Read Online Anthology of Ichor III: Gears of Damnation by Kevin Breaux, Erik Johnson, Cynthia Ray, Jeffrey Hale, Bill Albert, Amanda Auverigne, Marc Sorondo, Gerry Huntman, AJ French - Free Book Online
Authors: Kevin Breaux, Erik Johnson, Cynthia Ray, Jeffrey Hale, Bill Albert, Amanda Auverigne, Marc Sorondo, Gerry Huntman, AJ French
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Blick . . . outside I can hear the sharp clank of rusty cans speared on a lightning rod, and a tread that repeats each beat, and I can hear the mad whirring of hornets slaughtering the buzzing flies that prey on Blick’s tattered flesh, Maxwell Blick who disturbs nests.
DARKNESS
by
Bill Albert
When you work in a lighthouse things go from one extreme to another. We’re either going at a pace so slow it feels like time will never end or so fast you blink and you’ve missed a sundown. This day has been one of the slow ones so after I made half hour check on the boiler, it was roaring with flames and well stocked, I decided to walk the 72 steps all the way to the top.
As I made my way up I couldn’t help but wonder how many soldiers had taken this same climb during the war to end all wars. It had only been a year since its end but I swear, during some of the quiet nights, I could hear their echoes.
Just below the lantern room, gallery and catwalk I heard the muffled sounds of voices. Out of curiosity I opened the door just enough to listen but waited.
"Can you see anythin'?" a young boy asked. That was Jason, he was the newest member of the crew on this rotation. He didn’t seem quite old enough to be here but claimed that he was eighteen.
"It'll be dark in another hour. It'll start before then," the older voice answered. That was Trevor, he was fat, gray haired old man who had probably spent more of his life in a lighthouse than anywhere else. Probably more than anyone else in the service.
"What? What'll start?"
"See those clouds up there?" Trevor asked. "Them big bright ones?"
“ Yeah, I see 'em."
"Them be storm clouds. Nasty ones."
"Are you sure, Trevor?" Jason asked nervously.
"Been here on Jessica's Palace nearly 20 years, boy. It be coming. Tell Fletcher to heat up the boiler right quick."
"On my way," Jason called and I heard him pounding down the stairs towards me. He whipped the door open and stopped in surprise. Before he could say anything I informed him that, yes, the boiler was hot, and I suggested we go down to the crew room in the midsection of the lighthouse.
There were four of us in the crew. Three of us from Britain and had grown up near the coast. The fourth was Steven, an American with a funny accent. Today was his day to take care of the galley.
"What's tonight, 'eh?" I asked.
"What else?" Steven shrugged.
"Its potatoes, ain't it?" Jason asked sheepishly.
“ Well, it is not my fault. That is all we got left down there in storage until the supply ship comes. You'll have to ask Trevor when that is," Steven said.
"They need more than one ship a month to supply this place," I said walking around the room. "Trevor's going to have to have our young mate here scared to death of the sea before our rotation is over. He'll never go near a coast again."
Jason looked at me defiantly then smiled.
"Would not surprise me at all," Steven laughed as he sat down on one of the five wooden chairs. "I have to admit, though, sometimes the old man gives me the creeps."
"You'll be ignoring him soon enough," I said leaning against a cabinet.
"I hope so. He has been up there talking about storms for three days now." Steven said as he looked outside the small window in the room. "It does not look good out there, though."
"Oh, come on, 'eh? It's the storm season now and you can rant and rave about it every day and it won't be long before you're right." I looked out the window and, as much as I hated to say it, it looked like the old man was right. "He may be right about it today, about the storm," I said reluctantly.
"Really?"
"Yeah, might just be. Eh, how long before the potatoes are done?" I asked with a wink.
Only a half-hour had passed before the storm struck and we immediately went to work fighting the storm.
I was again in the boiler room making sure everything was stoked when the whistle from the pipe
DARKNESS
by
Bill Albert
When you work in a lighthouse things go from one extreme to another. We’re either going at a pace so slow it feels like time will never end or so fast you blink and you’ve missed a sundown. This day has been one of the slow ones so after I made half hour check on the boiler, it was roaring with flames and well stocked, I decided to walk the 72 steps all the way to the top.
As I made my way up I couldn’t help but wonder how many soldiers had taken this same climb during the war to end all wars. It had only been a year since its end but I swear, during some of the quiet nights, I could hear their echoes.
Just below the lantern room, gallery and catwalk I heard the muffled sounds of voices. Out of curiosity I opened the door just enough to listen but waited.
"Can you see anythin'?" a young boy asked. That was Jason, he was the newest member of the crew on this rotation. He didn’t seem quite old enough to be here but claimed that he was eighteen.
"It'll be dark in another hour. It'll start before then," the older voice answered. That was Trevor, he was fat, gray haired old man who had probably spent more of his life in a lighthouse than anywhere else. Probably more than anyone else in the service.
"What? What'll start?"
"See those clouds up there?" Trevor asked. "Them big bright ones?"
“ Yeah, I see 'em."
"Them be storm clouds. Nasty ones."
"Are you sure, Trevor?" Jason asked nervously.
"Been here on Jessica's Palace nearly 20 years, boy. It be coming. Tell Fletcher to heat up the boiler right quick."
"On my way," Jason called and I heard him pounding down the stairs towards me. He whipped the door open and stopped in surprise. Before he could say anything I informed him that, yes, the boiler was hot, and I suggested we go down to the crew room in the midsection of the lighthouse.
There were four of us in the crew. Three of us from Britain and had grown up near the coast. The fourth was Steven, an American with a funny accent. Today was his day to take care of the galley.
"What's tonight, 'eh?" I asked.
"What else?" Steven shrugged.
"Its potatoes, ain't it?" Jason asked sheepishly.
“ Well, it is not my fault. That is all we got left down there in storage until the supply ship comes. You'll have to ask Trevor when that is," Steven said.
"They need more than one ship a month to supply this place," I said walking around the room. "Trevor's going to have to have our young mate here scared to death of the sea before our rotation is over. He'll never go near a coast again."
Jason looked at me defiantly then smiled.
"Would not surprise me at all," Steven laughed as he sat down on one of the five wooden chairs. "I have to admit, though, sometimes the old man gives me the creeps."
"You'll be ignoring him soon enough," I said leaning against a cabinet.
"I hope so. He has been up there talking about storms for three days now." Steven said as he looked outside the small window in the room. "It does not look good out there, though."
"Oh, come on, 'eh? It's the storm season now and you can rant and rave about it every day and it won't be long before you're right." I looked out the window and, as much as I hated to say it, it looked like the old man was right. "He may be right about it today, about the storm," I said reluctantly.
"Really?"
"Yeah, might just be. Eh, how long before the potatoes are done?" I asked with a wink.
Only a half-hour had passed before the storm struck and we immediately went to work fighting the storm.
I was again in the boiler room making sure everything was stoked when the whistle from the pipe
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