Retribution

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.

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.  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.

“Either of you recognize her?” he asked.

“No,” responded Ellen quickly. “I’ve never seen her before.”

“Mr. Garner?”

“I don’t know who that is,” he said, his neck now crimson red.

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.

“How long did you say you’ve lived here?” he asked.

“Twelve years,” replied Joe.

“I’m not an expert, but the body doesn’t look like it’s been in the ground anywhere near that amount of time.”

Joe scowled. “Are you implying something, Detective?”

“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.  Are you okay, Mr. Garner? You look pale.”

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.”

After a few more questions, Detective Conrad left and the mood in the house was murky and uncertain.  

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.

“What’s wrong?” asked Ellen, putting her hands on his shoulders.

“There was a woman…just outside the window…looking in at me.”

Ellen hurried out the front door and returned after a beat.

“There’s no one out there now.”

“It was the woman from our yard,” said Joe.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Come back to bed.”

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.

“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….”

A terrifying trio of new short scary stories

The Shadow

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.

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.

“What’s going on with you, Cass? Are you okay?” A chill suddenly gripped her body.

“I’m so sorry, Janice.”

“Sorry? For what?” The light coming in from windows behind her was being blocked out.

“It makes me do this.”

The room was growing dark as if an eclipse was underway. “Do what?”

“Lure its prey.”

Janice’s panicked scream was quickly muffled as the smoky shadow enveloped her and began feeding.

The Spirit Box

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.

“It’s a spirit box,” announced Flip.

Jason’s expression turned quizzical. “A spirit box? You don’t mean the “talk to the dead” kind of spirit box, do you?”

“I do. I’m starting my own ghost hunting crew. Wanna join?”

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.”

Undaunted, Flip picked up the box and turned it on. Annoying static filled the room.

“Flip, come on...”

“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.”

“But it’s a dude.”

The voice was louder this time. “Charon.” Once again, it barked, “CHARON.”

Standing in the hallway, Glenn knocked impatiently on the door, then called out. “Jason? You in there?”

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.

“Glenn,” came a warbly, frightened voice just above the hissing noise. “Help us.

The Promise

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.

Edmond committed suicide a few days ago.

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.

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.

Lying on the comforter were two objects; a photo of my lover Paul, and Edmond’s .38 Smith & Wesson.