Month: September 2023

Desolation Nexus: Rasputin's Revenge

by Lance J. Gosnell, posted in Short Stories

Desolation Nexus

Written By: Lance J. Gosnell

Anthony Kaufman wiped the grease from his calloused hands and sighed. Another long day fixing transmissions and replacing mufflers at his auto shop in small-town Ohio. He locked up for the night, eager to get home to his wife and kids. 

As he pulled into the driveway, he noticed his sister Natalia’s car parked outside. Strange, he thought, Natalia was supposed to be in Russia for a few more weeks. Anthony walked inside to find Natalia sitting silently on the couch, clasping a large golden necklace hanging around her neck. 

“Nat, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Russia,” Anthony said. Natalia looked up at him with a vacant stare. “Russia…yes, I was in Russia…” she muttered. Anthony sat down next to her with concern. “What’s going on? Why are you back so soon?” 

Natalia grasped the necklace tighter. “This necklace, it holds such power. I must keep it safe.” Anthony looked closer at the intricate necklace, which seemed to almost glow and pulse with a strange energy. He had never seen anything like it.

“Power? What do you mean? Natalia, you’re not making any sense,” Anthony said, growing more worried. Natalia suddenly became animated and gripped his arm forcefully. “Don’t you see? This necklace contains the essence of Rasputin! His power flows through me now. I must spread his influence.”

Anthony reeled back in shock. Rasputin? The mad monk of Russia who somehow just wouldn’t die? He thought it was just myth, but the wild look in his sister’s eyes told him something was very wrong. 

Over the next few days, Natalia grew more withdrawn and paranoid, spending hours in a trance-like state clutching the necklace. Anthony knew he had to learn more about this jewelry and its connection to Rasputin. 

His search led him to Dr. Elena Petrova, a Russian historian living in the States. Elena confirmed his worst fears: the necklace did indeed contain a fragment of Rasputin’s dark essence. Somehow his followers had resurrected him through it, and he was using Natalia to channel his manipulative powers and sow discord.

“If Rasputin extends his reach, the consequences could be catastrophic,” Elena warned. “You and your sister are our only hope of stopping him.”

Anthony struggled to wrap his mind around Elena’s revelations, but he knew he had to rescue his sister from Rasputin’s clutches. As Elena researched a way to destroy the necklace, Anthony worked tirelessly to break its hypnotic spell over Natalia. 

After weeks of effort, Anthony finally got through to his sister. As if waking from a nightmare, Natalia released the necklace and collapsed into her brother’s arms, horrified by what she had almost become.

“I’m so sorry, Anthony. His whispers were everywhere, driving me to madness,” she cried.

“It’s okay, Nat. We’ll stop him together,” Anthony reassured.

Elena had discovered an ancient ritual that could banish Rasputin’s essence back to the depths. She met Anthony and Natalia in Moscow beneath the ruins of an old church. The three of them joined hands, chanting the ritual’s words as Elena burned sage and candles around the necklace.

Suddenly, a violent wind whipped through the ruins, extinguishing the candles. Rasputin’s maniacal laugh echoed around them as an unnatural darkness engulfed the church. 

“You fools think you can banish me so easily?” Rasputin’s disembodied voice sneered. “I am beyond your pathetic rituals. Natalia was merely the first to fall under my sway!”

Shadowy tendrils emerged from the necklace, shooting toward the three. Rasputin’s influence was spreading, just as Elena predicted. Anthony’s hands trembled, but he squeezed them tighter, steeling his nerves. 

“Your lies end here, Rasputin,” Anthony shouted over the wind. “You have no power over us!”

He ripped the necklace from the ground and smashed it with all his strength. An unearthly howl filled the church as brilliant light burst from the shattered pendant, dissolving the darkness. 

When the dust settled, Rasputin’s essence had vanished. Natalia embraced her brother, tears of joy in her eyes. “Anthony, you did it! Your love and courage saved us.”

Elena placed a hand on his shoulder. “Because of you both, the world is safe from Rasputin’s manipulation.”

As they left the church, the first rays of dawn peeked over Moscow’s skyline. Anthony took a deep breath, grateful for the light after so much darkness. He may have been just a simple mechanic, but sometimes, unsung heroes can make all the difference.

A Haunting at the Shinn Farm

by Lance J. Gosnell, posted in Short Stories

A Haunting at the Shinn Farm
Inspired by the Mena Poltergeist
Written By:  Lance J.  Gosnell

In the quiet corners of Mena, Arkansas, a forgotten tale of strangeness and unease resides within the history of the Shinn farm. The farm’s exact location may have slipped into obscurity since its sale in the early 1960s, but whispers of eerie happenings continue to weave their way through time. Midsouth Paranormal, a dedicated team led by retired cop Moses Hudson, is determined to unearth the elusive remnants of the farm and expose the enigmatic forces at play.

Guided by fragmented accounts and inspired by local legends, the members of Midsouth Paranormal venture into the remote woods of Mena. With each step, cameras in hand and a fervent curiosity in their hearts, they document their journey, capturing every moment of suspense and discovery.

Amidst the dense foliage and the shifting shadows, the investigators begin to encounter signs that suggest they are edging closer to the truth. Whispers of an ancient Indian burial ground, believed to underlie the very foundation of the Shinn farmhouse, cast a chilling pall over their mission. An unsettling notion takes root: could the restless spirits of the past be roused by the intrusion upon their sacred resting place?

While the search proves challenging, the team is bolstered by their determination to unravel the farm’s mysteries. However, Midsouth Paranormal harbors a member whose motivations run deeper than curiosity alone. Moses Hudson, a retired cop who has ventured into the realm of the paranormal, finds himself haunted by a personal mission that transcends the supernatural.

Moses, once a dedicated police officer, has since channeled his skills into investigating the unknown, driven by an unyielding desire to connect with his trans son. Tragically, Moses’ son took his own life as a result of transphobic bullying and the grip of depression. His fervent hope is to unlock the secrets of the paranormal world and use its power to bring his son back to the world of the living, to rewrite the tragic ending that transpired due to discrimination and despair.

As nights pass and the campfire’s glow dances upon the edge of the woods, the unease deepens. Unexplainable rustlings, ghostly whispers, and perplexing apparitions begin to haunt Midsouth Paranormal’s journey. Their equipment falters, recordings capture anomalies, and skepticism crumbles before the mounting evidence. 

Through the team’s relentless pursuit, reality and the supernatural intertwine in ways they could never have imagined. The legacy of the Shinn farm emerges as a tapestry of chilling forces, threatening to consume not only the farm’s history but also the lives of those who dare to unveil its secrets. And for Moses, the stakes couldn’t be higher; he grapples with a heartrending decision to harness the unearthly energy he has encountered to rewrite the tragic fate that befell his son or risk his own life in the process. 

False Justice: The Murder of Two Men and a Web of Greed and Lies

by Lance J. Gosnell, posted in Short Stories

False Justice

 The Murder of Two Men and a Web of Greed and Lies 

 Written By: Lance J. Gosnell 
 While the names may have been changed to protect the innocent, the tragic injustice depicted here stemmed from actual happenings in history’s darkened shadows.

Center Ridge, Arkansas was a dusty town nestled in the foothills of the Ozarks. The sun beat down relentlessly as Alex Brinkley made his way along the worn dirt road leading into town. He tipped his hat to the few souls he passed along the way – the blacksmith, the general store owner, the ladies gossiping on the porch. 

 When he reached the small home he shared with his wife and daughters, Alex paused on the porch to light a cigarette. As he gazed out at the little farmhouses dotting the landscape, he thought back to how much Center Ridge had changed over the past couple years. 
 It all started when Marshall Baker arrived from Chicago. Baker was a large man with mocha skin and a gap-toothed smile. He strode into town wearing a fine suit and hat, carrying money from a life insurance policy. Folks were wary when Baker bought a plot of land right in town and opened a saloon. Negroes owning property and running businesses was uncommon in these parts.
 But Baker’s saloon, with its swinging doors and lively piano music, became a popular spot for both whites and blacks alike. The saloon’s success rankled some of the white townsfolk. One night, a fire raged through the saloon, leaving nothing but a smoldering skeleton. Baker’s charred remains were found in the ruins, half-eaten by dogs. His death was ruled an accident, but folks knew better. Baker had been run out of town in the worst way. 
 With Baker gone, things settled down for a spell. Then there was the nasty business with Doc Chamness. Alex took a long drag on his cigarette, remembering that sweltering June night when the doc was found dead on his porch, shot right through the head. A shiver went through him despite the heat. 
 Folks assumed Alex did it on account of bad blood between him and the doc over Baker’s saloon money. But Alex was innocent as a lamb. He had spent that evening fishing on the river with his buddy Rufus. Of course, that didn’t stop Sheriff Pruitt from clapping him in irons and tossing him in jail. And it didn’t stop Judge O’Malley from handing down a sentence of death by hanging. 
 Alex flicked the smoldering cigarette off the porch and went inside. His wife, Esther, was kneading dough for biscuits. His twin girls, Sarah and Maggie, ages six, sat at the table scribbling on slates. Esther looked up, her eyes rimmed red from crying. 
 “No word today?” she asked in a trembling voice. Alex shook his head grimly. It had been two months since the trial, and still no sign the judge would change his mind. Unless a miracle occurred, Alex had three weeks left before he swung from the gallows. 
 The thought made bile rise in his throat. He had been poor but happy, spending his days doing odd jobs around town, fishing, and playing checkers outside the general store. Now death loomed before him. Not just death – death for a crime he didn’t commit.
 “I’m taking the girls down to the creek to fish,” Alex said, trying to sound cheerful for their sake. He hoisted Sarah and Maggie into the wagon and clucked to the horse. As they bumped down the road, he kept up a steady stream of small talk, pointing out rabbits and interesting cloud shapes. 
 But his mind was a thousand miles away. Who had killed the doc? And why was Alex being blamed for it? He thought back to what folks were whispering around town. Rumor was the doc’s wife Mary Jane had seduced the new doctor in town, Virgil Cross. Doc Chamness took to drinking and fighting with Mary Jane on account of it. Also, Mary Jane was one of only two witnesses who claimed to have seen Alex threatening the doc. The other was Sam Kennimer, a ne’er-do-well who was thick as thieves with the sheriff. 
 As he watched Sarah and Maggie splash in the creek, a dark notion took root in Alex’s mind. What if Mary Jane and the sheriff had worked together to get rid of Doc Chamness and pin his murder on Alex? He had no proof, but it would explain the sham of a trial and his swift conviction. 
 Over the next few days, Alex turned the idea over and over, seeing how it fit together. By the end, he was convinced of it. Mary Jane wanted her husband gone so she could be with Virgil Cross. Sheriff Pruitt went along with it to frame Alex, who he hated because of Alex’s friendship with Marshall Baker. It was crystal clear. Now Alex just had to convince the judge to spare his life long enough to investigate. 
 The day before the scheduled hanging, Esther burst into tears of joy – Judge O’Malley had agreed to see Alex about delaying the execution! Alex hastily cleaned himself up, put on his one good suit, and walked the three miles into town with a spring in his step. This was his chance to tell the judge his theory about Mary Jane and present the evidence. The truth would set him free! 
 He was escorted to the judge’s chambers by a deputy with meaty fists and coffee-stained teeth. Judge O’Malley was sitting at his desk, silver-haired and somber. 
 “What’s this about delaying your sentence?” He asked Alex. “Make it quick, boy.” 
 Alex gathered his courage and launched into his story. He told the judge about Mary Jane’s jealousy, the rumor of her affair with Virgil Cross, and how the sheriff had framed him to get him out of the way. 
 The judge held up a hand to silence Alex. “That’s quite a conspiracy theory, son,” he said. “But I’ve heard nothing but gossip to back it up. I can’t overturn a conviction on hearsay.” He sighed deeply. “I’m afraid the hanging will proceed as scheduled.” 
 Alex felt the world drop out beneath him. “No! You can’t!” he cried hoarsely. “I’m innocent, I tell you!” 
 But the judge had made up his mind. Alex was dragged, sputtering protests, back to his cell. He beat the walls in frustration until his hands bled. It was no use. He was out of time. 
 The next morning, a priest came to deliver last rites. Alex refused, cursing at the man. Then Sheriff Pruitt appeared to escort Alex to the gallows that had been constructed in the town square. “Any last words, Brinkley?” The sheriff asked snidely. 
 Alex raised his chin high. “I go to my grave an innocent man,” he proclaimed. “May my blood stain the hands of those who put me here.” 
 He thought of Esther, Sarah and Maggie as the rough noose was fitted around his neck. They gazed at him from the gathered crowd, faces wet with tears. Alex offered them a reassuring nod and mouthed “I love you.” He felt oddly calm, comforted that he would see justice in Heaven if not on Earth. 
 The drumroll began, the floor dropped, and Alex Brinkley danced at the end of the rope. The witnesses gasped as his legs jerked wildly in his death throes. Then his body went slack, swaying gently in the morning breeze. 
 Alex Brinkley was laid to rest in an unmarked grave outside town. People left flowers, cards, and other mementos, despite the sheriff’s order not to. Everyone knew Brinkley died an innocent man. 
 The story of his wrongful hanging took on mythic proportions as it was passed down through generations in Center Ridge. Some say that on hot summer nights when the wind blows just right, you can still hear the creak of the gallows and Alex Brinkley’s footsteps swinging in the air.
______
Meet the real Alexander Brinkley & learn the true story the above historical fiction was inspired from.

Purgatory Bound: A Devilish Comedy

by Lance J. Gosnell, posted in Short Stories

Purgatory Bound  

A Devilish Comedy

Written By:  Lance J.  Gosnell

In the enigmatic tale of “Purgatory Bound,” our protagonist John sports a perpetually boyish charm and a disarming grin, John’s appearance is the epitome of approachability. His eyes, brimming with curiosity and a hint of mischief, invite you to share in his misadventures. John’s unassuming demeanor often belies the depths of his resilience and inner strength.

In the realm of Purgatory, the Voice of Purgatory reverberates with an unmistakable timbre. This ethereal figure exudes an air of twisted amusement. With a voice that dances between sardonic chuckles and biting sarcasm, the Voice embodies the enigmatic nature of Purgatory itself—a realm where the rules of reality are as malleable as the shadows that traverse its landscapes.

Surprisingly, Lucifer, portrayed by cuts a charismatic figure in Purgatory. With a rakish grin and a twinkle in his eye, Lucifer’s appearance masks his multifaceted nature. His attire is impeccably stylish, a blend of sophistication and devil-may-care nonchalance. Billowing clouds of darkness seem to part when he enters, revealing a devil with a penchant for witty repartees and a charm that’s hard to resist.

As John faces a mind-bending challenge, his choices bring him face to face with the quirky souls who inhabit Purgatory. Among them is The Torturer. With a manic energy and an ensemble that mirrors her offbeat personality, The Torturer appears as a paradox—a character whose appearance masks her role. Her gaze holds a glimmer of amusement, a hint that perhaps her role isn’t as straightforward as it seems.

The Angel, a being that radiates a soothing aura amidst the chaos of Purgatory. Her appearance is an embodiment of grace and wisdom. The gentle curve of her lips is a testament to her compassionate nature, while her eyes shimmer with the promise of guidance. The Angel’s attire seems to meld with the ethereal surroundings, evoking an air of serenity that’s as comforting as her presence.

In a realm where the bizarre becomes the norm, John is presented with a challenge that defies reason. Option 1 requires him to rally a group of eclectic souls for a stand-up comedy routine, which seems like an impossible feat. Option 2 thrusts him into an uproarious dance-off with none other than Lucifer himself. Amidst the surreal backdrop of Purgatory, John’s choice unfolds with determination etched across his features. His eyes reflect a mix of uncertainty and resolve, as he steps onto the impromptu dance floor.

As the dance-off commences, John’s moves are a delightful blend of comedic twirls and endearing awkwardness. His movements resonate with authenticity, captivating those around him. In contrast, Lucifer takes the stage with a devilish charm, every step a testament to his flair and confidence. John’s willingness to engage with the absurdity of the situation is mirrored in Lucifer’s gleeful extravagance.

The dance-off escalates, becoming a carnival of whimsy and laughter. John finds himself lost in the sheer joy of the moment, seamlessly mimicking Lucifer’s moves while adding his own unique touches. The atmosphere crackles with energy as the surreal dance-off reaches its zenith. Amid the chuckles and guffaws, even The Voice of Purgatory can’t help but crack a sadistic grin.

At the climax, John and Lucifer engage in an epic dance battle, a dazzling display of moves that range from hilariously exaggerated to surprisingly graceful. Beads of sweat glisten on John’s forehead, his determination evident in every step. Lucifer’s charismatic grace is on full display, evoking both amusement and admiration from the onlookers.

The dance-off reaches a crescendo, ending in a tie that leaves everyone, even the misfit souls, in uproarious laughter. Lucifer extends a hand toward John, their camaraderie forged in the fires of this bizarre encounter. As the lights dim and the dance floor fades away, the memory of the dance-off remains—a testament to the unexpected connections found in the heart of Purgatory.

John’s journey through Purgatory takes an intriguing turn after the dance-off. The souls he encountered during the challenge begin to view him with newfound respect. The misfit souls, in particular, admire his ability to embrace the absurdity of their existence while finding joy in the midst of suffering. John’s appearance, with a slightly ruffled demeanor and a sparkle in his eyes, serves as a beacon of positivity within the enigmatic realm.

As John’s exploration of Purgatory continues, he stumbles upon a group of downtrodden souls. They’re faced with an intricate puzzle, seemingly unsolvable. The Voice of Purgatory declares that solving it will inch them closer to salvation. John’s presence, marked by a blend of empathy and determination, draws the gaze of the souls. His attire, once casual, now holds a certain gravitas—a reflection of the evolution he’s undergone.

John’s gaze lingers on the shifting patterns of the puzzle, his mind whirring with newfound insight. The echo of his recent dance-off with Lucifer resonates in his movements as he gracefully anticipates the puzzle’s intricate changes. The souls watch in awe as he dances in harmony with the puzzle, a symphony of motion and emotion.

As the last piece slots into place, a radiant burst of light envelops the group. The Voice of Purgatory, begrudgingly impressed, conveys acknowledgment through his sardonic tone. John’s appearance, bathed in the luminous glow, exudes a sense of triumph. His journey of self-discovery and growth has found expression in this pivotal moment.

With this act, John’s reputation takes on a new hue in Purgatory. The souls he encountered spread tales of his ingenuity and kindness, painting him as a beacon of positivity within the surreal landscape. The misfit souls, once disheartened, find renewed hope in his aura.

In the midst of his journey, John receives a cryptic message from The Angel, directing him toward the “Heart of Purgatory.” The Angel’s presence is calming, her aura one of reassurance. Her eyes hold a depth of wisdom as she imparts her guidance. Her attire, woven from ethereal fabrics, shimmers with a celestial luminescence.

With The Angel’s guidance, John embarks on a quest to locate the Heart of Purgatory. His steps are marked by determination and curiosity, his appearance reflecting his newfound purpose. Every glance, every movement, speaks to the transformation he’s undergone—a transformation that’s woven into the fabric of his being.

Amid surreal landscapes and peculiar encounters, John’s appearance seems to mirror the ever-shifting nature of Purgatory itself. His attire, once unassuming, now holds an air of purposeful intention. The glint in his eyes carries the weight of his experiences, hinting at the wisdom he’s accrued.

As he finally stands before the Heart of Purgatory, John’s appearance is a testament to his journey. His gaze is unwavering, reflecting a resolve that’s etched into his features. The Heart’s chamber, bathed in radiance, seems to acknowledge the depth of his evolution.

As John gazes into the mirror within the Heart