# Rattleslake - An intense short story. Strong Language



## Moosebite (Sep 22, 2012)

My first short story. I hope you like it. This is about the 7th draft now  It's almost 2500 words but it's a pretty cool ride. Enjoy.



There he lay, unconscious and bleeding on the shop floor. For a moment I stood; reeling from the events of the last few minutes. I wished to go back in time. To undo all that had happened. To go back and do... something.
You couldn't have stopped it, I told myself, but it gave me little comfort. I hadn't even tried. I had stood there frozen,  like a circus audience in disbelief, watching the impossible unfold. Why didn't I try to stop it?
I forced myself to blink. My eyes were dry – the fresh moisture was a balm. I fought for control of my limbs, and soon I was moving. I stumbled across the store, my boots squelching as I waded through blood, coffee and alcohol, and stopped before the body. I crouched down, cupped the head in my hands and lifted it. I turned it. I could see where it had hit the cabinet stand – blood was oozing out rhythmically. I decided it was not too late for me to do something.
I almost laughed when, too late, I heard that damned rattle...


*   *   *


That afternoon Jeff and I trudged through the usual roster of patrons. I was so accustomed to the rattle of the glass door that I all but ignored it as the old man waddled from the shop to his car.
“That customer was an idiot!” I emphasised the last word as if it would somehow capture the stupidity that I had to deal with on a daily basis. It didn't.
Jeff just gave me a blank look. He knew. He knew better than I did. He also knew that sometimes you just had to say these things out loud; it was a kind of therapy. After a moment I rolled my eyes and we both looked away. He shook his head. Nothing to do but move on.
It was a quiet day. The afternoon dragged on far longer than was polite. Another customer came and went – a shifty looking kid, with eyes that darted around a lot and a slouch that made him look like he was always hiding from something. He asked for a bottle of Jagermeister. I asked to see his I.D. (Jagermeister was a favourite amongst the under-aged). He was old enough, by nearly four months. Something about him was off, though. He looked somehow victorious as he walked away with his prize.
“Probably for his fifteen year old girlfriend,” I said, after he left the store. 
“Probably,” Jeff agreed.
I moved off from the counter, pretending to fill some shelves, as an older lady came in. She reeked of urine, and stale wine. I ducked behind some cabinets before Jeff had the chance and left him to deal with her. She wasted his time with a story about her granddaughter (or was it niece?), before leaving with a cheap cask that he half-heartedly recommended. The eternal rattle of the door as it slid closed told us that she was gone. Jeff turned his gaze to me.
“Thanks for that,” He muttered.
I responded with a grin – half conciliatory, half mocking. His lips tightened as he struggled to hold on to his indignation. Soon enough his face dropped, though, and he broke into a smile. 
“You're a dick,” he said, “you know that?” We chuckled together. More therapy.
The sun sagged behind the tree line outside and the air that filtered through under the door carried a noticeable chill. Jeff slipped on his jacket and announced that he was heading up to the deli. He would only be gone a few minutes. I guessed he needed some fresh air, or he was just bored. I asked him to grab me a coffee and slipped him some change. The door rattled in that familiar way as it heaved itself open for him. 
I watched as he walked past the window and down the footpath towards the shops. A few inches taller than me, he stood at close to seven feet. He cast a long shadow in the sun's dying light. His dark, untamed hair waved as the wind picked up and dropped off. I imagined he would be popular with the women, but I knew I was a terrible judge when it came to things like that.
I realised I was still staring out the window as the Jagermeister-kid from earlier walked past. I was almost surprised when he was followed by a gaggle of even younger looking kids. He threw me a rebellious grin, and the kids behind him tittered amongst themselves, no doubt sharing some private joke about how they outwitted the bottle shop attendant. I maintained eye contact with Jagermeister-kid and kept my face steely, committing his features to memory. I would look forward to his next visit.
My attention then drifted to a silver sedan pulling into the car park at dangerous speeds. He parked sideways, covering at least four angle-park spots. The tires gave a small screech as he came to a stop. His door swung open and he jumped out of the car hastily. Everything about him put me immediately on edge.
He looked to be somewhere in his thirties, but he dressed as if he were much younger. He wore almost all black, except for a dark red baseball cap that covered most of his face. His jacket was oversized and puffy – exactly the kind of thing a hip-hop artist would wear, or a drug dealer. But what unnerved me more than anything was his hands. They had not left his pockets. He had not taken them out once, not even to lock his car. In fact, I wasn't even sure if he had turned the engine off.
He looked from side to side, and then started straight for our door. He walked fast. Too fast. A tiny seed of fear blossomed in my mind. My hands began to sweat and blood rushed to my legs, turning them stiff. I told myself to calm down, with little effect.
This would be a great time for Jeff to get back. I peered out the window and down the footpath to see if he was on his way. Nothing. Just the dark, empty car park, and the shadows of trees cast intermittently by spluttering street lights.
The door rattled open, the man walked in.
I opened my mouth to greet him but my tongue was so dry it stuck to the roof of my mouth – all I got out was a sort of whimper. He didn't acknowledge me. Just looked around once, and then sped towards the counter. Towards me.
My limbs stiffened, my neck twinged. Adrenaline snaked through my veins and lit my body on fire. My mouth was still dangling open, my eyes were wide. I stared at him stupidly as he rushed up. As he reached the counter, his hands finally came out of his pockets.
In one he held a canvas bag – the reusable kind that only old ladies remember to take when they go shopping. In the other he held a knife. 
A vicious looking blade – at least five inches long, flat and sharp on one side, and rough serration along the other. It looked like something a soldier would carry. A combat knife.
Everything warped into a kind of nightmare, distorted and incomplete. Lights danced and colours swirled in my vision. Sounds faded, dulled. The world spun around me. I was leaving it – and my body – behind. But just before everything went black and silent, the knife-man's voice cut through my failing senses. I snapped sharply into focus.
“I said put the money in the bag!” He was panicked, his voice near breaking.
He raised his head to look at me from under his cap. I was taken aback. His eyes were bloodshot, the skin around them pale and crusted, like he had been crying. His lips were shaking, though not from anger or aggression. His face appeared drawn, and far too weathered for his age. For an instant I almost felt sorry for him. I could not say why. But the moment passed as he grew dangerously impatient.
“Fucking, NOW!” he yelled, waving the knife around wildly. It spurred me into action.
My hands shook as I clutched at the money tray. It trembled in my fumbling grip. The coins clattered in their compartments as I carried it to his open bag, creating a thunderous intrusion into the silence. It almost drowned out the rattle. Almost. But I heard it; the rattle that chilled my veins and turned them icy. The knife-man heard it, too.
The door.
I didn't have to look past the knife-man's shoulders to know that Jeff had returned. I could imagine Jeff's reaction on walking in to this scene; he was a hero type, and he lived for conflict. I wish I could have stepped between them and stopped Jeff from doing anything stupid. But I couldn't. I just stood, crippled with fear.
The coffee in Jeff's hand hit the ground and spilled. I heard his cry as he launched at the knife-man. Saw the knife hand whirl around to meet the charge. Jeff was a big man, but it counted for little when facing an armed man. He swung a punch, wide and slow, at the knife-man's head. It didn't connect, just grazed the temple and turned his head. It was not enough. The baseball cap dislodged and fell towards me. I didn't flinch.
I stood frozen as the blade came up. The sound that followed was sickeningly banal. A crunch and a grinding sound, as the blade tore through flesh and sinew, and then finally muscle. A sigh escaped Jeff's lips, like air from a pierced balloon. Again and again I heard the sound of the blade going in. After the second thrust it became moist – a squelch. Later I would marvel that I did not throw up, or pass out, or show any outward signs of my horror. And I would condemn myself for doing nothing.
A foul smell filled the air, and I felt more than saw Jeff crumple to the ground. The knife-man hunched over his body, staring. I stood dumbly, wishing it could all just be over. Then he rounded on me. My gut wrenched, my body tightened. This couldn't be real. It had to be some kind of horrible dream.
“What are you fucking waiting for?” He half screamed it. His voice cracked this time. He seemed unhinged now, disconnected. I almost expected him to have a break-down there on the spot. To give up and collapse in a heap. I didn't count on it though.
Slowly, numbly, I tipped the cash tray into his bag, loosing all the money. It couldn't have been more than a few hundred dollars. Is that what our lives are worth, when people like this get desperate? The thought wedged a deep, distant seed of anger inside me. But it had no room to grow, drowned in my fear.
I stole a glance at Jeff as the knife-man tied up his bag. His eyes were still. Cold. Uncaring. There was no expression on his face. No pain. No anguish. It was just blank, like he was searching for a lost word. A shiver inched its way up my spine.
Jeff was dead.
The killer was yelling threats at me – that I wasn't to call the cops and such – when something caught his eye. He wandered off to where we kept our expensive spirits. I couldn't move. I didn't watch him as he helped himself to several hundred more dollars in stock. I thought about fainting; wondered if I could. The idea of a release, of losing consciousness right now, seemed appealing. Before I could close my eyes, however, I heard a flurry of sound. A clang, bottles chinking, the smashing of glass and the slosh of running liquid. Slowly I turned.
There he lay, unconscious and bleeding on the shop floor. The killer was slumped face down, shards of glass strewn around him. Whisky pooled between the tiles, creating tiny rivulets that sped through the cracks, away from his body. He had slipped, or tripped maybe, and cracked his head on the corner of a cabinet stand. A stand made from solid steel, bolted to the floor, and which formed a sharp point at the base that jutted out by about a hand's length. He was out cold.
For a minute I stood in disbelief. Then I moved to the killer's body. Surrounded by a puddle of blood, coffee and alcohol I crouched before him. Sharp odours burned my nostrils. Cleared my head. I fought the urge to throw up, gagging a few times. When I was sure I had my stomach under control, I cupped the head in my hands, and searched for the wound. He had struck the cabinet stand just above his ear, near the temple. His breathing was faint.
I thought of Jeff. I had met his mother once. Would I have to be the one to tell her? I imagined how she would react. I imagined how my own mum would react if someone were giving her the news – if it had been me who was knifed to death. Hot fury filled me. Compelled me. 
I looked around and let out a desperate laugh. No way, I thought, it can't be. I took my time to make sure, checked the camera screens above me twice before I knew for certain. He had fallen right between the only two security cameras in the store. He had fallen in a blind spot. With a maniacal smile I focussed on what I was about to do.
I thought about saying Jeff's name out loud, but didn't, deciding that any theatrics at this point would just be plain silly. Besides, I was doing this for me, not anyone else.
I breathed in hard. I lined up the wound with the cabinet stand. I gathered all the strength I had in me. Summoned the adrenaline that was already dissipating in my bloodstream. The muscles in my arms tightened. I clenched my teeth. And then slammed the head down. I ignored the crack, the feeling of his skull softening as it hit the corner of the cabinet stand again, much harder this time. And breathed out.
Disgusted, I threw the head down to the floor and stood up. Blood was splattered up my forearms, and I could feel a smear on my cheek. I made to wipe it off...
And then I heard that damned rattle.
I turned. Standing there in the doorway, his face drained of colour, Jagermeister-kid stared at the scene in terror.
I strung the words out carefully, channelling every ounce of energy I had remaining into keeping my voice calm.
“He bought alcohol for under-age kids, too.”


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## WriterJohnB (Sep 22, 2012)

Funny ending. I enjoyed this story. It caught and held my interest. I'm a very critical reader and I saw no problems other that a couple of run-together words (spacing.) Find a market and submit it, I urge you.

Good luck with this.

JohnB


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## Moosebite (Sep 22, 2012)

Thanks heaps, JohnB. That's actually really encouraging feedback. It's almost exactly what I was hoping for!
 I'm still going to do some tweaking and so on until it's perfect, (although I'm a little worried that might carry on forever ). The spacing issues are purely to do with the posting. It's either an issue with the browser, or something to do with the format when I copy text from my word processor to the forum window. It happens automatically, and it's really annoying. I tried to proofread the whole thing again before I posted it, but... yea, refer to the edit 
Otherwise, thanks for the positive feedback!


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## Staff Deployment (Sep 23, 2012)

Moosebite said:


> it's a pretty cool ride



I was sceptical. I should not have been. The writing was a bit over-the-top, and it was paced haphazardly, and you missed a lot of missing spaces, and the structure needs work...

...but all of that just kind of melts away because you've legitimately written a very funny and compelling story about helplessness and revenge. That final line is your strongest point, and it wouldn't have been nearly as funny if it wasn't for the very consistent tone you'd set up in the rest of the piece. If you pare down your sentences and avoid needless words, and if you fix up the structure (particularly the awkward prologue), this could become one of my favourite stories. I've got a few from this site that I've always wanted to show people and say "read this, you'll enjoy it," and this is absolutely in that category (I've never done that of course, because it's very difficult to attribute works to an author from here and ignoring that would be blatant disrespect, but the sentiment still stands).

I think if I had to point out one major recurring issue, however, I would say that you seem to constantly be using different words to describe the same object or person. I can definitely relate to that, as I hate repeating the same word a bunch of times, but I think in this case it might be better to see if you can restructure your sentences to accomodate them, or find a way to avoid describing the same thing over and over again. Interestingly, the names of your characters are the exception, and it works really well - the knife-man is precisely that, a knife-man. He's not a burglar or a thief or a murderer, he's a man with a knife. Same with the Jagermeister-kid.

As an added note, I mentioned that your prologue was awkward, and it is, because when I read it initially I thought that the rattle was referring to a snake; I didn't have the proper context to understand the implications of half of the things you mentioned. Regardless, the prologue was crucial to your climactic scene. The fact that you foreshadowed someone walking in on him was brilliant, because I was aware it would happen and it created a significant feeling of tension, and it made your final line all the more powerful because of it.


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## Moosebite (Sep 23, 2012)

Wow, thank you very, very much for the feedback, Staff Deployment. If you do ever want to show people, you needn't feel too bad about not being able to credit it properly. If you must, just say it was written by "James Marshall" and once I've got some stuff actually published, they'll know who to look for 
Anyway, more importantly, I really appreciate the criticisms. I felt for a while now that there's something wrong with the prologue. And I'm pretty certain I'll change the title, so that might help with the confusion about the rattle. However I do think it's important for the reader not to know where the rattle comes from until further into the story. I felt revealing that information once I moved into the lighter tone helped to build the tension. What I might try to do is just ensure there's no obvious preconceptions about what it might be; i.e. change the title. Also, I intend on cleaning the prologue up a lot. I started feeling like it drags a bit and is a bit repetitive, so it's good to hear some confirmation. I will work on that immediately 
As for the naming issues. I'll read through with that in mind, and try to clean it up. I'm not entirely sure exactly what you're referring to but if I concentrate on that on my next read through I'm sure I'll pick it up. I'm on hiatus for a few days but I'll keep working on it and I'll post up a revision afterwards. You don't have to read it of course, but just in case you do want to show anyone once it's tightened up, you can


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## Fin (Sep 23, 2012)

You did a great job bringing me in. It's entertaining, and the suspense level was high. It was predictable at points, but near the end I had no clue as to what was going to happen. I had no idea what was going through the guy's mind. Intense, indeed.

At one point I was just like, _Jeff! You should have splashed him with the coffee!_ assuming it's hot. Maybe you could change the beverage to something else. But it's not really a big deal, and as it is, I suppose it helped me engage with the story more.

There are minor grammar issues that I caught throughout this. I'll point out a few, not counting the spacing issues.



> But what unnerved me more than anything *was* his hands.


Would be correct if you said 'were' instead. Though if this is one of those intentional mistakes, that's fine.



> Slowly, numbly, I tipped the cash tray into his bag,* loosing *all the money.


'Losing' is the word you're looking for.



> A shiver crawled *it's *way up my spine.


Should be 'its'. The word 'it's' purely stands for 'it is' or 'it has' or anything along those lines. 'Its' is the correct possessive form of the word. I know, it's different from the usual, but it's an exception.

Great story.


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## Moosebite (Sep 23, 2012)

Fin, thanks for the great feedback!
Do you think the predictable points detracted from the story because they were predictable?
As for the grammar issues; the first one is a legitimate mistake, so thanks for catching that. The second is definitely supposed to be "loosing" - as in it was loosed into the bag, setting it loose, like loosing a plague or dog or whatever. If it's an issue I can probably switch it to "upending" or something.
And that last catch. It's definitely a possessive, and obviously possessive means an apostrophe, unless I'm very much mistaken. So are you trying to say that this is a really odd, and singular exception? If so then hail to you for identifying it  I figured because the "way" it crawls up my spine belongs to the shiver, it would be possessive, and therefore "it's". But if I'm wrong then blow me down... good catch.


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## Fin (Sep 23, 2012)

Moosebite said:


> Fin, thanks for the great feedback!
> Do you think the predictable points detracted from the story because they were predictable?



Not at all. After Jeff died, I seriously had no clue where the story was going to go.



> The second is definitely supposed to be "loosing" - as in it was loosed into the bag, setting it loose, like loosing a plague or dog or whatever.



My mistake. Apologies.



> And that last catch. It's definitely a possessive, and obviously possessive means an apostrophe, unless I'm very much mistaken. So are you trying to say that this is a really odd, and singular exception? If so then hail to you for identifying it  I figured because the "way" it crawls up my spine belongs to the shiver, it would be possessive, and therefore "it's". But if I'm wrong then blow me down... good catch.



Ah, I didn't articulate well enough. You have the right idea that the form of 'its' should be possessive, and yes, usually an apostrophe in that situation would show possessiveness. However, "it's" is the exception to that rule. "Its" is the correct possessive form, while "it's" means "it is" or "it has". 

That may be confusing!

Its = possessive form. Belonging to it.

It's = it is or it has. Never should this version be used to show possessiveness. 


Rules have their exceptions, and this is this one's exception. You're right that it should be a possessive form.


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## Staff Deployment (Sep 23, 2012)

Moosebite said:


> it would be possessive, and therefore "it's". But if I'm wrong then blow me down...


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## Nick2342 (Sep 24, 2012)

Nice story moosebite!. I was hooked from the start and i thought the rattle was bound to signify a snake related story too. Your story is well written and flows naturally from the start to the finish without over emphasising on the environment.. something i tend to always do.

Good job!


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## Moosebite (Sep 26, 2012)

Yea I figured out the "its" thing, and yea, now I feel a bit stupid. 
Thanks everyone for the awesome feedback!
If someone wants to help me out - what exactly is the best way to post a revision? Should I just tack it on in the comments or edit the original post...?


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## Fin (Sep 26, 2012)

An edit would be best.


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## Moosebite (Sep 26, 2012)

So I tidied it up a bit. It's hopefully just one final do-over from completion. The only thing I'm not sure about was regarding the advice from Staff Deployment. After the main character confirms that Jeff is dead, I refer to the 'knife-man' as the 'killer' from thereon. I'm not sure if that's what Staff Deployment was talking about, but if that seems to ruin the flow then I'll change it. As it is, it was intended to be an important transition for the main character's mentality. Other than that I'm not sure what other objects/people Staff Deployment was talking about.
And I still need a better title


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## Tonythetiger (Sep 26, 2012)

First off I really enjoyed this story, the details really pulled me in  and the story itself was entertaining.  Here are some things I noticed  good and bad.

[FONT=&Verdana]"The coins clattered in their compartments as I carried it to his open bag, creating a thunderous intrusion into the silence"

I think there may have  been more than one sentence like this but this really stood out as sort  of overly descriptive.  At this point I really wanted the action to move  more continuously but it's broken up by taking the time to consider  details that  didn't really seem necessary.

[/FONT]
[FONT=&Verdana]"Jeff was a big man, but it counted for little when facing an armed man."

This sentence was just weird to me I had to reread it I just feel like it could be said differently.

[/FONT]
[FONT=&Verdana][FONT=&Verdana] "I stood frozen as the blade came up. The sound that followed was sickeningly banal. A crunch and a grinding sound, as the blade tore through flesh and sinew, and then finally muscle. A sigh escaped Jeff's lips, like air from a pierced balloon. Again and again I heard the sound of the blade going in."

This part was really intense for me I loved it.  It definitely had me holding my breath!

[/FONT][/FONT]
[FONT=&Verdana][FONT=&Verdana][FONT=&Verdana]"Is that what our lives are worth, when people like this get desperate?The thought wedged a deep, distant seed of anger inside me. [FONT=&Verdana]But it had no room to grow, drowned in my fear."

I really like this  question, it's very thought provoking but I think it could stand without  the additional sentences.  I think the readers can sort of gather the  other part without it being said.

[/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT]
[FONT=&Verdana]"I ignored the crack, the feeling of his skull softening as it hit the corner of the cabinet stand again, much harder this time."

This is perfect, I genuinely heard the crack as I read this and I cringed!

Overall I think this story is great, I could really visualize everything that was happening. I can't wait to read more from you!

-T3
[/FONT]


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## Moosebite (Sep 26, 2012)

Thanks T3! I think I know what you mean about the "jeff was a big man" line. I changed it to "...Sawthe knife hand whirl around to meet the charge. Jeff was big, and hecould hold himself in a fight – but it counted for little whenfacing an armed man." But I'll consider getting rid of it altogether if it just doesn't fit. 
The first line, about the coins, I changed to "...Myhands shook as I clutched at the money tray. It trembled in myfumbling grip. The coins clattered in their compartments as I carriedit to his open bag, almost drowning out the rattle. Almost."
As for "Is that what our lives are worth...etc" I definitely know what you mean about the extra sentences after the thought. In the original version I didn't have them there. I put them in as a sort of pathway to the rage the main character feels later. I deleted them and I'll probably leave it as it was. Unless I can come up with something more subtle 
Thanks heaps for the feedback!!
You guys have all been great!


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## Staff Deployment (Sep 27, 2012)

Moosebite said:


> So I tidied it up a bit. It's hopefully just one final do-over from completion. The only thing I'm not sure about was regarding the advice from Staff Deployment. After the main character confirms that Jeff is dead, I refer to the 'knife-man' as the 'killer' from thereon. I'm not sure if that's what Staff Deployment was talking about, but if that seems to ruin the flow then I'll change it. As it is, it was intended to be an important transition for the main character's mentality. Other than that I'm not sure what other objects/people Staff Deployment was talking about.
> And I still need a better title



I'd recommend not thinking about it too much; I think you'll be fine if you allow your sentences to flow naturally.


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## Moosebite (Sep 28, 2012)

Hehe, good advice. Except It's too late for that. I'm never gonna stop editing it, even after I submit it to places  I'm just obsessive like that. But having said that;
Thank you all for the great advice! I will let you know how it goes in the future <3


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## Seckroth24 (Sep 28, 2012)

This is very good. Easy to get caught up and lose yourself in the story. Very well written you did a great job! The little quip at the end is great. Definitely ready for submission, good luck!


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