume, it seems, had been used in a crime—a ploy to seek retribution. The daughter of the vengeful imposter’s former business partner was the victim.
The police were baffled. The killer had vanished—like magic.
Copyright 2012 James A. Brakken, author of THE TREASURE OF NAMAKAGON. BadgerValley.com
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Thief of Dreams IV
You’ve survived, the storm-swept sea this far, and so,
Before the old man stirs,
You need to know
These dark visions will never really end.
Nor pain and grief, my friend,
Until all demons share with you their woe.
Our boat rocks to and fro.
As northward we now go.
The Ballad of the Ne’er Do Well Boys
Far up in the pin’ry they tell of a night
When ten hearty lumberjacks got in a fight.
Gather ’round people. My story I’ll tell
Of the boys from the lumber camp called Ne’er Do Well.
In the back room of the Sawmill Saloon
Sat Rusty O’Hara a-whistlin’ a tune,
Sharin’ a whisky and raisin’ some hell
With the boys from the lumber camp called Ne’er Do Well.
Now the Ne’er Do Well boys were a rough-tumble bunch
Who drank, cussed, and gambled and, I’ve got a hunch
Would stand close beside, if you needed them there
But showed you no mercy if your dealin’ warn’t square.
Now a fella named John Bob, he pulled up a stool
And tossed in his ante, this Norwegian fool.
The Ne’er Do Well boys, their eyes couldn’t believe
When he dealt from the bottom with cards up his sleeve.
Rusty O’Hara was first man to speak.
He said, “Johnny Bob, now, we weren’t born last week.
We see that you’re fixin’ to swindle away
From Ne’er Do Well lumberjacks their hard-earned pay.”
“Them’s fightin’ words, mister,” ol’ John Bob did shout.
That’s when our boy Rusty punched him in the snout.
Out onto the street these big brawlers did go,
A-punchin’ and a-fightin’ in two feet of snow.
By a boot John got waffled, right square on the chin.
He spit out two teeth, then stood with a grin.
You’ll have to do better, you Ne’er Do Well men.
I ain’t bound to let you knock me down again.
They fought and they floundered with snow underneath.
John Bob lost an ear lobe to Ole’s old teeth.
Swede, Pete, and Elmer next got in their licks.
Them Ne’er Do Well boys they don’t put up with tricks.
They wrestled and battled up and down the street.
But John Bob kept gettin’ back up on his feet.
They fought all that night long and into the day,
When Rusty said, “Boys, I got something to say.”
“Any man willin’ to fight through the night
’Gainst ten other men, right through to daylight,
Is certainly worthy of respect from me
And the Ne’er Do Well boys in the big pinery.”
“So if you quit swindlin’ and cheatin’ at cards,
We’ll share us a whisky and all become pards.
Oh, John Bob, you’re all right so come sit a spell
With the boys from the lumber camp called Ne’er Do Well.
Now, in the back room of the Sawmill Saloon
Sits John Bob a-tryin to whistle a tune,
Sharin’ a whisky and raisin’ some hell
With his newly found friends from the camp, Ne’er Do Well.
Copyright 2012 James A. Brakken, author of THE TREASURE OF NAMAKAGON. BadgerValley.com
Namakagon and the Great Makwaa
(Excerpt from Chapter 8 of THE TREASURE OF NAMAKAGON
Copyright 2012 James A. Brakken, BadgerValley.com)
A coal-black raven flew above the hunter and his prey, calling out an alarm. The huge bear, this great makwaa, did not heed the bird’s warning.
Namakagon’s blood pounded in his ears as the bear, much larger than he had previously thought, came closer and closer. A slight breeze on his face assured him the bear would not catch his scent. But it did catch the smell of the venison suet he had set for bait. The bear looked in every direction, but poor eyesight prevented it from seeing the motionless hunter who knelt behind the balsam blind a short distance away.
Chief Namakagon's bow was now fully drawn. When the bear reached the point directly below the suet, it stopped. T
he hunter's heart was pounding harder and harder now, but he could not shoot. The angle was wrong. He might only wound the great animal if the arrow hit the bony shoulder rather than entering the chest. He waited in silence at full draw, arms trembling.
The bear sniffed the air, looked up, and saw the suet above him. He stood on his hind legs, his belly and great black chest facing the chief, not ten steps away. The hunter put more tension on the bowstring, took final aim, then relaxed the fingers of his strong right hand.
Just as the enormous bear plucked the tallow from the branch, the arrow flashed through the crisp, morning air.
Namakagon’s eyes opened wide as he watched the giant makwaa charge straight at him. The bow fell from his hand as he reached for his knife but, before he could pull it, the great bear crashed through his balsam blind and bounded across, smashing him to the ground below its huge front paws.
(Author’s note: Although fiction, this excerpt from Chapter 8 of THE TREASURE OF NAMAKAGON is based on a true-life experience.)
Are you next?
A troll’s friendship is so hard to earn.
His visitors often do learn
The bones scattered there
Around the troll’s lair,
Are from those who will never return.
Oh, Shanty Boy
Oh, shanty boy,
You don’t know how I fear for thee,
Out in the cold
And snowy pinery.
From dawn to dark
You risk your very life for me.
I pledge to you,
Your love I’ll always be.
Beyond farm fields
Wisconsin’s pines they called to you.
All winter long
You slave your life away
To keep our farm
From banker’s hands. That’s all you do.
Dollar-a-day is what the bosses pay.
Majestic pines,
They stretch almost to heaven’s door.