This week we’re continuing with “Crippled Playthings”, my steampunk horror story about people with an overwhelming desire to walk. I warn everyone yet again that this is a horror story, and likely will not have the happiest of endings. When we left off, Henry Gaston was just deciding that he wanted to take the stranger up on his offer.
More Tuesday Tales!
Henry watched the dim haze of the hamlets slide past, each one acknowledged only by flickering streetlamps as the world slept below the dirigible. The girl still refused to speak to him, but he could only assume she was on this journey for the same reason at him: to walk.
Funny, he thought, that with all of the modern conveniences and technological advancements – they were flying after all – that the surgeons could not find a way to repair spines and cure crippling diseases.
The only civilian left on deck, Henry marveled at the great airship’s propellers, studied the feel of the wind against his face – somewhat of a draft created despite the windscreens affront the ship. Overhead the night sky was littered with stars. The moon, little more than a pale sliver, hung low on the horizon. The atmosphere would begin to change color soon – he could feel morning coming.
They were two days out of New York, and still another day from New Orleans – the destination he’d only learned upon boarding. With each night that melted away into dawn, Henry’s anxiety grew. He hadn’t a clue what was in store for him, but the closer he came to his destination, the more he felt he’d made a grave mistake.