Nightmares From Eberus - A Speculative Fiction Collection, page 1
Nightmares From Eberus
A Speculative Fiction
Collection
JC De La Torre
Wesley Chapel, Florida
Nightmares From Eberus
Copyright © 2010 by Smashwords and DLT Atlantis Publishing.
Published by DLT Atlantis Publishing at Smashwords.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author or DLT Atlantis Publishing.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters (excluding the Greek deities and Jesus Christ), places, and events depicted in this book are figments of the author’s imagination and should not be construed as reality. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, associations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 978-0-9785272-2-8
Cover Art by Ted Ruybal
Cover Concept by Martin Bland
Newly Edited by Pam Chaisson
Visit JC De La Torre at http://www.jcdelatorre.com
To Rita – my rock, my best friend, my soul mate.
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank the De La Torre, Cabrera, and Dawson families for their continuous support in my insane endeavors.
I’d like to thank Martin Bland for the concept of the book cover and the amazing Ted Ruybal for his unreal job at realizing my vision for the cover.
I wish to thank my mother who’s always been there for me and my father, who has come back to me.
I, of course, would like to thank my lovely wife Rita, whom without her strength none of this would be possible.
I’d like to thank my some important folks – Chris Masters, John Chaisson, Jayson Minnick, Deby McCourt, Antonio Braxton, Eric Cruz, Bobby Badger and the rest of the crew at the WC.
Finally, I want to thank you, my devoted readers, for your continued support and love. Without you, I am nothing.
Table of Contents
Introduction
Continuum Force – The New Guy
Tawney's Stars
Serial
Gator Country
Reality
Shockers
Lucifer's Lament
Killing Osama
Until the End of Time
Rise of the Ancients - Alulim
After the Nightmare
Introduction
I absolutely love short stories. Always have. It’s really a passion of mine. As great as Stephen Kings’ epic novels like Cell, Bag of Bones, and The Dark Tower saga, capture the mind and tantalizes the soul, his short story collections such as Skelton Crew, Four Past Midnight, and his latest, Just Past Sunset, have always been my favorites of his work.
I routinely visit websites with speculative fiction short stories and seek out magazines with excellent short story content.
Through the years, I’ve written several short stories, none of which I ever pursued to have published. I had always focused on my novel length fiction, while the short form works just sat on my computer, never seeing the light of day.
After completing Rise of the Ancients – Annuna, I realized how much I truly missed writing short stories. As I reader, I always loved the beginning, middle, and end of my entertainment, to be wrapped up in short order. I loved the concise razor thin simplicity of writing a short-form work, knowing that if I wasn’t careful, there was a chance that the story could become too long and eventually have to be saved as a later novel invention.
Unlike the Horror master, King, I didn’t just write Horror. I touched all the different sub genres of speculative fiction. I enjoyed writing space opera, as much as I took pleasure in a toe-curling horror opus. I loved dabbling in fantasy and the occult, as much as I enjoyed monsters.
Still, Nightmares from Eberus is perhaps my darkest work. At times this collection seems to have elements of pure evil just dripping from its pages.
I enjoy scaring you, dear reader. I love making you think, What if? I take delight in challenging what you believe to be true while taking your mind to places where you don’t want to go. I realize that sometimes you don’t want to go where I may want to take you. I know that some of these stories may not sit well with you. Some may anger you or make you feel as if I’ve gone too far.
This is fine, my beloved reader, because as an author I’m always seeking a response – whether positive or negative.
I just hope you know that while it is my goal to entertain you and challenge you, I never meant to offend you or your beliefs. They are your own, and I dare not say you shouldn’t believe in what you truly believe. No fiction story should change or challenge that.
At the end of this collection, I’ve included After the Nightmare, which gives you an idea of where all of these ten stories came from – the how, when, and why.
While this is my first short fiction collection, I can assure you, God willing, it won’t be my last.
I’d like to thank you, dear reader, for joining me on this journey through my darkest nightmares. I hope you have fun and at the very least they give you a jolt. I tried to include something for everyone in this collection; Science Fiction, Fantasy, Horror, and the Supernatural. All are among these ten stories. If you don’t like one type of genre, feel free to skip to another story. I’m sure there’s something here you’ll enjoy.
Thanks for reading and I look forward to the next time we can get together. Now, grab a cup of coffee, position that lamp just right, check your E-reader for power and don’t fall asleep - for you’re about to embark on Nightmares From Eberus.
JC De La Torre
June 26, 2010, Wesley Chapel, Florida
Continuum Force – The New Guy
Dannard wondered who in the Air Force he had pissed off to get this assignment. After ten years of running special ops in Iraq, Afghanistan, and in South America, he was stuck in the back of an unmarked sedan and freezing. It was sixteen below outside, as it normally would be on the outskirts of Great Falls, Montana in the dead of winter, and they were headed to Malmstrom Air Force base – or as some of his buddies called it, ‘Nowhereville’.
Two days ago, Dannard was basking in the sun-drenched confines of Pearl Harbor, using some of his well-earned R&R, after fierce battles with drug lords in Nicaragua. With Dannard’s dirty blond hair, athletic physique and piercing blue eyes, he rarely had any trouble finding a lady friend. Relaxed, with this new lady, poolside was when he received the two line commu-niqué;
MALMSTROM AIR FORCE BASE, MONTANA
IMMEDIATELY REPORT FOR ASSIGNMENT –TOP SECRET
Lt. Col. Connor Dannard wasn’t one to question orders; he followed them to the T. Still, Malmstrom was an old ICBM refuge, a product of the cold war that housed empty silos that once contained the destruction of the world. He saw combat in Iraq and Afghanistan during their top-secret missions but he had never been shot down. He provided air support as the ground troops sifted through all the hiding spots looking for Saddam.
He received many accolades and was quickly promoted, embarrassing him slightly because he was a modest man. He thought he was just doing his job and he did it well.
“So, what do you guys do for fun around here?” He joked with the rock-jawed driver, who gave no response.
His mind fought through what he possibly could have done wrong to deserve this assignment. Malmstrom was where the Air Force put you when there was nowhere else they would have you. He thought back to some of the women in Nicaragua he had diddled with – they were all locals – no General’s daughters.
He achieved his mission, assisting in shooting down planes belching from all the drugs interred in their stomachs and keeping them from hands of children in the US. He didn’t deserve to be punished.
If it wasn’t a punishment, what could the Air Force have at Malmstrom that would fit his abilities, maybe a downed UFO? Yeah, right. In all his years in the Air Force, he’d never seen one – although others he knew claimed to.
They briefly stopped at the guard station where the MP waved them through without so much a check of identification. “That’s odd”, Dannard thought to himself. The car continued down the primary thoroughfare of Malmstrom, Goddard Avenue, past a collection of planes, large and small on the right, and several barracks to the left.
The Air Force has a lot of bad apples. The car continued past large buildings, parking lots and more barracks. It took a left on a street called Flightliner Drive, then a right on Malmstrom Air Force Base road, continuing to follow the road until the base was gone and all that lie ahead was the snow-covered hilly terrain. They drove for what must have been an hour before finally settling on a small remote building in the middle of nowhere. Bumfuk, Egypt.
“Get out,” the driver said stone-faced, as he brought the car to a stop.
Dannard complied and the driver peeled away, leaving him standing alone in the subfreezing temperature. A few seconds later, the front door to the small structure creaked and cranked, like a paranoid man unlocking fifty locks to allow a guest in, and four MP’s with automatic weapons emerged from the opening doorway.
“State your business,” One barked forcefully.
“I am Lieutenant Colonel Connor Dannard. I was -”
“Please follow us Colonel Dannard,” Another interrupted.
Dannard followed the MPs into the small structure, which held a few desks, office furniture, a PC and a smal l armory in the back. The building held two small rooms and in the back there was a large silver door with a keycard lock.
One of the MPs slid an access card and pressed his thumb against a scanner. A light green light made his thumb glow until the device prompted him to ENTER CODE. The MP quickly typed a series of fifteen numbers that were in no particular order. The door made a large KA-CHUNK sound as it unlocked an unseen massive bolting mechanism and slowly opened, revealing an elevator.
“This is our stop,” The MP said as he looked back at Dan-nard. “Hit the lowest level I12 and it will take you where you need to go. They’re waiting for you there.”
Dannard thanked the MP and followed his instructions. The elevator whirred to life and he could feel it rapidly descending, losing gravity for just a moment. In seconds it reached its’ destination and pinged an announcement of its’ assignment, separating the doors and revealing two individuals.
The man was a four star general, in complete military uni-form with reddish but graying hair and a pronounced handlebar moustache. The female was attractive, slightly older with dark braided hair tied in the back and silky mocha skin. Her large lips fit well among her smaller nose and dark brown eyes.
“Hello, Colonel Dannard, I am General Killian O'Shaugh-nessy,” the General saluted. He returned his salutation.
“Lieutenant Colonel Connor Dannard, reporting for duty, sir!”
“At ease, Colonel.” He smiled and turned to the woman, “Allow me to introduce you to Doctor Osumara Alala.”
“Ma’am.” Dannard nodded.
“Hello Colonel Dannard,” her voice was loud, but not ob-noxious – commanding confidence and respect, “The General has told me great things about you and I believe you’ll make a great addition to the project.”
“The project?”
“Yes, Dannard,” O'Shaughnessy continued. “Your skills with Special Ops are legendary, as well as your patriotism and heroism.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Your superiors forwarded your achievements to me as an addition to this project – a civilian and military coercion we call Project Continuum.”
The general motioned for Dannard to follow and he did, for the first time taking his eyes off the General and looking out at the expansive area that was buzzing with activity from military and civilian personnel.
“What I’m about to tell you is TS/SCI Gamma, unders-tood?”
“Yes, sir.
“In 1947 in New Mexico, a small unidentified flying object crashed -”
Oh God, it is a UFO.
“In the craft were three small beings that appeared to be extra-terrestrial in nature. With me so far?”
“Yes sir, Roswell, right?”
“Yes,” the General continued. “The beings died during the impact, so we learned little from them other than their physiology. The craft though - gave us a bountiful assortment of information.”
As they moved through the large open area they came to stop in front of an object the size of a large bomber, covered by a large tarp.
“We were obviously concerned that the Russians had devel-oped a new weapon, so our scientist went to work on trying to reverse engineer the craft.”
“What about the occupants, sir?”
“We didn’t know what to make of those,” he replied. “Some of our squints thought they may be some type of bioengineered human clone because they nearly had all our organs, and our anatomy except for a discernable gender – they were just vastly different in skin texture and muscle mass. They also lacked voice boxes. We just weren’t ready to admit they were extra-terrestrial.”
The general motioned to a soldier standing near the object, and the tarp was pulled off to reveal the large triangle-shaped craft with strange markings on the exterior.
“Holy -”
“Indeed,” the General chuckled, “my reaction as well.”
“It looks like a Stealth.” Dannard remarked.
“For good reason, this is the Stealth’s daddy,” the General replied, “Many of our aircraft were developed from this thing. But our most amazing discovery was in the 1960’s by Dr. Alalas’ father.”
“Yes,” Alala continued the story, “It was quite by accident, really. My father was a scientist that was working on one of the internal instrument panels of the craft. He inadvertently hit a button and for just a brief second – there was a flash.”
“While his fellow workers outside the craft insisted the craft was only gone for a second, he claimed he was transported back in time. Instantly, he was in the Mesozoic era and said they were there for several days.”
“Back in time?”
“Yes. Only, it wasn’t just him. Other workers were also inside the craft and on top of the craft, when it connected to what we call a cosmic string and yanked backward. Those on the exterior were vaporized – or at least we believe that’s what happened. No trace was ever found.”
“My father and his compatriots exited the craft to find a vastly different Montana. After a brief time exploring, they were chased back into the vehicle by a curious Tyrannosaurus Rex. Unfortunately, one didn’t make it and was devoured by the creature.”
“How did they get back?”
“After a few days of retracing his steps, my father figured out a way to reverse the string, and it snapped them back to our time.”
“From that moment,” the General added, “we understood what we had.”
“A time machine?”
“We call it a CTC Device,” Alala corrected.
“CTC?”
“Yes, a closed time-like curve device.”
“What is that?”
“A closed time-like curve is a material particle in space time that is closed, returning to its’ starting point. It is this particle that allows time travel. The device initiates the curve at a designated location and time, and then uses a cosmic string to rip it from our existence, to the destination existence, and returns it again when completed.”
“So are they aliens or beings from the future?”
“We’re not sure,” Alala replied.
“But I believe they are aliens,” the General added. “I think that’s how they travel to our planet. Think about it, traveling vast distances between galaxies is just impossible with propulsion systems that we know of. It would take lifetimes just to reach another star in our galaxy”.
“But what if you had the ability to control time? You could plot a course, plug in the time you wanted to be there, and presto! You’re there in a flash.”
