Well - This is the last post

I moved on. And so should you.
Well, I moved the site across and built something new. It's still the screaming wall, but there'll be no more updates here. In fact it has all of the old posts.

So go to http://thescreamingwall.com/ and mark it in your Bookmarks/Favourites, you'll need to refresh your RSS subscriptions as well.

Thanks for the support.

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New Site Under Development

I guess it’s time for an explanation. For a while, I wanted more from the website. More images, more media, more content. Unfortunately, I’ve been neglecting the site a bit anyway from gaining something of a social life, and several changes to work that I have yet to document.

Either way, despite the ease of the blogger account, it would not give me the extra bits and pieces that I wanted for the site. So I have begun development on a new site, to make the screaming wall what it really should be.

The new site, with some new content should be up soon. I can’t nail a date at this point, but I’ll make a post here when it goes live. So either check back here or keep pressing F5 at thescreamingwall.com until the page changes.

Thanks

Jack

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Update for July

Well it’s been a month since my last update and I needed to explain some things as for the lack of updates and what was happening in the background.

I have been looking for a new job, since the joy was completely sucked out by a series of vampires management hired to boost morale. Unfortunately, these so-called children of the night have fed of my colleagues, and me, to continue their own damned, undead existence. There have been some difficulties in removing the parasites from their jobs as they managed to keep the HR department in their constant thrall with the promise of immortality and eternal beauty.

I may be transferred within the company away from the vampires, but there is no promise of this. I was told that cultists keep management in fear of more impending economic and financial doom. This has resulted in several rounds of redundancies and wicker men being built. The cultists claim that such sacrifices will be a greater benefit to the company. I do not believe this to be true.

So as a side thing, I needed a distraction and right now I have a photographer that pursues me like a bloodhound for website work. It’s modest stuff, but it gives me extra cash. And I need it. I was hit hard on the maintenance side of things, with equipment giving up the very spirits that I spent enslaving to work for me. I saw ghosts leave my laptop battery and something I cannot name rapidly aged the power supply. It cost me some good livestock to replenish these items, because the shaman wouldn’t just accept mushrooms, or precious beads.

Likewise, I needed some new eyes. And this was difficult at best. Especially, after hunting down the right person who had the same colour (off-grey) and then the delicate operation of removing them. I could never find the right tool. Ice cream scoop – too big, melon baller – too small. I just could not win.

I also got really bored, lonely and sad.

So to distract me overcome my issues, I decided to take on other projects, where hopefully I meet new people and create something others may enjoy. If we are all lucky, updates will be posted in due course.

Lastly, I am still writing Magpie, in case anyone was hanging out for it. I want to finish this story right, so I am going to complete it, edit and arrange it in the right order and then post it on a weekly basis. Hopefully. I’ll ask a magic 8-Ball about this while incanting the right words to check my course.

Thanks for keeping a silent vigil however, the few of you there are left.

Aeaeae,

Jack

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Magpie Part 5

High on the mountain, sat a lone shape. Cross-legged, his hands on his knees and eyes closed, Shaman let his thoughts wander, clearing his mind. He had not eaten in several days but he did not need food. Not at this point. He worked on a trick a wise man once taught him. He squinted his eyes for a second and then opened them. Everything that Shaman saw was now different.
The sky was no longer blue, but an iridescent black that glowed white at the edges of the horizon. The sun looked burnt out and a cold rusted brown. The land around the mountain was dotted with pits and craters where blood and other bodily fluids boiled up like lava and fumed like brimstone. The mountain too felt different, like it was made of skin and flesh and bone. As if it were some giant creature sleeping and dreaming, something that Shaman dared not to wake. The sky was filled with terrible winged creatures, forever screeching in torment for somewhere to land but finding no safety.

It was with this terrible vision that Shaman could see how things were connected. Lines glowing with phosphorescence came to and from him and lay their way across the world. He saw the Colonel’s getting fainter. His time was nearly up. He saw another line, glowing bright. Cassandra. Shaman wondered what might happen to his daughter when he was gone. He remembered the joy and brilliance of her birth. Then he felt the cold hard earth of the mountain beneath him. His lungs where filling with blood. A shadow passed over him. He was scared, because he didn’t know if he had the strength now. Because he didn’t know what she might do when he was gone. Would he be gone?

Shaman’s mind shifted back. Time meant little in this place. His future seemed to be present.

Wait, he thought to himself, concentrate. Do not get lost.

These were the words of his master.

Shaman was on this mountain decades ago, before his body was scarred from ink and battle. There he had sought something that no one else would. And his master lived on that mountain. This mountain.

His master was dark-skinned with long black hair, matted with beads and feathers. Just stood there laughing. Laughing at a half-starved Shaman.

- You foolish white man! You’ve killed yourself coming out here. What makes you think I will teach you what the World has forgotten?

Shaman drank from his master skull that night before the valley. When nothing that crossed him lived. The sky then was filled fire that rose so high it would burn the sun and roast the moon. In that moment the world had become like Shaman’s vision, an eternity of terror, lost souls trapped forever, cut and shot and split open, screaming, wanting only to go home.

After that day, everyone had seen what Shaman was capable of. Paris had seen it all in the mountain above, with those special eyes of his. Ichi, Jackson, Clarke and Clara knew what he had done on his own. They all feared him, especially Paris. He took his leave, because he knew it would be his last battle. Though he still provided information over glasses over whiskey from a bottle that survived such destruction that the fire and Shaman brought.

Coming back to the present, he could see that the Colonel’s glowing line was now gone. Cassandra’s nearby still glowed strong. Then Shaman saw something new. Dark and pulsing with power, iridescent like the sky. Shaman knew who this was. There was no separating that line from him. He felt cold, cold as the mountain, a shadow was passing over him. The dark line was drawing closer to Cassandra’s line. He was no longer on the mountain, he was in town, shocked onlookers were all around him. Cassandra felt cold in his arms. A shadow moved step by step to the horizon. No. Shaman was too late. The black steel gun is still smoking in Cassandra’s hands. A pale boy lies dead in bed, red splattered against the walls like some macabre halo. Shaman tries to look at his daughter, but a shadow has passed over her like a mourning veil. The shadow has become her. The ground feels as cold as Shaman’s body…

No. None of this has come to be yet. There is still time. Shaman blinked three times and world of endless horrors had transformed back to a mountain of stone and earth surrounded by what seemed to be an endless wasteland. Getting to his feet, he moved from the summit down to where a cave lay hidden behind a massive boulder. To him the boulder was light as a feather. And with both hands, Shaman shifted it with ease.

A glow came from within the cave, though no fires were lit. Shaman walked inside. The passage spiralled down deeper into the mountain. The narrow passage was warm, and moist, as though Shaman was slowly stepping down the gullet of a giant beast. It smelled faintly of a swamp. A sound of quiet breathing, of slumber could be heard. Shaman made no sound as he slowly descended down, deep into the earth..

Soon enough the passage opened up into a chamber hewn from rock. Into the walls shelves and niches were carved. On each of these was a skull. The light in here was spectral as it moved between a smoky yellow to phosphorate green to an alien indigo. Shaman stood in the centre of the chamber surrounded by the bones of dead men, former wise men and men like Shaman.

- Foolish White Man! You have gotten yourself killed…

It was the voice of his master. Shaman knew where the skull was. He had placed it there. He had killed his master. It was required. It was the final test. Single combat. To prove who was the stronger in will and form. It was a battle that felt like it raged for days, but could only have been moments. And until the very end, his master never submitted, never backed down. Even when Shaman had his hands around his throat and squeezed tighter and tighter and tighter.

- It is not too late to sever the threads. To save yourself. To save all of us.

Another voice, older than that of Shaman’s master.

- You want me to cut and run? Like a coward? And for how long? And to where? To the ends of the earth? The sky? The oceans?

Shaman turned to face the skull that barked out at him.

- Then who will teach what the World has Forgotten and Lost?

Then another spoke, it sounded the oldest of all. A patient voice that barely hid the tone of bitterness towards the potential futures that lay before them.

- How do you think you can defeat him?

To this Shaman did not answer. But every spirit in the chamber knew his plan. And soon they all began to scream and yell at him, calling him obscenities. Shaman turned to leave. His destiny was manifest, only so to ensure others were not. As he began to ascend up the narrow passage again, he remembered what he had said to his master on top of that mountain all those years ago. When his master asked him whether he should teach him his secrets.

A young Shaman looked around the barren wasteland, void of anything spare two men and a mountain. Shaman looked back at the master and said:

- Well I don’t see anyone else here.

It was this that made his master laugh. And he then went on to teach him every beautiful and terrible thing that he knew.

Stepping out of the passage and into fresh air, Shaman stared across the endless desert, focusing on saving his daughter.

And destroying his adversary.

Preceded by Part 4

Continued in Part 6

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Magpie Part 4

The Colonel had placed posters around the town, the ink still glistening, fresh from the local newspaper’s press. The posters read:

Wanted: A Group of Skilled Individuals for Protection and Capture of Dangerous Person. All Fees Paid in Hard Currency. Enquire within Southpaw Saloon.

All day the Colonel sat at the back of the Southpaw, his back against the wall and facing the entry. He could see the entire establishment from his corner. Feet clunked across wooden floors boards that were loose in places.
So far everyone that had enquired about the job Colonel had rejected. He received all manner of people who could (or thought they could) handle a gun, or as one gentleman put it - sling shooting irons. If it wasn’t their boasting, the first thing that would escape their lips was:

- So how much does this pay?

The Colonel knew how much they were after, but always gave the lowest price to send them away with sour, disappointed faces. However, the Colonel knew he was running out of time. The stranger had killed his compatriots, people he trained and supported across this frontier. There was only he and Shaman left. Part of his mind would cling to the hope that the killer might seek Shaman first. And maybe, there would be a chance that Shaman would be the one to finally despatch this adversary. But it was last conversation with Shaman chilled him. He had seen Shaman do many things. He had seen him at the end of that terrible day in the valley. Covered in the ink of old tattoos and the blood of his enemies. Of his victims. He had seen for the moment an inhuman look in Shaman, which in a blink was gone. Paris avoided him after that day. The Colonel kept his promise and allowed Shaman to walk away and never enter another battle again.

The whiskey bottle was empty, and so it seemed that the Colonel’s time was up. But the Colonel wouldn’t go without bringing one final war.

The train of thought was ended when a newcomer entered the saloon. Dressed in a dark coat, covered in the dust from the desert wind. A mottled black hat with a wide brim hid his features. The Colonel could feel the cold steel of the derringer in the palm of his hand. The killer always got very close to his kills. The man came up to the table without a word, heavy boot thudded across the floor. And then stopped opposite to the Colonel.

- Excuse me, sir.

His voice was gravely and low

The Colonel narrowed his eyes, his finger felt for the trigger.

- Are you the one who has put up those posters around town? The same which claims you are looking for – skilled individuals?

Exhaling, the Colonel eased his grip on the derringer in his hand.

- Yes.

The tall man removed his hat from the crown of his head in respect.
His face seemed worn like the cliffs in a desert wind.

- Well I was wondering, in regards to the certain dangerous person you needed protecting from, how dangerous is he?

The Colonel smiled.

- You know something, you are the first person to ask me that all day. Please take a seat.

- Much obliged.

The man took out a chair and sat down, placing his hat on the table.

- And what is your name?

The Colonel eyed the man, which the man returned in kind.

- Most of all people call me Eli, so I guess that’s what I go by now. But you still haven’t answered my question.

The Colonel sat back, his smile eroded.

- Very dangerous. He has killed a number of my friends and a few others. All very skilled people. Such as I imagine you would be.

Eli nodded, rubbing his with his index finger.

- Oh I’ve been in a situation or two. And I’m around still to say how it got resolved. Do you know what he looks like?

- I’ve had reports that it’s just some pale kid in a coat that just too big for him. He guns down anybody that stands in his way, but he’s always hunting someone in particular. Heard that he walks the entire way too. Doesn’t have a horse, can’t ride or won’t. Thing is that he takes the weapon they’ve used and something else they’ve had on their person. Never takes any currency. Whatever he takes of value isn’t for selling, but for some kind of memento. And now I believe he’s coming after me.

- Your adversary sounds mighty interesting. Any reason why he might be coming after you?

- And that is the damnedest thing. I have no idea why. I figured it might be a job we did a number of years ago, figured it was a family member out for a spot of revenge. But I heard the boy barely speaks, or he some kind of mute. I’ve seen plenty of people on a vendetta. They all have a story and they are all proud to tell it to anyone. This boy, well, he just doesn’t have a story. He just kills. And he kills very well.

Eli sat silently taking this in. The Colonel leaned in slightly.

- And you’re still interested in the job?

Eli nodded contemplatively.

- Yeah. Yeah, why not. And I’ll help you find others, considering the turnout I’ve heard you had today.

A smile slithered across the Colonel’s face. He signalled over to the barkeeper

- Excellent. Let’s have a drink.

One of the bar staff brought over a fresh bottle of hard liquor and two glasses. A young woman poured out the amber liquid with soft hands. The Colonel watched her intently, rubbing his index finger against his bottom lip. Eli watched them both. The girl seemed to ignore the Colonel body language, as a woman working in such a place, with men filled with drink and certain ideas might. Eli knew the Colonel was no better than anyone he worked for. But a job was a job. And Eli knew this might turn out to be the strangest yet.

The Colonel raised his glass to toast the newfound deal. Eli raised his.

- Salud.

Chrystal clinked together and both Eli and the Colonel found each other sipping at their whiskey. They both smiled.

Preceded by: Part 3
Continued in Part 5 (Coming Soon)

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