|Grendelle - Horror (standard:horror, 2117 words)|
|Author: hvysmker||Added: Oct 26 2004||Views/Reads: 2489/1634||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|A Sci Fi Horror story with some twists.|
“Pull me out from inside or maybe inside to where I ain't and you is, you think maybe, Honey?” Michael was confused. He and his accomplice Janet wouldn't be in that situation if they weren't there. They were standing in, or out, inside or/and outside a Gray Hole. A Gray Hole was a hole, or bump, or some damn thing in or out of normal space. Or, maybe the Gray Hole was normal space and our Universe in or outside of it? It was all a matter of perspective, or lack of perspective, Right? Janet managed to, with effort, touch hands with her companion. The touch established a connection of sorts, binding them into the same physical plane. Things, the only way to describe them with their unearthly colors and shapes, whirled around in further confusion, coalescing into a semblance of reality. The two, human and metahuman, found themselves on a grass filled plain. It was sunny, with strange shadows formed by two yellow suns casting weird shadows across the windblown purple grass, interspersed by strange looking treelike shapes. In the distance a dozen spires reached for the stars, huge edifices looking like manmade skyscrapers. “Damn, Janet. Your powers never cease to amaze me. I thought sure the Police had us back on Megadore IV.” He took off his protective vest, seeing it was still smoking but had managed to stop the Police stun rays. Michael hurriedly threw the ruined clothing to the ground where it abruptly burst into flames. “Jeeze, that was close. One more hit and I would have fried.” Janet stood unconcerned. Except for a command, or question, the metahuman paid little attention to her master. The metahuman race, if you could call it that, lived only to serve. Almost invulnerable and emotionless, they had survived for millions of years, simply because they were so useful and compliant in the service of others. Like a good tool, nobody would think of killing them. They reproduced like other animals and had no problems doing so. The master races took every opportunity to help them breed in an effort to gain more value for themselves, the masters. A small part of the Galactic Population, metahumans were used, not understood. Rare enough to be sought after, maybe only several in a star system, and numerous enough to be a known race, few knew anything else about them. Not where they came from, nor their purpose in the Scheme of the Cosmos, if any. Michael had acquired his, that answered to the name of Janet, by theft. It made no difference to Janet whom she served, only that she did have a master. Without a master they would die in a few hundred years. “Let's us go check those things out, Honey.” Michael took time to kick soil over his smoldering jacket. The ground was loose, soft, and spongy, something like hard moss. He had been born in the backwoods of Northern Altair VI and didn't like to leave a campfire burning. Stomping on the jacket until it stopped smoking, he started walking over the soft purple surface, toward the towers. Janet followed quietly. *** Grendelle put down her book, a romance of the common type, the common type on Desade II that is. A fine example of a humanoid woman, long golden tresses, a perfect figure with a fine featured face, she strode to the nearest window. She was only halfway up in her last torture laboratory. Two and a half more to fill, yet nothing to fill them with. The lovely Grendelle, although not satisfied in the least, was complacent. Her emotions, though strong, didn't include a sense of failure. After all, she was Grendelle, and by definition could not fail. It had taken an eternity to fill most of the buildings, and she was content to sit and read a book, sharpen her torture instruments, and wait for another eternity if need be, to finish her task. Her mission to torture and kill every person on the planet. Click here to read the rest of this story (186 more lines)
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