Posts Tagged ‘ Cold War ’

As The Cold Wind Blows: Chapter 1

Editor’s Note

This is a continuing part of Denobis and the Creative Writing Club’s “communal Story,” published each week on Thursday. Each chapter will be written by a new member of Denobis. The story is set in both Soviet Russia and the US during the 1950’s. It features the Soviets, mysterious deaths, and a demon-what’s not to like?


By Alexandre DuBroy

Thursday 22nd, 1955

Washington, DC

James Wood’s cozy office on the 3rd floor of the Secret Service building had been very busy the last few days. He’d had no less than two dozen meetings since Monday, and the crisp paper calendar on the wall signaled Thursday wasn’t even over. He’d been going almost non-stop, and he had finally resolved to shut his door and get something done. He’d procured himself a steaming cup of coffee in a bright white ceramic mug and finally relaxed, in a chair that reminded him more of sitting on a sack of potatoes than the springy filling he’d been promised. His coffee sat gently on the left hand side of his desk next to a slick black phone. He swore…if it rang…

He stared it down for a few seconds before deciding it wasn’t going to betray him, and then grabbed a pen and started scribbling notes in front of him. He began to drift into the mind numbing world of bureaucracy before the phone couldn’t hold it any longer and gave a sudden curt ring. James startled out of his red tape trance, knocking the yet untouched cup of coffee off the side of the desk in the sudden movement to answer. He swore something unintelligible just as he picked up the phone, hoping whoever it was didn’t hear him. Luckily, the caller seemed oblivious.

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As the Cold Wind Blows: Prologue

Editors’ Note

Over the next few months, Denobis and the Creative Writing Club will be publishing one chapter of a “communal story” every Thursday at 3. Each chapter will be written by a new member of Denobis. The story is set in both Soviet Russia and the US during the 1950s. It features the Soviets, mysterious deaths, and a demon—what’s not to like?


By Amanda Bertsch

There is an old story, from a time when Russia was little more than wilderness, of a demon who feared only one thing. One inescapable malady haunted him like a silent shadow, always creeping behind him, waiting. Always waiting. This demon’s name was Koschei, and he was terrified by the cold grasp of death.

Driven mad by his obsession, Koschei tore his soul from his body and hid it inside a needle, indistinguishable from a common sewing tool. Freed from concern about a deadly injury, Koschei rested, for a while. Yet his pride and his fear would not let him rest for long. What if another saw the needle, and recognized it for what it was? What if it snapped, and killed him? No, Koschei did not rest easy for long.

There was only one thing left for him to do. Carefully, Koschei encased his needle in a small brown egg; the only hint that it was unnatural was the needle inside. Surely no one would think to look for his soul in an egg, and so the demon was reassured—for a while. But a soul holds a certain power over its owner, even protected as Koschei’s was, and he was tossed around as the egg was tossed. Any who held the egg had him in their power. A panicked Koschei knew he needed to go further.

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