tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66996895507556864762024-02-18T18:35:18.266-08:00They're Only ShadowsStories of suspense, horror and mystery by John Andreiniandreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-1044085434000422822016-08-11T17:21:00.000-07:002016-08-11T17:21:23.038-07:00The Invitation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Okay Emma, do you feel up to talking
about that night?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Emma changed position in her chair and stared at the
fidgeting fingers in her lap. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, I guess.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Go ahead.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That night…. Uh, my friend Carlos was in a film production
class at the U, and he had to make a five-minute movie for an assignment.
There’s a group of us who are friends, and he asked me, Jen and Toby if we
would be in it. Of course, we were drinking and high and said, “Yeah, that
would be cool,” but after that Carlos said we’d be shooting in this old house
out in the country that some people said was haunted. I was kind of freaked by
that, but didn’t want to look like a coward in front of the others, so I
pretended it was fine. Carlos sent us a script he’d written called “The Invitation,”
and we all met at the Sander’s House that night to start shooting. I got a
creepy vibe the minute we stepped in the place, but no one else seemed
bothered, so he set up lights and his camera and we began shooting.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What creeped you out?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I felt like someone was…hovering around me, like some
freaky guy at a party stalking me. Everything was okay for about a half-hour
and then weird shit started happening, like a piece of the ceiling fell down next
us and we thought we heard a door open and close upstairs.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What was Carlos’s script about, Emma?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It was a horror movie, of course, about an insane woman who
murdered guests she invited over. Kind of stupid, really.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Who played the insane woman?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
“Me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What happened next?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We were shooting a scene where Toby is sitting in a chair
and I sneak up behind him with an axe. I raise the axe like this and start
swinging, only I stop right when I get to his neck. Carlos had this mannequin
head with blood all over it and we would cut from me to the fake head falling
to the floor.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But it didn’t happen that way.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Emma looked out the barred window as if searching for
something. “No, it didn’t. Something happened to me as I was swinging the axe.
I can’t explain it, but I lost control.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“And you decapitated Toby.” Emma looked down again. “That’s
enough for today. We’re making progress.” The doctor stood, went to his office
door and opened it. “Nurse, you can take Emma back to her room.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A large, scowling woman entered and clasped Emma’s arm,
leading her to the door.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Doctor,” said Emma as she reached the threshold.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You should come down and visit me sometime.”</div>
<br />andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-91397570880368563992016-07-28T17:27:00.000-07:002016-07-28T17:27:12.428-07:00Essay: Why I like living in a small town<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
7B English</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mrs. Galligan</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I love small town life. I know it’s not for everybody, but I
think it’s the best thing ever and I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. Being
only twelve, I haven’t traveled much, and the biggest city I’ve been to is Des
Moines, which was plenty big for me, but everything I need and want is right
here in my hometown.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I live in a nice house on Brigid Street with my parents and
five-year old brother Sean. My father works at the Ace Hardware store and my
mother teaches religion at the school. A lot of my friends live outside of town
on farms. Their families work really hard every year to raise the crops and
make sure everyone has enough food for the long winter. Of course we know that
hard work alone isn’t enough to guarantee a bountiful harvest, but without
farmers, all the food god grants us would just rot in the fields.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every summer my two cousins from Chicago come to visit for a
week. Jessica, the cousin close to my age, never leaves the house while she’s
here. Every year I try to get her to go swimming or mess around downtown, but
she thinks the people who live here are creepy. Our town is kind of “off the
grid” as my dad would say, but that doesn’t automatically make us creepy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My favorite thing about living in a small town is the
holidays. There’s the Christmas concert at the school, the Easter parade down
Main Street, fireworks on the fourth of July, and the Harvest Festival in
October. It’s so cool to me that the whole town participates in all of these
events, like one big family. That doesn’t happen in your big city!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Harvest Festival is coming up in two weeks. I was very
honored to be chosen this year’s queen of the festival and I’ll be attending
events all week long, like the corn eating contest, barbeque and dance and the
lamb draining. The final day of the festival is a big deal, of course, and as
queen, I’ll be part of the evening’s program. I’m looking forward to it,
although all of my friends will be there watching me so it will be kind of
scary, too.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some people, like my dumb Chicago cousins, don’t understand what
it means to give to your community to help it prosper. They think our ways are
old fashioned and strange, but I don’t care. When I stand on top of the pyre in
three weeks chanting the sacred verse, the flames purifying my earthly flesh,
I’ll know that I’ve given all I can to the people I love most in this world,
and they will be grateful for my sacrifice. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now I hope you understand why I love small town life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kelly O’Malley
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-68188891893493334052016-05-23T10:29:00.000-07:002016-05-23T10:29:52.559-07:00The Love Interest<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Landing a recurring role in the “Young and the Restless” was
a dream come true for actress Tonya Curtz, as well as the beginning of a living
nightmare. Only days after her initial appearance on the show, she began noticing
a man at too many places during her day for it to be a coincidence, and was
concerned she had a stalker.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The man looked to be in his mid-twenties, her age, with
intense dark eyes that seemed too wide open to be a natural expression. It was
almost as if the stare was intended to frighten her. Was he just a star-fixated
fan with too much time on his hands or something else? People on the set were
sympathetic, but couldn’t offer much useful advice.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That evening, as Tonya closed up her second floor apartment before
bed, she glanced out a front window and was startled to see the man standing across
the street in the shadows just beyond the glow of the street lamp, staring up
at her. This is too much, she thought to herself, and called 911. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A half-hour later, there was a knock at her door. Assuming
it was the police, she rushed to answer it, but instinctively looked through
the peephole. For an instant she stared into the bulbous black eyes of her
stalker, then yelped and jumped back. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Go away,” she screamed. “The police are on their way.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tonya barricaded herself in her bedroom and called the
police again. Ten anxious minutes later there were more knocks on her front
door, but she could hear the police announcing themselves and sighed with
relief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They hadn’t seen anyone, but
would patrol the area more often than usual throughout the evening. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tired and surly, Tonya walked through the backstage area of
the set to make up the next morning. Candi had her sit in a chair and began transforming
Tonya into her pampered rich girl character, Eve Corbett, while telling sleep-inducing
stories of her love life. Candi was working on her closed eyes when Tonya heard
the voice of one of the shows producers, Paul Conklin. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Tonya, I’d like you to meet our newest cast member and your
new love interest on the show, Thomas Volker.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tonya opened her eyes and found herself staring at the
smiling face of her stalker.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“A pleasure to finally meet you,” he said.</div>
<br />andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-85552471907634058272016-04-22T17:10:00.000-07:002016-04-22T17:10:44.081-07:00The Neighbor<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Explosive thunder like Thor’s hammer coming down on the roof
shook the walls and Renee’s bones as she sat up in bed, holding her knees
against her chest like she did when she was a child. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had lived in small town Minnesota her
entire life and should have been used to the violent storms that march across
the Midwest every spring, but they always put her on edge and, of course, sleep
was impossible.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The noise that made her jump this time was her phone. It was
after midnight, but the number was local so she answered it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hello?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hi Renee, it’s Ken from next door.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hey, Ken. So I’m not the only one who can’t sleep through
all this racket.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Janet could sleep through a nuclear attack, but I jump up
if a floorboard creaks. But say, I’m actually calling for a reason. I’m not the
snoopy type, but I get up a couple of times a night for the usual reasons, and
so I’m up tonight and I see that your basement light is on. It’s never on this
late at night, so I thought I’d just double check with you about it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Ah. Well that is a bit unusual, but I did do laundry
today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I probably flipped on the switch
and forgot to turn off the lights.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m sure it’s something simple like that.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m going to go down and turn off the light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope this doesn’t sound weird, but would
you stay on the line until I do that?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Of course. You go ahead.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Thanks. I’ll give you the all clear.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Renee threw on her bathrobe and padded downstairs and
through the kitchen with her phone in hand. There was a thin line of yellow
light at the bottom of the basement door, and Renee opened it cautiously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She crouched and looked around the room, but
everything appeared in order. Wanting to be sure, she descended the stairs and
took a quick scan of the large room, then put the phone to her ear.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Ken? Yeah, everything is fine.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m glad to hear that,” said Ken, in her other ear.</div>
<br />andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-77237323277488229292016-04-16T11:45:00.000-07:002016-04-16T11:45:16.137-07:00The Changing Room<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPlDUn8vnjWdsg7qCFNHBSyKSuAoXMOPgoQL8U9V4DajuTLTrlf094O5TbtwcWT6fyV9pLNf2ghFdKzGTnULp6FBWWd_r2MWEwYOohxmzegFwLJtzOKYbJ5pDN2_6yIyu4KjiS5OlOhH8/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPlDUn8vnjWdsg7qCFNHBSyKSuAoXMOPgoQL8U9V4DajuTLTrlf094O5TbtwcWT6fyV9pLNf2ghFdKzGTnULp6FBWWd_r2MWEwYOohxmzegFwLJtzOKYbJ5pDN2_6yIyu4KjiS5OlOhH8/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
It was move-in day for the Patterson’s. Their new home was
one of those turn-of-the-century Victorians with gingerbread trim and a large welcoming
front porch. Even though it was a fixer-upper, Joseph had paid more than he
wanted to and it was larger than they needed, but Kelly was in love with it and
he was hoping it might help their marriage get through the current rough spot
in the road.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Boxes went in and tired, sweaty Patterson’s came out. Joseph
carried a box marked “basement” down the creaking stairs into the underbelly of
the house. Like all basements in older homes, it smelled of mold and spider
webs were draped in every corner. He set the box on the floor under a small window,
and as he rose up, he noticed something through a crack between two boards on
the wall. He squinted to see into the darkness, and he could swear he was
looking into a small room.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a few minutes of searching, he pulled on a board and to
his amazement a door opened. His inner child’s heart was racing with
excitement. A secret room! The dim basement light revealed a small, stark chamber
decorated with only an old overstuffed chair and a small table with a framed
photograph of a very grim looking man wearing a stained butcher’s apron. Joseph
felt drawn into the strange little hideaway. The moment he lowered himself into
the chair, however, the door slammed shut. He could see out into the basement
through slits in the wood, but nobody could see him. The darkness in the room
pressed down on his body and he couldn’t move or speak. Then the whispers began.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was dusk but still humid and the two sheriff’s deputies
were sweating despite standing in the shade of the porch. Kelly leaned against
a wall, her face blotchy, her eyes red from crying. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Patterson. We searched the entire house and
yard. Twice. He’s not here,” said the taller sheriff.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She was emphatic. “But where could he be? The car’s right
there. His wallet is sitting on the kitchen table. This is insane.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I can understand you’re upset. We’ll continue looking for
him tonight on our rounds. Try and get some rest. He may show up at any time.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How could he just disappear she asked herself for the
hundredth time as she brushed her hair before bed. He must be somewhere hurt,
unable to get help or did the bastard just up and leave me? What would he—</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Suddenly, in the mirror behind her stood Joseph. He was
wearing the same clothes as this morning, but something about his expression
was different, unsettling.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Joseph? Baby, where have you been? What have you been
doing?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She caught the glint of a polished steel blade in his right
hand at the same moment he spoke.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Changing.”</div>
<br />andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-89286511707190601182016-04-05T17:21:00.000-07:002016-04-05T17:21:10.599-07:00The Upgrade<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvCGN0mK8EW-ou1UfCSFb_xl9IvB21-JyOeBdpQnOS7h2A-xqH8VNXGj329jgS2juOcsKSlBd4kULaFVMzCQIDZz6ZpRBbkXyg_zdRR6fmGzoFZ3ev9KfWt1jzslq5o3LYJH9x9v4i8J8/s1600/th.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvCGN0mK8EW-ou1UfCSFb_xl9IvB21-JyOeBdpQnOS7h2A-xqH8VNXGj329jgS2juOcsKSlBd4kULaFVMzCQIDZz6ZpRBbkXyg_zdRR6fmGzoFZ3ev9KfWt1jzslq5o3LYJH9x9v4i8J8/s1600/th.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
“Weirdest thing,” said Al Donner as he handed his wife a
coffee cup.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What’s that?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He sat across from Janine at the dining room table. “I was
looking out the kitchen window just now and saw a car drive by that was exactly
the same make, model and color as mine. And the guy driving…looked like me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh lord, please don’t let there be another Al Donner in the
world,” she said with a smile. “Just kidding.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Ha. Strange, that’s all.” He got up and kissed Janine on
her forehead. “Late for work.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At a stoplight on his way to the office, Al wondered if he
had time to grab a latte at the coffee shop just across the street. His gaze
came to a rest on the front door of Peet’s, and a man who looked alarmingly
like him came walking out of the shop holding a to-go coffee cup. He was even
wearing the same color shirt. Car horns from behind broke his trance and he
shook his head in disbelief at the strange events of the morning. Did he
actually have a doppelganger?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The oddities continued as he sat at his computer in his cube
trying to log in. His password wasn’t working. Frustrated, he looked up and saw
his boss Tom Rhodes walking toward him with an uncharacteristically serious
expression. The man leaned over the cube wall and spoke quietly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Al, can I see you in my office?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As Al took a chair, Tom sat on the edge of his desk. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s time,” said Don, with an apologetic tone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Time?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Time for what?”<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Let’s not make this any more difficult than it has to be.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Don, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. Are
you firing me?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No….”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Al reacted as if he was hearing a foreign language. “Then what
the hell are you talking about?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’ve heard of this happening, but never…. Look, Al, just
report to IT. Okay? They’ll explain everything.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“IT? I don’t—“</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Al, please.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Fine,” said Al, standing. “Maybe someone there will tell me
what the hell is going on.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Confused and red-faced, Al l walked out of the office and
headed in the direction of IT. A few moments later, he seemed to reappear in
the doorway of the office.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Mr. Rhodes? I’m Al Donner.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tom got up and extended his hand. “Call me Tom. Glad to have
you on board, Al.”</div>
<br />andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-38277161122533813972016-03-30T14:48:00.000-07:002016-03-30T14:48:29.660-07:00Ping<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhREPrLha9t7b-hXxW3IWEuJaqpPLJZYPovP5tHBZUe80FH5AHjmKOCtcPATM36erW1xIm7hkT6AZ1y3LzQgG0glefw1VMTBQWzPI0gi_i97mGU29rJ3PG_C5eYGd_LtufCmEDlxea2HCQ/s1600/th.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhREPrLha9t7b-hXxW3IWEuJaqpPLJZYPovP5tHBZUe80FH5AHjmKOCtcPATM36erW1xIm7hkT6AZ1y3LzQgG0glefw1VMTBQWzPI0gi_i97mGU29rJ3PG_C5eYGd_LtufCmEDlxea2HCQ/s1600/th.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Ping.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The soft chime was just loud enough to raise Sheri Collins
from the depths of sleep toward consciousness. She pushed herself up on her
elbows and squinted, trying to pierce through the early morning darkness of the
bedroom. The only light was a dull white glow from her phone on the bedside table.
Propping herself up with pillows, she focused on the message she’d just
received. It was from her fourteen-year old daughter Kate.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Mom<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My ride bailed
on me. Can you come pick me up?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sheri frowned and began typing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Why are you out so late?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ping.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Please just come pick me up. I’ll explain. Corner of
Woodland and 9<sup>th</sup>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What choice was there?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’ll be there in 15. Look for me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ping.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“K”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
GPS was taking Sheri downtown into a dark, unfamiliar part
of the city, and it wasn’t helping her mood at all. Bright window displays gave
way to warehouses and fenced lots topped with razor wire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sheri jumped when the GPS lady announced that
her destination was 100 feet ahead. She slowly pulled up to the intersection of
Woodland and 9<sup>th</sup> and scanned the area, but saw no signs of life. I’m
going to kill her, thought Sheri, who then pushed on the horn twice. The
industrial wasteland around her was unnervingly silent, but she thought she
caught something moving to her right.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ping.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She locked the doors and turned back to her phone. It was a
text from Kate.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Mom where are you?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m here. Where are you?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ping</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“In my bedroom. I’ve been calling out for you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That can’t be. What’s wrong?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ping.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Noises in hallway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>God, please let that be you coming into my”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Kate? KATE?”
</div>
<br />andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-2552132843943472772016-03-21T09:16:00.000-07:002016-03-21T09:45:02.043-07:00The Baker Family Reunion<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk4FaUI7Jmzu8y8lXgdgzyMsGORdFWK9q4WCbt6rWvzl2reBN6bYsHqepAsA-ldyvCZG-TKPkuhulIeHntnvL71YlP_i8KCtDFfsSxz3enCBP2U1xRoit9ltB1PzI47ex7sgkiQs0JNDU/s1600/th.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk4FaUI7Jmzu8y8lXgdgzyMsGORdFWK9q4WCbt6rWvzl2reBN6bYsHqepAsA-ldyvCZG-TKPkuhulIeHntnvL71YlP_i8KCtDFfsSxz3enCBP2U1xRoit9ltB1PzI47ex7sgkiQs0JNDU/s1600/th.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The paring knife slipped off the tomato skin and cut a
half-inch slice into Meg Baker’s thumb.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Shit,” she hissed, sticking her thumb in her mouth.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her boyfriend Sean called from the living room. "You okay?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No,” she mumbled, walking to the bathroom like an oversized
toddler.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sean stood in the doorway as she tried to bandage herself. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“This family reunion is driving you nuts. You
haven’t gone to one in five years. You hate your family. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why is this one any different?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“My father is sick. We don’t know how long he has, but he
was the only one who ever showed me a bit of love and kindness. I just want to
see him before he…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sean watched Meg fumble with the bandage. “Here, let me
help.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two weeks later, Meg found herself in the backseat of a cab
heading toward her childhood home, the home where she spent the worst years of
her life fighting with her parents, friends who tried to help, teachers and
just about everyone else in her life. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
was going back to face the alcoholic mother who tried to have her committed
when she was fifteen, the relatives who clucked and rolled their eyes at the
mere mention of her name, and her dying father, not perfect, but the best of
the lot.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Meg pushed the doorbell and within a few seconds she was
facing her mother, Janet, who stood in the threshold scowling, eyes red and
face flush from alcohol. “What are you doing here?” she asked. The air between
them filled with wine fumes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I invited her,” called out Robert, Meg’s father, from the
top of the stairs.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Without saying a word, Janet turned and walked back toward
the kitchen. Don motioned for Meg to join him upstairs. He sat on the edge of
the bed as Meg plopped into a chair in the corner.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m really glad you made it, honey,” said Don, smiling.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, so is Mom. She’s brimming with joy that I’m here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Don’t let her get to you. She’s always cranky these days.
You must be thirsty.” Don opened the door in his bedside table and pulled out a
bottled water, holding it out to Meg. “Need to keep hydrated.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Thanks, but—“</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’ll help with the jet lag.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Meg took the water from her father and drank. “Okay. So how
are you feeling?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, I have good days and bad days. Today’s one of the
better ones, mostly because you’re here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Thanks.” Meg tugged at her collar. “Do you have the heat
cranked up? Warm in here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No. Are you okay?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Dizzy all of a sudden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Can’t keep my eyes open…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In what seemed like only a moment later, Meg was straining
to bring the room into focus. Her head throbbed and her clothes felt strange,
sticky. There was something in her right hand. With effort she raised her arm
and saw her fingers clasped around a large butcher knife covered in blood. Her
clothes were also covered in a sticky red goo. Heart thumping in her chest as
lines started to converge, Meg forced herself up and out into the hallway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She stopped at the top of the stairs. Lying
motionless and face down in the entryway below her as if floating in a pool of
blood was her mother. Meg sank to her knees and moaned.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Ah, you’re up,” said Don, entering from the living room.
The shock rendered Meg speechless. She opened her mouth but only emitted
another groan. “You killed them all. Well, that’s what the police will believe.
Mentally disturbed young woman comes home to a family reunion, there are
arguments and…she snaps, murdering everyone except her father, who barely
survived.” He held up an arm with bloodstains on his shirt. “I’ve been planning
this since the day you left home. You’re wondering why. Why did he do this to
me? Fact is, I hated everyone here as much, if not more, than you. A bunch of
drunk, backstabbing hypocrites. Now they’re all out of my life and I can start
fresh.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I thought you were the one who loved me,” whispered Meg.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I do, baby, but real love is above all about honesty. I
know this is hard to hear, but you’re damaged goods, Meg. It’s clear your life
isn’t going anywhere and nothing constructive will come of it. On the other
hand, I still have a lot to offer the world and a lot to accomplish. Thanks to
you, my new life starts today. I know that at some point you’ll understand all
of this and be happy for me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’re not dying?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Police sirens grew louder. Don peeked out a small window in
the door. “No, honey, I’m not dying. This is my rebirth. So, they’re here.” As
he opened the front door, a heavy weight suddenly landed on Don’s back. The
cops walking up the steps watched in horror as Meg’s knife cut a thin dark slit
across her father’s neck, and the Baker family reunion officially came to an
end.
</div>
<br />andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-69823648021509781922016-03-15T10:33:00.000-07:002016-03-15T10:33:37.717-07:00Unforgivable<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl4vDJ4CuLRnL-QQNSqAvbxmBjyKfQAOmftGsWuWE97Iap4Esuf9woGdfPuI2tiwi6_wCbwMPNZQF0WDqlv9CTTeHrrpB9xDd8MFFoNfPOnnwtcbsNQWQXfklt996LS8qvX7RD-a7PbCI/s1600/th.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl4vDJ4CuLRnL-QQNSqAvbxmBjyKfQAOmftGsWuWE97Iap4Esuf9woGdfPuI2tiwi6_wCbwMPNZQF0WDqlv9CTTeHrrpB9xDd8MFFoNfPOnnwtcbsNQWQXfklt996LS8qvX7RD-a7PbCI/s1600/th.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Low black clouds reflected Don Martelli’s mood as he drove
down rain washed city streets toward University Hospital and Clinics. His older
brother Les was dying, given only a few days by the doctors, and he’d flown in
that morning to stand vigil during his brother’s final hours. The two siblings
had not been close for many years, but blood is blood and he wanted to say
goodbye to the man who had mentored him into adulthood. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His first view of his brother as he entered the hospital
room was a shock. The robust, ruddy-faced man he’d last seen three years ago
was now barely more than skin wrapped around bone, red eyes shut, his mouth
agape to capture as much oxygen as possible. Don went directly to Angie, his
brother’s wife, and pulled her to him for an extended hug. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m so sorry,” he said, reluctantly letting her go.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Thanks Don. I’m so glad you’re here. I know Les would be,
too.” She daubed her dark eyes with a tissue. As he greeted other family
members, Les began moving, as if irritated, and suddenly opened his eyes.
Seeing that he was straining to speak, Angie put an ear close to his mouth. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Don, he wants to tell you something.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Excusing himself, Don went to the bedside and leaned down.
Les struggled to form the words.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I know about you and Angie,” he whispered. “I’ll never
forgive. I’ll never forget.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nurses came in and out of the room, doctors and visitors
strode the hallway, but Don was solely consumed by his brother’s words as he
stood up. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What did he say?” asked Angie.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The blood rushed from Don’s face. “Uh, he…just wanted to
tell me goodbye. That’s all.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As soon as he thought it was acceptable, Don excused himself
and drove toward the hotel where he was staying, picking up a bottle of vodka
along the way. The memory of the affair with Angie blew through him, the lies,
the deceit, but it was twelve years ago, and Les had never said a thing to
either of them about it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A half-empty bottle on the nightstand, a cop show on TV,
Don’s plan to drown his brother’s words in alcohol and soporific television was
a dismal failure. There was something beyond the words themselves that kept
rising to the surface despite his efforts, a sense of mission that no man a few
breaths away from death’s embrace should have. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The call came two hours later. Les had passed away quietly
and was on his way down to the morgue. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gusts of cold wind blew through the cemetery, and mourners
pulled their coats tighter around them as the pastor finished the eulogy.
“Amen” everyone repeated, and friends and family of Les Martelli filled past
the coffin before it was lowered into the ground. Don stopped the weary looking
Angie as she headed toward her car.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How are you doing?” he asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She raised her red, glistening eyes to his. “I don’t know.
As good as I can, I suppose.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m staying in town until Friday, so if you need anything…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Angie tried to smile, but could not manage it. She lightly
touched Don’s arm and turned away.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A call lit up Don’s phone at 3:30 a.m. It was from a very
distraught Denise, Angie’s sister.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Denise? What is it? What’s wrong?” asked Don, trying to
blink himself awake.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s Angie. I can’t believe I’m saying this. Don, she’s
dead.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Dead?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“She committed suicide. Oh god. The police said she jumped
from the Tenth floor of the Hilton downtown. Why would she do that? Why?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Room 1066. It was the room where Don and Angie used to meet.
The air in the bedroom suddenly chilled. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Don? Don, are you there?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The phone fell from his trembling hand and the only response
Denise received was a scream for help.
</div>
<br />andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-78628585958072184532016-03-04T14:11:00.001-08:002016-03-04T14:11:49.646-08:00The Imaginary Friend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt1tYFxUgd0Ta7xysuWnwcNwuF_4ztnW7vUd1noBcKB_xY44G1dpqDQdk6GtbtScT7AelXHc8jTcx0vW6xT9YrDuwZng8yydfwluQpir2Zt4Xo71uK551yRqra7nx4zs18hOPaWxh2yU0/s1600/th-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt1tYFxUgd0Ta7xysuWnwcNwuF_4ztnW7vUd1noBcKB_xY44G1dpqDQdk6GtbtScT7AelXHc8jTcx0vW6xT9YrDuwZng8yydfwluQpir2Zt4Xo71uK551yRqra7nx4zs18hOPaWxh2yU0/s1600/th-1.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lugging a full laundry basket. Jessica Marks stopped in the
open doorway of her daughter’s room. Five-year old Tess was engrossed in a familiar
family dispute with her imaginary friend Kristal. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You didn’t pick up your room like I asked. There won’t be
any dessert tonight if you don’t mind me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jessica smiled. She’d done her research and felt assured
that Tess’s imaginary friend was nothing to be concerned about and could even
be helping in her daughter’s language development. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’ll make a good mommy someday,” said Jessica.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tess rolled her eyes. “She never listens to me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Believe me, I know that feeling,” replied Jessica, heading
off to her destination in the laundry room.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That evening as she and her husband Will sat in bed reading,
Jessica put down her Kindle. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Did you have an imaginary friend when you were Tess’s age?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Will took off his glasses. “As a matter of fact, I did. His
name was Stevie.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Stevie,” repeated Jessica with a broad grin. “Interesting.
I didn’t, at least that I can remember. It’s just kind of funny and a little
weird to see Tess interacting so intensely with someone who isn’t there.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“She’ll get through it. We all do.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next afternoon, Jessica was making the bed when she
thought she heard sobbing down the hall. It was coming from Tess’s room, and she
found the girl sitting on her bed, red-faced, tears dropping from her chin.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What’s wrong, baby?” asked Jessica.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Kristal said that her mommy and daddy don’t want her to
have an invisible friend, so she can’t play anymore.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh honey, I’m so sorry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’ll be all right.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No it won’t.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jessica’s phone rang. It was Will so she stepped out into
the hallway. “Well, we’re having a bit of a melt down over Kristal. Yeah…. Can
I call you back later?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tapping her phone, Jessica was suddenly struck by the dead silence
in the house. Something didn’t feel right. She turned and walked back into
Tess’s room, only to find it empty. Then panic clutched her heart. Lying in a
pile on the floor next to the bed were the clothes her daughter had been
wearing only seconds ago.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-31162242772862127752016-03-02T09:57:00.000-08:002016-03-02T09:57:12.151-08:00Getting Away With Murder<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK_7PnNl0I3LiI8JcIR8RQrkasphzsEe-Sn4NeC-RUNP4av5X3nLoPVL5B7p1Q9-WAP0qeFR_coi0cHkgZ9ZY68mrRuYP66FzXMIgmyWCahOoOAHDJl8Tyr607I-FF6GmYYrcKWChNpIU/s1600/th.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK_7PnNl0I3LiI8JcIR8RQrkasphzsEe-Sn4NeC-RUNP4av5X3nLoPVL5B7p1Q9-WAP0qeFR_coi0cHkgZ9ZY68mrRuYP66FzXMIgmyWCahOoOAHDJl8Tyr607I-FF6GmYYrcKWChNpIU/s1600/th.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Friends are overrated, Thomas Grayson would often think to
himself, using it as an excuse to spend yet another night lost in his laptop
monitor instead of going out and engaging other human beings. Bored with
Facebook, Thomas jumped to YouTube and began scanning video descriptions.
Something in the “Recommend” category stopped him cold, a video with his name
under it, Thomas Grayson #4. It had been posted three days earlier and already
had over a thousand views. The name of the poster was “GAWM.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Curious, he clicked on the video and was suddenly looking
down on a city street at night. The camera was following a woman walking down a
sidewalk, then cut to a daylight segment of a woman walking to her car. They
looked to be the same person, but Thomas couldn’t be sure until a third segment
appeared. It was night again and the camera operator was filming through a
window looking into a house. The same young woman was sitting on a couch
watching TV. Her bare feet were propped up against the coffee table and she
appeared to be eating popcorn. The video ended abruptly and Thomas felt both
confused and frightened.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He watched the three other videos and found the pattern to
be the same, with each one following a different woman as if someone was
stalking them. Why was his name on these videos, he wondered? News articles
he’d seen of a suspected serial killer in the city rose to the surface in his
mind and his palms grew damp. Here were videos of someone following various
women. Could they be victims? Prospective targets? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His mind started racing. Maybe somebody was trying to frame
him. But who and why? He didn’t know enough people to have enemies. Should he
call the cops? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a fitful night, Thomas slogged through his morning
routine. He tapped away at the laptop on the kitchen table in between sips of
coffee and found that a new video had been posted during the night, Thomas
Grayson #5. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Afraid to watch it and
afraid not to, he finally clicked on the title. The camera followed a young
woman through the aisles of a grocery store as she shopped. It then cut to the same
woman carrying bags into her small house. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Three solid knocks on the front door sent a surge of
adrenalin through his veins, and a second one hit when he opened the door to a
man in a suit and two uniformed police officers.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Detective Vince Anselmo. You Thomas Grayson?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thomas wanted to slam the door shut and run. “Yes. What’s
this all about?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We have a warrant to search the premises. Would you mind
stepping back, Sir?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Detective Anselmo and the two cops brushed past Thomas.
“Wait. What’s this all about? I haven’t done anything wrong.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Detective stood in the threshold between the living room
and the kitchen. “So what are you doing on your laptop? Posting another video?
How fucking stupid can you get?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, no. You don’t understand. I didn’t post those videos.
Someone else put them there.” Something was horribly wrong.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hey Vince,” called a cop coming down the stairs holding a
GoPro camera in an evidence bag. “Found it sitting on top of his dresser, and
there’s a coil of rope.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Detective Anselmo shook his head as he pulled out his cuffs.
“Jesus, Grayson. You have to be the world’s dumbest serial killer. You’re under
arrest for murder.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No,” shouted the now panicking Thomas. “I didn’t kill
anybody. I…I’m being set up.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The cuffs clicked shut around Thomas’s wrists as he
continued to protest, and a police officer guided him outside to a waiting
squad car. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the house grew quiet
again, the YouTube page on Thomas’s laptop refreshed. A new video had just been
uploaded by GAWM…Chad McNair #1.
</div>
<br />andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-80492934779090130182016-02-28T12:35:00.000-08:002016-02-28T13:28:26.210-08:00Retribution<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKb0qFrnVS267vRjY-KQLbPe1ExA6Cyt3h4kzifPjD9wRn5rxS3wvXht7TP6sQbxIsX533fOACeX01UMbsh-glaWBGPgjYNpEcf-BpdnVJ80AqYDNIQHI2GkFROJ0ps-IKx3goz4UAr1s/s1600/th.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKb0qFrnVS267vRjY-KQLbPe1ExA6Cyt3h4kzifPjD9wRn5rxS3wvXht7TP6sQbxIsX533fOACeX01UMbsh-glaWBGPgjYNpEcf-BpdnVJ80AqYDNIQHI2GkFROJ0ps-IKx3goz4UAr1s/s1600/th.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
His back killing him, Joe Garner looked over at the small
redbud tree in its plastic pot with contempt as it waited for him to finish the
hole he was digging in the backyard. He could feel the blisters forming as the
shovel pierced another inch into the dense soil, but then something in the hole
caught his eye. He’d encountered roots and small pebbles, but this looked
different. Bending down for a closer examination, Joe squinted, trying to make
sense of something completely out of context. He was looking at a woman’s
finger. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two hours later, there was a backhoe in the yard, several
uniformed officers and a young detective named Conrad, who was overseeing the
excavation. Joe and Ellen watched from the back porch as the machine spewed
black smoke and groaned while clawing slowly into the Garner’s lawn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon, the cops waived off the bucket and
entered the large gash in the yard to examine the body. Detective Conrad
climbed out of the hole and approached Joe and Ellen holding out his phone. He
showed them a photo of the victim’s face.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Either of you recognize her?” he asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No,” responded Ellen quickly. “I’ve never seen her before.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Mr. Garner?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t know who that is,” he said, his neck now crimson
red. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
An ambulance took the body away and the uniformed cops left a
short time later. A grim Detective Conrad sat at the kitchen table with Joe and
Ellen sipping a Sprite.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How long did you say you’ve lived here?” he asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Twelve years,” replied Joe.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m not an expert, but the body doesn’t look like it’s been
in the ground anywhere near that amount of time.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Joe scowled. “Are you implying something, Detective?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No Sir,” he responded, looking down at his hands. “I just
have to go where the evidence leads me. We won’t know anything until the
coroner examines the body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are you okay,
Mr. Garner? You look pale.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Joe tried to turn his fear into anger. “The dead body of a
woman was taken out of the ground in my backyard. No, I’m not okay.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a few more questions, Detective Conrad left and the
mood in the house was murky and uncertain. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Deep into the night, Ellen bolted upright in bed. Joe was
yelling from downstairs. She entered the dark living room and found her husband
standing in the shadows.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What’s wrong?” asked Ellen, putting her hands on his
shoulders.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“There was a woman…just outside the window…looking in at me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ellen hurried out the front door and returned after a beat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“There’s no one out there now.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It was the woman from our yard,” said Joe.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Don’t be ridiculous. Come back to bed.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On two more occasions, Joe claimed to see the phantom woman
standing outside looking in. After the latest incident, his body trembled in Ellen’s
arms as he tried to keep himself from totally falling apart. He let out a sigh and
then confessed that he knew the woman dug up in their yard, and that they had an
affair, but he swore he didn’t kill and bury her.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I know you didn’t,” whispered Ellen, letting go of Joe and giving
him an icy glare. “But I can’t speak for the police….”
</div>
<br />andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-87374408843471552742015-12-10T14:53:00.000-08:002015-12-10T14:53:22.151-08:00The Boy in the Mirror<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUurO2EONZ3JiRTLHltQe589yNwPtY7OKKawU-01dBHz-QqbLySERQlpOQe6RHnSREujgo_WjV-PLpl6QMS1xAQ9bOpodxwoUkTwnbQ0PE3Tft7gmF7mJRWNPu8rxX0t9CLf6nYoMt7ow/s1600/th.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUurO2EONZ3JiRTLHltQe589yNwPtY7OKKawU-01dBHz-QqbLySERQlpOQe6RHnSREujgo_WjV-PLpl6QMS1xAQ9bOpodxwoUkTwnbQ0PE3Tft7gmF7mJRWNPu8rxX0t9CLf6nYoMt7ow/s1600/th.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
The clinic waiting room was bright, sterile and solemn. Parents
sat with their troubled children, eyes glazed, wondering why fate had dealt
them such a lousy hand and how they were going to pay the deductible for all of
these visits. Trent and Lisa Sterling were dwelling on the same issues as their
seven-year old son Paul played a game on Lisa’s iPhone. One of the doors to the
waiting room opened and Dr. Sarah Hatch smiled at the Sterlings and beckoned
them in. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The smile disappeared as Dr. Hatch scanned Paul’s case on
the computer monitor on her desk. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well,” she said, clasping her hands together. “Paul is
consistent. He’s sticking to the story that it’s the boy in mirror who tells
him what to do, and that if he doesn’t do as he’s told, the boy will come out
of the mirror and hurt him…and you. It’s a classic case of transference, where
a person shifts blame for something away from themselves and onto another
person or even an object. Paul doesn’t want to be blamed for doing hurtful
things, so he blames the boy in the mirror to escape responsibility.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Shouldn’t the meds be helping?” asked Trent.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Let’s give him another week. If you don’t see signs of
improvement, call and set up another appointment.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Under the weight of their emotional burden, the Sterlings
rose grudgingly to their feet, their faces reflecting the worry, anxiety and
sleepless nights of caring for a child diagnosed with psychopathic tendencies. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That night, Lisa stood next to Paul, who was wearing his
pajamas, in front of his bedroom mirror.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s just your reflection. See?” she said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“He’s in there and he wants to get out,” Paul responded. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lisa knelt down. “Your Mommy and Daddy love you, Paul and we
won’t let anyone hurt you. I think tomorrow we’ll get you a brand new mirror. Okay?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“He won’t like that.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The grandfather clock in the upstairs hallway chimed three
times and the house was still again, but shadows moved and small feet could be
heard padding on the hardwood floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Lisa adjusted her position in bed and felt something odd, a damp stickiness
under her. She rose up on her elbows and looked over at Trent. Even with only
the aid of moonlight, she could see Trent lying on his back, eyes wide open, a
black oozing gash across his neck. Trying to process this nightmare image, she
heard a noise and turned to see the dark silhouette of Paul standing next to
the bed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You were right, Mommy,” said Paul, the raised knife blade
glinting in his hand. “I am the boy in the mirror.”</div>
<br />andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-91866416853120067962015-11-20T09:00:00.000-08:002015-12-09T10:09:26.913-08:00I'll Never Die<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCOP2xm720mSIGanXREsIWUTLzCK-VxfBf_SoKJ3AcFRo5Eln847fSJ8zTuWghR4-UnOAb6ZcZxnvYOGb3jrZKCYxSJIXuLAAP57TMiyP0BVT_p4-JlUAIRMCaeSfhklFBgZ-o8UyBdQ/s1600/th-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCOP2xm720mSIGanXREsIWUTLzCK-VxfBf_SoKJ3AcFRo5Eln847fSJ8zTuWghR4-UnOAb6ZcZxnvYOGb3jrZKCYxSJIXuLAAP57TMiyP0BVT_p4-JlUAIRMCaeSfhklFBgZ-o8UyBdQ/s1600/th-2.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
The large banner headline read: “The Search Continues for
Wade Carson.” With the local paper spread out on his kitchen table, thirty-year
old Justin Vicks sipped coffee as he read about the search for the missing boy
in the fields and woods around the small town of Clayville. The sheriff
believed foul play was involved, but wouldn’t go into details, and there was a
photo of Wade’s parents, dark, sad eyes and drawn<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>faces, thanking the community for helping
look for their son.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Justin folded up the paper and lit a cigarette. Bumbling
yahoos couldn’t find shit in an outhouse, he thought, shaking his head as he
considered the level of their ineptitude. After crushing out his smoke in the
remains of his lunch, he unlocked the basement door and descended the stairs.
In a corner of the dingy, musty room was six-year old Wade, curled up in a
tight ball, sitting on a stained mattress. Justin smiled as he took in the
scene, and then walked toward the terrified boy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Around five that evening there was a knock on the front
door, and Justin found himself facing two sheriff’s deputies, men he had known
all his life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Justin,” said one of the officers. “Sorry to bother you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Bill. Art. What can I do for you?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sorry, but do you still drive that blue F100?” asked Art.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah. Why?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well, Edith Laskos was looking out her kitchen window last
Friday about the time Wade went missing, and thought she saw a young boy get
into the passenger side of a blue pickup.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh no, that wasn’t…I can’t believe this. I was at work all
day Friday. You can ask Marv.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bill was now looking over Justin’s shoulder. “I didn’t know
you had kids, Justin.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Feeling as if he’d just been punched in the stomach, Justin
tried to remain steady. “Kids? No, I don’t have any kids.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well I just saw a boy run from one room to the other.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Stay focused, cool. “That’s impossible, Bill.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I know what I…there he goes again. He just ran into the
kitchen.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Art shook his head. “I saw him too.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Justin turned, but there was nothing there. “That’s not
possible,” he said, his voice cracking and rising in pitch. “There’s no kid
here. I’m telling you, there’s no one else in this house.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Calm down, Justin. I think we’d better take a look around.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The two officers brushed past the shaken man, who now turned
in a panic.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Stop,” Justin shouted. Wearing grim expressions, the two
officers turned toward the now wide-eyed, frantic man. “There is no boy,” he
yelled, flecks of spit flying, “because he’s dead. I killed him hours ago.”
Justin sank to his knees sobbing. “I killed him.” After a few moments, he felt a
warm breath on one ear and heard a boy’s voice.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You killed me,” Wade whispered, “but I’ll never die.”</div>
<br />andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-57798014388518601692015-11-15T15:38:00.000-08:002015-11-15T15:38:24.212-08:00The Cellmate<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIUhJzaDqS70jfbOowud8vXgPsb14wc_xQpjO-mLskFDFZBqrjybDL86jMfc3YEQv_UV-jZTmDuK7fCDQ-6Bvxit2KhFO510p8DpZe5Gh_M3KAfr5dX5geR9fhLV9KnD0jEavGaEaNFDQ/s1600/th.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIUhJzaDqS70jfbOowud8vXgPsb14wc_xQpjO-mLskFDFZBqrjybDL86jMfc3YEQv_UV-jZTmDuK7fCDQ-6Bvxit2KhFO510p8DpZe5Gh_M3KAfr5dX5geR9fhLV9KnD0jEavGaEaNFDQ/s1600/th.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
The young man sitting in the jail cell awoke with a start.
He’d fallen asleep sitting up, and while he was out the guards had brought a
new man to the cell. Tray McNair sized up the guy sitting perfectly still on
the bench directly across from him. He was wearing a black hoodie drooped over
his head, but Tray could make out the gaunt, pale face of a man in his fifties,
a glint of light reflecting off of shadow-hidden eyes that seemed locked on him
in an unsettling way.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“S’up?” asked Tray in as casual and confident a voice as he
could muster. The man didn’t respond, and continued staring. After numerous
arrests for petty crimes, Tray understood the unwritten jailhouse rules, and he
also knew that sometimes the quietest guys were the most volatile. “Yo, you
don’t want to talk that’s fine, but stop staring at me, man.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The man continued to stare, and Tray felt a physical chill run
up and down his spine. Trying not to show how nervous he really was, he got up
and went to the cell door, calling out to no one in particular. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yo, this dude here is crazy. Put this crackhead in another
cell. You hearing me?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Shut up, Tray,” came a disembodied voice from down the
hallway. “No one wants to hear your bullshit.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shaking his head, Tray sat back down and tried to ignore his
cellmate, but the stare was too threatening, too much of a challenge to let go.
Tray stood back up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Listen, man. Either you stop staring at me…” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Voices came out of the darkness. “Are you hurt?” “Can’t see
no blood or bruising.” “Tray, can you hear me?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As he regained his vision, Tray saw three guards with
concerned expressions hovering over him. “What the hell happened?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t know. I came down here for the hourly check and you
were lying passed out on the floor.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Where’s the freak?” asked Tray as he got up to a sitting
position.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Who?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The old white dude with the hoodie.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We haven’t put anyone else in your cell since you got
here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was then that Tray’s fingers touched the two clumps of
dried blood on his neck, right over his jugular vein.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-35486578288882557812015-11-11T15:39:00.000-08:002015-11-11T15:39:04.589-08:00It Runs in the Family<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDyQo6d492hx_Kyw31dFfVRfZNfvKDAQ1D_JpDoCel95VstCA5vbnMIR17xOtVfzCvg2dBw1pEXLODNoitOX3-Sg9rlFIKlKUrLi8G1u9uTlKK5w-IsoXjAdgXckmcTBR2bsfkiiNF6-s/s1600/th-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDyQo6d492hx_Kyw31dFfVRfZNfvKDAQ1D_JpDoCel95VstCA5vbnMIR17xOtVfzCvg2dBw1pEXLODNoitOX3-Sg9rlFIKlKUrLi8G1u9uTlKK5w-IsoXjAdgXckmcTBR2bsfkiiNF6-s/s1600/th-4.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
The cacophony of boozy conversation filled the
well-appointed house of attorney Douglas Hattering. Friends from his law firm
and the neighborhood and a hand full of faces he didn’t recognized formed small
clusters of people talking, drinking and flirting with each other in the spacious
living room. One of the guests he didn’t know was a beautiful pale woman with
long black hair and a form-fitting black dress cornered by three wide-eyed
young bucks.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Moving with a slow, cool determination, he smiled and nodded
his way through the partygoers to finally enter the knot of drunk, clumsy men
trying unsuccessfully to seduce the mysterious woman. Because Douglas was a
partner in the firm, the younger lawyers quickly accepted that their hunt was
over and disappointedly drifted off to look for other prey.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The woman’s dark red lips parted in a smile. “Wow. That was
impressive, in a primitive, tribal kind of way. You must be the chief.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Law firm partner and party giver. Welcome to my home.” They
touched glasses.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Thank you. It’s beautiful. Gina Bholes.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Douglas Hatterling. And how do you pass your days, Gina?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m an arachnologist at the university.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Spiders? You study spiders for a living? I try and keep as
far away from them as possible. It’s really a phobia of mine.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’re not alone, but they are fascinating to me and their
webs can be so intricate and beautiful.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Not if you’re a fly. Can I get you another drink?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Thank you. I’d love one.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“And when I get back I have to know what got such a
beautiful woman interested in such horrid creatures,” Douglas said as he walked
toward the kitchen.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two hours later, the house now empty, Douglas and Gina lay
naked on his bed, breathing heavily after physical, satisfying sex. Gina got up
on one elbow.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I never answered your question,” she said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“My question?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How I became interested in spiders.” Douglas turned toward
her, his blissful expression instantly turned to one of terror as he watched her
eyes transform into large red embers and fangs begin protruding from her mouth.
“It runs in the family.”
</div>
<br />andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-25421550755025025232015-11-03T13:39:00.000-08:002015-11-03T13:39:28.248-08:00The Girl Next Door<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7G5ndSDyyIvkX4OGz5-YEPiTPWMBmjES4xCAPMGPv49fBvF1B-5HXS_ZAF5VERweEVFFC9DsrzXt_WQNLgUWZyoyczHw_ikIHIi4blRnMfvR2ecwETsKd5Ff658Qz_t4IGoiLvc-knLo/s1600/th.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7G5ndSDyyIvkX4OGz5-YEPiTPWMBmjES4xCAPMGPv49fBvF1B-5HXS_ZAF5VERweEVFFC9DsrzXt_WQNLgUWZyoyczHw_ikIHIi4blRnMfvR2ecwETsKd5Ff658Qz_t4IGoiLvc-knLo/s1600/th.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
“I know a game, but you gotta come over here to play.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I can’t without my mom.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sure you can. Just walk around the fence. It’s a secret
game just for kids.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Chase family had been in their new home for a week, but
Christie was still unpacking boxes and setting up the kitchen. She glanced up
from the sink and saw her six-year old son Dillon standing next to the weathered
privacy fence that cordoned off the backyard, appearing to be talking to
himself. Wiping her hands on her pants, Christie walked outside.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hey, kiddo, whatchya doing?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Talking to Ally, the girl next door.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Cool. I didn’t know our neighbors had kids. Hi Ally.” There
was no reply.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I think she went inside,” said Dillon.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, probably. Come on, I’ll fix you some lunch.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Over bowls of mac and cheese, Christie and Dillon sat in unusual
silence.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’re quiet today. Everything okay?” asked Christie.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I guess. Ally’s kind of creepy.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What makes you say that? I thought maybe I could invite her
over here to play.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dillon’s eyes widened. “No. I don’t want her to come over
here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But why?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I just don’t. That’s all.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The afternoon passed quietly. Dillon played in his room
while Christie rearranged the cupboards, giving up on trying to get anything
more from him about the girl next door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nagged
by Dillon’s odd reaction to Ally, Christie decided to introduce herself to the neighbors
as a pretext to see for herself what they were like.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She called up the stairs that she’d be outside for a few
minutes, and then walked quickly down the sidewalk to the door of Ally’s house.
Repeated knocks brought no response and when she peeked in the window, she saw
the home was empty.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“There’s no one living there,” a voice called out. Christie
turned toward an elderly woman in the next yard wearing gardening gloves.
“Something happened to the youngest daughter in the family. Had to institutionalize
her. Nasty little thing. The family moved out a few months ago and I won’t say
I was sorry to see them go.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Thank you,” replied a confused Christie as she walked
slowly back and turned down her driveway.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Mom.” Christie stopped and looked up. Framed by the second
story window of his bedroom, Dillon whispered loudly through the screen. “I
told you not to ask the neighbor girl over.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Christie opened her mouth to speak, but instead a terrified shriek
escaped when she saw a pair of eyes just over Dillon’s shoulder.
</div>
<br />andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-63663366757167901992015-10-22T10:30:00.000-07:002015-10-22T10:30:06.866-07:00The Chess Match - A New Short Scary Story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Knight to h3.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kevin Holt made his move, and now watched his monitor,
intently waiting for his German opponent to counter this play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, he heard footsteps approaching
and the shadow of his wife, Gretchen, loomed over him. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Can you tear yourself away from your precious game?” she
harped, sitting on a nearby couch. “We need to talk.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’ve offered to teach you how to play, but—“</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t want to play chess Kevin, I want to go to parties,
concerts, do fun things with real people.” Gretchen took in a deep breath. “I’m
having an affair.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kevin slumped forward. “An affair? What…with who?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Somebody from work. George Minden. Aren’t you going to say
anything? Get mad?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I…I….”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’re so pathetic. You’re a spineless little man and I’ve
had enough.” She stood up. “I’m filing for divorce.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Divorce? Can’t we talk?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t want to talk. I want to go out and experience life
before I die. All you want to do is smoke pot and play chess. This isn’t
working.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You can’t mean it, Gretchen.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her expression of contempt conveyed she did, and she stormed
out of the room. “I’m going out,” she shouted back at him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was 1 a.m. when the kitchen door opened and a boozy
Gretchen stumbled into the house. Although trying to be quiet, she bumped into
the table and rattled beer bottles in the refrigerator as she pulled one out.
She carried the bottle with her up the dark stairs to the bedroom.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Flipping on her bedside light, she turned around and yelped.
Kevin was standing in a dark corner of the room. He stepped forward into the
haziest edge of the light.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You scared the crap out of me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sorry. Have a good time?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Why are you still dressed and acting so creepy?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“George Minden is dead.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gretchen’s eyes widened. “What?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I killed George Minden tonight.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, you’re lying.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kevin pulled out his phone. “I thought you might react like
that, so here’s the photo to prove it.” He turned the screen toward her and she
slapped a hand around her mouth.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“George...Minden wasn’t my lover. I made it up to see your
reaction.” She paused. “You killed a man, Kevin. I guess I should feel satisfaction
that you finally demonstrated your love for me, but I don’t. Not really. The
relief I feel is that you’re going to jail for murder and will be out of my
life forever. I sound like a horrible person, don’t I?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You are a horrible person. That’s why the knife the police
will find at the murder scene is from here and has your fingerprints all over
it. And I also sent some very naughty emails to George from your computer.”
Gretchen stared at him, panic returning. “But I hope you’ll look at this as an
opportunity. After all, you’re going to have lots of time to learn how to play
chess.”
</div>
<br />andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-32666288405183151002015-08-06T18:34:00.000-07:002015-08-06T18:34:26.745-07:00Three New Spooky Bedtime Stories<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjssOMeHhs2S4Ynv4KiVwvrrg1Irwdx_B0xH_MPTNgcLPMi7LFssyPdUTxJqhf8fz3hme89lC-EU2RhAd2QOv9dIxgSIZc7FJyjanbqCnU7itWt3HqyxAfA-4vJ0v5UCQrZ4jydRBjnH4/s1600/th-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjssOMeHhs2S4Ynv4KiVwvrrg1Irwdx_B0xH_MPTNgcLPMi7LFssyPdUTxJqhf8fz3hme89lC-EU2RhAd2QOv9dIxgSIZc7FJyjanbqCnU7itWt3HqyxAfA-4vJ0v5UCQrZ4jydRBjnH4/s1600/th-1.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Winter’s Coming</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A moonless night made maneuvering the gravel road more
challenging than he’d remembered. Jack had been driving for three hours,
heading north to the family cabin near the Minnesota Boundary Waters, only
there was no family this time. Not this trip. In the span of two weeks, he’d
been fired, gotten his second DUI and was being blackmailed by his mistress. He
needed some serious alone time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The cabin suddenly loomed up in the white car lights. It was
as dark and lifeless as he was feeling. We make a perfect couple. Inside, he
snapped on lights and then poured a half-glass of scotch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s only me, the mosquitoes and Johnnie
Walker, he thought, lowering his body into a living room chair. His eyelids
fell shut. Only moments later, there was a knock on the cabin door.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Who is it?” he called out.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A raspy, older man’s voice responded. “Hope we’re not
disturbing you. We’re the O’Malley’s from down the road. Saw your lights on and
brought a pie.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They brought a pie? Great. I can’t just tell them to fuck
off. Getting a grasp on his emotions, Jack opened the door. The smiling couple standing
under the porch light looked like everybody’s grandma and grandpa, wrinkled,
rosy and wearing stretchy pastel clothes. The woman held out the pie with her
gnarly, arthritic hands.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s mincemeat,” she said in a high, wispy song.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m Henry,” said the man. “And this is Eva.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jack took the dessert. “Thank you so much. That’s very kind
of you. I was just…“ Henry and Eva stood expectantly. “Uh, please, come in.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Thank you,” responded Henry. “We’ll only stay a minute.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jack quickly made a pot of coffee, cut up and served the pie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s funny,” he said. “My family and I have
been coming up here for years and we’ve never met before.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s because we don’t spend much time around here in the
summer,” noted Henry. “We have a motorhome.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We just got back from Montana,” chirped Eva. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Time to prepare for winter,” added Henry. “It’s long and
cold up here. Where’s the family?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Back in Minneapolis. Just needed a little time to myself.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Too bad.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What?” Jack blinked. The room was turning fuzzy. How much
scotch did I drink, he wondered?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Do you like the pie?” asked Eva. “It’s an old family
recipe.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jack was about to answer, but his tongue had gone numb. Eva smiled
at him, but the warm grandmotherly expression had turned to a sardonic grin. He
dropped his plate and squinted through a swirling haze as Henry picked up the
knife used to cut the pie and licked the blade.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Why?” Jack managed to whisper.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I told you,” Henry hissed. “Winter’s coming. It’s time to
stock the larder.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<b>Family Traditions</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cleaning out his father’s small house was a painful but
necessary task. The funeral had been yesterday, so Kirk Foster had a couple of
days to get everything moved before the house went up for sale. A lot of things
were going directly into the trash, but there were photos and other mementos
that had meaning and made his eyes glisten.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Working through the closet in his father’s bedroom, Kirk found
a shoebox at the back of a shelf. Hoping his old man might have hid away some
cash for a rainy day, Kirk sat on the bed and lifted the lid. It looked like the
kitchen junk drawer and he let out a disappointed sigh. A few old matchbooks
from local bars, a small pad with names and addresses, some rusty keys, but
beneath a layer of worthless crap was an actual treasure. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kirk held up the legendary straight razor that had been
passed down to the men in his family from his great grandfather. His father had
told him about it, and said it would one day be his. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He opened it and the clean, polished steel
blade was as sharp as the day it was made. It felt good in his hand, as if it
had been shaped specifically for him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was a knock at the door. Kirk inched open the blinds
and saw it was the realtor. His heart ticked up a notch. He closed the razor
and slipped it into his pants pocket. Some family traditions are worth
preserving, he thought.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>It Happened in the ER</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was a brief moment of quiet in the ER and Dr. Sean
Stanley slipped out into a hallway and dialed his wife Beth’s number. They’d
had another argument about moving last night and he wanted to apologize. She
didn’t like the location, the neighborhood, the neighbors…just about
everything. They had only been there two years and he argued that they had to
give it more of a chance, but Beth was a determined woman. Kicked to voicemail
for the second time that evening, he guessed that she was still angry.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A nurse called him back to the ER. A patient with multiple
stab wounds was being wheeled in by the paramedics. The ER team lifted the
bloodied middle-aged man from the gurney to the operating table, and Sean
quickly prepped as the man’s clothes were cut away, exposing the punctures. A
nurse held up a driver’s license.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Name is Donald Colvin,” she announced.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sean turned to her. “Donald Colvin? I know a Donald Colvin.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Lives on Piedmont Street.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Looking more closely at the bloodied face, he recognized his
neighbor. “He lives next door to me. I’ll be damned.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A nurse was preparing the wounds for sutures when she
noticed the patient was holding something. She gently opened his fist and held
up a silver necklace with a small yin and yang symbol. Dr. Stanley looked up
from the body and his eyes widened. He took the necklace from the nurse and
held it in his gloved hand.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Doctor, he’s regaining consciousness.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Leaning down until his mouth was next to Colvin’s ear, he
whispered. “Where did you get this?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Colvin managed a weak grimace. “She put up a good fight,
Sean. She was a tough bitch.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Doctor,” called a nurse. “Doctor, is everything okay?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No,” said Sean, rising slowly. “How could we miss this
puncture wound of the carotid artery?”
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-20018596460402191662015-05-16T12:02:00.004-07:002015-05-16T12:09:38.250-07:00Boo! Two new short scary stories<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyrlaB0ZLNc9MjOD732Wca4eIIt-ybOf5WNel7zQRID3yQjcp0_W_ChDx95OUfxQ3ohFjPnsJmLrRsvxD2-adn6s0UjzjZ-UiPW9ep1O2-YI2b1hm09fLkNr885JGnVKdkG-IfQRKK1NQ/s1600/th.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyrlaB0ZLNc9MjOD732Wca4eIIt-ybOf5WNel7zQRID3yQjcp0_W_ChDx95OUfxQ3ohFjPnsJmLrRsvxD2-adn6s0UjzjZ-UiPW9ep1O2-YI2b1hm09fLkNr885JGnVKdkG-IfQRKK1NQ/s1600/th.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>The Audition</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The room was a large, open, unfinished loft. In the middle
of the space, a nervous Kyle Evers sat in a folding chair holding a script.
Several feet away, movie director Eve Tolbertson sat behind a picnic table, a
script lying on it in front of her.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Thanks for coming down, Kyle. I know actors hate cold
readings, but it is what it is.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, no problem.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Great. Okay, let me set up the scene. Your character Jerry
is your age and height. He’s a bartender at a club downtown and…. What’s
wrong?”<br />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Nothing, it’s just that I’m a bartender downtown.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Okay. So Jerry’s goal is to be an actor, but it’s been
tough and he’s only found work as an extra. Then an audition for a film pops up
that he’s very excited about.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Look, I’m really sorry to interrupt, but you’re describing
my life…exactly my life. How can that be?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eve took off her glasses and set them on the script. “I hope
not, because Jerry finds out that his girlfriend Anna is cheating on him and he
stabs her to death with a butcher knife.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Shut the fuck up. My girlfriend’s name is…” His phone rang
and he checked the caller ID. “I’m really sorry but I have to take this.” He
put the phone to his ear. “Jean, what is it?”<br />
<br />
“Oh my god, Kyle. Something horrible has happened to Anna…”<br />
<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I Remember</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember everything about that night. There was a squeaky
gate in the picket fence surrounding the house. I remember there was no moon
that night, just like tonight, and the air was chilly and damp. We went to the
back door and into the kitchen and there was a chemical, hospital-like smell
that enveloped us. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The door to the basement was just off of the kitchen, and
the stairs going down were old and noisy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I remember being laid on a cold hard table and the sounds of metal
things clinking together. The light over me was bright and I couldn’t look at
it very long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something was wheeled up
next to me. Then his piggish, sweaty face suddenly hovered over mine, and his
eyes were wide with excitement and he grinned at the moment I felt the pressure
of the blade on my arm. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, all I
remember was searing pain and screaming. Waves of pain and screaming.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I make my way quietly down the hallway, a grandfather
clock chimes three times, and I remember hearing that sound from the basement as
my energy dissipated and death overtook me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now in his bedroom, I watch as he snores and his fat body
rises and falls to the grating noise. Tonight, I’m going to help him remember
me.</div>
</div>
andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-20285172094158549402015-05-10T12:08:00.000-07:002015-05-10T12:09:42.749-07:00New Scary Stories To Read Before Bed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtx8aaQQJQSxjlrOTYxv9nhuyy8ArJ14rXf8tCuHkAm1gy_J611aHabxBaIALKOkvDP6-r_JN5hc9YXy4o-xJ1HHD2vMh0R_xOIb2CU3L-b-S1AKEt2X3X2GX8sBVaXNA9s77VSiWTioo/s1600/th.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtx8aaQQJQSxjlrOTYxv9nhuyy8ArJ14rXf8tCuHkAm1gy_J611aHabxBaIALKOkvDP6-r_JN5hc9YXy4o-xJ1HHD2vMh0R_xOIb2CU3L-b-S1AKEt2X3X2GX8sBVaXNA9s77VSiWTioo/s1600/th.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">The
Mirror</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">The
antique mirror couldn’t have been more perfect for the wall above her bedroom dresser.
It took Janine six months of searching to find just the right one after her ex
took the previous mirror out of spite. Prick, she thought, smiling. You lose. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">That
night, her Kindle on her lap, a glass of wine on the bedside table, Janine
relaxed against her pillows, engrossed in her latest novel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her phone rang and she checked the number. It
was her ex, Randy. Her eyes rolled and she disconnected, not in the mood for
any more drama. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">Then,
out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow move in the mirror. The only
light in the room was from a small lamp on her bedside table, and she got up
and went to her new purchase. At first, everything seemed as it should, but
soon an image formed of her ex-husband sitting on the bed holding a handgun and
looking upset. She gasped and turned her head, but no one was there, and when
she turned back, the image was gone.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">As
a person who took the paranormal seriously, Janine called her ex back, but
there was no answer. Panicked, she dialed 911 and told the dispatcher she
thought Randy might be suicidal. He was a prick, but they had history, and she
didn’t want to see him do this. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">Fifteen
minutes passed and her phone rang.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“This
is Officer Duncan, Miss Melano. We’ve located your ex-husband’s car.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“Yes?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“It’s
parked in front of your house.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;"> </span><span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">
<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">Karla
Should Have Known</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">As
the paper’s editor, I was becoming concerned about one of my best reporters,
Karla. We had history, even dated for a while until she called it off,
complaining I was too vindictive. Whatever. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">I
had a paper to run, so I kept an eye on her and could see Karla growing more
and more paranoid by the day, claiming that a mysterious person wearing
sunglasses and a baseball cap was stalking her. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">We
went to lunch one afternoon and she continuously looked around the room, her
eyes scanning faces, her own face muscles twitching nervously. I tried to get
her to talk about who would be watching her (besides the NSA), and she said she
wasn’t sure, but that it could have something to do with a story she did about
a local religious cult last year. I tried to help, but other than suggesting
she see a therapist, which I regretted immediately, I was pretty useless.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">Karla’s
mental state deteriorated further, and she was finally hospitalized and getting
the care she desperately needed, or so I thought. Shortly after my most recent
visit, the hospital called and said Karla had committed suicide by jumping from
her fourth-floor window. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">That
evening, as I walked to my car in the lot, I pulled a pair of sunglasses and a
baseball cap out of my briefcase and tossed them into a trashcan. Of all people,
Karla should have known. Dumping me has its consequences. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;"><style><!--
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</style></span><b>Cozmo</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cleaning the disaster area that was her son Tim’s bedroom
was never an enjoyable task. There were always piles of smelly clothes to go
through, plates with moldy leftovers and empty energy drink cans everywhere.
Jen was on her hands and knees checking under the bed when she discovered a
Ouija board and planchette. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When Tim came home from school, she confronted him about it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What’s the big deal?” he asked. With a little more probing,
Jen found out Tim and his friends communicated with a spirit named Cozmo. “He
said to never tell anyone about him or…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Or what?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Or he’d come to the house and kill me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s all rubbish, you know,” insisted Jen. “There’s a
scientific reason why the pointer moves and it doesn’t have anything to do with
ghosts or spirits. It’s called the ideomoter effect. You’re too old to be
wasting your time on this nonsense.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Despite Tim’s angry protests, Jen threw out the board.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the early hours of the morning, Jen got up to use the
bathroom and noticed a dim light escaping from Tim’s room. She opened the door
and found her son sitting on the edge of his bed, eyes wide with terror.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">
</span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“Honey, what’s wrong?”</span></div>
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tim slowly raised his hand and pointed in her direction.
Confused, she looked behind the door.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Nothing there,” she said, suddenly inhaling the stench of
decaying flesh as an arm wrapped around her throat and squeezed. </div>
</span><br />
<br />andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-67609002921281638302015-04-24T09:33:00.000-07:002015-12-09T10:13:02.160-08:00A Threesome of Short Scary Stories<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOncSLlGiFFjCBSn-zLcAK4jOeM7D0tpubrEF3xjgafoncAbl69o4MK4WTjINGKHi4bTs9EO-fnEPtS7gtYfxsSOiSKdiN6rHuB4P_nz8-owHBR4RNGIRJwnGIQOQgwRu-d7KyNSUnu8o/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOncSLlGiFFjCBSn-zLcAK4jOeM7D0tpubrEF3xjgafoncAbl69o4MK4WTjINGKHi4bTs9EO-fnEPtS7gtYfxsSOiSKdiN6rHuB4P_nz8-owHBR4RNGIRJwnGIQOQgwRu-d7KyNSUnu8o/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;"><b>The
Date</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">The
date with Clare had not gone well. James had the cab drop him off several
blocks from the apartment so he could clear his head and shake off the bitter
disappointment of another dating disaster. It started fine, they always do,
with wine and small talk, he did most of the talking, but then, to keep the
conversation going, he opened up about his life and some of the problems he’d struggled
with and things went downhill from there. His date left the restaurant sobbing into
a tissue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">He
envied the couples he passed on the sidewalk, holding hands, smiling at each
other, enjoying the warmth of another person. Why couldn’t he have that too? Why
was that so much to ask? It was a chilly night and James pulled his coat
tighter around him. He jogged up a few cement stairs, met a man coming out of
the building, and walked in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">He
shouldn’t have told her so much about himself. He needed to learn to keep his
big mouth shut. Standing in the dimly lit entryway, he pulled a plastic card
out of his jacket pocket and held it up to the light. It was Clare’s driver’s
license.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626;">Apartment
212. He sighed. This wasn’t going to be the kind of relationship he’d dreamt about,
but it was better than nothing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;"><b>Neighbors</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">In
my 15 years as a detective, I’d never responded to a homicide in this neighborhood
of millionaires. Now I was in the master bedroom of one of their homes, looking
down on two bodies lying in pools of blood. Identified as Sarah and Paul Constantine,
she had no record but he had been arrested for several DUIs and assaults.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">A
neighbor was sitting on her porch watching her son, who looked to be nine or ten,
play basketball in the driveway. I walked around a small hedge and introduced
myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“Excuse
me. I’m Detective Hamilton from the Minneapolis PD.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">She
pointed to the police cruisers parked in front of the Constantine’s house.
“What happened?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">I
lowered my voice so the boy couldn’t hear. “The couple next door were murdered last
night. Did you see or hear anything?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“Murdered?
Oh my God, that’s horrible. No. I was sleeping. Are we safe?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“We’ll
keep a heavy police presence in the area. Did you know them well?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“We
rarely spoke. They were not very friendly people. Didn’t really fit in here, if
you know what I mean. My son was actually frightened of them, though he never
told me why.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“Here’s
my card. If you think of anything, please call me. Thank you.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626;">As
I walked back across the driveway, the boy made eye contact with me, smiled and
ran a thumb across his throat from ear to ear.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;"><b>The
Spirit Box</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">There
were three sharp raps on his dorm room door, but before Jason could get up and
answer it, Flip Sherman sauntered in and set a white box on Jason’s desk. It
was about the size of a paving brick and resembled a radio.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“It’s
a spirit box,” announced Flip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">Jason’s
expression turned quizzical. “A spirit box? You don’t mean the “talk to the
dead” kind of spirit box, do you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“I
do. I’m starting my own ghost hunting crew. Wanna join?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">Retaking
his seat, Jason shook his head. “Ghost hunters? No thanks, man. I’m a science
major for a reason. I only deal in facts and reality.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">Undaunted,
Flip picked up the box and turned it on. Annoying static filled the room. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“Flip,
come on...”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“Is
there anyone here with us? Please tell us your name.” The static continued
until the whispery word “Charon” broke through the white noise. “Sounded like ‘Karan’
to me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“But
it’s a dude.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">The
voice was louder this time. “Charon.” Once again, it barked, “CHARON.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">Standing
in the hallway, Glenn knocked impatiently on the door, then called out. “Jason?
You in there?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">He
pushed open the door and entered the room. It was empty, but static escaped
from from the spirit box sitting on the desk. Glenn walked over and picked it
up.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626;">“Glenn,”
came a warbly, frightened voice just above the hissing noise. “Help us.”</span></div>
andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-41647967263636184582015-04-05T09:34:00.000-07:002015-04-05T09:45:00.627-07:00A terrifying trio of new short scary stories<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL61wIdCdql4eOcU1RqZj9lwX9CHCUzhYsnrKZEUeju9ps2wxx8De4tjZ9H-tHez86GrXHfzCjRiunMbWfD8vfrpod36ADgREhgHhMZudoiCKVS6Cb9njkDHOFupUod8HvevxswMghoUc/s1600/th.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL61wIdCdql4eOcU1RqZj9lwX9CHCUzhYsnrKZEUeju9ps2wxx8De4tjZ9H-tHez86GrXHfzCjRiunMbWfD8vfrpod36ADgREhgHhMZudoiCKVS6Cb9njkDHOFupUod8HvevxswMghoUc/s1600/th.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">The
Shadow</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">A
friend just sent Janice one of those “there-was-no-one-else-in-the-room”
photos. It was a shot looking into the living room of her apartment and in a
corner of the room was a blurry, shadowy person-like thing. There are no facial
features, just darkness in the shape of a human. Cass said she was freaked out
and asked Janice to come over, which she did. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">The
two women had lost contact for about a year, so it was a good opportunity to
catch up on her life, thought Janice, but she was shocked when Cass answered
the door. Her old friend was pale and gaunt and looked like she hadn’t slept in
days. They each had a glass of wine and Janice droned on with gossip and ranted
about the men that had come and gone in her life. She finally realized she was
literally doing all the talking.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“What’s
going on with you, Cass? Are you okay?” A chill suddenly gripped her body.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“I’m
so sorry, Janice.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“Sorry?
For what?” The light coming in from windows behind her was being blocked out. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“It
makes me do this.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">The
room was growing dark as if an eclipse was underway. “Do what?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“Lure
its prey.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">Janice’s
panicked scream was quickly muffled as the smoky shadow enveloped her and began
feeding.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">The
Spirit Box</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">There
were three sharp raps on his dorm room door, but before Jason could get up and
answer it, Flip Sherman sauntered in and set a white box on Jason’s desk. It
was about the size of a paving brick and resembled a radio.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“It’s
a spirit box,” announced Flip.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">Jason’s
expression turned quizzical. “A spirit box? You don’t mean the “talk to the
dead” kind of spirit box, do you?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“I
do. I’m starting my own ghost hunting crew. Wanna join?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">Retaking
his seat, Jason shook his head. “Ghost hunters? No thanks, man. I’m a science
major for a reason. I only deal in facts and reality.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">Undaunted,
Flip picked up the box and turned it on. Annoying static filled the room. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“Flip,
come on...”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“Is
there anyone here with us? Please tell us your name.” The static continued
until the whispery word “Charon” broke through the white noise. “Sounded like ‘Karan’
to me.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“But
it’s a dude.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">The
voice was louder this time. “Charon.” Once again, it barked, “CHARON.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">Standing
in the hallway, Glenn knocked impatiently on the door, then called out. “Jason?
You in there?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">He
pushed open the door and entered the room. It was empty, but static escaped
from the spirit box sitting on the desk. Glenn walked over and picked it
up.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“Glenn,”
came a warbly, frightened voice just above the hissing noise. “Help us.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">The
Promise</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">The
man in the coffin at the end of the room was my husband Edmond Copper. Not a
successful or lucky man, he’d owned several small businesses during his lifetime
that failed for one reason or another. He also endured two marriages far longer
than he needed to because he was never very good at reading the signs of a
relationship in trouble. I was his second wife, and toward the end we were only
going through the motions.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">Edmond
committed suicide a few days ago.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">I
came home from work one evening and found him on the bedroom floor, blood
pooled around his thin, pale face. He’d been in a state of deep depression for
months, and while I was horrified by the scene, I wasn’t completely surprised. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">After
the funeral I returned to my empty, lifeless house and poured a glass of wine. Trying
to relax on the couch, my eyes landed on a photo of the two of us taken on our
vacation to Hawaii several years ago. I don’t know why, but I recalled we
promised each other that whoever died first would contact the other one. Those
were the kinds of conversations we had after several Mai Tais. Tired, my energy
spent, I climbed the stairs and went to my bedroom, only to pull up short as I
neared the bed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">Lying
on the comforter were two objects; a photo of my lover Paul, and Edmond’s .38
Smith & Wesson.</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-77200631692909148942015-03-20T08:27:00.000-07:002015-03-20T08:28:05.672-07:00A frightening new duo of short scary stories<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinrkdEtHZmV0U5e17qHlWV2ut7k7Ryhi1Ju6bvTgK1dSIuNC1KBO91ZKfwuLVT6g9DETxRLja5ckVcdFGrpRxRi2Y6wfOMZ-P9ATEGYPE4rNhCnHzUsIPmmpUqt0RPcbLIFaMghlMCzdA/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinrkdEtHZmV0U5e17qHlWV2ut7k7Ryhi1Ju6bvTgK1dSIuNC1KBO91ZKfwuLVT6g9DETxRLja5ckVcdFGrpRxRi2Y6wfOMZ-P9ATEGYPE4rNhCnHzUsIPmmpUqt0RPcbLIFaMghlMCzdA/s1600/images.jpeg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;"><b>The
Accident</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">Why
not just go to the police right now? You can afford a lawyer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">“Mr.
Halverson?” asked the grim officer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;">He
let out a defeated sigh. “Yes. Let me—"</span><br />
<br />
“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.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Voyeur</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“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.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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The man frowned and his eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what
you’re smoking friend, but we don’t have a daughter.”<o:p></o:p></div>
andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6699689550755686476.post-78410469312797023672015-02-27T08:01:00.000-08:002015-02-27T08:01:56.640-08:002 New Short Scary Stories<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjRM_XmsLktwnl9ADiOc-nrDK2gmfwcijreCZgwwhjR-N6hGOZzWGULslXdidsSPtpSm1qd91WeHgf2FSb-OfPaucVLZ9RYvMndoF4dehyTnkDStR84JUKqbRYfEwc3JybQax0PSKTsQc/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjRM_XmsLktwnl9ADiOc-nrDK2gmfwcijreCZgwwhjR-N6hGOZzWGULslXdidsSPtpSm1qd91WeHgf2FSb-OfPaucVLZ9RYvMndoF4dehyTnkDStR84JUKqbRYfEwc3JybQax0PSKTsQc/s1600/images.jpeg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>The Silver Ring</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Gary Donovan’s shovel slid easily into the dark earth in his
backyard. He glanced over at the pile of dirt he’d created and saw something
glittering. It was a woman’s silver ring with a large single diamond. Inside,
he washed off the old yet elegant piece of jewelry. Kim came into the kitchen
and he hid it behind his back.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What have you got?” she asked suspiciously.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He held out the ring. “Marry me? Again?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Taken by surprise, she plucked the ring from his fingers..
“Where did you get this?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Say ‘yes’ and I’ll tell you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She hesitated. “Come on, Gary.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The hole in the backyard for the koi pond.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Wow. Buried treasure.” Surprisingly, the ring fit. Then her
face darkened. “Don’t think this makes up for everything.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No, he knew, nothing would ever make up for the lying and
cheating. A few days later, a sweaty Gary stood back, admiring his work. He
called for Kim. Arms crossed, looking annoyed, she stood at the edge of the
cavity. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Nice hole,” she said.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The shovel cracked against the back of her head like the
sound of a solid double. Kim fell face first into the black earth at the bottom
of the hole.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two months passed and Gary sat on his deck enjoying the
silvery orange koi in his new pond.<br />
<br />
“Gary,” a woman cried from inside the house. Dawn came
bouncing out onto the deck holding out her left hand. “How did you get that on
my finger without waking me up?” She proudly displayed an antique silver ring
with a large single diamond. “Yes, I will.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Apartment 118</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After having lived in his apartment for what seemed like an
eternity, Cliff had still not met or even seen his next-door neighbor. He knew
someone lived there because he heard the occasional thump, water running and
muffled snippets of voices through the shared wall. Being a private person
himself, it didn’t really bother Cliff that he’d never met the people next door,
but it did seem strange that he didn’t even know what they looked like.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The situation abruptly changed one night when he was
awakened by a woman screaming. After several heart-stopping shrieks followed by
sobbing, Cliff got out of bed and went to the neighbor’s door. No one answered
after several loud knocks, and the screaming stopped. Cliff was reluctant to
meddle, but the woman sounded like she was in trouble, so he dialed 911.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The police arrived shortly and knocked a number of times on
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the apartment door.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“What’s gong on?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Gentleman who lives in that apartment, 118, called and
claimed he heard a woman screaming in the apartment next door. No one’s
answering their door.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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“That’s because both apartments are empty.”<o:p></o:p></div>
andreinihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08542964664292719088noreply@blogger.com0