Simply Shorts Too
Copyright 2013 by Marvin K. Perkins
She Must Die
A quiet calm settled over my house, a silence that was almost deafening. The sun rose like a blazing beacon, the rays trickling in through the cracks in my bedroom window curtains. I sat enjoying the morning, my mind a thousand miles away in distant thought.
She'd left me, I wasn't the guilty party. I hadn't cheated on her, but she on me. Suddenly an uncontrollable hatred and rage came over me. Sweat poured down my face, my whole body shook like I was having an epileptic seizure.
The episode lasted for a few minutes and at long last calm came over me, and clarity of mind I hadn't experienced for years. “The bitch must die!” The thought came into my head, at first distant, but it became stronger and stronger, until it overwhelmed me.
I tried to suppress the thought but it would not go away. Coming to grips and once again gaining control myself I said, almost tearfully, “ I couldn't kill her, I love her.”
“Look at what she did to you,” an angry voice deep inside said with an almost demonic tone. “Kill her, kill her!” The voice screamed. I covered my ears but it did not quiet the voice, for it was inside my head.
“I love her,” I pleaded.
“She betrayed you with another man. She left you alone. She must die!” The voice echoed in my head. Surely I must be going mad, or possessed by a demon.
“No! No!” I screamed, but the voice inside my head kept getting louder.
“Go to the kitchen. Now!” The voice emphatically commanded me.
“No, I won't.”
I was powerless. He had all the power. I got up from my chair, but managed to force myself back. “I won't go.”
“You will go! And here's what you're gonna do. You will take the gun out of the kitchen cabinet, load it and you will kill her!” His ugly devilish voice echoed in my head, it was terrorizing.
“I won't,” I yelled.
“Go to the kitchen. Now!”
This time I got up from the chair and started down the stairs to the kitchen. “No!” I screamed and turned to go back up to my bedroom. I got to the door but then I found myself heading back down the stairs.
Once inside the kitchen I went to the cabinet where I kept the gun case and ammunition.
“Take it out and load it,” he commanded. “She must die!”
“But I...”
“Do it!”
I did it. I pulled the pistol out of its case and started to load it. At this point I was resigned to do whatever he wanted me to do.
“Now get your car keys.” I guess he intended to walk me through the whole heinous crime, step by step.
I seemed hesitant.
“I said get your car keys, damn it.”
My keys were hanging on a nail, near the front door.
“No!” I yelled fiercely. “I will not kill her. I will kill you instead.”
I said these words, not even realizing I couldn't kill the voice inside my head. It wasn't real. To quiet the terrible thing in my head, I must kill myself.”
I had finished loading the pistol, it was cocked and ready to fire. Not thinking, only wishing to rid myself of the demon, I pointed the gun at at my head. I was just before pulling the trigger when a force from nowhere and incredibly strong, twisted the gun around. I pulled the trigger and the round went harmlessly into the kitchen wall. “You son-of-a-bitch, I'll kill you,” I bellowed as I attempted to the wrestle the gun back into its original position.
I struggled, he was very strong, but I managed to return the gun to the position pointing directly at my head. I fired, but my nemesis managed to move the gun slightly just as I fired barely missing my head and striking the wall behind me. “Go, damn you, back to hell!” I screamed like a maniac
Again we struggled with the weapon, back and forth, more rounds hitting the wall, some just barely missing me. Finally, I won out with only one round remaining. I had a clear shot, to blow this devil back to the hell he came from.
I fired.
I woke up in a hospital. A hospital for the criminally insane to be more exact. I had managed to shoot myself, but the round didn't do sufficient damage to kill the demon or myself. .Seems I was mumbling while I was unconscious, that I was possessed by a devil who was commanding me to kill my ex-girlfriend. They wouldn't believe me. It was true, it was all true.
Battleground High
Upon the arrival of Miss Goldthorpe, the class was called to order. She hated the sight of these degenerate bastards. How could a teacher of her talent and abilities have ended up in such a place. A vivacious blond in the front row, answered as the roll was called. A boy dressed in black, with long dark black hair sat behind her, brooding, angry. He grunted when his name was called and stared aimlessly out the window.
Next to the Goth kid was a little pip-squeak of a boy with a scarred pimpled face and hair that looked like it had been set on fire. He wore torn, faded blue jeans and a Ramones t-shirt that looked like it belonged to his big brother. He answered, “present,” when his name was called and laughed for no particular reason.
The token black kid sat all the way in the back of the class. He never received the memo he didn't have to sit in the back of the bus anymore, I guess. He wore dark sunglasses, dreads, a NBA jersey, Lakers, and baggy khaki pants hanging off of his bony ass, revealing boxer shorts. He was considered the school black militant, radical, racist.
Next to the black militant was the brown one, Paco. He was a Mexican kid from the barrio, wherever the hell that was or what ever that meant. He was angry too, but for different reasons. Maybe because his family were all illegals and had to pick fruit for a living, who knows.
The shooter found a secluded area way back in the woods, a perfect place to practice. It was amazing how easy it was to purchase an AR 15 assault rife and 2 .45 cal pistols, plus all the ammo one would need to wage a small war. “Those teachers, those students, they're gonna pay. Blood is gonna flow like a river around that school. Bodies will be stacked to the ceiling when I'm done. They'll be carnage like never seen before at any of the other school massacres. I'll go down in history. I'll be infamous like Jesse James or Billy the Kid.” The shooter took one of the pistols and spun it like an old western star would do on TV.
After a month's worth of practice and expending hundreds of rounds the shooter felt they were ready. “It's judgment day. Time for them to pay.”
It was Friday the 13th, the gunman had specifically picked the date for effect, a perfect day for some real scary stuff to happen. It was a normal morning, kids going to class, teachers taking roll, just a standard Friday morning. Little did the students and faculty know the horror that faced them as they started their day without a care in the world.
The gunman made final preparations. The guns were loaded, extra magazines were placed inside special pockets in the black combat style uniform they had bought just for the occasion, along with a Kevlar helmet, full body armor, and a ski mask to hide their identity. It was show time, and this morning the grim reaper himself was going to be the guest of honor.
The school had security in place. There was one entrance into and out of school for the students with a metal detector manned by two fat, aging security guards who seemed more concerned about what time their coffee break was and what kind of donuts the cafeteria was serving than guarding the school.
Appearing from nowhere the gunman immediately shot the two guards dead before they even thought about reaching for their weapons and pushed through the metal detector setting off the alarm. They headed for the teacher's lounge, shot all the teachers in a blink of an eye like they were not even human.
Heading for the first classroom, kicking the door open the gunman surveyed the cowe
ring students before spraying the room with automatic gun fire, leaving the teacher and the students lying in a bloody mess on the floor .The murderous rampage continued to the other classrooms with the same result. The body count was mounting and when it was all over a hundred or more students and faculty lie dead or wounded bleeding on the cold classroom floor.
Unlike most of the shooters in these cases the gunman usually kills themselves when they are done with their killing rampage, lacking the courage and moral fortitude to face their final judgment, not this shooter, they decided to go out in a blaze of gunfire like an old west shootout.
The police had by this time amassed an army in the parking lot, the police chief yelled for the killer to come out. In the meantime a swat team was on their way to take out the shooter at all costs. Before the swat team was able to locate the killer, the gunman burst out of the front door of the school AR 15 blazing with armor piercing rounds. The police let go with all they had but the gunman was still standing, blasting away. The bullets seemed to be bouncing off of the body armor like the gunman was superman.
Finally a marksman hit the mark with two carefully placed head shots and the murderer went down like a stone. There was silence as the word was passed to cease firing. No one moved for a few seconds, but then a couple of officers nearest the body cautiously approached the shooter lying on the ground in a pool of blood. One of the officers kicked the gun away, checked for a pulse and gave a thumbs up. The gunman was dead.
Removing the mask the officers received the shock of their lives. Even though there were two bullet hole in the shooter's face and it was covered with blood, they realized who it was. It was Miss Goldthorpe, the homeroom teacher. How could she do such a thing? Why?
Molly McShea
Her smile could light up a room, her very presence would warm you on the coldest night. Molly McShea was her name, a big ole friendly Irish girl, who could hug you like a bear. I was a drifter, new in town, when I first had the pleasure of making her acquaintance. The club was almost empty, and I was sitting on a bar stool, nursing a long neck Bud, when she burst in through the door, beaming a huge smile.
She knew the other three patrons in the bar by name and of course they knew Molly. She smacked them on the back as she greeted them, and eyed me curiously. “Well, who are you stranger? We don't get many outsiders here.”
“Billy Dolan,” I said. I lied, but who really cared what my real name was anyway. Normally, when you meet a stranger, you shake their hand, not Molly.
She gave me one of her big ole bear hugs and kissed me on the cheek. “Good to meet you Billy, you Irish?”
I just looked at her and nodded.
“I knew it. Welcome to McShea's, my father owns the joint.”
As the night wore on, the place started to fill up a little. The jukebox played a mix of country, R&B, and Classic Rock as the Buds were going down easy and I'll have to admit I was getting a little tipsy. Molly starting looking better and better as the night faded away and at some point I decided I must have her. I would have her, one way or another.
Every time she brought me another beer, I tried my best to engage her in some form of stimulating conversation. She just blew me off. “You're drunk Billy Dolan. Go home and sleep it off. What would a handsome fella like you want with the likes of me?”
I was not easily dissuaded and I kept up my pursuit and she continued her rebuke until it was closing time. Last call had already passed and all the other customers had left the bar.
“Billy, don't make me have to call the coppers. Now run along now.”
“Can I at least have a hub?” I slurred.
She gave me one, but only halfheartedly.
I left the bar, but I waited in the shadows for her to come out, I knew she was closing the bar and there would be no one else around.
Sure enough she came out, singing an Irish melody, just a happy as you please. Her vocals sopped as I stepped out of the shadows, my fangs showing, dripping red from my own blood.
“Billy!!” She screamed.
I was on her before she could make a move to run. I drained her dry of blood and tossed her dead body on a pile of garbage in the back of the bar
Like I said, my name's not Billy Dolan, it's Vladimir Petrosky from the old country of Romania.
My Angel
I found myself in rolling hills of lush green grass, a beautiful clear blue sky up above. A snow covered mountain peak jutted up from the horizon like a scene from a picture post card. “Where am I?” I said out loud, spinning round and round like a child until I was dizzy.
I thought of the days when I was a teenager and I used to hike in the Cascade Mountains in the great state of Washington. Those were great times, it was good to be young, happy, healthy and free without a care in the world, breathing the clean, pure mountain air. Did I wake up in the middle of a dream or was I dreaming I was awake or had I died and went to paradise? Oh it would be grand if it were so, to spend eternity in such a place as this.
A beautiful angel in a white flowing gown with a rainbow radiating from her extraordinarily golden locks suddenly appeared in front of me. “I'm your guardian angel, take my hand and come with me,” she said in a voice that was the epitome of sweetness. Of course, I took her hand, she was an angel and stunningly beautiful. I wanted to go where she would lead. I was eager to go there.
Water from the San Diego Bay rushed into my car that was crushed like a tin can. A car that just minutes before had plunged off of the Coronado Bay Bridge into the bay. An 18-wheeler had crossed the center line and somehow my Cadillac had been knocked over the rail and fell 40 feet to the waters of the bay below.
“Come to the light,” my angel said, holding my hand. I was now a spirit as I followed her into the light. Euphoria and utter joy overwhelmed me as I went further and further into the light. I held on tight to her hand as we continued down a long lighted passageway with rooms glowing red on both sides. I felt a pang of excitement as if knowing something terribly exhilarating was about to happen.
We stopped in front of one of the rooms. She asked, “would you like to go and visit the departed?' She asked the question as if I might not want to see my relatives who had died, many of them years and years ago.
“Of course,” I said excitedly.
She slowly opened the door. Inside was my father, mother, my grandparents, my friend Mike and many other people from my past I didn't even know had died. They appeared just as they were when I saw them last.
I tried to speak to them and touch them, but my angel instructed me, “they cannot see you, they are spirits, so you can’t touch them, but know that they are all in heaven with God for all eternity, you will see them soon.”
I was happy just to see them and know they were in heaven. Did my angel say I would be in Heaven with them soon, I thought. It was a comforting thought. She shut the door and we headed further down the passageway into the light. I could see a great throne at the end, a nondescript shrouded figure sat on the great chair and was beckoning me to come.
Then suddenly a giant hand grabbed me and pulled me away from my destiny, away from my angel. Abruptly I was in my car, in ice cold water, being pulled out by a rescue team.
Finally out of the water, the paramedics put me on a gurney and wheeled me to a waiting ambulance. One of the rescue people opened the back and they slid me in the ambulance. They hooked me up to oxygen and IV's as I lie securely in the stretcher lucky to be alive, they said. I looked up and I saw my angel, she hovered above me in all her radiance. She smiled and waved goodbye, and she was gone.
The Bad Ones
In the thick green woods is where the Bad Ones go to hide from humanity, deep, dark, desolate. The creatures with blazing eyes walk on feet with claws like knives, have teeth like razors. The Bad Ones were hideous evil creatures, half animal and half plant but pure monster. They were black like a shadow and dark as the woods where they lived. They hunted at night for the weak and vulnerable, preying on tender flesh
with abandoned delight. Their hunger was ravenous, insatiable, and they would wait for the innocence in the dark every night. Some people thought they were legend, myths, stories made up to scare children, but they were real.
Who would be vacuous enough to venture into the woods at night but a foolish couple in love. Rebecca Sunnybrook and David Delight hand and hand, stopping to kiss, with fornicating in mind, frolicked into the woods, deep into the dark woods, disobeying the warnings that had been given. “Monsters don't exist,” Rebecca said laughing, “how silly.” She had convinced herself there was no danger.
“Roar,” David growled laughing as well. “I'll eat you up, if ye dare come into the woods, my pretties.”
The Bad Ones waited, licking their chops, waiting for a meal of tender young morsels. They had their dinner table set and soon a meal fit for the most high of the bad ones would be served.
The woods were exceptionally quiet that night, not even a bird singing or an owl hooting. Nothing but the sounds of youthful foolish laughter.
The couple stopped again to embrace, to kiss, the silence of the woods washed over them, unaware the bad ones were moving toward them, quiet, threatening.
“I love you Rebecca.”
“I love you Davey.”
“I love you more.”
“No, I love you more.”
These silly words would be their last.
The Bad Ones, four of them, appeared from the dark, seemingly out of nowhere. There was no time for screams as the monsters ripped the young lovers to shreds. Entrails hanging from jagged mouths, arms and legs being devoured, blood gushing, bones crunching. And when it was all over, there was nothing left but two skulls that lie on the ground. They were too hard for even the bad one's razor sharp teeth to penetrate. The Bad Ones took the skulls as trophies and also so no signs of the victims would be found.