More

By Janna Hill and Joe Hill

More Short Stories & Such is the newest compilation of short stories and flash fiction written by the Hill's. This anthology contains all of the short favorites including the newest (2017) release August Wolf, the acclaimed Door Number Four, Once Upon a Dead Gull and many 'more'. The stories range from heart rending to heart racing; from fantasy to bizarre.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J Hill Ink
• Release date: Aug 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386306818

Janna Hill

Janna Hill is an international author of fiction, short stories and poetry. She currently resides somewhere between the palm trees and pines and a forest in Texas. Her motto is: Fans are just friends and family I haven’t met… or wrote about yet. She has also been heard to say, home is where the blog is. You can follow her at home@ www.therealjannahill.com

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More

Short Stories

& Such

By Janna Hill

Copyright © 2017 Janna Hill

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission in writing by the author.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Published by J Hill Ink

More is a glut of short stories and flash fiction. This anthology contains all of the short favorites including the © 2017 release August Wolf; the acclaimed Door Number Four, Once Upon a Dead Gull and many 'more'. The stories range from heart rending to heart racing and from fantasy to bizarre.

Table of Contents

Zomb Valley

Perpetual Darkness

Perpetual Spring

Door Number Four

Tales from Once Upon a Dead Gull

A Man Without Arms

They Always Come on Sunday

Savannah Dawn (Unconsecrated Visions)

Resident of Insanity

Skippy Red

Hemingway’s Beloved

Request for Absolution

August Wolf

Smoke Free

About the Author

Zomb Valley

The truth of the legend had never been tested; therefore, it could not be confirmed. Nonetheless, Perisso could vouch for the last three centuries. With clarity, he could account for the last three hundred thirty two years, eleven months and twenty-nine days because that was how long he had lived and dined among the Polycerate clan.

It was unnatural for an herbivore to eat flesh, so the Dactyla family ate just enough to sustain them as they counted down the days, two remained, give or take one sunset. The three hundred thirty three year cycle of the curse would soon be complete and they would be grazers once again.

It is almost over. Perisso thought, as the wild oats he had nibbled the day before sat like lead in his stomach. The souring grain gave his breath a rancid air, more rank than the slow decaying flesh of his herd, a stench he had never grown accustomed to. If we can just hold on.

Christened: Uno Perisso Dactyla, a proud noble steed, firstborn to Keratin and Arteeo Dactyla and companion to Shofar. Perisso was the strongest unicorn in Zomb Valley, as well as the most sought after stallion in all the land, a truth that made every mare in season compete for his attention. The attention irritated Shofar. She knew without a doubt that Arteeo Dactyla would not permit his son to mate with an accursed unizomb, not even her – not until the change occurred. But what if he is unable to control himself? She wondered, as she studied the other females. It would only be natural...

The winter had been harsh and the spring heat made them senseless. The mares vied for affection with their hips raised and their tails swishing seductively from side to side, most of which were hairless, some with only bare vertebrae but not Blee Polycerate. The matriarch of tramps managed a long elegant tail and a mane that framed her smooth ivory horn.

Keratin had once explained Blee’s almost pure unicorn appearance. She is the progeny of the misplaced ones... she and Anak alike. They are the posterity of a rebellious creature that left his celestial place. Their poor mother, weak and desperate from the curse mistook him for Pegasus and after they were born the fiend devoured her.

Blee trotted beside her brother until he slowed to a plod, at which time she stopped. Within a few feet of Perisso, Blee winked, flexed her withers and tossed her tail across her back. He in turn nuzzled Shofar and assured her that what remained of his enchanted heart would always be hers and hers alone.

Anak Polycerate was skillful in the art of manipulation, yet he could not persuade his opponent nor could he disguise his outrage when Arteeo refused the marriage of his son, Perisso, to the Polycerate tribe.

Anak whinnied with contempt, his boney nostrils steaming against the evening chill. You are a fool! Your selfish dreaming will stir consternation among the herds.

That is not my intent. Arteeo answered the half-dead gelding with meekness, knowing his true concern. I am not your enemy. Why do you snort as if I were a wolf, or worse still, a man? When the days are up I – my family and I long to graze the meadows; to walk in the light and to be proud once again, as were our ancestors.

Eating straw and hiding your selves at the sound of footsteps? Do you call that proud? I call it preposterous! shifting his weight between balding fetlocks Anak pranced in circles mocking the old unicorn, Indeed you are a fool Sir Dactyla, nothing more than a bleating lamb longing to be slaughtered.

Consider me a fool if you wish, so be it, but your words will not persuade me. Arteeo answered with a dip of his chin, offering a rollkur of respect before continuing. For us, this is not living.

Perisso sensed the rising tension though he remained respectfully quiet; standing the proper distance, he offered no more than a polite nod when his father spoke.

We continually tear at flesh yet we are never full. There is not enough meat in the universe to satisfy the endless lust, do you not see that? We are an abomination. Arteeo shook his head, his milky-gray eyes like mirrors. If it were possible for him to shed a tear, he would have flooded the valley. Do you not find it repulsive that instead of guarding man and beast we consume them?

It is far better than being hunted by man and beast. Anak Polycerate answered brazenly, Do you not recall those days old friend?

I do. Arteeo nickered with fond recollection, and if the legend bears truth I will see them again.

Anak pawed at the ground; flippantly breaking flank-high blades of grass. He repeated the motion with more and more vigor until his dried blistering hoof landed in a stomp. Keratin retreated to the crevice of an ancient Banyan and motioned for her son’s filly to follow.

Is your decision final? the angry eunuch hissed.

It is.

Then you have chosen to leave the valley?

No I have not. We have chosen stay! Arteeo’s eyes glinted from narrowing slits. When angry or aroused he could easily be mistaken for a rhinoceros. His equine appearance involuntarily giving way to the thickening of his flesh and horn as his breaths grew harder. It is the way of nature, the way of our creator. We will not live by the—

The natural order has changed! My creator has been consumed and before the final night of your fast I will have disposed of you and your family, saving your son for dessert of course. Anak sneered, speaking boldly for one that knew he was outmatched. One Dactyla could take down ten of his kind on any given day normally, but this was not a normal day. 

Arteeo reared onto his hind legs and lunged, landing several meters from his target. The fast had weakened him.

Shofar was not so weak. Her teeth glistened within millimeters of Anak’s neck, her short mane bristling above the leathery gray shield, disguising any resemblance of her once beautiful coat. The shimmering soft hair that Perisso recalled from her youth had become matted and foul, draped over her ribcage like that of the starving nags of the highlands, mustangs that had escaped the curse only to starve amid the rocky cliffs.

Shofar stop! He snorted, It is a ploy. If you take of his flesh, he wins and we will forever be freaks of nature – is that what you want? Think of our future. Think my dear Shofar. Think!

Blee mockingly neighed at Arteeo’s clumsiness, You— Before she was able to complete the sentence her severed head landed at her brother’s feet.

A growl rumbled in Anak’s throat as he scratched at the earth, his black eyes filled with vengeance. Shofar smiled and with one fluid motion, she was airborne. With another, Anak landed in three pieces.

It is finished! Arteeo whispered welcoming the tears that welled in his eyes beneath the setting sun.

We’re Unicorns

Let’s you and I be unicorns

And frolic in our mind

We’ll run away just for today

And leave our cares behind

I’ll sketch for you a meadow

For me an endless sky

We’ll walk upon the rainbow

Where Rocs and Griffins fly

We’ll nosh upon the tender herbs

And sip from nectar’d clouds

We’ll dance beneath the Banyan tree

Safe within its shroud

By and by we will return

To every meddling eye

But n’er a one will dare discern

We’re unicorns, you and I

From the Author

Zomb Valley was created specifically for a flash fiction challenge. The challenge was a 1200 word limit about unicorn zombies.  Sounds crazy, right? Of course it does but we all need a little challenge from time to time, that’s why I wrote it. Well that and the heckling dares of a fifteen year old.

The cover is mixed media and was a gift from the late Tex Henson to my mother.

The poem was inspired by my mother and Tex.

I confess this is not my usual forte and exhausts the scope of my unicorn knowledge.

Caution dear reader, the remaining stories in this anthology are not so short nor are they so mild.

Perpetual Darkness

THE NIGHT WAS DARK.... That’s how all of her stories began. As if the night was ever anything but. A more creative approach might have been a different start or at least a more beseeching entrance to the narrative. And why must it always be night? Why must it always be dark? Suppose she stretched the infinite boundaries of the night and found it lit with glistening stars. No, not glimmering or shimmering – these stars would be glistening like morning dew... like drops against a sunny window... like a single bead of sweat against a million glossy pores... opening and erupting, or even a rainbow tinged tear. Anything other than the night was dark.

That phrase is really testing my tolerance. I want to interrupt her, to offer a little creative criticism but I’m not a writer. Writers have to have characters living within their thoughts – my characters are all dead. Sometimes I attempt to force her imagination, by sheer will I implore her to expand her thoughts that by chance the tale could begin with a breaking sunrise... with tepid yellows pressing through the grays of dawn before giving way to streams of blue. Instead of the crickets and tree frogs one might conjure noisily filling the darkness, consider the illusive bunting calling in the distance, the bright male cardinal singing as he preens his downy coat or a doves coo.

Her fingers caress the key pads, pausing at the letter k. She softly, without pressing moves her index finger forward, backward then side to side. I can tell by her expression she doesn't know where this story is going but I don't dare disrupt her. If she would trim her fingernails, I believe she’d be able to type slightly faster and more comfortably. What word is she searching for? The night was dark... K... Kevin? Kathy? Katmandu?

I take a swig from the two-liter bottle and decide to stroll but I catch myself pacing, striding back and forth along the lattice fence of her tiny courtyard. Strolling implies leisure and I don't feel leisurely. I’m annoyed. Her writing is causing me stress, it is not stimulating, it's stressful and I really don't need any more stress in my life right now. Watching her sit there staring at that bloody laptop for hours on end and all she can come up with is the night was dark? K..! I am too irritated now so the last pacing lap against the fence I decide to just keep walking. I need a smoke anyway. The night was dark...gees-sh!

The night is still dark but with my optic eye wear I can see everything.  It's not in high definition color but I’m working on that. There is a certain appreciation for seeing things in black and white, basic truths lost in color can sometimes be seen in shades of gray. This pair is much better than the last; I’ve managed to tweak the design till they look nearly like regular prescription eye glasses. The thick amber tinted shades gouge at the bridge of my nose. That’s a minor flaw I tell myself as I steam the lens with nicotine breath and polish them against my undershirt. I can see the fields I work by day and lean myself against an oak, light another full flavor Marlboro and watch four coyotes as they slink up on a calf that was born this morning. It has no idea its short life is coming to an end in the next few minutes. It won’t take long. It may seem like an eternity in the throes of violence but its only moments – sometimes seconds. The battalion communicate without a sound - two of them running between the cow and her newborn while the other two latch onto the squalling baby and drag it a hundred yards before gnawing at its throat to shush the little racket maker. The mother will bellow for the next twelve hours but it won't do her any good. Mr. Carson will go out at