Matt Keating
Bio
Currently working on a six part saga about mystery, murder, and Nature Beings.
Stories (10/0)
The Changel Christmas
Hettienne and Haagen Changel The fog of mourning spreads through their home—wrapping each of them in their own way. Father has left the door wide open ever since mother died. There is finality in the way father wanders out, leaving Hettienne and Haagen alone. It is Christmas day.
By Matt Keating2 years ago in Families
Bone Corner
Suicide Sickness hit the high-country hard as an ice storm and silent as a blite. Too frequently my rides into town were blocked by processions of mourners. The burials had turned to bonfires with the survivors-so-far circling the departed, howling around the flames. The ash only made it about a mile from the ceremonies before settling on stilled vehicles and once white windowsills. The snows didn’t wash it away, it made it clump and drip and stain everything gray. Burn-burials, as they came to be known, happened after the ground froze, and people kept on needing to be laid to rest. Folks considered several bodies sharing a grave to be morbidly unacceptable—but bodies sharing the flames, I guess that was alright. At first it smelled like people were grilling chicken and burning hair at the same disgraceful cook out. It’s confounding how much human flesh smells like barbecue and how much burning the rotten clothes triggered that gag reflex deep within. At least it was just the older folks back then.
By Matt Keating3 years ago in Fiction
Church Goers
Pattie is lying between the wall and the fridge. Pattie is my dog. I figure she likes the gentle vibration of the motor when it kicks on. We sure stepped in shit finding this spot. I commuted here, three times a month. I’m in chainsaws. That’s unclear. I deliver parts for certified Stihl brand chainsaws. To think that I came here, to this city—well they call it a city, it’s not. I came here to this broken mill town and boom, that’s the day this place sees more excitement than it has since before logging fell out of favor? Boy, these out of work folks sure can turn a downtown upside down. I’m not exaggerating when I say they had torches.
By Matt Keating3 years ago in Fiction
The Pop-Up Camp
I collect fishhooks whenever I find them. I string them like a beautiful curtain between two trees. There are many ways out of my camp. You can run one way and get the hooks. You can jump out into the reservoir and swim away. Some people try to go back the way they came in, back on the old hiker’s trail. The reservoir is huge now that the dams don’t work. It’s deep in the middle and rocky at the edges. Diving is a real bad idea, but it’s an idea that comes to people when they’re in a hurry. The old hiker’s trail is all safe, that’s the way I come and go, but please don’t tell anybody.
By Matt Keating3 years ago in Fiction
The Harvest's Words
Downtowns smelled like a wet dog whenever it rained. And that made the bars smell like kill-shelters. They were the best shopping places for a while, if you could stand the scent. Saturday nights at Bad Dad’s, that was my spot. I’d seen enough TV before the plague to know that I couldn’t shop every week, or even every month. I spaced it out to twelve or thirteen times a year. I made my stores last.
By Matt Keating3 years ago in Fiction
Cadavers and Cocktails
Glad her cheeks weren’t more exposed to the whipping wind, Pollyanna Whittier pressed on. The steep climb up these rocky hills was familiar. Having covered nearly seven miles over three peaks, the girl should have been exhausted. Her ardor and her speed fogged her goggles. She approached the next bit of sign, crouched to inspect the prints, and to make herself as small as possible. With her head tucked, and her back to the powerful winter winds of the White Mountains, she took off her hood, removed her goggles, and pulled her balaclava down enough so that she could expel some of the heat her bundled body urgently needed to exhaust. As she cooled herself, she tucked away her goggles into her armpit, where they instantly iced over with frozen fog. She intended to warm and dry them with her body heat. The cool of the goggle's icy lens and frozen foam gasket felt good against her hot core.
By Matt Keating3 years ago in Humans
Gear Is For Using
For outdoors people, gear is better than sex. So, then it can be said, that gear organization is the outdoor person’s masturbation. I may have lost some readers already, and that is probably for the best. If you are pressing on, however, that is because you are either an unapologetic gear head, a chronic organizer, or both. No matter your predilection, we’re going to have a lot of fun.
By Matt Keating3 years ago in Wander
Ax Facts, Findings, and Fittings
Pack an ax, you won’t regret it. An ax is one of the most versatile tools of which humankind has ever conceived. At least one ax should be present at every social occasion. Much like a pearl inlayed lighter or an elegant silver card case, your ax may remain hidden from public appreciation, but rest assured, should the moment present itself for brandishing your ax, the admiring gaze of all who are present will be upon you.
By Matt Keating3 years ago in Motivation