A frightening new duo of short scary stories

The Accident

It was one a.m. and Guy Halverson sat in his dark living room. He hadn’t moved for over an hour. The accident earlier that evening kept playing over and over in his mind. The light turned red, but he was in a hurry and accelerated. An orange blur came from his right, and in a split second there was a violent jolt, then the bicyclist rolled across his hood and fell out of sight on the pavement. Horns blared angrily and he panicked, stepping on the gas and screeching away from the chaos into the darkness, shaken and keeping an eye on his rearview mirror until he got home.

Why did you run, you idiot? He’d never committed a crime before this and punished himself by imagining years in jail, his career gone, his family gone, his future gone.

Why not just go to the police right now? You can afford a lawyer.

Then someone tapped on the front door and his world suddenly crumbled away beneath him. They found me. There was nothing he could do but answer it. Running would only make matters worse. His body trembling, he got up, went to the door and opened it. A police officer stood under the porch light.

“Mr. Halverson?” asked the grim officer.

He let out a defeated sigh. “Yes. Let me—"

“I am terribly sorry, but I’m afraid I have some bad news. Your son’s bike was struck by a hit and run driver this evening. He died at the scene. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Voyeur

He was lonely. His wife of ten years had just left him. What’s the bid deal? Les stood near the window of his darkened bedroom watching the new neighbor’s teenage daughter brush her long black hair. She was willowy with creamy, flawless skin and very attractive. He wasn’t hurting anybody.

Mid-brush, she suddenly looked up in his direction. Les snapped back further into the darkness, worried she may have seen him and tell someone he was a creepy peeping Tom, but it wasn’t like that. Was it?

The next morning Les walked to his car in the driveway. He happened to glance up, and to his discomfort the girl stood at her window, expressionless, watching him with dark accusatory eyes.

Her appearance at the window disturbed him the entire day. Did it mean anything? Was it a message? Later that evening as he got ready for bed, the window beckoned him again. Lights off, palms damp, Les edged to the sill and peered out.

His knees went weak from shock. Framed in the window were the girl’s calves and feet as they swayed gently in mid-air. Les rushed from the house, jumped up onto his neighbor’s porch and pounded on the door. A thin tattooed man in a sleeveless T-shirt opened the door.

 “I know we haven’t met, but I just happened to look out my bedroom window a few minutes ago and I think your daughter is trying to commit suicide.”

The man frowned and his eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what you’re smoking friend, but we don’t have a daughter.”