Stories

Lycaon, by Garret Schuelke

#action #horror #lycaon #superhero #werewolf

Banner knew that he should have never got a can opener from Goodwill. Even if they did give it to him for free, it still refused to properly open the can of beans that he needed to complete his chili.

He heard a train coming. He pledged that if he couldn’t get the can open by the time the train appeared, he would whip the can opener underneath the wheels.

On top of the train, Gareth woke up. He looked out at the Thunder Bay River. He sat up and stretched out. Being away for this long still hasn’t changed anything, he thought, scanning the streets. Same businesses, no new attractions, not even any kind of construction going on.

Gareth put on his backpack. “Chicago, babe. Expect me back ASAP. Once I save this hole, I’ll be back home to stay.” He jumped off the train as it started to slow down. “For some time, anyway.”

Banner cursed the can opener. He threw it towards the tracks. Gareth felt something hit his leg as he landed. He looked down to see the can opener tumbling down the gravel.

“Oh Jesus, I’m sorry man,” Banner yelled, running towards Gareth. “I swear, I didn’t mean to hit you!”

“Can’t get the can open?” Gareth asked, pointing at the can of beans Banner was holding. “Yeah, and I got my chili cookin’ right now. It wouldn’t be the same without these beans.”

“I got a can opener that’ll work,” Gareth said, putting his arm around Banner’s shoulders. “Let’s go to your pad and I’ll dig it out.”

Gareth put his backpack down when they got inside the dilapidated train shack. He dug the can opener out of one of the side compartments. Making sure that Banner was still stirring his chili, Gareth concentrated on transforming his right hand. His hand tightened, and his fingernails grew into claws. He stuck a finger into the can, and circled the top until the lid came completely off. He relaxed his hand, reverting it back to its normal state.

“Here’s your beans,” Gareth said, dumping them into the chili. “You can take my can opener too. I’m not going to need it any more.”

“Thanks much, man. You sure don’t you need it, though?” Banner asked.

Gareth shook his head, put on his backpack and headed out the door. “There are a lot of things I don’t need anymore.”

Gareth searched through the shelves where the Alpena News and other Michigan newspapers were for stories on the wolf attacks that occurred in Alpena County over the last month. He copied the articles and snuck out of the library to avoid paying the copy fees.

He headed over to Save-A-Lot. He scoped out the front entrance in the alley across from the store. After thinking over what he remembered of the store’s layout, he tied his grey mask over his eyes. He transformed, stretched his legs, and ran into the store.

He swiped some hamburger patties, barbecue sauce, and a package of white bread. Running out the store, he nearly ran into a girl who was texting.

His last stop was Tarter’s Party Store. He planned to swipe a bottle of red wine, but then he saw the 24 packs of Pabst Blue Ribbon that were right next to the entrance. Aw yeah, he thought. Using his super speed, he darted across the street, swiped one of the packs, and sped down Chisholm towards downtown.

Continue the story

1+
Send to Kindle
Standard
Stories

Lycaon, Part One, by Garret Schuelke

#action #adventure #fiction #flashfiction #lycaon #scifi #shortstories #werewolf

Banner knew that he should have never got a can opener from Goodwill. Even if they did give it to him for free, it still refused to properly open the can of beans that he needed to complete his chili.

He heard a train coming. He pledged that if he couldn’t get the can open by the time the train appeared, he would whip the can opener underneath the wheels.

On top of the train, Gareth woke up. He looked out at the Thunder Bay River. He sat up and stretched out. Being away for this long still hasn’t changed anything, he thought, scanning the streets. Same businesses, no new attractions, not even any kind of construction going on.

Gareth put on his backpack. “Chicago, babe, expect me back ASAP. Once I save this hole, I’ll be back home to stay.” He jumped off the train as it started to slow down. “For some time, anyway.”

Banner cursed the can opener. He threw it towards the tracks. Gareth felt something hit his leg as he landed. He looked down to see the can opener tumbling down the gravel.

“Oh Jesus, I’m sorry, man,” Banner yelled, running towards Gareth. “I swear, I didn’t mean to hit you!”

“Can’t get the can open?” Gareth asked, pointing at the can of beans Banner was holding.

“Yeah, and I got my chili cookin’ right now. It wouldn’t be the same without these beans.”

“I got a can opener that’ll work,” Gareth said, putting his arm around Banners shoulders. “Let’s go to your pad and I’ll dig it out.”

Gareth put his backpack down when they got inside the dilapidated train shack. He dug the can opener out of one of the side compartments. Making sure that Banner was still stirring his chili, Gareth concentrated on transforming his right hand. His hand tightened, and his fingernails grew into claws. He stuck a finger into the can, and circled the top until the lid came completely off. He relaxed his hand, reverting it back to its normal state.

“Here’s your beans,” Gareth said, dumping them into the chili. “You can take my can opener too. I’m not going to need it anymore.”

“Thanks much, man. You sure don’t you need it, though?” Banner asked.

Gareth shook his head, put on his backpack and headed out the door.  “There are a lot of things I don’t need anymore.”

Gareth searched through the shelves where the Alpena News and other Michigan newspapers were for stories on the wolf attacks that occurred in Alpena County over the last month. He copied the articles, and snuck out of the library to avoid paying the copy fees.

He headed over to Save-A-Lot. He scoped out the front entrance in the alley across from the store. After thinking over what he remembered of the store’s layout, he tied his grey mask over his eyes. He transformed, stretched his legs, and ran into the store.

He swiped some hamburger patties, barbecue sauce, and a package of white bread. Running out the store, he nearly ran into a girl who was texting.

His last stop was Tarters Party Store.  He planned to swipe a bottle of red wine, but then he saw the 24 packs of Pabst Blue Ribbon that were right next to the entrance. Aw yeah, he thought. Using his super speed, he darted across the street, swiped one of the packs, and sped down Chisholm towards downtown.

Read part two.

1+
Send to Kindle
Standard
Stories

The Crystal Dragon, Part 6, by Edward King

#action #adventure #crystal #crystal dragon #dragon #mystery #russia #siberia

Read the previous part here. Artwork by phalanxus.

When Sedgwick and Hammer got back to their room, the power was out.

“It must be something to do with the dragon,” said Sedgwick. He looked around. “Candles,” he said.

He pulled two out of a drawer where Hammer glimpsed various other articles of seduction, set them on the small coffee table in between the two beds, and lit them. He opened the door to the fridge and retrieved two beers from the dark interior.

“What I know,” said Sedgwick. “Not much. It started last night.”

Sedgwick left the party in room 308 early. Samantha was texting him relentlessly. He made it back to his dorm room and tried to call her, but he couldn’t get through.

He went outside to get a breath of fresh air.

The whole thing with Sammy had begun as a summer fling a year ago. Did he love her? No. He couldn’t.

But there had been moments. Her rubbing sunscreen on his back before tubing the river. Exhausted afterwards. Her looking into his eyes.

“What am I going to do when you leave?”

He shrugged it off like it was nothing.

Maybe there was something there. Something worth preserving.

But no. Now was now. He typed out the text on his phone: “Sammy, we need to talk when I get back. I’m not sure if this is working.” Hit send.

It was then that he noticed the hooded figure along the periphery of the compound, inside the fence. He wore a ratty grey trenchcoat. His face was swathed in shadow. He was fingering a small, glowing box, like an illuminated rubiks cube.

“He was muttering something,” Sedgwick told Hammer, in their candlelit dorm.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know! ‘Blah, blah, blah, I’m muttering something.’”

“Never mind. What happened next?”

“He saw me and dropped the cube. It sort of shattered on the ground and there was a rumbling, like something was angered. A glow, like, emanated from all of the pieces, and formed itself into a ball. It darted inside. I followed it.”

“So there it was, this glowing orb, just hanging out in the hallway of the dorm. I was just standing there, like, aghast. Then other people started to come out.

“At first they didn’t know what to do. Then they brought out their phones and started taking pictures.

With each picture they took, the light seemed to gain more and more form. First it separated into two glowing eyes. Then a head started to appear, long and snakelike, with flared nostrils. Then a long body.

“That’s about where you came in,” said Sedgwick.

%

Hammer woke up early in the morning after sleeping poorly. He had dreamed of a golden dragon soaring through the clouds.

The sky was just getting light. Suddenly the speakers around the dormitory blared, and a dry voice intoned: “all assemble for an emergency meeting! Meet in educational building two in five minutes.”

Follow Ed at @edjamesking

0
Send to Kindle
Standard
Stories

Blog Post, by Garret Schuelke

#action #scifi

Regent Park, Toronto

“Four on the roof,” Godan said, “stationed at each corner.”

Murrieta flew them closer. One of the Braves spotted Godan and Murrieta and shouted. They opened fire. Murrieta put his hand up to his face as the bullets bounced off him.

“Okay, now I’m curious,” Murrieta said. “Do the bullets even deflect back and hit—”

“Dodge! DODGE!” Godan yelled, gripping Murrieta’s hand. Murrieta looked down and saw Godan shielding himself as the bullets entered him.

Murrieta swerved. “My bad. I keep forgetting that you got soft flesh.”

“Shit, that hurts!” Godan shook his arm. “Just blast them already!”

Murrieta aimed his finger at the Braves and fired four Sun Bullets, knocking them out. They then set down on the roof of the apartment building.

“They’re on the sixth floor, right?” Godan asked as he clenched his fists, concentrating on his healing factor. “What apartment number?”

“I got it here.” Murrieta pulled out his phone and looked at the saved screenshot of the blog post. “Apartment seven!”

Godan looked over the ledge. “Hey, they’re gathered in front of the entrance.” Murrieta levitated over. “Bomb them, and let’s do this.”

Godan walked to the door. Murrieta looked down at the Braves. All of them were either looking up at him or talking amongst themselves. He flattened his palm and created a Sun Grenade. He threw it at the pavement. Light vaporized the Braves. It vanished, leaving cracks in the pavement.

Godan busted the lock and kicked the door open. He walked in, looked down the stairwell, and jumped down the gap. Murrieta flew past him and hovered in front of the sixth floor entrance. He extended his hand and Godan grabbed it.

They entered the hall and found apartment seven. Godan knocked on the door. No one answered.

“Bullshit, they better be home!” Godan said, knocking harder.

“They’re just scurrying to the door as we speak,” Murrieta said, rolling his eyes.

The doors of the other apartments on the floor opened. Braves entered the hall, talking and yelling amongst themselves. They fell silent when they spotted Godan and Murrieta. They cocked and aimed their firearms.

“I’ll take care of them.” Murrieta cracked his knuckles. “Again.”

Godan smashed the lock and opened the door. “You’re such a considerate partner.”

Gunfire erupted as Godan closed the door. He didn’t see anyone in the apartment. He growled, then he heard sobbing coming from behind the kitchen counter. He walked around and found an elderly woman holding a young girl.

“Ms. Ruiz? And you’re Ellen, right?” Godan asked, kneeling down. “Hey, we’re here to get you guys out of this hole!”

Ellen buried her face into her grandmother’s chest. Ms. Ruiz shook violently as she stared at Godan.

“I’m not with the Braves of Aztlan!” Godan said, offering his hand. “My partner’s taking care of them right now. We’re the heroes!”

Ms. Ruiz looked at Godan’s claws. Her eyes widened, and she scooted herself and her granddaughter into the corner. “EL DEMONIO!” she yelled. “EL DEMONIO! EL DEMONIO! EL DEMONIO!”

Godan backed away. Ellen began to cry. Godan shook his head and walked towards the door.

The Braves stopped shooting. The smoke cleared. Murrieta stood with his arms crossed. They lowered their guns.

“Good thing I can get these ponchos on the cheap,” Murrieta said.

<You little shit!> one of the Braves yelled, whipping out a machete.

Godan entered the hall. “You try to talk to them,” he said to Murrieta. “I don’t speak Spanish, plus I’m white. They’ll trust you more.”

Murrieta nodded and entered the apartment. The machete-wielding Brave rushed towards Godan.

Ms. Ritz screamed when Murrieta came into view.

<Miss, please don’t be afraid,> Murrieta said, <I’m not the bad guy here.>

The windows in the apartment rattled. Crashes and screams intruded from outside.

<You’re Ellen, aren’t you?> Murrieta kneeled in front of Ellen, holding up his phone. <This is an entry you posted, isn’t it?>

Ellen sat up. She stopped shaking and nodded.

<All your friends are worried about you, especially Selena. She showed us this, and we agreed to get you two out of here.>

The fire alarm went off, followed by more screams and crashes.

<This is the only place we can afford to live!> Ms. Ritz said.

<But you’re living right in the heart of Aztlan territory! Selena said Ellen hasn’t been seen at school for over a week. When was the last time you guys even left this building?>

Gunfire drowned out the fire alarm before it was silenced.

<I want to leave!> Ellen said. She breathed deeply, trying to control her crying.

Murrieta stood up. He extended his hand. <I’ll get you out of here. Selena said you can stay with her as long as you want.> He looked Ms. Ritz in the eye.  <Seriously, it’s all good.>

Ellen got to her feet. Ms. Ritz took Murrieta’s hand and he pulled her up. They walked to the door. Murrieta put his hand up.  He could only hear the fire alarm and the sprinklers going off. He opened the door slightly. The bodies of unconscious Braves were strewn across the floor. He pushed it open all the way.

Godan was leaning against the wall, covered in blood and water. “I was beginning to think we would have to drag them out,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Godan walked over the Braves. Murrieta told Ellen and Ms. Ritz to hug him tightly, then he levitated them down the hall, following Godan.

Godan held the door open. He looked down the stairwell and saw Braves running up. “GO!” Godan yelled, jabbing his thumb upwards before he started ascending the stairs.

Murrieta flew to the top level. Ms. Ritz screamed. He stopped himself before they hit the roof. He flew them out the door.

<Okay, we’re gonna go real fast now!> he yelled as they flew higher into the air. <Keep your heads down and hang on!>

Ellen dug her face into Murrieta’s poncho. He tightened his grip on them and sped off. He gritted his teeth as the wind slapped his face. He hoped that the speed and air pressure wasn’t harming them.

Out of the corner of his eye, Murrieta saw Selena’s house passing by. He stopped, causing Ellen to gasp. He apologized, flew back, and landed in the backyard.

Ellen and Ms. Ritz dropped to the ground. Ellen immediately got up and ran to the screen door and banged on it. Selena answered and they embraced.

<I think you guys are good now,> Murrieta said, helping Ms. Ritz to her feet. <I gotta get back and help my partner.>

Murrieta slowly flew up. He heard Ellen and Selena calling to him. He flew over and levitated above them.

<Sir, I have—> Ellen said.

< ‘Sir’? I’m not even a teenager yet! Just call me Murrieta.>

<Murrieta, could you save our other friends at the apartment?> Selena asked.

Murrieta’s eyes widened. <Other friends?> He felt a tingle go up his spine. <Yeah, I’ll save your friends. No prob!>

<I also have a cousin that lives on the first floor.> Ellen said. <Could you please make sure the Braves don’t hurt him?>

Murrieta bumped his chest. <Call TPS for me. Tell them that Murrieta and Godan will have so many Braves waiting for them that every cell in Toronto will be filled to the brim!>

Murrieta launched himself into the air and flew back to the complex. As it came into view, he saw Godan choke-slam a cyborg Brave. Godan stomped on a Braves metal tentacle that was about to lash out at him. He kicked the Brave in the head, knocking him out.

“Hey, I made another promise to Selena and Ellen,” Murrieta said, looking over the Braves that Godan put down.

Godan tore off the tentacle and tossed it to Murrieta. “I suggest we finish this first, then we’ll do whatever they asked.”

Godan nodded towards the edge of the roof. Murrieta landed and walked over. He looked down and saw the Braves gathering in front of the entrance, initiating their arm cannons, distributing firearms, stretching their tentacles, and spreading Judas Ashes on themselves.

One of the Braves looked up and, spotting Murrieta, shouted <YOU WILL BURN BEFORE AZTLAN! WE WILL COVER OUR FLESH WITH YOUR ASHES!>

“What did he say?” Godan asked, dragging the cyborg Brave over.

Murrieta tossed the tentacle over his shoulder. “Loose translation: they’re gonna annihilate us.”

Godan laughed. He heaved the Brave over the ledge. The Brave’s tentacles smacked against the side of the building as it tumbled down. He crashed into a car that had its trunk open, full of firearms.

“Nice shot,” Murrieta said.

“I wasn’t even aiming for anything in particular!” Godan said.

The Braves raged. They started to enter the building. Some took aim with their arm cannons and guns. Godan crossed his arms. Murrieta pointed his finger at them. It started to glow yellow. He grinned.

Follow Garret on Twitter

0
Send to Kindle
Standard
Stories

The Rescue, Part Two, by David Nees

#action #fiction #post-apocalyptic #shortstories #stories

This post contains some disturbing content.

The drinking started. The sounds of the people grew louder as more alcohol was drunk; pretty soon the scene became raucous and violent. Jason heard a number of women scream as the men roughly grabbed at them. The screams became a background noise to the overall din of the encampment. Through his glasses Jason spotted a tent at the edge of the yard, with men steadily going in and out. The noise continued well into the night until around midnight, when it started to gradually quiet down.

Over the next two hours Jason slowly, patiently, crawled through the grass in the field. The darkness helped to hide his trail of matted growth. But even so, he went slowly and carefully, not wanting to make his move until the group had drunk itself into sleep.

He aimed for the tent where he had seen the men going in and out, hoping that Judy might be there and hoping at the same time that she wasn’t. The reality, he guessed, was probably much worse. Even at 50 years of age, Judy was not an unattractive woman. And who knew what code of conduct, if any, ruled this group? Gangs like this acted worse than a pack of animals. They killed not only to survive, but for the joy of killing itself. The violence he had seen in the Miller’s house was the equivalent of what he had read about the medieval times.

They’re like the barbarians who brought down the Roman Empire, he thought. They imagined cruelty and violence towards the enemy was a virtue.

Jason reached the back of the tent and listened carefully for some time. The only sounds he heard were low moans and whimpers. Very slowly, he inserted his hunting knife into the back of the tent and cut a small opening. He put his eye to the slit and tried to see inside. In the darkness it was nearly impossible. He could make out one small figure to the side (Judy?) and another, larger figure lying opposite.

Jason slowly started to slice the tent open. His heart was racing and his breathing became ragged. Still working the knife, he buried his face in the crook of his arm to cover the sound of his breath.

Be calm. Breathe steady.

He repeated this mantra over and over in his mind. When he finished cutting the tent open, he slowly worked his way through the large hole.

As he was pulling himself through, Jason’s foot caught on the flap of material and he fell forward. The larger figure mumbled something as he started to wake up. Without hesitating, Jason thrust his body over the man, covered his mouth with one hand, and shoved his knife into the man’s neck with the other. He jerked and flopped instinctively, trying to get away from the attack. Jason worked the knife back and forth without taking it out of the man’s neck, slashing and cutting the life out of him. After a short struggle, a gurgling sound came out of the man and he went limp. Jason held on for a few more seconds before pulling back — he was dead. He turned quickly to other figure.

“Judy, is that you?” he whispered.

“Jason?” came her weak reply.

“Shh,” he said as he went over to her, listening for sounds outside of the tent. All was quiet. Judy had a blanket thrown over her; underneath she was naked and bound.

“Jason,” she whispered, “they, they … raped me.”

“Don’t talk. I’m getting you out of here,” he whispered.

He cut her bonds with his knife. He could feel the cuts and bruises on her wrists and ankles. He found a shirt which he put over her. Taking the blanket with them, he helped Judy crawl through the opening in the tent. Once outside, Jason had Judy lie down on the blanket. Holding one end, he dragged her behind him as he crawled back along his path. This time he went faster and with less caution, taking the chance that everyone was asleep. Upon reaching the tree line, Jason wrapped Judy in the blanket and picked her up in his arms.

“Hold on, it’ll be a bumpy trip. I’ve got to get us away from here as fast as possible.”

“They hurt me,” Judy said. “Over and over, they wouldn’t stop.”

Then she started moaning. Jason gritted his teeth against her sounds of pain and set out for safety.

It was hard going in spite of Judy not being very big. Jason drove himself on and on, stopping only to adjust how he carried Judy: in his arms; piggy back style; over his shoulders. But always he kept moving — whether at a walk, a shuffle, or a slow jog, he would not stop.

Two hours passed before he arrived at their farm house. He laid Judy down gently in the yard and went into the barn to retrieve a two-wheeled cart he had seen. Next he ran into the house and collected pillows and blankets. He made a padded bed in the cart and lay Judy down inside.

Jason knew she had been bleeding as he carried her, so he gently put a pillow between her legs. He told her to push it up tight to stem the bleeding. Judy was so weak that Jason had to help her. Apologizing for the bumpiness, Jason told her he was going to take her to his camp where the gang would not be able to find them.

“I’ll keep you safe, Judy. They won’t hurt you again.”

“Sam?” she said. “They shot him over and over. They laughed and shot him, again and again.”

Then she collapsed in the cart. Jason set out, running now, towing the cart behind him. He left muddy footprints on the road, but he didn’t care.

I hope they come after me, he thought, grimly.

His mind was getting darker as he ran on, hearing Judy’s moaning in the cart, knowing she was getting weaker and weaker. He imagined them howling after him in a blood lust, just as he imagined him exacting his revenge on them.

He turned up the old logging trail bark road, running, shuffling, stumbling — not stopping. As the grade became steeper his legs got heavier, but he kept going. It was like the worst army training run he had ever experienced. His lungs were on fire; his breath came in ragged gasps and still he went on, even at a shuffle. He couldn’t stop until he got to his camp and tended to Judy. Her soft cries drove him on and on.

At last he arrived. The camp was on top of a steep bank that had been created a century or so ago, when a flat area or “bench” was cut into the hillside to make the shelf for the road bed.

Jason laid Judy down on the blankets from the cart. As he grabbed her, he felt how wet the pillow was from her blood. He wrapped her in the extra blankets she had given him only that morning. Their worlds had disintegrated since that bittersweet goodbye. He roused Judy enough to get her to drink some water.

“Don’t let me go,” she pleaded. “Hold me.”

He took her in his arms, keeping her wrapped tight in the blankets.

“They hurt me deep inside,” she mumbled. “I’m hurt bad.”

“You’ll be all right,” he said. “I’ll take care of you.”

“I’m cold,” she said softly. She was shivering. Jason pulled his extra parka out of his pack with one hand and draped it over her while he kept her held tight in his arms. Gently he rocked back and forth. The shivering went away and she seemed to relax more.

“Don’t leave me up here in the hills … for the animals.” He could barely hear her voice.

“I won’t leave you. You’ll be okay, you’re going to be okay,” he said, he hoped with conviction. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Sam … Sam,” she said. “Why did they have to keep shooting Sam?”

Jason just kept rocking her gently. Judy slipped into unconsciousness. He kept holding her and rocking her for the next two hours as her life slowly slipped away.

0
Send to Kindle
Standard
Stories

The Rescue by David Nees: Part One

#action #adventure #fiction #shortstories #shortstory

“The Rescue” is an excerpt from the forthcoming novel,  After the Fall.

After an electromagnetic pulse attack on the U.S. all transportation and communications were destroyed.  Shortages of food, fuel and other essentials quickly developed and Jason retreated to the mountains to escape the breakdown of society that occurred.

He stopped at the edge of the woods and scanned the house; no sign of anyone.  Cautiously, Jason approached the rear corner of the house from the field and quietly tested the back door.  It was locked.  He went around to the front. It was broken open.  He slowly entered.

The furniture was overturned—signs of a struggle.  Jason stopped and listened for some time.  It was completely quiet.  Moving further into the house, he found Sam in the hallway on the way to the kitchen.  He had been shot multiple times.  There was blood everywhere.

Jason reeled in shock and turned away, his stomach heaving.  His fought back the reflex to vomit; his head was light. Stumbling back out onto the porch, he dropped to the floor and breathed into his cupped hands to keep from passing out.  Tears welled up in his eyes.  After a few minutes he ventured back into the house to try to find Judy.

The kitchen was ransacked, the table was overturned.  Cabinets were torn open and emptied.  He found a part of Judy’s dress torn and lying on the floor but he could not find her.

They’ve taken her, she’s alive!  

Then his face clouded as he thought about how they might treat her.  The basement where Judy kept the food supplies had been discovered and stripped.  The liquor cabinet, Sam’s pride, was empty.  Jason could not find any other sign of Judy in the house.  He took a sheet from the bedroom and covered Sam.

I’ll find her, Sam.   I’ll get her back and make them pay for this…this…  He couldn’t find a word to describe it.

I don’t know how far they’ve gone, but I’ve got to follow.  He was filled with grim thoughts of what was to come.  He went to the well in the yard and pumped cold water over his head, took a long drink and shouldered his rifle.  Then he set off at a trot on the road going south.

Jason kept up a trot for over an hour when he saw smoke ahead.  He veered off the road and worked his way through the fields and hedge rows, slowing and moving more carefully as he got closer.  Finally he stopped and laid down at the edge of an overgrown field.  He was about 50 to 60 yards from the encampment, which was in front of a burned farmhouse. There were a number of tents spread around the yard with people—mostly men, although Jason spied a few women—moving in and out of the remains of the farmhouse.  From the looks of it, the group was getting ready to party and feast.

Enjoying what you stole from Sam and Judy.

Evening approached and Jason lay back in his hide position.  Got to wait till dark; how do I find where they’ve put Judy?  He hoped she was not in the house. He couldn’t see how he could get either of them out and survive.

Stay tuned for part 2!

0
Send to Kindle
Standard
Stories

A ’40s Detective Sells His Story to the Movies by Robert King

#action #dark and stormy night #detective #fiction #flashfiction #noir #thriller

Untitled

Meanwhile, on a dark and stormy night that soaked the homicide report I carried, I went for the second time seeking clues in the room of the mysterious murdered heiress. Needless to say she wasn’t home.

Or was she? Her perfume still smelled like trouble. As soon as I closed the door behind me and before I found the light switch, a shapely shadow, dressed in the color of night, emerged from a dark corner and crossed the dim light of the window.

The way everything was flickering, I thought someone had left a projector running, but it was a lady dressed in black doing the running. I couldn’t see her face, but she had to be the most beautiful babe in the world.

“Stick ‘em up!” she commanded. I thought she pulled her piece to shoot me down, but at gunpoint she slammed my raised hands into the bedpost and locked the cuffs. No, my dear reader, you don’t know how it ends.

Getting her kicks, I guess, she forced half a bottle of Kentucky bourbon down my throat, lit a Camel, took a puff, and blew smoke in my face. “Was it good for you?” she purred. Pretty smart cookie.

Whether it was the booze or the smoke, I passed out like technicolor into black and white
as all the power went off in the building, the only light a sputtering bar sign and swords of lightning outside. When I came almost to, all I could see of her was a glowing coal about lip high.

Then I heard Tootsie (as I like to call her) chugging the bottom half of the bottle, opening another―gin this time, I detected, by the smell of pine needles―and pouring it all over me. Cuffed helpless I was no match for her, so she struck her own, lit a new Camel, and threw the burning match down on my booze-soaked chest. The cheap gin wouldn’t burn. It just sneezed a few times, then flamed out. Still, I was so tanked up with 90 proof that I was afraid to breathe.

Confused by the homicide report and the way this story was going, when I cooled down I asked her if she was alive or dead. She said she wasn’t that kind of girl. She never said anything more. During the power outage, the Camel burned down to her classy lips.

Or did it? In the light of day, she had vanished like a bad habit, leaving the .22 caliber pistol with a cigarette stub in the lips of its barrel, the hair on my chest singed, and this case still wide open. Only the scent of her perfume, like a drifting clue to follow, stayed in the room. It smelled like gasoline.

Some dames like it hot.

Robert’s website is http://robertsking.com. Follow us on Twitter and Facebook!

0
Send to Kindle
Standard