Moonrise CH20 – Insignificant Other

Things are not always what they seem. Are we getting a glimpse at the mad scientist?

Article 94


[1078 words – Inspiration Monday, #3WW, Sunday Scribblings 2]It took longer than was needed for Doctor Globe’s motorcade to reach its destination. Globe sighed more than once as his driver stopped to allow the ambulances to catch up to the limousine. Onlookers were kept at bay from the compound with the double fence and razor wire, but each gap between vehicles allowed the crowd to flow back across the gate. Globe’s men corralled the people away from the road and allowed the ambulances to follow.

Once inside the lab, Globe again had to wait. The bodies had to be prepped before entering the impromptu “morgue” his team built a few days before securing the “bodies.” Despite the sterile whiteness of the small tent hidden in the basement space next to his lab, the Madison Park Massacre victims emanated a pale blue light that seemed to shine brighter…

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Moonrise CH19 – Motivation

Ah, classy villains and their deep, dark secrets. What’s Globe doing under the surface?

Article 94


[1140 Words – Inspiration Monday, #3WW, Sunday Scribblings 2] A trembling blond woman pounded her palms against the rear window of the limousine. She couldn’t see Doctor Globe through the tinted windows, but her bulging, teary eyes stared at him nonetheless. Globe studied her for some time. She was one of the parents who were unfortunate to have lost their children to the “Madison Butcher.” Globe imagined she blamed herself for letting her little boy or girl, he couldn’t remember which, out that day in the care of some friend of hers. Now her child was gone, and she was demanding of the good doctor with those sorrowful eyes that he return her child through some magic medicinal trick. Globe got bored of her deaf mumbles, her voice inaudible in the general cacophony surrounding his car. A member of the facility security team pulled her away and…

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The Year of the Heddagh – Chapter 10

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9


The peck on his cheek was warm and sweet coming with a breath carrying beer. Knox smiled at the touch and his eyes caught the girl. He wandered away from the loud music, the speakers entering a dull retreat as he separated from his friends and followed her like a hitchhiker in the dark.

“Is this were you live?” He asked her giving in to the tight pull of her fingers on his wrist.

“No, just a place to stay,” she called back as she shrugged off her jacket. He lingered on the way her accent whispered his name, sounding more foreign, ancient almost. “Come, Knox”. She put her leg against the small balcony and propped herself up her belly pressed tightly onto the rail. Knox watched her pale hair spill down her shoulders, a mischievous glint in her grey eyes turned black by the night. He heard the shatter of glass muffled by her jacket.

“What are you waiting for?” She hissed through an amused giggle.

What was he waiting for really? He wanted to object but her frame disappeared inside the engulfing dark and he rushed to catch the tips of her pale fingers reaching from inside the shadows.

He fought to be nearer to her flushed skin. Her fingers became claws on his back, her teeth razor sharp grazing against his skin. Knox forgot to ask her name.

In the small Austrian house the early morning was a lazy bluish filter and Knox shivered, wrapping his clothes tighter around his frame. She had watched him sleep before disappearing abandoning him in a stranger’s home. Not wanting to lose the memory of her and the previous night Knox. He stumbled into the living room finding it empty just like the rest of the house. He wondered whether its owner was among the many celebrating through the night on the town’s square. The small space spoke of someone elderly; some millennial dust had settled down on the dark wooded furniture. The room was filled with newspapers and books stacked in piles by the fireplace. Knox fumbled through some meeting unknown authors with unknown subjects. He let the last book slip through his fingers, his eyes caught by something different. An oddity.

His hand reached for the unprotected strange statue atop the mantelpiece above the fireplace. He pried it free from its enclosure, tiny bones, dried thistle, feathers. The tips of his gloved fingers glided on the smooth back of the deer creature. He slipped the glove off wriggling his fingers free. There was a certain warmth to it, a weight which beat against his bare skin. Like a heartbeat, Knox thought smiling at the soothing motions his fingers were playing against the thistled, horned head. The red eyes bore into his own, and for a split second he thought of taking it with him like a souvenir. He measured its value by his need to own it like a remnant of her, of Austria in the fall with all its mist and might. Eyebrows furrowed Knox halted his hand midair into putting the totem in his pocket. Something deep in him stirred, a memory of something awful resurfacing.

He gagged at the sudden pain sharpening his bones, prickling his skin. There were pale blue eyes pinned against his own, the words of an old man banging at his skull. Knox retreated his hand palm closing on thin air. He couldn’t bring himself to take the totem. Subliminally he knew that once in a different life he had also taken it and held it but the memory was brief and enlisted in painful imagery that he forgot the instant. In his hungover clumsiness he left the tiny house the way she had led him in.


On the other side of time in the continuum flowing with godly tears Freyr cast a small shadow among his brethren. They were voiceless for him though their mouths screamed and their faces contorted in anger that was both primal and full of vigor. Hermóðr and Ítreksjóð stood among them their faces still as carved of stone but they judged nonetheless. When he walked they averted their eyes, ashamed to see the betraying son and brother depart them.

The Goyar shot his one full eye at the old man as waited for Freyr on the steps of time. His glint was dulled but it re-sparkled when Freyr, the first son moved beside the beast to be led away.


The Year of the Heddagh – Chapter 9

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8



On some nights Knox could hear soft whistles and quiet purrs but they drowned out into the mute landscape as soon as the Goyar sniffed out his trail. Knox would then pick his makeshift spear and zigzag through the terrain.

He walked miles cowering in the shadow of misshapen red rocks raised from a perfectly still ground until the growling stopped and he was lost again on the crisscrossing sandstone trail painted by his own legs.

He would then sit long hours watching the stars and the comets and each day they seemed nearer to his face, a cold burn applied to his blistered, paper-thin skin.

In the beginning Knox had spent hours talking to himself recollecting names and faces, events and music, especially music. He hummed Springsteen, the last record available in the space of his rapidly vacant growing mind. The trips down memory lane had him reeling in sadness and fear that he was going to lose touch with his world. He hung to those emotions until they became numb and distant. Because after all Knox wasn’t attached to anything. He was nameless, faceless, worldless and for that he wasn’t allowed ownership of any memories. He abandoned them along with his voice.

Knox grew accustomed to being watched. He was glad when he spotted one of Latobius’s children. They cowered from him during the night, but in daylight he caught glimpses of some of them – the bore glared at him with mars red eyes, almost indistinguishable with its near skinless body behind pale bushes. The raven was a spot in the sky but on occasion it circled low enough for Knox to see it with its featherless wings, a mice dangling from its fractured beak. The arctic fox shivered tailless and blind, its eyes milky white and runny but following him nonetheless. He shivered when it licked its puss oozing snarl and snapped at him before running away like a ghost.

At first Knox had tried to hunt them driven by his primal need to feed. He drove his spear at random, poking deep grass and shallow lakes. Then he had lost their trail altogether and called at them to find him again just so he wouldn’t wander all alone. But they never came to him and if they watched he never saw their eyes. Soon enough the picturesque aspect disappeared, flora giving way to a perpetual milky white mist crawling low and cruel. It drove him deeper where the ground was rough and rocky and the soil was ashen. Knox cackled into the everlasting night at how Freyr had tricked him with the sublime vision. Watching it now through tired eyes he saw what the true skin of the place was – Norricum, a true wasteland of burial sites, crushed skeletons to a fist full of dust, blown by his parched lips. It put him nowhere at all times. Pre-built cairns marked some pre-drawn road seemingly luring him to where he was supposed to go. Obedient, Knox followed it.

But Norricum was also a true labyrinthine land. It had him lost many times, his inner compass spinning like mad. All places were alike, a storm of dust racing at his feet. He walked blindly propping his weight against the spear for support, becoming a nomad, a scavenger. He performed his small ritual of walking, stopping, sleeping, listening, always listening for the Goyar and then running. Until his feet found wet soil and he marveled at the sound the splash his boots made and he exhaled at how they sank into soft sand. Knox found himself at the bank of a much larger lake he hadn’t seen before. It was in sharp contrast to the wind carried white sands that had been his home till now shimmering below a small snow peaked mountain range. Knox allowed himself a toothy smile at the coolness drifting from the clear ice instantly bringing freshness to his dusty face. Then as the cool became a sharp cold he realized the draft was something different, a distant calling.

He gingerly stepped on slippery ice, skidding himself across the transparent surface to that long awaited closure he had been avoiding whilst walking straight towards it. Knox accepted that it was the time when he would know a different providence than the one predetermined for him by entities he now spat at carelessly. He barred his teeth at the lowest of them resurfacing pain and repulsion to the top of his being. His voice snapped like a falling thunder when he bellowed its name. In the furthest section of the lake the Goyar Heddagh, the spirit god of the mountain waited an inhuman smirk painted on his dark face.

Knox steadied himself, his bent back straightening as he stood as tall as any human could against the beast that had tricked him on his path and found the end before him.


The gentle penetration of the voice inside his skull once again weakened any strength from Knox. It robbed him of any strength Freyr had bestowed upon him to free himself of this imprisonment. The towering spirit inched closer to Knox scenting him full, tasting that defeat, a prelude to many flesh stripping meals he was about to receive with Knox’s downfall. Tasting what his own bones snapping in the mouth of the Heddagh would feel like Knox let his eyes drop. A fragment of something caught his attention and he leaned in.

The Goyar hummed an amused appreciation, drawing Knox by the collar into his embrace. But Knox had seen the secret the Heddagh was hiding, the narrow opening in the rock full of whispers and life. His eyes widened in ludicrous excitement and he pulled back as much as he could oppress the draw of the Goat.

Knox tightened the grasp on his spear. The jagged bone serving as its tip caught the Goyar’s green eyes and he bellowed a laugh, perplexed at the sudden change of mood. Knox stuck his tongue out licking parched lips. Trough breathy gasps Knox relearned how to speak fully in the tongue of his people.

“You will not win over me. I will not be yours to sacrifice you fucking demon!”

Knox probed with the spear shifting his weight into it and jamming it at the Goyar. The jagged tip grazed the Goyar’s left nipple and he stumbled back releasing Knox to cradle the loose skin seeping black blood. The second the distraction gave Knox enough space to slip past the Goyar’s grabbing hands he took it and slipped inside the cavern. Green light exploded behind him accompanied by the monstrous roar devoid of anything human now.

Knox slid down the steep throat scraping his palms on sharp rocks and wet moss. His foot caught and he flipped over tumbling down head over heels. In the spinning fall he caught glimpses of the Goyar ramming his shoulder into the opening creating tremors along the roof of the cave until it caved in and he too tumbled down the slope in a heap of rolling rocks. Cold water embraced Knox’s body when it hit the base of the cave. His mouth wiped at the shallow pool before he picked himself up, hand reaching for the prostrate spear by his side. Clutching it tightly to his chest Knox rushed away searching with trembling fingers against the wet rock of the cave. The Goyar stampeded behind him, the angry roar deafening.

Knox led the way into the dark, arms wide open to measure the wall, left hand tapping the rock with the bone spear, the right searching, hoping for an opening he could craw through. Instead his feet slipped, his ankle twisting sharply and he banged his body shoulder first into the rock. Groaning he shuffled forward his hands involuntarily retreating from the wide stretch of the cave to a much narrower one, where his shoulders braced against both walls of the sleeve. Knox panicked, thinking himself wedged in the tight space with the Goyar at his back. Ahead he could see a tight gap greying against the black, but it proved unreachable.  When he could walk no further, his body caught in the tight embrace of the corridor, Knox began banging the spear between top and bottom, the slow motions of his wrist hoping to disrupt the ceiling. Knox caught on the idea of being buried by a mass of stone, him and the Goyar together.


Knox cranked his head around as much as his entrapment allowed him. His mouth hung agape. The Goyar’s horned skeleton head floated unattached beside him, his muscular body abandoned somewhere behind. His green eye, huge and lacking the sliced pupil, jumped from Knox to the spear. Like two flames they illuminated the tunnel. A low, deep throated hum of understanding passed through the Goyar to Knox.


The Heddagh inched his head and rammed his horns at the back of Knox. He emitted a shriek that died in his mouth when the Goyar repeated the motion, golden tipped horns piercing through meat and bone. The scream died in his mouth as soon as his spine snapped inwards. Warmth spilled inside him filling his cavities with the foul taste of metal. His body went lax, shoulders dropping. The Goyar went wild at the scent of sacrificial blood and banged his head against walls and ceiling.

Knox bounced off the wall when Goyar rammed him again in his triumph. The harsh bump unleashed by the goat sent Knox through the gap in a storm of shattering rocks. He tumbled down an incline, a ragdoll devoid of motion. Above the sound of blood pumping out loud and terrifying in his ears Knox could hear something else. He urged his eyes to find the source. A waterfall of nebulas and planets cascaded peacefully into an abyss streaming below the map of the world. Knox found his voice again to emanate a throaty whimper. The lulling of the cosmic concerto brought tears to his eyes.

The Goyar slipped a skeleton body thin and tall through the crack. His beautiful horns were chipped from the hammering.


Knox stared into the abyss as smooth as water and as welcoming as silk. He reached a hand to touch it but the Goyar jerked him back and held him high above the whirlpool.

“IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT?” Knox felt his body dangled like a toy. His head hung low, lolling back and forth as the Goat shook him. Home was so close, this nightmare done. Knox struggled for his release still alive by the twisted mercy of the Heddagh. The beast laughed as he pulled back taking Knox with him. He spun the man around, his large hand encircling Knox’s waist where his guts were already mashed. He fought more vibrantly wriggling in the tight grasp. He could hear Home. He could recognize voices and noises seeping into Norricum casting him a rope to grab and hold on to.


Knox allowed a crooked grin to play on his smashed lips. He mouthed the words back returning them to the Heddagh.  He would not be a clay man, molded to destruction by gods, nor will he be the Goyar’s to gnaw on for eternity. His lax arm shot aiming for the Goyar’s right eye. His fingers dug at its core and the Goyar reeled back shaking his head. His free hand snapped at Knox scraping at his face and torso but Knox just shifted his palm, digging thumb and forefinger under the glimmering neon eyeball. He pressed as hard as he could, pulling it out, spooning it of its socket. The Goyar howled, his grip on Knox loosening.

 Knox hit the black universal chasm dipping head first into it.



Moonrise CH18 – Stealth

Decisions, decisions, decisions! Can Betty be stealthy enough when there are FBI eyes on her?

Article 94


[1015 Words – Inspiration Monday]Betty fumbled for a good lie to tell Felix – something that wouldn’t put Massey in the spotlight, but the Muse’s revenge was complete. The lie, a little white lie, slipped out of her mouth with shocking ease. Betty lowered her voice and stepped toward Felix. “I mixed up some of the evidence earlier. I screwed up really bad, Felix.”

Felix sighed. “I’m sure that if you explain your error to the lead FBI agent, they won’t file any formal charges on you.”

“The bag has my name on it, Felix. You saw how the feds came in and basically chased everyone away. I can lose my badge here. Come on, Felix, all I need is two minutes inside the office. Two minutes. I’ll be in your debt.”

Betty reached for Felix’s hand and gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. She knew he liked…

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The Year of the Heddagh – Chapter 8

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7


When Knox came to be a bug irritated his eye, a black speck on his iris enlarging into a blur as he stared at it not blinking, till the inside of his eyeball started itching. He blinked and the bug buzzed away. He reanimated and sat up, pale dust settling around him. He scraped some of it in his fist and it crunched inaudibly like a handful of tiny bones would.

He gritted fragments between forefinger and thumb listening to the Goyar’s booming voice somewhere almost above, almost in the sky. It was human and then it was animalistic, a loud below that was both angry and amused. Knox coughed and the air became audible with his being, eyelids fluttering, heart beating, throat swallowing.

A rustling startled him but it was only a dead animal. It limped out on three legs, a pale stag. He stared at Knox long with his bug-filled sockets, translucent bodies wriggling in a hive. Knox thought whether the stag was some sort of God too, with stars glaring once in his eyes from a depthless darkness. The animal emanated a weak echo, a lone weep and shook its bald head seeping out some of the parasite worms infesting his frail body. Knox stood and shook himself, a Lazarus and watched the stag’s skeleton body amble away, despite its cripple kicking at the bone white earth. When he looked down he saw that where he stood the dust was a shade of red. Vermillion, Knox thought not sure where he knew the name from.

The last thing he remembered was falling off An Teallach with the Goat spirit staring into him.  It felt like a lifetime ago, the push just a mere whisper on his skin. There had been another touch almost a violent pull. That grasp he felt on his forearm like a bruise.

 “I hope it doesn’t hurt too much,” a voice behind Knox spoke softly.

Turning, Knox’s voice caught in his throat until he found it again lost under his tongue, behind his teeth, revoked by the inability to comprehend everything. It sounded hoarse when he spat out the single word.


The white-haired man who was Freyr turned his bearded grey face into a smile, but the ice never left his piercing eyes.

“Hello, Knox.”

 “Where am I?” Knox asked, his voice a quiet whisper.

Freyr’s whole face frowned. He looked to the sky and Knox followed his gaze. It was an endless blackness that domed overhead, starless and lightless, just nothingness. Knox shivered from that universal draft.

“Somewhere we can talk in private. You are safe for now.”

“Why?” Knox tried to ask, but it came so quietly he barely heard himself. He cleared his throat determined to be the first to speak. The stranger waited patiently. “Why did he come for me? I don’t understand,” he admitted.

“I think you do. You came all the way here after all, even though unconsciously still searching for the Goyar. Why would you do that if you didn’t feel the need to be weighted, measured? Forgiven?” Freyr suggested.

Knox hid his face behind sweaty, bruised palms and shivered with the guilt that had lived under his skin gnawing at his soul and purpose making him transparent. His fingers fumbled at his frozen clothes as he took them off and showed the old man the scars on his body forming words in a language he could never read. Now Knox looked upon himself and he knew that to be the language of Gods. He was branded a murderer, a sinner.

 “Gods are funny like that,” Freyr offered, his voice calloused, his face deep-set with wrinkles.

“That’s what you said before, on the bridge. Is this a joke to them? Pain? My life destroyed? What am I to them, why do I matter?”

Knox was crying but the earth he stood on couldn’t emanate a sympathetic echo; it responded with silence. He couldn’t cry truly here in this place devoid of natural sounds.

“Walk with me,” Freyr gestured, hands clasped behind his back.

Knox followed the older man. The narrow red path led further down in a twisted decline spiraling around a bone pale mountain. Sandstone rocks jutted from the slippery ground and Knox put a hand against the smooth wall of the new mountain to support himself. He was astounded how his footsteps made no sound but that of his companion did. It made him feel like a grey shadow.

“The Heddagh is immemorially old, Knox. He is wretched because of his existence – he is a spirit that never truly became a God. He has his own ghosts dwelling in him, tormenting him. Blood remembers, and his is thicker than any. The Gods have thought a ritual, something sacred turned gruesome and messy, to show you a world where no mortal has any right, where the only truth is violence and the dead need no fantasy but the truth of their precious worthlessness, and incomplete lives. Yours for example they think such.”

“That doesn’t explain why I’m to be sacrificed. What have I done to these Gods? They are not my Gods either…”

Freyr nodded, snow white strands of hair falling in his eyes.

“That is part he reason.” His cyclone of an eye twitched at Knox’s direction. There was part rage, part understanding there. “The Goyar hates humanity. They never gave him any recognition beyond a simple myth. He hates the Gods as passionately for never accepting him, but he cannot harm them. It hasn’t happened in eons for one of your kind to cross the line. The Goyar is excited to perform his duty. For him and for them it is like revenge. It reinvigorates their passion for war and bloodshed.  No deity would ever obstruct the Goyar Heddagh from doing justice to you even though they would never recognize his contribution.”

Knox nodded understanding. He had seen as much in the eyes of the towering beast, how it looked upon him with both amusement and anger. It couldn’t wait to crush him, the satisfaction readable in its neon green eyes.

Lost in thought the sudden transition had Knox off balance and he bent his knees to the new ground. An expanding forest of white pine trees opened before them. Freyr moved nonchalantly but Knox took time to comprehend it. It smelt of burned wood, not a trace of pine clinging to the impossibly tall trees extending into the blackness their tips unseen. Knox hurried to catch up with Freyr.

“I could try and reason with them – both the Gods and the Goyar. They made some mistake. I can’t be just thrown to the dogs. I don’t want to die!”

Fryer quirked his perfectly white eyebrow.

“They won’t care for what you have to say, Knox because you don’t have a say in this. They’ve already decided. You took one of us, by accident I know, but it delivered a great damage to their old souls. They wept for days. You should see Gods cry, Knox. It’s transcending.”

“I took one…I don’t understand.”

Knox stopped below the white pines. Freyr stood beside him and when Knox looked at him questioningly he saw the man towering above him watching him intensely. He followed the blue eyes of the man to his hand and instructed with willpower his palm to open free. Inside he was clutching a small wooden beast. He rolled it in his palm feeling the smooth stomach, the pointed horns, the jagged beard, the encircling thistle. He brought it to his nose and breathed in the fresh scent of the forest, pine and the piquant almondy of the wild flower. It was cool against his lips, the sharp cold rush of the mountain rivers. He kissed it tasting the salt of his rolling tears. The eyes of the creature on its very human face were painted red dots that bore into him with a questioning look. He remembered then.

 “It was very precious to the man you stole it from,” Freyr said moving in to take the totem from his hand. He led numb Knox out of the forest passage and the man exhaled at the sight hurtful to his eyes and yet impossible to avert from.

He could only describe it as serene to the lazy gliding eye. To the east a large lake circled in the belly of a low mountain hill. Its waters were covered with a thick layer of ice that made the slowly dying light of a thousand falling stars above glide over it and fall into the small cracks along its length losing itself there. The white wilderness that surrounded the otherwise barren land was a blind spot in Knox’s mind and he blinked the brightness away and instead stared at its periphery, white giving way to crimson. It was dark there, the colors pulling away to an almost black leading to other lost lands bellowing to other lost faces and names. He hurried to escape from that dreaded color. Beneath his shoes the bones made fragile by time itself crunched loudly.

Freyr sat by the shimmering lake. He picked a stick and prodded the ice with it, breaking the thin crust at its shallow. Knox joined him on the white beach.

“Tell me more,” he pleaded sitting cross-legged opposite the white-haired stranger.

“The old man worshiped a dying religion, one that belonged to his father and grandfather, and grand-grand-fathers and was the last to do so. Latobius was a small deity but he was loved and respected. When you took this totem there was no item to pray to, no face to see, to connect. His faith didn’t die true, but his spirituality did. You broke the man, you broke the god. And both died on that night. Gods are not supposed to perish like that Knox.”

“You are one of them. Why are you helping me then?”

Freyr turned his face to the mountain erupting above the lake. It was the same mountain they had come down from, Knox noticed but it made no difference now. He watched the frown on the old God’s face, the wrinkles deep and many.

“I remember a time when your kind was all we had, we the first ones. Then you moved along and new ones came. It is the way. My blood, we try to retain past pride and it has eaten at our souls. You are the first in this lifetime to be brought before judge and jury – the Goyar. All to satisfy the bloodlust, to wash away the humiliation. I cannot stand by that. It is not my way. I hold no grudge for you and your sins.”

Knox tilted his head his eyes bloodshot.

“When can I go home? You told me I was safe. If I’m still here they didn’t murder me, neither did the Goyar. You saved me.”

The glaciers in the stranger’s deep set eyes melted into pools of gloomy blue when his lips parted and he spoke.

“This is home now.”

Freyr looked past Knox to the wasteland that stretched everywhere.

“Norricum, the land of Latobius. His children dwell it but they fear the smell of you and they fear the bellow of the Goyar even more. He will come and you will move, make no mistake in that. I saved this precious time to talk to you. Now he will chase and you will run.”

“Forever?” Knox was pleading. He looked back to where they had come and for the first time saw the red sandstone making its way through the white terrain, marking the way to him. His shoulders slumped in surrender knowing the Goyar will forever know where he goes. He was anchored in this continuum, cursed to dwell there with no name and no heritage, no history or future. The Goyar was to be his shadow forever following and no God would intrude on that game. They cared not for the man without faith, the thief and murderer.

“Until the times comes,” Freyr stood up and squeezed his shoulder. “It’s not over yet for you. This sets a beginning. I spared you millennial death, son. It is up to you to repent.”


Freyr shook his head. “I do not know. When the time comes you will know it yourself.”

Knox lolled back to his feet, his voice in shaking horror. “What if I don’t?”

The Goyar’s crushing below erupted into the stillness of the continuum. Knox could hear his hoofed footsteps, could see the glimmer of his poison green eye through the white net of the jutting trees.

Freyr shook him from his motionless fear. “Run now Knox, run!”

And Knox, the mute and abandoned caveman ran.

To be continued…Last chapter coming 16.09.16!

Moonrise CH17 – Son of a Glitch

A new face takes on a hard task. Officer Betty Patterson reporting for duty!

Article 94


“Officer Patterson, I need you to take the Miles Jensen file with you and the tapes from the CCTV before they’re delivered to the precinct.”

Massey’s words hammered in Betty’s head as she drove her cruiser after the black FBI Ford. She didn’t want to seem suspicious, more like an escort to her superior officers, so she kept a respectful distance, sirens off. Once they hit the main lane, Betty was going to swerve her vehicle and take a shortcut, avoiding the slow and cumbersome traffic, fast forwarding before the feds and arriving first at the precinct. That way she was going to receive the evidence on instructions by the head detective and the file would be out of FBI’s reach.

On a red light, a procession of bikers rounded Betty’s cruiser, their Harleys booming, and revving. They made a wall to Bettys left and right, and when the light…

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