FloridaJay

...here anyway. I entered this one in a Short Short story contest, it's only a little over 1700 words - short and to the point, I guess. Enjoy. (Oh, and by the way, my genre of choice is usually horror or dark fantasy.)
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The Woods

Jonathan and Lucas Plum didn’t expect to find the cemetery in the middle of the woods they were hunting squirrels in. The brothers had hunted in this stretch of land for fifteen years collectively (before and after their father’s death.) They believed that they knew every inch of the land, every brush pile, every knotted tree. Thinking instinctively, the young hunters counted on a clearing of small weeds and saplings to be their next stepping point. Instead, a large patch of brown and gray fungi greeted them, with a dozen or so crooked and stained grave markers jutting haphazardly toward the hazy blue sky.

Jonathan was the first to discover the change in scenery. His younger brother, shuffling his feet over a recent argument, was half an acre back. Because of their woodland knowledge, Jon wasn’t worried about Lucas too much, he was sure that no harm would come to him. What validated his surety was also the reason for the argument that separated the two: Their mother had made him promise not to give the twelve-year-old his ammunition until reaching what his father simply called The Hill. That area was the most densely populated with squirrels or other vermin and was farthest from human population. Lucas had begged and pleaded and even promised to his elder sibling that he would be careful. What if we see a squirrel? No shooting until The Hill. I won’t load it yet. I know you won’t, I’ve got your shells. I promise I won’t even use them until we get there. And so on, until he gave up and retired his argument to the most basic form of disagreement: the pout. Unfortunately, no matter how much he wanted to acquiesce, Jonathan knew why his mother felt so strongly about the subject. He sadly understood, after all it was a gun that had killed his father.

Jon took a moment to examine what lay before him. It seemed from where he stood that the site was very old. The stones were not easily readable at only a dozen paces away. Moss and vines had once tried to smother everything, but natural decay or some other rot had stopped all growth here, turning green to gray, nearly camouflaging the corrupted headstones. Their (possibly) granite faces were blackened with age and were broken and eroded in places. Any design or decoration that was once carved upon them had been smoothed away by time and neglect. How had this been here for all these years (decades, centuries perhaps) and they had not stumbled over it before? Not even other hunters, who often used this area for deer and rabbit, had told tales of a cemetery in these woods. Could it be…

"Did we take a wrong turn?" Lucas asked at his brother’s side.

Jon was startled by his sibling‘s voice. However, the older boy hid the fact that his brother had snuck up on him, not knowing if it was on purpose or that he was so entranced by the cemetery that he didn’t hear him at all. He pretended to clean his glasses on his shirt at the exact moment of the scare, before Luke noticed.

"I was just thinking the same thing," Jon answered and thought for a moment how amazing the connection was between the two. It seemed at times they knew exactly what the other was going to say or do.

"I don’t remember this. It looks like it cuts right across the trail," Lucas observed.

"I know. Dad never mentioned anything about this and Mr. Tooley or any others never said anything about this, did they?"

"I think I would’ve remembered this. It would’ve been a cool story to hear. Now, it’s just kind of creepy."
The hunters took a moment and then stepped onto the graying ground. A cool wind, much cooler than would be expected in Autumn, drifted over them.

Once inside the invisible boundary of the graveyard, they could see that the markers were arranged in a crooked circle around a larger, albeit broken, headstone.

"Weird," Lucas uttered, looking at his feet, "feels like we’re walking in sand."

Jon agreed that the ground felt soft and unstable, not unlike their mother’s waterbed, which they had been chastised repeatedly for (gleefully) trampling on.
The first worn stone they came to was unreadable, acidic rain or abusive time had rendered it anonymous. Lucas gave his best attempt reading the stubby one next to it, reciting what was scratched into the stone.

"Willow? No, William. William Bird. R I P 1787."

"Wow, old," was the only thing Jon could think as a reply. He was quickly getting what his Grandmother called a bad cloud over his head. Something was not right at all about this place.

With that thought, the blue sky above surrendered itself to dark, tumbling clouds. The trees in the surrounding woods gave birth to dark shadows which lay on the ground like waiting beasts. The breeze turned to icy wind, desperate to embrace the young men with its cold arms.

The two shivered as they watched the once tranquil air above them become hostile with swirling leaves and growling thunderheads.

A soft moan caught Jonathan’s attention. He looked down in disbelief at what appeared to be a hand grabbing for his boot. Transparent and soft around the edges, the wispy fingers reached for him.

Jon stepped back quickly, his brother did the same, letting out a shriek. They watched as the other tombstones began to reveal similar apparitions. Headless shoulders and limbless torsos, barely visible against the wooded background, floated up from the mossy earth. Each released a bone-chilling and ragged moan or groan as they arose, their chorus raising gooseflesh on the frightened young men. Jon and Luke stood frozen, their minds barely able to comprehend the spectral forms hovering before them.

A dozen undead nightmares faced them, and even though the things were practically transparent, enough detail was revealed to horrify the brothers. One gauzy spirit had no head and reached out with bony white hands, another was legless, a flying trunk with black eyes on white bone. Two of the wraiths held hands, one was once female, the other male, but even though they were probably peaceful beings in life, the hunger in their dead, hollow eyes told they knew nothing but wickedness now.

The ground began to tremble beneath the hunters’ booted feet, but neither one moved an inch. Fear upon fear held them place, their legs unwilling to flee, their mouths too paralyzed to scream.

The center stone, the fragment of a greater monument, sank into the earth and leaving behind a blacker than black hole. The spirits parted as the icy wind pushed at the brothers backs, insisting them forward.

Without thought, Jonathan and Lucas, stepped toward the gaping chasm. In their minds, they screamed and cried and fought, but their bodies ignored them and carried them silently, closer and closer to the never-ending darkness.

"NO," a raspy voice called from the shadows to the boys’ left.

Gaining control of themselves for a moment, the two looked toward the speaker. The ghoulish flock did the same.
Standing before them, just as he had looked the last day he was with them, was their father. He wore his hunting pants and jacket and his boots were muddied.

"Dad," Lucas softly cried.

For the second time that day, Jonathan disbelieved what his eyes saw. In front of him was the man he had lost two years prior. His vision lost focus as fresh tears formed.

"YOU CANNOT HAVE THEM." Their father’s form was hazy but he seemed more solid then the graveyard spooks. His brave challenge angered the restless inhabitants of the cemetery, their moans became screams as each tattered ghost slowly drifted towards the incorporeal hunter.

Jonathan could feel that his legs were in his control again, he dropped his rifle and grabbed onto his brother.

"Dad?" was all Luke could say as he was pulled away from the graveyard. He watched intently as the specters surrounded his lost parent.

Jonathan glanced over his shoulder one last time. The floating horrors began to assault his ghostly father. As the ethereal beings swirled around him, but before he disappeared in the melee, Jon caught his father looking at him directly, and in that gaze he understood.

Luke was crying and struggling to get back to their dad, but Jon held him close and tore him away from the haunted cemetery.

By the time they stopped, the sky had cleared, sunlight shone through the forest canopy. The warm air comforted them and let them no they were safe. The grave and its dreadful inhabitants were nowhere in sight.

"Stop!" Luke pleaded.

Jon then realized he still had a firm grip on his brother. He let go and exhausted, fell to his knees, tears streaming down his weary face.

"We have to go back," Lucas demanded hoarsely, not realizing he had screamed for his dad during their entire escape.

"We can’t."

"But, Dad…"

"…is dead, Luke." He looked up to his younger sibling, "He’s gone."

Jonathan stood up, took his brother’s hand and gently lead him towards home.

The two said nothing else until they reached the bright edge of the woods. Here the air was pleasant with the gentle fragrance of honeysuckle and clover. Birds sang to their lovers and butterflies spastically danced about swaying treetops. The green world welcomed the young hunters as the glowing sun warmed their chilled frames. It was good to be back.

Luke looked back once more.

"It really happened, didn’t it Jon?"

"Yes, it did."

"Dad saved us." Luke spoke in awe.

"It was what he was meant to do," Jon answered, thinking about the gaze he and his father shared.

They smiled at one another, the bond between them stronger than ever.

"Let’s not tell Mom about this, okay," Jon said as they started up the hill to their house.

"Yeah, but what do we say about your rifle?"

"Maybe she won’t ask," was the only reply Jonathan could come up with.

Luke let the subject be. He and his brother sprinted the rest way up to their home. Now more than ever, a hug from mom seemed like the greatest thing in the world.

THE END

__________________
I think my keyboard is trying to kill me.
It's in league with that awfully blank page.
They laugh at me while I try to create something from nothing.

Memoirs of a Dead Lesbian Fish Girl

Chris Miller

Agree with Maria, very good for your first. What was the contest?

The ending kind of fizzled for me. I mean trying to end this on a warm fuzzy... I don't know. How do you end something like this?

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the fairwriting blogs

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FloridaJay

This is exactly why I joined this forum, thanks for the feedback. I understand what you mean about the first line, I'll work on it. Secondly, I wanted to end it upbeat, but maybe failed doing so, I can still play around with it and see where it goes. Thanks again.

__________________
I think my keyboard is trying to kill me.
It's in league with that awfully blank page.
They laugh at me while I try to create something from nothing.

Memoirs of a Dead Lesbian Fish Girl

Changeling

If this is your first story then my not believing it is a compliment.
If it is your tenth story it's still pretty good.
You started well and had some quality desciption going on. I liked the part when he'd love to aquiesce - superb word choice here. And the plot is sound.
I think the grammar slips up in parts. I have the same problem. You could shorten a few sentences and maybe add some commas. Try reading it aloud and listen to the flow.
The trick is not to overcomplicate. You have great vocabulary but you don't need to impress with long sentences. Vary sentence length. If you try and simplify your style it will be easier to read and you can still keep a rich vocabulary.
As stories go it's good. As a first attempt it is very good.
Remember cutting and revising are just as important as writing. It's clear you have the seeds of talent here, keep it up and you'll be nourished by the forum.

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We are all in the gutter, but some of us are gazing at the stars. (Wilde)

Blackhawk_t

You took the time to read one of mine, so I am gladly repaying the favor.

For starters, it took me over half an hour to read it, because I was fighting a 7 month old and a 3 year old for attention. I say that, because even though it took me that long, it still kept my attention and I was able to pick up where I left off with the same feeling of fear and anxiety that you were trying to instill in the reader. That in my opinion is a great compliment to your writing style.

For a first story, this is really good. I'm not going to try and critique anything I saw, because, as you said, this is your first post on here. And, I'm not the best at helping with pronouns, semi-pronouns, amateur nouns, and other stuff like that, but I can tell when a sentence doesn't flow right. Yours all flowed quite nicely.

Good job, I look forward to reading more. I will give more feedback of what I see in those. Thank You again.

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thinstep

you've got quite a lot of dialogue attribuition verbs that aren't "he said / she said". see below:

plus, some of those are adverbs, which makes them doubly worse.
if its not clear from context how a character is going to say something, then it should be made clear in context, and not spelled out with words like 'uttered' and 'cried' in dialogue. I'd suggest changing all of those to 'Jon said' etc, and replacing the lost information (if you need to) in the prose.

also, this may be just my bias, dialogue in eneral should be avoided. good dialogue is extremely hard to write, and if its not ood then its pretty bad. in this case, some of the dialogue can be removed and replaced with prose, since all it is doing is describing the surroundings:

I would suggest including dialogue only if there is no other way to convey that information. Next time you read a novel, pay close attention to the places where dialogue shows up. You'll notice that it is very sparse, is nearly exclusively followed by "he said / she said" (unless you're reading pulp fiction), and is almost never 'descriptive' in the way your prose is.