Clara After Dark II




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Roland (draft)

ROLAND The Nazi occupation of Norway lasted five years almost to the day, from April 1940 to May 1945. In the spring of 1940, Germany had overwhelmed Norwegian military forces, which there were few of, and taken over the entire region, including Scandanavia. It is said that they beat the British by only a week or two, as Great Britain had plans to invade as well. Roland Uhlrichson was born in Murmansk, Norway in May 1946, one year from the departure of German forces from the country.  A post-war Norway was shaking off the German dust, rebuilding their country and optimistic about the future. After half a decade of life oppressed, they could finally enjoy full normalcy once again. Roland's father was killed around the time he was born and his mother was left to raise him alone. His mother didn't care much for him. Roland would recall the strange way she would sometimes peer at him; eyes slightly closed, mouth pursed, neck tight, almost a suspicion in her pale blue unblin...
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CONVENIENCE

CONVENIENCE  And so he sat. He sat in the convenience store, lights off, staring straight ahead, mouth agape. The cat played idly on the large front sill of the display window, rolling and clawing at her toy, as sun shone through the dusty window. The air was still and musty. Without much movement, a fine layer of silt had settled on everything. His jaw had mostly healed, but the store remained a complete wreck. The candy display was toppled, packets of chewing gum and chocolate bars scattered on the dirty linoleum floor. The small shelf near the fridge lay on its side, dirty cans of soup here and there. The fridge was dark and still, no erratic hum of the near-broken motor, now holding only terribly rancid milk and cream. Regular customers pounded on the door and windows, yelling for cigarettes, chips, sodas. Delivery men knocked at the rear, their carts loaded with goods that would never be delivered into the store. The phone rang and rang. And he continued to si...
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Bram Stoker's Birthday

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Pit was in an elated mood. It was the winter of 1888 in London. A light snow had covered the city yet thick soot continued to live on the surface of everything in the place. Pit hefted the full sack of dry goods on his shoulder and darted across the wet cobblestone street as carriages zipped by, drivers screaming obscenities of the most heinous order as they burst through the settling fog. An urchin wretched in the gutter, hot green slime splattering the filthy stone basin. A shopkeeper across the way opened his door and peeked out onto the increasingly busy road. As the fog grew thicker and the church rang 7 bells in the distance, Pit cut south down the alleyway off Leicester Street.  He bound up the staircase and slipped the key into the lock while twisting the handle, all in one fluid motion. He closed the door softly and winced when he thought of the time. Quickly he filled the kettle and placed it on the stove. He set the basket of scones near the fire to warm....
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