Horror Out On A Limb E-Book

Bob Ric

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

Things that go bump in the night are scary because they are part of an unseen invisible world operating within our own. From ghosts haunting popular culture around the world in various forms to man, himself, becoming an invisible agent through science or the cloak used in fantasy, this powerful idea remains one that fascinates horror writers and readers alike.

Come step beyond the seen and the known into tales where only imagination and horror rules.

Leseprobe

Bob Ric

Horror Out On A Limb

BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

The Shovel

There was only one. The shovel’s lip dug into the sand. Mars wasn’t its home. A far more distant place had been. Those who came before left it. Left it like she and others were left. “Forced colonization. Live or die.”Australia once had been a place like this, force fed the worst of an empire. Harriet Stone, climate activist. Vomited out here for political dissent. “Please, Mother, give us drink.”Mars wasn’t Earth. There were no oceans of water. Some hid underground. The shovel knew where to find it. Its handle quivered when it did. Like now. The handle vibrated in her hand. The thin membrane of her oxygen suit felt it. “Ready children?”They weren’t children really, these convicts. They were scientists banished forever like her. Why the shovel had chosen Harriet Stone was a mystery. Parched and dying from lack of thirst it found her. Bonded. “Hold still. You first.”The long thin tongue wiggling out of the handle sucked like a straw. Harriet licked at the knob on the end. Her cheeks bulged. She spit into the mouth opening greedily. The water filtered through both oxygen suits. Much of it evaporated in the arid heat. “More.”That is how it worked. The cache of shovels had been many. Women bonded better than men. Many died trying. Shovels were used to bludgeon, by thieves. Warred over, broken trying to reinvent them, lost.A system worked itself out. Groups of survivors mined the rich ores of Mars. Shovels were worshiped. They weren't gods. They wore out.Earth's population grew. More ‘colonists’ were sent. The expectation of finding more shovels died. “Next.”The liquid was more than water. The shovel’s design metabolized water into more than wine. The miracle transformed water into nutrients keeping her small band alive. “Next.”The shovel stopped quivering. The water mixed with sand stilled. It sank. The shovel extricated itself. Became a staff she leaned on. “Back to the tent. Another dust storm.”They were nomads. None could exist without the tents. Their fabric looked fragile. It wasn’t. They were almost living things. They crawled around the horizon. Their job was finding the ore beneath the surface. Keeping the exiles alive was a byproduct.They hovered inside their misery in the tent, Waiting. There was a lot of that. Waiting for the next ship from Earth. Waiting to prod the tent into folding up its contents of ore. The ship might have new converts. Might not. Ships were designed like robots to do their chores.The bright, brittle flame of a new ship bit through the dusty air. It landed. New convicts emerged. Empty tents traded places with filled ones. It was the same thing all over again. They would find out soon enough.Mother Harriet Stone and her children prepared. The past had taught them well. They either attacked or were attacked. Sharpened stones were their knives. Ripping. Carving. Tearing.There was only one shovel. One Harriet Stone. Surprise was her real weapon. Her band knew what to do. It became a ritual. “Ninety percent water, fresh nutrients in the blood.”The shovel harvested. The new drink was delicious. The shovel sucked. Harriet Stone pouted. Cheeks bulged like balloons. She spit. “Yes, Mother.” Her thirsty brood drank. The bodies of the dying became dry prunes. Shriveled. The new dust of Mars.When it was time, the band wandered. There was nothing else to do. The mining tents hunted ore, not water. The search was on.Mother made sure each of them wore a new oxygen suit. Wore a backpack with the new supplies. The old ones shed like snake skin. The new auto-formed in place. The moment of nakedness where old met new happened in an eyeblink. The skin would take weeks to heal. The suits knew their task. Every man made thing was smarter than its creator.“It is time to go.” Mother Harriet Stone loved her position of power. Where she went, the others followed.The newly awakened thing under the Martian soil recorded it all. Its message far flung received an answer. The excrement that was intelligent life on earth was not a hazard to anything but itself. The continuum was safe for millenia. No more study was in order.Mankind was left to fend for itself. The outpost would be abandoned.When Harriet Stone awoke she watched her shovel work the soil. The thing that came up was a monster. It collected her and her band for souvenirs. Trinkets added to its report.The abandoned shovel waited for the next prisoners from Earth. It was never recalled.