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1901, Wisconsin The lumber was stacked, the meals were consumed and the night fires burned. Now was the time for the tall tales. Every lumberjack had an outlandish story to share, a yarn that claimed so-and-so or such-and-such was able to do one thing better then any other human alive, be it sawing, milling, cooking, herding, or any of a number of tasks. Across the country people gathered as the night blanketed the sky to share their tales, entertaining each other as they waited out the hours till sleep took them.
“A hundred timbers in an hour? There is no way such a feat is possible man!” One jack, a man of stocky build with a gnarled beard of ebony screamed at a diminutive man obviously a decade or so his minor. “Aye, one would think, but I saw it with my own two eyes.” The first squinted at the second. “You might need them glasses I keep hearing about. You’re seeing things that ain’t there son.” The fire crackled as guffaws peppered around the assembled group, each taking the momentary break in conversation to refresh their cup or stretch their legs. Twelve men sat in a circle around the heat giving flame, a few bundled up tighter then normal. Seemed the winter wind was going to make this one horrible night, most thought to themselves as the high pitched whine of the drafts travels through the trees echoed in the night. “In a day he had cleared the groove, I swear it!” The younger man challenged, riled by the lack of belief his story had received. “Paul Bunyan, tall as a mountain, with an Axe blade half as wide! He swung that thing like it was a feather and the trees dropped quicker then yer mam does when you slip her a nickel!” Ooohs and ahhs greeted the green lumberjack’s insults, goading him further. His blood began to boil as the temperature around them steadily dropped. “Put another log on,” a man who sat near the circle’s edge said as his folded form straddled the line between illumination from the fire and the darkness all around them. He had chestnut hair and was rather thin for rugged living but a number cruncher flexed their brain more than their brawn he’d often say. “Go on with your story,” he prodded, watching a boy with blond curls sticking out of his cap scurry toward the flames and drop a pungent smelling piece of wood before sitting back down. “Tell us more about Paul Bunyan.” “Yeah, tell us about the big bad Paul Bunyan.” The man with the black beard continued, chewing at his pipe with such ferocity one would think it would soon break. “He move any mountains lately?” “No, no mountains. How about a river?” The boy who handled the wood responded, coming to the other youngster’s aid. “Heard tell of a tale were Bunyan and that giant ox he travels with tamed a raging river full of rapids.” Blackbeard glared at the boy, “Right, with only a rope I bet.” Sarcasm dripped from the man’s words. “A river you say? Tell us more good man.” An educated voice, one slurred slightly by drink, replied, deciding not to enter the verbal “Not his story to tell,” the man with the chestnut hair said, the leather cap with a pair of goggles on top catching the reflection of the orange light cast from the center of their circle. “Just a bunch of rumors we’ve come across in our travels.” He waved his hand at the boy, signaling for another log to be added. More thick smoke escaped into the air. “Rumors always start with a grain of truth. Every story worth its salt has a bit of embellishment to it.” The educated man responded, as one would when their opinion had been forged due to real life experience. As a card carrying journalist he felt this was a fair place for him to stand. The boy with the yellow tinged hair was very pale, paler then most who made their living in the wilderness of America. His eyes had an almost almond shape to them, the outer corners lifted upwards in a manner that made many think of the word ‘elf’ when they attempted to describe him. Ice blue eyes were windows to a soul far older then the shell it resided in, years beyond what one would expect looking at him. The smoke issued from the new log as it caught aflame framed his face in such a way that it would be hard to say it was not otherworldly in origin. “We heard speak of Bunyan freezing two rivers and then redirecting one away from a flourishing township and folding it into another. Paul, with the help of the blue ox, wove a bag to capture winter storms and unleashed a few on the river that was giving those town folk so much trouble. Once it was frozen solid, the ox dragged it till it butted up against another flowing waterway, then waited for the ice to melt. The townspeople were pleased as pickles I heard.” The fair skinned boy continued, paying no heed to his companion’s words of admonishment, “Seems the man is capable of anything if you believe the tales. Being able to harness the power of a storm is no small feat. Why, not free –” The boy’s words seemed to catch in his throat. “Freez — “ Again the boy tried to speak, this time with much more strain. A small bulge could be seen growing in his throat as he did so. “FREEZIN — “ Small flakes of white flowed from the boy’s struggling mouth, snowflakes vomiting from his gullet instead of words. The mass of ice All twelve men could clearly see the word ‘frozen’ in two inch high letters revolving in front of the boy’s face. Small blizzards in the shape of curse words littered the sky as the assembled took stock of the recent turn of events. None of them, to a man, was able to make able to speak a word, as if their very vocal chords were frozen. With each attempt to speak more floating snow joined the others motes of frozen water, creating a haze in the air around the group. The fire seemed to dim, the warmth it cast shrinking as the darkness surrounding them grew deeper. Baby Blood hd The man with the chestnut hair was on his feet first, rushing to the boy’s side. Both started throwing more pungent smelling wood onto the fire, building it up quickly. Soon a bonfire roared, the heat barely felt by the people gathered around it. The temperature had dropped even further during their banter, and now it was freezing their very words as they passed their teeth. At the edges of the circle shapes could be seen, dark shapes that seemed to suck the very light of the fire away. They moved around the group, bobbing back and forth, testing the fire’s strength with each pass.
The chestnut haired man took charge and grabbed a stick, quickly scrawling a few words into the snow and snapping his fingers to get the others attention once finished. ’stay within the light…’ A whisper of movement to his left brought his attention away from the group and back to the darkness enveloping them. He could just make out… A large blade flashed before his eyes, the sword of pure ice as sharp as possible and as light as an insect’s wing, and vanished just as quickly. Not before one of the things that encircled them was relived of its questing appendage however. The ten men hadn’t seen the movement, but they saw the scaled hand, think with veins and black ichor, somersault in the air to land on the fire. Once the flesh contacted the flame a gout of green and yellow shot upward ten feet high, showing the faces of those that now hunted the gossiping lumberjacks. None were ready for the horrors that looked back at them, constructs of chitin with slime and talons and pincers, far more frightening then any matinée had been able to convey. More screams were attempted and more small storms launched into the air, the shouts literally falling from their mouth unheard. The sudden flair up quickly died, the circle of light shrinking back a bit as it did. Silence continued to assault them all. ‘STAY WITHIN THE LIGHT…’ New words replaced the old, this time written in such a manner that there was no denying their intent. These were orders, and they were expected to be followed. The drunkard journalist sobered up enough to notice that this was a man to pay attention to. Through the liquor and adrenaline induced fog, Jame McGillivry recognized this was a man to learn more about. Immortel (ad vitam) movie download The pale teen was a flurry of movement, dancing in and out of the oval light cast from the flames. The boy would vanish into the dark, and one would see the gleam of metal and hear the meaty thump of contact, then he would return, perhaps panting a little heavier then before. His skills proved too little too late however as the chestnut haired man was bodily ripped from the confines of the circle into the ever encroaching darkness. A NO of protest formed from snowflakes signaled his companions’ dismay at the turn of events. Not his. HER. The boy’s cap lay on the ground, knocked off during the scuffle outside their view. A cascading sheet of blond hair rained down from her head, her masked beauty now evident for everyone too see. Startled, the ten men took a step back away from her, and closer toward the enemy. With a snarl she turned, faced the men, and rushed toward them. One man lost his footing as he moved backwards and tripped, butt colliding with the ground. His knee provided the foothold she needed, allowing her to launch herself skyward and over the heads of the lumberjacks she had been protecting. Those closest to her would have said she had a smile on her lips as she launched into the night. Left alone the remaining men drew closer to the flames, gathered tightly around as they prayed it would keep at bay whatever was out there from taking down another of their number. Sound continued to hide from them, startled glances and jerky hand motions their only means of communication. For a few laborious moments there was nothing to be seen, no sound to be heard. Quiet smothered the land. The Sweetest Thing psp Then, a whirling sound could be heard in the distance. A mechanical popping was heard next, growing closer. Soon the ground shook softly as what sounded like huge anvils dropped to the ground, only to be picked up and dropped yet again. Each sound was maddeningly closer to the fire then the last. Panicked, the lummox with the black beard failed to hold off his fight or flight mechanism any longer and started running away, northward, opposite of the direction the woman with the sword had gone. It proved to be a fatal mistake as the nine remaining men heard his body fall to the floor as if it was jumped on by a pack of wild animals, the sick noises of claws ripping into flesh foretold the future of any who followed Blackbeard’s path. This cacophony of death added to the mechanical noises that grew closer, each trying to drown the other out. The men strained to block it all out, scrunching their eyes shut as if it would make it all go away. McGillivry was the only one who saw what happened next, the only one drunk enough to not shut their eyes. An Axe blade twice a man’s height seemed to glow with its own internal light as it slid down to the earth. The blade cut one of the
A horn the length of a train car caught James’ eye next, the sharp end skewering a few of the insectoid enemies from beyond the confines of the circle of light and continued on past, a flash of blue seen before the horn was reared back and its passengers flung far. A foot made of gears punted one of the beasts, sending it back over McGillivry’s head. The writer continued to watch, slack jawed, as a trunk of a leg came into view, lanterns affixed to what would be called its knee casting light down. Another leg came into view, positioned on the other side of the circle, straddling the group of frightened lumberjacks. The only way McGillivry would be able to describe what happened next would be to use the more baser terms belonging to the English language. Something fifty foot tall and made of metal squatted above him, the space where the two legs joined now visible within the firelight, and crapped pure sun beams. A brilliant light came into view at some point James could only say was its backside, and a flood of heat washed down, flooding the landscape and snuffing out the beetle like things that had caused so much strife in such a short time. The pillar of pure fire only lasted for a handful of seconds, long enough to give James the barest of looks at that which had saved his life. A face of metal looked back at him, eyebrows of black iron raising and a beard of equally dark steel stretching to reveal a row of diamond teeth, upturned in a smile. A snapping sound was heard then the light turned off, and the fire gave off its last pitiful sparks before falling silent as well. “Wow,” was the first word to escape James’ mouth, and the first sign that their troubles were over. A few eyes slowly opened around him, startled glances showing they were unsure of what to do next. James McGillivry however had a very specific idea as to what to do next. 1902, Detroit Michigan
The paper with the article in question sat on the man’s desk, the bold faced title circled in red ink. PAUL BUNYAN – AN AMERICAN TALL TALE By James McGillivry. “Interesting,” the man commented, contemplating past injustices and future retributions. 1902, Wisconsin
The paper with the article in question sat on his lap, his pants around his ankles, a torn piece of the yearly almanac in hand ready PAUL BUNYAN – AN AMERICAN TALL TALE By James McGillivry. “Fuck,” the man with the chestnut hair sighed, pondering past blunders and future adventures. Anthology Two Presents… Leave a Reply |
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