Dawn of Justice Review Part I

Greetings, merry people. Readers of this blog will remember me mentioning some time ago that I was going to do a review of the movie Dawn of Justice. I didn’t post it at once because I wanted it to be thoughtful, and I wanted to be able to get out/bring across what I wanted to convey in a proper manner. Well, I’ve been working away at it, and now present to you Part I of what will be a two-part (I think) post. It’s a little longish, but I’ve included some pics to keep you all interested. Enjoy!

Batman V Superman. 

The title alone had folks biting their nails in unrelenting anticipation. It had never been done before. The two titans of the superhero realm coming together in a live action film! We had the surprisingly superb Batman Begins in 2005, and the rather expectedly (sorry) underwhelming Superman Returns in 2006. There was some severe speculation (and even plans, as I have been led to believe) that these movies would usher in the DCEU (DC Extended Universe) of their time. With the benefit of hindsight, I’ll say right now that it’s a good thing that that didn’t happen back then. The Dark Knight Trilogy deserved its own space and time to itself. It worked very well as a world unto itself, not really connected to the main DC universe. Bringing in the Justice League (or even just Superman, really) would have made things unnecessarily complicated, and taken away from the grandness that the Dark Knight Trilogy upheld on its own.

   But anyway, this is about the here and now, the time of Ben Affleck, Henry Cavil, and Gal Gadot. I thought a bit on how I would section this review for you guys, and I have now decided to break it up thusly: 

Story/Characters.  

Plot-holes.

Special Effects/Visual Aesthetics.

Let’s begin. 

Story/Characters.

Batman V Superman follows a seemingly straightforward storyline that follows Superman/Clark Kent as he tries to find his place among humanity and decide whether or not he ought to be Superman and save people. Batman exists in this universe, and the Dark Knight has a severe dislike for the Man of Steel, which he channels into a rage that manifests itself through his increasingly harsh actions on the streets of Gotham. Eventually, the actions of these two heroes cause them to meet for a face-off of epic proportions. God vs Man. Day vs Night etc. Also, Wonder Woman is…in the movie.

   At least, the above things (or something very close to it) are what the story is supposed to be about.

   What we actually got was something more like this…

   Superman can’t make up his mind on whether or not he should save people. Never mind that the last movie he was in (the events of which took place a little over a year the timeline of Batman V Superman begins) followed him trying to find his place in humanity and deciding whether or not he should save people, finally to realize in the end that yes, puny humans are worth saving, and even featured him going so far as to choose them over the last surviving Kryptonians. Psh! That doesn’t matter at all. Superman is having mid-life crisis, so him facing the exact same doubts and troubles as he did in his last movie (Man of Steel) for no apparent reason can fly.

   I had a problem with this. I watched Man of Steel, and it was, well, largely bland. A lot of people complained that there was just ‘too much mind-numbing action.’ To those people I say, “What Marvel movie were you watching?” Man of Steel was so starved for action, that I wouldn’t even call it an action movie! It was more like a Drama/Adventure or some other weird thing like that. We sat through 2 hours and 23 minutes of Superman trying to find himself in that film—Why in the world did Zack Snyder feel the need to subject us to the very same thing in Dawn of Justice? By this time, Superman should be a well-established hero to the world. I get that he’s a darker Superman and all (well, the recent Justice League might say otherwise) but my gosh! Would it kill Kal El to smile, put his fists on his hips, do an interview at a reputable news station??

   Which is another thing. A large part of this movie features the people of the world trying to decide whether they want Superman to save people or not. This was a far better storyline, and made a lot more sense. It’s more easily understood and relatable. Still, more than half of the animosity directed at Supes would go away if the guy just took fifteen minutes out of his not-so-busy schedule every couple weeks to smile for a news camera or help an old lady cross the street in public. The theme over him is regret that humans don’t see him in the light he represents, but he never actually does anything about it. Do an interview!

   Then there’s Batman. Look, I’ll say from the outset that he was the best part of the movie. Hands down. 

   Ben Affleck brought something different to the Caped Crusader, and, whether you liked it or not, it worked for its setting (mostly). He’s older, battered, scarred, more reclusive and less malleable. It worked. One of the problems here is that there’s not enough of him in the movie, which is a shame because Bruce Wayne really takes up the majority of screen time. The movie even opens with him. Bruce, having witnessed the power and destruction that Kryptonians are capable of, thinks the world doesn’t need Superman. In fact, he thinks someone should kill him. He thinks Batman should kill him.

   Now, let me say this: It took me watching the film more than once to fully understand Bruce’s hatred for Superman. At first, it didn’t really make sense, but it does once you understand it. I mean, Batman has been fighting criminals in Gotham for twenty years in this universe. He’s been a superhero for twenty years, relying solely on his wit, grit, and determination (and Alfred). He’s suffered loss and heartache, and no small amount of bodily harm. Suddenly, along comes Zod and his insurgents, Superman appears, and everything changes. I mean, people in the here and now are upset that the government is potentially spying on them through their cell phones. How upset would they be if there was some all-powerful super guy that answered to no authority, who flew around all the time with a terrible frown, broke all manner of international laws, and didn’t care a thing about it? Furthermore, despite the fact that Superman is totally wrapped up in his own doubts over whether or not he should save people, he’s also, apparently, obsessed with Batman. How dare this person over in Gotham break the law to save people? Who does he think he is? Never mind that there’s a giant Bat Signal on the top of the Gotham City Police Department. Never mind that while old Supes was still hitchhiking across the country and destroying people’s semi-trucks, Batman was stopping Joker from gassing Gotham City Hall. He brands people. That equals bad. I, the great doubtful Superman, should shut down his operation because some random person keeps sending me little red notes. Seriously??!!

   What’s wrong with you, Superman? This was a bad plot device, because it didn’t make any sense. Superman needs to get his own act together before he goes and tries to forcibly fix somebody else’s. (Maybe he is evil after all.) I mean, in one scene, there’s this car chase, a pretty good one that showcases Batman’s driving skills and total disregard for the lives of thugs. Batman gets Lex Luthor’s (more on him later) thugs pretty much cornered (and they were doing illegal things, mind you), and, suddenly, Superman swoops down, bashes Batman’s Batmobile, rips the doors off, and then has the cheek to command him to stop being Batman. How dare you, Superman!! How. Dare. You.

   So yeah, Batman’s hatred of him was totally justified.

   What I didn’t like was that this version of Batman seemed a little less than bright. I mean, he’s the World’s Greatest Detective. He ought to have been more brainy. Brainy guys don’t shoot trackers the size of footballs onto the vehicles of the thugs they want to follow. Brainy guys don’t go down into the underworld of Gotham to pretend to watch a boxing match (while actually watching a thug) dressed in the plain, everyday face and clothes of one of the wealthiest men in Gotham. And above all, brainy men don’t allow themselves to be manipulated by any character played by Jesse Eisenberg.

   So, anyway, after a long (too long) time of these two going about their dark and broody lives, Superman finally decides that Batman should stop being Batman (hence that scene I mentioned earlier) and with that last straw, Batman decides to kill Superman. 

   And in this spot, we’ll cut this post, as I do not wish it to grow to a ridiculous length, and also because I want to save some things for Part II (I’m talking about you, Lex). What do you guys think? Agree with my points? Disagree? Liked the movie? Hated it? Somewhere in between? Let me know. 

Keep Strong!

*Disclaimer. All books, titles, characters, character names, slogans, logos, and related indicia are trademarks of and copyright DC Comics and/or Warner Bros.

Is It Truly Love?

So can we just stop with the meaningless romance that seems to have invaded every sub-genre of fiction now in existence?

   

   What? Who doesn’t love a good love story? I’m glad you asked, because the truth of the matter is (and it might be a little hard to swallow) a surprising amount of people don’t like love stories! These peculiar individuals live among us, going about their day-to-day lives, yet becoming increasingly frustrated with the worthless cuddles and feels that so many writers feel the need to inject into an otherwise decent (unless, of course, it was already bad) story! (Before we go any further, it must here be stated that I neither claim to be nor deny to be one of these individuals. And I will furthermore say that I liked the story of Aragorn and Arwen, didn’t mind the puppy love of Meg Murry and Calvin O’Keefe (FROM THE BOOK, NOT THE MOVIE), and am quite fond of a certain short-story titled “They Met Under the Glinting Stars” (ahem). Now then…)

   

   There is a set of people who are tired of the stupid, senseless, and totally unrelatable “love” that has managed to seep into almost every story—books and movies alike. It’s no secret that this is basically all that the YA genre is now. (To those worthy authors out there who still write good YA, I mean you no disrespect, but know that you are in a minority.) From the idiotic half-crush half-WHAT? of books like “Uglies” (good gosh!), to the sudden and absolutely unformulaic “romance” found in “Avengers: Age of Ultron,” to the literal eye-burning attempted cliché-bender in “The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug” and “The Battle of Five Armies.” What is wrong with the world?? What happened to romance that built naturally between the characters, that was understandable, that was relatable? What good is a cliché bender if it’s rubbish? What good is a kiss snatched under the moonlight if the readers or audience are just left rolling their eyes?

   

   I fear that we, as a society, have lost touch—or perhaps patience—with true love. Wow. That sounds really bad, but humor me. How many books or movies that were written or produced within the last five years do you remember to have told a true, a natural, and really relatable love story? Lots of folks are tired of the same old, “hateful-and-petulant-and-selfish-and-under-eighteen-year-old-girl catches the eye of dark-or-green-eyed-muscle-bound-but-quiet-and-secretive-probably-troubled-and-also-under-eighteen-years-old-guy, they both meet in an academy or something, exchange a couple sentences, and three chapters down the road they both just totally neeeeed each other.” Enough!

   Now in the interest of ensuring that this post is informative—instead of just, I don’t know, some kind of unhinged rant—I would like to list a couple (or maybe three) things that matter, ACTUALLY MATTER, when putting romance into a story. 

#1. Romance can’t be forced.

   Sounds like a no-brainer. But seriously, people need to stop thinking that it’s daring to just shove two characters who have no chemistry whatsoever together because…plot. It’s not daring, it’s annoying and unbelievable.

#2. It has to be both relatable and realistic.

   Do you remember the names of all those lovers and such that the Greek and Roman gods had? Of course you don’t, because who cares about the love-lives of the Greek and Roman gods?! In order to appreciate romance between your characters, your audience/readers must first feel for the characters themselves, and then be able to imagine themselves or someone they know in the situation you’re presenting, or at least believe in total absolution that your characters really are in love and not just smooching because…plot.

#3. A hateful character, or a character that doesn’t belong where they are, always ruins the feels. Always.

   I don’t think I really need to go into this one all that much. Suffice it to say that there is a certain red-headed elf that appeared in a certain movie concerning a certain hobbit whose presence therein—and lack thereof in later installments—can never be either explained, nor forgiven. I mean it.

And that’s all I have to say on that for now. Maybe somebody will actually briefly consider what I had to say (ha!), or maybe not. But I said it, and even as true love doesn’t repent over its existence, neither shall I repent over these words. But I’d like to know what you guys think. Let me know!

Keep Strong!

AT LONG LAST!!

Days went by; I labored long. Weeks became months; still I labored. Months stacked into years; I labored the quicker.

   Now at last, at long, long last, I have done it. I have finished it. I HAVE DELIVERED.

TOILS OF THE VALIANT

BOOK TWO OF THE CHRONICLES OF VRANDALIN

The epic conclusion to the widely-loved adventure of Strife of the Mighty! 

DOOM COMES. FAITH WAVERS. HOPE HANGS IN THE BALANCE. 

The battle for Darfrandor is over, but there is neither time nor mood for celebration. Having received word of the approaching power of the Dread Palace, time is yet again in short supply for Brandegan, Allon, and Merch—and all of Vrandalin with them. 

Heeding lessons learned from before and during the battle with the Morkathleam, Brandegan decides to leave Darfrandor without delay. Though he renders a stark warning to the people of the capital that there can be no victory in the fight against Ezirg Haur without the intervention of the Ayestærè, he begins to feel in his heart that the Vellneranians will never again have faith. Urging them to flee south on a desperate journey to Krandarmain Ilse, he leaves them to their choice. Yet the journey south will present Brandegan himself with hard choices to grapple, and force the silver-haired man to confront not only perils of the future, but burdens of the past. 

For Allon Bracken, the way forward seems both clear and clouded. His will knows that he is not the same man that fled Varalel, yet his heart will soon discover that some wounds remain tender long. He must come to terms with both shortly, for in this time of final deeds, the hurting and the lost, the fearful and the hopeless, commoner and noble alike, will need someone to lead them. 

As for Merch Provender, his difficulties come in many forms. From the worry over his home village, to the increasingly constant necessity to kill or be killed…to the often withheld thoughts and feelings of a new traveling companion. Yet all these difficulties must be overcome, for the clock is counting, and ale won’t last forever. 

But for Parma the healer, leagues to the south in the proud city of Mariz, darkness has already arrived. Only newly loosening the grip of cold policies enacted against the southeasterners by Governor Parfidy, she is forced to push back against the malice of mysterious bandits who threaten the lives of those she protects. But in doing so she discovers a sinister plot against Mariz itself, and soon finds herself fighting the ghosts and foes from a past wrought with heartache. It will cost her bitterly. 

Sacrifices are made, bonds are broken, and the powers of the realm are shaken in this kingdom-rending conclusion to the tale that began in Strife of the Mighty. Let the faithful keep strong.

*Sniffle* It's so beautiful....

   You guys have waited long for this one, and so have I! As promised, the tale that began in Strife of the Mighty concludes here...whether in good or evil. I did not split up the story into a trilogy. To celebrate this momentous occasion, I'm putting the Kindle versions of both Toils of the Valiant and Strife of the Mighty on sale for $0.99! To grab your copy of Toils of the Valiant click here! (Or here, if you prefer paperback.) To grab Strife of the Mighty, click here! (Here for paperback.)

   Thank you all for bearing with me through all of this. I strove extra hard to make the story extra gripping, extra meaningful, and extra awesome! Tell me what you think! 

Oh, almost forgot: I've released a new design in the Lael Marketplace!  Check out A Wilder Shape! This particular design was wrought especially for Toils of the Valiant. (And yes, it comes in men's styles, too.) I'm working very hard for you guys (really). 

Happy reading! Happy wearing!

Keep Strong!

Contest Winners!

Hey, everybody.

   So, as you all know, I recently held a contest to celebrate the opening of my new t-shirt shop. Well, today we announce those lucky three! Thanks to all who entered!





Coming in at third place is........... Barri!

Coming in at second place is...........April Turner!!

And taking home the first place grand prize.............Christian Calhoun from Oklahoma!

Let's hear it for our winners! Information for prize collection will be sent out shortly. Thanks again to all who entered.

Keep Strong!

Surprise! (And a contest!)

Ahoy, ahoy! Right, so, if folks have been paying attention to some of my previous posts and tweets (wait, you haven't?.....) then they'll know that I've been saying that I'd have some surprises for everyone early this year. Well, I'm here to deliver them! I'll get right to it:

   #1.   Book two of the Chronicles of Vrandalin is finished and as we speak going through editing. Things were pretty tight with this one, so that shouldn't be too long a process. I know that its completion was later than expected (I'm sorry, alright!), but believe me when I say that I have gone above and beyond to tell (and conclude) an engaging, heart-pulling, originally designed story. The wait is nearly over.

   #2.   This one's a biggie. (Well, to me it is.) Here goes-- I have just opened *drum-roll* my very own T-shirt shop! Yup. Complete with totally original and eye-catching designs wrought with Vrandalin (and the world of Lael) in mind! I'm rather proud of this achievement, and I hope that you guys will drop by and give it a look here (in case you missed the first link).  Now, there are a couple things to note: Right now, if you drop by and order a shirt, you'll get FREE shipping with the code FS18. The free shipping promotion only lasts for a few short days, so if you're interested now's the time! The other thing to note is.... Well, that fits into my other surprise. But first, here're a couple pictures of a couple of my designs!

Huh! Huh! First off, I just want you all to know that these models were hard to get a hold of. They were all booked up till summer, and I had to call in a favor. Professionalism and good looks are in high demand! Secondly, these are only three of my designs, but there are more to choose from, and the shirts are available in multiple different styles and colors, long-sleeved or hoodie, so yeah. Now, for my last announcement.

#3.   I'm hosting a contest! Yes, sir (or ma'am) a contest! Here's what's up for grabs: One first place winner will receive a signed, paperback copy of both Strife of the Mighty, and the soon to be released sequel thereof! One second place winner will receive a mystery t-shirt, the design of which was wrought especially for the second book! And one third place winner will receive an ebook copy of the sequel to Strife of the Mighty. Sounds good? (Wait, did you just say no?) Okay, here's what you have to do to enter: Drop by my t-shirt shop and grab yourself a shirt sporting your favorite of the designs listed (remember, shipping is free for the next few days with the code FS18). When your shirt arrives, snap a photo of you (or it can even be of a friend if you're camera shy) wearing your new garb, and send the photo to juliusb333@gmail.com. What I'll need from you in the email is the following:

   #1. Name of entrant (and state of residence, if you want).

   #2. Permission to post and/or feature your photo on this blog, my Twitter, and/or Facebook.

   #3. Your shirt size.

   That's it! If you're a winner, you'll receive an email of congratulations, along with a request for the address you would like your books or shirt to be shipped to. The most important thing with this contest is to have fun and be creative! Entries will be judged based on their artistic expression. If your photo doesn't show your face that's fine. If you're doing a hand-stand, that's fine. If you're sipping coffee in front of a wall made of noodles, that's fine. Snap with your own artistic eye. And have fun with it! The contest is open today, and submissions will be accepted through 4/29/18. Winners will be announced by 5/7/18.

   Well, that's all for now.

Keep Strong!

Fantasy Stereotyped

I know, I know, this might rub a few people the wrong way, and for that I’m sorry (I guess), but it’s something I’ve kinda been thinking about both previously and lately. So here goes:
 
    Fantasy is great, ain’t it? Ain’t it grand? The wondrous escape that it provides to our desiring psyches, while at the same time (if done well) presenting viewpoints and/or troubles that we face and question in our own world in a thought-provoking manner, simply can’t be beat. So many, many, many (many many many) different fantasy tales have been written and told through the passing of the years, that it is truly impossible to keep track of them all. However, all follow a common thread or two—or five or six, depending on the author. This is all well and good; I mean, after all, there’s nothing new under the sun, right? But (there’s that word again) there is something—one of the threads I mentioned, if you will—that rather bugs me from time to time: The generic uses of certain fantasy races along with the “stereotypical” actions and attitudes thereof.
 
   What do I mean, you ask? I mean that so many people who write fantasy often—not always, but often—conform the races that inhabit their worlds to the usual depiction. For instance, elves are likely hands-down the most often used race (besides humans) in fantasy tales. How many books have you read wherein the elves that were part of the story were physically superior to humans, so veeerrryyy much more beautiful and elegant than humans, and so much wiser and more skilled in magic than humans? More often than you can remember, I doubt not.
 
   This is great for some stories, and even more than some if the story is still good enough, but when this becomes the norm, the allure of having a new race involved in your story is diminished almost at once. Just how many times are we gonna read the wise elf—always older than our protagonist (and more beautiful)—lecture and lecture about how violent and uncouth humans are, while simultaneously doing a backflip and firing four arrows off a longbow??!! This kind of thing gets repetitive, and done without or with little skill, it’s just downright annoying.
 
   Obviously, it is no small thing to stand out and be separate from the crowd, yet this is what needs to happen more regularly in fantasy with regards to fantasy races. Now, there are some folks who have done some interesting things and broken off the beaten path; in my experience, it seems to be indies who do it most. To my most recent memory, author Michael J. Sullivan had what I thought was a most welcome original concept for the elves in his story. (I know that there are others, people, he’s just the one I could readily remember.) His elves were not as strong and beautiful as elves so often are, and they were, get this, slaves to the uncouth humans of the land for some time. A nice historical background that was. By the way, now might be a good spot to mention that it isn’t elves alone who fall victim to this problem. Dwarves, dragons, gnomes (meh), and, yes, even humans, have, and are still being, what I like to call fantasy-stereotyped. (That is now copyrighted. You can’t have it.)
 
   My fellow authors, it is a struggle to be original, yet it is our lot to struggle to be as original as we can be nonetheless. You know, there was a time that I thought that fantasy writers should just ease up on using elves and dragons and dwarves for a while altogether. Give them a break and use humans or something else. Yet I have since progressed to the reality that, while it still might be a good idea to give these creatures (especially those pretty-pretty elves) a break, it is not necessarily necessary. Just use them originally. It doesn’t even have to be totally originally, just make them different somehow. Make their ears point downward instead of upward, give them dark skin (and not just so that it can make them an outcast/oddity to the other elves), make them mutate into four-foot tall frogs with rabbit ears whenever they eat the peanut-butter soup of our protagonist. Just do something different that will stand out to the reader. You don’t know how huge a favor you’ll be doing to your readers, and to all elves, dragons, dwarves, gnomes, and other victims of fantasy-stereotype out there.

Keep Strong!

A Poem For Your Pleasure

Right. So, I've been trying to decide what to post for you guys this month, and while I have decided to do a Batman/Superman post, it's not ready yet. Sorry. But (there's that word again) I do have something else for you to sink your mind into for a bit. As some of you may know, I do garner some enjoyment from sharing my work with you, and I do try to drop some of it here and there so as to give you a look at some of the other tales and whatnot that I work on when I get the time. The time has come to do that again!

   The following poem is one that I wrote a while ago, but didn't share because, well, I didn't want to.    Okay, not exactly. In truth, though I like it, I don't consider it to be one of my best works (don't get any ideas though; I'm not saying it's rubbish!), and I don't want to share stuff with you guys that is below caliber. I reread it recently, and I've decided that it's suitable to share. Huzzah! Now, mind you, it is a little lengthy (I've decided to go ahead and post the whole thing at once instead of break it up into two parts as I've done before), but it tells a full short-story. So it's not just a bunch of rhyming that doesn't go anywhere. (I'd never do that to you!) Anywho, I've rambled long enough so, without further ado, here it is!

(Oh, one more thing; it has no title. If any of you have any suggestions, feel free.)

There was once a house upon a lane

Which, to all who looked, appeared quite plain

But within had many secrets dark.

So to this tale I bid you hark.

A wandering fellow who dared to dare,

And enter into that secret lair

Once took his luck and tried his fate

And entered through that house’s gate.

At noon’s height he entered in

But when the door shut behind, it was dark within

And soft scuttlings, as from unseen spies,

He heard beyond the reach of his eyes.

Yet forward he went, refusing to be cowed,

And entered the dining room, where it seemed a cloud

Had settled. But it was not so,

For there sat five, silent figures in a row.

Four men there were with faces forlorn,

And at their head sat a woman with eyes of scorn.

But the stranger at once felt sick and trembled,

For he could see right through the bodies of the folk assembled.

Their faces grey, their raiment white,

Shifted and shuddered before his sight.

And he perceived that these were no mortals true

But phantoms arrayed. Three and two.

Then at once the woman looked his way

And in her eyes arose a spark of play,

And from her chair she gave a gesture.

A wordless command from a silent specter.

At once the four men sprang each from his seat

And came at the stranger, never once touching their feet

Upon the ground. Their teeth turned fangs, their nails turned claws,

And hideous cries leapt from their maws.

Then the fellow gave a cry of his own

And ran back the way he had come alone.

But now the house revealed its will. The way out of that secret lair

Was gone. Instead now a stair

A stair was before the fleeing man.

And up it went to an unknown span.

But with things so fell and swift behind

He took hold of the banister and began his climb.

Four flights up he fled the wights

Till he discerned the presence of flickering lights,

And, coming to the door from which they glowed,

Dared to enter another secret abode.

Nine candles lit a dusty room,

Attempting to resist a clinging gloom.

But waiting not, he shut himself inside

Seeking respite and a refuge to abide.

At a whispering voice he spun around

And saw a maid-child sitting on the ground.

In one hand she held a written note,

And in the other the quill with which she wrote.

“You escaped,” she said without looking his way.

“Others would have been caught at once from they

Who chased you up the stair.”

“What place is this?” he asked. “What lair

Lies truly at the heart of this shrouded house?”

At that she stood, ruffling a velvet blouse.

“If you truly wish that answer to know

Then come with me. We shall walk below.

And as for your mistrust, written from eye to eye,

I swear to you to tell only a single lie.”

Then waiting not for an answer given

She walked over to a space wherein the wall was riven

A little cleft. Her little hand she stuck inside

And forthwith a hidden door opened wide.

It opened to blackness, and he shrunk back.

Said she, “If you will not dare to trek this track

Your life will be delivered to the ghouls outside.

For they cannot enter this room only as long as I abide.”

Then forward she went and was lost to sight.

And he followed after, being governed by fright.

His eyes were useless in that lightless hall,

And his ears heard almost no sound at all.

Yet one thing he did hear, if only so fleet,

And that was the sound of her walking feet. 

Just before him she walked, but no comfort gave

In that lightless place like a closing grave.

Down they went for an unknown span,

A silent girl and a wavering man.

Suddenly, her voice came like falling stones.

“Should your life be in danger, you may use my bones.”

Before he could venture to ask of her why,

He gasped and released a shouting cry.

The ground beneath him had disappeared,

And down he fell and blindly veered

Toward an end unseen.

The end came soon, and the pain was keen

As he struck a patch of sandy ground

And discerned a new and dreadful sound.

A growling rose all around

And looking up he saw many a slavering hound.

Their hide was black, their eyes flamed red,

And gleamed in torches overhead.

To his hands and knees he softly rose.

But the hounds at once began to circle and close

About him. As despair took him, all alone,

He felt his hand brush against a bone.

Glancing toward it to see what the hounds had torn

He saw the velvet blouse that his guide had worn.

Beside it sat a pile of bones and a skull

That glared at him with sockets dull.

Now he realized her grim meaning.

Up he snatched her bones as the hounds, now springing,

Rushed upon him with bays of death,

And filled the air with the stench of their breath.

At once he threw them, bone by bone,

And heard the hounds’ baying change in tone.

From him they turned with greedy yaps,

And fought over those bones as dogs will over scraps.

But as he was about to cast the skull it cried,

“No! You will need me. Now circle wide

Around the hounds while they tear my bones,

To a door that will lead away from their growls and groans.”

Quelling the fear that flamed inside,

He did as she bade him, and circled wide

Till he came to a door of blackened glass,

And there he halted, despairing to pass.

But the skull he held in his trembling hand

At once spoke a hissing command

And the door opened silently.

And through it he went, speeding to flee.

Up now they went, the skull and he.

First two flights, then another three.

Then suddenly she bade him stop,

Though no sign was there that they had reached a top.

“Toss me ahead, then follow behind.

For in the gloom before us you will again be blind.”

Then gladly he cast that skull away.

But himself hung back. Loathing to go or stay.

She called to him in his uncertainty,

And a moment later, most innocently,

The maid-child that he had before seen

Came near to him with dark eyes keen.

He drew back from her, his own eyes wide.

“Truly,” said he, “hidden inside

This house’s walls are many a devilish host.

And you are among them. Why do you help me, ghost?”

The child looked upon him. “The answer,” she smiles,

“Is that I am the wandering spirit who beguiles.

I have no power but what is given to me

By desperate men who seek to flee

From the many horrors of this haunted abode.

From you I now have all the power that I was owed.

For every time you heeded my command

Your life was given little by little to my hand.

Now you are mine. And that, I fear,

Will be worse than all else you faced in here.”

“But the lie!” he stammered, his heart going cold.

“The one lie that you ought to have told,

Where was it?” From ear to ear her grin now burst.

“The lie was the thing I said second to first,

When I bade you follow me to escape the ghouls.

You could have fought off those wispy fools.

But fear had such a hold on you

That it seemed wise to do all I bade you do.

“The hounds as well you could have defeated.

Had you challenged them they would have retreated.

But far better it was, thought you in your dread,

To use the bones of one already dead.

Had you only stood firm and quelled your fear,

A way to escape would have made itself clear.”

And so saying, no longer a child she seemed.

Claws she had, and sudden fangs gleamed

Beneath a now skinless face.

A leering skull now took its place.

Then upon him the creature leapt without a word,

And his cries and screams went on unheard.

And if ever you pass by that house,

Wherein lurks the ghost-child in the velvet blouse,

You will know it by the half-imagined sound

Of a young girl’s laughter underground.

Keep Strong!