Author Topic: The Party Crasher (Sci-Fi/Horror)2000 words  (Read 683 times)

Offline MikeAnderson

  • Newbie
  • *
  • Posts: 15
  • Holy rejection letter, Bat-Man!
The Party Crasher (Sci-Fi/Horror)2000 words
« on: April 05, 2019, 02:03:22 PM »
A college frat party turns into inter-dimensional devastation when a pair of college students find out there are limits to the places a teleporter stolen from the military can take you. Don't drink and warp the fabric of reality!

Title: The Party Crasher

Genre: Sci-fi/horror

Contains strong language and violence. Discretion is advised.

10/19/2002 11:57 P.M. Central Standard Time.

"I told him we should've threw that damn.....*huff*....shit!!"

Steven was covered in a mixture of blood and a yellow, mucus-esqe film. His hooded sweatshirt, once proudly sporting the Longhorns white and orange, appeared as if a toddler had tested their new fingerpaint set on the fabric. Cuts and a gash on his left forehead riddled his face, and he couldn't keep his breath in check if his life depended on it. The 90's model Sony camcorder was sitting on a messy office desk next to a smashed computer screen. What narrow angles you could see past Steven's faces and curly black hair permitted a view of a living room thoroughly trashed and wisps of smoke obscuring visibility.

"So, Dave's been doing an internship over at Fort Hood with D.A.R.P.A (Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency) before he goes on to M.I.T. (Massachusetts Institute of Technology) for his computer engineering doctorate. He told me what they did at this site was process and catalogue worthless or discontinued projects and prototypes, then dispose of them. Everything from files to non-working beta inventions and models for upgraded assault weapons that'll never get issued. He even helped create the operating system the facility's computers run off of. This place is so secret, they don't dare trust Windows."

"Yet, he's always bringing home shit he steals from the garbage bin. Schematics, knick knacks. most of this stuff's trash, then, his brings this f.... I mean,stupid thing he found lying next to a trash incinerator."

He held up what appeared to be a household smoke alarm, if someone applied a chrome finish to it. Regal purple light illuminated from this trinket. A holographic 12 digit keypad emitted from the device.

"Dave spent weeks in the basement, chugging beer and foolin' around with this thing, then,"
for some reason, he decided to input Joe Callum's house number. You see this lens?" He flipped the device to the side; a purple lense no bigger in circumference than a dime could hazily been identified through the sporadic fuzz.

"Next thing you know; light comes out the lens, this hole opens up in the middle of the room, and we're watching Joey playing PlayStation in his underwear taking bong rips. Crazy thing was, he saw us in our house looking at him, and threw a Shiner bottle at us."

"It nearly hit me in the face! Joey live 2 miles from here! Dave found a fu...friggin' teleporter in the trash at work! I thought we hit the lottery!!"

Steve's drawl was high pitched, and he put down a butcher's knife he was gripping with his left hand hard enough to turn his knuckles white. His right hand was pressing an old surplus Smith and Wesson N-Frame .44 magnum sideways against his chest, rubbing his chest with the cylinder. He staggered backwards, and the window next to the front door peered out to pink lightning arcs crackling and striking a neighbor's tree across the street.

"It's getting worse. I told him not to use this thing anymore, but he just had to show it off to those strippers. Like they weren't gonna do us without it; they were so blasted....*huff*....*huff*..."

He was covered head to toe in filth, and his heart was throbbing out of his chest.

"We started small. You know; sneaking into clubs and movies 'round town. We found the number to Texas Stadium and "poof"! We were backstage at the Metallica concert." His chuckle was half in mirth, half panic. "I thought Lars Ulrich was about to have a damn heart attack when he saw us walk out of a hole in thin air tugging on a bottle of Jim Beam."

"For months, we were beaming all over the place like Star Trek. Taking day trips to New Orleans to riverboat gamble. We popped in out of the blue to see Dave's cousin in Kansas City. L.A., Vegas, Montreal to go to that comic convention. We were putting in serious frequent flyer miles. It took us 10 seconds to teleport to Paddington Station in London. It's like riding a water-slide tube; you get shot through that thing fast. Looks trippy, too; all that shimmering blue light around you. We did it for fun. We..." He paused, picked up the camera with his free hand, and took a hard left to the basement door.

All the lights were flickering and spouting forth sparks. The floor was a crimson mess, and Steve nearly tripped over a desiccated corpse in military fatigues. He counted at least a dozen cops and soldiers, either drained until their  flesh was nothing but dried skin flaps stretched over bone, or torn to ribbons. The basement door was boarded up, and there was a  mirror with a brass frame propped in front of the door: an old, beat up piece they picked up for cheap at a yard sale.

"That thing HATES seeing its reflection! Can't blame the ugly bastard! Before that alien storm front moved in, I chained the basement door and stuck mirrors inside and outside. It was when we went to Egypt that shit went south."

He looked out the window, holding the camera up so he could film the weather. Surrounding his yard was a wall of red, swirling mist, and the wind was blowing anything lighter than a motorcycle around. That odd lightning was striking police cruisers and Army vehicles at a constant rate. Most of the rides outside were scorched, twisted wrecks.

 “ Why'd I pick this week to try watching my language?"

His battered face popped back in front of that camcorder: "Then Dave had to use it to do some sleazy stuff.”

"He was robbing neighborhood drug dealers. Zap into their homes while they were out, take their stash, and zap back out. He figured out how to hold the portal open, so, he gets this stupid plan to teleport to L.A. steal a Maserati. Drove it straight from the driveway in Santa Monica through the hole to a chop-shop in Houston. He was out of control. Plus, every time we warped , the tube, tunnel....whatever...the ride..."

Something was pounding on the stairwell. Steve thought his eardrums were going to burst when that bizarre, high pitched wailing started up again.

"Yeah, fuck you, ugly! You ain't getting out of that basement! Sorry, mom. Told you I'd watch my swearing, but you'd be getting trash mouthed right about now, too!

He had absolutely no clue what to do. If he tried to go outside, he'd probably get struck by lightning. That wind was pushing a dumpster down the street.

"No T.V., no Internet. Every time I pick up the phone, that thing's wailing comes on the other line. Anyways, back to my original point."

He put the camera down on an end-table, and kept his revolver trained at the door. "The ride got bumpier every time we traveled. That lighting started showing up, and the blue walls started fading. I mean, I'm no physicist, or, whatever science covers this shit, but when you see walls start breaking up, it's time to pump the brakes and stop!"

His party guest in the basement was still catter-walling, and Steve was about to climb a wall: "SHUT UP!! SHUT THAT SHIT UP!!!"

"But he kept playing with it. I didn't want to. But then, we get all hammered, and Dave's trying to blow these chick's minds. He's all bragging," his voice is a mocking of Dave's ridiculous Alabama hayseed accent. "Now girl, why would I lie to you? Just punch in a phone number with the area code, and BAM!, we go anywhere you want. So, she and her girlfriend are all coked out and silly anyways. They start squealing about going to Rio and hitting a club on the beach."

"So, off we go. Few seconds down the transport tube, something I can't even describe blocking off the other end, and it starts chasing us down. We jump back to the house, scared out our damn minds. Then Austin P.D. and troops from Hood kick in our door. They've got us all handcuffed and they're jamming rifle barrels in our faces, asking how we got the disk, and what did we do. Then they turned it on, and guess who showed up?!"

"That's why our house looks like redecorated it with internal organs."

The wailing ceased, and that had Steve on edge. "What's it doing now? Whatever. Heard nothing but that screech for over an hour. It can't get out, and even if it did, I've got mirrors planted near the entrances. It hates mirrors. Can't stand its own reflection. Only thing that's saving my ass right now. The cops and soldiers must've pumped dozens of rounds into it when it came out of the portal. Barely slowed it."

Steve nearly fell to the floor when he tried to sit down. Fear was turning to exhaustion, but a slight bit of relief.
"If the Army already knows about this, they should have people coming in any minute to figure this shit out. I should be getting rescued soon. It can't get out...."

His confidence broke when he heard the pipes in the wall rattle and shake. Pieces of drywall along the house broke outwards and a large bulge crept through the pipes, breaking and warping them along the way.

Steve saw the path the bulge was taking. "No way. Can't be..."

All the doors and windows leading out the basement were sealed and mirrored. It wasn't possible for escape; the only openings left available were the drain in the basement wash sink.

"It's coming through the pipes!" Steve shrieked. The bulge was making a beeline to the kitchen.
In his rush to get up, Steve dropped both the camera and the gun. The camera fell on its side, and the only view was a sofa with human remains strewn across it. Before the footage cut off, it picked up two voices screaming.

10/20/2002 1:44 A.M.

Steven's face was even worse for wear when filming started again. His left eye had been pulled out of its socket, and his face was masked in blood. He couldn't control his quivering, and tears streamed down his cheeks.
"We would’ve...gave it....."

A black ichor coarsed up his face in streaks, and Steven's whimpers were drowned out by growling. The filth wiped his tears off his cheek before stopping at the edge of his hollowed eye socket.

More fluid trickled and flowed into his mouth and nostrils. He convulsed and he could only make gurgling noises. The camera cut out again.

10/20/2002 5:51 A.M.
Steven was looking at himself in the mirror as if he wasn't used to his own face. His wounds were healed, and he had cleaned himself off. He ran his fingers across his skin. The camera was place on a shelf behind the sink, and the teleporter was resting on the lid of the toilet's tank.

 Purple light flashed, and a high pitched series of squeals filled the air.

"The trick, Zolorak, is you have to possess one of their bodies."

The screeching from the device continued until Steve cut him off.

"I realize breathing and bodily functions are annoying, old friend, but a solid form allows us to bypass that inherit fear in our species regarding our appearance. Besides, these are fun. This whole planet is a ball. They have this powder they inhale. Fantastic stuff."

He hunched over with a straw clutched in his hand, and snorted line after line of coke off a mirror near the edge of the sink. His head snapped upwards and back, and he roared in ecstasy, a howl no human could replicate.

"You can't feel sensations like that in our natural state."

The screeching on the line retorted. Steve listened and smirked.

"When have I ever steered you wrong? How many worlds across the dimensions did I introduce you to that ended up becoming vacation hot-spots? For all intents, I've been your co-author for your entertainment column. This place is the next big thing in the party scene, trust me. The best part is, only we know about it. We’ll have this market cornered."

Steve played with his ears, another oddity he wasn't accustomed to. Ears. Such silly things.

"What's there not to like? They have plenty of resources, their military capabilities are laughable, and they practically live off illicit substances."

He reached down, and picked up a severed leg. He held the limb to his mouth like corn, and from him maw, a tangled mass of barbed tentacles shot forth and tore slabs of quadricep muscle off the bone. He spoke with a mouth-full.

"And the cuisine? Amazing. The food alone is worth the trip!" 

Offline Stayce

  • Newbie
  • *
  • Posts: 16
Re: The Party Crasher (Sci-Fi/Horror)2000 words
« Reply #1 on: April 18, 2019, 08:58:10 PM »
Hey there! I’m new to these boards, but am trying to offer critique where I can. I noticed that you don’t seem to have had any feedback on this yet so thought I’d offer my two cents.

It’s an interesting opening, like a much more pulp Cloverfield, and I like the little details like the mirror Steve has propped against the door. That part was nice and suggestive of the thing he has trapped in the basement without giving too much away.

A few comments I have though. First is that big block of opening dialogue. It’s not entirely clear at the beginning who Steve is talking to, and it took a little time to figure out that he’s actually addressing the camcorder. A simple fix for this would be to just insert a bit of description of him picking up the camcorder to address it directly before he starts speaking.

Another thought I had is that the camcorder actually seems to be the reader’s perspective for most of the chapter, but not always consistently so. For instance, if the camera is our viewpoint, how do we know Steve’s name? He never states it. Also, maybe think about why Steve is making this recording. Is it for posterity? Is he trying to cover his ass? Is he a YouTuber? It’s not very clear.

I have a suggestion (or maybe a challenge) for you. Why not try leaning into this camera-as-viewpoint-character idea you seem to be toying with and go full ‘found footage’ with this bit? Try shifting the tense to the present and simply describing what the camera sees? Try to capture that feeling of watching this recording on a tv screen. It might not work, but it would bring in a bit of consistency for the viewpoint and if you could get it to work, it might make things a bit more evocative.

Anyway, hope my ramblings are of some use and I look forward to seeing anything else you have.

Offline MikeAnderson

  • Newbie
  • *
  • Posts: 15
  • Holy rejection letter, Bat-Man!
Re: The Party Crasher (Sci-Fi/Horror)2000 words
« Reply #2 on: May 06, 2019, 12:53:52 PM »
Appreciate the feedback. I definitely agree I should have gone more of the real time approach instead of the found file footage like "VHS." Plus, I should have been more clear on Stevie's intent to why he's filming. Then again, I'm used to writing more than 2K words per story, so some things wind up on the cutting room floor. I think I'll make a longer cut to flesh out some of the issues.

Offline landmersm

  • Full Member
  • ***
  • Posts: 141
    • Better the Devil at Wordpress
Re: The Party Crasher (Sci-Fi/Horror)2000 words
« Reply #3 on: May 10, 2019, 04:49:29 PM »
I would like to read it, but I could not get past the first sentence. The grammar! That first line hurts my brain.

Now, hold on a minute. I'm not trying to bash, and I certainly don't think regular, every-day dialogue should be so stilted and proper. However, you're starting a story off with it. 

Just my opinion, but it's not something I would have chosen to do. Think of it this way: This is the first thing your readers are learning about the characters AND you.

If I get to know this character and understand he/she is not one who would choose proper grammar first, fine. An instant introduction like this, however, throws me off.

I will go back and read the rest, but I wanted to put this out there.

Please, take my comments for what they are: a random internet person saying things to you.

Best of luck.
My blog is  (It's new-ish!)

Also, check out my self-published first novel, The Last Time

@  (Amazon link)