PREVIEW: Taken
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The LOST GENRE GUILD
Biblical Speculative Fiction
| Daniel I Weaver's short story "Taken" can be found in Light at the Edge of Darkness along with 26 other stories of Biblical speculative fiction.
Read more about the author, Daniel I Weaver. |
I stared at the pile of gore that used to be Franklin. How could I have been so wrong
about this when my sixth sense had always served me so well? I knew things and had
always been right before. Not this time. Your presence is requested this evening at 7:
00 for a presentation that will change your life. What a load of crap. End my life,
perhaps.
“Why is he doing this, Steven?” Jenni asked.
I looked at her across the carnage and almost chuckled. She would go next. The
realization washed over me in a wave of relief and nausea. I would live a little longer.
At her expense. “Why would anyone do something like this, Jenni?”
“There has to be a reason. We have nothing in common.” She inched toward me.
“Except the invitations.”
Did the “why” really matter? I was more interested in escaping than figuring out why
that psychopath and his inbred cronies had lured us all together. Given the evidence,
the answer seemed obvious. Even evil needed to have fun. To feed.
Jenni crawled closer. “He’s gonna chop us up and burn what’s left! You don’t want to
know why?”
I didn’t have time for questions. I glanced toward the door at the top of the stairs.
Five of us had tried to open it earlier. How long ago? Hours? Days? Probably days by
the way my stomach twisted and growled every few minutes.
Jenni grabbed my sleeve. “I don’t want to die, Steven.”
One might expect a frail little thing like her to cry, but at that point, she was
probably as numb as I was. She had cried. Cried her little heart out. But I doubted her
tears had anything to do with determining who died next. Our host knew who he was
after, and the cattle prods he carried kept the rest of us at bay. I’d learned that the
hard way, trying to make a break for the stairs.
“Keep quiet.” I slid left and felt the wall, ignoring the splinters as my trembling
fingers raked across haggard boards. Finding the wobbly plank, I set to work.
“Let me help.”
I peered at Jenni’s desperate blue eyes. She would’ve been attractive, but the
makeup had smeared and she stank of urine.
“I thought you didn’t want anything to do with this,” I snapped. “You sat there
praying while Greg and I worked.”
Greg and I had found the weak spot. We’d discovered the draft and realized there
was something beyond that wall.
Jenni slid into place beside me. “The Lord helps those who help themselves and I don’
t want to die. Please.”
Greg screamed overhead. If his torture lasted as long as his predecessors’ had, we
might make it. “Work fast. Don’t worry about the noise.”
The screams would mask our efforts. I knew it. But then again, I was trapped in a
basement with mutilated corpses and a woman whose pant-size probably exceeded
her IQ. All thanks to just knowing something.
I clutched the plank, pinned my feet against the wall, and pulled. Jenni pulled as well.
The board groaned.
A nail creaked.
SNAP! We flew backward. Jenni ended up on the human spare-parts pile.
Screaming.
I rolled to her, jerked her by her hair, and clamped my hand over her mouth. My eyes
went to the door and my ears worked the sudden silence. Greg wasn’t screaming—a
bad sign.
A floorboard overhead moaned and my eyes darted toward it. Greg shouted
obscenities, mocking and demeaning our host. I shook my head. He was helping us.
Keeping that sick sadist busy to buy us time. That fit. The last thing he’d said before
our host reappeared was, “Whatever happens, remember Jesus loves you.”
Obscenities didn’t fit the Christian-type, but when I’d called him on it, Greg
answered, “I’m working on it.”
While Greg paid our bail in blood, we were busting out. He expected to go to heaven,
and he was buying us time to get out of hillbilly hell.
I released Jenni’s mouth and hurried back to the wall. Reaching through the crack, I
found nothing but cobwebs. No wall, no brick, no dirt. I latched onto the next board
and pulled. Jenni showed up at my side again, trembling and dry heaving. Her
expression indicated her mind was somewhere else.
“Jenni.”
Her dead stare never changed.
about this when my sixth sense had always served me so well? I knew things and had
always been right before. Not this time. Your presence is requested this evening at 7:
00 for a presentation that will change your life. What a load of crap. End my life,
perhaps.
“Why is he doing this, Steven?” Jenni asked.
I looked at her across the carnage and almost chuckled. She would go next. The
realization washed over me in a wave of relief and nausea. I would live a little longer.
At her expense. “Why would anyone do something like this, Jenni?”
“There has to be a reason. We have nothing in common.” She inched toward me.
“Except the invitations.”
Did the “why” really matter? I was more interested in escaping than figuring out why
that psychopath and his inbred cronies had lured us all together. Given the evidence,
the answer seemed obvious. Even evil needed to have fun. To feed.
Jenni crawled closer. “He’s gonna chop us up and burn what’s left! You don’t want to
know why?”
I didn’t have time for questions. I glanced toward the door at the top of the stairs.
Five of us had tried to open it earlier. How long ago? Hours? Days? Probably days by
the way my stomach twisted and growled every few minutes.
Jenni grabbed my sleeve. “I don’t want to die, Steven.”
One might expect a frail little thing like her to cry, but at that point, she was
probably as numb as I was. She had cried. Cried her little heart out. But I doubted her
tears had anything to do with determining who died next. Our host knew who he was
after, and the cattle prods he carried kept the rest of us at bay. I’d learned that the
hard way, trying to make a break for the stairs.
“Keep quiet.” I slid left and felt the wall, ignoring the splinters as my trembling
fingers raked across haggard boards. Finding the wobbly plank, I set to work.
“Let me help.”
I peered at Jenni’s desperate blue eyes. She would’ve been attractive, but the
makeup had smeared and she stank of urine.
“I thought you didn’t want anything to do with this,” I snapped. “You sat there
praying while Greg and I worked.”
Greg and I had found the weak spot. We’d discovered the draft and realized there
was something beyond that wall.
Jenni slid into place beside me. “The Lord helps those who help themselves and I don’
t want to die. Please.”
Greg screamed overhead. If his torture lasted as long as his predecessors’ had, we
might make it. “Work fast. Don’t worry about the noise.”
The screams would mask our efforts. I knew it. But then again, I was trapped in a
basement with mutilated corpses and a woman whose pant-size probably exceeded
her IQ. All thanks to just knowing something.
I clutched the plank, pinned my feet against the wall, and pulled. Jenni pulled as well.
The board groaned.
A nail creaked.
SNAP! We flew backward. Jenni ended up on the human spare-parts pile.
Screaming.
I rolled to her, jerked her by her hair, and clamped my hand over her mouth. My eyes
went to the door and my ears worked the sudden silence. Greg wasn’t screaming—a
bad sign.
A floorboard overhead moaned and my eyes darted toward it. Greg shouted
obscenities, mocking and demeaning our host. I shook my head. He was helping us.
Keeping that sick sadist busy to buy us time. That fit. The last thing he’d said before
our host reappeared was, “Whatever happens, remember Jesus loves you.”
Obscenities didn’t fit the Christian-type, but when I’d called him on it, Greg
answered, “I’m working on it.”
While Greg paid our bail in blood, we were busting out. He expected to go to heaven,
and he was buying us time to get out of hillbilly hell.
I released Jenni’s mouth and hurried back to the wall. Reaching through the crack, I
found nothing but cobwebs. No wall, no brick, no dirt. I latched onto the next board
and pulled. Jenni showed up at my side again, trembling and dry heaving. Her
expression indicated her mind was somewhere else.
“Jenni.”
Her dead stare never changed.
The Lost Genre Guild's mission is to promote quality works of Biblical Speculative Fiction (spec-fic)
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through its authors, fans; to endorse new releases that fit this criteria; and of course, to glorify Him.
I HAD NO IDEA a letter might get me killed. But I’d just known I
had to meet this woman like the letter said. Big mistake.
I sat in the dank cellar, somewhere in the middle of inbred
hillbilly hell, staring at Franklin’s mangled remains. Our host had
hurled them at our feet before closing and bolting the door.
The dull yellow light edging from the single, dangling bulb,
revealed dilapidated walls, cobweb-strewn ceiling beams, mold,
dust, and bugs. There were only two of us left: me and Jenni—
the dirty blonde who resembled a misplaced runway model in
her designer slacks and sheer blouse.
had to meet this woman like the letter said. Big mistake.
I sat in the dank cellar, somewhere in the middle of inbred
hillbilly hell, staring at Franklin’s mangled remains. Our host had
hurled them at our feet before closing and bolting the door.
The dull yellow light edging from the single, dangling bulb,
revealed dilapidated walls, cobweb-strewn ceiling beams, mold,
dust, and bugs. There were only two of us left: me and Jenni—
the dirty blonde who resembled a misplaced runway model in
her designer slacks and sheer blouse.
