My first short story! - Writers Forum

podflower · 02-16-2005, 06:25 PM

Hello, This is the first short story I have ever written, and would appreciate some feedback off you kind folks.

(I've read a few posts saying that long posts are not much appreciated so I've split it into 2 post! Hope that isn't cheating the rules!?)

Part 1

The Tourist clutched the little doll protectively and strode ambitiously forward. The gypsy who had made it for him had even supplied him with a small pewter box full of pins. She had claimed to be an expert at making voodoo dolls, he had thought she certainly looked the part.
He had travelled a long way for this and he was adamant it was going to work, he would get his revenge. Whilst he occupied himself with vindictive ways of applying pins, the tourist failed to notice the fog that was now enveloping the bay.

He had never been superstitious before, well up until the accident last year. Why on earth would anyone need so many cats anyway? It had been a windy day in April, a Tuesday perhaps, though he couldn’t remember the exact date but the incident itself was certainly clear in his mind…

The engine was playing up again and the car coughed feebly instead of igniting. The amateur bird watching society’s first meeting of the month started in approximately four minutes and he was either going to be exceedingly late or miss it entirely unless his aging Volvo decided to play nicely. Unfortunately though his numerous attempts to get it going had flooded the engine and he was forced to sit patiently and simply wait until his car had forgiven him for being drowned.
The wind was particularly savage that day and was distributing the neighbourhood’s rubbish to the wrong owners without a care for where it really belonged. The old elm tree that hung most disagreeably over the fence dividing his meticulous property from the shambles next door moaned in protest to the gale. He stared up and saw a tabby cat perched precariously on a low swinging branch. The scruffy thing was staring directly at him accusingly. He shuddered. He hated cats and the mentally unstable woman next door seemed to be over run with the blasted things. He was forever chasing them away from his bird bath, and when he was sure he wasn’t being watched he would throw freshly boiled water over any of them that trespassed onto his property.
Turning away from the rude glare of the cat he turned the ignition key once more. This time his luck was in and after a spluttering uptake the engine roared to life. Throwing the gear stick into reverse, he put his foot down sharply, trying to make up for lost time and the Volvo lurched backwards. Suddenly, before he had a chance to even blink a skinny black cat darted out from nowhere like an impatient rocket and rolled right around his rear wheel, crunching horribly. Shock took control of his body and he momentarily froze. Although there was no love lost on his part for the feline life, he didn’t particularly wish it dead, especially when it meant scraping it off the gaps between the tyre treads.
He abruptly came back to himself at the sound of an approaching wail. A flurry of patchwork and feathers was negotiating the rubble of the next door front yard with surprising agility. He slowly got out of his car and cleared his throat for an apology.

“I’m so awfully sorry, it came out nowhere, I couldn’t possibly have stopped in time I’m afraid”

“Filth of eternal rotten dung!” The eccentric old woman was hopping about uncontrollably, from one red stocking covered leg to another.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Bloodsucking stench beetle of corpses!”

“Now really…”

“Vileness of a billion buckets of bile!” The wrinkled face shook with anger as it stared up at him from beneath the rim of an elaborate feathered hat. He couldn’t help but notice an electric yellow feather in particular that looked remarkably like one belonging to a rare breed of cockatoo he had once owned. Mysteriously, it had disappeared one day.

“May the curse of the feral cat forever befall your pitiful soul” spat the old woman through her missing teeth. She then swept her patchwork cloak round her body in a dismissive way and strutted back into her house…..

Although the trek to the bay had been long, the tourist had found it more or less simple. He was an accomplished map reader and certainly knew his way around a compass. There had also been plenty of landmarks along the way, although he had found some of them slightly unnerving, especially the totem pole of carved faces that looked like they were experiencing something most unpleasant. The fog was thickening now and for the first time since it had crept into the unsuspecting bay, the tourist began to notice it. Taking his compass out of his pocket he noted he was still well on track and expected to see the three perfectly rounded rocks that indicated the turn out of the bay in about another five hundred yards or so.
Pausing for breath he opened the small pewter box and counted the amount of pins it contained. Four - each with a different coloured glass tip. Well that was convenient as he had four incidents in mind that really needed a payback pin somewhere painful.

He had intended to wait until he had reached his hotel before the gleeful act of puncturing the ugly doll began, but his hands were trembling with anticipation as each unfortunate incident he had suffered as of late began relaying itself in his mind. There was something sinister about the misfortunes that had been recently inflicted upon him, something so planned, so regular that it couldn’t be coincidental. Eventually he had decided beyond reasonable doubt that his life was steadily being ruined on purpose and that the cantankerous old hag was behind it all. He had gone round to see her, to try and reason but he found that she had gone, moved away and taken those intolerable cats with her. Had he not been boiling with anger and thinking straight, he probably would have thought twice about travelling to Venezuela in response to a card advertising the gypsy’s craft that was posted through his door shortly after.

Staring down at the glass tipped pin in his hand he recalled the first ghastly misfortune that had befallen him vividly, trying to decide what it deserved in subsequent pin placement…….

Sitting in his cubicle, sorting report sheets methodically, he was content. His red stapler was perfectly inline with his four-hole punch, to the left top hand corner of the polished desk and the day was rumbling along with reassuring predictability. There was a rather interesting documentary on types of locomotive he must remember to watch on BBC 2 tonight, but this thought was noted quickly and he returned his full attention to report 3689B.
Just as report 3689B hit the completion rack the silent humdrum was interrupted with the ring of his extension phone. Waiting for the compulsory twice ring, he picked up the receiver.

“Good morning, you are through to Stanley Jones Ltd, how may I be of assistance?”

First his brow wrinkled with incomprehension, then his eyes widened with disbelief and finally he let out a small gasp of acceptance. After stuttering an explanation to the floor manager he gathered up his briefcase and scuttled out of the building.
Pulling up in the drive way to what was once was his perfect suburban haven, he slowly stepped out his Volvo and stood dumbfounded in front of the burning embers that used to be a house. His house. He barely noticed the burly firemen hurrying around him shouting orders, including various ones about moving all the cats out the way, until one grabbed his shoulders and directed him off the drive way to the safety of the road.
Numb. Nothing else just numb. Nothing to say, nowhere to go, nothing to do. The scene turned hazy, the hustle faded to slow motion, distant from reality. He sat on the curb and didn’t move for a long, long time…..

The tourist’s nerves felt raw. Flipping the doll over he strategically inserted the pewter pin into it’s left buttock and twisted it three times for good measure. A peculiar variety of elation surged through his bones.
“That” he inhaled “was for my house”.
Grinning stupidly, he marched proudly on, a newly acquired skip decorated his pace.
“Now, what shall we claim revenge for next my dear?” He said aloud to the doll.
“Will it be my near miss with a cargo train or the caravan?”
Chewing his bottom lip he thought back to both events, trying to decide which was worse….

podflower · 02-16-2005, 06:27 PM

Part 2

The unexpected demise of his house had completely bewildered the fire brigade. They had undertaken a very thorough investigation but the results of how the fire had started were inconclusive. Not that it would of mattered either way as he would of still found himself left with no choice but to stay in a borrowed caravan marooned in a cliff top car park belonging to the local pub.
Although he was grateful to the Butcher’s Arms loaning him a roof over his head, on his arrival the first thing he had discovered under the fold away bed was a recently used condom. That was this morning and he now sat primly on the edge of the bed, on top of a plastic bag, wondering what inexcusable acts of debauchery had taken place in the smelly box he was now to call home. The walls were patchy yellow, the shade that comes from decorating with cigarette smoke instead of paint. It was also incredibly draughty and he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself that evening apart from debate whether it was colder inside or out.
Putting on another jumper he opened today’s newspaper and returned to perching awkwardly on his plastic seat cover, struggling to negotiate the large spread in his current position.
Just as he had arranged a complimentary balance without one side of the newspaper flopping out of view he was interrupted by a scratching at the window. He looked up momentarily, put it down to wind and carried on reading.
“Miaow”
His head shot up like a wary marsupial to the noise, his nose twitching with annoyance. Throwing the newspaper aside he stomped to the window and ripped the curtains open. Nothing but a rain soaked window and a view of the back of the Butcher’s Arms. As he focused on an unsavoury pile of fallen barrels that littered the back of the pub he got the feeling the pub and it’s debris were moving away from him. A little more concentration revealed that the floor was also moving. He grabbed the sideboard suddenly for balance as the realisation that he was the one in motion struck home. As the caravan gathered momentum the ride became progressively more bumpy. Cupboards rattled and flew open, depositing their contents everywhere. Turning round to face the far end window he saw the cliff edge rapidly approaching. Panic arrived. Screaming like a girl, he frantically shook the jammed door until tears were racing unashamedly down his face, steaming up his glasses.
The caravan was almost at the brink of the sheer drop that led to the churning waves some 200ft below when a final splurge of strength emitted itself from his frantic limbs and the door flew open. Without a second thought he launched himself out the door landing cruelly in the soaked turf only moments before the caravan lurched into the abyss…

Surprising himself at his malevolency, the Tourist thrust the yellow tipped pin as hard as he could into the doll’s left eye. His lip was quivering as he tried to resist the overwhelming sense of self pity that flushed over him. He could still feel his knee’s throbbing at the impact of landing in the mud at the top of the cliff, the howling wind replicating the despairing scream he threw into the air.
The fog in the bay was swirling in thick clumps now. The tourist looked up from the doll puncturing nervously and did a three hundred and sixty degree turn. He couldn’t see more than a few metres in either direction and was sure he had walked considerably further than the five hundred yards since he had last consulted his map and compass. Squinting into the mature mist he failed to see the outline of the three piled rocks that marked the correct path. Taking a deep breath and the compass out his pocket, the Tourist determined the right direction, assuring himself he hadn’t walked as far as he had initially thought and that he would surely see his landmarks soon.

As he walked timidly through the surging mist his thoughts returned to revenge, and the near miss with a cargo train…..

It had been a month since he had been made completely homeless, bereft of both brick walls, and walls with wheels. He was now unfortunately staying with his interfering mother and often wished he had taken a sea bound caravan trip after all. Having only managed to move out of home and away from his overprotected mother at the age of thirty three, he had not been overly keen on being forced to return. She still insisted on walking in unannounced when he was in the bath to make sure he was washing behind his ears and to comb his hair. Every morning she would make him a pack lunch for work, which would have been perfectly welcome if she had listened to reason about packing it in a Thomas the Tank Engine lunch box. Although he had not wet the bed since the age of thirteen she still made sure he kept waterproof coverings on his single mattress. Life at Mother’s was tedious.
Mother lived at the top of town, in a pristine bungalow with herbaceous borders. His office was a good forty five minutes drive away, a journey that was largely extended due to the unavoidable railway crossing half way. Each morning and afternoon, no matter how he tried to plan it, the crossing lights would always start to flash at his approach, with the gates closing probably a good ten minutes before any train went past.
Today however was different. Work had kept him unusually late and he had missed the rush hour traffic by a good two hours. The roads were clear and twilight was spreading it’s blanket. He approached the crossing with his typical due care, preparing to come to a halt in expectance of the flashing amber lights. Today, for the first time he could remember the lights were silent and he pressed the accelerator forward in amazement. The car bounced over the crossing planks rhythmically, in tune with Frank Sinatra on the stereo. Out of nowhere a dark shape with fluorescent flickering eyes darted in front of the car, causing him to break suddenly. Not used to drastic movements the Volvo stalled in protest.
“Blast” he cursed.
He turned the key in the ignition, only to be rewarded with a feeble spluttering from the exhaust pipe. A few more turns of the key produced nothing more than intermittent bursts of Frank’s “Everything Happens to Me”.
The looming twilight emphasized the amber glow from the suddenly woken warning signal. Pausing from key turning, he slowly raised his eyes to the unwelcome light and the crossing barriers coming down. As the barrier landed, he rubbed his eyes in disbelief at the small black cat perched on top of the railing, staring at him with narrow eyes that would not blink. Those eyes held him rigid grinding into his soul with a vicious determination, rendering him momentarily paralysed. The sound of the approaching train horn shook him free and he hesitantly tilted his head to the left into the distant glare of the headlights. Panic surged through every cell of his body. Through a mixture of wailing and hyperventilating he fumbled with the ignition, desperately trying to start the reluctant Volvo. Again, only the electrics sporadically flared, releasing ironic skits of Sinatra’s “I Can’t Get Started”.
The cargo train was rapidly negotiating the bend directly before the crossing, the horn furiously screaming at it’s obstacle. Realising he was about to be flattened sent the poor hysterical man flying from his car and diving over the barrier. Moments later the cargo train’s breaks squealed, metal grinded metal and razor light sparks of friction poured from the tracks. As if in slow motion, the train collided with the car, hurtling it through the air and derailed in a multitude of explosions. Fire and soot licked the night and faded into blackness as he passed out on the roadside…..

The Tourist was shaking now, pin in hand. The hag would pay, and dearly so he thought as he skewered the doll’s forehead. Something happened at that moment. Something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. It was like the fog was suffocating him, choking him and filling his eyes. He stumbled forward a few steps grasping his throat. As quickly as it had come the feeling past and the fog dispersed slightly leaving him faced with an eerie unfamiliar path. It was lined with drooping moist tree’s that were wrapped in lichen shrouds. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he realised he was utterly lost. Suddenly pins and voodoo doll’s didn’t seem important. Frantically the Tourist span round desperately trying to identify his surroundings.
Out of the looming mist a lithe black shape was slinking towards him. Every inch of him trembled with terror. A tear escaped his watering eyes. The black shape prowled nearer and opened it’s wild feral eyes, enraged green slits that spoke of absolute fear. It paused a few paces before him, those feral eyes directly level with his own. He tried to scream but no noise came out. He tried to run but his legs would not.
At that moment something twitched in his hand. Turning his hand slowly over, the Tourist looked down at the small doll grinning malevolently up at him as it spoke….
“Miaow”.

End

Thanks in advance!

AtroposDay · 02-17-2005, 09:55 AM

Oooooooh Me likie!

I mean... some errors and stuff which I am too lazy to point out... But I like it over all--my type of stories! Advice, if you can't find anything to fix at the moment, save it and back it up (just in case something goes wrong with your copy of it) and put it down, then read it again much later, a month or so afterwards with a pencil in hand ready for editing. That way you learn what you like and what needs to be fixed. Also, give it to plenty of people to read.

Dayan

mammamaia · 02-17-2005, 12:10 PM

the over-'ly'd first sentence turned me off at once, sorry to say... and you also need to work on your tenses... all those 'had's made me quit reading before i finished the first paragraph... you need to learn how to write properly and effectively in past tense... this may be a good story, but if you lose the readers so quickly, they'll never know it...

hugs, maia

jetmanjake · 02-17-2005, 12:13 PM

In just skimming over this it looks like you drop the "had"s after the first paragraph or two. I've got to go through a bunch of submissions for a lit journal at the moment, but I'll try to get back to this for a further critique later.

valeca · 02-17-2005, 12:36 PM

This is very difficult to read. I didn't make it past this sentence.

Quote:

The amateur bird watching society’s first meeting of the month started in approximately four minutes and he was either going to be exceedingly late or miss it entirely unless his aging Volvo decided to play nicely

It's a run on sentence. By the time I got to the end, I forgot what the beginning had been about.

Sorry, but I stuggled to get to this point. My advice would be to set it aside for a period of time, then come back to it and read it out loud. You'll start to see where the confusion begins for the reader.

On a side note - posting the entire thing in two posts doesn't get you around the 'long posting' issue

It's still a heck of a lot for a person to go through. Post the first section of something, then wait until it's been critiqued before posting more

You'll get more feedback that way, and probably a more thorough read through. Most of us only have limited time to read things on here, spending it all on one piece doesn't appeal to everyone.

Good Luck

podflower · 02-17-2005, 01:34 PM

Thanks everyone, now it's been pointed out I can see the issue with all the "hads" and agree with all that's been said. I have to admit I have no idea how to write in the past tense effectively so will have to go away and learn before I attempt a re-write. I found trying to tell the story with flashbacks also very hard. I think I am attempting to run before I can walk so to speak.
Sorry for the length, I promise not to do it again!