TALES FROM THE

IMAGINATIONAL
ABYSS
TODAY

THE IMAGINATIONAL ABYSS

THREE TALES out and never did keep. For a mo- not have much hope of finding any-
ment it looked like I was going to get thing. It was cold, snowing and the
TO THRILL YOU out of the mess, but suddenly I came wind was whipping the white stuff
upon an S turn and half way through about frantically and it seemed to be
By DONALD HARRY ROBERTS it there was an animal blocking the targeting me. I walked for nearly half
way. A wolf, I thought at the time. an hour before I came along anything
Like a stunned, foolish beginner I that even vaguely resembled civiliza-
slammed on the breaks and this time tion. It was a small log cabin style
THE CABIN the snow bank gave way to the force place with only a narrow path leading
I was on my way home from deliv- of my car. I careened into a four foot up to the door and I observed there
ering a shipment of Diamonds. The deep ditch. So there I was stranded were no visible hydro wires or tele-
road twisted like a snake and each on a dark winding country road with phone lines going into the place. The
ice covered bend threatened disaster. no way out except to take to my only reassuring sign was a flickering
Though I drove slow, several times I feet and walk and only hope there light shining through what seemed to
nearly slid into the ditch and would was a house somewhere along the way be the front window. If nothing else
have, had the snow banks not been where I could use the telephone. But I thought I could get out of the cold
high enough to stop me. I cursed my- out there in the back country with no and maybe the occupant would have
self for taking the infamous short cut lights or houses in sight and only a some kind of transportation. I walked
that not only proved to get me lost, long, dark road, painted with shad- up to the door and knocked. At first
but to make me hours late for an ap- ows etched on bluewhite snow, I did there was no response but as I was
pointment as well. Too late it turned
 TALES FROM THE IMAGINATIONAL ABYSS TODAY
about to try again the door creaked was a stack of bookshelves filled to
open. The man who looked out re- capacity. There was a heavy cur-
minded me of a troll but when he tain blocking the view of one cor-
spoke his voice was soft and quite ner. After dinner we went to sit by
kindly. Come in. Get out of the the fire. Scuds brought out a bot-
cold lad. My guess is youve run off tle of expensive brandy and poured
the road and need help. For a frac- out two snifters. Then we sat sipping
tion of a moment I sensed something our drinks and talking up a storm
familiar about the face and the voice, about everything and nothing. He
but it vanished in a flash and was lost told me that he had been a lawyer but
to the here and now. Later I was re- became disillusioned with the whole
minded in a way that made me watch thing. Sold off everything I owned
over my shoulder for a month after. I and bought this place. That was fif-
replied. Yes. I veered to miss an an- teen years ago. he reminisced. In my
imal and landed in the ditch back at mind it related to a society drop out,
the S turn. The man snickered. Its but who am I to judge. Besides he
the third time this winter. Bad luck seemed well enough off and had been
for you but I dont mind the company. more than kind to me. It was af-
And before you ask. No I do not ter midnight when we went to bed.
have a phone, but come morning I will I slept on the couch, though sleep
drive you into town and you can make was only a fading out of conscious-
arrangements for a tow truck from ness and not at all sound. Scuds
there. So that is how I missed my ap- went to a bed behind the curtain. In
pointment. Nonetheless I was grate- minutes he was snoring....SNORING.
ful the old man took me in. Q.J. At some time I finally fell into
Rouge. I introduced myself, offering a deep sleep. I dreamed...or it
a hand shake, which my host refused. seemed like it...for I was aware of
Huh. Fancy that. Ive read about the room...and sounds that I knew
you. Now imagine that. You ending but could not place through the sub-
up here in Old Scuds cabin. Ya every conscious mist. Sounds that should
one just calls me Scuds. Dont know have alerted me.....that would have
what it means but I answer to it any alerted me at another time. My ca-
way. Well Mr. Scuds. I started. nine senses...the ones from child hood
No Mister. Just Scuds. My host in- seemed to have abandoned me.
terrupted. Well then Scuds. Thank I woke with first light as I al-
you for allowing me into your home. ways do. It was cold in the cabin
Not many would these days with all and the chill had reached into my
the creeps running around. Yer wel- bones. I climbed out of bed and
come Sonny. Now get out of yer went to the hearth. Though there
wet coat and have a seat. Im just were still embers in the ashes the
having supper and theres plenty for fire had gone out. Quickly I added
two if yer hungry. I havent thought some tinder and a couple of larger
about that but Ive missed both lunch pieces of wood. Soon the fire was
and supper so I accept gratefully. I blazing and the warmth came back
replied. It aint fancy. Just a stew. into the room and my bones. As
Scuds apologized. Beggars cant be I stood there rubbing my hands to-
choosers can they. I replied cheer- gether a sense.....no.....a very strange
fully. You aint no beggar lad. I can sense came over me. It rose out of a
tell by yer clothes. Just an unfortu- deep......deep silence. I moved across
nate who slid off the road. the room to the curtain, behind which
Thats what I get for being in my host was sleeping, rather, where
a hurry and taking a short cut. I I thought he was sleeping. Gently I
chuckled Too bad you didnt think pulled a piece of the curtain aside.
of that before. Scuds answered light In half a blink of the eye every nerve
heartedly. I forgot to mention, the in my body zapped me like electrical
place had one rustic room, lighted shocks and my skin rose in mountain-
with oil lamps and sported an an- ous goose bumps. The shivering rip-
cient wood cook stove, a chesterfield pling through my body didnt come
and two lounging chairs set before a from being cold. It came from shock
large stone fireplace. Along one wall and a battle to keep from chucking
2
my cookies all over the cabin. I
turned away and ran out the back
door....just in time...and for ten min-
utes I wretched uncontrollably. After
that I discovered a shed and went to
explore it. Behind the door I found
a snow mobile. When I got back to
civilization I went straight to the cops
and gave them my story. Straight to
my friend Sgt. Gil Langstaff I mean.
I let him carry the ball from then on.
What did he find behind the curtain
you may be wondering? Well it was
a corpse....not of the man who had
showed me the hospitality but the
real resident of the cabin....The real
Scuds AKA...Jezzan White a lawyer
who had disappeared nearly fifteen
years earlier. Most thought he had
been aced by the creeps he had for
clients because he got a case of civil
conscience and turned them in. Need-
less to say he had been in hiding
all that time...but in the end he was
caught and whacked out of existence.
Rather brutally I might add, which
was the reason I chucked a years
worth of supper in ten minutes. So
the story ends. Almost. A week later
I received a letter from South Amer-
ica. My Dear Mr. Rouge. What
an absolute delight to have seen you
again. You have to admit I did a
snappy job on that lawyer fellow and
he tasted rather good. Dont you
think. It took me a long time to
find him. How uncanny and lucky it
was that you happened along there
the very same night I whacked him.
I considered keeping my promise to
put you on a slab in the morgue, but
it was much to easy. Maybe next
Time I am sure you remember me!!!!!
I knew exactly who it was.Twisty
Eyes Brother. My haunting nemesis.
To end......I do not believe in coinci-
dence...however..............
When The Soldier Came Home
A Shorty Micro Novel By Donald
Roberts 1 Yes. The story of the battle
for Passchendaele has been told and
retold many times since the Cana-
dians took part in that bloody con-
flict...So it is not here that I will tell
it all again. I shall say only that this
tremendously heart rendering story
began its sojourn in that part of the
world and at that time in history. I
cannot tell you exactly what battle or
on what day it began because the one
 TALES FROM THE IMAGINATIONAL ABYSS TODAY
that told me about it could not re-
member and I only had a very short
time to call him friend. His Name
was Allister Albert Galway, a private
in the Canadian Expeditionary force
of world war one. 2 He was not a big
man. In fact had he been an inch or
two shorter he would not have been
accepted into the service of his coun-
try. Nor was he educated or overly
courageous, though I dare say, sim-
ply by volunteering he denoted him-
self as a man of courage. And on
the battlefield he showed no enemy
his back, only the fierceness of his de-
termination to be among the victors
of that horrendous conflict. Allis-
ter Albert Galway was eighteen years
seven months and fourteen days of
age when the battle was begun. He
had fired his rifle many times but had
never knew whether he killed anyone
or not. 3 The sound of war is deaf-
ening and the sights one sees is be-
yond anything any man should wit-
ness. For death by means of the
violence of gun and blade can only
be defined as demonically horrifying.
To watch a man torn to pieces by
lead and or steel can never be forgot-
ten...never be unseen. It stays in a
soldiers memory forever, and feeling
ones mind being stretched to the lim-
its of sanity one day after another is
all but intolerable...And then the ul-
timate came. The bullets are spent.
The distance is spent and he stood
there mere feet from his enemy. In
that moment it was kill....or die. 4
And Allister Albert Galway learned
in that moment that his sense of sur-
vival was stronger than any other he
possessed. And in that moment he
knew for the first time how it felt to
kill, viciously when he drove his bay-
onet into the breast of his enemy and
twisted the blade as he had been drill
to do...time and time again. Then
he killed again and again until all
around him laid his enemy and he
without a mark. And it disturbed
him that he had slain so many...so
easily...so without thought of who or
what they were except soldiers of the
enemy. 5 And all around him his eyes
fell upon dead comrades in arms who
he knew by name and much of their
familys names. He seen pictures of
them and read their letters, letters
he never received for he had no fam-
ily save. It was because he had no
one that he volunteered for Canadas
great army to fight for king and coun-
try. Allister heard the sound...that
was no sound...silence. He dropped
to his knees and fell forward into the
mud his head turned barely enough to
keep from smothering. But there he
laid for hours...or days....And when
he woke there was him and score upon
score of fallen...mangled corpses. He
alone moved among the dead and
if the moment came that his mind
shattered it was then....then...when
he had been left for dead among the
dead. 6 "And my Lad," Said Allis-
ter to me, "I walked away...not to
run....or hide...but because I did not
know what else to do....I had lost ev-
erything...including my mind...a loss
that took with it the memory of
war, of battle and even my own
name.....It even took my voice and
I was left to wander a mute, des-
titute, vagrant...little more than an
animal grubbing for food and wa-
ter...a beggar on the streets of vil-
lages, towns and cities to which I had
no name for. Such a lost soul was
I and no one seemed to care. My
clothes but rages....unrecognizable af-
ter that battle. And so I lived the
life of a derelict for ten and forty
years...shunned....pitied at best and
brutally discarded at worst. I think
often I wished for death. But it never
came. 7 Then one day on a street
in Paris, though it was only later I
knew it was Paris...I found a bottle
of wine and in my thirst drank it
in short order. It made me drunk
and I stumbled and fell into a clot
of mud. When I woke I remembered
it all, the war, and the battles and
all the years that had passed since.
And my boy....I wept." Allister ad-
mitted to me, "I wept profoundly and
only when I could weep no more did
I get to my feet and walk and talk
and was able to tell people I was a
Canadian Soldier on the field of Pass-
chendaele. And only after I told hun-
dreds of people did any one of them
listen." 8 Allister Albert Galway had
told his tale to a stranger....a special
kind of stranger who had the where-
with all to contact the necessary au-
thorities who would be able to find
that works to understand what be-
came of Allister Albert Galway and
3
what did not become of him.. He was
listed as a casualty of war....which he
was after a fashion but not a fallen
soldier. To me it should have been
that Allister be sent home a return-
ing hero of the Great War. Instead
he was merely given some money and
a ticket on a ship back to Canada,
to the port of Halifax. From there
he was once again on his own, an old
man, a broken soldier, a derelict. He
was still a teenager when he went to
war. Now he was sixty and eight and
one half years of age. 9 He came
home to a town of the right name
but of which he had little memory.
So much had changed since he left
to fight in the Great War....that war
to end all wars that was followed up
by a second world war in which he
had no part except as a derelict sob-
bing for handouts. He was arrested
for vagrancy then cast out again into
the streets, once ...twice and three
times before he learned to keep out
of harms way. I found him by the
river, fishing for his dinner with a
makeshift pole and line and hook. He
coughed nearly with each breath as
he told me his story....the one I have
just told you. He knew....and I knew
that he would not be on that river
bank for many more days. 10 Sev-
enteen to be exact. I went to see
him each afternoon after school. I
took him food and smokes...he had
discovered tobacco and loved its el-
ement. I guess by day he wondered
here and there for he told me he went
to visit the place he once lived back in
1914, but it was gone....there was not
of trace....nor had he found a single
person he knew....and the day before
he died he found the cenotaph. "But
when I looked for my name carved
into the stone eternal memory it was
not there. It seems I am a truly for-
gotten soul from that war." I found
him dead the next day and called the
police. He has a paupers grave with
no head stone to mark his place.
WOES OF AN
UNDEAD CHILD
By NARRATOR THE READER
WOES OF AN UNDEAD CHILD
 TALES FROM THE IMAGINATIONAL ABYSS TODAY 4

BY DONALD HARRY ROBERTS
Copywrite2010 by Donald Harry
Roberts
I saw the sunrise last when I was
twenty nine years of age. Twas the
year of sixteen hundred and eleven .
Now, four hundred years later I will
witness one more sunrise before I an-
swer the call of death, but first my
story I wish to tell.
Part One
Run I did whence I was born into
the undead world. I wished not to
burden my mortal kin with such dev-
astation. Better when I was discov-
ered unconscious in that mire that
all who saw me believed me dead.
And that they would never know that
the mother of my rebirth was a She-
beast of the dark world of Sanguiv-
ors... so crudely named Vampires.
She was beautiful. Black hair, skin of
alabaster, a form to rival a goddess
and eyes the colour of midnight. She
was alluring like a warm fire to some-
one caught naked on a gelid night,
drawn near to death. And she that
gave me ever-life too became my mis-
tress, consort and collaborator in the
hunt for the nectar of life. The Blood,
warm and rich of human. More than
food but a burning need like heroine
to an addict. My fangs. My syringe.
From my grave, my village, my kin
I fled taking not with me but mem-
ory and a chest of the earth in which
I was laid out in to dwell eternally.
How little did they know of the truth
in those words. By Pony and hay cart
and a mindless minion to do my bid-
ding I crossed five counties where the
likes of my mortal self were unknown.
And there I took refuge in a cavern
hidden deep in the forest. There I
slept by day and by night sought out
my Mistress and hunted til the night
grew old.
One and twelve years soared into
memory. I have no account as to
those who fell victim to our noctur-
nal rampage.
I tell here now of one night near
the end of my habitation near the vil-
lage of Belmoglyn, not far from Castle
Vlad.
Twas the month of November,
a night the wolf bane bloomed be-
neath a full moon and the Werewolves
howled in anger at the great silver
disc in the sky. I had woken from my
day sleep only minutes after sunset to
hear something scratching at the en-
trance to my cave. I could smell the
grease and oil of unkempt fur and the
blood soaked drool. And I could hear
the pain and rage of death coming
upon he, whom had been my friend
for many a year. I jumped from my
coffin and went to him, but too late
I was, and likely there was nothing
I could do to save him for he had
been struck by the only deadly curse
to him....a silver bullet. Yet before
he perished he gave me fair warn-
ing. Flee my companion. The Mor-
tals hunt us with a vengeance. Seek
your Mistress and fly from here for on
this night they hunt tirelessly Twas
on that night whence they came. A
hoard of villagers from the valley be-
neath Sheppards Mountain. Death
would have come to me that eve for
they came with a Slayer among them,
but for the warning of the Werewolf
and the courage of my Mistress who
saved me by leading them deep into
the forest. And there she did battle
with the killers only to fall prey to
their fear and anger. By mind she
bid me to fly....Escape the wrath of
these Mortals. Thus I fled with the
aid of my minion.
Part Two
Oh that roses would bloom by
moonlight so I could smell their fra-
grance. Alas. Such wonder I shall
never know. For, though I am age-
less I dwell in the glow of the moon.
Ever the sun, under which the rose
blooms, turns me to dust... Yet say
I. The beauty of an ingot of silver by
the light of the full moon is a delight
that only eyes such as mine can see.
Where mortal eyes spy but a glint I
see a radiant glow. So be it that each
in their peculiar existence has their
beauty and graces.
Of money I had no shortage. I bid
my minion, Harathan was his name,
I bid him to purchase a fine caravan,
constructed in a fashion to fit my cas-
ket of earth, three chests of gold and a
trunk that bore all my other worldly
possessions and his. Then I sent him
to a tailor to have him fitted for the
finest coachmans garb money could
buy. And I taught him the manners
of a gentleman so that when we trav-
elled he could converse in my stead as
we journeyed by day. While he slept
at Inns by night I huntednow alone.
for the life nectar I craved. Such
tasty morsels such as the country vil-
lages could offer, oh such are the
fair un-plucked maidens of Europe.
Yes. Like Gypsies we lived. PART
THREE And so it was I wandered
aimlessly searching, though I did not
know for what other than the fresh
warm blood that past like ambrosia
over my lips. My only companion a
mortal who gave me my reigns though
he did not entirely understand. Only
that I told him of my craving and that
my race was Sanguivorian despite the
rudish insult given us, Vampires, such
a sickening name. Time passing. For
me a day is the turning of the moon
from full to full. I hardly notice that
Harathan was aging with the decades.
Not until one evening before I went
a-hunting when he called me to his
hearth. Sir, said he. Long and
faithfully have I served you and never
a time have I spoken out about your
dire doings for twas you who saved
me from the gallous. You have given
me such a life that I would never have
know and I am ever so grateful. Yet
I am mortal and time is taking its
toll. My bones ache and my mus-
cles twitch after these three score and
three years I have live. It is time in
my heart to lay low in one place and
live out the remainder of my years in
quiet retirement. I had all but for-
gotten that my companion of nearly
three decades was indeed mortal and
would grow old and die. So I offered
him life eternal, but, though he un-
derstood my way of life he declined
my offer. I would prefer to settle my
weary bones in Paris. Not in luxury
as you have afforded me during our
time but a state of Elegant sufficiency
would suffice. Harathan requested, a
little shyly. But Sir, I would stay on
long enough for you to find another
servant. He added quickly. My cold
blood boiled and my heartless chest
rose in flames of anger. How dare he
abandon me. But this flare of rage
passed and as I looked him square in
his pale tired eyes I understood. Fi-
nally I said to him. Take us then
to Paris and find me another servant.
Then I will set you free in a manner
fitting your long and devoted service.
The last I saw of Harathan he was
at a table in a caf, sipping wine and
 TALES FROM THE IMAGINATIONAL ABYSS TODAY 5

writing upon a tablet of paper. I can BEWARE!!!!!!

only Imagine what he was penning,
and so could you. Only many years
later did I learn what it was for cer-
tain. It was entitledMy Life With a
Vampire or He called himself a San-
guivor. My new servant could not
compare to Harathan. Nor could any
that followed. A few months and they
lost heart and their blood.
TO BE CONTINUED WHEN
ONCE AGAIN THE WOLF BANE
BLOOMS UNDER A FULL MOON
AND THE WARM FREAH BLOOD
FLOWS FREELY IN THE NIGHT THE READER