Fresh Sentinal

Fresh Sentinel

Ron Koppelberger

Chains and the symptom of stampedes remained as part of the lower histrionics. Fast Dipper was timeless in his precarious, mostly hostile gild. He enthralled the convention with his characteristic appearance, scotch pedigree and all that came in the package, he was fastidious yet accommodating in his primitive ease.
The frenzy in the convention lobby was a dilemma he bypassed for the concession stand near the front entrance. Addiction, he was addicted to the cool sugars of theaters and manna, his manna was soda pop. He was the expectant compulsion in the arena and he shamed the mass with his fervent pause as he drank in the cold air, the noise, the commotion and the soda pop.
“Jumbo Please!” he said to the pimpled teenager behind the counter. The teenager grinned and appraised him for a moment. Fast smiled back and licked his parched lips. An understanding occurred in that moment of anticipation, the moment before the fresh drink. He was the sentinel of what spectacle forgave, he was the backward glance in the shoving contest, the door swinging shut before the fire……a sentinel standing before the race, the order before the first and he incurred the hesitant knowledge of what would be and what was insane. He whispered to himself as the soda rolled into the waxy cup, “Birth and undeniable danger, coiling vipers and bad omens begone, trial and cold sugars be the rumor in magic faith……..to the show, to the show!” The soda moved across the stained wooden station and Fast looked at the frenzy for a moment before deciding at the last moment to leave the auditorium. Looking back on it he realized the bomb had been a fluke, a freak in the mix of soda and sentinels in transit. He looked past the pile of rubble that was the auditorium and sighed. Trusting the fates he moved toward another day after that in tide and the edge of August adversity.

The Bear and The Wolf

The Bear And The Wolf

Ron Koppelberger

Rejoicing in the wonder of his first kill the wolf found the trappings of a glee that surpassed his wildest dreams. He had been studious, patient and a beacon of example. The aged buck had been foraging for scraps of honey blossom, nibbling at the sweet nectar of the bloom when the wolf pounced. The deer had stood on two legs and grunted as the sleek gray wolf sunk his teeth into the underside of his neck. The wolf, excited by the kill had hung on until the deer dropped to the mossy ground.
The wolf lay next to his pray licking his lips and contemplating the full belly he would have when he finished eating; suddenly he heard the growl. In the distance he heard, with spiritual perception the underbrush crunching and cracking. The approaching sound was opposing the lazy comfort he had been feeling and when the giant grizzly appeared his jaw clenched and he stood his ground defiantly.
The bear charged and the wolf circled to the rear of the large beast. Pausing for a moment the wolf admired the huge hulking figure of the bear, weighing his chances he layed his ears back and prepared to leap on it’s back. The bear let out a ravenous gasp as it sunk it’s teeth into the buck. The wolf paused again and briefly he understood the bears determination. The bear cracked the bones and tore the flesh of the deer easily as it began to devour it’s dinner. The wolf thought, that could be me in blood and telling exchange, that could be the tide that sense and freedom inflame for the sake of the hungry, for the sake of the hungry. It was then that he noticed the wound on the great bear, inflicted by the fire sticks that the humans carried. He knew and he retreated to the far wood as the bear ate his last meal.
The wolf knew he would live to hunt another day and he thanked the spirits for his good fortune and his grumbling stomach.

Angry Acclaim

Angry Acclaim

Ron Koppelberger

Consuming in the aftermath of blood, rumbles and opiate maelstrom, Hush Carnal yelled to the squirming cockroach, “JINX YER GUILTY HABIT……Immigrant wretch!” The anxiety succeeded in reinforcing his desire to kill the cockroach and lighten the load. His alcoholic indulgence and his opium high did little to abate the effect the cockroach had on his consciousness. “I shall KILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL YOUUUUUUUUUUU!” he screamed with tiny strings of spit and flem pouring from between his purple lips. The cockroach moved on and he cursed, “Damn YOUUUUU!”. His eyes rolled in insane angry circles as he staggered closer to the cockroach. “I shall KILLLLLLL YOUUUUUU ALLLLL, YOUR BROTHERS YOUR PARENTS AND YOUR CHILDRENNNNNNNNNN!” The cockroach crawled slowly to the far wall of the kitchen and hid behind the bread box. It had no sense of what fate might offer except for a few crumbs of bread and a place to lay eggs.
“I Shall SMAAASSSSSHHH YOURRRRRRRRR HEADDDDDD YOU SON OF A WITCH!” He threw the breadbox to the floor and stomped on it promptly breaking his ankle in three places. “YEEEEEEEEEIIIIIIEEEEEEE!” he screamed as the pain coursed through his foot. The cockroach moved on to a container of sugar stored in a porcelain bowl and there he found peace if a cockroach can find peace.
Hush sat on the floor moaning for the next three hours and later, after the opium high had given up he would bandage his ankle, nevertheless he would always walk with a limp.

Horror Writers Needed

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The Ghoul Saloon edited By Ron Koppelberger


For this anthology I would like stories about Ghouls…..living or dead. In Bars, in cars in the wild west, in school and maybe even on the moon! Ghouls, Ghouls, Ghouls in any world you would like… ” …we’ll all have a drink on the ghoul!” might be a line from one of the stories chosen for this anthology. Humor is ok and so is outright horror. Send me your best, the story you want to shine with.

Send submissions to: will806095@bellsouth.net with The Ghoul Saloon in the subject line.

Reprints are Fine as long as you hold the rights.

Send your submission in RTF Format.

Length: There is no minimum or maximum

*A for the love of only anthology, I have done dozens for the exposure!


FORMAT: Usual Static Movement formatting rules apply: single space with indented paragraphs, no space between paragraphs and standard 12 font. Use centered *** for scene breaks, and please put your bio at the end of the story in the manuscript. Please make sure your story is how you want it to appear in print, and pay attention to grammar and punctuation!

* Cover art to come.

*Poetry is fine......send it if you have it!

Read more: http://staticmovement.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=koppelberger&action=display&thread=849#ixzz26oCtpbwo

AAAAA Secret Art available at Amazon.com/Ron Koppelberger.....if you enjoy the surreal, the strange and the unusual this is the artwork for you.....Surreal Dreams One, Two and Three!!!

amazon.com/Ron Koppelberger

Surreal Dreams,Surreal Dreams Two,Horror Express all available at Amazon.com/Ron Koppelberger

Amazon.com/Ron Koppelberger

The Spaceship

Ron Koppelberger

The Spaceship

The spaceship was a sensational vastness in wary shadow; it eclipsed the sun and cast a silhouette across the endless acres of saffron Nate had planted. The delicate stitch of a drama in arrays of spider silk crept and cajoled the Black Widow in the corner of Nates barn, she predicted night because the lattice light shining through the slats in Nates ancient barn had gone gray with the advent of the spaceship. She began spinning silk in wide patterns of glossy weave only pausing to survey the flies she had captured. Outside Nate stared upward at the encroaching visitor. “Damnation,” he whispered, “….it’s as big as a planet.”
Nate watched the spaceship as it rippled and wavered at strange angles and soft humming dance. He swayed in rhythm to the oscillating disk, entranced by a rapturous peace.
The spider had accomplished ten rounds of silk in perfect circles of creation when she discovered the flies she had wrapped tightly in silken cocoons were breaking free. She fought the urge to attack and skewer her fare as the buzz of three or four flies, the delicate want of a Black Widow spider, queen of kings and deadly in demeanor began to fly in circles of unbroken light; a halo of flies in measured resurrection from the dark abyss of death, flew and celebrated their new life.
Nate swayed and stared at the giant disk as it sang to him in secret music, in sweet tones of youth and awakening bloom. If anyone had been watching the North pasture near the edge of the saffron expanse, they’d have been startled as the ground tore open and old Zeke, Nates horse and former partner, crawled out of the ground as good as new, in fact the horse was younger and in perfect shape.
Nate watched as birds by the dozens flew up from the soils of the farm and there was a buzzing as a thick cloud of resurrected insects flew up into the sky.
The last thing Nate remembered was the sound of his wife’s voice. She had been dead for ten years, buried in the family cemetery. There were others, some in ancient cloths but all cautiously young again.
The spaceship traveled the great expanse of the planet and near twilight tide the earth was new, nascent, reborn.