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The Call of the Ooze

"Nom!"

The author's eyes flashed open, his mind going from sleep to alert in an instant. How long had he been sleeping? He couldn't tell. He didn't remember falling asleep at all.

He rolled half way over to look at the clock on the dresser but it was blocked from sight by his wife's body.

He dropped his head back on the pillow. He felt light headed, like he'd had a few beers or maybe was speeding on too many Mountain Dews. He let his eyes drift shut.

"Nom!" It was like the sorrowful tolling of a huge bell.

His eyes opened again and he stared at the wall which was lit by a nightlight glowing yellowly in the hall. He had no doubt that what he had heard was just in his head. If it had happened in the outside world, the walls would have shaken and his wife would have woken.

Invoking some mostly forgotten meditation techniques, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let whatever was inside him well up.

"Nom!" Now it was like a drum rolling in a huge cavern. He could sense the menace in it, the ill will of whatever vile things might drive a great log, hanging from ropes, into the stretched tight skin of some huge beast, the only remaining carcass from a time of unspeakable terror.

The author humphed to himself and rolled over, twisting the legs of his pajamas. If that was what was in his subconscious, it could stay there.

"Nom!" It was like a clap of thunder over a wind swept hill, where a lightless, listing house stood like broken bone. The sound had menace in it again but it was different, as if it had followed an unexpected scream.

The author rolled back onto his back, kicking irritably at his twisted pant leg as he did so. Something was on his mind. Something demanding, almost sinister. But what was it?

He let the word nom' float around in his mind. Not bang. Not boom. A big rolling nom.'

It came to him like a slide projector flashing a new slide. Nocturnal Ooze Magazine. N.O.M. The publishers, the ones that actually paid him for his stories, they'd opened a new website, Noctural Ooze, dedicated solely to horror stories. He'd seen it for the first time today and liked it, really liked it. Good format, clear direction, entertaining stories. Maybe his subconscious was just trying to remind him that he'd resolved to write some stories just for N.O.M.

He thought this over. If that was the case, it would have to wait. He had a new novel to think about and a wife and kids, and, rarely, he had to do some real work for a living. He kicked back to his side.

"Nom!"

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