Yuri was drenched. Wet from ‘eyebrows-to-arsecrack’ his old man would have said. The van’s cab was dry, but he stayed enduring the storm.
Nothing would get him in that van again.
Rain flooded the car-park but missed the vehicle. Droplets refused its paintwork, swerving, dodging, evaporating, leaving it dry. Thirsty.
Shark-Eyes swam out of the darkness, grey shirt, grey suit. Unfeasibly large bag held out. Released. Yuri let the cash drop, splashing. Shark-Eyes cruised past unblinking. Driving off.
Drug-smuggler, child-stealer, sex-slave-trafficker. There was little Yuri would not do, had not done, for money. This though…
He walked, leaving the bag.
Genre: Weird Fiction
Playing with something different this week; working on some ‘weird fiction’. For those wondering what this is…
Lovecraft defines the genre:
The true weird tale has something more than secret murder, bloody bones, or a sheeted form clanking chains according to rule. A certain atmosphere of breathless and unexplainable dread of outer, unknown forces must be present; and there must be a hint, expressed with a seriousness and portentousness becoming its subject, of that most terrible conception of the human brain–a malign and particular suspension or defeat of those fixed laws of Nature which are our only safeguard against the assaults of chaos and the daemons of unplumbed space.
Key words here are ‘dread’ and ‘unexplained’. I was keen to avoid a clear answer to anything, but I wanted it to be unnerving, even to a hard character like Yuri. Not sure if it works, but that’s the point of this blog – to try different things!
Cheers to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers and for putting up the picture this week.