I'll Never Die

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  faces, thanking the community for helping look for their son.

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.

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.

“Justin,” said one of the officers. “Sorry to bother you.”

“Bill. Art. What can I do for you?”

“Sorry, but do you still drive that blue F100?” asked Art.

“Yeah. Why?”

“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.”

“Oh no, that wasn’t…I can’t believe this. I was at work all day Friday. You can ask Marv.”

Bill was now looking over Justin’s shoulder. “I didn’t know you had kids, Justin.”

Feeling as if he’d just been punched in the stomach, Justin tried to remain steady. “Kids? No, I don’t have any kids.”

“Well I just saw a boy run from one room to the other.”

Stay focused, cool. “That’s impossible, Bill.”

“I know what I…there he goes again. He just ran into the kitchen.”

Art shook his head. “I saw him too.”

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.”

“Calm down, Justin. I think we’d better take a look around.”

The two officers brushed past the shaken man, who now turned in a panic.

“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.

“You killed me,” Wade whispered, “but I’ll never die.”

It Runs in the Family

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.

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.

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.”

“Law firm partner and party giver. Welcome to my home.” They touched glasses.

“Thank you. It’s beautiful. Gina Bholes.”

“Douglas Hatterling. And how do you pass your days, Gina?

“I’m an arachnologist at the university.”

“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.”

“You’re not alone, but they are fascinating to me and their webs can be so intricate and beautiful.”

“Not if you’re a fly. Can I get you another drink?”

“Thank you. I’d love one.”

“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.

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.

“I never answered your question,” she said.

“My question?”

“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.”

The Chess Match - A New Short Scary Story

Knight to h3.

Kevin Holt made his move, and now watched his monitor, intently waiting for his German opponent to counter this play.  Unfortunately, he heard footsteps approaching and the shadow of his wife, Gretchen, loomed over him.

“Can you tear yourself away from your precious game?” she harped, sitting on a nearby couch. “We need to talk.”

“I’ve offered to teach you how to play, but—“

“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.”

Kevin slumped forward. “An affair? What…with who?”

“Somebody from work. George Minden. Aren’t you going to say anything? Get mad?”

“I…I….”

“You’re so pathetic. You’re a spineless little man and I’ve had enough.” She stood up. “I’m filing for divorce.”

“Divorce? Can’t we talk?”

“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.”

“You can’t mean it, Gretchen.”

Her expression of contempt conveyed she did, and she stormed out of the room. “I’m going out,” she shouted back at him.

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.

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.

“You scared the crap out of me.”

“Sorry. Have a good time?”

“Why are you still dressed and acting so creepy?”

“George Minden is dead.”

Gretchen’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I killed George Minden tonight.”

“No, you’re lying.”

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.

“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?”

“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.”

Even More Short Scary Stories

Happy Halloween!

The Great Diablo

The escape had worked flawlessly a dozen times in rehearsals, but now the false door was stuck. Diablo, the Harry Houdini of his generation, shoved with his shoulder against the right panel of the specially designed coffin, but the door wasn’t budging. He called out several times, knowing their was a two-way mic hidden in the coffin’s lid for just such an emergency, but there was no response, no sounds of the backhoe bucket breaking up the heavy soil covering him. Sweating, panicked, Diablo put the entire weight of his body against the false door with no luck. His breathing was labored as the oxygen quickly dissipated. He screamed and beat frantically on the lid as reality set in.

“He should have been out by now,” whispered Alice.

Brad, Diablo’s technical engineer, pressed his hidden earpiece. “He’s not calling me. If he was in trouble he’d be calling me.”

“Something’s wrong, Brad. I can feel it.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?

“Something is wrong, Alice. My wife having an affair with the Great Diablo, now that’s just wrong.”

Alice’s eyes widened with fear. “Oh god. God no….” She ran to the backhoe operator and demanded he raise the coffin immediately, and he complied.

No one would be able to prove it wasn’t a tragic accident, Brad assured himself, and he prepared for the crying and wailing of the crowd and his faithless wife. All was going as planned, he thought, until the lid was finally raised and the coffin was empty.

You can’t fire me

The obscenity-laced rant coming from Phil Green’s office had human gopher heads popping up over cube walls with “can you believe this?” expressions. Phil’s door finally blew open and a furious, crimson-faced Shelly Grebin marched swiftly out of the building. As if still feeling the heat from Shelly’s ire, neighbor Tom cautiously stuck his head into Phil’s office.

“She took that well,” he said.

A pale Phil got out of his chair and sat on the front of his desk. “Yeah. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a human being that mad before. I had no choice.”

“I know. Firing her was the only option.”

“Well, it’s done. Can you find someone to clean out her cube, box any personal stuff and send her laptop to IT?”

“Sure. You should go get a drink.”

Two days later Alex from IT knocked on Phil’s door. He brought in a laptop and set it on the desk.

“What’s going on?” asked Phil. The somber Alex opened the computer. “I thought you should see this. It’s Shelly’s laptop.” They both huddled in front of the monitor. Alex hit a button and a slide show of photos of Phil started.

“What the hell?” he muttered.

“That’s weird, but this…this is sick. It’s a live feed of some woman being tortured.”

Though shadowy, Phil could make out a bruised, bloodied woman’s body on the floor, then his eyes grew wide. He grabbed his car keys from his desk and ran toward the door.

“What—“
“That’s my basement.”

Blackout

I won’t deny that I drink too much. I suffer from blackouts, like last night. I woke up this morning in my clothes, with dried blood on my shirt and pants. It’s not just a few drops like from a nosebleed, but large blotches, as if I’d held someone who was bleeding in my arms. But I don’t remember what happened.

I recall meeting some coworkers at a bar after work. I don’t do that often because I don’t like all the backbiting and negativity, but my manager was treating, so I was sort of obliged to go. I sat next to the office oddball, Lacy…pretty, but strange in a disquieting way.

My head is throbbing. God, I wish I could remember what I did last night. Was I in a car accident? I check myself and I don’t have any obvious wounds. Stumbling to the kitchen, my heart races when I see a trail of smeared blood leading to the basement door. I follow it to the stairs, and cautiously descend into the basement.

Candles are burning. My eyes quickly adjust and, in the flickering shadows, I see blood-covered bodies. They are four of my co-workers, their corpses propped up in lawn chairs around a blood-soaked mattress.

Did I do this? My god, could I have killed these people?

“You sure know how to show a girl a good time.”

I twist around. Lacy stands at the edge of the jittery yellow candlelight, naked, smeared from head to toe in blood, smiling.

And then I remember.