Eric Marcarelli

Software Developer, Writer, Painter

The Music of the Forest

April 10, 2015 by Eric Marcarelli in Nature, Short Stories, Writing 0 comments
Brom’s left foot was cold. In truth his entire body was cold, but his left foot was also wet, so it stood out as especially uncomfortable. His mind had little else to do but ruminate on the irony of having a leaky boot as he trudged beside his ox, carrying a wagon load of shoe leather through the winter forest. Under better conditions, on better roads, he might perch himself on the cart and ride along on the ox’s strength. Of course, that was least advisable when it would be most welcome. This road, hardly worthy of the name, wound around the side of the mountain with a wall of rock on one side and a steep and perilous descent into bare trees and rocks on the other. It was bad enough in the summer when holes, rocks, and roots alternated with impassible mud. Now, in the heart of winter, a bed of snow obscured and enhanced the risks, alternating only with sheets of ice. There was no chance Brom could rest his feet at least until he reached the relative safety of the wide, well traveled road that led into Troutbeck. It was only mid afternoon but already the […]

The Shovel

July 30, 2014 by Eric Marcarelli in Short Stories, Writing 0 comments
I originally developed the characters Matt, Jordan, Ally, and their nemesis, Rusty Nail, for The List. This story is a second for the series. The sun was just barely touching the highest point of the distant hills. Setting, finally, but the fireworks were still endlessly away. A pebble bounced off the parking sign with a dull wooden thud and fell to the gravel. “A direct hit,” declared Matt lowering his slingshot with slow pride. “Now are you ready for those brownies?” asked Jordan with more than a hint of impatience. “Alright, let’s go,” agree Matt, pocketing his slingshot. They set off for Jordan’s family’s encampment of chairs, but almost immediately Matt stuck out his arm and turned him around again. Matt ducked down and motioned for Jordan to do the same. “There he is! ” he whispered. “Who?” replied Jordan in a mock conspiratorial tone. They crawled behind a row of parked cars and watched as the new kid, Seth, and his family walked by several yards away. “The thief!” said Matt. “Oh, not that again,” said Jordan with a groan, “how do you even know it’s the same shovel?” ”It’s one of a kind, and he has the one. […]

The List

August 08, 2010 by Eric Marcarelli in Short Stories, Writing 0 comments
Scratch. Slide. Scratch… Matt gave in to the pavement and fell backwards with a sigh. The stifling July heat surrounded him. “This is the end,” he said quietly. Presently he heard footsteps and sat up, dazed. The blue figure of Mailwomen Miggle was approaching. “Any mail?” asked Matt. “Bills,” said Miggle cheerfully. Matt dropped back down. “What are doing?” asked Miggle. “Existing” was the reply. “Hm… I have something here that you might be interested in…” “What’s that?” “A clue.” Matt sat up and stared at Miggled with a puzzled expression. “One of Bone Boy’s clues,” said Miggle, extending a piece of folded paper to Matt. Immediately Matt hopped to his feet and snatched the paper, and without a word he ran off down the street.

The Robbery

August 08, 2010 by Eric Marcarelli in Short Stories, Writing 0 comments
This is a short play rather than a story, but being my only one, it doesn’t warrant a new category. Late at night in a darkened kitchen. Sam enters and moves towards the fridge. Sam: What do I want? ENTER CHUCK THE ROBBER Chuck: Oh dear, an inhabitant ahead. Sam: Who are you? Chuck: Never mind, continue your conversation with the fridge. Sam: What? Chuck: You know, I’m quite thirsty. Are you going to get something or are you just trying to cool the room?

The Mouse

August 08, 2010 by Eric Marcarelli in Short Stories 0 comments
It was cold and the wind rattled the windows. I was very pleased with the house, and the owner answered all my queries openly, even enthusiastically. “Anything else?” his smile rounded his cheeks. “I noticed a hole in the wall,” I said. His voice lowered. “We have a small rodent problem,” he said. “But it’s nothing a few traps won’t fix,” he said more firmly. I smiled. I wasn’t worried. Would you be?