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Hello, Max Griffin 🏳️🌈  . I've read your short story today with intentions to review it as a fellow member of the "Invalid Item"  , and I'm glad I did! Here are some of my subjective thoughts and ideas for your perusal. Keep anything that suits you ad toss the rest with good cheer. Oh, and thanks for the terrific read!Richard Wright once wrote, "I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all." PLOT: Something sinister is going on at the Hardenstein Baths, and Marcus is about to find out just what it is. But does he really want to know? POV, STYLE, & VOICE: Third Person Limited, Marcus. Perfection in tone, clarity, and pace. REFERENCING: My text here. SCENE/SETTING: Just a couple nits with regard to timing. But I'm out of my league. I mean, really; who's better than you at this? IMAGERY: Well, my skin is crawling and I'm a little unnerved, wishing it wasn't a dark and rainy day... CHARACTERS: Marcus, our POV character is looking for some satisfaction. Blondie,; Chestnut, the one who tells the story of the Kobold and really sets Marcus' pulse racing. Mr. Neveling, the discoverer of the Kobold, the lustful Kobold himself, a poltergeist with an insatiable sexual appetite and a bit of an attitude. The Kobold, Goldemar who's got more tricks up his sleeve than Houdini ever thought of. Sammy, who sprinkled powder on the floor to prove the kobold doesn't exist, and accidentally outed him - which put an end to its deal with Mr. Neveling. GRAMMAR/PUNCTUATION: Nothing really. JUST MY PERSONAL OPINION: I loved this. It was one of the best short stories I've read in a long time. I didn't even notice the time go by. It was extremely polished. well written, compelling, intense, provocative, and endearing all at the same time. The characters were realistic, the plot line was intriguing, and the structure was sound. All in all, an exceptional read that I will not hesitate to recommend. Have you submitted this already? _________________________________ LINE EDITS or SUGGESTIONS FOR IMPROVEMENT Your Original Text Asides Reviewer Commentary Editing Suggestions Reader's Thoughts The Kobold in the Hardenstein Baths by Max Griffin Marcus closed the door to his narrow cubicle before he stripped off his clothes and hung them on the hook by the foot of the bed. He dimmed the bare bulb that jutted from the wall and wrapped his towel about his waist. A steady thump-thump-thumping pumped from the room next door, which brought a wry smile to his lips. He eyed the partition and reflected that it was just too high to peek over, even if he stood on the bed. Overhead, ceiling lights cast a ruddy glow over all the rooms in this section of the Hardenstein Baths. He used his foot to shove his duffel bag under the bed. It moved across the wood flooring with a heavy chuff, and then a clank when the contents inside shifted. He unzipped the top and pushed it open, just enough so that the contents were recognizable in the dim light. He ran his fingers over the bag, and his hand trembled. He couldn't resist the mirror that filled the wall by the bed. When he flexed, his abs rippled in the red light as though a river of ruby-colored wine flowed across his midsection. He checked his hair, slipped the rubberized keychain for the room over his right wrist, and stepped into the hallway. Fake cobwebs hung from the rafters, and cheesy plastic pumpkins glowed in an orange heap at the end of the corridor. Marcus rolled his eyes, while thinking he hated Halloween. A crowd of four or five men, all clad in nothing but towels, clustered about the open door to the adjacent room, the room emitting the thumping sounds. Marcus joined the throng gawking into the dimly lit cubicle. Inside, a naked, blond muscle-boy straddled a chestnut-haired clone of himself. Their rhythmic thrusts pounded the bedstead into the wall with a drumbeat marines could have marched to. The bulb over their bed glowed on the dimmest setting, but still bright enough for their sweating bodies to sheen and glisten with each movement. The bottom wrapped his hirsute legs around the shoulders of the blond and tossed his gaze toward their audience. If one is light, and smooth and the other is dark and hirsute, even though both are obviously muscular perfection, I don't think the word "clone" is appropriate here. Marcus arched his back to peer over heads in the hallway. Sure enough, a thick thatch covered the bottom's torso, and his cheeks sported a scruff beard. Nice. The top's skin was smooth as fine parchment, and shaved like a body builder's. Nicer yet. Marcus's dick lurched to attention and he pushed forward, close enough to the lovers to touch and be touched. A hand, soft and supple, probed inside Marcus's towel and stroked his cock. He moaned and let his eyes narrow with pleasure, but then pushed the clammy digits away. He scanned the men around him, looking for the owner of those fingers, and then shrugged. It didn't matter. It could have been any of them, even the hunky bottom. He wasn't quite ready. Not yet, anyway. He retreated and prowled the shadowy corridors, checking things out. The bars wouldn't close for another couple of hours, so the place wasn't crowded yet. Even so, the eye candy wasn't bad. Several rooms had open doors and naked guys, waiting, eager. Marcus even nodded to one or two, letting a coy smile twist his lips. But it was still too early to commit to anything. A pair of skinny guys, with spider-like arms and legs all akimbo, scampered past him. One wore exotic purple eye makeup, sported vampire fangs, and hissed at him. The other had twisted a rope about his waist, and plastic handcuffs dangled over his towel. He grinned and greeted Marcus with, "Happy Halloween!" Marcus slitted his eyes and nodded. "Same to you." The vampire hooted like a broken kewpie doll and howled, "It's almost the witching hour." Marcus tossed an innocent grin at them, but then he pictured them both tied up, helpless and terrified. He wondered what they would think if they knew what was in his duffel bag. Ordinarily the TV room would be a good place to scope out the crowd, but tonight a marathon of old Frasier episodes had filled the place middle-aged queens cackling at Niles' effeminate ways. Marcus wrinkled his nose. He wanted a man, not that he had anything against queens. They just weren't his type. He pursed his lips. He hated the way steam clogged his sinuses, so that ruled out the sauna. The orgy room was adjacent to the showers: a good place to people watch, if he chose his position carefully. When he sauntered in, he counted only four men lounging on the carpet-covered lower tier. The second and third tiers, rising in two-foot steps toward the back of the room, were empty. He settled into one corner, as far as possible from the other occupants but still where he could keep an eye people coming and going. He leaned back, shuttered his eyes, and tried to relax. He attempted to ignore the recording of Donna Summers warbling "Last Dance" that thrummed from the overhead speakers. When the tune changed to the Bee Gees' "Staying Alive," he squirmed and thought about moving to the sauna. Anything was better than being barraged by these cloying, syrupy voices. Stayin Alive was 1977, and Last Dance was 1978, not quite forth years ago, but I get your drift. One song laments a life going nowhere, and the other is an endless looping plea for domination and discipline. Just as he was about to get up, the two muscle boys who'd had the room next to his emerged from the showers. He leaned back and watched their naked, wet bodies, one smooth as silk and the other wrapped in bestial hair. Fire and ice. He remembered the tools in his duffel, and a twinge surged in his loins. The two wrapped clean towels about their narrow hips and sauntered into the orgy room, where they lounged on the tier just below Marcus. In his mind, he decided to call them Blondie and Chestnut. He imagined first one, then the other alone in his room, in his clutches, the contents of his duffel spread out and ready to use. Blondie was good enough looking, but Chestnut! He had movie-star looks, with bulging muscles and a cock like a fire hose. Marcus's breath quickened and rapture flooded his genitals. When Chestnut leaned into his companion and elbowed him in the ribs, his deep voice sent tingles up Marcus's spine. "You know, this place is supposed to be haunted, right?" Blondie quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah, and my Aunt Helen's really Elvis' ghost, returned in bad drag." "I've seen your aunt's butt. It's too big to fit in Elvis's pants." "They stretch: he wore spandex. Besides, she's a ghost. She can assume any shape she wants." Blondie stuck out his tongue, as if that settled the matter. "Well, the kobold that haunted this place could do that, too. He could change shapes, even disappear. He lived here for three years, until it all ended on Halloween forty years ago." The music changed to "She's a Maniac" from Flashdance, and Marcus wondered if he'd somehow been transported to forty years in the past. Chestnut lowered his voice, and Marcus shifted to eavesdrop better. "Back then, this guy named Neveling worked here. I met him at the retirement home where I volunteer, and he told me all about his kobold, Goldemar." Blondie scratched himself and asked, "What the fuck's a co-bald anyway? It sounds like a two-headed dwarf who needs Minoxidil." "Hey, be nice. Mr. Neveling's a good guy, with lots of interesting stories. I'm glad I know him." "Whatever. Tell me about Goldilocks." "Goldemar. The kobold's name is Goldemar." "So what about him? Did he give phantom blow jobs?" Chestnut peered at his companion for a beat. "Actually, he supposedly sneaked into guys' rooms and gave them hand jobs. His natural form was this little dude, with soft hands like a frog's. He'd make himself invisible and feel guys up." "Well, that's just creepy." Marcus thought about the anonymous hand that had groped him earlier that evening. The fingers had been supple and a bit cool. He shuddered, but Chestnut was speaking again. "According to Mr. Neveling there was a positive side. Goldemar brought him good luck." "What kind of luck?" Blondie's tone dripped skepticism. "Did he lead this old guy to a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow flag?" "Not that kind of luck, although Mr. Neveling said the business here thrived back then. It was more like, uh, luck at love." "So the old fart got laid because this co-bald dude with frog-like hands haunted this place?" Blondie gave a derisive snort. "That's what happened, or at least that's what Mr. Neveling thinks. I mean, he showed me his picture from back then. 'Troll' is the word that comes to mind, yet he says he had whatever guy he wanted. That is, until Goldemar left. After that, he said no one would touch him." "There's been days when I've had that kind of luck. Maybe this kobold thing will come back and we'll all get laid every night. What made him leave, anyway?" "That's the creepy part." Blondie rolled his eyes. "Like this whole story's not creepy." "Do you want to hear or not?" Chestnut snapped. "Sure, why not?" "Okay, then. It seems that Mr. Neveling and Goldemar had a deal that no one would ever know a kobold lived here. He stayed invisible most of the time." "Most of the time? What about the other times?" "He could change shape, and sometimes he'd appear as an irresistible young hunk if he wanted fucked or something. But that was hard work and he was kind of a lazy kobold, so usually he just hid behind his invisibility. Besides, if people knew a kobold lived here, he'd get all kinds of unwanted attention." "So he was bashful and lazy." "Who's telling this story?" Chestnut licked his lips and Marcus wondered what it would be like to kiss him. "Anyway, one night Mr. Neveling got kind of drunk and told a guy about Goldemar. This guy named Sammy didn't believe him, and was determined to prove the story false. He scattered bath powder right here in this room, to look for Goldemar's footprints. Sure enough, these little prints, with long toes and tiny feet, puffed into existence in the powder. They padded right up to these two guys havin' at it and stopped. Mr. Neveling figured he was groping them along with ogling them." "This just gets creepier and creepier." "Just wait. Goldemar was really pissed off over being caught. Later that night, he transformed himself into this super-sexy guy, hung like a horse and with muscles to die for. I mean literally. This Sammy dude couldn't resist him, and followed him into one of the rooms in the back. No one ever saw Sammy again, although Mr. Neveling said he found some bones, covered with tooth marks, in the back alley." Blondie blanched. "You're saying this troll creature ate him? That's disgusting." Chestnut nodded. "Mr. Neveling found a note under his pillow the next morning, from Goldemar. Seems he'd chopped Sammy to bits, baked the parts in the microwave, and ate them. The note also said he was leaving, and taking his good luck with him." "That's a revolting story." Marcus couldn't really disagree, although he didn't share the revulsion revealed in Blondie's features. He squirmed in his seat and noticed for the first time that other patrons now crowded the room. The bars must have closed. Chestnut continued with the tale. "It was true, too, at least about the bad luck. Mr. Neveling lost his job the next week, his car got repossessed, and he was kicked out of his apartment. He told me after Goldemar left, he went without sex until about a month ago--just about the time I started to visit him." "Forty years with no sex? I would have just volunteered to be Goldemar's next meal rather than face that fate." Forty years ago Microwaves had already been invented, yes; but they weren't mainstream yet. It was about thirty years ago they became household must-haves. Besides, why would a spirit entity need to cook its food. For that matter, why woud it need to eat. Would it be creepier if he prepared it and,yeccch, served it to unsuspecting inhabitants of the "club" Marcus couldn't help but let a little smile twist his lips. Chestnut leaned back with a satisfied gleam in his eyes. "The note said one more thing." He paused for dramatic effect. "It said that Goldemar would return one Halloween, and that he'd bring his appetites with him." Blondie blinked. "You know what? That's just sick. It's not scary at all." He stood and adjusted his towel. "I'm gonna take another shower and go back to my room. You wanna come with?" Brown eyes glanced at Marcus, and Chestnut shook his head. "No, I'm gonna hang here for a while. I'll maybe catch you later." Blondie shrugged and flounced out the room. Chestnut stood and stretched, his gaze riveted to Marcus. "I saw you listening." Marcus let his grin spread. "I thought it was a great story, no matter what your friend says." Chestnut ran his fingers through his curly locks and twisted his neck. It cracked and he heaved a sigh. His eyes raked over Marcus's physique and he murmured, "You're pretty hot-lookin'." "You, too." Marcus licked his lips in anticipation. "You want to come back to my room? We could tell each other scary stories." A chuckle rustled from somewhere within Chestnut's hairy torso. "I'd like that, dude. I guess this is a lucky night for both of us." Marcus stood and re-wrapped his towel, making sure to expose his engorged cock in the process. "Let's go, then." His heart thudded in his chest as they pushed through the now-crowded halls. Naked bodies, clad only in towels, jostled against him, and the exposed masculine flesh pumped energy into his psyche. The scent of musk and poppers permeated the air and flooded his lungs. Freddie Mercury's voice crooned from the overhead speakers, asking, "Who Wants to Live Forever?" Marcus grinned at the irony. So did I!  When they got to his room, he opened the door and stood to one side, to let Chestnut enter first. Once inside, the young man immediately stripped off his towel and rotated to expose his naked body and hard cock. Marcus caught his breath as he shut the door and leaned back, drinking in the masculine beauty in front on him. Soon, soon, the man would look in Marcus's duffel and then he would know his fate. Chestnut hooded his eyes, opened his arms like Bellini's Saint Francis, and crooned, "You like the way I look, man?" Marcus started to answer, and the words caught in his throat. He swallowed a lump and tried again. "You're beautiful, perfect." He let his eyes drop to his duffel. Chestnut oozed forward, and his fingers, supple and soft, roamed over Marcus's chest, tweaking his nipples before slipping lower. Marcus gasped as his towel fell to the floor and he was at last naked. He clenched the other's body to him, hardness against hardness. Chestnut's coarse hairs bristled against his smooth skin. Breath to breath, chest to chest, cock to cock, they cleaved to one another. Chestnut's tongue, moist and warm, found its way behind Marcus's ear and electric tingles ran down his neck and into his arms. His hips pumped in mindless longing. He pushed them forward, toward the bed. His foot shoved the bag, and it gave a satisfying, heavy clank. Now. Let him look now! Chestnut pulled away and at last his gaze fell on the duffel. His eyes grew wide as those of Cerberus when he recognized the contents. He knelt and pulled things out: whips and chains and handcuffs. Knives. He held one blade in his hand and tested the edge while looking at Marcus. Interesting that you would compare Chestnut to Cerberus. Hmmm. . . Is he here to take - or lock - someone into Hell? (You certainly do build in layers, don't you.) "What are these for?" His voice held a slight quaver. Marcus tensed, ready to grab him, to disable him at the moment of truth. "They're mine. I liked your story. I have a lot in common with kobolds; they aren't the only ones with appetites." Chestnut shuddered. His eyes never left Marcus's face. When he spoke, his voice, cold as the steel in his hand, chilled the air. "I don't think I told you my name." The knife in his fist slashed like lightning and severed Marcus's windpipe, silencing him forever. "It's Goldemar." He licked his lips, and hunger glinted in his eyes. These are only suggestions, of course! Your story is brilliant as written, My only intention here is to do what I love other writers/reviewers doing for me, take me outside my box for a minute so I see my work through fresh eyes. Please discount this whole section, if it contradicts your creative vision for this piece!  ** Image ID #1811667 Unavailable ** My AWESOME RISING STARs Blue-Inspired  Jack Barnes  Mandy atreidesmouse Joey's Ready for the Fall  PROUD MEMBER OF: * "Invalid Item" *"PRIME A Workshop for Authors" "Mainstream Novel Workshop Forum" "Invalid Item" "CTNW Board of Three Room" "Cross Timbers Academy" "Invalid Item" "Retired Founder, Rising Stars Program" "Random Thoughts and Cares" "Invalid Item" "Invalid Item" "Rising Stars of WdC" "Invalid Item"  . |
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