World Record Attempt Fatality Laughter (III)

World Record Attempt Fatality Laughter (III)

A Story by Brett Hernan
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Another sample, for your consideration.

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   This was what caused their decision to call in a wholly scientifically-based paranormal investigator. Could we please put a halt to all the 'spooky' soundtrack music? It's really detracting from the narrative of these interviews. Crucial moments had been deleted, for some unknown reason. He laid beside her and read aloud an account of the haunting which, even during the brightest of summer Saturday mornings, entreated into the atmosphere of their new and modern suburban home, a feeling equivocating black slime.

   Many of those who hung around the, nearly always deserted but ever open, community center chess club headquarters were neo-Nazi sympathisers looking to recruit more members. No explanation could be offered as to the source of these noises, especially the footsteps coming from the inside of the ceiling of this single storied suburban dwelling.

   Candles inside sealed rooms were blown out. The camera man, a returned veteran of world war two's bloodiest battles, was too scared to enter. The window glass had been turned black and, even after all these events were reported by the hooded figures occupying the bus shelter waiting room, the cops flat out refused to go into the place. Screaming for help from the inside of a broken, old, black and white TV set in the far corner of the attic, the one that had been making noises and flashing with static since the first night anyone twigged that something unearthly had commenced in the upper floors. At the summit of the light house he was inside the picture tube, rapidly becoming smaller whilst being dragged away by the presences into the depths of some, previously unknown and impossibly dead, cathode-ray landscape.

    It was terribly hot that night. We found that between the hours of four and six am Las Vegas casino dealers most frequently reported the presence of players at the tables who appeared and disappeared, seemingly of their own free will and in defiance of the known laws of physics. Sleeping in his car had become all too necessary. We felt like someone was walking with us. We appeared momentarily at a fairground on the banks of the river Sienne in 1875 and then left again, hearing only a far off,

“Have a go, lose your dough!”

   Her features were even more spectacular by candle light, this statue that breathed, and, only in the depths of late night, could such thoughts flow with ease and rapidity.

© 2020 Brett Hernan


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Added on September 2, 2018
Last Updated on February 16, 2020

Author

Brett Hernan
Brett Hernan

Hobart, Tasmania, Australia



About
Low-resolution sample only. Born 1968. All of the images accompanying each of these written works are my own. (Except that one of the guy putting a flower into a soldier's rifle barrel!) more..

Writing