"Wait! Why doesn't my back hurt?"
Death didn't say anything. Instead he looked at his—probably Swiss—watch like he was either bored or late for a date. Maybe he had to see Alice. It looked like he had a pocket watch, too. There was a bulge in his jacket.
I opened the book. The title page had a picture of Marilyn Monroe. She was posed quite conservatively, in a pair of long pants and a sailor blouse. The dark blue contrasted nicely with the white page. Her shoes were a pair of stilettos, red. I was sure she had never worn them ever in life. There was a red scarf over her head, and her eyes were covered by a nice pair of sunglasses. The only make up I could see was her bright red lipstick. Behind Marilyn was a beach.Turning the page, I saw the chapter titles.
‘So now you're dead as a doorknob’, was chapter one. Nice of them to be blunt. I scanned the chapter. It was mostly about how, now that I was dead, I was free of some of life's issues. No worries about meeting up with enemies, or buying food. When the fridge was empty, it would automatically fill again.
"This says that I don't have to worry about a thing."
"You don't. Kathy, this is how you spend time now. You make it your heaven or your hell," Death said. I leaned back to rest on my hands. The food begged me to eat it. I considered not obeying my stomach, but Death had said calories do not count. I began eating.
Between mouthfuls, I said, "This tastes really good."
Death smiled as he replied,
"Welcome to the After Life, Kathy Jones."
*~*~*
Jessica Kirkpatrick has been writing since fourth grade and is a Creative Writing major at Hollins University where she also minors in Sociology. Her mentor had been in her life since she was very young and she would have never picked up the fateful quill if she had never known her. July 2nd of 2013, she married the love of her life in in that following October she had a son. Everything she writes is dedicated to her family.
Jessica writes horror and fantasy fiction. She’s published the short story “Four Ghosts (After One Girl)” in Blood Moon Rising Magazine. Her first novel “Urban (Working Title)” is currently being written. She hopes to release it sometime in 2015. In her spare time she crochets, reads, knits, participates in art, and sews.
You can follow Jessica at:
https://bwrthornportfolio.wordpress.com
https://jessicamkirkpatrick.tumblr.com
https://twitter.com/KirkpatrickJM
Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder
Rob Houglan
Beth woke with a start, blinking to clear her vision as the red numbers on her traitorous alarm clock sharpened enough to read.
"Shit!" she said as she scrambled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. A quick shower, a little makeup, and a hastily-arranged ensemble left her barely enough time to grab a few bites of leftover stir-fry. Grabbing her phone and purse, she dashed for the door, muttering "Be late, be late, just a little late." like a mantra as she half-ran, half-stumbled to the bus stop.
Seeing a few of the other regular passengers still standing there, she slowed enough to keep from looking crazed as she joined them to wait. Her breathing back to normal, she engaged in some meaningless chatter until the thunder of the bus' diesel signaled the start of another day at the rat race. As she boarded, she noticed a black sedan parked just down the street, sun glare off its windshield making it impossible to see inside. Trying to navigate the steps in her heels was enough distraction to keep her from thinking more about it. Finding her seat, she sighed as the bus lumbered away from the stop and crawled down the street.
The bus was crowded, and even early in the morning the air conditioner did its wheezing, clanking best to take the edge off of what was going to be a scorcher. Talking to Mrs. Lenore across the aisle, she was distracted by a man in the back who seemed to be staring at her. It was hard to tell since he was wearing black shades, but she had the sense that he was indeed watching her. Truth to tell, she was used to men looking at her, and she went back to her conversation.
Singly and in pairs, passengers got off at their stops, and when it was her turn, she stepped onto the sidewalk in front of Rushton Publishers. She went through the revolving doors, flashed her ID and a smile at the guard and crossed the lobby to the elevators, the button on the wall lighting in red when she pushed it. Looking around waiting for the car to arrive, she saw the man from the bus standing at the security desk talking to the guard, who jerked a thumb in her direction. When the bell sounded, she ducked into the elevator and pushed the fifth-floor button until the door closed. She sighed again as the car gently rose.
On her floor, she exchanged some quick greetings and reached her desk, grumbling about the stack of files already waiting, leaning slightly in an unstable tower. Shifting it slightly, she took a minute to fix her hair and makeup then opened the first file and went to work. For once, the phone stayed silent long enough for her to make a dent in the stack before lunch. Her stomach growling, she returned to the elevator and rode the car back to the lobby. She was halfway across when the man from the bus approached her.
"Miss Tulliver," he said, not quite asking a question.
"That's me. Can I help you with something?"
"I need you to come with me, please."
"Where I'm going is to lunch and then back to work. Just tell me what you want so I can go."
"That will not be possible. Your presence is required elsewhere," he said, taking hold of her arm just above her elbow.
Living in a big city carries risks, abduction ranking high on the list, and so a young woman learns early to take care of herself. Unable to shake his grip on her arm, she ran her left foot down the inside of his right leg, stomping hard on his instep. As large as he was, a stiletto heel grinding into his foot made an impression, and, with a grunt, he let her go. As soon as she was free, she ran to the security desk to find it empty. Her luck running true to form, she went through the revolving door and turned left towards the Thai restaurant where she normally ate. She looked behind her but couldn't see the man who had accosted her in the milling, midday throng.
With a few elbows and a judicious shoulder, she made it to the restaurant and took a table in the back, facing the door. The place was packed, and she relaxed a little in her booth. No way anyone would try something in here.
She had just placed her order when she was joined at her table by another man, dressed the same as the first, down to the black sunglasses. She looked around for a waiter, a manager, someone to help her, but the man shook his head, a finger to his lips. Metal struck the underside of the table, and she risked a peek down to see the black barrel of a nasty-looking handgun aimed right between her thighs. Eyes wide, nostrils flared, she looked back at the man. Her voice cracked when she spoke.
"What do you want from me? Are you a cop? What have I done?"
"You have broken your word, and we are here to rectify that oversight."
"What word? What are you talking about? I haven't promised you anything!"
"Incorrect, Miss Tulliver. You have indeed made a promise, and we are here today to collect."
"Bullshit! You people need to leave me alone, or I'm calling the cops!"
"That would be inadvisable, not to mention useless. You will come with me, now. Your only choice is in whether or not I must carry you."
Another desperate look around found no one close enough to help her. She considered screaming, but that cannon under the table was a strong deterrent. On shaky legs, she rose from the table and, firmly in his grasp, she went outside. Waiting at the curb was the black car she had seen at the bus stop. The rear door opened, and she was pushed inside. She skidded along black leather as she felt cotton against her nose and mouth. A startled gasp, then it all went dark.
She awoke naked, strapped down to a bed in a stark white room. A bright, unshielded ceiling light forced her eyes into tearing slits. Razors slid along her throat as she coughed to clear it, and, finally regaining her voice, she screamed and sobbed against th
e pain. She thrashed against her restraints hard enough to risk toppling the bed, all to no avail. No one came; no one answered. The strap against her chest bit cruelly with every panicked breath she took. Her mind thudded to the drumbeat of "why, why, why, why" as she fought her fear, fought her doubts, fought her despair. Her thoughts whirled in useless eddies, impossible plans swirling frantically in her desperation. She sobbed anguished prayers to a God she had abandoned years ago, bleated frenetic promises to live a better life in return for her salvation. After what seemed like hours, she languished, spent, lying in her sweat and tears, shivering as goose bumps rose on her flesh.
Finally, a man and woman came to her bed and rolled it out of the room, ignoring her questions and curses. Down a hallway, around a corner, down another hallway, until finally they stopped in a large room full of machinery and equipment. Several figures were standing around a metal table, wearing blue surgical scrubs and white masks. She felt the prick of a needle as her restraints were removed and she was transferred to the frigid metal table, a powerful spotlight shining brightly enough to make her close her eyes. She struggled feebly as her thoughts spun free, to final surrender, to drift on a cloud as she relaxed against her will. A woman bent over her and lowered her mask.
"Miss Tulliver, we want to thank you for your compassion and dedication to helping others. Because of the sacrifice you make here today, another life will go on to achieve its full potential. You will be remembered and honored for what you do here today. Thank you so very much."
Her tongue having a mind of its own, she asked, "What conpashun? What are you talking 'bout?"
"Why, dear, I am talking about this," she said, holding up Beth's driver's license, the backside showing. "You signed the organ donor clause, and because of you, a young man in desperate need of a heart is going to be returned to full health and vigor. Because you and those like you make the ultimate sacrifice, the world is a better place. Thank you, thank you, once again, thank you."
"But I'm still 'live."
"But of course, dear! What good would your heart be if we waited until you were dead? That young man needs it now, and because of you, he will have it."
She was sinking further into darkness with every passing second. She found the strength and curiosity for one last, "Who are you?"
The last thing she heard before that final dark passing was, "I thought you knew. I am his mother."
*~*~*
Rob Houglan, Akron Ohio, author of "Hump Day".
A writer even as a young child, he has been writing horror, fantasy and science-fiction stories all of his life to give expression to the voices in his head. Not satisfied with the "real" world, he spends his time creating new ones, inhabited with interesting people doing unusual things that don't always conform to the laws of physics.
Kill Rob
Josette Weiss
Larry woke and sat straight up in his sweat drenched bed. He wiped his face and said, “Da’ fuck going on?”
It was another one of those crazy dreams. He shook his head and climbed out of bed. Maybe he just needed to get some ice water and chill for a little bit? Yeah. He glanced at the clock. Just like every morning for the past week, the clock read three on the dot.
Jebus. He walked into the kitchen, grabbed some ice water, and wandered into the computer room. He sat at the desk a moment, unsure if he really should turn the machine on. In his head, he wanted to write the next chapter of his WIP, but he knew he wouldn’t. He reached forward, clicked the button and found Facebook.
“The bastid,” Larry swore under his breath.
He checked the usual places first—the debate group with the crazy religion spouting fucks and then with one of his favorite groups, ‘The Unblocked Writers’. Of course, there were some drive-by writers spamming their books on the wrong day. One claimed his book was a ‘masterpiece’. Another claimed they had an instant best seller, guaranteed. Lazy good for nothing fucks.
Larry deleted and banned these wannabes and never-wills. Seconds before he left the group, another comment popped up. It wasn’t a spammer. No this was a weird comment, from a new member by the name, Sammael Mammon. Larry scratched his chin. He’d seen that name before, but where? Maybe the new guy was part of a batch of members he’d recently approved, and that’s where he remembered him from. He shrugged and sipped the ice water.
The comment read: “He wants you to do it.”
Larry almost asked, “Do what?”, but something deep inside told him not to post. Something was off. Whatever. Larry yawned, walked back into the dark bedroom and climbed into bed. Seconds later he was snoring.
The alarm went off at six in the morning. Larry grappled with the clock and finally threw the damned thing on the floor. Jebus. He had to wake up and go to work. Damn job took up all of his time.
Larry eased out of bed, showered, dressed, and sat in front of the computer again. He had thirty minutes before he had to be at the job. He sighed. What he needed to do was write a couple of paragraphs on his unfinished novel Obey, but instead he logged onto Facebook.
More fucking spam on the wrong day. He deleted and banned the stupid fucks and looked for the post from Sammael Mammon. He couldn’t find it. Maybe Sammy boy deleted it after discovering he put it in the wrong group. It could happen, right?
Larry moved the mouse to exit the group and another post from Sammy popped up. Da’ fuck?
This post stated: “You forgot the coffee.”
Larry clicked out of the group and glanced at the clock. He did forget his morning cuppa’ coffee. This didn’t make any sense at all. Okay, he’d just swing by Starbucks and grab a ‘Vente’ something and enjoy the workday. Yeah.
During a break, Larry checked Facebook on his smartphone. The other admins must have taken care of any spam, for he didn’t notice any, but really he was looking for a post from Sammy boy. Nothing.
Then he noticed Rob had posted a comment. Larry rolled his eyes. The over-talkative fuck wrote five paragraphs and didn’t even get to the point. Typical. He decided to have a little fun with Rob and posted a wisecrack comment. Rob instantly replied with another six paragraphs about nothing. Jebus! How does Rob post so much gibberish so fast?
A post from Sammy boy appeared on Rob’s thread. It read: “He forgot the coffee too and his cigarettes.”
Larry sat back and waited to see what Rob would say to Sammy, but Rob just continued spewing a lot of something about nothing. It was as if he couldn’t see Sammy’s posts. After a moment, Larry checked with the other admins. No, none of them okayed a Sammael Mammon and none of them could see any posts by the guy.
Da’ fuck?
Lunch time. Larry sat outside, hoping the chilly air in Philadelphia would help him figure out what da fuck was going on in Unblocked Writers. Who was this Sammael Mammon guy?
He checked his phone. More of the never-ending bullshit from Rob, but the last comment made the little hairs on Larry’s neck stand up.
The comment was from Sammy of course. It read: “He lives in Ohio. You have vacation time coming.”
DA’ FUCK?
Then his cell phone rang. Larry yelled, “Shit!” and jumped off the bench. This shit was crazy. First, the nightmares and then this crap? He rubbed his temples. The phone rang again. He glanced at the screen. Why da’ fuck was his boss calling him? He glanced at the time. He still had ten minutes of lunch, but what the hell?
“Yes sir?”
The boss said, “Larry, we’re selling out. Take your vacation as soon as possible or you’ll lose it. I’ll do my best to keep everyone employed, but I won’t have much say over anything in two weeks’ time.”
Larry muttered under his breath, but said, “What? I don’t understand.”
The boss said, “I know, this came out of left field for me too. Just take your vacation and cross your fingers that we’ll all have jobs when you get back.”
The boss hung up and Larry let loose a string of
profanity. He did not need this shit right now! Christmas was in four weeks. His nephews and nieces were expecting gifts from him.
His phone beeped. He had a notification. He walked back toward the office, still pissed, and scrolled down to see what the phone wanted. Facebook said someone had commented on a post he was following. He swore again. He wasn’t following any posts, but Facebook must know something he didn’t. He checked the notification. Sammy posted again. This time, the comment read: “The flight leaves in six hours. Your ticket is on the counter.”
Larry turned off the phone and said, “Screw you, ya’ fucktard.”
The rest of the day passed by quickly. Right before he was about to log out for the day, he received an email saying that his vacation was approved. Larry scratched his head. He didn’t request any vacation time. Maybe the boss did it for him? Whatever, he rushed home, thinking he would have a few drinks and watch Romo lead the Cowboys to another victory.
After entering his house, he noticed an envelope on the counter. He opened it, revealing a one way ticket to Ohio. The flight left in two hours.
“Da’ fuck? I didn’t purchase any tickets.”
His phone beeped. He glanced down and saw ten posts, all from Rob, each at least seven paragraphs long. Damn it! He had enough of this ‘bullshyte’. He rushed to the bedroom and threw a handful of clothes into an overnight bag. It was time for Rob to go down.
Philadelphia was cold. Ohio was fucking freezing! He took a cab to Rob’s neighborhood and paid the man. The cab zipped away, leaving Larry standing in a snowstorm. Thankfully it just started. It was the middle of the night, so no one saw him as he stood quietly, staring at the nice house with one lone light blazing in the darkness.
His phone beeped. He glanced down. That was odd. He forgot his charger and the phone was dead, and yet he still received messages from Sammael Mammon.
The message read: “The wife and kid are gone for a few days. Wifey’s mom had a bad case of acid reflux, nothing to be concerned with of course, but she wanted to spend some time with her parents. Rob didn’t go. Ya know, he has all of that lawyer type stuff he pretends to do. :)”