Sha’Daa Excerpt
-- From Adrienne Ray’s “The Great Nyuk-Nyuk”
“For years, we have been monitoring school records looking for the one child as predicted in the Forbidden Books of Puck. The one entity whose sense of humor can transcend this mortal realm. The One Who laughs Best...the Great Nyuk-Nyuk.”
“I don't know what you're talking about...”
“Once every 1,000 years the Great Nyuk-Nyuk enters the world in the form of mortal flesh. All his or her life is spent honing the skills needed for one moment. One event. The Great Nyuk-Nyuk must combat the Legions of Horror From Beyond All Time.”
“This is the kind of crap you guys plan during those Teachers' Work-Days.” Brian said. “I'm getting the heck out of here.”
“You will do this.” Friar Renault said. “Now. I am to take this boy to the ancient city of Teotihuacan. I will offer him to the King of All Atrocities.”
“My mother will never sign the permission slip!”
“And you, Brian, will use the talents you have been honing for twelve years. Because if you don't, the King of All Atrocities will unleash horrors upon this world that will make your video games look like, well, your sister's video games.”
“What do you want me to do with this King of All Atrocities?”
“You're going to make him...laugh.”
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Sha’Daa Excerpt
-- From Lee Ann Kuruganti’s “The Seventh Continent”
Eight seconds...
Their cries went ignored.
The Sha’Daa sphere blew itself up to three times its size and enveloped the hapless half dozen naked men and women. It decreased the temperature until it was an ungodly Absolute Zero K. Time ran at a different rate inside the sphere, ten times faster than outside.
Six seconds...
All the fluids in the 300-Degree Club applicants’ bodies froze solid. Their corpses collapsed like sand in an hourglass, and transformed into cubicle crystalline form, but chunkier, meatier.
Five seconds...
The sphere decided to spin and rotated for one second at a rate of twenty-five thousand rotations per minute.
Four seconds...
Their remains broke into thousands of tiny human globs.
Three seconds.
For aesthetics' sake, the sphere willed the flesh into attractive cubes.
Two seconds...
The Sphere ejaculated the fleshy tissue into a pulverized pile about three feet high. Excited, it rushed away to find the other spheres and brag to the big ones about its first kill.
One second.
* * *
“Time,” said John. “Ok, Carolyn, you can let the human popsicles back in.”
She quickly unlatched and swung the massive door wide. A crowd of on lookers and well-wishers had gathered and cheered their heartfelt, simultaneous congratulations!
But all that could be seen was a disgusting pile of meat, cut into small squares.
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Sha’Daa Excerpt
-- From Deborah Koren’s “Tunguska Outpact”
The specks had resolved into black flying creatures, each about the size of a man's hand. Double sets of wings blurred darkly on either side of their bodies. White faceted eyes bulged, and they seemed to be grinning, displaying huge teeth in mouths too big for the proportion of their bodies.
Saul moaned.
Where the team members closest to the lake had been tossed by the explosion, there were only writhing masses of the black bugs.
Saul turned to run, his hand still clamped around her arm. Kate couldn't turn away from the sight of the creatures coming towards them. She could hear the sound of their wings even over the sound of their shrieking.
The closest creatures reached them, converging immediately on Saul. His flesh disappeared beneath a layer of black bugs. His hand clenched convulsively around her arm, and Kate broke out of her thrall at the pain of his grip and screamed, trying to pull away. Saul's body swarmed with the creatures. All around her, they flew in circles, not touching her, only Saul. She was in a funnel of darkness. Their whistles were softer, dropping in pitch, almost soothing as they flew around her.
Abruptly, Kate broke free and fell backwards. The creature's funnel moved with her. Saul's painful grip had not lessened, and she looked down at her arm. Saul's hand was still there, white-knuckled, the fingers wrapped around her arm. There was nothing left of him but the gnawed off wrist and hand.
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Sha’Daa Excerpt
-- From Wilson Pete Marsh’s “Lava Lovers”
Sarah smacked him on the arm again.
“Okay. You really, really want to end the world?” Toby stared at her. “Right here and now? Ya wanna see the end, destruction, gore, and the gutters running with blood?”
“Toby don't. You're scaring...”
“No. Come here,” He pulled her next to him facing the wall. “Give me your hand. Now put your hand on one of the handprints. One with five fingers.” He placed his hand on another. “Now repeat after me. Tsah loca nesh Sha'Daa.”
“Toby, this is weirding me out.”
“You wanted to know how it was done. Now say it. Tsah loca nesh Sha'Daa.”
“Tsah loca nesh Sha'Daa.”
Toby nodded. “Now say, Pica.”
“Pica.”
Toby nodded again and dropped her hand.
“There. It's done. We just called them. At least that's what the old man told me was needed.” He grinned. “But I don't see any three fingered bad guys coming after us. It's just a story. A legend...”
“...a myth,” finished Sarah.
“Exactly. Now, can we get some sleep. I'm kinda burned out now.”
They snuggled down under the blanket.
“It's probably like gang sign," Sarah said.
“What? What's like gang sign?”
“The hand prints on the rock. They are marking their territory.”
“It's just a damn story, and not Westside Story.”
“Whatever.”
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Sha’Daa Excerpt
-- From Arthur Sanchez’s “The Way of the Warrior”
Shinzo opened his eyes. He hadn't even realized he'd shut them. Down at the bottom of the hill, at the base of the Friendship gate, in front of a glowing wall of light stood a figure. At least ten feet tall, he was as broad as three men; with massive arms and legs that resembled tree trunks more than appendages. He held his hands out, away from the body, in a relaxed yet alert style and Shinzo could see razor sharp talons jutting from the fingertips. The figure was dressed in the armor of a Samurai warrior, yet the breast plate and bindings were so large as to seem almost comical. And upon its head it wore a helmet (at least Shinzo assumed it was a helmet) of beaten metal with ivory horns. The face mask was blackened so as to be unrecognizable but the eyes that burned within the mask contained nothing but insane hatred and evil.
“I am General Aanti Kra'tchaz',” the figured said in a calm and measured voice. "Look upon me and despair." And Shinzo did.
“Where is the warrior that is to face me?” The monster demanded. “Let him come forth and do battle.” The monster then took a fighting stance and when he stomped down on his right foot the earth trembled.
Shinzo felt like he was going to be sick. There was no one to stand against the demon but him. Taking a deep breath Shinzo stepped forward. “I, ah, I . . .” General Kra'tchaz' turned to stare at him and Shinzo's throat closed up in fear. A warrior accepts his destiny when it is revealed. Shinzo could hear Master Oichii's voice echoing in his head. A warrior does not fear his opponent. A warrior is true to his cause. These were the words that had guided him from the beginning. These were the words he clung to now. Shinzo swallowed hard.
“Muh . . . My name is Shinzo, apprentice, and I will face you.”
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Sha’Daa Excerpt
-- From Jamie Schmidt’s “Breaking Even”
He was headed towards the high stakes craps tables when he saw four demons hanging over there. They were screaming "Box Cars" and didn't seem worried that their true forms were showing. He counted five worker demons and one Queen, who was glittering head to toe wearing nothing but strategically placed black spades. They had nasty stings, but generally weren't fatal. They also tended to keep to themselves. Kenneth darted a glance around, but they weren't drawing any attention.
Slots bored him and he didn't want to stay in one place for very long. The roulette table was calling for him. He heard Irini's voice in his head and he walked up to the table.
“Nickels,” he told the croupier and handed over another $1,000. He received 200 chips and after pausing for a moment put them all on black. Kenneth then narrowed his gaze on the wheel watching it turn, turn. He popped the ball one more space with his mind and made even money when seventeen came out. He caught the shocked look on the croupier's face. Kenneth never felt guilty about using his powers.
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Sha’Daa Excerpt
-- From Nancy Jackson’s “Talking Heads”
“What the hell is that?” Judith cried.
A strong smell of rust and decay filtered into the cave. Wisps of smoke rose between thin cracks and fissures along the cratered ground. Fist-sized, crimson-winged beetles crawled out from the crumbled boulders, making eerie clicking sounds that echoed along the walls. The ground started to shake and rumble.
“Trouble professor, we're going to get buried in here,” Martin said.
“Back the way we came,” Ronny waved her students toward the exit. Most set off at a dead run. “Dayanara, give me your hand.”
“No, wait, there's a small legend on the map here, with a patch of symbols that may tell where the eggs are hidden. I'm sure of it. This is the key to help save the people,” the young woman begged.
“We don't have time for that right now,” Ronny shouted over the rumbling of earth and rock. "We'll be trapped in here and that won't help anyone.”
“But what good will it do if we can't find the place?” Dayanara cried.
“Let's go,” Ronny cried and half-dragged Dayanara out.
They caught up with the others at the entrance to the widened section. The others had pulled up. Toward the direction of the surface, it looked like the whole floor of the cave was swaying.
“That's not the ground,” Tracy cringed. “Those are the beetles, millions of them!”
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Sha’Daa Excerpt
-- From Michael H. Hanson’s “Prana”
The magical boundaries that protected earth from numerous enemies would now weaken for a period of 48 hours. And then, all Hell, quite literally, would start breaking loose.
Why this was occurring, and under such highly improbable circumstances, was a question beyond the limits of even his own omniscient mind...but happen nevertheless it was. Akasa, for reasons all her own, had deemed The Sha'Daa to be. And so it would...amidst conflict and bloodshed and probably all out annihilation.
And it was amidst the ensuing chaos that Prana would reap his reward. No, he would not directly interfere with the many confrontations which were about to start upon this water-heavy planetoid. His goals were much...much grander.
It took him but a fraction of a second to locate the numerous potential breaches in reality...and so it was that an admittedly imaginative plan sprang to mind.
And in the space of a breath, if it were at all possible to breathe in the cold radiation-laden depths of space, Prana...tore himself apart.
Split, would probably be a more accurate term. And divided, yes, an even better description. For first he halved himself...and existed as two Pranas. Then those two Pranas subdivided themselves in half, and then those four Pranas sub-divided...and so on and so on...until that time when there were now 1,000 Pranas, each possessing 1/1,000th the former manna and glory of their previous existence, and as such were still, individually, some of the most powerful beings in all of creation.
And then, acknowledging each other as one does a mirror's reflection, they flew down to the surface of Earth. For there were 1,000 potential breaches in the fabric of space and time that would soon demand attention. And Prana(s), ever a creature(s) of analysis and study, would be at them all...ready to sup from unimagined pools of theurgic refreshment.
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Sha’Daa Excerpt
-- From Rob Adam’s “The Salesman”
“Wait!” Chia said as he turned away. “I...I can't accept these,” she said, pulling the gloves off and striding toward him. “They must be worth a fortune. I can't take them.”
“Of course you can,” Johnny replied. “It's not as if I'm going to get any use out of them. Consider them a gift.”
“But...I should at least give you something for them,” she insisted.
“Really, it's okay.” Johnny replied, smiling. “I want you to have them.”
“Well,” Chia said, still uncertain, “All right. Thank you.”
“You're most welcome. Hey, we wouldn't want you facing those evil spirits in a pair of old mittens, would we?”
“I suppose not,” she replied, laughing. “Thank you, Johnny.”
He nodded, then turned and began to make his way down the path. He paused as he reached a small outcrop of rocks a few hundred yards down the slope and turned to wave to the young woman, but she was tending the donkeys and didn't see him.
Such a shame, he thought. The gloves he'd given her would make all the difference when the portal opened that evening. Without them, her hands would have lost their grip on her sword, and she would have lost the battle. With them, she had a chance. More than a chance: she would defeat the demons attempting to break through into the world here, of that there was no doubt. But there would be a price.
One of the stones - a huge chunk of limestone that had stood fast for seven millennia against wind and snow and storm - would fall, crushing her and one of the donkeys in the process. Neither would survive. The trade would be complete.
“Well,” he chided himself. “Almost complete.” He would have to return for the sword once the battle was over; by that time, it would be badly needed in the sewers of a distant continent. From a Nepalese mountain to a downtown sewer, he pondered. Oh, what a tangled web we weave...a Salesman’s job is to deceive. Taking one last look up the slope, Johnny shook his head, turned toward the outcrop of rocks, and shifted between dimensions.
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Sha’Daa Excerpt
-- From T. Anthony Truax’s “The Voyage of the Eris”
As the orange raft neared the island, the three men jumped over the side and pulled it onto the rocky shore. There was no sand anywhere, no trees either, just barren hills of wet stone. Manny and Lou helped Amanda, still visibly shaken, out of the raft while Ricardo went ahead by himself.
Fifty yards inland, they approached a pair of massive, square-shaped pillars made of stone. Beyond the pillars were toppled stone walls. Lou touched one of the pillars; it was cold and wet.
“Where in God's name are we?” Lou asked.
“Perhaps,” Manny replied, “we have crashed into Atlantis.”
“No, you haven't found Atlantis,” a voice called out from beyond one of the crumpled ruins. “That sunken mythical city is actually located in the Mediterranean. I welcome you all to the lost island city of Is!”
A man strode out from behind a pile of carved boulders. It was the server who murdered Allyson. He wore the same uniform as before, but was dry, clean and pressed. In his right hand he carried a long sword and in his left he held the severed head of Ricardo. He stopped about twenty feet from the final three survivors of the wreck, casually dropped the head and leaned on his sword as if it were a gentleman's walking stick.
“And then there were three,” he said with a welcoming grin.
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Sha’Daa Excerpt
-- From Jame I. Wasserman’s “The Four Horsemen”
Suddenly, John Vothe put his head up.
“Nice work,” he said.
“What?”
“You've done well, you crazy sonuvabitch. Now it's time to leave things to the big boys!” he seemed happy, jovial.
“But the masters...”
“Let's just say I'm their representative. I see a colleague of mine gave you that vial. Nice scotch, by the way." He stood.
“I saw them! The three masters! I did as they asked!”
“Yup, you sure did!” Vothe gripped his sleeves. From each one, a long silver knife protruded.
“I like knives. A bit of another colleague of mine, I guess,” he smiled.
Plenary stepped back. Vothe, a wild look in his eyes, jumped over the table and threw Plenary into the bar, smashing his head on the glasses.
“You really are a joke, you know that?” He threw Plenary across the room, this time into a large potted plant.
“Oh, god...” Plenary moaned.
“Let's make this sporting, just 'cause.” Vothe tossed Plenary a revolver.
Plenary stretched for the gun and picked it up, firing madly at Vothe.
Stunned, Vothe fell backwards. But when he rose, there was so sign of any gunshot wounds. Vothe opened his hand and five used bullets fell to the floor.
“My turn!” Vothe shouted, swinging the two blades. One sliced into Plenary's revolver arm. It flopped away in a rain of plasma. Plenary screamed. The second knife tore open his gut. Juice flowed out of his stomach cavity, intestines visible.
Vothe crossed the blades so they gleamed in the light.
“Game time,” he said.
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Sha’Daa Excerpt
-- From Edward McKeown’s “Hellbeast”
Iraqi Villagers, some only partially clad in white bedclothes, screamed in Persian, trying to climb on the M88. A young boy with huge, white-rimmed eyes scrambled up the front. Tears streamed down his brown face.
“Jinn, Jinn,” he screamed.
“Look out,” Gabriella grabbed his shoulder from behind.
The monster had come out of a side street. In its arms it held a small pickup truck.
“Cabera,” Cross yelled ducking back into the armored hull. The crying boy shrieked and leapt off the M-88. Villagers ran, trying to escape the square.
The monster flung the pickup as Cabera pulled the .50 around. He managed to fire both the grenade launcher and the .50 as the pickup struck the M88 with the wet crunching sound of metal.
Cross was flung painfully into the wall, landing on Gabriella just as Cabera’s lifeless body fell into the M88, his upper torso crushed and bloodied.
A second greater shock hit the vehicle. The hellbeast threw itself on them its claws scoring and shattering the armored glass of their vision slits.
“Motherf**ker,” Cross shouted. He yanked his old M-3 grease gun off the bulkhead, jacked the bolt to load the .45 cal rounds. Hot fetid breath blasted him, and he looked up to see the monster's huge face leering down at him from the hatchring.
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Sha’Daa Excerpt
-- From Deborah Koren’s “Silent Hunter”
“Fire tubes two and three.”
“Firing tubes two and three!” Hamilton grinned, obviously relishing his new role on the sub. “As my granddaddy used to say, they're running hot, straight, and normal.” His hands were on the controls, ready to correct the course of the wire-guided torpedoes as the need arose.
Javers strode towards the sonar room. “Hawk?”
“Sierra Six still on its original course. Torpedoes on target. Only propeller noise from the torpedoes right now.” They'd already discussed the creature's reaction to active sonar while they were racing after the leviathan and the risks involved if they allowed the Mark 48s to use their own sonar. Hamilton had overridden the controls. The two fish were being guided solely by wire.
Javers found his fingers clenching the dolphins in his pocket as Hawk counted down to impact. This had to work.
“Shit, it's diving,” Hawk said suddenly. “No...” he trailed off, hunching forward over his panels, listening intently. “I think it's turning around, but it's doing it fast. Torpedoes still on target.”
Jenkins was counting down, “Ten... nine...”
“Spitballs!” Hawk called out.
“Eight... seven...”
The explosion came early. Both men yanked off their headsets before the sound reached the sub. Javers felt it rumble the ship, heard equipment rattle and bulkheads shift. Seconds after it passed, both sonar men were attuned to the sea again.
Javers waited, saying nothing, chewing on the inside of its lip. Tell me there's nothing but bits of blubber left to attract sharks...
“Too much noise,” Hawk muttered, working the equipment in front of him.
Come on already, Javers thought, listening to the pinging. Give me confirmation.
The sonar man straightened abruptly, his voice urgent, “Now tracking seventeen thousand yards and closing. The torpedoes did not hit the target. The son of a b*tch is coming straight at us!”
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