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Magical Girl Aika

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The decay is coming. The rot is here.

Mother’s anger has reached its zenith

She wants this place wiped from her, her domain, only let nature remain

At. Any. Cost!

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(Wip) horror story chapter 1

so I'm adding the intro this one time, because i edited a little bit to it. it is still in a work in progress so any critique is welcome or just comments in general enjoy :)

Intro

Droning heat.. That’s what the fake cheery national news said was forecasted this summer, any other time I would have welcomed this weather with an ice pop or blasting an electric fan. But this summer it would be what brought me to a further abyss than the one i thought i was on the edge of.

In the middle of a mild early summer climate forested lake area away from any civilization aside from a well worn two-laned road. That connects to a less traveled dusty graveled road out to this nestled lakeside community center for recovery and relief. A lone encrusting suv rolls down the gravel road at an even pace under the speed limit to not tear up the road and leave a giant cloud of dust and rocks. Passing lapping carpets of leaves and with trees as quick passing thoughts in the cracked rear-view mirror 

In the mid sized well used vehicle. A well trimmed man is in the driving seat thumb drumming on the steering wheel in an off beat pattern. His hair in very manicured fashion is a 1920's era hairstyle, slick with the scent of Aqua Velva or perhaps Vitalis wafting from him like an aura. And a thick mustache that you would think he took inspiration from the macho men of the past to show his authority. he drums away and slightly corrects the vehicle to the right side of the road when he sees a slight road block in the way and takes a mental note to the maintenance crew to come by, changing to a different tune or pattern when he felt like it or couldn’t remember the rest of the song he is following in his head. 

Crossing the last bend in the road to the last stretch towards the compound of buildings, known as Remit Reservoir recovery center. “Rest your rocks at the Remit Reservoir!” The man hums to himself as he finishes his drum routine, him noticing too late as a giant hulking mass collides into the side of his suv. Like a male moose in full stampede and rolls over with a deep crunch to the top of the car. then crashes into the opposite side of the road with a giant roaring wet thud to the thick covered forest floor near the compound’s walls. After getting his head to stop rattling like a timber rattlesnake. He steps out to inspect the damage and if what hit him is still in the immediate area.

A bus heaving on what felt like its last breaths, transporting multiple walks of lives. Most of the riders on the dying beater bus have shed their top shirts and or took to using their pamphlets as makeshift fans to get away from the muggy heat of the bus cabin. Because of course the bus that is on its last axle out of the grave has a busted a/c that has not been functioning since the end of the gulf war and the windows are jammed with two inch thick tree sap. The group of boiling and poised to get out twenty to thirty somethings looked on through the dusty windshield to see cold gray cement and sun washed colorful tiles take up their vision instead of the endless summer hazed cast forest floor and full tree capped canopy they have been watching to pass the time through the old and cracking windows to their home away from home for what they hope is just the summer.

The bus comes to a wheezing and skipping stop in the mid way point of the loop driveway. The sun scraping at the opaque shadows casting from the entrance canopy that barely quaffs the roof of the bus. Groans and sighs of great relief fill the old creaking oven death trap on flattening tyres; scrounging of personal belongings and last minute snack purchases from the second to last resting point. The occupants file out at random due to what they stowed on board the cabin. Some brought what could only be described as their whole wardrobe and their kitchen sink; some just bringing what was actually needed on their carry-on portion of luggage for this trip and step out to wait for the rest of it in the full muggy heat by the rusted underbelly storage; and few step out quick as they can with a carry-on filled bare essentials and cruise under the canopy to get some form of relief as they wait for the rest to disembark. 

Chapter one 

I got off that death trap as fast as my aching drenched body could let me. Felt like I was moving through a thick swap while made of pure sludge and sticks. Thankfully I didn't bring much for this, the only good advice my grandpa gave me was, “pack light and you will be alright”. Old man was a rolling stone for a reason, and the family couldn't get him to settle down for long. Made me wonder why this pack rat that’s still in that rusty relic is here on this trip. Or any of these people. My only judgment is we all have our baggage to work on here. 

After coming to that judgment I look around at the scenery of the center. Feels like a midday liminal space with how quiet and well maintained this entrance is. Like someone or something is waiting just around the corner you perceive. Didn’t help with the heat and  the jittering chorus of bugs wafting loud buzzing over the foreign to me bird calls. I circle my view to the left side corner of the entrance wall, I feel the presence of being watched from right there. But all there is this streaking stain of what could be described as a concoction of healthy and dying moss and multiple molds. Mixed and merged in areas along the stained to make something only a highly educated biologist could probably understand. 

I grit my teeth and gut to help begin my first slow step to investigate this stain. As soon as my foot makes outstretched contact with boiling sunbaked asphalt, I feel a strong tug back and the smell of foul old care products my loose grandpa would use; and just as much if not more. A man with a full forearm taller than me and a stone heavier as well, whipped me around a towel in the wind. “Hey, I don't need to be losing one of my little sheep to the wonders of this place just yet. We still have orientation and room assignment”. He says with that same fake cheery tone I heard with the newscasters this morning, but with a low growl to show some authority over me. Then came back to the same cheery tone to list off what needed to be done first. I had no time or power to register any resistance to his control to set me back to the herd of lost sheep.

I tried to put it off as fatigue from the long drive out this peculiar complex of rest. As I follow behind the atypical shepherd of this group, I glance back to the strange stain to see a clean up crew hard at work cleaning or prepping to clean it.

[my-whai-whai-blog]

(wip) horror story

Intro/ setting up the story any comments or critique is welcome (still pretty new with writing and sharing it)

Droning heat.. That’s what the fake cheery national news said was forecasted this summer, any other time I would have welcomed this weather with an ice pop or blasting an electric fan. But this summer it would be what brought me to a further abyss than the one i thought i was on the edge of.

In the middle of a mild early summer climate forested lake area away from any civilization aside from a well worn two-laned road. That connects to a less traveled dusty graveled road out to this nestled lakeside community center for recovery and relief. A lone encrusting suv rolls down the gravel road at an even pace under the speed limit to not tear up the road and leave a giant cloud of dust and rocks. Passing lapping carpets of leaves and with trees as quick passing thoughts in the cracked rear-view mirror 

In the mid sized well used vehicle. A well trimmed man is in the driving seat thumb drumming on the steering wheel in an off beat pattern. His hair in very manicured fashion is a 1920's era hairstyle, slick with the scent of Aqua Velva or perhaps Vitalis wafting from him like an aura. And a thick mustache that you would think he took inspiration from the macho men of the past to show his authority. he drums away and slightly corrects the vehicle to the right side of the road when he sees a slight road block in the way and takes a mental note to the maintenance crew to come by, changing to a different tune or pattern when he felt like it or couldn’t remember the rest of the song he is following in his head. 

Crossing the last bend in the road to the last stretch towards the compound of buildings, known as Remit Reservoir recovery center. “Rest your rocks at the Remit Reservoir!” The man hums to himself as he finishes his drum routine, he notices too late as a giant mass collides into the side of his suv. Like a male moose in full stampede and rolls over the top of the car. then crashes into the opposite side of the road with a giant roaring wet thud near the compound’s walls. After getting his head to stop rattling like a timber rattlesnake. He steps out to inspect the damage and if what hit him is still in the immediate area.

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Dewdrop Bonnet mushroom

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friends

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A singular breath 🌅

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The Galactic Breed, 1955 Cover art uncredited

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Check out my ongoing comic Crow Time. It has crows, and also neat pantheons of epic beasties.

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Needle felted white bats by Yana Fedorova Purchase here : ETSY

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One of the most important things I have learned today..

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turtleneck giraffe

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my cat lily