From the collection: Murder at Thompson Bog
Episode 6
Ted opened the door, “Phil? What's up?”
“You know,” I was thinking fast but talking slow, I hadn't thought this through. “I'm just perplexed by this whole thing and I thought, you know, that we have, you know,” I realized that I had said 'you know' three times in a sentence. “that we don't spend any down-time together. We used to do that, and I thought it would be a good idea ...” My eyes fell on a cut-glass decanter of Scotch on the counter, “... if we could just have a drink together...” I looked at Ted, an innocent smile crossing my face. Ted just looked back at me. It seemed like an hour, but it was only a few seconds before he spoke.
“Sure, Phil, it's a little early for me, but I have no plans, so why not. I'll get us a glass.” Ted took out two short glasses with heavy, cut-glass bottoms. They were part of the set with the decanter. He poured two of what I knew to be first class Scotch and added water from a bottle in the fridge. As he opened the fridge door to return the bottle to the shelf inside, I emptied the pink envelope into Ted's glass. I watched the few tiny crystals disappear into the Scotch.
“Here's to a successful test and a popular product,” I said, lifting my glass.
“I'll drink to that,” responded Ted, drinking half the glass in a gulp. I drank as well, looking around for something to take the attention off of the glass, just in case there was a taste.
“Have you redone the kitchen?”
“Nope. It's the same as the last time you were here.”
“Hmm! That was Thanksgiving...” I realized that I had brought up a memory of Carol and decided to stop there. “Well, I must have forgotten what it looked like, you keep it so nice, it looks new.” I smiled, taking another sip.
Ted finished his drink on that cue. We stood there regarding each other. Then Ted got a look on his face; he stiffened, moving his hand to his belly. His face questioned what he felt, then the answer was written in his eyes. Ted looked straight at me. His mouth opened. I expected him to ask, 'What have you done?' but he didn't, he just gagged and his eyes lost focus.
Ted convulsed and fell on the floor, writhing out of control. I stepped back, giving him room to flail against the floor and cabinets. He spat up some ugly, colorless gunk and jerked to a stop. His arms and legs, hands and feet were all at right angles; his fingers splayed. Ted spasmed once, twice, a third time and then released across the floor, completely limp. The eyes were open.
Standing there, watching my friend of so many years, I couldn't help but feel that this was the right thing to do. In his front pocket, I pulled the paper, torn from the pad at work, with a corner missing. It said, “I love you and the kids.” It was exactly like my dream, only it was Ted on the floor, not his wife and kids. I reached into his shirt pocket and took out the blue envelope.
“Ted? Are you home?” sang Alice, coming in the front door. I ran to stop her from coming into the kitchen. She was surprised to see me. “Phil! Uh, how nice to see you. You haven't visited in a while. Where's Ted?”
“Alice, you've got to go upstairs.”
“What are you talking about?” Alice gave a shallow laugh, then became afraid. “What's going on? Where's Ted?”
“Alice, just go upstairs now. Everything will be all right, but I need you to go upstairs right now.” A noise at the door revealed my worst fear, the kids were with her. “Alice, go upstairs and take the kids. Please!”
“Phil, you're scaring me.”
“Go! Now!” I cried.
“Tyler, Spencer, come with mommy.” Alice reached her hands for her children and lead them upstairs, her face pale, her eyes wide with fright.
There was only one thing for me to do; go to the phone and dial 911.
“911 Operator,” said a male voice.
“I've just killed my best friend,” I told him.
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Luna Nightmares
From the collection: Murder at Thompson Bog
Episode 3
Evening found me eating a ready-made meal with whiskey and water. The television show was one I'd seen before but I couldn't tell you what happened next. Finding a picture was tough and I could only get two channels in that neighborhood; it was the land that time forgot.
Outside the window the usual show was going on, shouting and shooting, sirens and horns; how could people live like that? Why did they stay? Why did I, for that matter?
I decided that I stayed because I couldn't find another place to live in that price range and got up to get myself a second drink. Trying one of my theories: I only had two whiskey and water the other night so that night I poured three. More is better, right?
On the TV, the bad guy was taken down and the commercial came on. I turned the television off, then turned it back on but lowered the sound. I was on my way to get the second drink so I couldn't go to bed yet. I got a fresh glass, just so I could keep score.
With three empty glasses in front of me, I looked up to see that the host's monologue was a repeat; he told that joke before and to just as few laughs. I turned the tube off and fell into bed.
In my dream, Ted took a small envelope out of his shirt pocket and went into the dining room. The envelope was from the lab, blue like those that held samples of Luna-B. He opened the envelope and poured some of the powder into the glasses of iced tea. Ted had tears in his eyes. In his hand he held a piece of paper, white with thin lines and a ragged corner, torn from a pad at the lab. Across the paper he had written, “I love you and the kids.”
I woke up sweating to the sound of banging on the wall next to me. “You wanna shut up in there? People are trying to sleep!” shouted the guy in the next apartment. I held still, gripping the sweat-soaked sheets, hoping he'd shut up.
“It's not like when you live in a house,” I whispered to myself, “where you can scream in peace.”
After a few minutes of quiet, I got up to get a glass of water then returned to bed, looking at the ceiling, trying to think of anything to stay awake. I couldn't think of anything at all other than my dream and my own deplorable situation. I got up and turned on the television. A sexy woman was licking her lips inviting me to call her. She said she was waiting just for me. I laughed, “Not if you could see me,” and turned to the other channel. The late-late-late show was just wrapping up.
Episode 3
Evening found me eating a ready-made meal with whiskey and water. The television show was one I'd seen before but I couldn't tell you what happened next. Finding a picture was tough and I could only get two channels in that neighborhood; it was the land that time forgot.
Outside the window the usual show was going on, shouting and shooting, sirens and horns; how could people live like that? Why did they stay? Why did I, for that matter?
I decided that I stayed because I couldn't find another place to live in that price range and got up to get myself a second drink. Trying one of my theories: I only had two whiskey and water the other night so that night I poured three. More is better, right?
On the TV, the bad guy was taken down and the commercial came on. I turned the television off, then turned it back on but lowered the sound. I was on my way to get the second drink so I couldn't go to bed yet. I got a fresh glass, just so I could keep score.
With three empty glasses in front of me, I looked up to see that the host's monologue was a repeat; he told that joke before and to just as few laughs. I turned the tube off and fell into bed.
In my dream, Ted took a small envelope out of his shirt pocket and went into the dining room. The envelope was from the lab, blue like those that held samples of Luna-B. He opened the envelope and poured some of the powder into the glasses of iced tea. Ted had tears in his eyes. In his hand he held a piece of paper, white with thin lines and a ragged corner, torn from a pad at the lab. Across the paper he had written, “I love you and the kids.”
I woke up sweating to the sound of banging on the wall next to me. “You wanna shut up in there? People are trying to sleep!” shouted the guy in the next apartment. I held still, gripping the sweat-soaked sheets, hoping he'd shut up.
“It's not like when you live in a house,” I whispered to myself, “where you can scream in peace.”
After a few minutes of quiet, I got up to get a glass of water then returned to bed, looking at the ceiling, trying to think of anything to stay awake. I couldn't think of anything at all other than my dream and my own deplorable situation. I got up and turned on the television. A sexy woman was licking her lips inviting me to call her. She said she was waiting just for me. I laughed, “Not if you could see me,” and turned to the other channel. The late-late-late show was just wrapping up.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
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.
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.
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