Advent Day Ten 2015

Advent Day Ten

December 10 2015

Daniel Lamb

It's Only Just Begun

Snowball

Somewhere, in the shadow-space between worlds, he waits.

            He has been waiting almost a year now. But that’s okay. He is used to a cyclical existence. His breath mists in the cold, condensing not just the air, but time itself. The storm winds have already begun to signal his arrival. Soon, the bells will ring, the choirs will chant and sing, the people will gather and be merry and sit down to feast. And he will be there. Feasting in his own way. It won’t be long now.

            He waits, ready to slip from behind the veil and back into the world.

            The old man with the matted grey hair purses his lips in the ice chill and starts to whisper, tentatively practising what will soon become a roar of sinister mirth.

            ‘It’s…Christmas…’ Slow, quiet, testing out the words as though he has never spoken them before.

            ‘It’s…Christmas.’ A little more forcefully now.

            The hour approaches. Two eyes glint in the darkness. Noddy Holder grins and lets out a rusty cackle.

            ‘It’s Christmas!’

    

About the Author

Daniel Lamb is a twenty-three year old biped humanoid who likes to make things up. He used to make up stories in the playground as a child and rope all his friends into playing all the different characters whether they liked it or not. Now, he just writes the stories down in an attempt to avoid the possibility of characters getting bored and walking off half way through. Although this still happens from time to time. He moonlights as a part time alcoholic and barstool philosopher and likes writing about himself in the third person. He has a pet ghost called Otis.

Published December 10 2015 

Halloween Night Scary Story The Baum Rabbit

Halloween Night

Scary Story

The Baum Rabbit

Daniel Lamb

A flagon of pumpkin juice sipped by candlelight

I have had two encounters with the Baum Rabbit in my life. The first took place during the winter months of 1964 when I was still a young man. I have always lived in Rochdale, and as long as I have lived here I have been aware of the local legend.

      ‘There’s this rabbit,’ they used to say when I was a kid, ‘not a rabbit in the traditional sense, but something demonic that takes the form of a rabbit, and if you pass by St. Mary’s Church at night, the Baum Rabbit’ll get you, and it’ll get your soul.’ I can’t remember specifically who ‘they’ were, but they used to say things like that when I was a kid and it stuck with me, as these things do. My friend, Jack Carrow, and I would sometimes run through the old churchyard on our way back from school, hoping desperately to catch a glimpse of the fabled Rabbit, but we never did. It wouldn’t be until over a decade later when I would have that unfortunate privilege, and on that night I was painfully alone.

    

It was past midnight, the moon was out and there was a thin ground fog shrouding the cobbles of Toad Lane. Also, I was blind drunk. I thought about conveniently leaving that particular detail out, but I feel it is perhaps best to recount this story as accurately as possible. I don’t wish to cheat anybody, least of all myself. Like most nights back then, I had spent it frequenting the local pub. Nowadays I very rarely leave the house, but I was a young man that night and the world was still mine to roam as fully and as naively as young men will, although as I recall after my visit to the pub I was doing considerably more swaying than roaming.

      As I staggered and stumbled onto Park Lane, I came upon St. Mary’s Church, a looming, spectral structure. The streets, and indeed the churchyard, were empty and silent and all of a sudden I felt a chill prickle my nape and descend down my spine. I thought back to the old stories I’d heard as a child. The Baum Rabbit. A ghost rabbit that terrorised the surrounding area. It sounded so silly to me then, a tale so obviously made up that I wondered how I had ever entertained the notion that it might be true. There were no ghosts. There were no Gods. There was just getting sozzled and getting your end away, and in my early twenties it was to my eternal shame that I had far more experience in the former of those two certainties.

      But of course, that was when I saw it. It emerged from the shadows, seemed to simply materialise from the ether (alright, yes, I was drunk, but I remember it so clearly), and then it stopped, spotlighted by the moon – a rabbit, ghost white with red malevolent eyes that really did seem to look deep into my soul and threaten to take it hostage. I remember my heart thudding against my ribcage. I remember wanting to run and remaining still. I remember sharp breaths. But it was those eyes I remember most. Those cruel, crimson eyes.

      Then it disappeared. I don’t mean that it darted off somewhere, I mean it simply vanished. (Again, I realise how this sounds.) For a moment, I simply stood where I was, staring at the patch of grass inside the grounds of St. Mary’s Church where I had seen the Baum Rabbit. Just stood and stared. Then I went home and slept a thin and uneasy sleep.

    

The next day I did what any sane man would do and reasoned away what I had seen. It had been an illusion brought on by the combination of drink and an anxious mind. Nothing more. It couldn’t have been real. I knew that. And so I didn’t breathe a word of what I’d seen to anybody. I put it to the back of my mind and tried to forget about the whole thing.

      A couple of nights later I was out patrolling. I waited until the midnight hour and ventured out with a torch, a flask of coffee, and a camera strapped around my neck. There was no fog this time and the night was still. Perhaps the silence was broken only by the hoot of a distant owl, I don’t know, I can’t remember, but it would certainly have seemed fitting. I made my way back to St. Mary’s Church, not really sure if I might not be in the process of going crazy. I waited there for maybe half an hour feeling faintly ridiculous, and then I trudged back home.

      And that was it. For years, that was it.

      As I say, I don’t get out much these days, but last night I decided to go for a stroll. It was a warm night, but there was enough of a breeze in the air to make it pleasant. I had no real destination in mind and yet somehow I found myself staring up at St. Mary’s Church like I had done all those years ago. And as I did, I thought back over everything I have recounted here so far. Back to the night I saw the Baum Rabbit. And I found myself wishing that I had sought out the Baum Rabbit one more time, just to know. Just to be absolutely certain of what I had seen that night. Because I have had my doubts over the years. Oh, yes, I’ve had my doubts. How could I not?

      I no longer have those doubts.

      Last night I saw the Baum Rabbit again. In the same spot. It had the same ghostly white aura, the same red eyes, glinting ever so slightly like two rubies at the bottom of a well. I am much older now, but it was the same. And now I have no doubts. I know what awaits me. I know that one night as I lie in my bed staring up at the ceiling, on the very edge of slumber, I will see the pale figure of a rabbit leering down at me. I will see those eyes. And I will know that my time has come.

      ‘The Baum Rabbit’ll get you,’ they used to say when I was a kid, ‘it’ll get you, and it’ll get your soul.’

About the Author

Daniel Lamb is a biped humanoid with a good memory and a vivid imagination. He lives in a small village in the North West of England where nothing much ever happens and he has to make things up instead. He is still coming to terms with living in the real world. He has been featured in the Best of CafeLit 2013 anthology and is currently writing a novel.  

100-Worder: Mirrors

100 Worder

Daniel Lamb

Mirrors

A shot of something strong

Have you ever wondered about mirrors?

      I have.

      What if mirrors lie?

      What if the person you see reflected in them isn’t really you? You could never know for sure, could you? You rely on them to show you what you look like, but you never know for sure whether what they’re showing you is the truth.

      What if something happens to the light before it reaches your eyes, what if mirrors distort it somehow? What if they alter the image reflected back at you according to what you expect to see?

      Have you ever wondered about life?

      I have.

About the author

Daniel Lamb has always wanted to be a writer. Actually, there was a brief period of time in his youth when he wanted to be an actor, and an even briefer period of time when he had aspirations of rock superstardom. In a way, he considers writing to be a form of acting anyway and has thus decided that he is killing two birds with one stone. As for dreams of rock superstardom, these were sadly quashed when he realised that upon picking up a guitar he is killing two birds with his complete lack of musical talent and subsequent noise pollution.

      He lives in a small village in the North West where nothing much ever happens and he has to make things up instead.

If you want to send us a story in exactly 100 words check out the 100-Word Challenge here: LINK

The Jazz Tramp

The Jazz Tramp

Daniel Lamb

Espresso

The Jazz Tramp toots on his trumpet, high atop Juniper Hill.

      His hunched figure a silhouette against the backdrop of the moon’s pale face. Wisps of fog tip their hat to him and curl away.

      Every three Fridays, he plays.

      His gnarled hands tighten around the glinting brass, he rocks on his heels, and serenity drifts down to the village below. Each note fades on the breeze with a new one following in its wake like waves licking the shore.

      The Jazz Tramp no longer sees the fog, nor the sprinkling of starlight in the velvet canvas of night above him. He no longer feels the frosty air nip his skin. The Jazz Tramp is entranced, lost in the world he has created, even as he continues to create it. He is but a conduit. A wandering soul, he lets his soul wander to find the only place he has ever known as home. He is the music.

      The moon begins to sink, but The Jazz Tramp toots on his trumpet high atop Juniper Hill.

      Still.

Bio

Daniel Lamb has always wanted to be a writer. Actually, there was a brief period of time in his youth when he wanted to be an actor, and an even briefer period of time when he had aspirations of rock superstardom. In a way, he considers writing to be a form of acting anyway and has thus decided that he is killing two birds with one stone. As for dreams of rock superstardom, these were sadly quashed when he realised that when he picks up a guitar he is killing two birds with his complete lack of musical talent and subsequent noise pollution.

Daniel is currently studying English and Creative Writing at Salford University and enjoys writing everything from short stories to screenplays, all the while working on the elusive Novel. This is his first piece of flash fiction.