About An Unholy Triquetra: Celtic Fairy Tales:
Excerpt:
A Knot Within A Knot
Jason Parent
Part I
My nails crack against the armrest as what the pilot called normal turbulence spirals well beyond normal. And to think that only five minutes earlier, I wasn’t afraid of flying. So much can change from just a few simple choices: deciding at the eleventh hour to attend a technology conference in Italy without my family; electing to leave that convention prematurely to catch an earlier Air France flight home in advance of oncoming weather, only for an unexpected delay on the runway and for the storm to freakishly change course into the airplane’s path mid-flight; and in my haste to make my ill-fated trip, choosing not to call my wife and daughter to tell them I’m coming home and that I love them.
A crack as loud as an eighteen-wheeler ramming into a boulder rattles my seat. The din is coming from somewhere outside or against the plane. The lights flicker, and someone nearby squeals. Others gasp. Up ahead, a child wails. In the pause between lightning and thunder, a steady string of prayers converses with the pitter-patter of the rain.
I release a breath and look past the elderly woman to my right in the hope of catching another glimpse of the wing and its two beautifully functioning engines keeping us aloft and alive. But the shutter is now closed, blocking my view of the raging storm and the pitch-black that has swallowed the sky. An unnatural darkness blots out starlight and cabin light. Flashes of lightning are the only means to see anything out there, were there anything else to see. The woman must have closed the shutter. Maybe she saw something after all, something I don’t want to see.
So I look at her instead, seeking comfort in the presence of a stranger. She is as frail as a wraith, a stick with a kindly smile. Her eyes are closed as she rests her head against her seat. Despite the lurching and jostling that sends both my mind and my stomach into an uproar, she seems to have found peace, a lonely island in the eye of the storm while the rest of us swirl in the tempest. And with each flicker of the cabin lights, her sallow skin and pronounced cheekbones illuminate. Her skeletal face permeates my thoughts like a bad omen.
The woman greeted me warmly when I took my seat beside her—I understood enough French to pick up on that—but gone now is her charity and fellowship, and my heart seizes and lungs refuse to operate as I face this storm alone. Yet her deep breaths, forcing the steady rise and fall of her bosom, emit a pulse that is soothing in its cadence, if only I can convince my body to emulate it.
Amazon
About the Authors:
Jason Parent is an author of horror, thrillers, mysteries, science fiction and dark humor, though his many novels, novellas, and short stories tend to blur the boundaries between genres. From his EPIC and eFestival Independent Book Award finalist first novel, What Hides Within, to his widely applauded police procedural/supernatural thriller, Seeing Evil, to his fast and furious sci-fi horror, The Apocalypse Strain, Jason’s work has won him praise from both critics and fans of diverse genres alike. He currently lives in Massachusetts, surrounded by chewed furniture thanks to his corgi and mini Aussie pups.
Curtis M. Lawson is a weird fiction author, editor, comic creator, poet, podcaster, and
table top game developer. His work ranges from technicolor pulp adventures to bleak
cosmic horror.
Curtis resides on the outskirts of Providence Rhode Island. He is the host of
the Wyrd Transmissions podcast and runs Gallows Whisper, an imprint of Weird
House Press.
William Meikle is a Scottish writer, now living in Canada, with over thirty novels published in the genre press and more than 300 short story credits in thirteen countries. He has books available from a variety of publishers including Dark Regions Press and Severed Press and his work has appeared in a large number of professional anthologies and magazines. He lives in Newfoundland with whales, bald eagles and icebergs for company. When he's not writing he drinks beer, plays guitar, and dreams of fortune and glory.
No comments:
Post a Comment