Category: Short Story

  • A Thousand Words #RePost #ShortStory

    A Thousand Words #RePost #ShortStory

    A Thousand Words

    “In the darkness of the night, he arose, seeking vengeance that only blood could quench. First, it would be the priest who opened the horrors of the world to him, then his parents, for they were the ones who turned a blind eye to the things done to him. All who had wronged him in life would pay with their blood, with their souls,” he reads aloud, his face firmly planted inside the book.

    “Excuse me, Brian, but can I ask you to stop there for a moment,” an older man says as he pushes himself off the wall he was leaning against and walks to Brian’s side, turning to face the classroom. “The assignment that was asked of you was to complete an original piece of fiction that, once completed, would be read aloud to the class. Is that correct, Brian?” he asks.

    “Y-Yes, Mister Hidgets,” Brian replies nervously.

    “Yes, Mister Hidgets, sir,” Mister Hidgets says sternly.

    “Y-Y-Yes, M-M-M, Mister Hidgets, s-s-si-sir.”

    “Now, in my outline for this assignment, was there a subject matter listed that I did not want to be covered in any of the stories?”

    “Y-Y-Yes, there was,” stammers Brian.

    “Yes, there was, Mister Hidgets, SIR!” Mister Hidgets growls, his face glowing with anger.

    “Y-Y-Yes, th-th-there wa-wa-was, Mister Hidgets, sir.”

    “Good, good,” Mister Hidgets says as he walks behind Brian, grabbing him by the shoulders and squeezing them firmly. “Now Brian, can you, for everyone else’s benefit, tell me what the subject matter I did not want written about was?”

    “I-I-It was horror, Mister Hidgets, sir,” Brian answers softly.

    “LOUDER, BRIAN! So the rest of the class up the back can hear you!”

    “HORROR, MISTER HIDGETS, SIR!” Brian yells out.

    Mister Hidgets smiles. “Horror, yes, that was it. And now, please, pray tell, what is the subject matter of your piece of gutter trash?”

    Brian clenches one of his hands into a fist and bites down on his bottom lip.

    “Well, Brian, out with IT! What was the goddamn subject matter of the vile piece of garbage you just began to read out to the class?”

    “IT IS A LOVE STORY, MISTER HIDGETS, SIR!” Brian yells out.

    Mister Hidgets laughs as he squeezes down on Brian’s shoulders once more. “Come now, Brian, do you expect me to believe this trash is a love story?” he says, snatching the book from Brian’s hand. As he does, his face begins to pale. Horror seizes him, and with trembling hands, he looks up, only to meet Brian’s cold, smiling face.

    “No, Mister Hidgets, SIR!” Brian says as he looks out towards the rest of the class, who stare on, captivated by the display. “But I’m sure you could let me get away with it, just this once?”

    “I-I-I, ho-how, how could you?”

    “Are you sure you really want me to go into that? I mean, honestly, I wanna ask questions myself. Like how flexible is Ma—”

    “ENOUGH! My God, Brian! W-W-What, what do you want?” asks Mister Hidgets nervously, as Brian looks back at him, his eyes like hot daggers.

    “Nothing yet—just thought I’d give you a preview. You know what they say about pictures painting a thousand words—well, I could write several books with the pictures I have,” he says as he snatches his book back from Mister Hidgets and strides to his seat. The rest of the class follows him with their eyes to his desk, then falls back onto Mister Hidgets, who nervously looks around at their faces, his bottom lip trembling, sweat pouring down his brow. His mouth opens and closes several times as if he were about to say something, but each time, nothing comes out.

  • The Will of Your Queen #RePost #ShortStory

    The Will of Your Queen #RePost #ShortStory

    The Will of Your Queen

    The door opens, and she walks through, queen of her world. All in attendance turn as a hush of silence falls across the room, watching her make her way in. A young man, no older than thirteen, rushes up to her, gripping her arm tightly.

    “P-P-Please, Miss, PLEASE! My Dad, he’s… he’s sick, and he reall—” He doesn’t get to finish his words as several large men tackle him to the ground, while she looks on disenchanted. The boy screams for her to help his father, for the men to let him go, but instead, they drag him away, muffling his cries.

    “I’m sorry, my queen, w—”

    She holds her hand up to the man, cutting him off. “Do not apologise for your failure, General David. It is unbecoming. Who is the child?”

    The General clears his throat, pulling his collar away from his neck and swallowing a mouthful of air. “L-Lieutenant Cuthbertson’s boy, your highness,” he replies.

    “What is wrong with him?”

    “H-He was one of the men who contracted the Sicita when we faced your brother.”

    She raises an eyebrow. “Was his sacrifice to my will?”

    “O-Of course, my queen. We all gladly gi—”

    “Good. Make an example of Cuthbertson and his family. String them up in the town centre and remind all that I will not be accosted by those who live to serve me,” she says as he swallows again.

    “But, my queen, his wife—his wife is my sister, sur—”

    She glares sternly at him and places a firm grasp on his shoulder. His nervous eyes jump from her hand to her eyes, and he feels the sweat begin to pour down his brow.

    “Do you wish to join her on the block? Do you wish to have your family also made an example of?” she hisses.

    He stands there, frozen in fear. His mouth drops open, his lips quiver, but no words escape.

    “Lieutenant Borash, congratulations. You have been promoted to general,” she says, glancing over to a large man who stands at the General’s side.

    “N-NO! PLEASE, MY QUEEN!” General David screams, falling to his knees.

    “Hesitation is never rewarded. You live to serve me; any doubt must be eliminated,” she says. “Borash, take your former commanding officer, and make an example of him and his family alongside Cuthbertson and his wretched kin, so all others learn that my will should never be questioned,” she commands.

    “Of course, my queen,” Borash says, bowing down as he signals the guards to remove his former commander. David leaps to his feet, pulling his blade free of its scabbard, and thrusts it towards her.

    “YOUR REIGN OF TERROR IS O—” But his cries are cut off as she raises a hand into the air and clenches it into a tight fist. His blade drops to the ground as he clutches his chest and gasps for air.

    “My rule,” she says, twisting her hand, “WILL NEVER END!” she growls as he drops to the ground, lifeless. “Make an example of any man who is loyal to the former general—string them ALL up!” she hisses, turning back to the silent ballroom. She stares out at the crowd, her furrowed brow softens, and she smiles. “Are we not celebrating?” she cries out, and the room erupts in laughter and cheers as Borash and his men drag David’s corpse from the room.

  • Brace Yourself for the 2024 Edition of It’s Not a Normal Friday 13th

    Brace Yourself for the 2024 Edition of It’s Not a Normal Friday 13th

    We did a thing!

    We did a thing, and it’s slithering out of the shadows! The 2024 edition of It’s Not a Normal Friday 13th has arrived, featuring 13 twisted short stories that will drag you into the darkness. With a haunting cover by the talented Yazgar, this edition is as eerie as it is unforgettable.

    For countless eons, darkness has gripped the 13th Friday of any chosen month in its soiled bosom. No month is safe from the day’s sinister touch, and now, we travel these twisted roads together. Encased within this book are 13 tales, each cursed under the sour moon of a pox-ridden Friday, paired with 13 ill-tasting pieces of prose designed to both tantalize and repulse.

    It’s Not a Normal Friday 13th takes you far beyond typical horror—each story steeped in madness, betrayal, and survival. Reality bends and breaks, drawing you deeper into nightmares you can’t escape.

    The unlucky day has come—and it’s claimed you.

  • Her Name Was Nancy #RePost #ShortStory

    Her Name Was Nancy #RePost #ShortStory

    Her Name Was Nancy

    The water explodes into his lungs as he takes mouthful after mouthful of the putrid fluid. Desperately, he reaches for the surface, thrashing violently as he feels his chest burn with pain, screaming for air. But he continues to sink downward as his body fails him, and his world slowly fades to black.

    Above him, he sees a light shine through the murky waters, followed by something plunging into the depths, gripping him by his long, knotted locks of hair, and pulling him upwards. He feels the dryness of the air tear at him as he’s tossed onto a hard, solid surface.

    He desperately gasps, quickly followed by vomiting; mouthful after mouthful of water pours out of him. His lungs throb with pain before the sweet taste of air finally fills them.

    Minutes pass before he regains some composure. He struggles to his knees as the torchlight shines in his face, blinding him momentarily.

    “You okay there, boy” a husky, gravelly voice asks.

    “T-T-Thank you” he says uneasily, shielding his eyes from the light, trying to focus on the figure behind it. “Y-Y-You saved my life. I-I-I-I… I can’t swim.”

    “You can’t swim? Then what in the hell are you doing all the way out here? And where’s your boat? I ain’t seen any other vessel out here all night. God damn kids, you’re lucky I saw your scrawny arm poking out of the water. At first, I thought you were Old Musky himself, taking some poor sod down to their final resting place.”

    “Y-Y-You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you. H-How far are we fro-from land?”

    “A long way. A couple of hours, tops, and that’s burning the motor. So, you might as well tell me how you ended up here, considering we’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”

    He takes a deep breath and sits back in the boat, his hands still shielding his eyes from the torchlight. “Her name was Nancy” he says softly.

    “Don’t you mean is?”

    “Is, was… aren’t they the same thing?”

    “They sure as hell are not the same thing—well, not where I come from anyway. Far as I’m concerned, is means she’s still with the living, and was generally implies she’s passed on, dead and buried. So which is this Nancy, a was, or an is?”

    “Okay, okay, was—her name was Nancy. Satisfied? Can I tell you my story or not? And can you get that torch out of my goddamn face” he spits.

    The gravelly voice cackles with laughter as the light moves away, revealing the owner of the voice. His eyes empty sockets, surrounded by torn flesh and bone. “Go on, Douglas. Like I said, we’ve got a long way to go, and I’m a great listener. You wouldn’t believe the sins I’ve heard before this day, but when your boat takes rotten souls like you to hell, you get a lot of them” he says as Douglas begins to scream in terror.

  • Waiting on Salvation #RePost #ShortStory

    Waiting on Salvation #RePost #ShortStory

    Waiting on Salvation

    “I don’t want to be a bore, but whatever you’re thinking, it’s the wrong choice,” he says, looking across the room at her with a wry smile on his face. She glances over to him, sweat pouring down her face, and grimaces, before nervously biting down on her bottom lip. Her face screws up as she pierces the skin, and a stream of blood pours from the wound, running quickly down her chin. She thrusts a hand to her face before turning away, looking feverishly out of the window once more, while she clutches the revolver tightly in her other hand. The sweat on her palms causes it to almost slip from her grasp.

    He laughs softly. “Sandra, this doesn’t have to be like this, you know that to be true. So why don’t you untie me, and instead of challenging me in this place,” he says, rolling his head as his eyes encompass the small, derelict shed. “You could thrive instead. You could be a part of the greater system. You could stand for something more. You could rule over everything, everyone, instead of joining the dead and forgotten in this shit hole.”

    “SHUT UP!” she yells, as she rushes forward and digs the revolver’s barrel into the side of his head, pressing her face against his, staring him deathly in the eyes. “JUST SHUT THE HELL UP!” she screams, pulling the trigger. The explosion rips forth from the revolver, deafening her for a moment. She reels back in surprise, never expecting the noise to be so loud, or the mess—the contents of his head spread across the wall behind him. She screams unintelligible words, stomps her feet into the ground aggressively, then rushes back to the window, peering out and chewing on her fingernails nervously as her eyes dart from left to right, searching for her salvation.

    “Withered words etched in blood will not slow me down. Prayers to a god who doesn’t exist will not stop me. Diseases born before man walked the earth will not lay me down. So tell me, Sandra, why do you think a weapon birthed by your insect-like species will end my tormenting you?” he says. She turns back to him, the hole in his head slowly healing over, as the pieces of his skull tear from the wall and fit back into place.

    “I-I-I-I, I never thought it would, I just wished you to be QUIET! I-I-If only for a moment,” she says, her bottom lip trembling as tears run down her face.

    He smiles broadly. “My dear Sandra, if you wished for silence, you should’ve said something sooner, because that is my specialty,” he says as the room is sucked into the darkness. She tries to scream, but too late she realises that the words she spoke aloud—the wish she vowed never to use, the final wish the jinn owed her for setting him free—had finally been granted.

  • The Awakening #RePost #ShortStory

    The Awakening #RePost #ShortStory

    The Awakening

    Slowly, his eyes open, and the darkness is ripped apart by the light that floods his senses. His body feels cold and stiff. After some time, his eyes begin to adjust to the light, until he can finally see shapes around him. He tries to move but finds his body does not respond to any of his commands.

    “Hold it there, young whipper-snapper. You aren’t fully thawed out yet. One sudden movement the wrong way, and you could find yourself in pieces all over the floor, and that won’t do for any of us,” a voice says.

    “W-where am I? A-and w-who the he-hell are you?” he asks, as he tries in vain to focus his vision on the owner of the voice.

    “Neither of those questions need an answer right now. All you need to know, Bobby, is that the world has gone to shit. Everything else is utterly useless information,” the voice replies. “You’ve been on ice for the last five years, like half the goddamn rich and famous did when it all happened. Escaping into your little isolated world, hoping everything would be all perfect when you were ready to come out. Guess that idea went to the shitter like everything else.”

    “What ar-are you talking ab-about? What happened?”

    “The end of days, Bobby. The plague to end all of humanity.”

    “Plague?”

    “Yeah, the plague to end all plagues. I’m pretty sure that’s what I just said—then again, I sometimes think I’m talking and realise too late that I’m not. Not that there’s ever anyone to talk to—not down this deep anyway. Well, there are you popsicles, but you all just sit there looking all cold and distracted, not interested in having a decent conversation. God, I miss that word—‘conversation.’ Isn’t it a grand old word? Anyway, where was I? That’s right, the plague. A virus cooked up by jealous sons of bitches who wanted nothing more than to send every man, woman, and child to the afterlife. But it fucked up—fucked up big time.”

    “What d-do you mean by fucked u-up?” he asks, as he watches the man move around before him, his vision slowly improving as time progresses.

    The man lets out a laugh. “I mean, Bobby, it fucked up. You see, the virus was designed to kill whoever it infected, but it didn’t end up working the way they planned. It didn’t kill—well, not straight away anyway—and it spread fast, like a fucking hurricane on crack, or one of those designer drugs. Twenty-four hours after the virus was first released, the entire earth, and when I say ‘entire earth,’ I mean every-fucking-thing was infected. Every living thing it touched was changed in some fucked up way. Some were infected minutely, and others were ravaged by it. They even gave it a name—some shit like the righteous arm of the Lord or some stupid name like that. The fucking fools—they doomed us all.”

    “T-T-This has got to be some crazy-arsed prank, r-r-right? I-I don’t remember any of this. The last thing I remember was—fuck why can’t I remember?”

    “It’s the hibernation sleep. It’s a shortcoming that will take several hours to wear off. You should consider yourself lucky though. Out of the two thousand sleepers, so far you’re the only one who has managed to be revived to this state. Everyone else on your level turned to toast before they even opened their eyes.”

    “T-T-They’re dead?”

    “Dead as the proverbial doornails, which I must say is pretty fucking rare these days. I told them not to rush perfection. I told them my old head wasn’t what it used to be, but they insisted I get some warm, fresh meat. They’re impatient buggers, I’ll tell you that. Reasoning with them fails ninety-nine percent of the time.”

    “W-warm, fresh meat? What the fuck are you talking about now?” he says as he tries to push himself up with his elbows. It’s then, for the first time since he awoke, he notices the straps holding him down. “W-what the fuck is going on?”

    “History is going on, Bobby—something for the almanacs of time, you could say. You see, Bobby, my young, rich, and obnoxiously good-looking friend, a very old book is about to be closed, and you are the man who will close it. Or something like that, anyway. I forget things, you see. It’s all part of the virus. It slowly infects every organ in the body, with the brain being one of the last pieces of the human puzzle to succumb to its volatile attack. From there on, it’s pretty much downhill until your body finally gives in to the ravages of the virus and literally falls to pieces. But you need not worry about that, my good man, as you won’t have to go through any of those horrible, terrible pains—well, not those pains, anyway.”

    “L-let me go, please! I’ll give you anything. I have mo-money—you can have it all—just please let me go!”

    “Money means nothing to me, or to what is left of this world since you ran away and hid. The only thing that matters in this world now—the only thing that has even an iota of value—is the one thing none of us can resist, the reason why this world is as it is. That reason is also the reason why you are here, awake and talking, and not still in the freezer, for that one thing is priceless above all. Do you understand?”

    “I have n-no idea what you’re trying to tell me. Just fucking say it and I’ll make it happen. I just want to live—”

    The man laughs loudly. “Bobby, I’ll blame the hibernation for how stupid you are. It’s your flesh, my dear boy. Your organs, your blood, your eyes, and your brain. They are but some of the things you can give to this world—we don’t discriminate, we will even eat your arsehole. You see, it’s the only thing that dulls the pain—the pain of the craving, the need for fresh flesh. It’s just a pity we’ve wasted all the rest, and you’re the last.”

    “W-what the f-f-f-fuck? What are you talking about? What do you mean, the last?”

    “You don’t listen, do you, Bobby? I spend all this time with you, making sure you understand what is to happen and why, yet you still don’t listen. It’s simple—you, Bobby, are the last known living human alive, of course. I called you Bobby because you reminded me of someone I once ate, and he was delicious. So I’m hoping we can—”

    The door to the room crashes open, and several other blurry figures rush in and pile upon Bobby.

    “No, you fools, stop! He’s not ready for you yet. I still have so much to forget—no, I mean I still have so much to remember. Oh, damn it all, I still have so much something to do…” the man says, but his cries are drowned out by Bobby’s screams of agony as they begin to rip and tear into him, shoving chunks of his flesh into their salivating mouths.

    “It is such a terrible thing to see, humanity goodbye to thee, and in the end, it’s such a shame, because you taste so damn good,” the man says as he joins in with the others, ripping and tearing into Bobby’s now lifeless corpse.

    Several doors down, a woman slowly opens her eyes, and the darkness is ripped apart by the light that floods all her senses at once. Her body feels cold and stiff, and it takes a little while for her eyes to adjust to the light until she can finally make out faint, blurry shapes in front of her.

    “H-H-Hello?” she says softly, her throat feeling like it’s on fire.

    “Hello, my dear, I am so glad you are awake. For a while there, I thought we were going to overcook you. My mind isn’t as sharp as it used to be, you see—not since it all started. But I’m sure you don’t want to be bored with stories that are not really going to have an impact on your future, or lack thereof.”

  • Walt Changed a Few Details #RePost #ShortStory

    Walt Changed a Few Details #RePost #ShortStory

    Walt Changed a Few Details

    “I don’t get it,” he says, looking up from the tablet, confused. She laughs, rolling her eyes and pouting her lips, mocking him.

    “You of all people would have to be the one who says that,” she sighs, the smile dropping from her face. “Tell me, Shakespeare, what don’t you get?”

    He smiles nervously, “W-Well, I guess my biggest problem is that none of it makes sense—like, totally none of it,” he says, fidgeting in his seat.

    “You’re swinging for the nosebleed section with that one, Romeo,” a voice says, while she stares at him blankly, as if frozen in time. He looks around the room, searching for the owner of the voice, and slowly realises that the rest of the room is frozen in place as well. He tightens his eyes, peering out the window to the world beyond. Slowly his mouth drops open; everything and everyone seems locked in time, except for him.

    “W-W-What the fuck is g—”

    “Oh please, can we avoid using profanity, Nigel? That’s not how you were brought up, was it?” the voice interrupts. That’s when he sees the pale figure, dressed in a black, flowing cloak that seems to wrap itself around its body, perched on the top rail of a chair’s back, some tables away.

    “W-W-W-What are you?” stutters Nigel.

    “Shouldn’t that be, who are you?” it says, smiling broadly, revealing a mouthful of rotten teeth.

    Nigel screams and falls backwards in his seat, smashing his head on the floor. For a few moments, the world explodes, pain tears through the back of his head. Black and white flashes encompass his view, and he begins mumbling incoherent words under his breath as he pulls himself uneasily to his feet, staring directly into the empty, lifeless eyes of the thing, as it sits, crouched on the top of his table.

    “I was hoping for something a little less dramatic, Nigel, but no, of course YOU had to pull a massive drama queen, didn’t you? Your head okay?”

    “W-W-W-Who, who are y-y-y-you?” Nigel whispers, rubbing the back of his head.

    “Right, that’s a better place to start. My name is Belgaldoul, and I’m your, well, let’s say for the sake of explanation, I’m your fairy godmother, and I’m here to stop you from making a grave mistake.”

    “M-M-M-MY FAIRY GODMOTHER?”

    “I know, I know, Disney lied about the wings, the little one-piece dresses, the long legs, and those melons you children lust after. But that ain’t my fault, I mean I told him, honestly I did. Hell, I still remember the day like it happened five minutes ago. I said, Walt, the world ain’t gonna buy this slutty version, just give them the real deal, let them see us for what we really are, without all the sugar coating. But as you know, he did what he felt was right, and well—fuck, everyone knows who the guy was, so maybe he was right. Anyway, let’s not get caught up in all the bullshit, it’s so time-consuming. All you need to know is I am indeed your fairy godmother, if that’s how you want to refer to me. I’ve been called worse in the past,” Belgaldoul says, stuffing Nigel’s half-eaten hamburger into his mouth.

    “W-W-What d-d-do you want?”

    Belgaldoul holds a hand up as he chews quickly and swallows, letting out a gasp, almost as if he was struggling for air, choking on the poorly chewed burger. “SARAH!” he says desperately, as he grabs Nigel’s coke, pours it down his throat, and gasps for air once again. “S-Sorry, eating is such a rare treat, I get carried away,” he says with an awkward smile, bits of the burger still firmly stuck in his rotten teeth.

    Nigel stands there in silence, his face strained with confusion, his mouth opens and closes, his lips quiver, but no words come forth. Belgaldoul tilts his head to the side, curiously studying Nigel’s face, then begins to laugh, leaping down from the table.

    “You humans are so entertaining, I sometimes forget what it’s like to be,” he says proudly.

    “Y-You were like me? A person?”

    Belgaldoul laughs louder this time, “YES! I was once like you, a person as you put it. An awfully long time ago, centuries I’m sure,” he pauses, and stares blankly off into the nothingness of space and time before dragging himself back to the here and now with a shake of his head. He places a cold, rough hand on Nigel’s shoulder, and squeezes.

    “But none of that is important. What is important is that you don’t tell her the truth, that you don’t ruin her dreams. For it will inadvertently cause your path to steer away from where you need to be, from where you must venture.”

    “W-Where do I need to be?” Nigel asks softly.

    Belgaldoul grabs Nigel’s head and turns it towards Sarah. “With her, you idiot,” he says.

    “WHAT! SARAH? NO WAY! We’re just good friends, nothing else, and anyway, she’s not my type,” he says quickly. Belgaldoul laughs loudly again.

    “Oh Nigel, you poor, misguided fool. I see no bevy of available women hunting you down. All I see are the calluses on your palms from masturbating far too frequently. Look at her, man, she wants you. Why do you think she even gives you the time of day? Take a shot, you never know where fate may take you if you do.”

    “D-D-D-Do, do you know?” he asks softly.

    “I know everything, my friend, and trust me, hit that nerd before she wakes up and sees you for the loser you really are.”

  • Suck It Up #Debut #ShortStory #NTT

    Suck It Up #Debut #ShortStory #NTT

    Today’s story is brought to life by the following prompt…

    This is my submission for Kevin’s No Theme Thursday.

    Suck It Up

    Gary tugs at his collar and swallows sharply, a sea of freshly squeezed sweat pours from his brow, and he blinks desperately.

    “Are you all right, Mister Oddman?”

    Gary nods his head and forces a strained smile. “I-I-I, I’m fine. R-Really,” he gasps, as he pulls at his collar once again.

    “Would you like a glass of our house lemonade? I made it myself,” the man asks with a broad grin upon his lips, gesturing towards an empty glass and a jug of crystal-clear water that has several cubes of ice bobbing happily around the top, and three or four slices of lemon dancing between them.

    He shakes his head and gasps again. “N-N-No, I-I-I’m fine, really. It’s just, t-t-the air i-i-in here is—”

    “OH NO! Please, let me see if I can do something about that,” the man says, quickly clapping his hands in three short, sharp bursts. Several seconds later, a long-legged twenty-something brunette glides in through the doorway. “Fiona, could you be a dear, and do something about the air in here? It seems Mister Oddman has some sort of issue, he may be severely allergic to the air or something of that description.”

    “N-N-NO!” Gary grunts as he thrusts a stretched-out hand towards her, his eyes watering as they teeter on the edge of exploding from their sockets. “I-I-I’m n-not allergic, i-i-it’s just s-s-stuffy!” he gasps desperately.

    Fiona raises an eyebrow, wobbles her head from side to side, and pouts her lips. “Stuffy?” she says, widening her eyes in disbelief as she looks around the room. “This is one of the only offices in the whole complex that has air conditioning, so I can’t see why it would be stuffy in this room, no sir, I cannot.”

    “P-P-Please,” Gary pleads as he tears at his collar, digging his fingernails into his flesh.

    “Fiona, can’t you open a window or something to help the poor man out?” the man asks with a smirk across his lips as he lazily gestures towards the closed windows that overlook lush fields of green.

    “OH HELL NO! If I open a window, sugar, it ain’t gonna help one little bit, because it’s a hell of a lot stuffier out there than it is in here. Can’t he just suck it up?”

    The man leans back in his chair, presses his fingers together, and stares at Gary. “Did you hear that, Mister Oddman? Fiona said that opening a window is not the option, and that she also believes you should just suck it up. Is this something you can do?” he asks as he picks up a folder from his desk, opens it, and starts studying its contents. He peers over its top towards Gary and sneers. “According to your records, sucking it up is something you are not good at, is it, Mister Oddman?”

    Gary swallows a strained mouthful of saliva, grimaces, and nods his head.

    “Right, well,” the man says as he looks up at Fiona. “I guess you can go. It seems Mister Oddman will not be in need of the opening of a window or the refreshing tang of a cold glass of house lemonade, as he is unable to suck it up,” he says with a sarcastic widening of his eyes.

    “P-P-Please,” Gary grimaces once again, clutching his throat in desperation.

    “No, Mister Oddman, the time for please and thank yous is long gone,” he says as he leans across the desk, grinning broadly. “It’s time for you to take your place in hell! So, welcome to your forever home, you lucky little bastard!”

  • A Timely Map #Debut #ShortStory #NTT

    A Timely Map #Debut #ShortStory #NTT

    Today’s story is brought to life by the following prompt…

    This is my submission for Kevin’s No Theme Thursday.

    A Timely Map

    Gunner chews the fatty substance with a grimace painted across his face, squinting sternly from his one eye. The makeshift patch leaves little to the imagination, as a star-shaped scar is proudly displayed, and he wears it like a medal of honour. He draws back and spits a slimy wad of saliva, tobacco, and the sinewy remains of his dinner onto the jetty’s boards.

    “I doubt you really want me to be taking you out there, in that thing,” he delivers with a dry slur, as he looks over to Danny.

    “B-B-But you’ve taken m-my money, w-why do t-that, if you n-never intended to take me?”

    “I did it to save your life, boy, and the sooner you realise that, the better! No one should be going out there, looking for Old Bailly’s treasures, especially not some rich little snot-nosed kid like you!” Gunner snorts with a curl of his lips as he stuffs his pipe with a sticky, dark brown ball of tobacco. He allows a grin to creep across his lips before sucking on his fingers and letting out a satisfied gasp. He bites down on the end of the pipe, drags a match across his knees, and sucks several breaths back until a thick plume of smoke floats up from the pipe.

    “I’m not some r-r-rich boy! I-I-I, I w-w-worked for every cent I gave y-you, a-and I d-deserve to g-go out there! I-I, I deserve to find that treasure!”

    Gunner smiles broadly and wobbles his head from side to side before laughing loudly. “DESERVE?” he bellows sarcastically. “Why do you, some snot-nosed little brat, deserve to find treasure that greater men than you have never found?”

    “B-Because,” he says as he holds up a tattered piece of paper sealed in a plastic bag. “I-I-I’ve got a map.”

    Gunner’s brow furrows, and he sucks another few puffs from his pipe. “Bullshit! Bailly never made no map, otherwise I would’ve known.”

    “Y-You can’t know everything.”

    Gunner nods his head. “That be true, boy, I can’t, but I can know some things for sure, and one of them things is that there ain’t no map to Old Bailly’s treasure.”

    “Then what’s this if it’s not a map?”

    “Bah, it’s just some piece of paper, drawn up by some fool who thought he knew the secret, but never made it back to tell everyone it was wrong. There’s been plenty of them, almost as many as made it back—bah, it’s probably more. The gold has been out there for a few centuries, and the stories have been going for just as long.”

    “The stories have been going far longer than that, a hundred years or more before Bailly was ever born,” Danny says matter-of-factly.

    Gunner laughs as he raises a brow. “You need your head read, boy, ain’t no way the legend of Old Bailly’s gold can be going before Old Bailly was born, it’s just not possible!”

    “B-B-B-But it’s true,” he stammers nervously, as he shakes the paper about. “T-T-The place the s-ship sunk, i-i-is right in the middle of a time paradox, t-t-the paper has d-drawings, i-i-images t—”

    “BAH!” Gunner says with a wave of his hand, “Then that piece of paper is a fake, boy, and you are a fool for believing it! Whoever wrote it is pulling your leg!”

    “Then stop!” Danny says.

    Gunner’s face scrunches up, and his brow furrows. “What now?”

    “You said, whoever wrote this map, is pulling my leg, so I asked you to stop, seeing as you were the one who wrote the map.”

    Gunner’s brow furrows deeper, and he arches his head back. “Say what now? I-I-I ain’t made no map to Old Bailly’s treasure, and I definitely ain’t made one squiggling all across time.”

    “Not yet you haven’t,” Danny says as he hands the plastic-wrapped map to Gunner, whose eyes widen as he reads the words written in his own hand.

  • She Hides in the Window #Debut #ShortStory #NTT

    She Hides in the Window #Debut #ShortStory #NTT

    Today’s story is brought to life by the following prompt…

    This is my submission for Kevin’s No Theme Thursday.

    She Hides in the Window

    Ruth runs her hand gently across the photo, allowing her fingers to peer far deeper into the depths of the photograph than her eyes ever could. She lets out a stuttered gasp and clutches her necklace’s pendant tightly. Then, with a trembling scowl, her brow furrows, and she turns to the others, nodding sorrowfully as she does.

    Cleveland’s face burns a bright red, and his nose scrunches up as he sneers. “NO!” he spits as he thrusts himself to his feet, throwing a furious glance towards Captain Renault. “I refuse to believe this is what we’re going to do! This is what we’re going to hinge our whole investigation on!” he bellows, gesturing wildly towards Ruth. “No offence,” he says with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

    Ruth smiles awkwardly and shakes her head in a slightly eccentric way. “None taken.”

    “Where else do we have left to go? Who else can you speak to? What else can you find out when there’s nothing left to see?” Renault asks calmly as he leans back in his leather seat, readjusting himself as he does. “The mayor is a personal friend of Katherine’s, and she’s asked him to personally make sure her son is found, alive—or, if he’s not, that the bastard responsible pays!”

    “But this, sir!” Cleveland shouts, gesturing towards Ruth once again. “This ain’t going to help any! She’ll only make it worse, like she did the last three times!” he says, thrusting his thumb over his shoulder.

    Renault lets out an exhausted sigh, rolls his eyes slightly, and props himself up in his seat by his elbows. “You’re right, I know it, she knows it, even the mayor knows it. But they don’t care about that, not right now, because the only question that matters is, did the cases end up being solved?”

    Cleveland screws his face up again and chews hungrily on his bottom lip.

    “Lieutenant?” Renault presses, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows.

    Cleveland nods and stuffs his hands into his trouser pockets. “Yeah, the cases got solved.”

    “Then,” Renault says, turning his attention back to Ruth, “are you sure?”

    “I-I-I’m—” Ruth stammers nervously as she turns back to the photograph. “I’m sure, and if you take me to the store where this photo was taken, I can help you find their bodies.”

    “Fine, fine, we’ll—” His words catch in his throat as a wave of nausea and sweat wash over him. “T-T-Their b-b-bodies?” Cleveland stammers with nervous surprise.

    Ruth turns to him with a matter-of-fact look, places her hands together in front of her, and nods firmly. “Yes, bodies, more than one, less than eight, that’s what she’s telling me.”

    “S-She?”

    “Yes, the girl in the picture.”

    “R-Ruth, there’s no girl in the photo, it’s just a photo of Riky’s bike outside the store.”

    “Not that photo, Cleveland, the photo on your desk,” she says, with a slight tilt of her head. “She’s been there for a long time, waiting, knowing that you’d be the one to find her, that you’d be the one to stop him.”

    “W-W-Who is she, Ruth? Who’s the girl in the picture? T-T-Tell me her name!” Cleveland grunts, grabbing Ruth by the arms and shaking her aggressively.

    “LIEUTENANT!” Renault cries out as he leaps to his feet.

    “TELL ME!” Cleveland shouts as Renault tries to pull Ruth free of his grip, but Cleveland drives a knee into Renault’s groin, sending him to the floor in nauseating pain. Cleveland thrusts Ruth against the wall, pressing his arm against her throat, pinning her. “TELL ME! TELL ME HER NAME, GOD DAMN IT, AND DON’T YOU FUCKING LIE!” he spits.

    A tear runs down Ruth’s cheek, and she gasps for air. “I-I-I’m so sorry, C-Cleveland, i-i-it’s Annabelle, i-i-it’s your sister.”

  • DO NOT TAPE OVER THIS TAPE #RePost #ShortStory

    DO NOT TAPE OVER THIS TAPE #RePost #ShortStory

    DO NOT TAPE OVER THIS TAPE

    Steven rubs his face and lets out a frustrated roar. “I DON’T FUCKING GET IT!” he spits as he wipes the table clean of all its belongings, sending everything crashing onto the floor, only to have it all reappear some seconds later. He looks up to Cosmo with enormously wide-open eyes. “SEE!” he roars. “SEE WHAT I MEAN?”

    Cosmo shrugs and takes a bite of the apple. “Dude, I shouldn’t be the one to tell you this, because I think that is pretty FUCKING creepy, but you need to CHILL the FUCK out! That right there, THAT is the least of our problems.”

    “I-I-It DOESN’T WORRY YOU THAT THE TABLE RESET ITSELF? O-O-O—” his words trail off as he stares at the apple Cosmo is eating. “I-I-Is t-t-the FUCKING A-A-APPLE d-doing the same FUCKING thing!” he bellows as he rips the apple from Cosmo’s hand and takes a massive bite of it, only for the apple to seemingly grow the piece completely back. He sticks his tongue out, grabs it with his hand, then looks up at Cosmo. “I-I-It completely d-disappeared? I-It just d-disappeared out of my mouth,” he stammers.

    “I know, it’s pretty crazy, right?” Cosmo says as he snatches the apple back, and takes another bite.

    “B-B-But you’ve been e-e-eating apples for a-a-ages, I-I-I, I actually thought they were different apples, and now I realise it was the SAME FUCKING APPLE the whole FUCKING time! THE SAME FUCKING APPLE! Why the FUCK c-couldn’t you’ve said something?”

    “What should’ve I said? Hey, the apples aren’t real, in fact nothing is real in this place! WHOA! Profound SHIT!”

    “Come on, Cosmo, be FUCKING serious! How are we going to get out of this place, if you don’t keep me in the loop?”

    Cosmo’s eyes widen and he shrugs his shoulders in disbelief. “I don’t know what to say to that. I never intentionally kept the whole same apple thing from you, I just thought you would’ve already noticed the same thing happening with a similar item, and decided not to tell me.”

    “But how would me keeping something to myself benefit anyone?”

    “Well, you could take notice of the killer’s schedule and work out a way to put any problems you have in the ground. That would be the sort of thing you’d keep in your own hands,” Cosmo replies with a broad grin on his face.

    Steven squeezes his eyes closed, then starts blinking erratically like a man possessed, before finally meeting Cosmo’s matter-of-factly glare with one of his own. “S-So, can I go?”

    “If you want, I’m not going to stop you,” he says with a grin.

    “Have you taken note of something I haven’t? Is the killer about to come around the corner wielding that ‘FUCK YOU’ sized machete?”

    “How would I know,” he says proudly.

    Steven looks at Cosmo with suspicious eyes, creases his brow, and squeezes his lips. “Where did you say you were from?”

    “Oh, I didn’t say anything, because you never asked.”

    “Right, but we discussed which Video Shop you rented the tape from, right?”

    “Nah, not that part either.”

    Steven’s brow furrowed as he racked his brain for the answers he required, but he failed to find them. With an overly concerned gaze, he turned back to Cosmo. “W-W-Where did you rent the tape from?”

    Cosmo smiled. “The old buy and sell workshop on the main drag, and I didn’t rent it, I bought it, a box of old movies.”

    “W-W-When was that?”

    “When did I buy the box of tapes?”

    “Yeah.”

    “A few weeks ago.”

    “No, no.” Steven asks nervously. “What year was it?”

    “What? Serio—”

    “JUST TELL ME!” Steven spits.

    “Sure, sure, calm the FUCK down, mister I overreact when it’s not about me, but it really is. It’s twenty-twenty-three.”

    Steven’s mouth drops open, and his lips tremble. “B-B-B-Bullshit?”

    “No bullshit,” Cosmo replies. “What year did you pick up the movie?”

    “N-Nineteen Ninety-T-Two.”

  • The Hair Roped In #RePost #ShortStory

    The Hair Roped In #RePost #ShortStory

    The Hair Roped In

    Jethro pulls on the rope with all his might, but no matter how hard he tries, the rope will not budge, and the bell will not ring. He drops to his knees and lets out a hiss.

    “You have got to be kidding me!” he spits, as he looks over to Ulric.

    “I told you, the bell does not ring because the rope does not pull.”

    “BUT THE BELL DOES RING! WE ALL FUCKING HEARD IT, AND YOU CAN’T SAY YOU DIDN’T!”

    Ulric holds up his hands in his defence and laughs uncomfortably loud. “No! No! I’m not saying I didn’t hear the bell, for I’ve heard it for over eighty years. What I am saying is that that rope will not ring that bell.”

    Jethro squeezes his brow with his fingers, kneading it like pizza dough. “Are you listening to what you’re saying? Either the bell rings, or it doesn’t, and we both know it does, so it must.”

    “Yes, yes, the bell does ring, and yes, it also does not. This rope, it is neither rope nor attached to the bell.”

    “What? We both walked up there, and we both saw the rope connected to the bell.” He thrusts his hands around in wild gestures, as his eyes widen and sweat runs down his brow, while Ulric stands silently smiling before him. “How can it not be attached when we both clearly saw it attached!”

    “Yes, okay, that is true, the rope—”

    “The rope that is not a rope!”

    “Yes, the rope that is not a rope, is attached to the bell, but the bell does not ring by pulling the rope. It rings when it chooses to ring.”

    “When it chooses to ring? What the fuck does that mean?” he says, as his eyes suddenly grow tighter, and his trembling mouth curls, as he looks at the rope. “I-I-Is this made out of hair?” he stammers as he holds the rope in his hand and studies it curiously.

    Ulric squeezes his lips together and hums for a few moments before he chuckles to himself and leans towards Jethro with an awkwardness he hadn’t felt until that moment. “When I was a child, my father used to tell me stories of the town as it was when the money was flowing and there were many people. He told me of the bell, and when it rang, it brought with it a drought, a sickness that could not be stopped. He told me stories of people torn in two, and how the rope grew with each violent death, how it was made out of the hair of those whom the bell claimed. I always thought it was Dad just trying to scare me, but the older I became, the more I realised he knew more than he let on. When h—”

    “Wait, did you say it’s made of the hair of the victims?” he says as he takes a step back, dropping the rope with a wide-eyed gaze.

    Ulric chuckles once again. “That is what my father told me, and his father told him, and his father told him. It’s a story as old as time, one my family has sworn to keep secret.”

    Jethro’s brow furrows, and he looks over to Ulric with a confused gaze. “What are you talking about?”

    “I’m talking about a story that will stay that way,” Ulric replies as he reaches into a spider-web-ridden cavity in the wall, pulls a lever, and the bell starts to ring.

  • Drawn All Wrong #RePost #ShortStory

    Drawn All Wrong #RePost #ShortStory

    Drawn All Wrong

    “I honestly don’t understand a word of anything you just said!” Shawna says as she falls back into her seat, clutching the half-empty glass of whisky and nervously dragging back on her bent cigarette. “I-I-I, I’m sorry, I-I-I, I really am. I just don’t FUCKING understand any of it, n-n-none, n-not one little bit of it!”

    He screws his face up and raises his eyebrows with wonderment, blinking several times before letting out an exhausted sigh. “What’s not to understand, I—”

    “I KNOW! I KNOW! I heard what you said, every FUCKING insane word of it,” she says, with arms flailing every which way. “I know that you’re telling me that Jimmy was killed by a FUCKING drawing you made when you were five. I get that part, I really FUCKING do. I-I, I just can’t bring myself to believe what you’re saying!”

    He smiles softly. “It’s okay, it really is. I know it’s hard to get your head around my story. Trust me, every time I think it’s all in my head, something like this happens and I’m back to being a five-year-old kid again, trying to find a way to rub out the drawing before it hurts Mum or Dad.”

    She lets out a muffled laugh and downs the rest of the glass, letting out a loud hiss of appreciation as the whisky burns her throat on the way down. She slams the glass back on the table. “Do you realise how FUCKING insane that sounds? DO YOU? You,” she says as she gestures towards his frail frame, “you are PHYSICALLY chasing a drawing. No wait—sorry—that’s not popcorn enough, is it? You’re chasing a murderous FUCKING drawing you drew when you were a kid because it’s come back from being rubbed out and is killing your friends because it’s jealous that you haven’t drawn it in a long time! Is that pretty much right?”

    He nods his head and splays his arms out as he shrugs his shoulders. “That’s pretty much my whole bag.”

    She laughs loudly this time, slapping her leg with gusto as she does. “No wonder you’re locked up in here! You’re fucking crazy as a mad hatter!”

    “Hey, Nurse Ratched! You’re locked up in here too, although I walked in through the front door of my own free will, while you, you were dragged here kicking and screaming because you can’t be out there with the normal people.”

    “There aren’t any normal people left out there anymore. WE’RE the normal people! We ARE!” she spits back.

    “We’re not normal—we—” He stops mid-sentence and freezes on the spot.

    She stares at him in confusion. “What the FUCK has got into you now?”

    “Y-Y-You d-don’t hear t-t-that?” he stammers as his lips tremble, his eyes widening more and more with each passing second.

    “I don’t hear nothing except your annoying, whiny voice getting in the way of my money.”

    “S-S-Stop it, s-s-stop making fun of it,” he grunts, with a sneer chiselled across his lips. “I-I-It doesn’t like being made fun of.”

    She laughs loudly again. “Well, honey, if it didn’t like what I had to say before, it’s not gonna like the next few moments,” she says with a grin.

    “D-D-D-Don’t, p-p-p-please,” he stammers.

    “HONEY, I AIN’T BEEN LISTENING TO MEN MY WHOLE LIFE, AND I SURE AS SHIT AIN’T GONNA START NOW! SO, IF YOU DON’T MIND, YOU CAN TAKE YOUR LITTLE STICK MAN, AND FUCK OFF—” But her words are stolen as he is quickly upon her, driving the blade of a knife deep into her stomach.

    “RUB THIS ONE OUT, BITCH, WHILE I RUB THE OTHER ONE OUT!” he snarls with a chuckle, as he twists the blade and drags it up and out.

  • It Started as a Joke #RePost #ShortStory

    It Started as a Joke #RePost #ShortStory

    It Started as a Joke

    The door slams shut behind him, and Kyle swallows an uncomfortable breath while he still keeps his eyes tightly closed.

    “I-I I’m not afraid of you!” he yells defiantly as he stands firmly in the doorway, digging his heels into the dirt floor of the old shack. “I-I I won’t let you win! Y-y-you can’t!”

    “But you’re here, as I wanted you to be, so even though you don’t want to admit it, I have already won regardless of what you have to say,” a disembodied voice purrs.

    “Me being here is nothing to gloat over. It doesn’t mean you’ve had your way, it doesn’t mean you’ve won. It just means I’m here, and anyway, I’m here for a completely different reason than you think!” he proudly states as he puckers up his lips and puffs out his chest while shaking his head from side to side.

    The voice laughs, and soon a chorus of other voices also laugh along with it.

    “ENOUGH!” it roars, bringing all the other voices to an instant silence. “Your reasons mean little to me, all you needed to be is on my land, and the rest is mine and those that will one day recount your history.”

    “I-I-I’m not some college dropout, I’m a FREAKING adult with my own life and a career! So, take your petty threats, shove them wherever the sun doesn’t shine for you, which is probably every inch of your miserable existence, and save them for the gullible,” he says as he stomps his foot firmly into the earth beneath his feet, only to have the ground give way. He falls for what seems like an eternity; when he finally hits the ground, his ankles snap on impact, and his left arm is dislocated from the jolt it takes when he smashes face-first into the ground.

    Time passes in handfuls, moments painted in red and black as he flips in and out of consciousness, moaning groggily in intervals, until he finally turns onto his back and lets out a guttural scream of agony.

    “Oh, stop your crying, you snivelling piece of fleshy mucus! You think you can come into my home and spit in my face while gladly talking yourself up, and not tempt fate to intervene? I AM FATE! I AM WHAT IS, AND WHAT WILL BE INEVITABLE! But even now, after I broke the shroud to SHUT YOU THE FUCK UP, you’ve still found a way to turn the conversation back to you. I just don’t know how you do it, or why. Wouldn’t you prefer to stay out of the limelight?” the voice scoffs as it starts laughing once again. “I’ll tell you a secret, one that I’m sure you’ll find as funny as I do. The limelight was never your enemy, it was this house, my house.”

    Kyle takes a stuttered breath and coughs up a mouthful of blood, which lands on his chin and chest. “F-F-FUCK y-y-you,” he spits venomously.

    Out of the shadows, a figure leaps atop Kyle, and he stares in horror into his own eyes—his doppelganger.

    “No,” his doppelganger says with a sneer across his lips. “FUCK YOU!” he roars as he grips Kyle by the throat and squeezes.

  • You Had Me at Hello #RePost #ShortStory

    You Had Me at Hello #RePost #ShortStory

    You Had Me at Hello

    “It was more of a fascination than anything else, a retardation of the synaptic thread that shuffled signals from one part of the brain to the other. Dying from the inside out.”

    “Isn’t that what we’ve always done?”

    “Our body’s inner workings naturally break down, that is true, but this is our mind sabotaging us on a molecular level, and that’s something entirely different. The brain instructs organs to shut down, one after the other—until all that is running is enough to keep the brain supplied with the nutrients it needs to survive, but that doesn’t last for long.”

    “Why doesn’t it reactivate the organs it shut down to reverse the situation? All early test subjects show that that ability is at their disposal.”

    He smiles broadly. “That’s the fucking amazing thing about this, lady. She’s as cunning as she is beautiful. One of the fundamental baseline traits of the infection is the overarching confidence it gives to the brain by convincing it into thinking it is really in control, when it’s not. By allowing it to believe what it is doing is reversible, the brain gets cocky and plays right into her hands.”

    “You make it sound like it’s actually living, breathing with a mind of its own.”

    “What if it was?”

    “Don’t be daft,” he scoffs.

    “I’m not being daft,” he snaps back, as his expression changes from warm to cold in an instant. He pulls a wad of USB drives from his pocket and slaps them on the desk between them. “Eighty-seven out of the last one hundred infected patients that were sent down to the intensive care ward showed remarkably similar traits on sixteen different tests—and all one hundred communicated across a period of three weeks in one conversation.”

    “BULLSHIT!”

    “It’s all there in unedited glory.”

    He looks down at the USBs, then up at Rohan. “One conversation?”

    Rohan smiles broadly and slaps the desk. “One fucking conversation.”

    “H-H-How the fuck is this possible?” he stammers.

    “It’s mother-fucking aliens!”

    “A-A-Aliens?” Charles stammers.

    “Yup, they told me themselves.”

    “I don’t know, man, you were stretching it with one conversation, but now adding aliens, I’m not sure anymore.”

    “Just watch the recording, you’ll understand it all, and then you can decide if it’s fact or fiction.”

    He looks down at the USBs again and swallows. “How many hours did you say are on there?”

    “Around six hundred hours.”

    “FUCK that, there’s no way I am sitting through six hundred hours of boring footage. Don’t you have a best-of collection?”

    Rohan raises an eyebrow curiously. “Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of authentication?”

    “Maybe, but there’s no way I’m going to waste three weeks just to turn around and tell you I don’t believe a word of it.”

    “BUT IF YOU TAKE THE TIME AND SEE WH—”

    Charles raises a hand in protest—bringing Rohan to a grinding halt. “Mate, I know they say seeing is believing, but I gotta say this with as much honesty as I can. If there isn’t anything you can show me in under five minutes, then I just don’t give a shit what’s the truth.”

  • A Choice #RePost #ShortStory

    A Choice #RePost #ShortStory

    A Choice

    “W-W-What?” Lee stammers, tears welling in his eyes, the blood draining from his cheeks.

    “Bloody hell there was,” Sally answers quickly, as the others all turn to her with wide, gobsmacked eyes.

    “W-W-What?” Lee stammers as he turns to her with tears welling up in his eyes and the blood draining from his cheeks.

    “I said, there was heaps of doubt, and not just from me, but from EVERYONE!” she fires back with defiance, nodding her head and crossing her arms across her chest.

    “I-I-Is that t-t-true?” he asks as he casts a nervous glance across the room, failing to make eye contact with anyone, until he comes back to Sally. “W-W-Why? I-I-I, I’ve always d-done what was right f-for the c-collective, n-never looking after myself. I-I, I can’t understand why you all now have doubt!”

    “We’ve always had doubt, you fool, every single one of us has doubted you since day one, and we’re still doubting you now, except maybe for Shawna, but she’s retarded, so she doesn’t count, and besides, we know what you’re doing to her when you two are alone.”

    “S-SHAWNA IS NOT RETARDED. S-SHE’S A BEAUTIFUL S-SOUL, A-A-AND NOTHING IS H-HAPPENING BETWEEN US. N-NOTHING AT ALL!” he roars loudly.

    Sally rolls her eyes and arches her head up towards the sky. “We know you’re with her, Lee, we know, so you can stop lying.”

    “I-I-I, I’m n-n-not with h-her, I-I-I swear.”

    “Should we bring Shawna out, so she can tell us all about what’s going on?”

    “Damn!” he mutters under his breath, twisting his nose in disgust. “What do you want?”

    She smiles broadly. “What makes you think I want anything?”

    “Because if you didn’t, they’d be part of the conversation— instead of a herd of mindless puppets,” he says, gesturing towards the others.

    “Oh my God! Do you really think that I would do that?”

    “The fact you didn’t deny the ability to do it sort of answers the question.”

    Her smile grows wider. “You are very astute in your presumptions,” she says as they all centre their gaze upon Lee, and his face twists in horror as he stares at the mutilated faces of those he once called friends.

    “W-W-What have you d-d-done to them?”

    She laughs loudly, “Like you said, they’re a herd of mindless puppets, ready to do my bidding.”

    “B-B-But you’ll change them back, once y-you’ve finished with them, r-r-right?”

    Her smile grows even wider than before, stretching from ear to ear. “Now why would I ever entertain that idea when I have mindless servants who are only too happy to meet every one of my insane demands?”

    “YOU CAN’T KEEP THEM LIKE THIS! FOR GOD’S SAKE— MELINDA IS ONLY ELEVEN!”

    “So she is,” she purrs.

    “P-P-Please,” he says as he drops to his knees before her. “P-P-Please, d-d-don’t take my baby girl away from me. P-P-Please.”

    She presses her lips together and makes a smacking sound with her mouth. “Okay, but don’t go around telling everyone I gave you this chance.”

    He smiles nervously and presses his hands firmly against his face. “T-T-THANK YOU, T-THANK YOU!”

    “Oh my darling, don’t thank me yet, for you’ve still got to choose whose fate you will write, and whose fate you will leave to the stars.”

    “W-W-What are y-y-you talking about, c-c-choose what?”

    “Choose between the retard and your daughter,” she says, smiling broadly and winking.

  • 3000 Days #RePost #ShortStory

    3000 Days #RePost #ShortStory

    3000 Days

    The droplets run down the outside of the glass and into the puddle that has slowly grown around its base. Hugh lets out a long, exhausted sigh, blowing out all the air in his lungs as he sits, watching the liquid form into a large body of water, half expecting a fish to jump from within at any stage.

    “W-Where does it come from?” he asks.

    “Where does what come from?”

    “The water. The water on the outside of my glass, where does it come from?” he says as he looks up into Luka’s confused face. His eyes quickly scan every ridge and every crevice of the wrinkles that adorn Luka’s face. With a shake of his head, he pulls himself back into the here and now, then turns back to his glass and its puddle of water. “I mean, nothing’s left the glass, my drink hasn’t climbed up its sides to escape, so, where has the water,” he says as he dips his fingers into the puddle. “THIS WATER, come from?”

    Luka shrugs his shoulders and curls his lips into tightly wound balls. “I guess it’s got something to do with the inside of the glass being colder than the outside of the glass. Like, you’ve got your Jack and Coke on the inside that’s all cold and tight, and then you’ve got the room’s temperature playing the FUCK up with the outside of your glass and BAM! Condensation! Droplets of water pulled out of the MOTHER-FUCKING air and all that jazz!” he sings with the vibrancy of a tone-deaf rapper.

    Hugh looks back up at Luka, staring at him for several long silent moments, before he smiles broadly. “LIKE FUCK IT DOES! You expect me to believe that the water is pulled out of the air! Sounds like some David Copperfield type SHIT to me!” he scoffs.

    “I SHIT you not, man. It’s a fact of life. See, I don’t make the rules; I just learnt them from going to school.”

    “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you trying to say I’m stupid?” Hugh grunts sternly as he thrusts his head back and puffs his chest out arrogantly.

    “I-I-I, I never said any s-such thing, I just a-a-answered your question. W-Whatever you think I s-said, you’ve g-g-gleaned that from m-m-my words a-a-all by yourself.”

    Hugh digs a dirty fingernail deep into the back of his mouth and pries loose a piece of fatty tissue from between his teeth, then proceeded to chew on it proudly. “I KNOW what you said, and I also KNOW when I’m being spoken down to.” he sneers, as a vein protrudes from his forehead and throbs violently.

    “I-I-I, I wasn’t s-s-sp…”

    “DON’T FUCKING TREAT ME LIKE A FOOL!” he bellows as he picks up the table and thrusts it to the side, sending the glass into the wall, shattering into pieces, and coating the wall in the syrupy goods that were within.

    “I-I-I,” Luka stammers as he swallows a mouthful of dry air, pulling a face of discomfort as he does. “I-I, I’m sorry, I-I, I never meant to a-anger you.”

    “You didn’t anger me, for you would be dead if that was the case.” he scoffs, as he settles himself back down in his seat. “Now, replace my table, and get me another drink.”

    Luka sucks in another nervous breath and quickly turns the table right side up, grabs another glass from the bar, pours a generous shot of Jack into it, and tops it up with a splash of Coke. As he places the glass before Hugh, he grabs his hand, and looks deep into his eyes.

    “Are you still sure you want to go through with this?” he grunts.

    “Y-Y-Yeah, I-I-I, I guess—”

    “YOU DON’T GUESS THESE SORT OF THINGS, LUKA, YOU EITHER ARE, OR YOU ARE NOT, THERE IS NO IN-BETWEEN.”

    “I-I-I, I’m in,” he says nervously.

    Hugh smiles broadly and lets go of Luka’s arm. “Good to hear,” he says as he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a tattered piece of cloth and lays it out before him. “Three thousand days is all you have, then the rest of your days are mine, understood?”

    “T-T-Three thousand days t-t-to d-do whatever I-I-I want?”

    “Whatever you want, to whoever you want,” he says with a smile as he holds out his hand and slices the blade of a knife down his palm, then presses it against the cloth before handing Luka the knife. “All you have to do is kiss the cloth with your flesh and blood.”

  • A Mother’s Wish #RePost #ShortStory

    A Mother’s Wish #RePost #ShortStory

    A Mother’s Wish

    Steven yells wildly as he yanks Trevor’s neck, snapping the life from him in an instant. He stares with wild eyes at the screaming Sharon as Trevor’s corpse drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

    “I warned each and every one of you,” he spits through saliva-drenched teeth. “I gave you all ample opportunity, but you forced my hand into this corner. His death is on your heads now, as will the rest of the free world unless you tell me what I need to know!”

    “We can’t give you the answers you’re looking for because we don’t know what you’re talking about! None of us do! Trevor told you the same truths we would have, without question. Just ask us what you want, and I swear, we will all answer with the truth!” Felix bellows as he launches to his feet, his hands desperately outstretched.

    A smile cascades across Steven’s lips like a wave crashing against the shore, only to be replaced by the scowl of a madman in mere seconds. “The truth isn’t what I want—that would be too easy. I want your lies. I want your deceptions. I want more reasons to kill every single one of you,” he barks like a caged animal, his eyes searching his foes with disruptive focus, coming to a stop on Anne. Then, the smile swims back across his lips. “Tell me, woman, what glories do the children of lesser fruit bring to you? What wondrous tales have they brought upon this ocean of a world? Tell me your lies of pride, and know that you will live to lie another day.”

    As her eyes widen with terror, she can feel her teeth cut through her own flesh, followed by the exquisite taste of salty goodness coursing down the back of her throat.

    Steven lingers for a moment before casting his affection towards Felix once more. “A dip in the ocean is worth more if the waters are littered with flesh-eating fish dying of hunger. What do you choose in the end days?”

    “I-I-I, I don’t understand what you want. I-I-I, I don’t see it.”

    Steven’s smile grows from ear to ear, then with a wink, he launches himself into the air and lands on Trevor, gripping him in a vice-like bear hug while he buries his teeth into his throat. Trevor flails around the small courtyard, screaming as he hits and pulls at Steven, trying desperately to free himself from his clutches while the others look on in horror. When he finally collapses under the weight of his attacker, his strength spilling onto the ground beneath him, Steven releases his hold, gasping breath after breath of glorious air. Then, he turns his attention to the others, a wicked smile painted in red across his lips.

    “I am an honest man, and in a world where very few of them exist, I would expect the smart ones to heed my every word, not stand on morals that will see you dead at my feet,” he snarls.

    For many silent minutes, the very air can be heard, and then, when the cogs of realisation finally move, the silence is broken.

    “I-I-I, I’m proud of everything my children have done,” Anne says nervously.

  • To Run Away From Your Own Lies #RePost #ShortStory

    To Run Away From Your Own Lies #RePost #ShortStory

    To Run Away From Your Own Lies

    Syler spits a wad of thick saliva to the ground and draws back for another.

    “DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE!” Richard snarls loudly, pointing a finger menacingly towards him, which causes him to awkwardly swallow the mouthful, on which he begins choking moments later to Richard’s delight.

    “Serves you right, you tard!” he hisses with a callous grin.

    Syler stares at him with an intense panic written across his face as he desperately searches for a breath.

    Quickly the smile falls from Richard’s lips as he realises Syler’s panic, and he rushes to his side, firmly planting three powerful consecutive slaps to his back, but they do little to quell the panic in Syler’s eyes.

    Richard grips him by the collar and thrusts a knee into the centre of his chest, quickly following it up with another two for good measure. Syler’s eyes bulge forcefully out from their sockets as his face is now a bright shade of blue. He points at his throat, gagging violently. Without a moment’s thought, Richard drops his pants and thrusts his hardening penis into Syler’s mouth until he vomits the contents of his stomach over his engorged cock. Richard staggers back, his hands outstretched to his side as the smell of garbage wafts up his nose. Syler dry retches twice more as he rocks back and forth on all fours, sucking in desperate breath after desperate breath.

    “T-T-Thank you,” Syler stammers through trembling lips. “T-T-Th—”

    “DON’T SAY ANOTHER FUCKING WORD!” Richard bellows, as he casts a stony glare down at Syler. “J-JUST BE FUCKING QUIET FOR THE NEXT TEN MINUTES!”

    Seconds quickly pass into minutes as the two gather themselves silently together and climb back into the car.

    “I-I-I…”

    Richard throws a thunderous left hook into Syler’s jaw, followed by another into his stomach.

    “WHAT PART OF SHUTTING THE FUCK UP DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?”

    “I-I—”

    Richard hits him again, “I DON’T WANT YOU TO FUCKING ANSWER THE QUESTION, IT WOULDN’T MAKE SENSE NOW, WOULD IT?”

    Syler rubs his swollen jaw and nods his head in sorrowful agreement.

    “Now open up your window, it smells like a backpacker’s toilet in here,” he spits as he quickly winds his window down, Syler following suit.

    He squeezes the steering wheel tightly before turning the key, only to find the car failing to respond.

    “FUCKING GREAT!” he screams as he starts hitting the steering wheel and driver side door with wild punches. Syler grabs his hands, trying desperately to restrain him, only to have him turn his anger towards him once more. He throws punch after punch into Syler, who tries unsuccessfully to protect himself, catching most of the punches with his face.

    “LEAVE ME ALONE YOU PIECE OF SHIT!” he screams, as he collapses back in his seat while a cascade of tears stream down his face. “J-J-Just leave me the fuck alone, yo-you’ve done enough damage tonight.”

    More minutes of silence pass, as Syler gently places his hand on the gear stick and shifts it into park.

    “L-Let me help h-heal it,” he says softly, as they both stare forward and Richard turns the key once more, bringing the car to life.

    “I-I, I need time to process everything,” he says softly.

    “I tried to tell you ages ago about my gag reflex, I-I—”

    Richard grabs Syler by the face and squeezes his mouth shut.

    “This isn’t about your fucking gag reflex, this is about us killing my fucking wife and you leaving DNA evidence behind, OKAY!”

    “S-S-S-Sorry, I forgot,” Syler says through his tightly clenched lips as he casts an awkward glance at Fiona’s dead body that sits propped up in the back seat—

  • Descending #RePost #ShortStory

    Descending #RePost #ShortStory

    Descending

    “I still didn’t get the whole story, even when I was watching it play out in front of me,” Devon says with a sigh, looking nervously over at Fiona.

    “That’s because you’re too used to seeing fact instead of fiction. If you’d spent more time watching shit shows on Netflix or Stan, you’d probably be more open to seeing less instead of more. Instead, you’re spoon-fed everything like a junkie who refuses to admit they have an addiction.”

    He scoffs and runs a hand through his overly saturated hair. “FUCK YOU!” he barks, smashing his teeth together as if chewing a large wad of gum.

    “A little straight to the point, aren’t we? Don’t you want to mince your words through several hours of small talk before getting to the bitter reality, as you admit your undying love for me and everything I stand for?”

    He thrusts a shaking finger towards her and snarls, “DON’T TRY TO CHANGE THE CONVERSATION! I KNOW WHAT I SAW, AND I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TRYING TO DO!”

    She smiles nervously, blinking erratically as her tongue flicks out to wet her lips, allowing them to glisten in the cool light. “What is it I’m trying to do?”

    “You’re trying to lull me into dropping my guard. Once you’ve accomplished that, you’ll steal everything that makes me… me and replace it with one of your empty shells, thrown to the curb once you’ve drained all you wanted.”

    She gently folds her arms across her chest, tucking them beneath her ample bosom, coyly smiling. “Steal everything that makes you, you, and replace it with an empty shell? Are you actually listening to the words coming out of your mouth? Have you signed up for some conspiracy theory newsletter?”

    “W-W-What?”

    Her smile broadens as she leans forward, running her tongue along her lips once more, letting out a moan as she caresses her nipples through her top. “I said, lover boy, you’re a tad overexcited and desperate,” she purrs.

    “I-I-I saw a story much like this once. It was lost somewhere between midnight and four in the morning. It was filmed as a documentary, but it was far from true. They’d tracked down a lady who was believed to be related to some Nazi. But as the film twisted and turned its way through the plot, it became increasingly obvious that this woman wasn’t a woman at all. She had lived through countless lives, including her time as a high-ranking agent in the Gestapo. She admitted it on film, provided them with evidence that couldn’t be disproven, and then disappeared into the world—one can only presume. You remind me of this story—how you twist and turn throughout conversations, dropping hints of what was, what has been, and what could possibly be.”

    She stares at him with unblinking eyes, searching desperately for some clue as to what his agenda is. Finding little to tantalise her curiosity, she simply smiles and sighs. “Do you think I am that woman?”

    “I’d like to think so.”

    “Do you remember what it was called?”

    He sits there for a few moments before smiling awkwardly and shrugging.

    She sighs loudly as she turns towards the television again, flicking through the movie list once more.