The Ghost Bride, A Rober Asher Story

The Ghost Bride, A Robert Asher Story

The Ghost Bride
by Adam Casalino

June 1, 1952

Jonathan Lewis paced back and forth in his room.  For the fifth time that morning, he checked himself in the mirror.  The flower in his lapel was crooked.  His hair wasn’t right.  The suit felt baggy, then too tight.  There wasn’t enough air in the room.  Jonathan ran to the window and flew it open.  It made him cold.  His agony was saved by a knock at the door.

“Yes, come in.”

Michael, the best man, poked his head in.  He smiled, stepped inside, and tried to reassure the groom.  Jonathan shrugged and slumped down in a chair.

“The day’s finally here,” Jonathan said.  “I don’t think I’m ready.”

“Of course you are,” Michael said.  “You are Angela are made for each other.”

“I thought that once before.”  Jonathan’s face grew dark.

Michael reached across and put a hand on his shoulder.  “Stop that.  The past is behind you.  You deserve a new life, with Angela.”

The groom smiled weakly.  “You’re right.”  He stood up and straightened his jacket.  “How do I look?”

“Like a champ.”

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Oblivion, a Robert Asher Story

Oblivion a Robert Asher Story

Oblivion
by Adam Casalino

October 2, 1965

Robert Asher was on hold.  Easy listening music, meant to sooth the caller, was playing on the other end.  The rumba sounded like it was coming through a crushed cigarette box.  Asher was not one for rumba music, or dancing for that matter.  He didn’t like waiting on the phone either.  Leaning out of the phone booth, he looked up and down the train platform.  He checked his watch.  Almost out of time.  The rumba music played on.

Finally a voice spoke through the phone.

“This is Mr. Hargrave’s office, may I asked who’s calling?”

“My name is Robert Asher,” he said.  “I need to talk to Hargrave immediately.”

“What is this in regards to?” the woman asked.

“I’m working for him,” Asher said.  “Is he around?  It’s urgent.”

“Mr. Hargrave is in a meeting right now, can I take a message?”

“No, not really.”

A ball of fire bloomed out of the wall several yards away.  The train station shook with the force of the explosion.  Asher picked himself up, hung up the phone, and started walking.  Panicked voices came from everywhere.  Smoke rapidly filled the station.  Asher covered his nose and mouth and searched for a way out.  A crowd formed around him, the same idea on their minds.

People pushed each other to get to the exit doors.  Grown men laid waste to anyone who got in their way.  Nobody touched Asher.  A sandy-haired man brushed passed him, knocking down a woman in from of him.  Asher stopped to help her up.

“What’s the big idea, jerk!” she yelled at the man.  Her eyes met Asher’s and she smiled apologetically.  “Thanks.”

“Don’t worry about–”

The ground shuddered.  There was a sound like girders being twisted into pretzels.  Fire burst from the tracks behind them, tossing a train car into the air.  It slid across the platform, plowing through pedestrians.  Asher picked up the woman and ran for the doors.  He didn’t stop to open them.

Pointing his shoulders forward, he jumped through the glass.  He cleared the steps of the station and landed on the sidewalk.  Carefully, he let go of the woman, setting her on her feet.  They both looked back at what was left of the train station.  Fire lapped at the mangled doors; bodies hung from the train car like Christmas lights.

“What the hell is going on?” the woman said.

“You don’t wanna know.”

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New Story: “Muerte Azul”

Muerte Azul

I’ve been hard at work for the last few years writing stories.  It’s part of the reason why comics have been so slow in coming.  Sorry, but when the spirit takes you, you just gotta obey.

In the coming days and weeks, I’ll be posting some of these fresh batches of fiction on the site.  First up, is Muerte Azul, a short little tale about a graduation after party.  Here is a sample:

By the time Kevin reached the hill, many more gray people were out.  They came out of the trees, out of the shadows.  None of them came out of the houses.  They glowed with an eerie light, like wisps floating across a swamp.  Altogether they moved in a silent rhythm.  More came up behind Kevin and he was forced to go with them.

The road went on for miles, but the gray people did not tire.  Kevin asked what was going on.  Only one responded, a short woman with branches in her hair, by holding a finger to her lips.  The road eventually reached a massive hill.  It was dotted with small stones.  The strangers were gathering at the summit.  Kevin was suddenly gripped with a desire to go home.  He tried to back away from the Great Hill.  The gray people held out their arms, blocking his path.  Kevin found himself getting closer to the top of the hill.

To read the full story, simply clicky the link: Muerte Azul, by Adam Casalino.

Check out all my other short fiction on the Extras page.

“The Infection Begins” a new story

Took a while, but here is a new short story. Continuing from my infection/survival serial. Not quite zombies, something much worse.

The rest of my stuff can be found at somefiction.tumblr.com

THE INFECTION BEGINS

He stumbled through the disaster that was once a lab room.  In the little light that was left he rummaged through desk drawers, closets and cabinets.  He finally found it in Mansen’s desk: a small vial of crystal clear liquid.  He pulled a clean syringe from his coat pocket and hastily filled it with the fluid.  With a less than steady hand he stuck the needle into his arm.  He breathed a little easier as he felt the medicine go in.

He stumbled over to a broken shard of glass and checked his face in the foggy reflection.  The spotted discoloration stretching from his neck to his chin seemed to be fading—but he wasn’t sure.  It would have to do, though.  It was his only hope.

Out of the Darkness

This is part 2 from Friday’s post

Since the fall of Fort Haddoch, we have been fighting a losing war.  The land we acquired from out hard-fought conflict with the Normans are all but lost, as this ghost army and its cult of human followers snatch it from us.  Only our capital city is completely safe, thanks to the tireless efforts of our fighting men.

It was a cold spring during the first year of the war.  I was stationed at Gamling’s Hold.  The southern fortification had seen little action, but we were taking no chances.  Two thousand men—a pair battalions—were present, both at the garrison overlooking the falls and at the fort proper.  Gamling’s Hold was positioned in a wide valley beside the Singing River, a major artery to the capital.  If it fell, and with it the river, our country would be soon to follow.

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