Tag: short story

Guidance

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This was not where Sara was supposed to go.

She had missed the turn, and her new GPS had told her to continue straight. Every time she glanced at it, there were no turns coming up.

She had entered the brightly-lit tunnel five minutes ago. There were no exits signposted, and no other cars in sight.

As she drove, the lights ahead turned on. Looking in her rear-view mirror, she saw that the lights in the distance seemed to be shutting off.

Sara looked again at the GPS. There was an alert, which she immediately swiped away.

DESTINATION NOT FOUND

There was a noise outside the car: a voice echoing.

“Accident ahead. Reduce speed immediately”

She began to slow, but a flicker caught her eye. The GPS was now a white screen with large black letters:

DO NOT SLOW DOWN

The voice came on again.

“Accident ahead. Please pull over.

Sara continued to slow down, notiving that the lights now turned on further in the distance, while the darkness behind her grew closer.

The GPS screened changed.

DO NOT PULL OVER

Sara gripped the steering wheel and sped up while peering ahead. If there was an accident, surely she would see emergency lights in the distance?

She looked down at the GPS

STAY IN THE LIGHT

“Accident ahead. Pull over immediately. Turn off your engine”

IT IS LYING

Sara sped up to stay in the light. The darkness was gaining despite her returning to her original speed.

DO NOT LET THE DARKNESS CATCH YOU

Sara focussed on the road for as long as she could, uncomfortable with her increasing speed, before glancing again at the GPS

IT CAUGHT ME

Mirror

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Claire hated catching the lift alone: there was something off abput the mirror. Almost every time she entered, she found herself pausing, waiting for the figure inside the lift to exit, before realising it was her reflection in the mirror on the back wall. She supposed it was due to the light: it was just slightly too dim to make out any details. The mirror must have been tilted too, because the silhouette was slightly too tall and slightly too wide.

As she rode, Claire often found herself steadfastly staring at the door, aware that she had her back turned to an unfamiliar reflection.

It was always a relief when someone else was already in the lift. It gave her something to focus on other than her reflection.

That morning as Claire left for work, she was surprised to find that the inside of the lift was covered in tarp. Someone must be moving in, she reasoned. It would just be so terrible if that mirror got damaged. It was harder to reason why she could hear a gentle tapping behind the covering. It was seemingly in time with the lights flickering overhead. She exited at a sprint in almost complete darkness as the tapping grew more rapid.

Over the course of hours away from the event, Claire convinced herself that it must have been a loose clip from the tarp being knocked around as the lift moved.

There was someone in the lift when Claire returned home from work. As a matter of habit, she kept her eyes on the floor and shuffled in. She was surprised to find that the figure moved aside for her. Of course, she remembered, the tarp was still covering the mirror.

They stood in silence for a moment once the door closed, when Claire realised that she hadn’t pushed for her floor. She stepped around the figure and pushed for her floor. As she shuffled back into the corner, she realised that the person in the lift had not already selected a floor. They stood in silence as the lift slowly began to move.

Claire pushed herself into the corner and tried to listen for the tapping. She found herself hoping that the light would flicker and the noise would begin again, so she would have a witness.

The figure laughed quietly.

“It’s gone now”

The voice was raspy and quiet

“What is?” asked Claire

“The thing behind the tarp. You can see it yourself: it’s not there anymore”

Claire was immediately grateful that the mirror had been removed, but as she moved the tarp aside, she saw its reflection move as well. What she didn’t see was her hand moving it.

As Claire stood, staring at a mirror that no longer showed her reflection, she saw a shape behind her. A silhouette that was slightly too tall and slightly too wide.

Growth

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It was a disgusting habit, but Renee just couldn’t help it as she clicked on the next video.

There was something inherently satisfying in watching popping videos. Seeing people evicting the parts of themselves that were not meant to be there. As a result, Renee often found herself looking resentfully at her own growth.

She was certain she’d seen every video available online in just the last few weeks, watching them under covers so that the roommate lying next to her wouldn’t see. Renee knew she would be upset and repulsed.

Still, she needed to see more. She watched more serious removals. People gouging out larger pieces and repairing the patches left with stitches or filling them with superglue. Salving pieces until the flesh burned and pucks fell out. Her roommate noticed how tired Renee looked, but when she claimed to be feeling fine, her smile was very convincing.

Eventually she found herself watching surgery videos. People had operated on themselves before, in desperate circumstances: caesareans and appendectomies in remote locations with no other options. She felt along the edge of her growth and made a decision. She began gathering the necessary materials in secret.

The hard part was making sure that her roommate wouldn’t disrupt her. A blow to the head sorted that easily.

With all the tools at her disposal, Renee looked at the flesh that connected her to her growth, which was now mumbling as blood pooled from her head.

It didn’t matter what the doctors had told them. She could do this, she repeated as she made the first cut.

Two Sentence Stories (Part 17)

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Though he would never tell her out loud, he was certain that his wife’s book needed some drama to spice it up. As he scrolled through her phone’s contacts, he thought carefully about which character’s death would make her autobiography more interesting.

It was a terrible accident, everyone commiserated, but at least some good had come of it. After months of encouraging her son not to wear his helmet, he had finally been injured badly enough that she could tell the doctors to transplant what was needed for her favourite child to live.

There was someone breathing quietly under the bed, he realised as he shakily pulled out a pocketknife. He had thought this house was empty when he broke in, but was willing to put in the work to get a quiet night’s sleep.

Re: Current Display

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From:         Head Office
To:              All
Date:          13 July 2021, 9:37
Subject:      Current Display

Good morning,

It has come to our attention that attendance for our current display has been poor.

It is a condition of our tenancy that we display the furniture and artworks of the former occupiers once per year. While the family does not require the number of attendees, it will reflect badly on us if they see how few people come to see this display.

We know that having the same display one month per year might not draw in any crowds, but we ask that you do all you can to boost attendance.

Kind regards,
Jessica S.

From:         Marsha C.
To:              Head Office
Date:          13 July 2021, 13:21
Subject:      Re: Current Display

Good morning,

In regards to attendance, it might help if we rearrange the displays: having the paintings in one room, statues in another, etc. The building has been heavily renovated since it was furnished and many of the pieces no longer suit their original positions.

Are we required to keep everything in the original places?

Thank you,
Marsha

From:         Head Office
To:              All
Date:          13 July 2021, 13:54
Subject:      Re: Re: Current Display

You are welcome to rearrange the pieces as you see fit, provided that they are not damaged.

Kind regards,
Jessica S.

From:         Marsha
To:              Head Office
Date:          14 July 2021, 9:09
Subject:      Incident Report & Reimbursement Request

I attach an incident report regarding an injury I got yesterday.

Also, when I entered my office this morning, everything was shifted around. My shelves, cabinets and desks are all now facing towards the walls and I don’t have enough room to move everything back. Can I please be reimbursed if I need to hire a mover?

Marsha

From:         Head Office
To:              All
Date:          15 July 2021, 10:27
Subject:      Re: Incident Report & Reimbursement Request

Thank you for providing the incident report. We have amended it to read “My hand was cut on the tooth of the statue”. We have also removed your reference to the mouth of the statue being closed.

Please put the display back in order and let us know if this resolves your issue. If not sorted by the end of the week we will approve the expense.

Regards,
Catherine S.

From:         Marsha
To:              Head Office
Date:          16 July 2021, 2:03
Subject:      IMMEDIATE ATTENTION NEEDED

Good evening.

I write “evening”, as it is currently 2am.

The doors are gone. The original masonry of the house is now filling in the exits.

I was the only employee here from 1pm, and there have been no guests in that time. As far as I am aware, the doors were sealed immediately following business hours.

Kindly and immediately provide me with an exit.

Marsha.

From:         Marsha
To:              Head Office
Date:          16 July 2021, 3:49
Subject:      Re: IMMEDIATE ATTENTION NEEDED

Please ignore my previous email. I will call you during office hours to discuss this matter further.

From:         Head Office
To:              All
Date:          16 July 2021, 9:08
Subject:      Current Display

Good morning,

Please be aware that a new procedure is now in place regarding our trust display.

All employees working until close on a day with no attendees must, prior to 5pm, take a complete tour of the display. During this tour, they must give positive compliments to each of the displays, or they may give longer positive feedback to the overall rooms.

Overtime will not be authorised if this continues past 5pm.

Kind regards,
Catherine S.

Exhausted

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Our son had never been good at sleeping alone.

Night after night we found him in our doorway, begging to be allowed to sleep in our bed. My husband became increasingly frustrated as his sleep was disturbed. He swore he couldn’t sleep with that many people in one bed. He tried locking the door, but couldn’t ignore the crying in the hallway for long.

I decided to take things into my own hands. After reading my son his usual bedtime stories, I looked into his wide-awake eyes and decided to tell him about something new.

“There’s someone else in this house that you’re old enough to meet now. He’s hard to describe. You can only see him in the corner of your eye if you try really hard. That’s why you wake up with sleep in your eyes in the morning: it’s because he was here and your eyes tried to hide him. But if he catches you out of bed after lights off, it doesn’t matter if you close your eyes and hide. He’ll skit-skit-skitter across the ceiling and snatch you. He’ll drag you under the carpet or into the crack in the wall. And he’ll keep you in his castle where you get tired but never ever sleep, so that you can’t break the rules again”

My son looked terrified, his eyes wide and teary. More importantly, I was certain that he wouldn’t come to our room for a while. My husband stood in the door, smiling and nodding.

We had one week of peaceful sleep. Our son looked tired in the morning, but I didn’t care. For the first time in years, we could sleep the night through.

Perhaps that’s why the sound of my husband shuffling out of bed was enough to wake me. As I tried to fall back asleep, I assumed he was going to the bathroom but realised that his footsteps stopped too early to reach that far.

My husband’s scream was interrupted. First, I heard something skittering on the ceiling. Then, I heard the carpet tear up off the floor. Finally, I listened for hours to the sounds of wet tearing and snapping.

Once it was dawn and I was brave enough, I found blood dripping from a crack in the wall.

My son never has to sleep alone any more.

Solipsism

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It’s been weeks since I saw a human face.

I can still feel them, sometimes. When I walk through streets that should be busy, I feel figures knocking into my shoulders. I tripped over a warm space on the ground and landed on a towel and backpack that looked well-used.

I heard my roommate in the windowless bathroom yesterday, but when I broke through the locked door, no one was there. I tried to feel around for her, but then I heard the front door slam. Her towel was gone, and there were wet footprints on the carpet.

I’ve been using the self-checkout at the store, but I don’t have much money left. It’s not like there’s any point showing up for my retail job.

I tried to walk out of the empty store without paying once, but felt hands on my shoulders. I had to shake them off and hurried home.

I don’t know where everyone went. If I look out of my window for long enough, I swear I can still see shadows moving along the empty streets. Sections of darkness that cross the roads when the empty cars stop.

There was a pounding on the front door this morning. I answered it in blind hope, but there was no one there. Then I was grabbed and led roughly to an empty car outside.

I am in an empty room now. Meals appear through a door that opens by itself. The sheets change themselves whenever I go outside for a walk.

There is a TV high up on the wall. There is no one at the newscaster’s desk, but the scrolling headlines still appear. Something about a disease “manifesting as solipsism”.

It’s a shame there’s no one to explain to me what that means.

Last Call

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It was dark outside. It had been sunset when he had entered the bar, but this darkness was more than midnight.

There were no signs of the dingy street outside. No streetlights, no headlights passing by, bathroom windows lighting up regretfully. It was a pure and relentless void.

He had drunk until he fell asleep in the corner booth. He was there often enough that the owners wouldn’t kick him out unless someone raised a fuss. Walking unsteadily around the bar, he couldn’t see or hear anyone else inside.

He moved towards the front, peering through the large glass panel in the door, between the bars.

Pure darkness. He put his hand against the glass to steady himself, pulling away when he realised how cold it felt. Then he finally saw something in the window: a crack, steadily spreading as the darkness pressed itself towards him.

Alone

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She should have been the one to move out.

It was his house, after all. He had convinced her to buy it with him, but it was all his idea. He wanted to buy that dilapidated shell and then renovate it all himself. They would save money for their future that way. The big white wedding she didn’t want, children he convinced her she would love.

It was quiet with him gone, but she kept expecting to hear his voice, his stomping feet, his anger. She dropped a glass a week after he had left and she found herself instinctively hunching over shattered glass, waiting for a fury that didn’t come.

It hadn’t been that bad at the beginning. He had never hit her, after all. But the holes in the walls and broken personal items had demonstrated enough to keep her quiet.

The worst parts were the accusations of infidelity. As he spent more time working on the house, he became paranoid about what she was doing alone. Or not alone. Phone calls turned to video calls, turned to surprise visits. After he stormed in during a video conference, she almost left. But then they sat and talked, and she found herself agreeing that it would be better if she moved in sooner rather than later.

Which is how she found herself moving into a half-renovated house. Some of the rooms were locked away from her initially. For the first few weeks she only had the toilet and the sink in the laundry to use. He had insisted on finishing the bathroom before letting her use it.

Over time, painstakingly, the house became finished. Without his energy spent elsewhere, the anger started rising again. There had been no Internet in the house, so she was a leech for having quit her job. She tried to help with the renovations, but asking for instruction made her a hindrance. The kitchen was the last room to be finished, but she was lazy for not finding a way to cook for him after a long day’s work.

Finally, the moment she waited for. He said they should just break up. Rather than begging him to stay, as she had a hundred times before. She stayed silent. He said it again, louder, prompting her for the correct response.

“OK.”

It was not the correct response.

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Bump

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Pete had never been a slim man, so when he gained a few kilos he hardly noticed. A few more and he started to blame Christmas and New Years celebrations. Weirdly the only physical change was a swollen stomach, but that was not large enough to justify the extra kilos on the scales.

A few more weeks and even his most polite friends started expressing their concerns. He just slapped his expanding gut and joked about needed to run off some baby weight at the gym.

In private, he chose to ignore the growth. He hardly looked in the mirror, walking directly from the shower to cupboard to find some previously baggy clothes to wear.

He had convinced himself that it could not be too bad, as he had felt no pains, although he could swear he felt it shift sometimes. He refused to see a doctor, telling loved ones not to worry, that he would go if it got more serious. In his mind, the uncertainty that only flared up when he thought about it was better than living with the constant reminder of a death sentence that a doctor might give him.

The pain started below dawn. It was quick.

Pete lay in his bed, on his side. His stomach had burst, but he was unable to moved. He lay in a pool of his own cooling blood, paralysed by the pain. He looked at the phone on the nightstand, and impossible arm’s reach away. He heard skittering beneath the bed and saw a glimpse of something that stared back at him, before hiding again.

It had his eyes.