It’s not supposed to be this quiet. The lights are all off except for the ones over the exits, but there isn’t anyone left here who needs them. It’s just me, and I can’t leave.
They turned off all the machines, too. No more flashing lights, spinning dials, or “7s” lining up in a row. There’s no sound of coins clinking in a metal tray, no cards shuffling, no dice tumbling. There’s no shouting, no laughter, no ice chinking in cocktail glasses.
The only sound is the rain and the wind that sometimes rattles the windows. At least when the hurricane hits it won’t be quiet anymore. Continue reading
This bit of silliness was written at the request of a friend, who wanted stories for her birthday.
“Knavery, knavish, knawel.”
Rob heard mumbling from the next room over and found his friend Bob sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, a dictionary open in his lap. Bob’s index finger advanced down the page as he recited each word aloud.
“What are you doing?” Rob asked.
“Looking for a word. Knead, knee, knee action, knee breeches,” Bob replied without looking up. Continue reading
For Sunday Scribblings
Crimson blood dripped from the base of the severed head, each drop sizzling as it hit the brand new hardwood floor.
She stood in the doorway, transfixed, her keys in one hand, her bag of groceries in the other. “What—”
George, the contractor, stood with his back to her. In one hand he held the severed head. The other hand gripped some sort of short sword, the blade smeared in the same crimson blood. He turned and a smile spread across his face. “You’re back, Mrs. Prichard. Hope you like what we’ve done. The rest of the cabinets should be in tomorrow.” Continue reading
Note: This story is for the weekly Flash Fiction Challenge posted on the blog of the insanely talented Chuck Wendig. The title is the result of a random title generator.
Wyatt didn’t think very much about magic until the day the faeries tried to kill him. One second he was taking a leisurely soak in his bathtub, and the next he was dodging a toaster. It was the lack of general knowledge about common household appliances that tipped him off. He wouldn’t have suspected the faeries if they had used a hairdryer or a curling iron. Though the curling iron would have been a little hard to explain since he lived alone and didn’t have a girlfriend.
If it weren’t for the attempted murder, he certainly never would have found himself in the office of Basil Alderdice, the local magician for hire, staring at jars labeled “powered cockatrice beak” and “dried manticore lips.” Continue reading
Malcolm glanced up from his book to see a young man in a business suit standing in front of his desk. Early twenties. Clean-cut. All-American good looks. Perfect teeth that no doubt bought an orthodontist a beach house. His suit was expensive, but he wore it sloppily. His fake grin was just short of a condescending smirk.
“May I help you?” Malcolm asked. Continue reading