Tag: fiction

Short Horror – Mandy

Meghan drags her worn body down the hall to her daughter’s bedroom again. Another night of no sleep and post partum psychosis has led to her being able to see and hear the demons that lived in the walls. The new baby remained back in the nursery, somehow sleeping through his sister’s screaming. Her husband was sleeping through it all, as usual. Still, he had to get up early for work, so he needed the sleep, and she tried not to be angry. But night after night of her daughter’s meltdowns had her on a knife’s edge.
“

Mandy! It’s time to sleep! Please baby, I just need one night of sleep.”
Mandy continued screaming. Meghan wondered if it was another nightmare.
“Eeeeeeeeeee” her daughter screamed louder.

Something snapped. It completely broke. Not a toy or the lego Meghan was stepping on. Meghan’s sanity.  She grabbed her daughter by the shoulders and shook her vehemently.

“Stop screaming!” she begged, screaming herself.

And she did. Mandy stopped screaming. Her head lolled sideways and she fell silent. Instantly, Meghan came to and realized what she’d done. She held her daughter to her chest, willing her to wake up. But she didn’t. Meghan remembered her old lifeguard training and checked her daughter’s pulse. It was ebbing.

“Baby, please, come back,” she sobbed. And with one last breath her daughter was gone. Meghan collapsed into a puddle. She killed her daughter. Her little girl was gone, and she did it. Gently she laid her daughter down on the bed. She ran for her husband and her phone. They needed to call emergency services. She needed help. She’d go to prison and never see her husband or either child again. She thought of the gun in her husband’s desk. She would use it on herself before the cops arrived.

Sobbing incoherently, she dragged her half asleep husband down the hall, bleary eyed and trying to figure out what was wrong.

“Hi Mommy!” They entered their daughter’s bedroom, and she was playing with dolls in her bed.  Meghan froze, shocked, overwhelmed, grateful.  But Mandy’s heart had stopped!
“Baby you’re ok!” Meghan ran to her little girl’s side.
“Yes Mama!”
“What’s going on Meghan? Why are you crying? And why did you wake me up? You know I have to get up at 4.” Her husband, tripping over his tiredness, asked and kissed his wife’s forehead. “I’m going back to bed. Mandy, it’s time to sleep. Listen to your mother.”
He stumbled down the hall and the master bedroom door closed. Meghan turned once more to her daughter.

Her breath caught. Her daughter’s eyes were slits, like a snake’s, and the normally blue eyes looked somehow green.
“Mandy?”
“I’m not Mandy,” she chirped, chipper. “You killed her. I’m your new daughter. And I don’t need to tell anyone what you did. If you don’t tell anyone I’m not her.” The eyes glowed, then the slits widened and the color went back to blue. Meghan fell backward. Her diaphragm froze.
“I’ll be the best daughter you ever had. I won’t cry or have nightmares or talk back. You just have to give me what I want.”
“Who are you? What do you want?” Meghan sobbed. Her daughter, her precious girl…gone..and this thing had her body.
“I think you know who, or at least what, I am. As for what I want, a body and a background. That’s all I need. A vessel to act in the world.”
“And if I go get my husband right now and tell him you aren’t Mandy?”
“Well, either he’ll think you’re crazy and have you locked up, or he’ll believe it and I’ll leave and you’ll be left with a dead daughter and some splaining to do.”
Meghan crab walked backward away from the bed and struggled to her feet.
“What will it be?” her daughter’s sweet voice asked. The crushing, agonizing weight of what she’d done split her open and she wept bitterly.
Her daughter, the husk of her, came over and hugged her waist.
“There there Mommy. You better stop crying and go back to bed. You can’t have anyone thinking you’re mourning or something. Neither of us want people asking questions. Sweet dreams Mommy.”
Meghan stepped backward from the shell of her former child and crept back to her bed, weeping silently.

Micro Fiction – My Grandma’s Trailer

I walk down the rickety lane to Grandma’s trailer, the Taj Mahal as we called it, and knocked on the peeling yellow door. It was a single wide, and the siding was coming off from a recent hurricane. The North Carolina humidity shimmered, speckled with mosquitoes. Then grandma opened, her expansive voice welcoming me into the marble foyer. As she closed the door behind me, I greeted the koi in her fountain.

“What brings you over, Cupcake?” she asked.

“I need to borrow a little TNT for my mom.”

“Ok honey. It seems like every day it’s something, which would be fine but she never returns anything. She still has my cyanide shaker and my mentrual map.”

Grandma takes off, surprisingly spry for a hip recipient, down the corridor on the left. She whisks past the library and the music room, the terrarium room and the aquarium room. She comes back with a carefully wrapped parcel and hands it to me gingerly.

“Be careful. Remind your mother Sunday night is dinner with Father Rohrer and the Zeitgeist of the 80s.”

 

Roses – Flash Microfiction

Serena was the human equivalent of a marigold – bright and always heralding the dead. She tended her roses tenderly, until one day is a vortex of hurt she approached her violated wrists with a long thorn, sliding it deep into cuts trying desperately to heal. As her elegant friend ripped open her tortured flesh, she quieted. Her blood fell upon the sleeping soil, awakening it

The next morning, the rose bush was covered in fresh blooms, some as large as Serena’s head. Amazed, she watered them carefully. But the water sat in top of the soil, useless. Serena looked at her wrist and picked the corner of a developing scab. A delicate drop of blood fell in the soil, and from somewhere deep, the sound of slurping.

Day by day the roses grew taller, the blooms prouder. Serena grew weaker until one day, her husband came home to find her head rolled back, her arms and body drained, and roses wrapping around her corpse.

Addie – flash fiction

My old house was creaking under the weight of ghosts, and I knew it was the uneasy time labeled bed. Sleek, blue Addie hovered in her crystal aquarium.

“Goodnight Addie,” I said, placing a few pellets on the serene surface, that ether boundary of her world, residing as she does in the meniscus of life.

Later, I am yanked awake from fitful, light sleep by the sound of splashing water. Eyes bleary, I stumble down the hall to the studio to Addie’s aquarium.

Inside was a feral little girl, curled up inside the tank, her bony, bluish body pressing against the glass. Her hair, brown and unbrushed, was tangled and soaked.

“Where’s Addie ? Who are you?” I gasped.

Then she looked at me, staring bleakly out of her hollow face, and I knew it was Addie.

I blinked, and the girl was gone. The aquarium was still there but almost completely empty. I felt inwardly disheveled. My discombobulation turned to horror when I saw Addie beached on the neon rocks, gasping for breath, her gills clutching at whatever water got too close.

I ran to the sink and filled a measuring cup with water. I dumped it out into the tank quickly. First one then another, until the tank filled.
But when I returned to the aquarium with the last cup of water, Addie was gone. Wet footprints scampered out the door, and a wisp of a child somewhere runs wild.

The Narrator

The narrator is mopping the floor with my tears,

which for him fall like rain through a hole

in the roof.

What promise this day had,

born at the height of the malleable moon.

What now,

since favor, faith, and fancy have

disintegrated?

The narrator begins with an article

that will barely clothe me from the cold.