Richard Schiver

Category: works in progress

  • Weekly Writing Challenge 09/17/2025

    Weekly Writing Challenge 09/17/2025

    My apologies for missing last week. Was working on my house when I threw out my back, and have spent the past week on a heating pad. I know it’s no excuse, but it’s all I’ve got. Anyway without further adieu let’s get into it. One last thing before we start, many times while writing a story the ending tends to develop beyond what the writer first saw. In the case of this story, not only has the ending changed, but the beginning as well. When the story is done, I’ll share more details, and let everyone get a good look at the updated story.

    Continued!

    Is it the end? Reverend Wickes wondered as he stumbled back from the window. He was filled with a need to hide in the shadows he knew offered little comfort. Bad things hid in the shadows, this he had learned as a child. Wicked things lived in the shadowed places of our world. As the night closed around him, the faint light coming through the window offered little comfort. It revealed a world that had suddenly been turned upon its head. More shouts and gunshots came from outside as he pushed himself back into the corner of the room, his knees growing weak, forcing him to settle to the floor. He pressed his hands over his ears, trying to block out the sounds of a world teetering on the brink of insanity. But all he accomplished was to awaken the inner voice that had been a constant companion his entire life.

    A voice filled with all of the doubts he’d grown familiar with as he moved from childhood through puberty into adolescence before finally emerging into adulthood. Doubts that plagued his nights, keeping sleep at bay as he battled through every imagined slight and insult he believed had been directed at him. He had not felt like this in years, not since graduating from the seminary filled with the righteousness of a man of God.

    It was this virtue that enabled him to carry out his sermons, that enabled him to lock away the voices that questioned every aspect of his life. Every decision, every word he had ever spoken in response to a question, or while just passing the time of the day. Every waking moment was scrutinized and replayed in his mind while he struggled to slip into a dreamless sleep.

    Are they the chosen? Have the dead been called home?

    Am I now immortal? If this was the first resurrection as spoken of in the bible, priests and the righteous followers of God would be granted immortality. The thought came without warning, and he cringed from its presumptive nature. It was not his place to say. He had led a virtuous life save for his constant worry, his never ending doubts about his own worth. Would these doubts be the one thing to keep him from the kingdom of heaven?

    You are not worthy. The thought came in the form of a sweetly sinister voice whispering in his ear. It took him a moment to realize the shadows were indeed speaking to him in a voice he imagined as belonging to the defeated one, the archangel who had been cast down from heaven.

    “I will not be deceived,” he whispered as that voice continued to speak to him with the soft hissing sound of a snake gliding through grass.

    “I will not be deceived,” he said, louder this time, and the voice that had been teasing him softened even more.

    “I will not be deceived!” He shouted as loud as he could and silenced the voice once and for all.

    With this silence came the roar of a raging fire, and he looked at the window where reflected firelight danced across the glass. He crawled across the floor to see what was happening outside. Barrows Saloon was engulfed in towering flames that bathed main street in the light of day. Several people ran down the street, fleeing from a larger group of people who moved in a random, staggering, gait. They moved like a bunch of drunkards celebrating in slow motion.

    To be continued!

    Follow the link to read the whole story up to this point. Weekly Writing Challenge

  • Upon the Shoulders of Giants.

    From Poe to Carpenter.

    In the early part of the nineteenth century Edgar Allen Poe visited the South Polar Region in his only novel length work titled: The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket. The work relates the tale of the young Arthur Gordon Pym, who stows away aboard a whaling ship aptly named the Grampus. Various adventures and misadventures befall Pym, including shipwreck, mutiny, and cannibalism, before he is saved by the crew of the Jane Guy. Aboard this vessel, Pym and a sailor named Dirk Peters continue their adventures further south. Docking on land, they encounter hostile natives before escaping back to the ocean aboard the Jane Guy bound for regions even further south. The novel ends abruptly as Pym and Peters continue towards that mysterious region around the South Pole.

    It is believed by many that H.P. Lovecraft consciously continued Poe’s tale with his novella, At The Mountains of Madness. That was serialized in Astounding Stories from February to April of 1936. Lovecraft twice cited Poe’s disturbing and enigmatic story in his text, and explicitly borrows the mysterious Tekeli-li cry from Poe’s work. In a letter to August Derleth, Lovecraft wrote that he was trying to achieve with his ending an effect similar to what Poe accomplished in Pym.

    In August 1938 the novella, Who Goes There, by John W Campbell writing under the pen name Don A. Stuart was published in Astounding Stories. John never publicly claimed that his novella, Who Goes There? was intended to show H.P. Lovecraft how to write a story. However, literary critics have frequently drawn comparisons between Campbell’s work and Lovecraft’s earlier novella, At the Mountains of Madness, and have noted fundamental differences in their writing styles.

    The idea of a direct response to Lovecraft is further supported by the rediscovery of Campbell’s longer, unpublished version of the novella, titled Frozen Hell. A reddit user notes that the longer version “reads almost like a direct sequel to HP Lovecraft’s At the Mountains of Madness,” before Campbell shortened it for publication. This suggests that Campbell’s original text had even stronger allusions to Lovecraft’s work

    John Campbell’s story has been adapted for the screen three times. In 1951 as The Thing From Another World, in 1982 as The Thing directed by John Carpenter, and most recently as a prequel to the Carpenter version, also titled The Thing, released in 2011.

    The history of this story inspired me to go one step further. In each of the stories above the alien presence never reaches civilization. Until now. I am nearing completion of my trilogy Shadows of the Past, that I’m working to have ready for release as early as next month, if all things go as planned.

    In Adversary, an ancient alien artifact discovered in Antarctica has a strange effect on anyone who touches it. Stolen to repay a gambling debt the artifact is lost and infects Jack Griffith, a sewer worker dying of cancer. The essence of the creature inhabiting the artifact offers Jack hope for a longer life. But is the price worth paying? Below is the proposed cover for the fist installment.

    A mockup of the proposed cover.

  • Weekly Writing Challenge 09/03/2025

    Welcome back to my weekly writing challenge where I continue work on my short story God’s Chosen. To the left you will notice a permanent link to the Weekly Writing Challenge page where the story is updated. If you would like to read the story in its entirety up to this point head on over that way. Without further delay I give you the next 621 words of the current story God’s Chosen.

    God’s Chosen

    Contd!

    His sleep was anything but restful. Fitfully he tossed and turned as the days events replayed themselves in his mind before sleep finally claimed him. He found himself trapped in a coffin, the silk lining pressing against his face as he pushed uselessly against the lid held in place by nails and six feet of earth. Unable to see even his hand in front of his face he started hyperventilating as he kicked at the bottom of the casket with his feet. It all felt so real as he scratched at the lid, it even felt like he’d gotten splinters under his fingernails. A persistent whine filled the emptiness around him as he struggled against the cloying nature of the lining that had become wrapped around his head. He pulled at the fabric as a scream slowly built up in his chest.

    A single thought drove through his mind. They had abandoned him in the grave while they returned home to enjoy the fruits of life. The taste of fresh mountain air carrying the crisp scent of the coming snow. The warmth of a fire roaring in the hearth. The touch of another living being. These things he would never know again, trapped in the eternal night of the grave, alone. This last was the most frightening and the scream that had been building since the realization of his predicament escaped its prison and roared from his chest, shattering his throat as he sat up in his bed.

    He looked around his small room with uncomprehending eyes, aware of his clothes clinging to his sweaty flesh as the last of the terror from his dream drained away.

    A knock came at his door, “are you okay sir?”

    It was his housekeeper, Mrs. Bailey.

    “Yes,” he replied in a shaky voice, “I just had a bad dream, I’ll be okay.”

    “My gramma always said dreams were a brief glimpse of our future,” Mrs. Bailey said from the other side of the closed door.

    “I’ll be okay Mrs. Bailey, thank you.” He certainly hoped this nightmare would not prove to be his future. We all died. It was this knowledge that separated them from the animals of the fields and the forest. To be aware of your impending death was both a blessing and a curse. Knowing it was coming allowed you to prepare yourself for your inevitable end, to get right with the lord and assure your place in heaven.   Everybody died.

    Blessed and holy is the one who shares in the first resurrection. The passage came to him and offered some comfort. The first resurrection would be those who served the lord faithfully. As a man of god, he imagined he would be included in this first group when it came, as the second death would hold no power over them. Yet a small part of him knew it was blasphemous to assume the life he led would be sufficient to secure his place at the lord’s side.

    A shout from outside drew his attention and he pushed himself off his bed to cross to the window. From his vantage point he had a clear view of main street alight in the shifting orange glow of the torches burning along both sides. A stranger was staggering down the center of the street and as they came into view he recognized them as Boris Jantz. Am immigrant from Germany who had been hanged three days ago for rustling cattle. The noose that took his life was still around his neck, the frayed end dangling between his legs.

    A gunshot rang out and Boris staggered back momentarily before pushing on. Another shot rang out as an inarticulate cry sliced across the night. To be continued!

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    Jimmy and his friends have come to the roof of their apartment building to watch the passage of the comet Omega9. Little do they know the dust from the comet contains ancient organisms that are about to turn their world upside down.

    They’re already dealing with tough times, but things get even crazier when Robert’s mom is attacked by his dad and turns into a zombie. This is only the first act in a chain of events that plunges the world into the zombie apocalypse. Forcing the boys to figure out how to survive in this new, terrifying reality.

    Trapped between the undead, and the evil living in the building, their future becomes more perilous until Robert makes a startling discovery in the basement. In the end it’s all about survival, friendship, and facing their fears as they fight to protect each other and their home.

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  • Weekly Writing Challenge

    I’ve added another 669 words to the continuing story God’s Chosen. I hope you enjoy my work as much as I enjoy writing it. I wrote this Tuesday morning, and you’re getting it raw and unedited.

    God’s Chosen (contd.)

    Derrick fell back with a cry of terror, the sudden movement coupled with Mrs. Franklin’s added weigh threw Reverend Wickes off balance. She felt like a sack of concrete and was just as graceful. They both went down in a jumbled heap and Reverend Wickes struggled to escape Mrs. Franklin’s grasp as they rolled across the ground. She scratched him across his left cheek, a jagged fingernail tearing open a flap of skin that sent a shock of pain through his body as he untangled himself and rolled away.

    He jumped back to his feet, one hand pressed over his injured cheek as blood flowed down his face. He felt the flap of skin beneath his palm and was struck by a sudden sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Mrs. Franklin rolled back and forth on the ground, struggling to get up, yet unable to do so.

    “What’s wrong with her?” Derrick said, his question followed by the wail of an approaching siren. With squealing brakes, the ambulance arrived, and two paramedics emerged. One crossed to Mrs. Franklin still thrashing around on the ground, while the other approached Reverend Wickes.

    Reverend Wickes recognized the paramedic attending to him as the daughter of Joshua Billings who served on the board for the town of Whispering Pines. He couldn’t recall her name, of course she rarely attended church, unlike her father who was always present.

    “How’s your father?” Reverend Wickes asked her as she tended to his wound.

    She smiled in a way that tried to warn him off the subject, but he had already opened that can of worms. “He’d my dad, and that about sums it up, you’ve got a nasty wound, how did it happen?” There was genuine concern in her voice and Reverend Wickes readily opened up, explaining what brought them to this point.

    “That’s odd,” she said as he finished telling his story. “Wouldn’t they have embalmed her after her death?”

    Reverend Wickes had never considered this, and he found his gaze drifting over to where Mrs. Franklin struggled against the other paramedic. If she hadn’t been buried alive, what else could have happened? His train of thought was interrupted when the other paramedic, a young man he did not know, joined them. Jenny, the name struck him out of the blue, he’d been distracted enough to recall the name of the paramedic caring for him.

    “I don’t understand what’s going on,” he said in a near whisper. “Her respiration is elevated, but there is no pulse, nor is there a heartbeat.”

    “Can we transport her?” Jenny asked.

    “We’ll have to strap her down.”

    “Get the gurney then,” Jenny replied as she finished taping a bandage to his cheek. “I’d have your doctor look at that as soon as possible. I cleaned it up, and used a couple of butterflies to close the wound, but it might need stitches.”

    “I will, thank you, Jenny, tell your father I said hi,” Reverend Wickes said.

    “I don’t see my father that much anymore. You’re welcome and remember to have that looked at.”

    Reverend Wickes watched as Jenny and her partner strapped Mrs. Franklin to the gurney and loaded it in the back of the ambulance. After they were gone he turned to his church where most of the parishioners were gathered on the front lawn, watching the events unfold. There was no sense continuing the sermon he had hoped would end the bullying he knew was taking place in their small corner of the world. Maybe next week he’d have a better chance of instilling some respect for others. As it stood he was tired from his ordeal and only wanted to go home lie down to rest.

    “Everybody go home,” he told the parishioners, noting the happiness on some of their faces at escaping another of his boring sermons. After they left he returned to his own modest home behind the church and wearily climbed the steps to his bedroom where he promptly fell asleep.

    to be continued

    Free Book

    I’m looking or my people. Are you it? Sign up for my monthly newsletter and get your free copy of Zomething Dead This Way Comes. If you enjoy my work do nothing and every month you will receive an email containing either a free short story, or a sneak peek at a work in progress. If you don’t like my work, unsubscribe and keep the free book. This book is only available via my newsletter.

    Jimmy and his friends have come to the roof of their apartment building to watch the passage of the comet Omega9. Little do they know the dust from the comet contains ancient organisms that are about to turn their world upside down.

    They’re already dealing with tough times, but things get even crazier when Robert’s mom is attacked by his dad and turns into a zombie. This is only the first act in a chain of events that plunges the world into the zombie apocalypse. Forcing the boys to figure out how to survive in this new, terrifying reality.

    Trapped between the undead, and the evil living in the building, their future becomes more perilous until Robert makes a startling discovery in the basement. In the end it’s all about survival, friendship, and facing their fears as they fight to protect each other and their home.

    Sign me up!

  • Weekly Writing Challenge

    I’m bringing back my weekly writing challenge. Every week I will add an additional 500+ words to a short story in progress. My plan is to write 26 stories, one for every letter of the alphabet. During my last foray into this I managed to write stories for letters A thru F.

    I previously wrote 500 words for the short story for the letter G – God’s Chosen. Last night after my trip to Baltimore, I added another 618 words to the story in progress. Below is the story from its beginning to its latest point. This is raw work with minimal editing.

    God’s Chosen

    “Why is it so hard for us to forgive?” Reverend Wilkes asked from the pulpit as he scanned the parishioners gathered to hear his sermon. Many were fanning themselves with the days program, the heat inside stifling even with the windows open. Last night’s storm brought with it an intense heat wave that promised to be the worst they’d known in some time. The reverend also noted that Sally Umstead was shifting in her seat and he zeroed in on her. It was terrible what she and her sister were doing to the Plimpton girl. She’d never hurt anyone but to hear them tell it she was evil incarnate.

    “Because the evil one is a good salesman.” Reverend Wilkes shouted, slamming his fist on the pulpit to get their attention. He was satisfied to see many of the younger ones stop their squirming and were sitting up straighter in their seats. They knew it was about to get interesting.

    “He hates forgiveness because he knows that if he can persuade us not to forgive even one person, our own forgiveness from God will be cut off.” He stopped, letting his gaze linger across the parishioners who were all now paying close attention. For a moment it seemed the heat had been forgotten.

    “The devil whispers very persuasive lies to us,” he said quietly, forcing the congregation to lean forward to catch his words.

    “Did he lie to you?” He shouted, pointing at Sally.

    “Did he lie to you?” He asked, shifting his attention to the widow Barnes. He knew she was responsible for the problems the Plimpton girl was experiencing.

    Glancing to the back of the church he spotted the ushers gathered around one of the windows. Bobby Franklin pointed at something outside and turned to look in Reverend Wilkes direction. The terror on his face was clearly transmitted across the room and a ripple of voices followed his gaze.

    “What is it Bobby?” The reverend asked, wanting to get this issue out of the way so he could continue his sermon.

    “It’s the widow Franklin, sir.”

    That wasn’t possible, he’d personally overseen the widow’s grave side services less than a week ago. The scattering of voices became focused on Bobby’s words as several of the parishioners closest to the window left their seats to see for themselves. Several ‘Oh my gods’ were punctuated by a woman’s scream. Reverend Wilkes pushed his way to the window.

    The widow Franklin staggered down the center of main street dragging what looked like the lining of her coffin behind her on one foot. The clothes she’d been buried in were a muddy mess

    Turning from the window Wilkes pushed back through the crowd and crossed to the doors for the church.

    “Where are you going?” Someone shouted behind him. He stopped and turned to face the crowd.

    “I don’t know what happened but I’m going to find out.”

    “Don’t, please, what if she hurts you?”

    “What if she wasn’t dead when we laid her to rest.” Reverend Wilkes said, “certainly, she’s terrified by now and needs someone to help her understand what is going on.”

    On the street the heat hit him with a physical force that slowed his steps. The widow Franklin approached, staggering down the center of main street. It was early yet, and though not all of the inhabitants of Whisper Cove attended services regularly, the streets were empty.

    Where does she think she’s going, he wondered as he stepped off the curb and moved to intercept her. With every step closer his resolve began to wane. It wasn’t his job to maintain order on the streets. His was to protect the souls of his congregation. When he was a few feet away he stopped and pulled his kerchief from his breast pocket to place it over his nose. The smell coming from the old woman was overwhelmingly bad.

    “Mrs. Franklin, are you all right?” It was a stupid question to ask. Obviously she was not all right. For one thing she stunk, for another her eyes had taken on an unnatural cast, and as if to add insult to injury her lips had been sewn shut. She was far from all right.

    She turned in his direction, her feet becoming tangled in the coffin lining, and she fell headlong to the pavement. Reverend Wilkes tried to catch her, but was too slow, and she hit the ground with a wet squishing sound that strayed dangerously close to unnatural. It was enough to give him pause, and he stepped back as she thrashed about on the ground, grunting and groaning in a primitive manner that further distanced her from the prim and proper matron she’d been when she lived.

    But she was alive. Wasn’t she? He wondered as he remained rooted in place, afraid to get any closer.

    The sound of an approaching vehicle drew his attention, and he looked up as Deputy Frank arrived in his cruiser.

    “What’s wrong reverend?” Deputy Frank asked as he stepped out of his patrol car.

    “It’s Mrs. Franklin, we buried her last week, but it appears she wasn’t dead. How she got out I have no idea, but she needs help.”

    “Well, what are you going to do?” the deputy asked.

    “Me? What about you? Help the woman.”

    Deputy Frank stepped closer, and though he stood a good six four, his expression collapsed into that of a frightened young boy confronting his first nightmare. “I don’t even know what to do.”

    “Let’s help her up,” Reverend Wilkes said as he stepped forward and stooped down to grab one of the woman’s arms.

    She nearly yanked him off his feet as she thrashed about, and the spongy way her arm felt under his hand left a sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach. It felt like he was trying to grab something stuffed with wet noodles.

    Deputy Frank managed to find his balls long enough to step forward and lend the reverend a hand, but he quickly backed away when she lunged at his hand with her face.

    “She tried to bite me,” he said, his voice rising in an unmanly manner.

    “Nonsense, her lips are sewn shut.”

    “How do you even know that?” Deputy Frank’s expression had dissolved completely into that of a frightened schoolboy.

    “I called an ambulance,” Derrick, one of the ushers, said as he came up behind Father Wilkes who continued to struggle with the old woman. “Let me help you,”  he said as he tried to slip the old lady’s loose arm over his shoulders. She lunged at his face, pulling at the stitches holding her mouth closed as she tried to bite him.

    To be continued!

    I’m Looking For My Tribe.

    Did you enjoy the story above? If so you might be the reader I’m looking for. I’m even giving away a full novel to find out for sure. A novel available nowhere else, written specifically with my idea reader in mind. Is that you? Let’s find out. Sign up for my mailing list today and receive my novel ZOMETHING DEAD THIS WAY COMES.

    If you don’t like what I do, unsubscribe and keep the book. It’s my way of saying thanks for trying my work. You’ve got nothing to lose.

    I’ll give it a try!