Latest Forum Posts:


Out of the Shadows, Part One

This is the first part to a very long story I have been writing over the last couple of years. If there is enough interest in it I may possibly go on and upload the whole lot of it.

Nine times over nine days the Devil lays his touch, when nine months come to pass there will be nine daughters. Each will have a unique ability gifted by their creator. When eighteen years come to pass he will bring them all together and unleash a true Hell on Earth …


Evil … it hides in the shadows, waiting, ready to pounce, ready to put into motion what it has been building towards for centuries. There have been trials, practice runs and failures, now a time has come to reap the rewards of an almighty plan …

Since the beginning of time or at least the dawning of life coming into existence there has been a balance between good and evil, between Heaven and Hell. At times one incites the other, unintentionally or otherwise. Each attempts to become the dominant force though however just or however unfortunate … wherever there is one there is the other.

If it could be said that Heaven created the universe then it too created Hell, no matter if it meant to or not, no matter if it first may have been intended as a punishment for those unwilling to do good or more willing to commit the opposite. Sure in punishment, he who has come to run down below had first fallen from above.

Since his fall he has sought to seek revenge and now seeks so much more. Through history religion has sought to spread love, joy and peace. It, however at times, has become corrupt. Evil has brought about death and destruction, famine and hunger, tides of war, political and racial attack. It has even managed to use religion, turning it on itself to convince others that justification exists.

Out of destruction and death a good comes in attempt to rally and pick up the pieces. Prevention can be better than cure, unfortunate as it may be prevention cannot always be implemented. As it is, this is the balance of life … perhaps a balance cannot last forever …


All is bright, well and calm. Joyful music rings out loud for all to hear …

Rise up this mornin,
Smiled with the risin sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin, (this is my message to you-ou-ou)

Bright, well and calm don’t last very long. The music slows and becomes distorted … for off in the distance there are dark clouds and they are rushing in at a furious pace, bringing in a terrible darkness and a frightening shadow … soon the whole world will know its fury …

Don’t worry about a thing, ’cause every little thing is gonna be alright … there are many who wouldn’t be so sure about that …


January 1st 2018

The cold air has a bite to it no more than a nibble and if one were outside long enough then the nibble might just gnaw right through to the bone. Patches of frost cling to sprouted foliage trough sidewalk cracks and thin streams of ice trickle along slanted walkways.

An older man wrapped in newspapers and cardboard wakes with a startle on a store doorstep just as dawn is about to arrive. He is well used to the streets and has survived upon them for the larger part of his life; if that were to change any time soon then it would come more as a disturbance than anything else for he certainly by this point in his life feels more at home on the streets than he possibly could within any kind of building. A loving relationship and a fearful relationship with and of nature adds to his perception of the world.

The next store entrance over from the one he awoke in has a floral hanging basket and in his moment of waking he is only noticing that basket for the first time. If it could be put to him then he may swear that there was no hanging basket in the moment he lay down to rest. The colours of the floral arrangement are vibrant and bright, the likes of which he has not seen in some time and this he finds worrisome to the point it soon causes him distress and his memories return to a time when he worked in a garden center some thirty five years prior.

‘It’s near’ he says to himself, ‘… so very near.’

He has a warning to offer others but who is going to listen to him? A homeless and ragged older man he is and he is fully aware of this. He still possess his own faculties, his wits are as strong as they have ever been. To others, however, he’d be seen as the crazy old homeless guy.

Getting up off the ground and without securing anything of what he owns he begins to move off and away from his most recent place of rest. Down a near-by alley there is a fire burning within a large refuse oil drum. He heads right down to it to warm himself a little. It is cold though also quite mild for the early hours of a New Year’s Day.

There are the odd few stranglers among town, remnants of the previous evening’s celebrations. He sees some of them pass the alley he has come to be in. He has to put the warning out there, even if no one will listen. To do nothing would be the equivalent to condemning the world to darkness. If he can get through to one person then maybe some sort of difference can be made.

This older homeless man moves quickly, especially for someone of his age in his circumstance, and soon he goes after two people who have passed the alley by having moved on across rather than turning down like he has. There would be no reason of course for them to have gone into the alley. He moves beyond them and turns, beginning to walk backwards matching the strangers for speed.

‘It’s coming’ he says, ‘the end … it is coming. He is here and they are ready … this is their year … this is their year.’

These people with whom the old man has come to, they see the person before them as someone who more than likely has lost him mind a long time ago. To them he is speaking gibberish, he probably has no idea what he saying, oh but he does, he knows all too well, thing is that no one will listen, still he has to try. It could be very easy for the strangers to dish out some abuse. They are good people so they don’t. Instead they continue to move on by.

‘Don’t you see … his daughters … Satan’s daughters are coming of age. Soon a darkness will descend … it will descend upon us all … it began its descent this time round almost two decades ago so he is already here …’

Having come to stand still he decides not to pursue those strangers any further. Instead he moves onto others and still no one pays him any attention other than to think him crazy. Not everyone is as nice as the first two strangers, shouts of ‘get out here ya bum’ and the likes are soon thrown at him, one person even pushes him over. New Year’s good will is not alive or well.

Perhaps Good will may be alive and well somewhere and perhaps it is not all so far away. Engulfed by a silhouette of light, a younger man approaches.

‘Excuse me sir, would your name be Christopher Lenard Furlong?’

‘I would … though I haven’t heard my name spoken like that in a very long time. People just call me Chris, well at least they used to.’

‘I understand …’

‘And who would you be?’

‘My name, sir, is Samuel Lemmontine Fontaine. People just call me Sammy. Now, Mister Furlong … Chris, if you would like to come with me, we have something to discuss over breakfast and don’t worry, breakfast is on me.’

‘We do? … It is? Well, please do lead the way …’



This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

To link to this story from your site - please use the following code:

<a href=""> Out of the Shadows, Part One </a>

Comments (1)

Tell us why

Please tell us why you think this story should be removed.