The Family Wazoo in Montana

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Fer Pete's sake, don't leave out the bit about the tree that looks like a fish head!!!!!

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With their car broken down and abandoned some miles back at Skullbone Creek, Dave and Martha ambled wearily towards the old shack, seeking sanctuary from the piercing intensity of the midday sun. They were thirsty, exhausted and desperately hoping that someone would be at home and able to help.

As they approached their destination, they walked up a dusty old track lined with trees, whose life had been eroded long ago by the harshness of the arid landscape, and which looked as decrepit as the shack which was just ahead. Dave observed how the decaying bark of one tree resembled a fish head and another, rather terrifyingly, like the time-creased face of someone long dead, with its sinewy branches waving in the wind like outstretched arms, beckoning them forward further towards the shack. He had a bad feeling about this.

Arriving at the entrance, Dave knocked on the door and waited, but there was no reply, so he did so once more, but again was met with silence. The door of the shack was old and frail, and obviously not locked, as it suddenly gave way and opened with a loud creak. It was dark inside, as most of the windows were boarded up or just thick with cobwebs, and an acrid smell pervaded the air, rather like the bloody stench of animal carcasses hanging in an abattoir, causing Martha to gag. Dave, however, stifled his desire to vomit and pointed to a shaft of light coming from a room at the end of the corridor.

They could hear music playing and what sounded like a pot bubbling on a stove, so it appeared that someone was in. Both Dave and Martha felt very uneasy, and a terrible dread engulfed them as they made their way down the corridor towards the room, however such was the desperateness of their situation that they had no choice but to proceed......

To be continued ;)

Marco.

:popcorn:

You like?

Marco.

You should start a new thread...

Marco's chamber of horrors !:sofa:

Hehehe... Some twisted shit goes on in my head sometimes! :eyebrows:

This is one of my favourite films: http://home.swipnet.se/~w-20851/hemsida/trauma.htm

Watch alone in the dark on a wet and windswept night...

Marco.

Yes I would be up for this a sort of 3 words daily but continue a story.... It would need to stick to the genre and be done seriously...not as a piss take.


What do you guys think ?

Sorry Chris to divert your thread a bit.

Chris trees are fun...I saw a really weird one in Scotland in a grave yard...dead twisted and hardly a tree, more like a carved sculpture. I built this into a Doctor Who related story I am working on (I have a lot of writing projects on the go), its not about the Doctor, but set in the same reality/universe.

I'll post a picture shortly....see link http://theartofsound.net/forum/showt...5948#post45948.


Regards D S D L

Neil,

Why not continue my story here by supplying the next few paragraphs and I'll move our contributions to a separate thread? :)

I suspect you've got as warped and twisted a mind as I have... ;)

Marco.

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Originally Posted by Marco

Neil,

Why not continue my story here by supplying the next few paragraphs and I'll move our contributions to a separate thread? :)

I suspect you've got as warped and twisted a mind as I have... ;)

Marco.

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No problem.... I am off out for a walk along the sea front...I'll do it when I come back. This could/should be fun.


Regards D S D L

Excellent. Watch out for the Sea Devils!!! :eyebrows:

Marco.

sorry this is a bit late, and a bit more than a few paragraphs (I got carried away)....here goes.



As Dave's eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, small details feed his growing unease. The floor was covered in small piles of sand, grit and the tiny carcases off lots of rats. Some looked as if all their juices had been sucked out and others like they had been chewed on. Shaking his head Dave's mind presented him with logical answers, a dog had got into the shack or maybe other rats had done this. The shriveled up bodies had become desiccated through the effect of the deserts dry heat. And yet some where inside Dave's mind he knew this wasn't right.

The deep shadows that hung like shrouds over the decaying contents of the room seemed to grow lighter and deeper as he studied decades of neglect. Shafts of bright light speared the shade and little moats of dust rose and fell on invisible currents of air. Dave shivered.

“Martha wait here, I'll see if I can find out who lives here....okay ?” Dave looked into the eyes of his wife and he tried to reassure her with a smile. He did his best but he failed. His normal friendly, comforting trade mark which won over strangers and had attracted many girls in his youth, was not working. She looked scared.

“Please don't be long. I really don't think we should be here.”

“I'll be back in a few minutes. If no ones here we will go.” He smiled again and this time Martha seemed satisfied.

As Dave turned away and moved carefully towards the back of the room, trying not to step on any of the decaying debris, he could make out a long corridor stretching of into the bowls of the building. As he stepped into the corridor the smell seemed stronger, more putrid and it clawed at the back of his throat. He tried not to gag on it.

Moving forward again he noted that the floor was covered in thicker piles of dust and sand in the shadows it looked as if something had been dragged through it and down the length of the hall. Under his feet the floor felt soft, it gave slightly under each step. I hope the floor boards are sound ? Dave thought to himself, walking slowly, testing the floor each time before putting his full weight on it. The strange music which had been playing when they had entered this tired structure began again. There was no conventional tune, it was abstract and meandering, unearthly. The music, the hall and the foul smell was turning Dave's unease into outright fear. The situation Martha and he where in, forced him on. Many would have fled, but Dave continued, fighting to control the rising tide of terror that sought to engulf him.

At the end of the corridor a very ancient door stood slightly ajar. Its most recent colour was red but the peeling paint revealed many past faded colours. Strange growths of fungus covered the lower edges and parts of the wall surrounding the door frame. As Dave peered into the room beyond the door he put his hand on the wall and it felt soft and warm. He tried not to make a sound as his fingers slid into a patch of fungus, but the sensation of the wall giving under his hand along with the pungent odour that filled every breath sought to part him from the contents of his stomach. He placed his left hand over his mouth trying hard to hold the bile that rose in it back. He took a deep breath and looked into the room.

A soft glow illuminated the scene, beyond the door. The source of the light was an old oil lamp, its once white shade covered in dirt. The crack in the door only allowed Dave a narrow view of the rooms contents. An ancient wind up gramophone stood playing on a low table and in front of it a figure sat in a low chair. The mass that sat there gently moving was covered head to foot in sack cloth. Thick rope had been used to sew the sacks together. In many ways the clothing reminded Dave of the kind of clothes a monk might wear. Just as Dave was going to rap the door and say hello it moved and the movement seemed wrong. Something about the movements under the brown fabric was just plain wrong, almost inhuman. With mounting horror Dave stood transfixed as the unnatural movement increased. He suddenly noticed that the music was growing in volume and the jerking undulations seemed to match the alien sounds that the music had become.

Dave's mind screamed run, but he could not. He stood gazing at the brown shape on the chair, held under some influence he was only slightly aware of. His eyes widened and the scream that sought to rip from his throat failed, transformed to a dry rattle. From under the bottom edge of the sack cloth a long shape uncoiled slowly like a long snake. It was scaly and glistening and the stench grew as it slid onto the dusty floor and jerked in time with the rising discordant noise, that drifted out of the age tarnished speaker horn; attached to the gramophone. Dave's voice returned as he gasped. The figure turned and a hood that had hidden the head slipped back........


Regards D S D L