tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37335459963884574492024-03-13T19:36:58.927+00:00Thrillers, Killers 'n' ChillersThriller, crime, mystery/suspense and horror short stories and flash fiction. Quote:
'For believe me: the secret for harvesting from existence the greatest fruitfulness and greatest enjoyment is - to live dangerously.' Friedrich Nietzsche
* WARNING: THESE STORIES MAY CONTAIN AN ADULT CONTENT *Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12033131935968488175noreply@blogger.comBlogger665125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-83777616113901654762014-07-06T23:12:00.000+01:002014-07-06T23:12:10.283+01:00BILL 'AJ' HAYES MEMORIAL WRITING CONTEST - WINNER - Angel Luis Colon<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXk9KLbsEQ8N6j9SLE34oIKPZjPO_qi5R7_4tqBbmW9W597jdydt8iTqjO9IOjgV4hUBLOGhHZSEdUGppfReSAIYxAA9-9EzYQk5maOLoPeOto_Yjc6tVXjdQnMTbU-ED4ldzCOjqoSQO3/s1600/BILL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXk9KLbsEQ8N6j9SLE34oIKPZjPO_qi5R7_4tqBbmW9W597jdydt8iTqjO9IOjgV4hUBLOGhHZSEdUGppfReSAIYxAA9-9EzYQk5maOLoPeOto_Yjc6tVXjdQnMTbU-ED4ldzCOjqoSQO3/s1600/BILL.jpg" height="320" width="191" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Bill in Richmond, London.</span></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Thanks to all the entrants, readers and a big shout to the organizers, Eric Beetner, Holly West, Steve Weddle and the other good folk at <b><a href="http://www.dosomedamage.com/search?q=aj+hayes+winners">Do Some Damage</a> </b>who also published the winning stories - and, of course, a thumbs up from the late, great Bill Hayes...</i></span></div>
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">SHOTGUN
WEDDING</span></b><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">by
Angel Luis Colón<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="AngelStandard" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><u><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Something Old<o:p></o:p></span></span></u></b></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Hank and Annie were about as good a pair
as lit dynamite and an orphanage. They met at dirty little rub and tug just
outside Dallas. He was tired after a long day of drug slinging. She was wearing
a Walmart kimono and enough pancake makeup to kill a man twice her size. Only
thing they loved more than pawing at each other was that damn
methamphetamine—and maybe good old fashioned violence. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Old Nelson Hauer found out about the
violence first hand with a rock to the side of the head. He made the mistake of
being the Good Samaritan for what looked to be a nice, young couple hitching on
the side of Interstate 15, a few miles south of Las Vegas. Last thing he saw
was those two kissing the way teenagers would and speeding off in his ’62 Chevy
II Nova.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="AngelStandard" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><u><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Something New<o:p></o:p></span></span></u></b></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“There’s Vegas up ahead, baby.” Hank
ran his arm under his nose—narrowed his eyes at the red streak running from
wrist to elbow. “Excited?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“We’re getting married,” Annie
sing-songed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“We need some money.” He looked over to
his lady love. “That old man have anything in the glove? Revolver or
something?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Annie kicked the compartment open and
shook her blonde mop. “Nothing but maps and bullshit pamphlets.” She lifted one
of the pamphlets and grimaced at the title, <i>Chlamydia:
Do’s and Don’ts</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Gotta make a pit stop, then. Buckle
up.” Hank took his own advice—for a change—kept that pedal down like he was
trying to touch the asphalt with his boot.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Two lefts and a right outside of town and
he found what he was looking for. Big old sign said ‘Gun Garage’. “Hold tight,
lover.” That Nova bull charged into the storefront. Wasn’t a soul in the store,
so nobody was hurt—not like Hank would have cared. “Stay in here and give a
holler if the law shows up.” He booked it out of the car.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Annie nodded and lit a smoke.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Hank was back lickety-split with twin
shotguns—one pink—“For my lady-love.” He offered it like a bouquet.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Annie was all smiles. “That is so god
damn cute.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Back on the road they went.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“So we get money…” Hank paused to light
a cigarette. “…then we hit up that fancy chapel you talked about.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Annie bounced in her seat. “The Little
Church of the West Wedding Chapel? Oh, you’re the best.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Like I said; we need to hit an ATM.”
He pulled the wheel hard and came to a skidding stop in front of a local bank,
the lights popping to life inside. “Man the fort. I’ll be out in two minutes.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Annie loaded her shotgun and winked.
“I’ll keep the motor running, baby.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="AngelStandard" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><u><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Something Borrowed<o:p></o:p></span></span></u></b></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Elena stripped off her wedding dress. A bright pink shotgun between the eyes was
all the provocation she needed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Thank you, sweetie.” Annie lowered her
aim and clenched the dress in her hand, her press-on nails raking against the
delicate polyester mesh of the hem. “Give it right back when I’m finished.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Hank took hold up duties with his own
double barrel while Annie stripped. He took a second to admire that
well-rounded derriere of hers and licked his lips. “Hurry on up—need to get out
of here and get you into a hotel. Some place higher end like that Days Inn a
few miles out.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“You spoil me.” Annie forced the dress
over her waist. She had a full head height over Elena—who stood there mouth
agape and shaking like a lapdog. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Her fiancé, Bill, was busy nursing a
shoulder full of buckshot—Hank’s way of telling him to stop being a fucking
hero. Hank gave him a little kick and smiled. “Fucking flesh wound, champ. Man
the fuck up.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The dress on, Annie lifted her shotgun
and aimed it over at the Reverend Joseph Love Parrish IV. “Alrighty—get
started, Rev.” She turned to Elena. “You think you and your boyfriend can sign
the license as witnesses?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="AngelStandard" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><u><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Something Blue<o:p></o:p></span></span></u></b></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Two “I do”s, forty miles and thirteen
squad cars later—there they were—surrounded on all sides by the boys in blue
with a score of gun barrels trained on their sweaty heads. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It was easy enough to find the newly
christened Mister and Misses Kapowski. One dead senior citizen, an obliterated
store front, five bank tellers and a crying bride in a stretched out dress led
the coppers towards I 15 South. No telling the tax payer dollars wasted in all
that time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“Shit.” Hank dumped a sloppy rail on
the quivering skin between his thumb and index finger. He brought it to his
nose and snorted. Sweat beaded across his brow and made trails down the side of
his face. “Shut up,” he muttered. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The police were very insistent the pair
came on out with hands up, but truthfully, not a one of them really wanted that
to happen. That many itchy trigger fingers needed work to do. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Annie—well—Annie was a little too
preoccupied covering up her half naked body and coming down from her high.
“Maybe we should listen to them.” She tossed that one into a suggestion box had
a hole in the bottom.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">“No.” Hank’s eyes were saucer wide. He
raised the shotgun. “I’m sorry lady-love, but I ain’t going back.” He turned
the barrel, slid that bad boy between his lips and leaned his fingers down
against the trigger.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Boys in blue would later argue over
whether the sound of that gun popping Hank’s head like a zit was louder than
Annie’s screams.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Poor Annie Kapowski—alone, bloodied,
and with a ringing in her ears that would take weeks to leave. She raised both
hands and a few deputies did her the favor of escorting her out that ruined
Nova. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A few steps towards the waiting squad car and she stopped short with a wince. </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">“Damn, wait a sec. Think I got something in my shoe.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">”</span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">BIO:</span></i></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><i>Angel Luis Colón has landed ass first into crime fiction and is taking a shine to it. His work has appeared in WeirdYear, Red Fez and Fiction on The Web with forthcoming work due out in Shotgun Honey, Out of the Gutter, All Due Respect and Big Pulp. He hails from the Bronx and works in NYC, but is currently exiled to the wastelands of New Jersey with his family—thankfully; he has access to good beer and single malts. </i></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
</div>
<div class="AngelStandard">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><i>You can follow his grumblings on Twitter @HeckChoseMe or be audience to his useless ranting over at <a href="http://angelluiscolon.com/">http://angelluiscolon.com/</a></i></span></span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 18.399999618530273px;">.</i></div>
<div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17913040012695421077noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-74948552718112315402014-07-04T23:26:00.000+01:002014-07-05T01:03:34.738+01:00BILL 'AJ' HAYES MEMORIAL WRITING CONTEST WINNERS - Runner-up - Ray Nessly<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>For Bill (AJ) Hayes &
Thury Hayes... <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5bQfN5DwCL_14PcXKFXNYhuB7taVjLlLJweHcitpOYA18Ajlw_54gazHoxkFPS02Qbcdd8esfO7onPiEBUu0rBGWbtkl_HfDgDyLE_aNX-XdXU5LwHbQ-5Berl_Jbem6kOoo47qktr1pY/s1600/Thury+&+Ray.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5bQfN5DwCL_14PcXKFXNYhuB7taVjLlLJweHcitpOYA18Ajlw_54gazHoxkFPS02Qbcdd8esfO7onPiEBUu0rBGWbtkl_HfDgDyLE_aNX-XdXU5LwHbQ-5Berl_Jbem6kOoo47qktr1pY/s1600/Thury+&+Ray.jpg" height="276" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bill's lovely wife Thury & good friend, Ray Nessly.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">THE BALLAD OF BILLY HAYES</b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">by Ray Nessly </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">See a
little town in southern <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">California</st1:place></st1:state>,
not far from the border, December, 1964. That bank on the corner? Inside, a
bunch of folks are waiting in line. But the only ones that matter are Mr. and
Mrs. Bill ("don't ask him his real name") Hayes. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Good
looking couple. Young, ambitious. Newly wed in '62. And smart. They understand
the opportunities inherent in a bank managed in absentia by a lard ass bozo who
loves three-hour lunches. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Bill
believes in practice runs. The books he loves preach it hard. The movies too. First
step, <i>the stakeout.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "See,
hon? Manager's gone," Bill says, a trace of <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Virginia</st1:place></st1:state> in his voice, sweet n' smoky. He tilts
his head, indicating the security guard. "And the guy catnapping on his
stool? Manager's cousin. Big butts run in the family." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Keep
it down," she whispers. She's not so sure about this. They've knocked off filling
stations, mom and pop stores, lemonade stands. But a bank? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Okay,
T, we've seen enough." He calls her "T"—or better yet, "hon"
or "toots"—if he calls her anything at all. If he blurts out her real
name during a job, they're goners. The only girl in the world with that name. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Sometimes
she calls him "Billy." Usually, it's just plain "Bill." Lots
of those around. The country is lousy with Bills. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> He hates the
name on his birth certificate. No wonder. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Go ahead,
press him. All you'll get are initials. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Time to
practice <i>the getaway</i> now. (Can't practice
<i>the holdup </i>itself, right?) Bill opens
the door for her, and they step outside. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Wasn't
raining before. It's capital r Raining now. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Good
omen!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Okay,
I'll bite," she says. "How so?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Two
things. One, it hardly ever rains around here, right? So bet you anything it
won't be raining come curtain time!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "And .
. . ?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Two,
we gotta practice running down the street to the car, right? Well, nobody's
gonna wonder what we're up to. It's raining! Hard!" <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> They bolt
down the street to the '39 Chevy, green. The corner of a tarp hangs from the
trunk, just enough to obscure the rear license plate. They hop in; the rain
stops. Another omen, she supposes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Bill in the
driver seat, T riding shotgun. "Okay, let's take the first right," he
yells. "Way I figure it? We'll clear this corner before Big Boy gets his
second cheek off his stool. Ha! I like that. You?" He turns on the radio.
"Music, hon?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> It's Johnny
Cash, mid-song. <i>The Ballad of Ira Hayes.</i>
Big hit that year.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Any
relation?" she jokes. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Could
be. I have some injun in me. Who doesn't? . . . Hey, let's practice some alleys!"
He yanks the steering wheel, tires squealing like <st1:state w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Virginia</st1:place></st1:state> hogs. "Okay, let's open 'er up"—stomping
the throttle—"Whoa, move yer tail, mister kitty cat!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Is the cat
okay? she wonders. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> More
important, that funny feeling . . . <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Eyes. Following
their every move. As if a movie camera's in the backseat, poking the back of her
head, hard as a shotgun barrel. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> She turns
around. Nothing on the backseat but pulp
novels. And on the floor, empty beers and crumpled packs of Winston reds. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> He's up to three
beers and one pack a day lately. Not too bad. No call for concern.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Johnny on
the radio: <i>drunken Ira Hayes . . .<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Billy,
did you know Peter La Farge wrote that song?" <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Oh
sure. Met him, in fact." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Really?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Yep."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Huh."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Johnny's done singing. A Winston ad comes on.
She turns the radio off. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Gotta
tell you, Bill, I just had this weird feeling. It was like that movie we saw. Newlyweds
rob a bank. They're in their getaway car, and—"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Oh
sure. <i>Gun Crazy. </i>1950. John Dall and
Peggy, um . . . don't tell me. Cummins."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> She laughs.
"Is there anybody on the planet with a better memory than yours?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Oh,
probably. Okay, that's enough alley practice for—oh shit, another cat?!"
He brakes, the Chevy fishtailing, the right rear fender like the open fist of
God, slapping down trash cans. The Chevy slides to a stop. Engine's stalled. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Bill rolls
the window down. A couple of barking dogs is all. "Nobody's come a-runnin.
<i>Good</i>." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> He turns the key. Sucker won't start. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Great,"
she says. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "It's
another omen, Thur—" He almost blurts it out. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Oh?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "It's God—or
something—telling us we need <i>a backup car.</i>" <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Backup?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Car trouble
insurance. Case in point right here. Plus, when you hop in your <i>backup car? The heat's </i>still looking for
the first one!" <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Where
do we get another car?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Your
mom's'll do nicely."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "You're
outta your mind."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "No. Am.
Not."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Bill?
We're not getting my mom involved!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">*<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> He hasn't
said a word for three minutes! He's shooting for the record, she figures. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Bill?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Hon?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "You're
not cut out to be a bank robber."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "No?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> A dog
barks. Barks again. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Dog's done.
Bill's quiet. She's quiet. It's uncommonly quiet inside their Chevy. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "This
car's been good to us," he says at last. "But I've got my eye on a
new El Camino. Wanna know why?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "No."
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Okay,"
he says, opening the door. "Guess I'll have to fix this one. Again!" <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Hood goes
up. Couple minutes later, he's back inside, about to turn the key.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Hold on,"
she says. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Yeah?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Give
up this bank robber shit. Get a job fixing cars. Stick to the theoretical side
of robbing stuff."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Theoretical?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Just write
about it. Stories. Like those pulps in the backseat."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Shrug. "Meh.
I dunno."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Tell
you what. Turn that key. If the car starts up? Get a job fixing cars. If it doesn't? Knock
off that bank. Deal?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Pause.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Is he
stalling? Or thinking it through?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Okay!" <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "On
three, Bill?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> He nods his
head, then,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> "Ready, hon? One, two . . . " </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>BIO:</i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 32px;"><i>Ray Nessly hails from Seattle but since '82 has parked his butt in a little town east of San Diego. Whilst butt-parking, he pounds on a computer keyboard as music plays in the background and two cats fight over lap rights.</i> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 200%;"> </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17913040012695421077noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-76614394171207811672014-07-04T16:42:00.000+01:002014-07-04T16:52:47.884+01:00BILL 'AJ' HAYES MEMORIAL WRITING CONTEST WINNERS - 3rd place - Jen Conley.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvE8OclagXr9c6jcDg_oakw4wxvksrc_KF96i8rKFoFYqebV3V3_16IOnWsvSyXtdkBqC1qW-jWjuEK65bxlMeWiSwgvuVu9_zdm9Qa5PkEwGo7N_7y2YcPyJFNC67j38jdasv5ZarAwlM/s1600/AJ's+hat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvE8OclagXr9c6jcDg_oakw4wxvksrc_KF96i8rKFoFYqebV3V3_16IOnWsvSyXtdkBqC1qW-jWjuEK65bxlMeWiSwgvuVu9_zdm9Qa5PkEwGo7N_7y2YcPyJFNC67j38jdasv5ZarAwlM/s1600/AJ's+hat.jpg" height="258" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Bill's hat at Noir @ the Bar L.A. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">THE REPAIRMAN </span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">by Jen Conley<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">On a November afternoon, when Erin Lewis
was on maternity leave, a repairman arrived on her doorstep holding a large
gray tool bag. She was expecting him because her husband had arranged for the
dishwasher to be fixed. His dirty white truck sat in her driveway under a heavy
gray sky.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> “I’m
a little late,” the repairman explained and although the voice was perfectly
normal, something about it nagged at her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> “It’s
fine,” she said and stood back to let him in. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> “Just
in there?” he asked, nodding towards the kitchen down the hall. When he passed
by, his scent made Erin shudder. She couldn’t place it, but somewhere deep
inside a dark bell went off. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In
the kitchen, the repairman placed his bag on the floor next to the dishwasher.
She asked if her husband had described the trouble. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> “Yep.”
He swung around and underneath the roughened skin, the graying beard and
balding head, underneath the girth of his large body, she suddenly saw who he
really was: Bill Vinson. She was thirty-eight years old, lucky to have gone
through therapy and lucky to have pulled her wrecked mind together and lucky to
have met Kevin on a train to New York and set up this life: a nice marriage, a decent
colonial house to live in, and a healthy two-month-old daughter. <i>I was
worried about you but you did good,</i> her mother said often. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Now
this man, Bill Vinson, stood in her kitchen with his tool bag and his
repairman’s clothes, smelling slightly of stale alcohol. He must drink at night
before bed, Erin thought. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> “Cooking
dinner?” he asked, eyeing the raw chicken next to the cutting board. An onion
and two carrots lay next to it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> “Yes,”
she said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> “Well
don’t let me get in your way. Just tell me to move. I’m easy as a summer
breeze.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> He
turned and bent down in front of the dishwasher. She had a sudden urge to kick
him. </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 200%;">But then, from the sound of the baby
monitor, Erin heard her sleeping daughter move.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> “Let’s
see…” he said. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Erin
walked to the far counter and withdrew the long knife from the holder. The
knives were new and sharp. She returned to the cutting board and began to chop the
carrots which had been peeled earlier. She went down hard, making little dents
in the wooden board. Her daughter moved again but Erin continued cutting.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> “This
is an easy fix,” the man muttered.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Erin
picked up the onion, hacked off the sides, and ripped off the outer layer.
Within seconds, she was chopping it to pieces. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> “Now
don’t cry,” she heard him say. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> She
stopped cutting. He was standing behind her. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> “Onions,”
he said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Her
bones rattled. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> “I
gotta get something in the truck.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Erin
said nothing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> When
he was gone, she looked up and stared through the kitchen window. The backyard
trees rocked in a gentle wind. The memory returned: she was fourteen, locked in
a room with Bill Vinson, a twenty-year-old, still hanging out at high school
parties. She’d told her mother that she had gone to her friend Jamie’s house
and Jamie had told her parents they were going to the movies. There was liquor and
Bill was cute and he was talking to her about the band Molly Hatchet and soon
they were in a room, her shirt undone. Then it went bad. She was too small to
fight it off. She cried and asked him to stop but her head was spinning from
the booze. To make things even more horrid, when he was done, someone popped
out of the closet and snapped pictures of her on the bed. She never did figure
out who took the photos for the room was dark and the flash popped three times,
brightening the walls for each wretched moment, Bill and the mystery guy
snickering. They left her there in tears. She managed to get out and get home,
her mother finding out days later when Erin confessed she was worried about
pregnancy. It turned out she was lucky. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Now
Bill was whistling. Erin lifted the plate with the raw chicken and slid it onto
the wooden board. She began slashing through the meat, piece after piece. Her
daughter moved again and let out a brief whimper. Erin looked at Bill, crouched
like a gopher, fiddling with the dishwasher. She returned her focus to the chicken
and began to hack at the meat. Years of pain. Embarrassment. Kids had found
out, had seen the photos, and she’d been teased and labeled a whore. “It’s
nothing new,” her mother had said sadly when Erin cried to her. “It has always
happened to young women.” Life had been thrown off, as if she were kicked off
the paved road, thrown to the side. She suffered. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Now
she could slice his throat. Stand behind him and take her knife and cut
straight through. Blood would spurt against the open dishwasher, gush to the
tiled floor. His body would droop, slip down, die. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> How
she had been shamed and had lived with it. He deserved this death, she thought,
standing behind him, the knife in her hand. He deserved it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Bill
scratched the back of his head. Muttered to himself. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> She
stepped closer. How she had wished for this moment. How she had sat with her
tears, her fury, all those years ago. <i>I
want him dead. Dead.</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> She
moved closer. The hair thin on his skull.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Her
daughter moved.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Erin
licked her lips, gripped the knife’s handle. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> There
was a little murmur from the monitor, a little cry. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Then
Bill Vinson slowly turned his head and saw Erin holding the knife. His big body
fell back against the counter and he sat cornered, his hands up. “Whoa,
whatever I did…”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> His
eyes flickered and she knew he recognized her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> And
that was good enough. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> She
put the knife down.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Her
daughter’s wail bellowed through the monitor. </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 32px;"><i>BIO:</i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i><span style="line-height: 32px;"></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 32px;"><i>Jen Conley's stories have appeared in Thuglit, Needle, Beat to a Pulp, Shotgun Honey, Out of the Gutter, Grand Central Noir, Big Pulp, Literary Orphans, All Due Respect, Protectors, Plots With Guns, Yellow Mama, All Due Respect and others. An editor at Shotgun Honey, she’s been nominated for a Best of the Web Spinetingler Award and shortlisted for Best American Mystery Stories 2012. She lives with her son in Brick, New Jersey. Follow her on twitter @jenconley45</i></span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17913040012695421077noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-65426812885918276692014-03-09T23:23:00.001+00:002014-03-10T00:48:47.479+00:00A TRIBUTE TO THE LATE, GREAT AJ HAYES (BILL), WHOSE PROFOUND STORIES GRACED THESE PAGES AND MANY MORE...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoRnYsjfXDgnox6-O28SeYwHBNbH5Q3CTbf97jzEVtC9QZrp_Vnz0KibNWIGMbua3ZNcLUAocYf28-tCMPdhsGHXE1smIjNTUrPFhqxSYEdX7hyphenhyphenC-heZckcCpKJ4-M-4jZ8Yz9C9Mod5fq/s1600/Col,+Richard,+AJ+-+Cheers!.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoRnYsjfXDgnox6-O28SeYwHBNbH5Q3CTbf97jzEVtC9QZrp_Vnz0KibNWIGMbua3ZNcLUAocYf28-tCMPdhsGHXE1smIjNTUrPFhqxSYEdX7hyphenhyphenC-heZckcCpKJ4-M-4jZ8Yz9C9Mod5fq/s1600/Col,+Richard,+AJ+-+Cheers!.jpg" height="240" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">With a very heavy heart, and with AJ's wife's blessing, we hand you over to his close friend, Richard Godwin... </span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"AJ Hayes, exceptional crime writer, poet, and endless supporter of other writers, sadly passed away at 3 AM West Coast time on Saturday 8th March. He was battling lung cancer with the kind of courage that is an example to us all. He was an omnivorous reader, a man who deeply understood literature in its many forms, and who always had time for other writers. His kind words, and wise encouragements were widely appreciated. He will be sadly missed."</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Tributes from the Editors...</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">From Col Bury: </span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I'm so proud to call AJ (Bill) a friend. He was a selfless gent with boundless wisdom and great wit, and was one helluva writer to boot. His classic short, DARK GENESIS gleaned the most comments (and most 'wows') on this site in 2012. He was always on hand with unwavering encouragement and pertinent advice. I'll always cherish meeting him and his lovely wife, Thury, down in London (sincere condolences to you and your family, Thury). The writing community will ensure that AJ Hayes lives forever. R.I.P. mate."</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">From Matt Hilton: </span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Sadly I never had the pleasure of meeting AJ Hayes in life, but I did have the opportunity of discovering his incredibly atmospheric, poetic skill as a writer through the pages of Thrillers, Killers 'N' Chillers, where I recall his "Dark Genesis" tale evoked a buzz for its incredible and sheer poetic inventiveness. Not only was AJ a real talent when it came to writing, but he was incredibly open and supportive of his fellow authors, regularly offering feedback at the site that was thoughtful and meaningful, and I'm certain his advice went a long way in making better writers of us all. His sage words and advice are a legacy many of his friends and peers will remember AJ for."</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">From Lily Childs:</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"An outstanding writer in the Noir and crime genres, it was my absolute pleasure to publish AJ Hayes, ‘Bill’ on Thrillers Killers ‘n’ Chillers. Not only was Bill a unique voice in the genre, he also spent his valuable time supporting and promoting the writers he believed in. To say he will be missed is an understatement. I wish his family and friends peace and send them my sincere condolences."</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">From David Barber:</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"AJ was a gent in the truest meaning of the word, always there to give advice and inspiration. He was a true professional when it came to the writing game and was also a fine editor in his own right, having taken the time to edit and enhance a couple of stories and a poem of mine recently. The man in the fedora will be greatly missed, not only by his family and friends but also by the online community who he helped and inspired over the years. R.I.P. Bill Hayes."</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">From Absolutely Kate:</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"The 'Fedora Fella' was, IS and ever shall be the razz-a-ma-tazz and every bit of the smoothest, smokiest jazz to how I write and think and love and laugh, and even wear my own fedora. We share authors saluting all the good stuff in authors, the grittiest crime tales crunching delight outta our keyboards and the most gloriest music heard between all the right lines. AJ ~ Bill ~ and 'Clyde' in good 1940's lingo to me is an extra part of why my heart grows. Here's my Tribute reveal: In ANGEL TOUGH, from Matt Hilton's 'ACTION: Pulse Pounding Tales', I created the ongoing character Doc Aloysious Jeremiah Nelson to honour our friend and authorly colleague. Angel said she'd just call him Doc because all those other AJ names were too much a mouthful to say quickly, but she'd know his essence for all of time itself. As I type this - "It Don't Mean A Thing If It Ain't Got That Swing" is playing now. I know the Guardian Angel under the fedora... just made it so. Love you, man, with all that swing."</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Read AJ Hayes' classic short story, DARK GENESIS </span><a href="http://thrillskillsnchills.blogspot.co.uk/2012/08/dark-genesis-by-aj-hayes.html">here</a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And please feel free to leave your own tributes in the comments.</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17913040012695421077noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-56024776410264540502013-04-09T17:47:00.001+01:002013-04-09T17:47:29.462+01:00TKnC is Dead...Long live TKnC!<b><span style="font-size: large;">** AN IMPORTANT MESSAGE FROM Ye OLDE EDITOR MATT HILTON **</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">"It ain't over 'til it's over."</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When the idea for Thrillers, Killers 'n' Chillers first came to me back in late 2008, it sounded like a great one to me. My brainchild was to offer a platform where authors could share their work with like-minded individuals, to have their work showcased, to read the work of others and to offer constructive feedback and support. In short it was a way for authors to form a network of friends and colleagues, build their platform and make industry contacts, all while enjoying reading some terrific short fiction in the various genres of crime, thriller and horror.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Well, I was wrong. It wasn't a good idea.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It was a f****ing <b>AMAZING</b> idea.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Thrillers, Killers 'n' Chillers gained huge accolades and kudos over the next few years, won awards, and helped springboard some of its authors' careers. It put some authors in touch with agents. It helped establish credibility for authors when setting out on their own careers. Not only did it attract aspiring or fledgling authors, but some established names also submitted and showcased their work in TKnCs hallowed halls.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But with its amazing success it brought with it an unwieldiness I was unable to control. Luckily I was able to call on the help of some incredibly talented and enthusiastic individuals who not only helped but grew TKnC to even greater heights. Col Bury, our resident crime editor, came onboard very early on, and I must share credit for TKnCs early success with Col - without his input TKnC would have floundered a long time ago. Under our dual efforts TKnC only got bigger and better. To a point that we had to call on horror-supremo Lee Hughes to join our editorial team. TKnC grew again. The call for assistance was this time heard loud and clear by Mistress of the Macabre, Lily Childs, who added new dimensions to TKnC, and latterly by David Barber, whose enthusiasm for the site knows no bounds. I want to take this opportunity to personally thank Col, Lee, Lily and David, for their friendship, support and enthusiasm - I couldn't have done it on my own and am indebted to you all.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">TKnC had become a byword for quality, edgy fiction, and was attracting readers in its multiple-thousands. It was attracting numerous submissions weekly.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But therein lay the rub.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It had grown too big to be contained.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We'd created a monster and it was consuming us.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">That's the literal way of explaining that TKnC had grown so large that it was beginning to impact on our personal commitments, our day jobs and our own writing careers. We couldn't devote the attention to the site as we'd have wished or that it deserved, and that wasn't ideal. It was a sad decision, but after much hand wringing and regret we all understood it was time to call it a day.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Yes, you just read that right.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Thrillers, Killers 'n' Chillers is closing its doors.</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But there's always a light at the end of the tunnel.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">In the capable hands of editor David Barber, Thrillers, Killers 'n' Chillers' little brother has just been born and is about to come of age. It will be the new home of quality, edgy fiction.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So please say hello to <b>'THRILLS, KILLS 'N' CHAOS'</b> by following this link: <a href="http://tknc.wordpress.com/">http://tknc.wordpress.com</a> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Submission details are up now, and the site will go live within a very short time. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">In the meantime, the stories that appear here at the original site will remain in situ, so maybe now would be a good time to take a trip back through the archives to read some terrific fiction you might have missed, or to reacquaint yourself with some old favourites. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">To all those of you who have supported us all these years, I thank you heartily and wish you great things and continued success. Now nip on over and support the new TKnC why don't ya? I'll see you there.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">TKnC is Dead...Long Live TKnC!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Matt Hilton</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Editor</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">9th April 2013</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<br />
<br />Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12033131935968488175noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-27447141400558925352013-03-04T08:26:00.000+00:002013-03-04T08:26:34.930+00:00WHEN THE SAINTS by Lee Hughes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;">TK'n'C stalwart and our former in-house Horror Editor Lee Hughes is in the mood for a party. What could possibly go wrong...?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b>WHEN THE SAINTS</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b>by</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b>Lee Hughes</b></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />They knew there would've been a big 'Welcome Home Heroes!' party for them, though one pint had turned to two, which turned to six so they'd missed it. They stood on the platform of the village station. The village street lay ahead, shouldered by the heights of the valley. The houses, some, but not all showed lights in the windows; their kin having lost hope and returned home. <br /><br />Charlie noticed it first. He'd expected bunting hanging from the eaves of the train station. Yet none drifted in the night breeze in lapsed revelry. He broke the strained silence. “Surely if we weren't on the six-thirty they’d have returned for this one to greet us?” <br /><br />Jack shrugged. “Maybe they got tired of waiting, it wouldn't have taken them long to realise we'd gone drinking.” He couldn't remember the name of where they'd been drinking and it annoyed him somewhat, like he needed a place to blame. Without word they started on that singular vein of road which coursed through the arrested pulmonary that was the village. <br /><br />Charlie frowned; there was a new butchers. He hadn't been expecting changes. Though, admittedly he hadn't really put any thought into it, the only thoughts of home he'd had were just of getting back there in one piece. <br /><br />“Me mam never mentioned nowt about old feller Dickinson selling up.” <br /><br />The butcher had always crowed on about how he was looking forward to his shop becoming 'Dickinson and son.' When Arthur came back home. They shared a look. Neither had heard anything about Arthur Dickinson getting dead in the trenches; that didn't mean it hadn't happened. The folks who were sat writing letters at home didn't want to send out bad news. <br /><br />At the threshold of the street they saw a small boy wandering down the cobbled centre. Charlie recognised him. It was John Derby's lad, William. Charlie had gone away at the start of the war and little William had been about five years old then, that was seven long years ago and the lad still looked the same age. <br /><br />He shouted: “William.” <br /><br />The boy continued walking towards them. The feeble light from the lamps did little other than give him more shadow than his small stature deserved or warranted. He looked at them with puzzlement. <br /><br />Jack noticed the marks on the boy's neck before Charlie. “What happened to your neck, William?” <br /><br />The boy, wearing muddy shorts and a slackened woollen jumper didn't smile, didn't frown, just answered with. “Mr. Jones, he did it.” <br /><br />They knew who Mr. Jones was. He was the head-teacher at the village school. They both knew him to be a hard task master, and a bit of a brute to boot, both of them having been thrashed by him for little to no reason when they'd been under his tutelage. But the marks about the lad's throat were savage. Jack knelt down before the lad and asked. “What the bleeding hell did you do to get him to go so hard on you?” <br /><br />William shrugged. “He found me.” <br /><br />“Where?” <br /><br />“Alone.” <br /><br />Both Charlie and Jack exchanged a puzzled glance. Charlie spoke up. “Come on, William, let's get you home.” <br /><br />The boy's eyes hardened. “No.” <br /><br />“Why not?” asked Charlie. <br /><br />“I don't want to go there.” <br /><br />Jack took a go and asked. “Why's that?” <br /><br />“I just don't.” The boy turned on his heels and ran back the way he'd come until the shadows took him in their snuggle. <br /><br />Charlie watched the darkened end of the street. “The war's done damage to all of us.” <br /><br />Jack nodded. “I'm in enough trouble with the missus, I'm gonna head on home. Catch up with you in the morning, Charlie-boy.” <br /><br />“Aye, I'll get an ear-full of it from me mam too, you know how she gets.” <br /><br /> <br /><br />Charlie walked through the hallway, smiling, seeing the pictures still hanging on the walls. His late father in his uniform, a picture of himself looking proud within the threads of his own. Inside he felt awkward, even though he’d failed to get on the earlier train it wasn't like his mother not to have come to meet him no matter how chagrined she was with him, under her stern words and charcoal stare burned love. He wandered past the door to the parlour, which was only used for Christmases and funerals. At the door to the back-sit he could hear the crackle of the fire through the timber of the door. He took a deep breath and entered. There she was, looking older than the last time he'd seen her, she'd been on the turn to grey then, now her hair was tarnished silver. She didn't move as he entered, sitting holding a photograph in her lap. <br /><br />“Mam,” he ventured. <br /><br />She ignored him. <br /><br />He groaned inwardly, perhaps this time her wrath was for real. He took a step deeper into the room, feeling like a trespasser whose feet were too clumsy and whose shoes were too noisy. “I'm sorry I missed the train, there...” He left it hanging, knowing she could tell a lie long before it was even dry from leaving his lips. The fire had been banked high as she was wont to do when she planned to snooze away the night in front of it. Charlie lowered himself so he was on his haunches. He was about to reach out to take her hands and show her that he was sorry when he saw his cigarette case on her lap, peeking out from beneath the photograph. That was <i>his </i>cigarette case, had been his father's before him and it was in his pocket. He checked to re-assure himself, dipping his hand into his pocket and finding only emptiness. <br /><br />“Where's that from?” he asked. <br /><br />She remained muted in the company of her tears, rubbing a thumb over a black and white portrait of him as a boy. <br /><br />“Mam, I really am sorry.” He looked to her face, it was not so much lined as creased like a bed-sheet left to dry in a heap. She got up and moved past him to the mantelpiece, replaced the picture in exactly the same spot - Charlie could tell by the dust around the shape. “Mam?” Something was knotting in his mind as well as his stomach. His mam had never permitted dust to settle, let alone make itself at home. She'd always been on the move cleaning every surface and beating every rug to within an inch of its weave unravelling. Charlie took in the rest of the room, noticing everything was in disarray or dirty. Everything bar the pictures of him. He watched as his mam sat herself back down and closed her eyes. <br /><br />Her lips moved, lips so dry Charlie thought they would rip. He heard her words, though he didn't need to. <br /><br />His mother said, “Good Lord, look after my boy.” And the knot that had begun to tighten within his being constricted whip-quick and started to throttle him. He screamed, reached for her, to shake her, but she couldn't feel his hands, as a gale doesn't feel a breeze. Charlie reached again, this time he was sure he felt the slight hairs on the skin of her arms, positive he'd brushed them. She stirred, still not too deep into sleep. Charlie went for the grab again. Skin, this time, he was sure of it, it felt like paper, but it <i>felt</i>, that was what was important. He watched in hope as his mother's eyes opened. The lids rose slowly as though reluctant to open up for business. Her lips joined her eyes in rising. Then both crashed down, the eyes opened for a second glance. “Charlie!” There was no tone of ecstasy, it had the trappings of terror. <br /><br />“Mam, it's me.” <br /><br />“No, no, no, it's the Devil is what it is!” She pushed back, trying to reverse her whole body into her chair, sickened by the monster before her. She raised a bony hand and pointed. She was pointing towards his face. He gathered himself upright and turned towards the mirror. That wasn't his reflection, that wasn't a portrait of him done in silver-backed glass. His lower jaw was errant and he bore witness to his vocal-chords. He let free a holler and watched as the chords went taut, vibrated and spat everything out in a tone of bedlam. He swept an arm across the mantelpiece, his hand passed through the first two photographs before becoming more present and sending the remaining ones to all corners of the room. <br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />Jack could hear movement from the bedroom. That was good - he wanted her bad. It'd been months since he'd been with a woman, he grimaced at that memory, he'd had to dip his todger in vinegar after that whore. He entered, his wife was there, standing before the bed in her night-dress. She let one strap slip free from her left shoulder then the other. And none of it was for his benefit. <br /><br />“What the fuck.” He moved around her to see who was shagging his wife. He didn't recognise the bloke but it didn't matter. “Oi!” Still they seemed impervious. His wife's nighty went all the way south for the summer. Jack had never, ever raised a hand to his wife, hadn't had a chance to seeing as they'd only been married for five months before he'd gone to war, and this is what he got to come home to? <br /><br />He moved through her like a wave of goodbye. He spun, confused. He saw the man on the bed, already erect and his wife straddling and guiding it in. The man grabbed her hips and rolled over, taking her with him until he was on top and began to thrust. Jack punched at the man's head, his fists flailed through. He had to see Maureen's face. He climbed forward, passing through the rutting beast. He looked down at her face, could see her eyes closed as she enjoyed herself. Jack felt dizzy, sick and a hundred and one other emotions, all mixing together to keep him off guard. He had memories of seeing her face like this. Him atop of her, hilt deep, bringing her the pleasure she was garnering now. Jack didn't realise he was moving to the tidal motion of his wife, playing let's pretend at making love. He soon forgot all about the real deliverer of cock as his brain made him believe it was himself. He watched as she bit down on her lower lip enough to make the flesh spread with whiteness. It went on for, he wasn't quite sure until he heard a grunt that came from neither of them. From the corner of his eye a sweaty naked man rolled away to lie flat on his back. Jack turned back to Maureen, her eyes opened, the pupils wide and a smile raised as though on wings. She stared straight through Jack. Her voice came with laboured breathing. “Tommy, it feels like you're still inside me.” <br /><br />“Knew you'd enjoy it.” Tommy's voice sounded half asleep. <br /><br />She blinked, the pupils constricting. She blinked again, eyes and mouth widening in unison before she screamed. Tommy rolled over to see what the fuck was the matter, he was trying to sleep, had work in the morning. Jack lashed out at the man with his good hand. The man fell backwards, blood and teeth dripping from his mouth, the jaw askew. Maureen fought beneath him. He backhanded her, crushing an eye-socket, climbed off and went to finish the cowering man. <br /><br /> <br /><br />Charlie ran into the street. Lights were coming on in all of the houses now. Charlie had heard screams, a man and a woman's that had pierced the calm of the night. People peered out of their windows and joined in the chorus of screams at the sight that played out before them. Jack staggered out of the door from his house, drenched in blood. To Charlie that wasn't the shocking part. He saw that Jack's left arm ended in a ragged mess just below the shoulder joint, his guts draped down, the longer lengths dragging on the ground behind. Charlie turned as he heard a low moan from behind him. He saw Arthur Dickinson crawling along the ground, devoid of legs. Others were coming from behind the train station, from the direction of the graveyard; some nearly transparent but slowly coming to ruined flesh. A song joined the cacophony. Charlie looked back over his shoulder and saw young William dragging the severed head of Mr. Jones along on a length of string.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>BIO</b>: You can read more of Lee's stuff at <a href="http://www.leehugheswrites.blogspot.com/">www.LeeHughesWrites.blogspot.com</a></span></div>
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Lily Childshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15861288507716873813noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-29959615094110849982013-02-13T21:49:00.000+00:002013-02-14T02:01:54.226+00:00SIMMONS' CHOICE by Aidan Thorn.<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Here's another new writer making his debut at Thrillers, Killers 'n' Chillers. Aidan Thorne is a Southampton based scribe hoping to make something out of this crazy writing world. Let's show him some support as he gives us.....</span><br />
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<b><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">SIMMONS' CHOICE</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">by </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Aidan Thorn</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I had to do what was best for my boy, any father would right? Not that my son could see that, oh no, he disagreed with my plan from the start – But what choice did I have? No son of mine could go to prison, especially Larkford Prison - he’d be lucky to get through the first week alive. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">When the call had come in that Ian had been arrested for the murder of a known dealer my first thought wasn’t of disbelief, it was that I had to keep him from going to Larkford. I could just imagine what would happen if the other inmates found out that he was my boy, the son of Detective Alan Simmons. It would be all of their Christmases rolled into one. I was responsible for putting a lot of people behind those bars. It wouldn’t take long for them to make the connection between Ian’s last name and the family resemblance. No, he wouldn’t last a week.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">My sons struggle with drugs has been with us since he hit his mid-teens. When I realised he had a problem and confronted him about it of course it was my entire fault. Apparently because of who I am he was bullied, he went to a tough school, coppers kids were just below the fat kids and the gingers in the social structure. He started to rebel against anything that had a whiff of authority about it all with the aim of making his peers laugh and fitting in. Sadly his plan worked and Ian fell in with a crowd that could only be described as wrong. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Before long Ian was a barely walking, barely talking cliché. He moved through drug classes with far greater ease than he had ever coped with school classes. And I found myself doing everything I could to try and get him off that shite, of course my interference only pushed him further in. He picked up a few arrests over the years and every time I managed to get him off with a slapped arse, but this time it was different – They don’t dish out slapped arses for murder do they.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The only way I could see to keep him safe this time was to have him declared insane, have the little shite sectioned. Better he sees out his sentence on a mental ward than getting sent to Larkford to become one of my collar’s play things or end up with a shank in his neck and that’s what I told him, when I went in to see him after his arrest. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">‘No fuck that, I’m not rotting in some room with a bunch of spaced out nutters for the rest of my days.’ Ian had protested as I’d outlined my plan. He seemed oblivious to the irony that it was because he’d spent nearly half of his life as a ‘spaced out nutter’ that he was now facing a future behind secure walls.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">‘If you don’t go for an insanity plea I can’t protect you. It’s not going to take long for the inmates at Larkford to connect your name to mine.’ I said. ‘I don’t care how gaunt and broken you look and how chubby I’ve become there’s no denying that we look alike. Some of the people I’ve put away are never coming out, there’s nothing stopping them taking out a little revenge on me through you.’</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">‘So get me sent to another prison then. I’m not being locked up with the loons.’</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">‘Prisoners do re-offend when they’re released. There’s nothing to say that you won’t come across someone I put away in the past that’s now doing time somewhere else. You won’t be safe in prison.’</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I looked sideways to Ian’s brief for support. I’d hired David Shipton, one of the best in the business. I’d seen some of my best collars slip through the system to freedom when Shipton had defended them. I’d paid through the nose to get him and agreed that I’d owe him a favour in future if a key piece of evidence needed to go missing for one of his clients – despite everything, I’d sell my soul for my boy. There was no way Shipton was ever going to get Ian off but getting him sent down as insane was going to be a tough job and so I needed the best.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">‘Your old man’s right Ian, the best we can do for you is plead insanity, have a couple of doctors testify that you’re not all there and get you sectioned whilst I try to find ways of appealing this thing,’ Shipton said. ‘I’ll to be honest with you though, it’s going to be tough. There are three witnesses that saw you stabbing the victim in broad daylight and you were arrested covered in his blood. Now I can use this to our advantage, as only a mad man would viciously murder a person in public in the middle of the day…’</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">‘He’d stolen my money and not given me my fix,’ Ian interrupted, anger flashing across the back of his eyes. Sweat beads had formed lines across my son’s grey and furrowed brow. He shook with uncontrollable rage as he screamed out his words. In Ian’s drug addled mind the dealers crimes were worthy of a death sentence, perhaps convincing a judge and jury that he was insane was not going to be as tough as first thought. I looked at Shipton and the slight grin on his face suggested he’d just had a similar eureka moment.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I’d pulled a few strings and managed to have Ian placed in solitary whilst he was awaiting trial. Shipton had asked that my boy be bailed to my custody but we all knew that wasn’t going to happen. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">As the trial approached we had a number of concerns. Shipton was concerned that regardless of any doctor’s testimony, it was going to be tough to convince a jury that Ian was insane. He didn’t have to remind me, but did, that drug addicts aren’t society’s favourite people and addict muderers are at least a step or two further down that list. I had to remind Shipton that I’d employed the best lawyer for my boy because I was more than aware that the situation was a fucking mess. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">What was more worrying was that we were having problems with both the doctors Shipton had roped in to testify that Ian was a nutjob. One of the doctors got cold feet when he found out I was a copper. I think he thought it was some sort of elaborate sting. I managed to convince him that this was a genuine case by showing him a full audit trail of my bank account from which his five grand sweetener had come, proving that the funds were mine and had been in my saving account for the past decade. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The second doctor got greedy the week before the trial and decided that five grand wasn’t enough, he wanted ten times that. Shipton pointed out there was no way of replacing him at this stage. I wouldn’t be surprised if that little prick had put the doctor up to asking for the extra cash and was getting a commission from him. I got a loan that would basically wipe out the lump sum I was going to be getting on my pension in a few months’ time and paid the bribe.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">And of course the judge had to be given a little convincer too, but that was nothing new. I’d done it a few times in the past from the other side of the fence when we’d gotten the wrong person, or more accurately couldn’t find the right person and the bad PR involved in that getting out would be too damaging to the force. We’d stitch up a fall guy, I’m not talking about a family man with a steady job and bills to pay, no someone that had slipped through the net in the past - someone who deserved it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">It was a great relief when the trial came to an end and Ian was ordered by the judge to be detained at the Moorfield Centre under the Mental Health Act. My boy would be safe from the violent scum that walked the prison corridors.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">***</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Visiting time at Moorfield was hard for me. Ian refused to see me but still I turned up diligently every week hoping to see the son who, in spite of his thoughts on the matter, I had saved from a certain death, bankrupting myself in the process. As I walked away at the end of visiting time each week, having sat for two hours alone, I noticed the looks of sympathy on the faces of the staff. I was undeterred and still turned up every week.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">As I signed in at Moorfield this morning, almost six months after Ian had been sent here, again a sympathetic face looked back at me and spoke. ‘Hello, Detective Simmons. Can you go into the waiting room behind me? Doctor Lamb would like to speak with you.’</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I was expecting this day to come. Patients are not kept within the care of mental health institutions indefinitely and Ian’s time was coming to an end. He would have to be reassessed and, if it was decided that he was no longer playing ball, he could find himself out of the hospital and in prison within the month.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Doctor Lamb entered the waiting room and I stood to shake his hand. He motioned me back to my seat and spoke. ‘I’m afraid there has been an incident. One of the patients went on a frenzied rampage during breakfast this morning. He was sat next to Ian when the incident began. He attacked your son and before anyone could stop him he had slashed his throat with a piece of glass. We're not sure where the glass came from. I'm sorry, Detective Simmons, but Ian bled to death as hospital staff tried to help him.’</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I felt my shoulders shake; tears filled my eyes and ran down my face. I saw Doctor Lamb’s lips continue to move but I heard nothing of what he was saying.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>Bio</b> - Aidan Thorn is a 33 year old writer from Southampton, England, home of the Spitfire and Matthew Le Tissier but sadly more famous for Craig David and being the place the Titantic left from before sinking. It's Aidan's ambition to put Southampton on the map for something other than bad R N' B music and sinking ships. Since having his first short story published in Radgepacket Vol. 6 in 2012 he has written a couple more but spent the first half of 2012 completing his first novel 'When the Music's Over.' More information on Aidan's writing can be found on his website <a href="http://aidanthornwriter.weebly.com/"><b><span style="color: red;">http://aidanthornwriter.weebly.com/</span></b></a></span><br />
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<br />David Barberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04659359186046409071noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-64355725975654049632013-01-21T15:33:00.001+00:002013-01-21T15:33:13.843+00:00GROTESQUE by K.A.Laity<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Let's get things rolling again with TK'n'C debutant, the inimitable Kate Laity and her witty take on crime, that is simply... </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In boisterous tones Tony regaled me with the letter he wrote to complain </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">about the boost in water rates. "Uncalled for, uncalled for, outrageous, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">outlandish," he recited as he waved his Carlie about, splashing the foam on </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">the brown tile floor.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The walk to the pub tonight had been through ghost streets, as if the city </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">had been abandoned by all and sundry, given up as a bad job and everyone had </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">fucked off to Holland or Munich or Rome. But it was only the cup finals.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We weren't troubled by such doings at Tony's. The telly that still hung over </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">the dartboard hadn't worked since the days of Eric Bristow</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">. It now featured </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">a hobgoblin's wig of cobwebs, which complimented the rest of the place </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">nicely from the warped bar itself to the stinking bog at the back. Had any </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">ladies needed to powder their noses, they would have been alarmed to find no </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">door marked </span><span style="font-size: large;">mná</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> or with a fetching picture of a </span><span style="font-size: large;">doxie</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> with crossed legs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">No woman had ever crossed the threshold of the pub, however.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Perhaps that could be blamed on the décor, which ranged from brown to more </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">brown. Or the ambience</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> that derived from unwashed and mostly middle aged men </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">just off shift. The young lads all went to the shiny new sports pubs with </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">their cacophonous screens and drinks with asinine names that they swilled </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">back like candy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We had two kinds of lager here and one of ale, with Guinness on the side for </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">the old men from the isle. In the summer you could also get cans of </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Budweiser to take out into the 'beer garden': a picnic table on a concrete </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">square between the rubbish tip and the grey wall of the car park. The chief </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">appeal seemed to be you were allowed to spit out there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Tony had just got to the nub of his tirade - "working class traitors! Sixty </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">hour weeks!" - when Huckleberry Bob came in and the room fell quiet all at </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">once. Maybe it was his history as a real hard number: at fifteen he had beat </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">up the next door neighbour for insisting he kerb his dog, Bastard, as the </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">rangy Doberman laid a few steaming brown gifts on his azaleas. Poor old Gary </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">still limped. When Bob got out people gave him a wide berth and not just </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">because he had a habit of muttering menacing words under his breath, aimed </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">at the neighbours or his dentist or the skies.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Most likely the pub fell silent that night because Huckleberry Bob appeared </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">to be covered in blood. The 2 by 4 bouncing in his left hand probably didn't </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">help either. No one looked directly at him. The room got bigger, or so it </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">seemed as our breath ran away.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">After an interminable interval, his brother Jack made an attempt to hail </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">him. "</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">How're you keeping, Bob?" Nobody called him Huckleberry to his face.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Bob didn't answer but he did turn his head toward his brother. Without a </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">word, he drew out some kind of pistol and shot him once right through the </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">wide shiny forehead. Jack staggered back against the smudged mirror that had </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">withstood countless years of neglect and withstood the publican's weight, as </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">he expired and fell on the sticky floor below.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The silence broke then like shattered glass, as pints dropped to the floor </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">and shouts rang out as everyone tried to find egress. The pity was Bob stood </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">in the entry way yet and the only other exit led to the garden. Most chose </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">that way to escape, but they quickly became lodged in the doorway like the </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Marx Brothers on a big night out. A couple of fellas ducked into the loo, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">but that seemed a worse idea than the garden.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Like an eejit, I just stood there by the pillar. Not really what you'd call </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">cover.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Huckleberry Bob went for the knot of desperate men clawing over one another </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">to get to the beer garden, whacking at the hindmost with his 2 by 4, but not </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">immediately shooting anyone. The men in the bog seemed to be rolling </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">whatever wasn't nailed down to block the door, but they got real quiet when </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">the shooting started at last.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Some made it out, some now lay on the floor bleeding. I saw Tony was one. I </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">don't know why I froze. When Bob turned away from the garden and every nerve </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">in my body said, run, still I stood there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Bob ambled over. He hadn't rushed or broke a sweat. Truth to tell, he seemed </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">dazed, his eyes rimmed red and his face slack.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">May Brigid's sacred fire protect me! I repeated my mam's prayer that I'd </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">heard her mutter a thousand times or more back in our village before I came </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">to the land of the enemy. Like sparks from that eternal flame, words sprang </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">to my tongue.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"How's that fine dog of yours, Bob?" Bastard had died some years back, but </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">he had been replaced by one of his pups, a hideous replica called Junior.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It was Bob's turn to freeze. His fingers twitched as he dropped the board </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">and to my surprise, he began to sob. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"He's dead!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"The devil you say! What happened?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">He swayed and I began to think he might just keel over. Sobs wracked his </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">enormous frame and he wiped an arm across his face as he took a ragged </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">breath. "Car. Some fucking Tory in a swank car hit him, killed him." He </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">wailed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I laid a hand on his shoulder gingerly, ready to jump. "That's a damn shame, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Bob, a damn shame. Can I get you a pint?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">He nodded and I stepped around the bar and over Jack's body to pull a pint </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">for him. "So I expect that's how you got the blood all over you," I said, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">just to make conversation.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Bob looked down as if noticing the blackening stains upon his clothes. I </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">slid the pint of lager across the bar and he drained it, wiping his bloody </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">face again. I set to work refilling it right away, ignoring the way my hands </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">were shaking.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Bob belched, but at least he'd stopped sobbing. He picked at his sticky </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">shirt. "Nah, this is from the Tory scum. On his way back from the </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">cash-n-carry with a load of lumber in his Rover, I reckon."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Handy that," I offered, as I set up the refilled glass on the bar.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Too right," Bob agreed, sipping this pint more slowly. "Too right you are </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">there."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"It's a funny old world. Bob," I said, pulling a pint for myself. I could </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">hear the sirens in the distance getting louder.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>BIO:</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>To find out more about Kate Laity's writing visit her website:</i> <a href="http://kalaity.com/">http://kalaity.com/</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17913040012695421077noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-40038850102767831982012-12-25T01:11:00.000+00:002012-12-25T01:11:18.265+00:00ALL THE BEST FOR THE FESTIVE SEASON...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://i282.photobucket.com/albums/kk245/9eor9e/aaaaaaaaa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="292" src="http://i282.photobucket.com/albums/kk245/9eor9e/aaaaaaaaa.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">If you don't fancy a scary one, then have a Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays & a Prosperous New Year... to all our contributors and readers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">All the best,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The Editors.</span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>Ps. Subs back open on January 1st 2013. </i></b></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17913040012695421077noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-38500713675508710622012-12-18T02:00:00.000+00:002012-12-18T02:00:30.398+00:00THE SCHEME OF THINGS by Gary Clifton<br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">TK'n'C is pleased to welcome Gary with this hardboiled piece...</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><i>THE SCHEME OF THINGS</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Harry The Rat gave the job to that dick, Primo. Yeah, I was still on the payroll for the piss-peanuts The Rat paid, but an assigned hit paid big bucks - what the crap-head straight world called an incentive bonus. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> The Rat kept Primo around because he was big, stupid and knew how to act like a real bodyguard - like my ass. Primo was one of those jack-offs who was mean, not tough for shit. The kind who actually enjoyed offing a mark for the sadistic high from the last seconds of terror and gore. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> The deal had a helluva hitch. The Rat had a chick on the payroll, Mary, if you can swallow that alias shit. Red hair, beautiful blue eyes, with legs all the way to the floor. She was The Rat's pussy deal. She'd also done a couple of hits. Blew the suckers away like quail hunting in Nebraska . You look that good, no problem walking up on the mark.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Rufus Freeman, dude who ran a pawnshop on Troost, had been hosing Mary - at least The Rat thought so. Funny about some guys. In The Rat's mind, Freeman had to go, but good pussy is hard to find - especially the kind with legs that good. So Mary earned a pass. But Freeman was a dead man and that mope Primo got the contract.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Big problem: I'd had a little of ol' Mary - twice actually in the front seat of her 'Vette. I figured the combinations. I was in deep shit. In this damned business, a man does what he has to do. So I figured I better watch and play the whole symphony by ear.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Freeman's Pawn stayed open until 10 P.M. - damned cold and dark in January. Freeman had a habit of sending home the hired help around nine, opening a nice window of time. Primo liked to use a blade, but he was way too chickenshit to take on an old boy like Freeman with a knife.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> The Rat was impatient. He'd insist Primo do the job ASAP. So I only hadda sit on Freeman's two nights before, sure as hell, I spotted Primo in his Lexus parked a block down. At just past ten, Freeman flicked out the lights, fumbled with the front door and stepped between snowplow drifts to cross Troost to his Cadillac in the bitter, north wind.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Primo, like a true dumb bastard he was, whipped the Lexus beside Freeman at mid-street and gave him four in the midsection with that .45 he loved so much. Freeman went down like a wet towel.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Then, <i>She </i>appeared. Even the long trench-coat couldn't hide those legs. Primo had stepped out of the Lexus to put a finale in Freeman's head. From behind a snow-heap, Mary swayed off the curb and put five in Primo with that little S&W she carried. He hit the pavement, dead as last Easter's ham.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Well, what the hell. I cranked my ride and was beside her in seconds. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">She started to run, but when she recognized my mug, she stopped and whipped up one of those million dollar, toothy smiles. "We mustn't leave loose ends, she said softly." </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She was right. Primo must have also visited the front seat of her 'Vette, I figured. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 200%;">Freeman probably hadn't, but I by God had.</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 200%;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I capped her between those lovely eyes. Her head exploded like a bursting watermelon, the force knocking her ten feet, the S&W skidding across the deserted street. I started back to The Rat's. One more in his brain, if he had one, would take care of business. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Survival, that's all it is in the end. Mary lay sprawled on the pavement. "Sorry baby," I looked back. "But even good pussy ain't really that hard to find." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>BIO:</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>Gary Clifton, forty years a cop, has over sixty short fiction pieces published or pending with online sites. He's been shot at, shot, stabbed, sued and is currently retired. Clifton has an M.S. from Abilene Christian University.</i></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17913040012695421077noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-64276618548322866142012-11-26T12:04:00.000+00:002012-11-26T12:04:43.433+00:00THE STAIN By Harris Tobias<!--StartFragment-->
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<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">
<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">
<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I never
would have noticed the stain if Lynn hadn’t walked out on me. When she left, I
went into a deep funk and, drinking even more than usual, lay around the house
staring at the ceiling from one horizontal position or another. I wasn’t used
to being alone. The house seemed so empty without her presence, singing or
weeping depending on her mood. And our daughter, my little Sharon, where is my
little girl?<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I don’t blame her for leaving. I’m not the easiest person to live with. I
slipped into a kind of gray zone laying on the bed staring at nothing. That’s
how I first noticed the stain. A rusty brown blob with no color and no apparent
shape. I watched it for hours. After a couple of days, the stain took on a
shape I recognized. Sort of like a baseball diamond. I could, if I tried hard
enough, make out the pitcher’s mound and the evenly spaced bases. It reminded
me of that time I threatened Lynn with a bat. I was drunk, of course. I never
would have actually hit her with it but I could see she was terrified. I did
manage to bust up the furniture some and those two lamps her mother gave us. I
was awful sorry the next day. Lynn took me back. Good old Lynn.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">A couple of days later, the stain took on the aspect of a face, a man’s face,
but I couldn’t place it until I noticed the cap. A policeman’s cap complete
with badge and everything. I could even make out the badge number—387. It was
the face of that young cop who came to the door that time I was so high on
booze and pills I could barely stand. I must have taken a swing at him because
I woke up in a cell in restraints. That was a bad time and I’m sorry I scared
you, honey. You bailed me out yet again. I hardly deserved such loyalty.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The stain grows larger. There must be a leak somewheres though it hasn’t rained
in weeks. Today the stain looks like a woman, a very unhappy woman. I can see
her sad face. The tears streaming down her cheeks, her hair a tousled mess eyes
pleading for me to stop. But I don’t stop, do I? I hit you to make you stop
crying. I slap your tears away. I strike our daughter, my precious little girl.
And what was it you did to make me so angry? I can’t remember. I am always
angry.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I fall asleep staring at the stain. It is definitely bigger now and the color
is turning from a rusty brown to a kind of greenish brown. My mind struggles to
make a picture of the new shape. It is sinuous and complex. At first I think
it’s you standing in the doorway our daughter behind your back. You are
shielding her from my fury but that is not it. Then it snaps into focus. It is
a dragon, its coils wrapped around its victim, a man, his head inside the
dragon’s mouth. Whoever it is is being devoured. Somehow I know it is me. I am
being devoured.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">As I stare transfixed, the stain detaches itself from the ceiling. Is this a
hallucination? When is the last time I had something to eat or drink? I’m sure
I’m hallucinating. It’s so real, it’s almost funny. I try to laugh. But my
mouth is too dry. I try to scream but whatever sound I manage to make is
muffled by the dragon’s moist and toothy maw.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">
<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">BIO:<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Harris
Tobias lives and writes in Charlottesville, Virginia. He is the author of
several novels and dozens of short stories. His fiction has appeared in Ray Gun
Revival, Dunesteef Audio Magazine, Literal Translations, FriedFiction, Down In
The Dirt, Eclectic Flash, E Fiction and several other obscure publications. His
poetry has appeared in Vox Poetica, The poem Factory and The Poetry Super
Highway. You can find links to his novels at: </span></span></span><a href="http://harristobias-fiction.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">http://harristobias-fiction.blogspot.com/</span></span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f3f3f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12033131935968488175noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-52449374863366046252012-11-15T13:21:00.000+00:002012-11-26T01:02:47.255+00:00MELTDOWN by Les Morris<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i>TKnC welcomes Les with this tale about one man pushed
too far…</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">MELTDOWN<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The silver BMW crept slowly up and down the seemingly endless
lines of cars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The driver’s head
swivelled like it was mounted on a screw thread as he searched for that elusive
parking space.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Martin Nicholson had pulled into the
car park fifteen minutes earlier and, so far, there was no sign of anyone
driving off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was ten thirty, his
meeting was at eleven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d give it five
more minutes and then look somewhere else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The morning was bright and crisp and the sun was beginning to burn off
the early morning spring mist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He felt
good and was looking forward to meeting the sales director for the first time, if
only he could find a space.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A middle-aged woman appeared in the
car park, this was his chance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He drove
round to where the woman was opening the door of a red hatchback and
waited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She certainly took her time but,
eventually, she drove away and Martin claimed his prize.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d managed to find a parking space in only
twenty minutes. He decided that today was going to be a good day, donned his
jacket, picked up his briefcase and locked the car.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He was tall and thin with dark brown
hair that was beginning to grey around the temples. His expensive looking suit,
briefcase and mobile phone made him look every inch the successful businessman
as he strode across the car park towards the office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Reaching the pedestrian crossing in front of
the office block’s main entrance he stopped and waited for the lights to
change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Looking up at the imposing
structure, seemingly built entirely of glass, he thought back over the last two
months.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He had been unemployed for eighteen
months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both of his credit cards were up
to their limit, he couldn’t even afford the minimum repayment each month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The building society was about to repossess
his house and his wife had been threatening to leave him if he didn't do
something to sort the situation out soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That was when he saw the advert in the local newspaper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A pensions and life assurance company were
looking for salesmen to join their team.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The wage wasn't great but it was a lot more than his benefits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He sent off his CV, attended two assessment
days and, to his surprise, was taken on to start immediately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Things were starting to look up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="color: black;">His first few weeks
were filled with paperwork, various courses and learning the ropes. Now
he was ready to meet the big boss.</span></span><span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px; text-indent: 36pt;">The green man lit up and he crossed
to the other side of the busy road.</span><span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px; text-indent: 36pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px; text-indent: 36pt;">Entering the air-conditioned office building he looked around for
reception.</span><span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px; text-indent: 36pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px; text-indent: 36pt;">A girl in her early twenties
sat behind a chrome and plastic desk.</span><span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px; text-indent: 36pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px; text-indent: 36pt;">The clear perspex sign above her head said "Enquiries" in
white etched letters.</span><span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px; text-indent: 36pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px; text-indent: 36pt;">He approached and
waited for her to finish the phone call she’d taken as he entered the
building.</span><span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px; text-indent: 36pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px; text-indent: 36pt;">As she replaced the handset he
gave his most charming smile.</span><span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px; text-indent: 36pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px; text-indent: 36pt;">"My
name's Martin Nicholson, I'm here to see Mr Peterson."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She returned his smile. "The
lift behind you will take you to the tenth floor; Mr Peterson's office is
straight in front of you."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">"Thanks."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He turned and headed for the lift she
had pointed to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Entering the lift he pressed button ten and listened to the
monotonous piped music for a short while until the doors opened and a disembodied
voice announced, "Tenth floor."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The office Martin emerged into was
light and airy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was lots of chrome
and plastic with natural light flooding in from every angle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just in front of the lift was a desk similar
to reception.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a row of five seats
along one side, it reminded him of a doctor’s waiting room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beyond the desk was a double, natural wooden
door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mr Peterson's office he
presumed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He approached the woman
sitting behind the desk and, once again, gave his most charming smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Martin Nicholson, I'm here to see Mr
Peterson."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">"Take a seat Mr Nicholson and
I'll let him know you're here."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He sat on one of the five seats and
tried not to look too nervous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he
was examining his fingernails for what seemed like the hundredth time, the
wooden doors beyond the desk burst open and a man stormed out of the office and
headed towards the lift.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After pressing
the call button three or four times he impatiently turned towards the
stairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">"Mr Peterson will see you
now."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nicholson jumped out of his
seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was nervous to start with and
that certainly hadn't helped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wiped
his clammy palms on his jacket, picked up his briefcase and headed for the
doors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">"Come in."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The voice was loud, authorative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn't knock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He walked in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The inside of the room was a complete contrast to the decor
outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lots of leather and dark wood
panelling made it look like the library of a grand country house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was the office of a man who considered himself
better than everyone else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On one side of the room was a large
aquarium stocked with all manner of brightly coloured tropical fish; the other was
taken up by a bookshelf and drinks cabinet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Opposite the door was a huge mahogany desk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sitting behind the desk, in a green leather
swivel chair, was the company’s sales director.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Peterson had grey hair and a red face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He was overweight with a red face and, by the looks of him, not too many
years away from a heart attack.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">"Have a seat, Martin."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">"Thank you, Mr Peterson."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He put down his briefcase and sat on the edge
of the smaller, red leather seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I
just want to say how much I’m enjoying my job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ve been looking forward to meeting you since...”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Peterson cut in, "Look Martin, I
won't insult you by beating about the bush.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I'm sure you'll appreciate it if I just come straight to the
point."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nicholson could feel his stomach
churning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn't like the sound of
this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">"The company hasn’t had a very
good year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Profits are down, and in the
current financial climate, our shareholders want to see costs cut."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He started to panic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He could feel the sweat on his back and he
wiped away a bead that was running down his face. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36pt;">"We've
been told that we have to streamline our department and, as you've only been
with us two months...."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He was starting to breathe heavily
and his heart was pounding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">"...I'm afraid I'll have to let
you go."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The words felt like steel talons
ripping into his chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The air rushed from
his lungs and he started to feel faint as his heart was squeezed by an
invisible hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"I need this
job."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His voice was quiet, faltering.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">"We all need our jobs
Martin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm sure you'll find something
else and, of course, if you need a reference..."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">"No!"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The word exploded from him, punctuated by his
fists slamming onto the desk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His eyes
were wide and his breath rasping, spittle beginning to froth at the corners of
his mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ve seen the financial reports.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You got a bonus that was twice my salary, cut
that back.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">"My bonus this year was a lot
lower than last year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve all got to
tighten our belts.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nicholson looked at him with utter
contempt. “You have no idea.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I think you should leave now, Martin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Try and get a grip of yourself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Things aren't as bad as they seem."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nicholson stood up, slowly turned and
headed for the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">"Martin, you've forgotten your
briefcase."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">"Keep it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He threw open the doors, walked through the
outer office and pressed the call button for the lift.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seemed an age before it arrived but he was
determined not to look back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The doors
opened and he stepped in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the doors
closed behind him he sank to his knees as tears of frustration and rage ran
down his face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With his job gone and the economy
wrecked, his house would be repossessed, the credit card companies would be chasing
him for payments and, worse of all, his wife would follow through on her threat
to leave him and take their son with her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His marriage was in trouble already but, he feared, this would be the last
straw. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The lift doors opened on the ground
floor and he slowly got to his feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
woman, about to enter the lift, backed off and stood aside as he headed for the
exit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Back out on the street he needed a
drink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stopping only to buy a half bottle
of vodka, he headed straight to the nearest pub.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">"Double vodka."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nicholson’s head was spinning as he sat on
the barstool.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">"You look like you've had some
bed news."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The barman poured the drink
and placed it on the bar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"You want
a mixer in that?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nicholson threw twenty pounds onto
the bar before emptying his glass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
clear liquid burned as it ran down his throat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He removed his tie and unbuttoned his collar. "Same again, only
this time top it up with tonic."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>"You’re in
a bad way, mate, you should take it easy."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The barman placed the glass of vodka and tonic on the bar and took the
twenty pound note.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nicholson walked over to a table in
the corner by the front window and sat down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He placed his head in his hands and tried to think.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">"You forgot your change,
mate."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The barman put the change onto the
table but Nicholson was in a world of his own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What was he going to do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where
was he going to find another job quickly enough to dig himself out of the hole
he had fallen into?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The car, he still had the keys to his
company car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He drained his glass and
left the bar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He arrived back at the car and opened
the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Throwing the bottle he had
bought onto the passenger seat, he climbed in and turned the engine over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If he went home and acted as though nothing
had happened then he could at least fool his wife for a couple of days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe sell the car and get some money to tide
them over until he found another job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Peterson appeared at the door to the
office and walked over to the car park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He had a reserved slot, of course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His brand new range rover glinted in the sun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He threw his briefcase onto the back seat and
climbed in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Peterson drove away,
Nicholson decided to follow him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Exiting the car park, he pulled in
behind the Range Rover.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He followed as
close as he dare as they drove through the city and out into the suburbs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The houses became larger and more expensive the
further they went.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The four-wheel drive
slowed and pulled into the driveway of a particularly large and expensive
looking detached house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nicholson
stopped at the kerb and watched his former boss park next to an identical car,
his and hers Range Rovers, very nice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">An attractive woman, in her late
forties, and two teenage girls came out of the house to welcome Peterson
home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had everything that Nicholson
didn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had a large house, two nice
cars, a loving family and, most of all, a job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>People like him didn’t understand what it was like living on next to no
money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What it felt like to be unable to
pay bills or provide for your family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He was staring, intently, at the family
reunion when the woman looked over and pointed at him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peterson, recognising him, started walking
down the driveway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Nicholson...What is it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nicholson!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He was aware that he was revving the
engine loudly as the man approached the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Peterson stopped suddenly, sensing a threat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nicholson released the clutch, the wheels
spun and smoked as he sped away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Driving towards the motorway, his
head was full of bad thoughts of how wrong everything had gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn't see the lights change to red.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Driving straight across the junction, he
clipped another car and almost ran down a young girl on a crossing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He tried to brake but the damage had already
been done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over the limit and in no
state to be driving, he kept going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
couldn't afford to be breathalysed now on top of everything else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hearing a siren in the distance he
panicked, weaving through the traffic and accelerating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Joining the motorway he couldn't see any
flashing lights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn't far to his
house, perhaps if his luck held out...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Then he spotted it, a police Volvo
about two hundred yards behind him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keep
calm, stick to the speed limit and they will just go past.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The car’s blue lights came on, maybe it wasn't
him they wanted, keep calm, keep calm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
Volvo pulled in behind him, there was no doubt now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He floored the accelerator.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If he could put some traffic between them he
could come off at the next exit and lay low for a few hours, report the car stolen
or deny moving it from the car park.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He was getting desperate now; he knew
he didn't stand a chance of losing the police.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No job and now he was going to lose his licence at least, probably end
up in prison.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His world was collapsing
around him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Reaching over to the passenger seat
he picked up the bottle of vodka, opened it and took a long drink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was only one thing he could do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He pushed the car to 110mph but the
police were still gaining on him, he didn't have long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The junction was just ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He veered sharply left and onto the slip
road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wasn’t worried about the other
traffic and sped straight across the roundabout, through a red light without
stopping and caused a pile up as three cars slammed on their brakes to avoid
him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">With the sound of horns blaring
behind him Nicholson zigzagged his way through the busy traffic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Blue lights flashing, the police car’s siren
wailed but Nicholson wasn’t stopping now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He went straight through another red light, then another, across a mini
roundabout and turned left into an industrial estate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He sideswiped a parked car as he took the
sharp bend at forty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two more turns and,
with the police car still behind him, he turned into the dead end at the far
side of the estate, the side that bordered the dual carriageway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His only option now was to ditch the car and
run.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The police car screeched to a halt as
Nicholson slammed into the chain link fence at the end of the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shaken and bleeding from a gash on his
forehead he kicked open the door of the BMW.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The first policeman from the patrol car grabbed him but Nicholson was
too fast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Driving the point of his elbow
backwards into the man’s face he dropped him to the floor with blood streaming
from his broken nose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Climbing onto the bonnet of the car,
he vaulted the fence as the second policeman tried to grab his legs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He landed heavily and scrambled up the grass
bank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the other side of the dual
carriageway was a housing estate, a rabbit warren of back yards, gardens and
alleyways for him to hide in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He could
rest for a while and think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He jumped over the crash barrier and stumbled
onto the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The driver of the truck
would later tell police that he did his best to brake and swerve but it was too
late.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any luck that Nicholson had left
had run out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had nowhere to go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At Martin Nicholson’s funeral he was
described as a hard working and loving family man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The police report said that he had suffered some
kind of breakdown and acted totally out of character.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His death was a tragic accident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His former employers sent a wreath
but there was nothing from Peterson.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
didn’t attend or even send a card.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After
all, he wasn’t to blame; everyone was suffering because of the financial crisis.
Weren’t they?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i>BIO:<o:p></o:p></i></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><i>It was while Les Morris was at
school in Cumbria that, inspired and encouraged by his English teacher, he
developed a lifelong love of books and made his first attempts to create his
own stories. At 16 he left school and spent most of the 80s and 90s in the
Royal Navy where reading and writing helped pass the long, often boring, days
and nights at sea. Since then, he has worked in many industries but always
continued to write when time allowed. More recently he started to concentrate
on writing thrillers and had a short story, "Blood on Their Hands",
published in Matt Hilton's anthology "ACTION: Pulse Pounding Tales Volume
1". He is currently working on completing a trilogy of stories involving
the same character. He lives in Cumbria with his wife and children. <a href="http://lesmorris.blogspot.co.uk/">http://lesmorris.blogspot.co.uk/</a><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->
Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12033131935968488175noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-85178736099501619442012-10-31T20:13:00.001+00:002012-10-31T20:13:25.507+00:00LOST SOLES by Angel Zapata<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;">Whilst Halloween creeps and glides, when children roam the streets seeking sustenance for their eternal hunger and our ancestors extend spectral fingers into our memories and souls - something dark... something <i>dangerous </i>awaits. </span><div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Lost Soles</i> by TK'n'C friend, horror writer and poet, Angel Zapata will chill you to the bone. Here is insanity. Here is love. Here lies what horror fiction is made of.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Thrillers Killers 'n' Chillers is proud to give you the winning story in our Halloween Horror Competition 2012.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>LOST SOLES by Angel Zapata</b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The loud bang woke Daniel from a
deep sleep. It had fallen from the shelf again. He crawled out of bed, wandered
into the hallway, and lifted his prize shoe. He examined it for any further
damage. The heel was still broken in the same place and there didn’t appear to
be any scuffing on the old bloodstains.<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">His wife, Josephine had left him
because his morbid collection continued to grow and overtake every surface in
their home. But he hadn’t minded. She had never been interested in what made
him happy.<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Daniel repositioned the leather
pump. He placed it between the half-melted tennis shoe and the pink house
slipper with the bullet hole.<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He began acquiring the footwear
of accident and murder victims simply by chance.<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">His pug, Lightning had taken ill
one night in March. He was barely breathing. Daniel had panicked on his way to
the vet. Ignoring stop signs, he kept his foot jammed on the accelerator. He
crossed Newmantown Road going eighty in a forty-five mile per hour zone. The
oncoming driver, a young woman, barely had time to avoid him before she
swerved, overturned her vehicle, and died holding a broken tree branch through
her chest.<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Daniel hadn’t slowed down.<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Lightning’s gonna have to stay a
couple of days,” Doctor Burke told him. “Gotta say, I don’t think he would have
made it if you hadn’t rushed him in.” The older man smiled and removed his
thick glasses. “You saved your dog’s life.”<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">On his way home, Daniel stopped
at the scene of the accident. The body had been removed and the minivan carted
away. Car debris was scattered everywhere and torn police tape flapped wildly
from a privacy fence post. Guilt threatened to surface, but he quickly pushed
it back down. It was an unfortunate event, nothing more.<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">As he opened the door of his SUV,
he noticed what appeared to be the victim’s black pump lying in the lifeless
grass at his feet. It was caked in dry blood and brown leaves. He felt
compelled to take it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Later at home, after his wife
fell asleep, he snuck down to the garage and popped the trunk. For some unknown
reason, he licked the shoe’s filthy instep. It wasn’t a sexual act. Daniel just
needed to taste the memory of the woman who’d worn it. He wept there alone, the
shoe on his face like an oxygen mask.<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The following Friday, he bought
some screws and plastic anchors to install his first display shelf. He ordered
a police band radio online and spent most of his weeknights and weekends
scanning for tragedy. All of his trophies were stolen from crime scenes and
emergency room red bags. In the span of a month, he obtained a crushed work
boot at an industrial accident site; a masticated sneaker from an illegal
dogfight pit; and a tan deck shoe shredded by a boat propeller.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Occasionally, he’d find the
Cracker Jack surprise of a toe hidden inside one of his treasured collectibles.
He preserved these in a custom-made silver box.<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">In June, there was a preschool
fire across town. There were reports of several children trapped in a classroom
coat closet.<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Daniel returned home covered in
soot and ash.<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Something’s wrong with you,
Danny.” Josephine watched him remove his recent acquisition from a wrinkled
paper bag. “Can’t you see that?”<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“What are you talking about?” He
lifted the smoke-stained toddler shoe by its Velcro strap and set it inside a
glass curio case. “I feel great.”<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“I can’t take much more of this.”
She was crying, pointing at the walls. “Our home is becoming a house of
horrors.”<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Daniel sat down on the couch and
stared at his wife’s feet. “Nice shoes.”<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Josephine took Lightning and
moved in with her brother’s family the following day.<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Daniel cried for his dog.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The next few months were slow.
The authorities had received an anonymous tip that vandals were stealing items
belonging to crime scene victims. Local hospitals tightened security. Daniel
was forced to lay low and wait.<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He attempted to maintain a level
of normalcy and continued to work as an advertising account executive, but it
became increasingly difficult. His relationships and interaction with
colleagues suffered a gradual deterioration. Whenever he was around other
people, he would stare at their feet and conjure up perverse scenarios of pedal
mutilation.<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">They accepted his resignation in
late September.<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">There wasn’t much money left in
his savings account, but the house and car were paid for, and he cancelled the
majority of unnecessary utility services.<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Most of his time was spent
cataloguing his collection and listening to the police scanner.<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">On October thirtieth, a young
woman was discovered naked and unconscious in a downtown alley by the Hindshaw
Hotel. The rape suspect had not been apprehended. Detectives had spent several
hours searching the area for evidence.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The following evening, Halloween
night, Daniel arrived at the alleyway’s entrance dressed as a vampire. On the sidewalk,
a fat princess and a scrawny goblin looked up from their shopping bags of
treats and waved at him.<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He flashed them his plastic
fangs. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The bright beam of his heavy-duty
flashlight sent roaches and rats scurrying along the narrow passageway. He rummaged
within and beside the green dumpsters, but found no discarded clothing or
shoes. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Damn!” He threw an empty beer
bottle against the wall, then scrunched down, defeated, near the broken glass.
He switched off his light. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Five minutes of silence were
interrupted by muffled screams. Two shadows entered the alley at Daniel’s
right. One was dragging the other. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Shut your mouth, bitch,” the
male voice hissed. He threw the woman to the ground. “Damn, it’s gonna feel so
good inside you.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Daniel pressed himself further
into concealment. He pulled his costume’s cape over his head.<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“No cop’s gonna guess I’d come
back and do it again in the same mutha-fuckin’ place.” The man tore the woman’s
dress off. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Daniel couldn’t make out any of
the man’s facial features, but estimated his black Converse at roughly a size
eleven.<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“I don’t mind if you squirm.” The
rapist pulled out a knife and cut the woman’s bra between her breasts. She
struggled, but he flipped her and pushed her head down onto the concrete. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Daniel slowly rose to his
feet. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The rapist sucked in a breath and
tugged at the woman’s panties. “Here comes the monster.”<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“The monster is already here,”
Daniel said behind him and split the bastard’s skull with his flashlight. The
man crumpled to the side. Daniel straddled him and beat him until his brains
poured out.<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The woman’s eyes were bruised and
swollen. She was barely conscious, but moaned in fear when Daniel touched her.<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Don’t worry,” he told her
gently, “I won’t hurt you.” He untied his cape and draped it over her.<b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He located the knife and used it
to leave a message.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The November first news article
stated the woman was in serious, but stable condition at an undisclosed
location. The suspected rapist was pronounced dead at the scene. Authorities
were seeking a third party in connection to the incident who may or may not
have been able to shed light on some of the questions they had. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">There was no mention of the words
Daniel had carved into the man’s back or his missing running shoes. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">*</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Time crept by. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Christmas week granted him the
gift of a charred Santa boot plucked from a chimney flue.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Shortly after New Year’s, Daniel
was served with divorce papers. Josephine had claimed emotional damage. He set
them aside and focused his energy on the task at hand. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">A trip to a local fashion museum
exposed him to a world of shoes he sought to possess. He was really hoping to
stumble upon something rare, yet realized a Lancashire clog or medieval
turn-shoe reproduction would be an impossible find. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">His kept his fingers crossed. It
didn’t improve his luck. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">During the Easter holiday, he
encountered something strange. At some point in the wee hours of morning, he
would hear footsteps in his dark home. Sometimes they clicked or shuffled,
squeaked or swished; but regardless, he was alone in the house and it shouldn’t
have been possible. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He grabbed the baseball bat he
kept propped on the side of his headboard and slowly opened the bedroom door.
No intruder was found roaming the halls or hidden in closets. The only evidence
he could confirm as real was the shoe lying on the floor. Often, it was
recovered in a different room, one he hadn’t placed it in. It was almost as if
that particular woman’s shoe had been walking about on its own. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Over the next week, he installed
several closed circuit cameras throughout the house and locked himself in a
bedroom aglow with stacked monitors. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">In late March, on the last night
of his life, he was reading the paper at his desk when that same loud bang
startled him. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Toward the bottom left monitor
screen, there was a woman standing in the dark hallway. Her back was to the
camera. Black hair fell to her shoulders and the hem of her black dress reached
the floor. She slowly bent down, lifted the black pump from the floor, and
dropped it again. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“I knew it,” Daniel seethed.
“Damn you, Josephine.” Eager to confront his soon-to-be ex-wife, he swung
open the bedroom door and switched on the light. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The hallway was deserted. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Josephine?” His voice was barely
audible. “Are you fuckin’ with me?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Silence. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">With his heart racing, he
searched the house. The locks on all the windows and doors were secure. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">On his way back through the
hallway, he picked up the leather pump. It had belonged to that minivan woman
whose death he’d caused. Something told him it wasn’t a coincidence. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Maybe you’ve come back to settle
the score, huh?” He sneered and flicked off the hall light. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">His home erupted in maniacal
laughter. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Daniel spun at the doorway,
screamed, and dropped the black pump. A woman hobbled in the darkness. One foot
tiptoed inaudibly as the other clacked against the laminate flooring. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Shit!” Daniel toppled backwards
and jerked himself through the bedroom door. “I didn’t mean for you to
die.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The woman paused before her
fallen shoe. She raised the hem of her dress, extended her leg, and stuffed her
cold, dead foot inside. She stood there, swollen in shadows, and snapped her
teeth. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Sweet Jesus.” Above Daniel’s
head, the light bulbs in the ceiling fan flickered into blackness. From behind
him, cold hands slid around his neck. “I’m so sorry,” he sobbed. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The woman began to squeeze the
air from his lungs. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">In his final moments, Daniel
looked down at the Converse on his feet and wondered what had possessed him to
wear the shoes of a rapist. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">*</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">After the funeral, Josephine and
her boyfriend, Trey gathered all the shoes Daniel had collected. They piled
them into a rusted oil drum and burned them with gasoline in his
backyard. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Your ex was one sick bastard.”
Trey tossed his cigarette butt into the flames. “I mean, stealing from the
dead?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“I can’t imagine.” Josephine
shrugged her shoulders and shivered. “Danny must have really gone
insane.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“You think he hurt anyone?” Trey
wrapped his arms around her. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“I don’t know.” Josephine broke
away from him. “Let’s just get out of here.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">They drove back to their
apartment in silence. Josephine was plagued with visions of horror. She just
couldn’t understand how Daniel did that to himself. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The official report listed it as
death by airway obstruction. Daniel had choked to death. But beside his corpse,
an empty silver box had lain open. And very few people knew what was removed
from Daniel’s body. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Toes,” the medical examiner had
revealed. “His throat was filled with the mummified toes of a dozen different
feet.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">_______________________________________</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bio</b>: Angel Zapata knows he’ll one day wear dead man’s shoes, but he’s in no hurry to try them on. Recently published fiction and poetry can be read at Every Day Poets, Bewildering Stories, MicroHorror, The Bradburyesque Quarterly, Devilfish Review, Mused, Microw, and From the Depths at Haunted Waters Press. Visit him at <a href="http://arageofangel.blogspot.com/">http://arageofangel.blogspot.com</a>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
Lily Childshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15861288507716873813noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-13670399414710699942012-10-30T21:02:00.000+00:002012-10-30T21:09:44.329+00:00GABRIEL'S REFLECTION by A J Humpage<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;">A J Humpage terrifies me - on a regular basis, or at least her incredible fiction does. Her Halloween Horror offering, <i>Gabriel's Reflection</i> captured all the TK'n'C editors' imaginations and made it to first runner-up position in this year's competition.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">AJ has an uncanny way of touching our vulnerable spots, feeding our fears and making us face reality. Human horror or supernatural; <i>Gabriel's Reflection</i> will leave you asking questions.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>GABRIEL'S REFLECTION by A J Humpage</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The last ribbons
of sunlight dipped behind the trees in the distance, winked with sensual allure
between twisted, gnarled branches lining the roadside and reflected across
Gabriel Henshaw’s worn face. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He kept a steady
hand on the steering wheel and speed dialled his wife.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The road ahead
stretched far into the distance. Wheat fields to his left wavered in
the breeze and seemed to beckon the approaching darkness. To his right, a raft
of bright yellow rape soaked up the remaining shards of sunlight.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The line rang
out.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Gabe always rang
to let Amy know if he was running late from work because she didn’t like to
start dinner without him.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Hey,’ he said,
when she answered. ‘Sorry love, the meeting overran. I’m on my way
home.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘That’s
okay. I’m just starting dinner,’ she said.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘I’ll be twenty
minutes, max.’</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Good, I’ll
have a glass of red waiting for you.’ </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He smiled, popped
the phone back in his pocket. A rusty hue crept across his face and
coloured his eyes; the last of the sunlight inked the sky, which had darkened
considerably in the few moments he’d been talking to his wife, and now a deep
unearthly red tint pressed against the landscape. Fresh air grazed
his skin through the open window.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Up ahead,
Gabe noticed a car parked near the verge, the hood up. Normally he would have
stopped to help, but he was overly late and he just wanted to get home to
Amy. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He noticed the
car was a Range Rover, like his own car. He peered at the figure hunched over
the engine, caught a glimpse of a man dressed in a smart dark suit, although he
couldn’t make out the driver’s
features. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Gabe didn’t stop
and continued driving. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He pondered the
speed of the fading light, flicked the headlights on.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Coiled, eerie
shapes of trees drifted in and out of view as the lights grazed across them,
while the grey-tinted road slowly unravelled before him.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He’d never known
the darkness to descend so quickly, especially when not more than ten minutes
ago the sun had brightened the landscape.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He eased down on
his speed. The road ahead
curved. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Gabe knew the
roads well; he travelled along them every day to and from work. He knew each
bend, each dip and incline, and yet the encroaching darkness seemed to make
them appear quite different from daylight and he failed to recognise the road
ahead. It curved into a sharp bend before eventually
straightening. Large trees on either side of the road formed an
enclosed, narrow space. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He felt the
fractious trickle of adrenaline in his guts, didn’t recognise this stretch of
road.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The tree-lined
avenue continued for some time until the car eventually emerged from the cover
of the trees. The darkness seemed heavier now and pressed against the windows,
the hint of light all but gone in the space of a few minutes. He must have
made a wrong turn somewhere.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He pulled over,
stopped the car and retrieved the phone from his shirt pocket. He flicked
through the call log. He’d made the call to his wife at 8.05pm. He glanced at
the time on the dashboard.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was 8.10pm. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">An earthy,
deciduous scent laced the air. Darkness pressed against him, eager and
intrusive, and from somewhere he heard the hum of an approaching car.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He looked in the
rear view mirror, saw lights in the distance. They grew brighter as they edged
closer, at speed. Gabe recognised the shape - a Range Rover like the
one he’d seen moments earlier by the roadside.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">His eyes
twitched. The lights grazed across the inside of the car, blurred
his vision. Then passed. He watched as the car raced ahead into the
distance.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Curious, he tried
following the Range Rover, but it easily accelerated away from him and vanished
into the thickening
maw.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">A spot of rain
spattered against the windscreen, distracted him. Then another. And
another. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The rain came fast
then, grew heavier and blurred into one to warp the windscreen into a
shimmering vision, like heat rising.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He switched on
the windscreen wipers, raced through the gloom, until distorted, coloured
reflections broke through the darkness ahead of him and he hit the brakes.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was the Range
Rover.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Adrenaline
squirted into his stomach; apprehension raced up his throat, but he tried to
push it back into the pit of his stomach.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The large 4 x 4
pulled away again, continued forward at a steady pace, as though teasing
Gabe. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He then noticed
the license plate. He blinked as though caught in a momentary camera flash;
eyes dilated as though soaking up the blackness around him. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Skin drained to
white.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He had not
imagined it. <i>Couldn’t believe it.</i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The car in front
had the same license plate as Gabe’s car.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He stared in
strained disbelief. He followed the car until it reached an intersection. After
a momentary pause, the car moved forward and turned completely around so that
it was facing Gabe.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Through his rain
streaked windscreen he saw the contours of a face appearing through the dark,
glaring back at him.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Gabe watched;
skin pulsed. He reached for his phone.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The car
approached. The driver faced Gabe. Smiled. But
it was humourless and black and forged with a demented sheen.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Gabe dropped the
phone, felt his insides spasm. The man in the Range Rover had the same dark
eyes, same expression, same square jaw line and same dark hair as Gabe.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Same car, same
clothes. Same face. Everything, the same. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>A reflection</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Gabe was staring
at <i>himself</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">His heart
stuttered. Stomach and guts contracted, almost pushing the fear through his
anus. ‘<i>Christ.</i>..’</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The black car
vanished into the burgeoning darkness, curtained by the rain.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He leaned
forward, found the phone and dialled his wife. His mouth felt like the bottom
of a sandpit. ‘Amy, you won’t believe what just happened to
me. I just seen myself, I swear to God, it was me.’</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Gabe, what are you talking about?’</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘I just saw myself driving my car, it was me,
and he smiled right at me. I swear to God.’</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Gabe, calm down. What exactly do you
mean?’</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘I saw <i>me</i>. Driving <i>my</i> car,
like a reflection, only it wasn’t a reflection, he was real, solid.’</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Amy’s voice
sounded rational in his ear. ‘You sound tired,
Gabe.’ </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘But it was me. I
saw <i>me</i>.’</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘You think you did,’ she said. ‘The mind plays
tricks when we’re tired. You probably saw someone who looks almost like you.’</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘But I know what I saw. The car had the exact
same license plate. Explain that.’</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘It sounds like you’ve had a tiring day. Sometimes
we see things that aren’t there.’ </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">A
pause. Then, ‘He was a doppelganger. That’s supposed to be a bad
omen isn’t it? I mean <i>really</i> bad...’</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘You don’t
believe that rubbish do you? It was someone who looks a bit like
you. Now calm down, okay? Tell me all about it when you get home.
Just relax and drive carefully.’</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Her words drifted
into the sullen silence. ‘Okay...’ He hung up, sat quite still for a
moment, contemplated what he’d seen, or <i>thought</i> he’d
seen. Maybe Amy was right, he was tired, perhaps his mind was
mocking him with insolent concision.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He breathed deep,
glanced at the road sign to his left, just visible through the murk. His
expression drooped.<span style="text-indent: 0cm;"> He saw that he was not lost at all, but merely
two miles from home.</span></span><br />
<span style="text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Frustrated, he
accelerated away into the darkness.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">* * *</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Ochre
streetlights highlighted the rain.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He slipped the
key into the lock, opened the front door. He stepped inside. Shadows
instantly retreated.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Dinner smelled
good.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He closed the
door. Slow footsteps crept across the tiled floor. His shadow slithered into
the kitchen. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Amy turned from
the counter. ‘There’s a glass of wine on the counter. You Okay? You sounded so
anxious on the phone. You must have seen someone who was the
spitting image of you.’</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘I did.’ He lifted the wine glass,
sniffed the aroma.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Dinner won’t be long, then you can tell me
all about it,’ she said, turning back to the julienne carrots. ‘We all have
someone that looks like us, so don’t worry about that urban myth about seeing
your doppelganger. Honestly, Gabe, don’t believe that mumbo jumbo.’</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘You don’t believe it’s true?’ he asked, voice
strangely detached.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘No, seeing your double doesn’t mean you die,
Gabe.’</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He moved across
the kitchen towards her. Silent. Like a malignant shadow oozing from the fabric
of the umbra. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He stopped at the
knife stand, lifted the fillet knife. ‘No more working late for
me...’</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She chided away
his words, didn’t look up. ‘You always say that.’</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘I mean it. It’s time for a change.’ He edged
closer to her, sniffed her scent and touched her waist. He dropped
his voice to a barely audible rasp. ‘I’ve waited a long time for this. A
very <i>long</i> time. And now I want enjoy my new life.’</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She half
turned. ‘What new life?’</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">His eyes
solidified. ‘The one your husband gave to me.’ </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘What, I-’</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The blade found
its way under her jaw and sliced through her skin and oesophagus in a clean,
hard, powerful thrust. A raspy gasp of air rattled from deep within
her lungs, drowned in the velvety blood spilling from the gash like an overflowing
cup.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Amy’s blood
warmed his fingers as she dribbled. Her pulse pumped hard beneath
her skin, veins swelled and slithered with panic.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She struggled in
his grip, but then wilted quickly against his strength.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He pushed down on
the blade and sawed through muscle and tendon. Her eyes rolled in her sockets
as pain scratched across her nerves; mouth contorted and rippled in a silent
scream, arms dangled, limp.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The blade reached
her spine, rubbed against the bone. He pulled her partially severed
head from her shoulders, tore the skin.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She twitched in
his arms, mouth moved with invisible words. Frightened eyes still
moved.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He smiled at her,
but it was an empty, emotionless gesture. He let go and she dropped
to the floor, her head flopping down across her chest by a thin sliver of
muscle.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She watched her
blood spill across the floor, then saw him admire his reflection in the window.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He removed his
blood sodden coat, straightened his tie and then left the kitchen before the
finality of her blackness descended.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">* * *</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Droplets splashed
onto Gabe’s alabaster face and raced down his cheek, but he couldn’t feel it;
he couldn’t feel the coolness against his skin. The rain drummed softly against
his torso, muffled against his soaked shirt.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">A flash of light
brightened the scene momentarily. A wrecked car; mangled metal wrapped around a
tree stump, windows shattered. Thunder rolled through churning clouds.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Another flash.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Gabe had no
recollection of slewing the car across the road and colliding with the tree,
nor the tremendous force that had punctured his head.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The only thing he
knew right then was the raw, stricken fear clawing at him. He had reached up,
felt the strange shape of his skull. He realised with frightening clarity that
the force of impact had partially smashed his head and now he cradled the
remains of his brain as the minutes of oblivion approached.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He felt a
peculiar kind of warmth inch across his chest and shoulders, didn’t know what
it was, he couldn’t see.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He wanted to
scream, but couldn’t. He wanted to stop his blood spilling out across the road,
but couldn’t. The rain smothered his last moments.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">And despite his
shattered head, his only thought was of the man he’d seen: <i>Himself</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Another flash
ripped across the landscape. The clouds rumbled.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Gabe realised
then, just before the blackness came, what the terrible omen of seeing his
double truly meant. <span style="text-indent: 0cm;">His wife had been wrong. </span><i style="text-indent: 0cm;">Everyone</i><span style="text-indent: 0cm;"> had
a doppelganger. A true reflection. Gabe had seen his.</span></span><br />
<span style="text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">And death always followed.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">_________________________________</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bio:</b> A J Humpage has short stories and poetry published in anthologies like 6 Sentences, Pill Hill Press, Static Movement and many e-zines. She dispenses writing advice at <a href="http://allwritefictionadvice.blogspot.com/">http://allwritefictionadvice.blogspot.com</a> and is on Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/ajhumpage">@AJHumpage</a> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Her first novel, <i>Blood of the Father</i>, is available on Amazon Kindle.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
Lily Childshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15861288507716873813noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-30243993261900402582012-10-29T20:58:00.000+00:002012-10-29T21:00:57.504+00:00THE PERFECT WIFE by Allan Watson<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;">To perpetuate your horror happiness we bring you the second of the two joint runner up stories in one night! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This time Allan Watson bids you welcome to his world, and invites you to share <i>The Perfect Wife</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Allan first graced TK'n'C's stage back in June with his wicked tale <i>The Red Devil</i>; when I saw his name in the list of competition entrants I hoped his story would tickle me as much as the last one. I wasn't disappointed - and neither were my fellow editors.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>THE PERFECT WIFE by Allan Watson</b></span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">You can find anything on the
internet these days. Web pages with lists of household cleaning products that,
when combined with plant food and a glass jar full of nails, transform into
lethal bombs. Experts who’ll happily show you the ten most reliable ways to
commit suicide. League tables (with starred rankings) informing the browser
which plane crashes yielded the highest number of fatalities. There are sites
out there in darkest cyberspace whose only purpose is to educate the public on the
best ways to amputate their own toes, groom children, inject heroin, or even
grow their own anthrax spores. But what I was looking for was something more
specialised. I wanted to create the perfect wife.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I already had a wife called Clara
and she was nice enough, a slim brunette with better than average legs. But
there’s always room for improvement, isn’t there? Clara’s voice for instance.
There was something definitely shrill and shrewish in her tone when she
nagged. <i>Howard, when are you going to get a decent job? Howard,
remember to clean the shower. Howard, when was the last time you cut those
horrible toe-nails?</i> Yes, indeed. Definitely room for improvement.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">What I needed was an
on-line <i>e-Grimoire</i>, something that would instruct me on how to make
her more docile, more compliant, and much less lippy. I’d read about this
Italian Count from the Middle-Ages who was supposed to have murdered his five
wives and brought them back to life as obedient, servile companions, happy to
indulge his every whim and need. But I had no idea how to accomplish this. I
spent weeks checking through hundreds of websites dealing with black magic and
necromancy but most of them were either written by deluded cranks or
over-imaginative teenagers. I then posted requests on likely-looking message
boards and chat-rooms and finally got a reply from someone called <i>Baal666</i>.
He asked me lots of questions, probably to find out if I was serious or not,
then finally sent me a link to a page on a website called <i>Necrobyte</i>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Sure enough, what I needed was
right there on the screen and I wrote everything down with a feverish, shaking
hand. And just as well I did, because the web site crashed my computer after
five minutes. It didn’t just wipe the hard-drive, it somehow made my
motherboard catch fire and caused my monitor to implode in a shower of blue
sparks. But I had what I needed and all I had to do was carefully follow the
instructions. The first step, of course, was to murder my wife. I did this by
crushing a handful of sleeping pills and putting them into the warm milk Clara
drank every night before going to bed. Once she was snoozing well and good, I
taped her hands to the headboard, tied a plastic bag around her head, and
simply waited until she suffocated.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The next stage I won’t go into
too much detail over. It involved dumping Clara in the bath, cutting her open,
draining away the blood, then removing all those eel-like, blue and purple
innards normally best kept away from the light of day. When the job was
complete I did as the instructions said and stuffed Clara full of sawdust,
goose-feathers and horse-hair, then stitched her up with thick black twine. My
needlework isn’t so good and a trail of sawdust kept leaking out when I moved
her back into the spare room, so I used superglue to fix the troublesome loose
seams.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Then came the anointing with
unguents. The list of ingredients looked initially daunting, but the author had
appended an alternative list of essential oils containing things like sweet
almond, juniper, magnesium, and marjoram, all easily obtainable from the Body
Shop. These had to be heated to a certain temperature, then mixed in a certain
order with a scattering of graveyard dirt before being rubbed over my dead
wife’s skin. The standard arcane mumbo-jumbo stuff was involved here, chanted
incantations, burning candles and waving my hands in the air to create
pentagrams and inverted triangles. The whole operation lasted three whole hours
but finally everything was done. Except for one omission. There was the small
matter of spilling my own blood as a tribute to Lucifer, but I thought that was
just a touch too theatrical.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I got myself a stiff drink and
enjoyed just sitting there admiring my new, much-improved, perfect wife. There
was no animation at that point – the <i>e-Grimoire</i> claimed it
would be at least two full days before she was back on her feet and ready to do
some cooking and cleaning. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t put her to other
uses. Putting on some smoochy Michael Buble music, I hauled her up and whirled
her around the room. She didn’t weigh much to start with, but now filled with
only sawdust, feathers, and horse-hair she practically weighed nothing at all.
It amused me to think how much she would have hated this. Clara was one of the
few women in creation who hated dancing. Every time we went to a party it would
always be me urging her to get up and shake her stuff, but she never did. As I
swung her up and down in time to the music I nuzzled my mouth close to Clara’s
ear, telling her how much I loved her and how beautiful she looked. Then with
one last graceful pirouette I swept her off to bed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Making love that night with Clara
was like nothing I had experienced before. We did things the old Clara would
never have consented to. Dirty things, sick even. And not once did she mutter a
word of complaint. I loved the sharp contrast between the burning rage in my
groin as it ground into her own cool, vapid sex. When I was spent, I carried
her back to the spare room, sat her in a chair and wished her goodnight.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The following day I left her much
to her own devices. I slept late and only visited the spare room once to anoint
her with the oils as per the instructions for the ritual. I wondered how much
of the old Clara would survive. Would she be capable of normal speech? Would I
have to teach her how to cook and use the vacuum cleaner? I hoped not as my own
cooking wasn’t up to much and cleaning has never been one of my strong points.
I did however have to get rid of the unwanted offal I’d removed from Clara.
These sweetbreads I tied in plastic bin liners and then spent a large part of
the day driving around town, dropping them off at various locations. I was
dog-tired when I returned home, and after eating a cheese sandwich for dinner I
went to bed alone.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I awoke in the middle of the night
to find Clara lying beside me. I switched on the bedside lamp, excited by the
possibility of her early reanimation, but she just lay there stiff and
unresponsive, her skin cold and dry to the touch. When I tried speaking to her,
asking how she was feeling, she stubbornly remained silent. Too tired to puzzle
it out, I switched off the light, made diffident love to her, and fell into a
dreamless sleep. In the morning her side of the bed was empty, but on the
bedside table there was a note that simply said, ‘<i>Tonight xx’</i>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I checked through the ritual’s
instructions again but it never mentioned anything about intermittent
reanimation. Then again, I imagine everyone reacted differently to coming back
from the dead. In the back of my mind I worried slightly that my omission of a
blood sacrifice to Lucifer may have brought about some yet unknown
side-effects, but it was too late to do anything about it. I made frequent
trips to the spare room that day hoping to catch Clara by surprise, but each
time I entered the room she was in the exactly the same position where I’d left
her in the chair. I made a few small repairs to the stitching on her torso
where some of the black twine had worked loose and I brushed off a small pool
of sawdust and feathers that had gathered in her lap before applying the oils.
The pungent scent which at first had smelled (and tasted) mysterious and exotic
was now cloying and sickly.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">After another makeshift meal of
cheese sandwiches and a bottle of beer, I decided to make a special effort for
Clara’s return to the living. I took a long soak in the bath before shaving and
liberally spraying myself with after-shave she had given me at Xmas. In the
bedroom I put on a clean shirt and dressed in my best suit, then nipped out to
the supermarket to buy a bunch of wilting roses and a budget priced bottle of
champagne. The flowers went into a vase and the champagne into an ice bucket. I
stoked up the hi-fi with Michael Buble and sat back to await my perfect wife.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">After two hours I had finished
off the champagne and the music had long since come to an end. Even the roses
seemed to have visibly wilted a few more degrees. I was on the point of dozing
off when I heard the sound of bumps and muted crashes coming from the spare
room down the hall. I sat up straight and listened carefully as Clara took her
first fledgling steps into her new life. The bumps and bangs continued for ten
minutes before I finally heard the spare room door open and soft slithering
footsteps approach the lounge.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Clara eventually came stumbling
into view and I almost burst out laughing at her clumsy attempts to dress
herself. She’d pulled on a cardigan back to front with her bra twisted over the
top, as well as an old pair of paint-splattered jeans that she only kept for
gardening or decorating. The laughter stuck in my throat however when she
lurched to within a few feet of me and I noticed she was carrying a small
valise with badly packed garments leaking out the sides.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">‘Clara, where on earth do you
think you’re going?’ I asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Her pale face contorted into a
ghost of a bitter smile. ‘I’m leaving you, Howard’ she slurred.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">That was when I noticed what she
was holding in her other hand. It seemed that before Clara had slid into my bed
the night before, she’d also made a trip to the kitchen. Clutched between her
pale fingers was a long, serrated carving knife.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Before I could react, she had
thrust the knife into my chest causing me to tip over the chair and knock over
the vase of roses as I crashed to the floor. As I lay there watching my life-blood
spread across the carpet to revitalise the petals of the half-dead blooms, I
realised I was paying that blood tribute to Lucifer after all. Then, faintly
through the harshly hissing static filling my head, I heard the crooning of
Michael Buble start up again. Slowly, oh so slowly, I managed to turn my head a
few inches and saw a wondrous sight.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Clara was dancing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">____________________________________</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bio</b>: Allan Watson is a writer whose work leans towards the dark and disturbing realms of the fiction spectrum. He is the author of four novels and two collections of short stories.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Lily Childshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15861288507716873813noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-81773788907316912812012-10-29T19:50:00.000+00:002012-10-29T19:50:27.718+00:00THE GRANNY FARMER by Lee Hughes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;">Just three days until Halloween, and here is the first joint runner-up story in the Thrillers Killers 'n' Chillers Halloween Horror competition, <i>The Granny Farmer</i> by Lee Hughes.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It's great to see Lee's work on the circuit again; his unique interpretations and insights always make for terrifying horror, with a twist of humour that is all his own. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When I judged all the stories, I scribbled notes on the manuscripts as I went through. On <i>The Granny Farmer</i>, I wrote a single word 'Superb'. I'm sure you'll agree...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>THE GRANNY FARMER by Lee Hughes</b></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Will Bennett's hand shook as he
pulled out the bottle of scotch. He gulped it down fast and poured another, his
hand a little steadier. He cried a little, drank a little more. Four-hundred
grand, it'd only started out as a twenty-thousand pound loan for some gambling
debts he'd racked up. He'd lost that too. In-between the cash losses he'd lost
his wife, his home, everything and was still left with a debt that kept getting
bigger and bigger until the lender had sent some heavies around to his premises
to let him know that the next step was the breaking of bones. Those goons had
just left. Will drained his glass and went to the window. He couldn't call it a
shop any more, there was no stock, no money to buy anything with, collectors
had black-marked him and the landlord was working on eviction. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The phone rang,
he ignored it. After the dozenth ring it was clear they weren't going to give
up. He lifted the receiver. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Hello?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Bennett's Antiques?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Yeah.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“You probably don't remember me but you use to
act as an agent for my late husband, George Milliner.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Yeah, he remembered George
Milliner, he hadn't been in touch for nearly a decade, long before everything had turned to shit. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">“What can I do for you Mrs. Milliner?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Before he passed he wished for
me to sell off his collections to ensure I needn't worry about finances.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Will was about to tell her that
there wasn't much he could do due to his predicament. Then he thought better of it, an opportunity like this would
never come around again. “Sure, when would you like me to come around?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Whenever is convenient.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Later on this afternoon?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“That'd be great, thanks.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Will hung up the phone and made
another quick call to let the 'man' know that he was going to be good for the cash.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">*</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Seeing the large house again
brought back memories of when he was a new face to the game, but one that was earning a hell of a reputation for getting decent prices for collectors. Now he was in his late forties and
whiskey ridden.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He rang the bell and waited. He'd
only met Mrs. Milliner a couple of times and those had been fleeting. <span style="text-indent: 0cm;">She opened the door and smiled.
The ten years hadn't been too rough on her, then again ageing never seemed to
have the same effect on the rich as it did the poor. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Glad you could come at such
short notice.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">
She stepped back to let Will pass. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Would you like a drink, Mr.
Bennett?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“I'd love one, call me Will.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Then I'm Lydia. Tea, coffee,
something stronger?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“A scotch would do the trick.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“I'll show you through to the
sitting-room whilst I fix it for you.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">That was another thing he liked
about the elite rich class, drink-driving never seemed to be frowned upon.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">*</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He mooched about the room,
recognising a few of the items. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">“Mrs. Milliner, sorry, Lydia, which items were you thinking of selling?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“All of them, apart from a few
trinkets that mean the most to me. This old house is just too big for me on my
own.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Granny-Farming was one of the
worst things you could do in the antiques business. Ripping off vulnerable old widows was frowned upon in any business, but sometimes, it was either rules or legs that had to be
broken. He took a big gulp of his drink leaving it practically empty in the
hopes that Mrs. Milliner offered to refresh it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Well, if it's okay with you
I'll have a look around, make some notes on a few items, work out some
evaluations for the auctions.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Of course, I'll get you another
drink.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">*</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">As he wandered he made two sets
of notes, one with a low price to show Lydia, the second with the real price it
would fetch. He'd only had a gander through half of the house and his figures showed he could skim enough to pay back his debt and still have a bit left over. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He was holding a rather fabulous
large Italian Maiolica twin-handled vase up to the light. Six-hundred and fifty quid to her and a healthy two-grand
for his hip pocket. As he was setting it down he heard a polite cough from
behind him. He turned and Lydia was there with a decent two thumbs worth
of scotch in his glass. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She passed him the glass. “Do you
think you'll have trouble selling the items?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“It won't be an overnight thing,
but I can get a lot of the items on the go and then we'll stagger the rest over the next month or so, don't want to
flood the market, does that sound all right to you?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“What's another couple of months - I've lived here practically all my life.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He took another gulp. The scotch
really was top of the range stuff, made a nice change from the gut-rot he'd had to drink of late. He tried to say
something else but his tongue was asleep in his mouth and wouldn't rouse. He
made a couple of noises that could have been vowels as the room began to spin,
the floor tilted and he fell towards the ceiling as everything went dark.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">*</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">His head was pounding, no
hangover had ever felt as bad as this and his mouth was as dry as Ghandi's
flip-flop. He tried to think where he was. It was becoming a habit waking up
some place he shouldn't. He remembered, it was one of the rooms in the
late George Milliner's house. He recalled the events leading up to the
darkness. He'd been looking at antiques, drinking good scotch galore and then
the room spinning. He tried to sit up. His arms wouldn't move, they were behind
him and bound. He groaned, had he been arrested?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Hello?” he called, dry and
raspy. “Mrs. Milliner?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He was surprised when he gained
an answer. “Coming, be there in a minute.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He wiggled his way around so he
could see the door. It was open a good few inches. The gap between door and
jamb became filled with Mrs. Milliner. Her body and features became whole as she pushed open the door. She
was smiling.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Will, I hope I can still call
you that after what's happened?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Huh?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Leaving you sprawled on the
floor like litter. I'm just not as strong as I used to be, otherwise I'd have lifted you up onto the chaise longue. All I
could do was put on the restraints and leave you where you were until you came
to.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“The police?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Oh, they can't help you.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He wasn't expecting them to help
him. “I'm not following.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“It's been six years since my
husband’s illness began. We soon learned that no amount of money can fix some
things. This...” she showed him what looked like a carved bone. “and another
like it were the last things he ever bought. Do you recognise it?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She wafted
it closer to his face but Will was still stumped, he'd never seen anything like
it. There was nothing flashy about it, ornate yes, not ivory, just plain old
bone, long and carved. Looked as though it might have had the marrow removed as
there were stoppers in either end. He quickly evaluated it and reckoned he
wouldn't pay over a tenner for one.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She answered for him. “It's a
Soul-Bone, shamans use them to capture souls at death, stops the spirits of
evil-doers from returning to cause bedlam. George bought them from a shaman, I
thought George was a bigger crackpot than the seller. Funny how things turn
out.” She wiggled the Soul-Bone. “I used this as George performed his death-rattle.
Sucked his soul right up into it.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Huh?” His new favourite word.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Open wide, Papa's got a brand
new bag.” </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">She tore out one of the stoppers and jammed the rim of the bone to his lips and twisted making his lips bleed. She applied more pressure, driving the bone against his teeth.
Will kept them clamped. Lydia pinched his nose and bided her time. With a gasp
his mouth opened far enough and she thrust the bone in deep, past his
gag-reflex and a little bit more to boot. She unstopped the other end and blew
like it was a trumpet. She sank back onto the deep shag and panted. Patting her
pockets, trying to find her angina spray. The struggle had taken everything out
of her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She sprayed under her tongue and
watched as Will Bennett convulsed on her carpet, spraying spittle that landed
and sank into the weave.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Whatever electricity was arcing
through him and causing him to fit subsided and the body went still. Her heart was calming, she went over to the static body on hands and knees.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She reached out and gently shook
his shoulder. He opened his eyes and focused. He opened his mouth and exhaled,
the breath misty in the air and rancid as rot. “Liddy?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Her eyes widened and her mouth
cracked into a grin. “Georgie!” She hugged him and his face worked itself into
a grin much like a foot trying on a new shoe, testing it for roominess. “Your turn.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">*</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">George plied his wife with drugs,
enough to overdose a horse and waited. Her pulse slowed, wavered and ground to
a halt. He lifted the bone to her lips and began to gently suck. Once hopeful
he'd captured her essence he put the stoppers in. His wife's body was dead, he closed
her eyes with his fingertips. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">There was no mourning to be done.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was just dead meat.<br />
<br />
He went to where Liddy had left the cleaning girl unconscious. He hadn't been
sure that his wife would be capable of these tasks, he was glad he'd been
proven wrong. He was young again, late forties, but that was better than late
sixties and on the fade. In a few minutes he would have his wife back and she
would no longer be sixty, she'd be young and strong again. George was looking
forward to taking his new wife for a sexual spin.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">*</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He watched her eyes open and a
smile rise like the tide upon her face.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Liddy?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Georgie?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“We did it.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“We did.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Liddy let him help her stand.
They stood for a long moment eyeing each other up. George broke the silence first. “This is going to take some time to get used to.”<br />
<br />
“I'd like to stretch my new legs.” She ended with a giggle and a twirl.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">*</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It seemed sunnier outside as they
held hands and walked down the steps towards the sprawling lawns. The sound of a vehicle travelling fast up their
gravelled road cause them to pause and turn. A white transit van was hurtling
towards the house. It came to a screeching halt, spitting up gravel in every
direction. The side door slid open and two men jumped out, both in boiler-suits
and balaclavas.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“What in the hell?” demanded
George. The two men were armed, one with a pick-axe handle, the other a
sawed-off shotgun. The goon with the pick-axe struck George in the guts with
it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Cheers for the tip-off Will. Mr.
Grady says, 'Thank you' but he'll take it from here. Dave, do the do.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The goon with the shotgun pointed
and let off a shot that took away half of George's head. Liddy screamed. The second barrel cut that short as her
insides flowered through her blouse.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Let's load the van up, it's
gonna take us a few trips.”<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;">_______________________________</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bio</b>: Lee Hughes likes to write but can be a right lazy bastard.</span><br />
<br /></div>
</div>
Lily Childshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15861288507716873813noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-35694244591066306532012-10-28T23:34:00.000+00:002012-10-28T23:34:32.854+00:00 Halloween Horror Competition: Winner and Runners-Up!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ONH3c90s0kl1IK32Sxbla0ZC4WryXJ7m4P3dbGdQYmcFmXfL-ahjc05w6z7tafug6KY6U0RgAltj9u-p3DGdnElmkpqbbOZPFoiwFksflVp_TGsIxcmneJJOcOtOyVXbjjZVlQN9Rzg/s1600/halloween-2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ONH3c90s0kl1IK32Sxbla0ZC4WryXJ7m4P3dbGdQYmcFmXfL-ahjc05w6z7tafug6KY6U0RgAltj9u-p3DGdnElmkpqbbOZPFoiwFksflVp_TGsIxcmneJJOcOtOyVXbjjZVlQN9Rzg/s1600/halloween-2012.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Well, it was tough - really tough. We received twenty-nine dark and disturbing entries in this year's Halloween Horror Competition and the quality of writing was simply outstanding.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I struggled to reduce the twenty-nine to a longlist of thirteen, and then to a shortlist of seven. Even then it was incredibly tight so I sent the seven tales to Matt, Col and David - without the authors' names - and asked them to read and score the shortlist. The results were pretty much unanimous, and our joint decision was made.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The winner of the Thrillers Killers 'n' Chillers Halloween Horror Competition 2012 is...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Angel Zapata, with <i>Lost Soles</i>!</span></b></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Many congratulations to Angel; he'll receive copies of ebooks from each of the TK'n'C editors and his terrifying story will be published here on the night of Halloween 2012. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Runner-up in the competition is <i>A J Humpage</i></b>, with the chilling <b><i>Gabriel's Reflection</i></b>. Look out for her story on TK'n'C on Tuesday 30th October.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">And in <b>second runner-up place</b>, we had a tie! So tomorrow evening we'll be publishing TWO stories:</span><br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>The Perfect Wife</i> by Allan Watson</b></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>The Granny Farmer</i> by Lee Hughes</b></span></li>
</ul>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Very well done to Angel, AJ, Allan and Lee as well as all competition contestants. Take it from me - you make editing a pleasure.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Come back tomorrow for Lee and Allan's horrifying treats.</span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Lily Childshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15861288507716873813noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-9979766773115266732012-10-27T01:00:00.000+01:002012-10-27T03:30:48.230+01:00TK'n'C Editors' Halloween Special: Lily Childs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;">It's nearly here; the twenty-nine entries in the TK'n'C <a href="http://thrillskillsnchills.blogspot.co.uk/2012/10/horrorists-its-competition-time.html">Halloween Horror Competition</a> have been judged, longlisted, shortlisted and... all four editors are now making their final decisions. Dammit, it's been tough, but the winner and runners up will be announced on Sunday 28th October. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">In the meantime, here's the final Editors' Special for this extra-<i>special </i>time of year when the veil is thin and death drifts in and out of our periphery. I wrote <b><i>Smiling Cyrus</i></b>, too late, for an Evil Jester Press anthology. Like many of my stories, it doesn't fit elsewhere so I included it in CABARET OF DREAD: A HORROR COMPENDIUM - the first volume in a collection. I love this tale, and am proud to offer it up on TK'n'C. I hope you enjoy it too.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Lily Childs</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">SMILING CYRUS</span></b><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Hurtling. He’s hurtling. Cyrus has a head the size of three
balloons welded into one, rubber bumps in all the right places. Someone set him
up, <i>something</i> stung him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Trinkets and engraved goblets topple from overloaded shelves
as the boy, nearly a man runs the length of the room and back again. His eyes
are peas in the growing face. He tears at them, not knowing if they are about
to sink forever into the burgeoning flesh or pop and burst. Salty old seadog,
those tears that spill; they sting the stretch marks spreading and ripping at
the child’s visage.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Blind, Cyrus throws himself to the floor. Screaming is
impossible; the fattened mouth is full to suffocation with a tongue of weeping
meatloaf. Who would hear him anyway? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">They start with a jingle, the bells; whispering at Cyrus
with their teasing voices. He slaps at the spaces his ears used to be, hearing
only mosquito torture and fearing another assault. So they play a little
louder. The boy shudders as the noise grows in volume. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Tinkling, ding dong dinging,
tolling and tolling and tolling until the sound is too much and the eardrums
inside Cyrus’s attic-sized head explode. The roar that almost kills him is
enough to wake Mr and Mrs Cleavage in their bedroom below. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">It’s the same every night since their son disappeared. They
hear him scream, always at the witching hour of 3:15am. Charlie Cleavage had
stopped his wife Debonair from exploring the loft; that was over a year ago. It
doesn’t mean she doesn’t wonder – still.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Charlie?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“What is it hun? Hey, are my eggs ready yet?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Debbie flips them once, then back again without spilling a
drop of bile-shaded yolk. Charlie doesn’t care for his wife’s allergies, or
that eggs make her gag every morning. Charlie has needs.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“I want... I mean – can we have a yard sale?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">She slips the eggs onto a plate next to a pile of grits and
chunks of fried bread. It’s casual, how she hands her husband his breakfast but
he knows she’s up to something. He grabs her wrist. Debonair has long since learned
not to give Charlie the satisfaction of a flinch. She sits down, ignoring the
pain and smiles with red lips.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“I saw something you’d like.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Charlie releases his grip, attacks the eggs in a spattering
mess.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“What?” is all he can manage with a full mouth.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Now honey that would ruin the surprise. You know how I like
to please you.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">She runs her skinny hand over his knee, hating every moment.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“This is special. But I need a lidda bit of money, and I
thought we could - you know, clear out the back-room, the attic, the garage...”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Charlie drops his fork on the plate. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“The attic?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Debbie smoothes her skirt over knees made of sticks. They
shake beneath the floral-patterned cotton.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Yup. The attic. I decided you were right. Cyrus isn’t
coming back.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Cyrus isn’t coming
back</i>. She’s practised the line until it no longer shakes in her mouth.
Charlie eyes her, his thick brows bristling like April caterpillars ready to
spin a cold cocoon. <i>Ain’t no butterflies
in that bastard</i>, Debbie thinks.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“OK.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">He pats Debonair’s leg, lingering at her thigh. She swallows
the hate and claps her hands.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Oh, goodie! I’ll make a start while you’re at the mill
today.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">She stands, escaping before he can spread his hand wide
enough to hurt.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The back-room, Charlie’s den that never was a den is the
easiest. She’s done it already. Cleared out the artisanal tables made of maple
and deer horn; they’ll fetch a good price. As will her mother-in-law’s “loada
fuckin’ crap” watercolours. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The garage will be last; Debbie doesn’t understand cars so
will leave anything mechanical untouched. She drifts outside to check her pitch
at the front of the house before contemplating the loft-space. From the dormer above
Cyrus stares down at his mother, not quite understanding why she hasn’t been to
see him in so long. At his side, the Tooth Fairy wipes dribble from her plastic
chin and rings her bell. Time to eat.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Cyrus’s old toys get their kicks in the usual ways,
fathering soulless rejects by dolls with no holes, getting high from licks of
raindrops that occasionally creep through the rafters. They shake, rattle and
roll as Cyrus gets into position. Splayed out with everything on display Cyrus
squeezes his eyes shut and lets his friends do their thing. He doesn’t mind so
much anymore; it still hurts like shit but as they’ve explained – they are
hungry, and if they feed they can stay alive to keep Cyrus company. It all
makes sense. No. He doesn’t mind.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Debbie sings “Could It Be Magic?”. She’s allowed to sing
when Charlie’s not at home. She does a little Donna Summer wiggle and belts out
the lyrics as the sale starts to seem like an even better idea than she’d
planned. Neatly labelled boxes vie for space beside transparent pink crates
crammed with magazines and dog-eared paperbacks. Debbie’s song fades to a hum,
trails away to silence. She gathers herself before making the ascent, before
looking for Cyrus one last time.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The memory of that day kicks Debbie in the gut harder than a
punch from her husband. She grabs the only chair not laden with goods and pulls
herself onto it, parking her backside before her legs give way. She doesn’t
cry. “<i>Crying’s weak, bitch</i>.” For once
she is grateful for Charlie’s uninvited lesson because today she needs more
strength than she has ever summoned before. She thinks of Cyrus’s freckled
face; how his nose had a permanent pink stripe on the bridge from squinting at
the sun. Debbie reaches out her hand to stroke the hair that isn’t there. Pale,
almost peach strands of fine, fine locks – like hers used to be before Charlie declared
he would never consider marrying a ‘non-blond’. She draws back to pat at her
own head, fingering the stiff tresses murdered by peroxide.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">When Cyrus hadn’t come home from school Debbie instantly
believed him dead; abducted by trailer-trash and dumped, lifeless somewhere in
the forest – the very place Charlie spent <i>his</i>
time killing trees for a living. Charlie hit her a good one for that outburst.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The cops did their bit, a few perfunctory searches and a
poster campaign, but Debbie could see it their eyes – eyes that wouldn’t return
her pleading stare – they knew Cyrus was dead too.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">It had quickly transpired Cyrus had never even gone to
school that day. He hadn’t got on the bus, didn’t turn up to meet his pals on
the corner first. They assumed their friend was sick – that’s what they told
the driver. The day’s relief teacher, being new to the role had accepted Cyrus
Cleavage’s absence without contacting the parents. It turned out to be the last
teaching job he’d ever have but that was no comfort to the Cleavages. Charlie
had made sure the young man would never make a mistake like that again, and
would likely never sire a child of his own. He thought Debbie didn’t know, but
she knew a lot more than Charlie gave her credit for. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Once the pre-school disappearance became common knowledge suspicions
did the rounds, coming squarely back to land on the Cleavages’ shoulders.
Charlie’s temper was no secret and that stuck-up wife of his <i>had</i> to be complicit.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Debonair wipes a lonely, disobedient tear from her cheek.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“But we didn’t do it Cyrus, did we? Not even your Daddy with
those filthy fists o’his. He never touched you.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Upstairs, a glass breaks. Downstairs, Debbie gasps. She
hears it, like she’s heard that scream every night. But this is louder still,
and in broad daylight. She grabs the keys from the table, forcing her trembling
legs to carry her into the hallway. If she could leap three steps at a time she
would but dainty skips will have to do. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Another crash. From the very top of the house. Debbie’s
heart is a throbbing casket, pounding in her ears, rushing blood through
too-thin arteries.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Mommy! It hurts. Help me.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Debbie cannot open her mouth to call her son’s name but in
her head she shouts in reply “I’m coming, I’m coming.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">She is at the top hallway. Muffled bell sounds tinkle
through the ceiling, clashing with the jingle of keys in Debonair’s hands. She
stares about, searching for the pole to pull the ladder down. It isn’t where
she left it. Charlie must have moved it when he put the lock on the inner door
to stop her going up there. She tries to calm herself though her nostrils flare
and her chest palpitates. She’s seen it somewhere else over the last couple of
days, hell she’s even seen it this morning.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Think, woman,” she grinds her teeth as the noises above her
rise in pitch.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The garage.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Mommy...”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">She wants to scream but tries to sound calm for Cyrus’s
sake.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“I’ll be back in a sec honey. Wait. Don’t go anywhere.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The comment doesn’t strike her as idiotic until she’s out
the side door and standing on oil-stained concrete. Quickly scanning the room
she spots the pull-pole hanging from Charlie’s neat tool board. The nail falls
to the ground as Debbie yanks the pole down and heads back inside the house,
leaving the garage door open. Charlie can beat her for that later; it won’t
matter to her any more.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Her body speeds on adrenaline as she races back up the two
flights of stairs.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“I’m here Cyrus! Mommy’s here.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">But now the world above her screams in overwhelming silence
because Cyrus <i>isn’t</i> there. Even as
Debbie drops the hatch and drags the ladder down she knows her son was <i>never </i>there. She ignores her own fear
and mounts the steps regardless. Reaching the top she must crawl into the
holding space to access the short door and is stalled by a moment of wonder
that her hulk of a husband could have installed something so solid in such a
cramped place. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">It’s dark. She fumbles at the fob in her hand. Five keys of
different sizes. She hadn’t asked Charlie which was the right one for the loft
when he threw them at her but through trial and error is successful on the
fourth attempt. Her fingers are sticky with sweat as she twists the lock and
pushes the door open.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">There is no broken glass. There are no bells chiming. Cyrus
isn’t sitting cross-legged on the dusty floor waiting for his mom because Cyrus
is hanging from the ceiling by his hair. He is dressed in a life-size teddy
outfit sewn from smaller bears, ripped apart and rejoined. Blood drips from
every clumsy stitch, wrought with the same thread that has sealed Cyrus’s mouth
into a permanent smile. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Debonair Cleavage drops to her knees. She doesn’t flinch as
the door clicks shut behind her though the sound drowns out her ears. Sunlight
blares through the dormer window to create a halo around her swinging son. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Cyrus, where have you been?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">It’s all she can manage to say.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">To her sides, feet scuttle behind piles of ephemera.
Clonking great wooden shoes and soft rubber pumps trip towards Debonair who is
staring at her son’s face, his own eyes huge with warning. A migraine of sparks
whirl in the periphery closing in on the desperate mother. She twists abruptly.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“What the...?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">They dance, not slowly but with violent lurches and spins as
though reeling from coiled springs wound to the limit. The procession of
toylife rushes at Debonair, teeth gnashing, ready to bite. Those with hands
clasp the strangest of weapons – toenail scissors, broken electricals with
buzzing exposed wires... Cyrus convulses. The golden locks tear from his scalp
as he writhes. Debbie crawls towards him, raises her arms up to grab at his feet
– all too late. The dolls attack Debonair from all directions and even as
Cyrus’s body slumps to the ground beside her – so close, so close – he can see
them feeding already. He loses consciousness as tiny fingers dip into the
pouring lacerations in his skull.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Dusk falls and the Mill Bar has closed for the week, sending
workers away until the Monday shift. Charlie guzzles the last of his personal
supply and remarks on the state of the lawn as he pulls into the Cleavage driveway.
Two trestle tables have fallen over in the wind; the old curtains his wife has
used to cover them are strewn on the grass. Has she sold everything?
Reluctantly impressed, Charlie starts to wonder what treat Debonair will be
buying him with the proceeds. His pleasure is short-lived; he can clearly see
light glaring from the garage as its door slowly peels backward. She’s left the
inner-door wide open – how many times has he told her? Trust her to ruin
everything. He storms into the house, his hand already raised for the slap. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Debonair?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">She’s up in the attic; he can hear her dragging stuff about.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Get your sorry ass down here and tell me what the hell’s
going on.” Patience isn’t one of Charlie’s few virtues; when his wife fails to
respond he bounds up the stairs two at a time. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Debonaire! Dammit woman, you answer me when I’m talkin’ at
ya.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The thud from above is enough to stop Charlie in his tracks
for all of a second. He rushes the remaining stairs toward the first floor
landing and is up on the top level in moments. The step-ladder is still hanging
from the loft. Charlie squeezes his bulk onto it and climbs, frowning at the
whispering noises that twitter in the space beyond the hatch. If she’s stolen
his radio she’s gonna pay. He hammers on the solid construction – a fine piece
of work – and twists the key that his wife has left in the lock. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“I’m comin’ in Debonair. You’d better be...” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Charlie’s words are ripped from his mouth, along with the
end of his tongue. Shrill laughter pierces his eardrum as the knife glints – it
is snatched away by unseen hands and his mouth fills with hot blood. Choking,
he spits on the floor. The flow won’t stop. He reaches for the light-pull but
even as he tugs it stinging arrows fly at him from the corner of the room. Squinting
with pain he spies the bow from his son’s old archery set waving about, but not
who is firing at him. His legs give way and he has no time to feel shame. He
lands hard on his butt, his fat cheeks crashing into a pile-up of metal
automobiles – Cyrus’s collection of all things with wheels. Charlie had taken
them from the boy the day he went missing, angry with the lad for answering him
back. Now they are crushed. Grief hits Charlie unexpectedly; his son would
never be able to play with them again. Even if he were still alive, the
vehicles were probably broken beyond repair, <i>all because of me</i>. Charlie slams a fist into the hardwood floor.
The shock resonates through his core, sparking his senses back to life.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Who’th here?” he lisps, splattering rusted spittle down his
plaid shirt. The only sound is his heart drumming in his ears. Outside the wind
is rising; it howls though the rafters. The sky blackens with purple storm clouds
that rage black against the dormer window. Charlie doesn’t see them because of
the two life-size puppets that drop from the beam to obscure his view and stop
his breath. They dance. Strings rise and fall to move the limbs, they flip and
flap in broken symmetry. The bile in Charlie’s gut surges upward to burn his
throat as he recognises the outlines of his wife and son. Behind him, a dull
click as the string-pull is grabbed and the bodies are flooded with light.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Jesus fuckin’ hell.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Charlie pisses his pants at the scene before his eyes. The
corpses of the only family he has left in the world are bloated and pulsing,
the skin rippling. How can Cyrus <i>be</i>
here? How <i>long</i> has he been here? The
realisation that his son must have been alive all this time and living in the
goddamn house – the god-damned <i>house</i>
– hits Charlie with such force the angry, violent heart that’s been swelling
and beating at an impossible rate finally breaks. He roars in agony, clutching
at his left-arm – its flesh already torn from the arrow attack – and collapses.
As Charlie Cleavage’s chest spasms the last sound he hears is that of bells;
his last vision is his wife and son’s mouths dropping open and dolls and toys
of all makes and sizes crawling out to drop to the ground. The man that didn’t
kill his son but beat his wife dies at their feet as they empty out before him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">They have done with this family, these creatures made by
human hands. They have fed – gorged themselves on Cleavage blood until the
hosts became <i>their</i> playthings. They
leave the crusts behind – paper-thin of skin and void of organs – and beat a
strange retreat into the woods behind the house.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Tooth Fairy has collected her dues. She drags molars and
incisors in a brown leather bag; they clink against each other, jingling in
discord. As she closes the Cleavage back door she coughs a spark into the
kitchen. It catches Debonair’s red and white chequered table-cloth, the cotton
flares, flames rising to lick at papers and cardboard boxes. They burn fast.
With no-one to dampen the fire’s enthusiasm it pulls the rafters into its maw.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">No-one will care. The boy – long-gone – has already been
grieved for. Not a single person will shed a tear for Charlie Cleavage. And
Debonair – Debonair was already a shell – she left years ago.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">If you go down to the woods today... beware the tiny bells.
Sometimes they chime. And sometimes they bite.</span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">_______________________________</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bio:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Lily Childs writes horror and dark fiction. Volume 2 of CABARET OF DREAD will be released in 2013 by Ganglion Press. The third novella in the Magenta Shaman urban fantasy series is in the offing, and Lily is currently sojourning in a derelict asylum, not far from her house, where a novel is spawning.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Cabaret of Dread on <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Cabaret-Dread-Horror-Compendium-ebook/dp/B007KSVXQK">Amazon UK</a> | <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cabaret-Dread-Horror-Compendium-ebook/dp/B007KSVXQK">Amazon US/Canada</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Facebook: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/lilychildsfeardom">www.facebook.com/lilychildsfeardom</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/LilyChilds">@LilyChilds</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Blog: <a href="http://lilychildsfeardom.blogspot.com/">Lily Childs' Feardom</a></span><br />
<br /></div>
Lily Childshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15861288507716873813noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-38771232557755804362012-10-20T09:46:00.000+01:002012-10-20T09:46:39.975+01:00TK'n'C Editors' Halloween Special: David Barber<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;">The deadline for that <a href="http://thrillskillsnchills.blogspot.co.uk/2012/10/horrorists-its-competition-time.html">Halloween Horror competition</a> to win ebooks by the TK'n'C editors is rapidly approaching, and Lily is straining at the manacles to get to the comp Inbox.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">In the meantime David Barber reveals his love for horror with a disturbing tale written especially for the Editors' Special. In homage to one his favourite writers of the genre, Richard Laymon, David gives you...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">DARE TO DREAM</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Closing his book and switching off the bedside lamp, Brian Knowles shuffles down under the duvet. His wife, Sonia, is fast asleep next to him. He leans over and kisses her gently on the lips.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“I love you, honey,” he whispers, resting his head on the pillow.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">He nestles down, drifting off, when his wife suddenly sits up. She lets out a frightened gasp and Brian quickly gets up, switching on the bedside lamp.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Sonia? What’s the matter?” he asks, gently rubbing Sonia’s shoulder, careful not to alarm her.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">His wife just sits there staring at the curtains, her eyes unblinking.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">She’s probably still asleep, Brian thinks. He places both hands on his wife’s shoulders and is about to gently lay her down when she suddenly speaks.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“You know that feeling when you wake up and think, ‘thank goodness it was only a dream’?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Err, well, kind of,” he says, knowing that she's about to go off on one of her crazy stories again.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Well, this particular dream isn’t like any I’ve had before,” she starts telling him, pushing herself back up against the headboard.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Oh don’t tell me, you were alone in a log cabin, surrounded by darkness...”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“How do you know?” she asks, turning to him. Her eyes are wide, searching his for answers.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">He laughs, “You are crazy sometimes, you know?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Listen,” she says, playfully hitting him on the left shoulder. “We’re up in the Highlands of Scotland in a log cabin at the side of a Loch. It’s totally secluded. We don’t even have a car and I have no idea how we got there.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“I know,” he says, spreading his arms wide and waving them up and down, “maybe we sprouted wings and flew there.” Brian laughs again.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Right, I’m not telling you now.” Sonia crosses her arms across her breasts and exhales through her nose. She pouts like a spoilt child, a smile sneaking into her expression.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Aw, come on. I’m only messing.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Okay, but no more laughing. You promise?”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“I promise,” Brian answers.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“So, we’d just finished watching TV and you get up to turn it off. I turn off the lamps and we head into the bedroom...”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Ooh, I’m loving the sound of this one,” he says, giving Sonia his full attention.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Sorry mister, there’s none of that in this one. So, where was I? Ah, we head into the bedroom and there’s a noise outside, but not a noise that you normally hear, like an owl or something. This sound is different: like a slapping noise.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“A bit of bondage? Hmm, interesting.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“You really do have a one-track mind, Mr Knowles. No, not bondage. The sound is more like...well...steel against skin, like something metal being hit against a hand,” she says, staring at the curtains. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Hey, are you OK? What’s wrong?” he asks.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Sonia’s expression has changed. Her brow furrows and it seems like her whole body tightens.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Well, you decide to get out of bed to check what the noise is. You go to the window and throw open the curtains. You can’t really see very much because of the blackness outside and the lamplight inside so you lean closer to the window, cupping your hands around your face.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">She stops again and he notices a tear in her eye.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Hey, don’t get upset, it’s only a dream.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">She turns to him and looks into his eyes. “I know, but it was just...just too real.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Oh, come on. Don’t be daft. You can tell me what happens.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“No, I can’t tell you. It’s horrible.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“It’s not real, Sonia. It’s just a dream and don’t people say that bad dreams normally mean the opposite. Go on, spill the beans. Tell me what happens,” he says, stroking her arm.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“OK. So, you stare through the window, shielding the light to get a better look, when we hear the sound again. You move your head slightly and mumble something like ‘I think I can see someone’ but then you turn around really quickly and shout ‘BOO!’ You’re laughing and I’m telling you you’re out of order for scaring me when suddenly the window implodes and this huge man hits you on the back of the head with an axe. There’s blood everywhere and...I’m screaming...and...”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Hey, hey, calm down. It’s only a dream,” he says, sitting up and comforting her.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">They sit embraced on the bed, his arms around her. The room is silent and the energy saving bulb in the bedside lamp does little to brighten up the room.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">They hear a strange sound from outside the bedroom window. Not a usual nocturnal noise but... something different.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Brian gets up from the bed and walks towards the window.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“No, Brian. Don’t open the curtains,” Sonia says.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Brian laughs, but his nerves are biting a bit. “Oh, it’ll be nothing. I think your dream is playing tricks on us.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">He gets to the window and opens the curtains. He strains to look into the blackness and then leans closer, cupping his hands around his eyes to get a better look.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“I...I think I... can see someone.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Stop messing about. It’s not funny,” she says, pulling the quilt up around her.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Suddenly he spins around, ‘BOO!’ Brian laughs and looks at his wife just as the window implodes. His eyes go wide as an axe is embedded in the back of his head. Blood splashes onto the curtains and down the wall as his body goes limp. There’s a squelching sounds as the axe is pulled out of his head and he crumples to the floor. The huge man outside the window shouts into the night and starts climbing into the room.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Sonia just sits there and screams and screams and screams...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">She wakes up with a start, sweating and panting for breath. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Brian,” she mumbles and pats the bed next to her. It’s empty. She sits up and throws off the duvet. Her watch on the bedside table says 7:38 AM.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Outside the bedroom the sound of a running shower drifts along the hallway of the log cabin. Sonia gets out of bed, opens the bedroom door and walks towards the bathroom, the dream dissipating into the far corners of her mind.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Briiiaaannnn, do you fancy some company in there?” she says, opening the bathroom door and walking in.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The room is full of steam and Sonia’s skin tingles as she removes her bedclothes. Naked, she walks towards the shower and gently draws the curtain back. The shower head has been broken off and Brian has been impaled onto the outlet. There’s blood everywhere and water is gushing out of his mouth.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Sonia screams and stumbles backwards, banging into something. She turns and stares up into the steam. A glint of silver flashes through the steam as an axe is brought down towards her face. Sonia screams as the weapon closes in.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“NO...NO...NO!"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Honey, honey. Wake up, you’re dreaming again,” Brian says, gently pushing at her shoulder.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">She shudders, taking in deep breaths and opens her eyes. A film of sweat covers her face. She sits up and looks at Brian.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“You won’t believe the dream I’ve just had,” she says.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Oh, don’t tell me. I’ll bet it starts with us being in a log cabin surrounded by complete darkness...”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“How do you know?” she asks.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Brian gets up from the bed and walks over to the window, pulling open the curtains.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Because we are, honey. We’re on holiday, remember?” he says, turning to her, a smile on his face.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Sonia smiles back, “Yes, I remember.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The bedroom window suddenly implodes behind Brian, sending shards of glass flying across the room. The look of shock on his face changes to a blank stare as an axe is embedded into the back of his head.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Sonia’s terrified scream echoes into the cold night air, lost in the mist that has descended onto the log cabin.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">__________________</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Bio:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">David Barber was born in Manchester, England, but now lives in Crieff, Scotland, with his wife and their two daughters. He started writing years ago but put it on the back burner after the arrival of his children. He was inspired to start writing again four years ago by good friend, Col Bury, and the beauty that surrounds him in Scotland. His writing has appeared on numerous e-zines and on his own site <a href="http://davidjbarber.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">davidjbarber.wordpress.com</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">He was the editor of <a href="http://theflashfictionoffensive.blogspot.co.uk/" target="_blank">The Flash Fiction Offensive</a> for 18 months and is now a crime editor of Thrillers, Killers ‘n’ Chillers. He is also (when time allows) the editor of comedy e-zine, The Laughter Shack.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">David is currently writing his first novel and is constantly fighting with the voices in his head as they churn out idea after idea.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">His e-book, <b><i>From A Crowded Mind</i></b>, is available from <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/From-Crowded-Mind-Vol-ebook/dp/B008F8RKZW" target="_blank">Amazon.co.uk</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/From-Crowded-Mind-Vol-ebook/dp/B008F8RKZW" target="_blank">.com</a> and all other Amazon sites.</span><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Lily Childshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15861288507716873813noreply@blogger.com39tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-25852046895567335762012-10-13T15:50:00.004+01:002012-10-22T11:04:46.220+01:00TK'n'C Editors' Halloween Special: Col Bury<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 21px; line-height: 31px;"><i><a href="http://thrillskillsnchills.blogspot.co.uk/2012/10/horrorists-its-competition-time.html">As the competition entries pour in (there's still time to win 4 eBooks!)</a>, the Editors are certainly getting into the 'spirit' of things as Halloween approaches. Col really enjoyed switching back to his horror roots, from his crime novel endeavours, with this tense tale. We sincerely hope you 'enjoy' it too... if you can...!</i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>The Writing on the Wall</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You moving in this
place then?” The elderly woman, carrying
a bag of groceries, didn’t make eye contact.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Yes… yes we are… we have.”
Sarah couldn’t disguise the pride in her voice, at her and Mike having
finally found their dream home. “Do you
live through the woods? I saw a little cottage earlier.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Sure. On my own now. It’s lonely out here… alone.” Her voice was crackly, like sticks breaking
underfoot.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Still
no eye contact. Strange. “Oh, Mike and I
will pop over to see you. He could cook you a meal. Was a head chef in
Manchester, and he’s lovely is my Mike. Funny too, he’ll soon cheer you up.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“We’ll
see.” She craned her neck upward at
charcoal clouds. “Best get going. It’s a
different place at night, you know.” She
turned away and trudged off, unsteadily, using a wooden walking stick.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Bye…
er… do you have a name?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She
didn’t turn around. “Sure.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Mine’s…
Sar.. ah…” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
old lady mumbled something, Sarah didn’t fully catch.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Very
odd. Sarah watched her go, slowly
disappearing through a path of flattened foliage into the woods. Sarah shrugged and went back inside the grand
old house. <i>Their </i>grand old house. Smiling
with pride, she grabbed the metal wallpaper scraper and busied herself in the huge living
room. Well, it was huge compared to
their dingy end-terraced in Eccles.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She
thought of the aged woman, as she laboriously stripped the walls. Why was she so aloof? Maybe her age. Probably lost her husband. Anyway, nothing could spoil this dream move
for her and Mike. They’d saved up, sold
up and here they were, in the middle of Wales, a few miles from the sea, and
with a backdrop of Snowdonia. Beats the
concrete jungle any time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
house sale - damn cheap too for its size and location - went smoothly and the transfer
from Mike’s head office to the Aberystwyth restaurant was also timed to
perfection. Sarah recalled her
excitement as she checked on <i>Google Maps</i>
how close this house was to his new prospective workplace. “Ten miles and just half an hour’s drive,”
she’d said excitedly. They’d hugged
because they both knew it could really happen.
Just up the road from one of her favourite places too: Aberdovey, and
its stunning bay. It was truly meant to
be.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sarah
stopped scraping as she saw a girl’s name scrawled on the wall. It was faded, but she could just about make
it out. <i>Lucinder.</i> Bet it’s when a
kid who’d lived here had measured herself.
But there was no pencilled line, just the number <i>8 </i>beside it. Aw, must be her
age. She scraped some more and saw <i>Jennifer 9</i>. It reminded her of the fact they couldn’t
have kids. It wasn’t Mike’s fault, it
was her. It had been a dark day when the
doctor had informed them, but Mike was the perfect gent about it - “It doesn’t
change anything. I love you and always will, Sarah.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Glancing
again at the names, she shook thoughts of kids away. This new house was their ‘baby’. If it wasn’t for their… her… infertility, then
they probably wouldn’t have self-indulged with the move. Now though, nothing would spoil this for
them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hearing
a crunching sound, she paused and glanced through the bay window. It was Mike pulling up on the drive, the four
by four’s sidelights flicked off. She
ran to the front door, like a giggly school girl.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They
embraced, a tingle of excitement shooting through her. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Bloody’ell,
darkness falls quick round here, dunnit?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“It’s
lovely though.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Certainly
is, babe.” They unhooked themselves. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Drive
home okay?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mike
grinned. “Stunning scenery… and I defo
went the scenic route.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They
strolled down the hall into the living room. “What do you mean?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I
was driving round in circles for twenty minutes. Bloody Sat-Nav lost its
signal.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sarah
picked up the scraper again. “Work
okay?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Yeah.
They were all pretty friendly to the Englishman. Quite easy to boss ‘em about
really.” He grinned again. “So, what’ve you been up to? Busy I see.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Talking
to the neighbour.” She raised her
eyebrows and passed him a spare scraper. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Let
me get my coat off, cheeky!” He took it
off, lay it on their new leather suite that was still covered in plastic while
they decorated. “What’s with the face?
We’ve not moved close to weirdos have we? I knew things had gone too well.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Nah,
just this old lady. She was a bit strange, but I’m sure she’ll come round, once
she gets to know us.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Strange?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Wouldn’t
look at me or tell me her name.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“That’s
cos yer a dodgy Mancunian!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Oy!
Says the man arrested in his teens for joyriding!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I
dint know the car was stolen, honest!”
He tickled her and they laughed and wriggled, then embraced and kissed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sarah
broke free first. “Here, I want to show
you something.” She passed him the spare
scraper and this time he took it. She pointed
at the girls’ names.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“And?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“And,
nothing, it’s just… help me. Let’s see if there’s any more.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mike
looked at the bay window and walked over, shutting the blinds. Opposite, trees swayed and creaked in the
wind. He reached up and shut the top
windows before peering out of the window.
“It’s pitch black out there. You can really see the stars. No light
pollution here, eh?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Here’s
another one…” <i>Abigail 4</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mike
studied the names. “So the previous
owners had three girls. Bet they’re grown up by now, judging by the style of
this crappy old wallpaper.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They
both scraped away. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Mike.
Look.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sarah
pointed at another name. They stared
agog. <i>Joanna 10 - screamer</i>.
“What the hell does ‘screamer’ mean?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Dunno.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sarah
heard a dull thud and jumped. It came
from below, in the bowels of the house.
“You hear that?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What?
Hey, steady on, babe. Old houses make noises you know. Chill.” He smiled reassuringly, smoothed a hand
across her cheek. “So do yer reckon the
numbers are their ages?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Assume
so.” She was still looking through the
open living room door into the hall.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They
continued peeling off the paper with vigour.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mike
suddenly stopped. “Bloody’ell, Sarah.” He pointed.
“They’re not ages… they’re marks… marks out of ten. What the…?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sarah
saw the name <i>Layla 9 / 10</i>. She quickly
scanned the other names and numbers.
<i>Jennifer 9</i> also had <i>/ 10</i>, but it
was somewhat faded. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Jesus.
What is this, hun?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Don’t
worry. It’s probably nothing. Summat obvious, that we’re missing.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They
bounced looks, then continued.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sarah
stopped, leaned against the wall, arms up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What’s
up, babe?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“It
was just something the old lady said as she walked off.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What?
What did she say?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I
thought she said, ‘They never caught him, you know’, or something like that.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Really?” Mike looked stern, not his usual self,
fuelling Sarah’s angst.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I
think so. Does your laptop get a signal here.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Er.
Not sure. Not had chance to check yet, but I’m paying for it and the telly’s
working, so it should do. I can give it a go.”
He walked into the dining room and grabbed his laptop from the drawer of
the sideboard containing his football trophies.
Sarah joined him as he turned it on and placed it on the dining room
table. They both sat down and waited for
<i>Windows </i>to fire up. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Yes!" The Web browser opened. "Okay, what are we searching for exactly?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sarah
hesitated, then said in a hushed voice.
“Missing girls in mid-Wales?”
Mike frowned at her, shook his head, and typed it in.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They
stared as eight photos came up. “Jesus
Christ. Look at the names, Mike.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Suddenly
the lights and laptop went off.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sarah
felt ice shoot up her spine, and screamed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Shit!
Okay, calm down. Give me your hand. It’s okay, babe. I’ve gotta torch on me
phone.” After a few seconds fumbling, he
lit the immediate vicinity, shining the light around, causing shifting shapes
of the furniture around them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Did
you see that? The names… I’m really scared, Mike.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Come on. Get a grip. Please. I’ll go down to
the cellar.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“No,
don’t leave me!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “I won’t. We’ll both go. It’s probably just a
blown fuse. The house hasn’t been lived in for a while. They did say that,
remember? That’s why we got it so cheap. Needed a bit of work.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They
moved slowly out of the dining room, into the living room, through the hall and
up to the door beneath the staircase. Sarah
felt a shudder as she peered into the kitchen to the rear, its dense blackness
seemed to stare back at her. She quickly
looked away, holding Mike’s hand every step of the way.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thankfully,
the door to the cellar didn’t creak. The
phone torchlight wasn’t so bright, and Sarah felt jumpy, seeing dark,
fluctuating shapes and shadows. She’d
not been down here before. It smelled
really musty. The stairs were stone and
their footsteps seemed amplified by the gloom. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“You
okay?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She
didn’t answer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Right.
The fuse-box is over here somewhere.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What’s
that?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“What?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“There.
Looks like another door.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Oh
yeah. Not noticed that before.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In
the far corner was the shape of an old dark wooden door, somewhat camouflaged
in the brown stone brickwork. “We’ll take
a look in a minute.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“We
don’t have to.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> “Here we go.”
He shone the torch at the fuse-box.
“You’ll have to just let go of my hand for a minute.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sarah
released her grip, her hand clammy, her heartbeat audible.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Yep,
as I thought.” A click later, and the
lights came on, including the bare bulb just above them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mike
grinned. “You gonna relax now, babe?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
wooden door burst open and a dark figure flew at them. The sword swung at Mike before he could turn, and it cut through the air toward his head. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sarah
screamed and froze to the spot.
Everything funnelled in, like slow motion. The bearded man wearing a long black cloak turned
to her. He leered, his manic eyes
shining with glee. She looked at Mike
and he staggered. His expression was
fixed, wide-eyed. His head slowly slid
from his neck and fell off onto the stone floor. It bounced, settled and he stared up at her,
like a dead salmon. His jerking body
crumpled beside her, blood spurting onto her legs from the gaping neck.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Catatonic,
she couldn’t scream. Her legs wobbly, she turned to the
stairs and clambered up.
She instantly heard throaty laughter and felt sturdy hands gripping her
ankles, as her bladder gave way. She was
pulled back down, slowly, her chin buffeting the steps, one by one. At the bottom, he grabbed her by the hair and
an excruciating pain ripped through her scalp as she was dragged past Mike’s
head, those eyes still staring, helplessly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I hope you're a ten out of ten, like Joanna," the man said gruffly, before slamming the door.</span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px;">BIO:</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px;">Col Bury is the Crime Editor of award winning webzine, THRILLERS, KILLERS ‘N’ CHILLERS. Under the guidance of his agent, he's currently developing a crime novel series based in Manchester. Col's ever-growing selection of short stories can be found around the net and in numerous anthologies. His vigilante story MOPPING UP is in THE MAMMOTH BOOK OF BEST BRITISH CRIME 9, and FISTS OF DESTINY, from <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/MANCHESTER-6-ebook/dp/B007ITA0GK/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1337689192&sr=1-1">Col’s eBook MANCHESTER 6</a>, was selected for THE MAMMOTH BOOK OF BEST BRITISH CRIME 10.</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px;">Col lives in Manchester, UK with his wife and two children. He's 'not a bad stick' at 8-ball pool and is an avid fan of Manchester City FC.</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: 19px; line-height: 21px;">He interviews crime authors & blogs here: <a href="http://colburysnewcrimefiction.blogspot.co.uk/">http/colburysnewcrimefiction.blogspot.com/</a></span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><span style="color: orange;">NOTE: HALLOWEEN COMP' DEADLINE: MIDNIGHT (UK) OCTOBER 22ND.</span></i></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17913040012695421077noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-31219390733037566242012-10-07T12:33:00.001+01:002012-10-13T15:51:45.954+01:00TK'N'C Editors' Halloween Special: Matt Hilton<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Halloween is fast approaching, and here at TK'N'C we always get a little excited by the imminent arrival of the spookiest night of the year. So for your delectation, here is a special editor's story, penned for the occasion by Matt Hilton. Enjoy!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Suffering Succubi<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘I am “freedom”.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The woman stood on the penultimate step
on the descent to the cellar. She had halted there, standing in silence,
waiting for my bloodied eyes to register her presence, for my concussed brain
to make sense of her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Even with clots adhering to my lashes,
my eyelids swollen from the repeated beatings, she was a vision of beauty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">An emerald green dress fit as closely
as her musky scent to a body as perfect as any masterpiece designed by
Michelangelo. Blazing red hair hung about her shoulders, curls bunching on the
swellings of her breasts. Her dress was cut low and I watched the slow rise and
fall of the pale orbs that it strained to contain. On her feet were satin
slippers, as green as the dress, as green as her eyes as they surveyed me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Have you come to let me go?’ <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘I have come to set you free,’ she
corrected in a voice as mellifluous as distant birdsong.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Then undo these chains and I’ll be
gone from here.’ I was trussed to an upright beam, stripped naked as a baby.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘You misunderstand me, Carter Bailey,’
she said, and this time her voice was every bit as sweet as before, but it was
the sweetness of decay and rot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Worth a try,’ I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She took the final step down and halted
again. Her features appeared set in porcelain, her lips were the painted smile
of a creepy pot doll, eyes as solid as their emerald twins. A dim bulb
flickered in the stairwell above her, causing the shadows to jitter and shift.
The woman’s shadow did not move, because she had none.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Who are you?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘I am the one you came looking for.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘You are Saoirse?’ I gave her name the
modern Irish pronunciation: Sur-shuh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Seer-sha,’ she corrected, in the singsong
original Celtic tongue. ‘As I said, my name means “freedom”.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I rattled my chains, thinking of my
brother, Cassius, who regularly wore chains when I visited him in the deepest
dungeon of my psyche. I could almost feel pity for the depraved lunatic now
that I experienced a little of the discomfort he was eternally subjected to.
Almost, but not quite. Cash deserved his torment; he could never atone for the
suffering he put my wife and unborn child through, or the dozens of other women
he raped and slaughtered before I killed the bastard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Sticks and stones, Carter.</span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Cash’s taunting voice scratched its way through the
recesses of my mind. Just thinking of him was enough to wake him from slumber.
He’d been conspicuous by his absence during my beating, when I needed his
assistance most.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I ignored Cash and concentrated instead
on Saoirse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She moved without seeming to move. She
didn’t walk, that was for sure, because I was eyeballing her long, long legs,
imagining them wrapped around my back and they never once put as much as a
ruffle in that form-hugging dress. The lustful thought clung on, even after I
realised that it was more akin to something that Cash would voice, and I had to
tear my attention back to her face. No, she hadn’t walked over, yet when I
tilted my head up to meet her gaze, she was directly in front of me, so close I
felt the exhalation of her breath on my skin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Why did you seek me, Carter Bailey?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Why do you think?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘You thought to kill me.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Killing you was never an issue, I
hoped only to stop any further killing.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Yet you brought with you a gun.’
Saoirse lifted her right hand and something cold and hard-edged settled under
my jaw. ‘And <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this</i>.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I couldn’t see what it was that she
held to my throat, but I didn’t have to. I knew it was the knife handed to me
by my friend and mentor, Paul Broom, Britain’s sixteenth bestselling horror
author, when he heard of my latest fool mission. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘It just might come in handy, Bailey,’
he had said as he handed over the intricately carved silver blade. The handle
was bone and looked too much like the knobby end of a human fibular to be
coincidence. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘There might be nothing in the
stories,’ I’d told him. ‘You know how urban legends grow out of folk tales and
take on a life of their own: do you really think a succubus is alive and
kicking and harvesting souls in bleakest Lancashire?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘I’ve heard crazier stories,’ he said
with a pointed squint at me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Broom was one of the few people who
truly believed in my claim that the soul of my serial-killing sibling was
trapped within me, and that the shared near death experience we’d experienced
had made him my captive when the paramedics jump-started my heart again. Having
discovered what he’d done to my wife and unborn child, my brother had almost
murdered me too, but I’d turned the tables and took the fight back to him.
Locked in brutal combat we’d both taken a fall from the dilapidated windmill on
my property, and sank, still beating and tearing at each other into the
stagnant waters of the canal below. Our bodies drowned, but our spirits had
still been coiled together in battle when the intervention of well-meaning
paramedics had snatched us both back to my mortal coil. It was a difficult
claim to palate, but Broom took it even without the proverbial pinch of salt.
Broom also believed in my proclaimed ability to read people’s auras, and to
also feel the pull of dark energy, and he’d almost convinced me that I wasn’t
totally bat shit crazy after all. Limping about on a walking stick, throwing
back his mane of blond curls, he reminds me of an aging rock star or over the
hill pro-wrestler. On his knuckles he’d had the letters WWDAD tattooed as a
reminder of his constant fight against the supernatural denizens of his fevered
author’s mind. What would Derek Acorah do? I wondered. I was pretty sure that
the famed psychic medium wouldn’t have sought a soul-sucking succubus armed
only with a tarnished silver knife and a handgun: at the very least he’d have
had a camera crew and the backing of a major cable TV company behind him.
Foolishly I’d come to this backstreet of Blackpool alone. And now I’d paid the
price of my stupidity. I should have weighed in that knife at one of the many
skanky stores that lined the neighbourhood promising ‘We Buy Your Scrap Gold
and Silver’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But I hadn’t been able to deny the
tugging in my chest, the feeling within me that drew me like metal filings to a
lodestone, whenever I sensed the presence of dark energy. Cash had to atone for
his crimes; I had to atone for my failings. In failing to protect my wife and
baby I had accepted my self-imposed punishment to root out and destroy evil
wherever it reared its ugly head. I tried to think of it as an extreme form of
community service, while Broom preferred that I was serving a higher court than
human law.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Saoirse removed the knife from my
throat. My relief was only momentary. She laid it between my legs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Whoa! Hold on there, Red! Go ahead and cut Carter’s friggin’
throat but I’m going to need the old family jewels when I take claim of his
body!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It was nice of Cash to express his
concern for my well being. Yeah, right. In my head, I told him, “Cash, she’s
not interested in taking my bollocks. She’s after souls and guess what? Here
she gets the special BOGOF deal.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Shit</span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">, Cash
said, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I never thought about it that way</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Now would be a good time to loan me a
few of those special skills you have in your arsenal, dear brother.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When imprisoning Cash in the dungeon of
my mind I’d to devise the most intricate methods of containment, because in
life the son of a bitch had been as tricky as Harry Houdini, and simply locking
him down with handcuffs and gaffer tape had never been enough.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘What are you mumbling about?’ asked
Saoirse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Nothing important,’ I lied. ‘Just
wondering if you really look like that or if you’re a fan of old Maureen O’Hara
movies.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘You like the way I look?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Of course. Who wouldn’t?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Saoirse proved as vain as most other
supernatural beings I’d met who used the weapon of sexual desire to deceive and
enrapture before sucking your life force out of every orifice imaginable. To be
fair I hadn’t met many. Actually, she was my first, but she was vain all right.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She was at once before me then at the
bottom of the stairs again. She ran one hand through her fiery hair, the other
on her propped hip. Then she turned away, turning her head to give me a smoky
pout over one bared shoulder. The dress shimmered off her body as liquid as mercury,
puddling around her finely turned ankles, and I was given a view of her in all
her glory.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘What about now?’ she teased.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Yeah, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">now</i> would be a good time,” I told Cash.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours, bro.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“How about a nice Perspex cell with a
view?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">How’s about you set me up on a barstool at </span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Hooters<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Take it or leave it, Cash. Agree, or
your next prison will be inside the lovely Seer-sha’s gut.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Do you find me comely?’ Saoirse turned
with a dancer’s grace, and again was before me without any sign of apparent
volition. I’d have got an eyeful of her main assets if she hadn’t looped her
knife hand over her breasts. Her other hand, and my Glock, was artistically
placed over the juncture of her thighs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘”Comely” isn’t a word used very often
these days,’ I said. ‘Just how old are you?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘As old as Lilith’s children,’ she said
with a smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘It’s surprising what the odd nip and
tuck can do for you these days, isn’t it?’ Despite myself I could feel the
ardor rising in me. Ardor’s another word you don’t hear much and has kind of
fallen out of usage except in poorly written bonk buster novels or the latest
Paul Broom chiller. I’d learned a lot of old words since Broom had taken it
upon himself to be my Professor X. I’d learned quite a few archaic names too,
and understood that Lilith in some religious texts was recognised as the first
woman, even before Eve. If Saoirse wasn’t exaggerating it meant she’d been
around a loooong time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘That can’t possibly be your own hair
colour?’ I sneaked a peek down and the hand clutching the gun couldn’t cover
everything. ‘You dye down there too?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For the first time Saoirse frowned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Unlike highly emotional humans this
woman did not radiate the auric colours that I was used to. All that outlined
her form was a hazy grey smoke. But I didn’t need the firework displays that
emanated from my usual quarries to tell me she was growing angry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘You do not appreciate this form?’ she
said. ‘Perhaps you would prefer I was an incubus instead?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Strictly heterosexual,’ I reassured
her. ‘It’s just that I don’t fancy every strumpet that drops her knickers in
front of me.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Strumpet?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Another old word, but it was one she’d
understand. Before leaving Broom’s place for Blackpool, my knowledgeable buddy
had told me that the etymology of the name succubus came from the Late Latin <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">succubare</i>, or “to lie under”, later
shortened to succuba and literally “strumpet”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Old whore, if you’d prefer?’ I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Saoirse made a sound that should never
have come from her enchantress form. She bubbled out a growl like a drunken
hobo clearing his throat after a night on methylated spirits.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She raised Broom’s silver knife.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Go on, Red, cut his throat.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Shut it, Cash. Concentrate on what
you’re good at.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Maybe you should let me take over, bro. I’ll show the hot
little bitch a good time, all right.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Just get us the fuck out of these
chains!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Saoirse said, ‘I can take your essence
whether you wish to mate with me or not.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Honestly, I’d rather you slit my
throat. I hear that sexually penetrating a succubus is akin to entering a
cavern of ice. Where’s the pleasure in that? And anyway, what’s this about you
taking a man’s semen then passing it onto one of your incubus brothers so he
can impregnate women with his demonic little offspring? What do you call them:
Cambions aren’t they?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘You’ve researched well,’ Saoirse said,
and my taunting had worked because she’d forgotten about sticking the blade in
my neck and again moved away from me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Everything I know you can find on
Wikipedia,’ I told her. ‘Is that what you’re up to here? Breeding your own
little crop of Cambions. Don’t bother, from the number of ugly inbred trolls
I’ve seen out on the Golden Mile someone already beat you to it.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘You know little of my kind after all.
And this know-it-all <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wikipedia </i>is as
ill informed as the fools that write it. Too much faith has been placed in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Malleus Maleficarum</i> as a source
document, and your modern “Witches’ Hammer” – your Wikipedia – holds as many
misinterpretations of the truth. My kind has no interest in your dishwater
semen: it is your life essence that we desire. I’m coming <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">now</i> to set <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">it</i> free!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Suddenly Saoirse wasn’t the enchanting
vision of beauty of before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Her looks fell from her in the
shimmering river of mercury that had earlier shed her dress.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Her fiery mane shrivelled into a keeled
skull, her almost translucent skin metamorphosing into warty grey hide. Her
breasts shrivelled like dried out teabags left on the side of a saucer at one
of those backstreet cafes. Her pubis went bare, and her labia hung like soiled
rags. Horrible enough before I looked up again at her face and saw that her
green eyes had sunk back into the skull and were now snot-coloured currants
deep beneath a thick brow, and her mouth…Oh, Jesus. Think anus, puckered,
hemorrhoid-ridden, with needle teeth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I take back what I said before</span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">, Cash said. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I
wouldn’t even touch her with yours, bro.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Saoirse let out a keening hiss.
Expelled urine and other foul liquids dripped down her upper thighs, but the
sound had come from her awful mouth. Kind of a mating call, I guessed. Then she
came for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Now would be a good time to do your
thing, Cash!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In my urgency I’d shouted out loud.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My odd words were enough to halt
Saoirse in her tracks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Her arms hung by her sides, my weapons
still clutched in mitts that were boney and ended in ragged claws. Maybe she
still thought she could get me up by threat of a bullet or knife slash: such
foreplay never did it for me. But now she paused to contemplate just whom the
hell I was shouting at.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">From above filtered the clumping of
footsteps. Saoirse had her lackeys on stand by; they were the same sons of
bitches who’d grabbed me, kicked the shit out of me and then hung me here in
the bitch’s cellar like a side of tenderized beef. They were an ugly bunch, and
pitiless, so maybe there was something in the Cambion myth that Saoirse wasn’t
letting on. Any second now and those brutes would come downstairs and hold me
down while Saoirse had her wicked way with me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Cash!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Allez, hop!</span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
cried my demented brother, like he was some old time circus performer. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Let’s go, bro.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For the last minute or so I’d been
working my fingers and wrists, manipulating them without any conscious sense,
really Cash working his wizardry through my hands without any assistance from
me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The chains fell from my wrists just as
Saoirse puckered up for a kiss. I struggled to free my arms from the clinging
links, and Saoirse just put my energetic thrashings down to one playing hard to
get. Her needle teeth nipped into my lips and she clamped on tight. A slick,
wriggling tongue invaded my mouth and I coughed in revulsion. It was colder
than three days old polar bear shit, and tasted just as bad. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Earlier I’d imagined Saoirse’s long
legs wrapped around my middle. Well, the dream became reality, and it was a
nightmare. I felt the icy clamminess of her vagina as she tried to clamp on,
her second puckered opening chewing its path up my left thigh towards my
genitals. The only saving grace was that at least this one didn’t come with
teeth. Let alone her trying to latch onto my penis, the invasion of my mouth
was bad enough, and then the extraction of souls began.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Fuckin’ hell, Carter, she’s starting with me!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It wasn’t often my brother panicked. He
was generally too sociopathic to care about anything, except when it was his
own immortal soul. In all honesty I contemplated waiting for a while, allowing
the soul-sucking demoness to gulp down Cash’s spirit – shit, I’d been looking
for a way to expel his soul from mine for good, and now an unconventional
opportunity had presented itself – but as much as I hated the murderous piece
of shit, I hated Saoirse’s violation of my body more. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I wrenched loose from the chains and
gripped hold of her right hand. A trick I’d learned during a self-defence class
stripped the knife from her grip. More likely it was desperation that made the
technique work than any skill but the knife was now in my hand and I reversed
it just as Saoirse realised she’d been fooled. She snapped her tongue from my
mouth and reared back, and the curve of her fangs almost tore my lips off
before she’d fully disengaged.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I stood before her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She looked down at my empty hands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Then dawning realisation struck and she
peered down at the only boner she’d get from me: the erect handle of the silver
knife jutted from between her shrivelled breasts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She was dead; she just didn’t know it
yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I reached out, braced my palm against
the knife handle and gave her a shove.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She fell flat on her back and didn’t
move.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Broom would be happy to hear that the
supposed magical knife had worked better than even he’d imagined. He swore that
the blade had been forged by some vizier of the Zoharistic Kabbalah persuasion
and was based upon a much earlier design. The first knife was made for none
other than the Archangel Samael after he had a bit of a fling with Lilith and
realised that he’d made a major <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">faux pas </i>when
she wouldn’t return to Adam in the Garden of Eden. Samael’s way of getting rid
of the bunny boiling temptress was to have a knife forged by Tubal Cain, the
first metal worker, that could do Lilith and her kind in for good. I didn’t
have the heart to tell my friend that you couldn’t rely on EBay as a source for
genuine angelic weapons, but now I wouldn’t have to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I left the knife jammed in the
succubus’s breastbone. Maybe by extracting it she would rise up again like a
vampire in a Hammer movie. I reached instead for the gun. It would be more
effective than a blade against the group of Cambions now thumping down the
stairs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Naked, my mushy lips a match for my
mushed up face, I greeted the fuckers as they stomped down and stood in a
semi-circle behind their late mistress. Blazing auric colours sparked all
around them. They were pissed. But then so was I.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘Cash,’ I said. ‘Time for your special
skills again.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">With pleasure, bro.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My gun hand came up. Truthfully, Cash,
my murderous brother wasn’t the only one in control of my fingers this time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">BIO:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Matt Hilton is the bestselling author
of the Joe Hunter thriller series, but also enjoys writing in other genres, one
of which is horror. Matt has had seven Joe Hunter thrillers published to date,
plus an ebook of Hunter short tales, with more to come. He has self-published
two horror novels (Dominion and Darkest Hour) as eBooks and also edited and
collected the terrific Action: Pulse Pounding Tales Vol 1 anthology, and a
number of his short stories have appeared in various collections and
anthologies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Find out more about Matt at <a href="http://www.matthiltonbooks.com/">http://www.matthiltonbooks.com</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Matt is also the founder of Thrillers, Killers ‘n’ Chillers and the current thriller editor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> * NOTE*</o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p>Carter and Cash Bailey appeared first in an unpublished Matt Hilton novel called 'The Thin Grey Man'. This is the first time this original 'Bailey Brothers Tale' has appeared anywhere. If enough interest is shown, then Matt might be tempted to publish the original novel.</o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->
Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12033131935968488175noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-70947753243863534252012-10-06T13:50:00.000+01:002012-10-23T07:41:49.853+01:00Horrorists - it's Competition Time!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>COMPETITION NOW CLOSED - WINNER AND RUNNERS-UP TO BE ANNOUNCED SOON!</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We all know October is the time of year when the veil between the real and 'other' worlds (whatever that happens to mean to you) is thin, building up to the horror frenzy that is Halloween. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We couldn't let the month go by without a special nod to the celebrations so:</span><br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><span style="font-size: large;">we're running a competition! Send us your best, darkest horror in up to 2,000 words and the winning story will be published on TK'n'C on Hallow'een itself, 31st October. The author will also win ebooks by ALL the TK'n'C Editors. <br /><br />Two runners-up's stories will be published on 29th and 30th October.<br /><br />More details below...<br /></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">We're also running a TK'n'C Editors special! Each weekend, one of us will publish a terrifying tale - starting Sunday October 7th with Matt Hilton's electrifying, disturbing, and never-before published SUFFERING SUCCUBI. </span></li>
</ul>
<div>
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div>
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">COMPETITION GUIDELINES</span></b></div>
<div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><span style="font-size: large;">There is no theme. There are already lots of clichéd Halloween tales going round so we're open to pure horror on all themes (as long as they adhere to our general submission guidelines - <a href="http://thrillskillsnchills.blogspot.co.uk/p/submissions.html" target="_blank">please read</a>)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Stories should be no longer than 2,000 words. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Please do not indent new paragraphs, just use a paragraph break in-between.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Time is tight - you only have from<b> now until midnight on 22nd October</b> to send in your story</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Please send your stories in the body of an email (attachments will not be opened) with 'Halloween Horror' in the subject line to <a href="mailto:tknchorror@gmail.com">tknchorror@gmail.com</a>. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Please add a short bio (two or three sentences) at the end of your story.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Reprints are acceptable as long as you own the rights to send them. Please let us know where and when a story has previously been published.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">The author retains all copyright to the works (be aware that some publishers will not take works previously published on the web)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">The author of the winning story will receive eBooks, or PDF versions of books by each of the Thrillers Killers 'n' Chillers editors - Matt Hilton, Col Bury, David Barber and Lily Childs</span></li>
</ul>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">That's it! We're waiting - now scare us to death.</span></div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Good luck.</span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Lily Childshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15861288507716873813noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-22657975970428953572012-10-04T21:34:00.000+01:002012-10-04T21:34:42.083+01:00Jacks, Queens and Evens by Chris Leek.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">TKnC are proud to welcome Chris Leek to their pages with a story that's as noir and gritty as they come.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>Jacks, Queens and Evens</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>by</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b> Chris Leek.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Jacqui was already dead by the time security kicked in the door on the employee’s washroom. They found her curled up on the floor, lying face down in a puddle of blood and coke-snot. I was supposed to be working that day, but I’d asked Ray if I could switch. No real reason, I just felt like getting loaded and watching the Mets game. Ray docked me a ten spot for swapping, said he had ‘overheads’. Perhaps if I had been on shift instead of off my face I could have… Fuck I don’t know, but Jacks was good people and that was a shitty way for her to go out.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">When Jacqui and me weren’t dealing cards at the Fitzgerald we’d go get drunk at the Cal Neva, or maybe just hang out at her place drinking cappuccino from a packet and watching crappy movies on HBO. I told her that I loved her once - I was hoping someday she'd get around to saying it back.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Like I said to that cop who came around, Jacqui might have done a line now and again, but it was about a million miles away from being a habit. He wasn’t interested, to him Jacks was just another junkie checking out in the can, she didn’t rate the paperwork. He said they had analyzed the stuff she hit up and it had been stepped on pretty hard with a crystalline alkaloid, but they were still writing it up as an overdose. Case closed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I nodded like knew what the hell an alkaloid was, after he left I went to the library and looked it up. It turned out he meant some bastard dealer was cutting his shit with rat poison. When I found the asshole he wouldn't need a copy of Coleman’s Pharmaceutical Dictionary, but a Bible might come in handy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">#</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">At work it was like Jacqui had never existed. The only memorial to her passing was the out of order sign maintenance hung on the splintered washroom door.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Most people did their best to avoid me. Entering the lunch room was like walking through the saloon doors in an old western movie: conversations would stop mid-sentence and everyone became suddenly fascinated by their shoes. All that was missing was the fucking piano player.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The only one who talked was Ray. He liked nothing better than to run his mouth although he usually did it behind my back. I held my tongue and waited. Working casinos you get to know people, not all of them deal in cards so I asked around.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">#</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">It must have been around a week after they planted Jacqui up at Mountain View. There was another convention in town and the Fitz was packed out with sweaty middle management types whooping it up on a big corporate happy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I was pulling the afternoon Blackjack shift. Sammy Seventeen was at my table. We called him that because he’d always hit a hard seventeen, mostly he’d bust, but not today. He hit two in a row and took them both. When he cashed in he slipped me a five, folded inside it was the address of a club west of downtown and a name, Ramón.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">There were four other players on base, all of them waiting for a ticket that would never hit the felt. I dropped the shoe like a fat girl on prom night and made for the door.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Hey Colbretti, where the hell do you think you’re going?” Ray shouted after me, his short legs treading water as he tried to push his way through a gaggle of Philly housewives clutching change cups the size of trash cans.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">He was blowing like a steam train when he caught up to me by the blarney stone out front.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Get back in there you dumb bastard before I fire your sorry ass,” he said, grabbing my arm and yanking on it like he owned me. I swung a rusty haymaker and dropped him too. It didn’t take much and besides he had it coming.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Touching the blarney stone was supposed to bring you luck. To me it just looked like someone had squashed a fat wad of chewing gum on the wall. I stepped over my ex-boss and patted it anyway. I figured it couldn’t hurt.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">#</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I walked the six blocks back to my building with my hands shoved deep in my pockets and my mind spinning out of gear. Jumping the back fence, I slid around the dumpsters to the fire escape. I was running behind on the rent and the manager was out for my blood.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I got to my door to find another one of his yellow ‘pay up' notices pinned to it. I ripped it down and hidden beneath was a message from the loser in #4C bitching about how he was disturbed by my music. I could have complained about the noise from his place as well, hearing those boys he rented getting played loud was pretty fucking disturbing too. I left that thought swinging in the breeze along with the note and went inside.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The two things I inherited from my old man when he died were in an old shoe box under the bed; his Marine Corps ring and his nickel plated .45. I stuffed both of them in my jacket. At the bottom of the box was a grainy Polaroid of me and Jacks. It was taken out by the lake last summer or it might have been the summer before. I looked pretty drunk in it, Jacqui just looked pretty. I slipped the picture in my pocket and hunted for a pen. Finding only a stub of pencil I scribbled a note for Gigi, telling her to take anything she wanted before the manger hocked it all in lieu of the rent I was about to run out on.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Gigi Trativelli had the apartment two doors down from mine. Her real name was Donald Johnson. She, or should I say he, was a transvestite stripper at one of those AC/DC clubs south of Ryland. You can think what you like about that, but Gigi was one of the few people I knew that hadn’t tried to fuck me over, which was a damn good thing however you looked at it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I wrapped my key in the letter and slid it under her door on the way past. I was walking out through the parking garage when Gigi came running up to me - hair in curlers and make up only half done - she looked like maybe she was going to cry.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Take care Pete,” she said, and hugged me like a bear. I guess maybe I hugged her back.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I headed back towards downtown, stopping in at Liquor Box to buy a fifth of Jim Beam. It was Jacqui’s favorite drink. The barman at the Cal knew that better than most. I don’t know if that’s what made me choose it, but like Ray, it went down real easy. I sat on a crate in the alley alongside the store and concentrated on drinking. I was nearly done with this town, but I had a couple of stops to make on my way out, both of them would go over easier if I was a good way towards being wasted.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I tossed the empty bottle into a vacant lot and started walking again, turning left on Virginia and heading for Palace Jewelery & Loan. Pawn brokers in Reno are right up there with the fire department as an emergency service. One of the pit bosses at the Fitz told me he had them all on speed dial; I told him he should think about getting a life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">#</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The Pawnshop was rammed. It smelt of bus stations, dime bags and desperation. I stood in a snaking line that resisted any sort of movement for better than twenty minutes. I could feel the buzz from the bourbon already wearing thin as I started to sweat it out. Looking around me I saw the same expression on every face. They all knew you didn’t get a deal worth shit in this place.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">After a long wait that felt more like a short custodial sentence, I was stone cold sober and at the front of the line. I slid my dad’s ring under the grill, the guy took it with nicotine stained fingers and looked at me like I'd just run over his dog. I know what its worth and so does he, but first we have to do the dance.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“There ain’t much call for this sort of thing nowadays,” he said, starting the music.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“I saw you sold one just like it last month for $1150,” I shot back at him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Hmm, I’ll give you $200 for it, cash money.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Listen can you here that? My old man’s spinning in his grave. I need $800.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“No way can I do eight; I might stretch to $300.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Do you want to borrow it or buy it?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Listen buddy I’m in this to make a buck.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“That makes two of us, so how about we stop with the foreplay and start to fuck?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">We knocked it back and forwards for a while longer and I ended up walking out with five pictures of Benjamin Franklin in my pocket and a real bad taste in my mouth.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">#</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Club Nouveau was an ugly two story red brick that loitered on the corner of Ralston and West 4th. I’d been in the place once when I first hit town, it was just an overpriced titty bar with Hispanic chicks swinging on poles. Following Sammy’s instructions, I passed by the front and went down a side alley to the service entrance, knocked and waited.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I was just getting ready to hammer on the door for a third time when it opened up on a swarthy looking dude in an expensive silk shirt. His sleeves were rolled up showcasing a fine collection of needle tracks and prison tattoos.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“What the fuck do you want?” he asked, rubbing his chin.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“I’m looking for Ramón.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Nobody here by that name, get lost.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">He started closing the door in my face, so I stuck a boot in it to stop him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Wait up pal I’m a friend of Jacqui, she said Ramón would, you know, help me out.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Jacqui? You mean that new girl - little blonde piece with the tight ass?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I thought hard about capping him right there, but in the end I just nodded.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Okay Rocky, so what do you need?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Show me what you got,” I said, pulling out five bills and waving them under his nose. His eyes lit up like a carousel of dollar slots and he motioned me to follow him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I was led down a narrow, twisting hallway to a windowless little back room.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">A sagging couch filled one entire wall. In front of it was a scuffed coffee table littered with dead beer cans, a half smoked joint spluttered out in the ashtray. In the corner a muted TV showed an early evening matinee of girl on girl porno. I’d lay ten-to-one he was beating off to it when I knocked.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Ramón crouched down by the couch, pried up a loose floor board and started rooting around in the hole beneath it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Jacqui huh, that’s one roller coaster I’d like a ride on,” he said, finding what he was after. “I ain’t seen her around much?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“She ain’t been around since she huffed your crap,” I said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3733545996388457449"></a>He stood up with a bag of brown dope in his hand, but he was more interested in the shiny .45 I held in mine.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Hey, what the…”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I didn’t feel much like talking it over so I just emptied the clip. I was no marksman, but from four feet away I didn't need to be. The impact of the first round knocked the bag from his grip and slammed him back against the wall; the rest squashed him there like a bug on a windshield. He slid down in slow motion, leaving a dirty red smear for the cleaner to worry about. I sat on the arm of the couch and watched for a while as he bled out, it seemed like it hurt, which is all I really wanted to know.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Bio: </span><span style="font-size: large;">Chris Leek lives mostly in Cambridge, England and when he can in Henderson Nevada. Honky-tonk bars with nine ball and a killer jukebox are hard to come by in Cambridge so he hangs out here instead: <a href="http://nevadaroadkill.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: red;">nevadaroadkill.blogspot.com</span></a></span></b><br />
<br /></div>
David Barberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04659359186046409071noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-23003297372743230442012-10-02T22:16:00.000+01:002012-10-02T22:16:31.058+01:00Submission News and a Halloween Horror Comp<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: large;">Great news! Thrillers Killers 'n' Chillers will open its creaky doors to submissions again next month. So keep an eye out for the announcement.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">For a reminder of what we are looking for, take a look at our main <a href="http://thrillskillsnchills.blogspot.co.uk/p/submissions.html">submissions page</a> and my previous post on <a href="http://thrillskillsnchills.blogspot.co.uk/2012/05/note-from-editors-horror-submissions.html">horror submissions</a>.</span><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Halloween Horror</span></b><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This year we'll be running a competition - the best three horror stories received will be published on TK'n'C on 29th, 30th and 31st October. There'll also be a prize for the top tale. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Details coming up in the next couple of days!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">In addition, October will be an <b><i>Editors' Horror Special</i></b> - one ghastly short story each weekend, kicking off with a truly terrifying descent into the dark dungeons of <a href="http://www.matthiltonbooks.com/">Matt Hilton</a>'s mind. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Don't miss it - c</span><span style="font-size: large;">ome back soon!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
Lily Childshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15861288507716873813noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3733545996388457449.post-5879722993225117482012-09-24T20:00:00.000+01:002012-09-24T21:41:43.157+01:00Mario Polzetti by Rod Hamon.<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">TKnC are proud to welcome another debutante, Rod Hamon, with a slick crime tale. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>Mario Polzetti</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>by</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><b>Rod Hamon</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Just ‘cause you’re part of the family, you think you can cross me?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“You got it all wrong, boss. I ain’t done nothin’ wrong.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Get outa my sight!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“But, boss, I’m innocent. I swear on my kid’s grave!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Get out!” Mario Polzetti screamed as his brother-in-law, Giovanni, headed for the door, certain to be hunted down.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Now get out of my sight you smooth-talking low life. No one crosses me and lives. Just crawl right back into that rat hole you came out of and disappear. Got it?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">As the door closed, Mario picked up the phone, dialled, and spat out instructions, “Got a job for you. It’s Giovanni. Do it.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Mario Polzetti, in his early sixties, was short, stocky with an olive complexion, black swept- back hair and the boss of one of New York’s largest crime syndicates.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"># # # </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The winter sun shone weakly through the east-facing window of Detective Dabrowski’s office onto a desk piled high with papers. Behind it sat a man in his thirties with gangling legs that seemed to go on forever. His spiky hair and bewildered expression gave the impression he’d been electrocuted. But Leroy Dabrowski always looked that way.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The office door flew open and a dishevelled junior detective called Sam almost fell in. “Been another murder, boss: Polzetti’s brother-in-law.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Dabrowski looked troubled. “Polzetti‘s never far away when there’s something bad going down, but we can never get anything on him. He covers his tracks like a prairie dog.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“It would be good to pin this one on him,” Sam replied.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Get me the details. I’ll go check it out,” Dabrowski demanded. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The phone rang. He picked it up but before he could speak a voice on the other end demanded, “Get in here, now!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Dabrowski rolled his eyes. “On my way, Chief.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> “The Chief ain’t happy?” the junior detective asked with a snigger.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Sure he is. Just can’t resist my winning personality!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The phone rang again. It was the sharp and incisive voice of the Chief. “You comin’ or what?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Dabrowski headed out the door.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Behind a desk sat a man whose double chin seemed to engulf his entire face. The Chief leaned forward and pointed a finger, then changed his mind and instead banged his fist on the desk.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Another murder – sure to be connected with that damn Polzetti – but still no arrest! What in hell’s name are you doing about it?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Well…”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“You any closer to nailing that sleazebag?” he shouted, beads of sweat running through his open collar and down his neck. “We’re looking like idiots. The Press’re crucifying us. People on the street are demanding answers and so am I.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“I know but…”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“You’ve got twenty four hours, or I’ll have your badge. You catch my drift, Dabrowski?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Sure, boss.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Becoming even redder in the face, the Chief shouted, “How d’you feel about traffic duty for the rest of your life?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Dabrowski pulled a face. “Not the career path I had in mind, boss.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Twenty four hours, that’s what you’ve got. Now get outa here!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"># # #</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Dabrowski returned to the police precinct later that day to report his findings to the Chief.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Not surprised the brother-in-law was bumped off. Word on the street is that he’d been making a play for control of Polzetti’s cartel. Seems that Giovanni was having dealings with another syndicate. Polzetti wasn’t happy.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“You got anything that puts him in the frame?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Not yet, boss, but I’m working on it. Something of interest, though, is that people on the street say there was an argument between Polzetti and his wife at a restaurant. They say she got up and stormed out after an exchange of words. I’d say it was probably because he had her brother executed.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The Chief rubbed his chin. “Better watch her then. She’s probably on Polzetti’s hit list and in line to be the morgue’s next guest.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Have I done well, boss? Does this mean I’ve got a reprieve from traffic duty?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Go on. Get out of my sight.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"># # #</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">At eleven fifteen p.m. three days later, the emergency services receive a call from Mario Polzetti. “It’s my wife. I’ve just come home. She’s been shot. I don’t know what happened. I need an ambulance – quick!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Calm yourself, sir. Is she still breathing?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“I think so.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Okay, sir. Just give me your address. We’ll dispatch an ambulance immediately. Just keep calm.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Keep calm? How can I with my wife lying here in a pool of blood?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“I understand, sir. But the ambulance will be there in a few minutes.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The ambulance and a police car with Detective Dabrowski at the wheel arrived a short time later. Polzetti’s wife, Gilda was taken away by ambulance. Her husband stood in the open door and watched as it drove away. “I ought to be with her,” he muttered wistfully.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“It’s better you stay here, sir,” Dabrowski said. “We need to find who did this terrible thing to your wife.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Polzetti nodded.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“When did you find her?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“I came home about eleven fifteen and found her on the kitchen floor and called for an ambulance.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Did you see anyone in the house or in the street?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“No one.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Where were you this evening?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“I’ve been at a business dinner from eight to eleven at a restaurant not far from here. If your next question is, ‘Can you prove it?’ yes, there were at least forty guests at that dinner that know me.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Thank you, sir.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“I need to get to the hospital now. Can we talk later?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Sure, I’ll have forensics examine the house while you’re away,” Dabrowski replied.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"># # #</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Mario Polzetti arrived at the hospital and demanded to speak with the attending doctor.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“How serious is she, doc? Will she pull through?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The grim-faced doctor gestured for Mario to sit down. “The situation is very serious, Mr Polzetti.” He paused for a moment. “X-rays reveal that a bullet is lodged in her brain and it’s far too risky to attempt to remove it. The slightest movement could result in her death.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Is there anything that can be done?” Mario asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“She is likely to remain in a coma – probably indefinitely. I’m sorry, Mr Polzetti, but you must accept the fact that you may never see her conscious again. On the positive side, while she is on life support in hospital, she may keep living for a long time.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Mario stared at the floor and said nothing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“I’m truly sorry for your loss, Mr Polzetti. I realize that seeing your wife in this vegetative state is not at all comforting for you. Of course, if she doesn’t recover you may decide, after a while, to request that the life support be turned off. That is your choice.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Thanks, doc.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"># # #</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Unconvinced of Polzetti’s innocence, Dabrowski checked out Mario’s alibi and confirmed that he was at dinner with business associates at the time of the murder, although most of those at the dinner were known criminals. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Interviews with neighbors revealed that two people in the street where Polzetti lived had heard a single revolver shot at about ten that evening. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Disgruntled, Dabrowski returned to his office. Sam the junior detective looked up as he entered. “Any progress?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Water-tight alibi again, damn it!” he moaned angrily. “I know he did it, but can’t prove it.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Sam scratched the back of his neck and said, “With his sort of cash, he could buy any alibi he liked.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Dabrowski nodded. “There’s a lot of money in that white powder.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Sam nodded and said. “Forgot to tell you, I’ve checked and found that Polzetti is the registered owner of a revolver.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Dabrowski looked up. “That’s interesting; I’ll check that out.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"># # #</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Next day, Dabrowski drove to Polzetti’s house. He strutted down the path leading to the entrance door, his long arms swinging from side to side. He knocked loudly. The door opened.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“I need to ask you some more questions; may I come in?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“How long will this take?” He grunted looking at his watch.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Dabrowski stepped inside. “I need to ask if there were any valuables stolen.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Polzetti shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, jewelry, money but nothing that can’t be replaced. Looks to me like a robbery gone wrong.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Dismissing this theory, Dabrowski asked, “Our records show that you have a revolver registered in your name. Still got it?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Yeah, bought it years ago. Never had the need to use it, though. Not even sure where it is. Want me to look for it?” Mario asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“That would be nice,” Dabrowski replied.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Ten minutes later, Mario returned. “Found it in the garage. Doubt if it works, though. Covered in grim and dust. Let me get you a rag.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“That’s okay. I’ll take it as it is.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"># # #</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">A forensic examination of the revolver revealed nothing; certainly no powder residue.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“You sure it hasn’t been thoroughly cleaned and then made to look discarded and dusty?” Dabrowski asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“It’s possible. I suppose anything’s possible,” the lab technician replied.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Any evidence that this weapon was used in other crimes?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“No, we can’t find any other matches.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Dabrowski chewed his fingernails and sighed. “Didn’t think it would be that easy!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“You look disappointed.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Damned right I am!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"># # #</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Mario visited his wife, Gilda about once a week, but spent most of his time doing business on his cell phone. Sometimes he spoke to the doctor about his wife’s condition.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“I’m sorry, Mr Polzetti, but there are no signs of recovery so far. But she seems stable and there’s now no risk from the bullet as long as she remains quiet.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Thank you, doc.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">While he was speaking with the doctor, a young nurse entered to take Gilda’s temperature and blood pressure. She made notes then turned to leave, as she did so, she locked eyes with Polzetti. Outside the ward she spoke to another nurse. “That man gives me the creeps. He’s evil and you can see that he cares nothing about his wife.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"># # #</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Mario was at his wife’s bedside reading a book one night a few weeks later when he heard a noise and looked up. She seemed to be making an effort to speak. Although her eyes remained closed she continued for some time trying to form words, but then stopped.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">For just an instant Mario’s face lit up, but then just as quickly, changed to one of anxiety. Rubbing his chin in thought, he stared down at her with a look that was devoid of compassion; a look that only conspired to badness.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">He stayed by his wife’s bed side for a few more hours but she remained quiet. After a while, he called the nurse in charge.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Burying his face in his hands, he said, “I think I’ve allowed my wife’s suffering to go on long enough, nurse.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> “I’m sure it’s the right thing to do, Mr Polzetti. I’ll arrange with the doctor to have the life-support turned off,” she said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Almost inaudibly, he replied, “Thank you nurse, I think that’s best.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The doctor appeared fifteen minutes later and putting a comforting hand on Mario’s shoulder, said, “I think this is the sensible step to take – we’ll take her off the life support immediately. First, come with me – there are some forms to sign.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">They entered the doctor’s office. Polzetti sat down.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> The doctor took notes and asked some questions then turned to Polzetti and said, “Are you quite sure this is what you want to do?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Polzetti nodded.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Okay. You’ll need to arrange for your wife’s burial now, Mr Polzetti.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Cremation,” he replied.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">The doctor peered over his glass. “Cremation, oh I see – just as you wish,”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"># # #</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Early next morning, there was a knock at Polzetti’s door. it was Detective Dabrowski with another policeman. “We have a warrant for your arrest.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“My arrest! What for?” He asked mockingly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“For the murder of your wife, Gilda Polzetti.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“What’re you talking about?” he screamed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">“Mr Polzetti, while your wife was in a coma with the bullet wedged in her brain we could do nothing. But when you authorized the life support be turned off and she died, we were able to remove the bullet and compare it to markings on your revolver.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Polzetti’s mouth dropped open.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Looking him straight in the eye Dabrowski said, “They match.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Bio: </span><span style="font-size: large;">Rod was born in the UK but moved to Adelaide South Australia some years ago. He has had over 30 short stories published in various books and magazine in many countries including the UK, Australia, USA, Canada, Singapore and Germany. In addition to fiction, Rod has been a contributor to many science magazines particularly those related to astronomy.</span><br />
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<br />David Barberhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04659359186046409071noreply@blogger.com2