Short Story Collection for Summer

I've decided to release my three Short Story Collections for Summer. I will begin with the stories of the first collection, "Murder at Thompson Bog."

From the collection: Murder at Thompson Bog
Luna Nightmares
Episode 1

It began with a nightmare; it was one I couldn't shake. I could see Ted in his house, the house I had been to several times before, the house I used to live next to back when we carpooled to Lunadyne Corp.

In the nightmare, Ted is sitting in his kitchen looking at a piece of paper. It's white with lines, torn from a pad like the ones at work. A corner is torn crooked, as if ripped too quickly from the pad. The words are large and in block letters. Ted is crying. He picks up his drink and tosses it back, placing the empty glass back on the counter. Ted then walks back into the dining room where his wife, Alice, and two kids, Tyler and Spencer, are at the table with their heads tilted down, eyes open and staring at nothing, arms limp and spilled glasses ignored. Ted is crying and touches Alice's hand. He places the note on the table next to her and reels to the side, falling to the floor.

That was when I woke up, sweating and shaking. The clock said 4:13. The darkness outside confirmed that dawn had not yet broken. There were still voices coming from the 24-hour convenience store at the corner. Somewhere a siren grew louder, then stopped. I could hear a television through the walls. I sat up, turning and groping for a glass of water. It was empty. I sat on the side of the bed, trying to wake up enough to stand and get more water.

The dream haunted me even awake. Ted had killed his wife and his two beautiful kids. Tyler was in little league and king of third base. Spencer was a ballerina, precious even with a tooth missing. I smiled to think of them. Then shuddered to think that he killed them – only in my dream, of course, but still.

The siren picked up again. A car passed and lights danced across the dingy ceiling. I struggled to my feet and took the glass into the kitchen.

'What in the world could it mean, that dream?' I thought to myself. 'Ted loves his family.'

Who wouldn't? Alice was great! I should have done so well! When Carol and I were fighting over the house and other possessions I would sometimes look at Alice and wish I had met her instead.

Carol sold the house and everything in it, moved back to Omaha and that was that. Keeping her in the manner to which she had become accustomed was keeping me in a cheap apartment on the wrong side of the tracks. At least we had no kids to squabble over, but if I had met Alice and we had Tyler and Spencer, I think I would've been a happy man.

'So why would I dream that Ted killed them?' I leaned against the sink, turned the faucet and let the water run – it was still warm. The noise from outside the open window, a mix of sirens, dogs barking, drunks cursing and cars passing, even at four-something in the morning, seemed a fitting sound track for my life. What a mess I had made of it. And now I was having nightmares in which my best friend kills his family and then himself.

'But Ted is happy,' I thought, standing straight again. I held the glass under the spigot, filling it to the top. 'He has a good job – stressful, but still good. He's one of the top chemists at Lunadyne, one of the men who came up with Lunaprex, the leading anti-depressant on the market. He has a great life – there is no reason why he should do such a thing. So that's it.' I end the conversation in my head with the only answer, 'It's not Ted, it's me. I am reflecting my own disheveled life onto him in my dreams and in the process scaring myself silly. Am I going crazy? Is this the first sign of dementia?'

I drank the entire glass of water and held the empty glass under the still running spigot. I let the water run over onto my hand. It felt good. I wondered, was I drinking too much or too little lately. 'I only had a couple of drinks last night: whiskey and water, not large. Maybe I should go to three. Maybe I should go on the wagon. Either way, something has to change.'

The lights of passing cars played across the ceiling and wall as I walked to the couch. When the glass was empty, I put it on the table and stared into space.