R.S.Bass is writing

SFF writer haunting the woods and quiet places in the southern U.S. [email protected]

[R.S.Bass is writing @RSBasswrites]

#vss365
Sweat slicking her hair to her face and nape, she hadn’t meant to cross into the field. Even now, realizing what she was doing, she couldn’t stop. The corn was only waist high, the green leaves rasping and itching at her as she walked down the row toward the clearing in the middle she’d seen from the house.

Maybe it was some dogma she’d never realized. Or some preternatural itch tripping down her spine, but dread was beginning to try and claw its way to the surface. And not just dread, a real, visceral fear.

The scarecrow’s arms were stretched over the cross the wooden poles formed, his arms, neck, middle, and legs bound with heavy coils of rope. An excessive amount as if to be absolutely sure he stayed put. Bits of hay jutted out from the crude stitching holding him together.

It was the face, though that held her eyes. Someone had spent an unbelievable amount of time shaping and sewing the mismatched leather until it wasn’t just a caricature of a man. That face was all too human, black glass shining from under carefully shaped eyelids. Her skin crawled as the fading sun glittered on that glass, giving the illusion of movement. The mouth was downturned into a moan, lips slightly parted and the corners of the mouth stitched with the same, heavy black thread that joined rest of the patchwork together.

Without thought, she reached out to touch the back of the leather hand, surprised at how hard and sun-warm it was. The crude black stitches were rough under her fingers as she trailed them over his thumb.

“What are you doing out-oh, jeez.” Chloe’s voice behind her snapped her out of her horrified staring. Broke the spell rooting her in place and let her snatch her hand back guiltily. “What the hell was wrong with your uncle?”

“I don’t think he made him,” she said, voice low. As if afraid the scarecrow might hear, as silly as it was. “He looks ancient.”

“Was your uncle a little serial killery? Maybe it’s a mummified drifter stuffed full of hay.” Chloe’s own voice dipped, matching her own whisper. “Or several drifters cobbled together.”

Shuddering, she peered up at that too human face in morbid curiosity. She could see something in his mouth. “I think there’s teeth in there.”

“No. Nope.” Chloe caught her arm, nails digging in to pull. “I know I said I’d crash in the guest room, but I’m getting a hotel. You should come with. We can burn that thing in the morning.”

Black glass eyes stared down at her, lifting the fine hair along her arms. As crazy as it was, she was certain that the scarecrow was listening. Chloe tugged at her again and she let herself be pulled back to the house.

But she kept glancing back. Making sure nothing was following them.

[R.S.Bass is writing @RSBasswrites]

#vss365
Sighing at the disbelieving look on his friend’s face, he points with a piece of broccoli. “Look, it’s none of your business if I want to be a little healthier and go vegan, so don’t give me that look.”

“Yes, but-”

“No buts,” he interrupts, aggressively taking a bite and gesturing with the rest of the stalk. “I make my own decisions.”

“Yes, but you’re a werewolf. Whoever heard of a vegetarian werewolf? It’s like sacrilege.” And his friend watches him chew. “Does that even taste good?”

Not really, no. But it’s the principle of the thing. That he not just some mindless #predator. That instinct doesn’t define him. And he’ll be damned if he lets that smug woman in HR be right that werewolves have no self control. “Tastes like eating grass,” he admits, choking it down. Maybe he could just eat the HR lady, sure it will cause an interspecies incident, but she’s had it out for him since day one. Anti-werewolf in this day and age? “Think anyone would notice if Barbara went missing?”

“I think they’d cheer.”

[R.S.Bass is writing @RSBasswrites]

#toxic
Arm over his head stretching, his lip curls slightly when he stumbles around a #toxic, oil slick puddle. “You see this mess? You’d think someone would clean it up.”

“Who’s going to clean it up? You?” His buddy laughs, boots splashing through the mess to spatter on his pant leg.

“You just walk right through it, then?” He mutters, shaking his head.

“Don’t pretend like it doesn’t feel good.” Head turning to frown at his friend, his nose wrinkles as a tentacle uncoils from under the back hem of his shirt. “It’s like one of those surprise capsules, you know? See, I wasn’t expecting another tentacle. Thought maybe I’d get some wings like that guy in my apartment building.”

“Hate that guy.”

“Oh, yeah. Thinks he’s so great cause he’s got wings. Can’t even fly.”

[R.S.Bass is writing @RSBasswrites]

#vss365
“You know what’s freaky? #Narwhals.” He mutters, nursing his bottle as the little boat bobs fitfully on the waves, tasting salt when his lips brush his bottle. Feels it crusting in his beard as he salutes at his companion, his drink slashing into his lap. “Fish with a horn.”

“Really? That’s where you draw the line? Not, say, giant squids? They’re not fish, by the way,” his companion says, leaning their arms against the side of the boat and he scowls. “Well, they’re not,” they say, tone becoming petulant.

“You know what I meant,” he growls and they flip their hair over their shoulder to fling salt water in his face before throwing themselves backwards to disappear. Damn mermaids, always so sensitive about everything. “Shows what you know, fish. Ain’t no such thing as giant squids!” He yells at the ocean, leaning to dip his bottle into the water and fill it again, using a booted foot to shove against his other foot trapped under the ruin of his little ship’s mast as the ocean plays, tossing the ship about.

[R.S.Bass is writing @RSBasswrites]

#vss365
Maybe there’s a threshold to horror. A limit to how much can be dealt with. Because somehow she falls asleep and doesn’t dream of whatever she’d seen. By morning she can go back to pretending everything is alright. She’d imagined it, because somehow coming back here has summoned all the childhood fears. There’s monsters in every shadowy corner.

It’s raining fitfully as she wanders into the kitchen and gets some coffee going. Hating that she lingers at the window and searches the tree line. Knowing nothing is there, but still feeling that buzz of nerves and breathless anxiety until she reassures herself that there really is nothing out there. No movement. Even if the feel of being watched lingers and her skin prickles with it.

[R.S.Bass is writing @RSBasswrites]

#vss365 #fantasy
Retreating back to the bed, she scoots into the middle, legs drawn up. She’d always thought of dealing with her mother as a type of altruism. Charity tempered by pity and that old anger she’d never been able to shake.

It’d never occurred to her that the monsters might be real. Straining for any sound outside aside from the stupid bells, she wonders if it’s still out there stalking around. Looking for a way into the house. The doors are all locked. She’s not sure about the windows, but can’t make herself move to check either. Too paralyzed with a visceral fear unlike anything she’s ever felt. Outside the bells ring even though there’s no breeze and her skin crawls. Wide eyes searching every shadow in the room, as she argues with herself. She’d saw something, but not a monster. A trick of the darkness even if every cell of her being screams that it was.

[R.S.Bass is writing @RSBasswrites]

#vss365 #fantasy
Maybe like her mother, there’s an #affinity for the strange in her. For mad, irrational thoughts, because looking down at whatever that is, she can’t convince herself it’s just an animal. A stray dog, a coyote, or bear.

Because there’s an overwhelming certainty that this is none of those things even though it’s only a darker blackness in the shadows. There’s an impression of limbs that are far too long for the body. As it moves, the weak moonlight softly limns that awful form and while still mostly hidden, there’s a sense of teeth, backswept horns, and, most of all, size. And those angry, knowing eyes that can see her, know her, and hate her.

[R.S.Bass is writing @RSBasswrites]

#vss365 #fantasy
Those eyes snare her, an awful awareness spilling through her in a cold rush. She’d never questioned her acumen for rational decisions or for being able to react well in an uncertain situation. Had just assumed that she would do well. React well.

She can’t move, though. Can’t break the hold those eyes have on her or the scrabbling, mad certainty that it’s not just an animal down there. And it sees her. Hands trembling, she wants to reach for the curtains and close them. Wants those stupid bells to stop.

But mostly to move. To do anything. From somewhere in the back of her mind there’s a stray thought. A feeling that this is familiar to her. She knows this.

[R.S.Bass is writing @RSBasswrites]

#vss365 #fantasy
The bells are ringing, that awful silvery din jarring her from confused dreams of Tiernan, teeth, and shadows that didn’t move like shadows. That jangling noise shivers through her, coiling her into a state of breathless avidity. Because something is outside.

Bells to announce a guest. The thought floats up through her as she pushes upright, shoving off the heavy comforter. Around her the house is silent aside from the low hum of the bedroom fan stirring the warm air. She’s moving before she thinks better, before thinking at all. Bare feet padding to the window to look down at the yard. There’s nothing there, doesn’t even seem like the yard itself is there it’s so dark. The house floats in a sea of pitch nothingness. Then there’s a faint, luminous glow as something looks up, two eyes reflecting the weak moonlight.

Seeing her.

[R.S.Bass is writing @RSBasswrites]

#vss365 #fantasy
That realization strikes through her with alarming alacrity. Like it should have been a forgone conclusion. Why would she want to leave? It’s crazy to even think about it. This is home.

It clings to her the rest of the day. After parting with Tiernan, feeling oddly off balance. Wanting to reach out to him as he walked away, the urge visceral and almost painful. Back at the cottage, that conviction begins to finally waver and when it breaks, she grabs onto the kitchen counter, tremors running through her as that curiously off kilter feeling crashes down on her until she has to swallow convulsively to not be sick.

Covered in a fine cold sweat and shivering, she can’t shake the wrongness dragging at her. What was that? It’s getting dark outside when she lifts her head. Hadn’t she just left town? The clock on the wall must be wrong, it can’t be that late. Where had her time gone?

[R.S.Bass is writing @RSBasswrites]

#vss365 #fantasy
Leaning forward in his seat, he braced his chin in his palm. “I’ve heard the diner down the road makes the best apple pie, you have to try that. There’s a festival in the fall you’d miss if you left too soon,” he said, green eyes bright and intense as he stared at her. Had his eyes always been that luminous, snaring her? “We could try those things together. If you stayed.”

And there it is, her face heating, because he’s so blunt. Saying exactly what he thinks without worrying about how it’ll be received. Making things even harder, because that attraction is mutual and it’s been a while since she felt that fluttering lightness of a crush. And it’s tempting.

She could stay for a little bit. It couldn’t hurt, something like relief spills through her, a tension she’d not even been aware if easing. She wanted to stay.

[R.S.Bass is writing @RSBasswrites]

#vss365 #fantasy
Was she crazy? She can’t ask, isn’t even sure she really wants to hear someone confirm her suspicions about May. Especially the cutest guy she’d ever seen. A guy she genuinely liked.

“What do you think of Haven so far?” He asked, a finger tapping at his cup.

Eyes as green as grass were staring at her when she looked up. Like he really cared about the answer. “Haven’t really seen much of the town,” she admitted, lips twisting. “I’m not staying, though. Just long enough to get things settled and see about selling the cottage.”

He rocked back in his seat, frowning. Like she’d just said something mind bogglingly ludicrous. “You’re selling?”

“Well, yeah. I can’t live here.” She shrugged, sipping at her coffee and all too aware of his stare. The expression on his face is much the same as she’d imagine on someone having just seen someone else kick a puppy.

“You could.”

[R.S.Bass is writing @RSBasswrites]

#vss365 #fantasy
Like pretending this, whatever it is, can go anywhere. Fingers curling around her drink, she studied Tiernan. Liking him is fine and all, but the plan was to sell the cottage as quickly as possible. Go home to the city. Continue on with her real life. This was just a strange interlude in her plans.

“What’s up with the bells?” She asked, sitting up in her seat. Anything to steer the conversation from crazy mothers and her own thoughts of doomed romances.

Fingers toying with his pastel green cup, he glanced up at her, expression curiously blank. “You mean at May’s house?” His lips pursed, a finger tapping against the ceramic. “Some people like bells to alert them to guests,” he said, words slow as he glanced at the bell over the shop door.

Huffing out a breath, she slumped back in her seat. May’s bells aren’t attached to a door, though. They’re strung in lines against the fence, in the yard, and that big, iron one is mounted by the door like a guest is meant to ring it to announce themselves. Which brings her right back to May doing weird things because she was crazy. Lovely.

[R.S.Bass is writing @RSBasswrites]

#vss365 #fantasy
There was something inherently soothing about the soft chatter and the smell of coffee as Tiernan led her to a table against the wall. Sliding into the booth, she sipped her drink, the sugar making her shiver. And all too aware of him as he slid into the booth on her side of the table. She reached up to fidget with her hair, wishing she’d dressed up. Wanting him to like her.

“You knew May, right?” She asked, deliberately shattering the peaceful quiet of something new.

Nose wrinkling as he tried his drink, he nudged it away with a finger. “I did. She was a fascinating woman. Passionate about the woods and old stories.”

Which could be a nice way of saying crazy, she supposed thinking of all the weird crap she’d tossed out from the fridge. May had been obsessive about all kinds of silly magic mumbo jumbo. And it’d been fun when she’d been a kid, playing along that faeries were real and leaving out dishes of milk. Pretending right along with her mom because she wanted it to be real.

[R.S.Bass is writing @RSBasswrites]

#vss365 #fantasy
Reluctantly letting her arm slide free of his, she moved closer to the counter to order a caramel and chocolate, sugar bomb of caffeine to finish waking her up by force. Beside her, Tiernan frowned up at the board long enough to make her glance his way before hesitantly ordering a green tea.

When she started to dig out her wallet, he caught her wrist in a gentle but firm grip to retrieve his own and pay. To her, the bills he handed over to the cashier didn’t quite look right. A brief feeling of being off kilter lifted through her, the world tilted under her feet. It was a feeling that reality had missed a step, stumbled.

Then the cashier was counting the crisp bills and tucking them away in the till and the jangly, anxious feeling drained away to leave a sour feeling behind. What had that been? As impossibly silly as it was, she’d have sworn the money wasn’t money at all, but her brain kept sliding away when she tried to pin down why.

His hand was still on her arm, warm and grounding, as they drifted down to the end of the counter to wait on their orders. That hand made lingering on that brief wrongness seem crazy. Of course it had been money. What else could it have been?

Even if for a heartbeat, she’d thought he’d had a handful of brittle, yellow leaves.

[R.S.Bass is writing @RSBasswrites]

#vss365 #fantasy
Smiling at the old timey gesture as he offered her his arm, she played along and hooked an arm through his. So close she could smell his aftershave, an unusual almost pine and ash smell. This was nice. She could almost pretend this was actually a date and how long had that been? Too long.

She let him steer her toward one of the shorter buildings. Its brick front was decorated in murals of twining vines and its door painted a bright, melon green. ‘Rosie’s’ declared another hand painted, cursive sign on the door. Another bell jingled as he pushed the door open and his lip twisted. Like he didn’t care for them, either. Another reason to like the guy, because the bells were weird.

Inside the shop, everything was cream or a dull gray-green, little mismatched tables spread out across the space and old, worn couches against one wall. And it smelled divine, fresh baked bread and strong coffee. Suddenly hungry, she reluctantly pulled her arm free to move up to the glass counter.

Glancing over her shoulder, she realized he was looking around like he’d never been inside the shop before even though it had been his idea. She’d assumed he’d been a local, but maybe he was new to the area, too. Maybe they could explore together suggested a deviant part of her mind as she looked away.

[R.S.Bass is writing @RSBasswrites]

#vss365 #fantasy
It was a relief to escape the funeral home, every second trapped in that building she felt herself unraveling a little more. Dipping her toes into the waters of panic.

Bright sunlight had broken through the clouds by the time she stepped back out onto the sidewalk to the mad jingling of the bell above the door. Now the town was awake, cars lazily circling the square as she tucked the red folder under an arm and looked around. She could almost imagine what this place had been in its heyday, back when the buildings were new.

“Serendipity.”

Spinning, she blinked up at Tiernan. Heart missing a beat when he smiled at her, feeling more shy than she’d ever felt in high school. Today he’d chosen a black button up shirt and jeans and her mind slid into scandalously, amorous thoughts, because the man had no right to look that good.

Or to make her feel so awkward. There’s an ink pen in her messy bun and she wasn’t wearing makeup. And the ground wasn’t cooperating with her mortification to swallow her alive so she lifted a hand in a weak wave. “Hi.”

That smile of his was a little crooked as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “You look like you could use some coffee.”

[R.S.Bass is writing @RSBasswrites]

#vss365 #fantasy
“Miss Reaver?” Leading with a sweaty hand outstretched, that smile widened.

“It’s Philips, actually,” she corrected, already exhausted as she gingerly shook his hand to find that it was in fact very damp.

“Ah, yes. Sorry.” Turning, he gestured at one of the coffins. “There’s a little paperwork to do, but May made arrangements and paid in advance.”

Stomach dropping, her shock must have shown, because he grimaced and waved a hand. “Not like that,” he hurriedly added. “It was four or five years ago.”

Some of the tension eased, but not all of it and it left a sour taste in her mouth as she wrapped her arms around herself. She wanted, needed, it to have been an accident. It had to be. “You said there’s paperwork?”

He led her to a desk and pulled out a red folder embossed with the funeral home’s name. An odd numbness filled her as she dutifully signed the sheets nudged in her direction without reading them and nodded as he went over dates the church May had chosen were available.

There was something comforting about that empty apathy. A radiant sense of indifference as she made decisions without any real thought. May had been a stranger for a long time. She didn’t even know her.

Never really had.

[R.S.Bass is writing @RSBasswrites]

#vss365 #scifi
Coming to in the lull of a gentle swaying, it took her muddled brain a moment to understand she was being carried.

Like a sack of potatoes. Her arms and legs dangling and her only support an arm around her middle. So much for dignity, though that ship had likely not only sailed when she’d started laughing like a lunatic, it had caught on fire and sunk beneath the waves of self preservation. Squinting, she squirmed to be let down, because that hard arm was making getting a clean breath hard.

Mild panic reared its head when she noticed the leg of the thing carrying her. Not the bug or hyena. Organic, metal flesh a deep oily black, run through with azure lights gleaming from within the seams. The Kryle.

She began to struggle in earnest and the thing stopped to set her down on her feet with surprising care. Though she was too busy backpedaling straight into a wall to dwell on those awful metal claws not shredding her skin or being careful with her. Blank visor staring down at her, it made another low, staticky noise.

And walked away, dismissing her. Looking around to find that nope, no other aliens were anywhere around, she timidly followed after it at a safe distance since the alternative was being left alone.

She wracked her brain for what she knew about the Kryle and could only come up with an unhelpful, killer murder bots. That was it. So why was this one not being murdery?

[R.S.Bass is writing @RSBasswrites]

#vss365 #fantasy
The morning sky bled azure, pink and orange even as the streaky clouds half heartedly drizzled just enough rain to chill her skin and leave her miserable as she hunched deeper into her jacket and walked a bit faster down the sidewalk. Forget asking for directions, no one else was out and about, the town still slumbering.

Weren’t small towns, especially rural farming towns, supposed to be full of early risers? A few of the old buildings had striped cloth awnings over their doors and she made her way down, darting from one shelter to the next and peering into dark storefronts.

She dashed across an empty intersection and finally found an unremarkable brick building with ‘Jackson Funerary Services’ carefully stenciled on the glass door. No neon or big plastic signs here, apparently. You either knew what buildings were or didn’t.

Disgruntled with everything, she pushed the door open and sucked in a breath through her teeth as a little bell jangled merrily to remind her of all of May’s obnoxious little bells. That were definitely coming down later that day.

There was something inherently unsettling and obscene about any place with coffins arranged throughout the floor like showroom model cars and her nose wrinkled with the bite of pinesol and musty old building. It didn’t help when the red faced owner hurried out of the back with his thinning hair slicked back from his sweaty forehead as he fiddled with his tie. If someone could have the aura of a used car salesman, it was this man. Especially when he fixed her with a sharky, practiced smile that was genuinely fake.