Tag: short story

Uncanny

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Lucy had stopped leaving her flat weeks ago. The thought of what she might see terrified her, almost as much as who might be looking back at her.

It had started small, looking at her friends’ Instagram posts. Some had smoother skin, brighter eyes, whiter teeth. Old friends now wore unfamiliar faces, reshaped into symmetrical strangers. None of it was quite right. She had assumed they were trying new filters or programs to alter their looks, but they did not look quite right in person any more, either. Features highlighted in their photos were unnatural in real life.

As she sat in the restaurant with her friends, two began to debate on ways to improve their smiles. One, and she could not longer recognise who they were, wanted a wider smile. The other agreed and pulled a knife from their bag. A moment later, the other said she wanted higher cheekbones. The other gushed through bleeding lips that it would look great on her, and helped angle her head on the table, so that the force of her bodyweight being dropped on top would use the table as a chisel, pushing the broken bones into place.

Lucy was silent in horror at the sound and the lack of reaction. She stared at her food and tried not to look up at her smiling, weeping friends.

Lucy stood in the bathroom, days later, looking at the photo one of her friends had taken of the group at dinner. She was smiling, of course. It would have been rude to look sad in that sea of perfect faces. A friend she no longer recognised beamed widely with bright red lips. Beside her, another with high cheekbones smiled lightly, wearing too-dark rouge. She looked so out of place with her bumpy skin, yellowed teeth and uneven features. But between what she had gathered from her garage and under the sink, she had found everything she needed to fix it.

A Helping Hand

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The steam had set off the smoke alarm for the third time that morning.

Tom had only rented the carpet cleaner for 6 hours and was starting to get frustrated. He could not simply remove the batteries in the alarms, as they were hardwired into the electricity. He could not just ignore them either. Between the night of celebrating his last evening with his parents and the long drive to his new home, his head was pounding and the alarms were only making things worse.

Tom looked through his supplies, for something that could help. Pulling out a packet of something yellow and rubbery, he had an idea.

Several minutes and too many rickety chair climbs later, the alarms were now all wearing rubber gloves. Fully covered, the alarms did not sound again while he finished cleaning the carpets.

On his way out to return the steam cleaner, Tom high-fived one of the hanging gloves. He swore he felt resistance in the empty rubber.

Later, finishing unloading his furniture, Tom forgot completely to take the gloves back off. They surprised him each time he entered a room, seeing a disembodied hand, but then he found them amusing. He was nowhere near the stage of cooking for himself, so he did not worry about the alarms being unavailable.

Tom slept deeply that night, unaware that his fallen covers were pulled back up over him as he shivered in his sleep.

Exhaustion

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She had to stay awake.

Carol felt her eyes drooping and bolted to her feet, swaying and immediately dizzy. Her fast and heavy heartbeat told her that she could not have any more caffeine. Her hair was still wet from her most recent frigid shower. She began to jog on the spot, hoping to keep herself awake, just a little while longer.

Outside her bedroom it was a bright and sunny day. Families walked past, laughing and smiling in the spring breeze. A car drove by, playing music she remembered from her teenage years. The colour of the car was familiar.

The same family walked past again, the opposite way. They little girl was giggling, riding her father’s shoulders. Her hair was the same colour as Carol’s.

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Rise

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Ghosts can only haunt the places where they had died. This was why he was so careful to never kill anyone in his own home.

He was clever and well-connected enough to not be concerned about being caught, but a haunting was something that terrified him. He refused to be at the mercy of something that he could not fight. Most sensible people did not believe in ghosts, so it was unlikely that he would be able to seek help if he were to find himself so assailed.

And, to be clear, he was a sensible person. He was simply also a person who knew ghosts existed. The first time he saw one he had spent too long at a scene after he had finished. His meditation was interrupted by a woman’s weeping. The very same sound that he had permanently ended hours earlier. For a moment he saw the woman, whole and standing and impossible, and he had fled. He had needed to hire a cleaner for that one, which was embarrassing, but he could not return.

In the following weeks, walking the streets of his city, he began to feel unsafe for the very first time. Faces in windows were staring directly at him. Some he recognised.

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The Birdhouse

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There is something living in the birdhouse. I am very certain it is not a bird.

I did see a bird land there once, in the dappled sunlight. I watched it poke its head hesitantly through the hole. I saw it suddenly pulled inside. I saw the coins thrown out and onto the ground. The lack of birdsong in the Summer months made sense to me after that.

I kept the coins as recompense for losing the birdsong. My parents did not care much for wildlife. The birdhouse had been there when we moved in and they only did the bare minimum to take care of the garden, not bothering to inspect it. My older brother said the birds annoyed him. Everything annoyed him, actually. Especially me. That was his excuse to wear noise-cancelling headphones all the time and never talk to me.

I took food to the birdhouse. I tried birdseed, at first. It did not drop any money, but the next morning there were coins and feathers covered in blood on the grass. It wanted meat.

I took it bits of dinner and lunchmeat picked from sandwiches. I was careful to use tongs to put the food inside. Whatever was inside had a vice-like grip. It would grab at the tongs, tearing the morsels from them and only relinquishing the metal after gnawing them to test for further food. The teeth must have been sharp, to leave gouges in the metal.

My brother started getting suspicious. He asked why a brat with no job had so much money. He took my money box and said he would tell my parents about it if I complained.

I told him I found a stash of money in the old birdhouse out back. I told him it was right at the back and that he would have to reach all the way inside.

Nightcap

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There was a fight in the alleyway.

Half-drunk, Hal considered walking away. He couldn’t help anyone in this state. But still, he found himself shambling towards the sounds of scuffling and muffled curses.

There were two men. One was pale and dressed all in black while the other was in jeans and a faded t-shirt. The pale one was grabbing the other man by the throat and trying to get in close. His mouth was open. He had such sharp teeth. Hal didn’t notice the garbage bin until he knocked into it. The sudden sound drew both of their attention and Hal decided to yell, as confidently as he could, for them to stop.

The man in the t-shirt took the opportunity to throw something to the ground, away from the fight. Following the clattering sound, Hal saw something sharp land on the ground. It had not sounded like metal hitting concrete, it had sounded like… wood?

It landed near Hal and he stumbled as he bent to pick it up. The man in the t-shirt called for his help, that his assailant kept trying to bite him. Hal put it in his pocket and moved forward to try to grapple the pale man.

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Closed

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The fog arrived an hour before the ship, rolling onto the shores and fillings the streets. The ship, far too large for the available docks, beached itself on the small patch of sand on the lakeshore.

It was well after dark, but the sound drew many of the townsfolk to the shoreline. They watched as the crew stepped over the sides, falling from the ship. Those that landed in shallow water waited patiently as those that fell upon the rocks were forced to take time to set broken legs which showed through translucent skin. Together, the entire crew began to walk through the town.

The townsfolk who had watched from the shore now hid in their hastily locked and barricaded homes with their families. Some heard knocking at their doors, tapping at their windows, footsteps on the roof. Those brave enough to approach their thresholds could hear what sounded like pleas, but what remained of the crew’s vocal cords was not enough form words.

By dawn the fog had receded and the ship had disappeared. The townsfolk stared at the footprints and depression left on the shore of the lake and wondered what would have happened, had they opened their doors.

Four Sentence Stories (Part 3)

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It is hard to tell who is an android or a real person some days. Most evenings it isn’t until I arrive home that I realised no one I spoke had blinked or breathed. I am always relieved to see my spouse and children carrying out these comforting reminders of humanity.

I paid extra for that feature.

She knew that no one would believe her. They would say that she had post-partum psychosis or severe sleep deprivation, but she knew that the child in the crib was not hers.

She decided to not tell anyone, and felt glad to have the much calmer and quiet baby. She just had to keep anyone from seeing the full set of teeth in his smiling mouth.

The castle was well-defended. High walls, thick gates and a moat no one could cross. Guards patrolled outside its barriers day and night, refusing to allow anyone to cross. There was a terrible illness that could not be allowed to cross the walls. So the king and his closest subjects languished in isolation, unable to pass the defences set up to keep them safe.

Ditched

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Have you ever gone to the door to answer the bell, only to find no one there?

Timothy had a very similar and very recurrent problem. The bells would not stop ringing in the graveyard outside his house.

He had checked them, of course. When he first moved into the lonesome cottage, he would race to check why the bells rang, as was his duty. But there was no one who could be ringing them.

The graves were empty.

They were supposed to let him know if someone was buried alive. He reasoned that alive or not, the buried part was clearly not an issue. So, never one to raise a fuss, Timothy simply removed the clappers from the bells and never said a word to mourners leaving flowers at empty graves.

His concern was only with the dead who wished to rest.

The Tunnel

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It was so dark in this tunnel, but still he pressed onwards.

He could not sit and rest, as the walls and floors were covered in something corrosive. He could feel the impression of the ground beneath his feet as the soles of his shoes slowly wore through. It was soft, so he imagined green moss as he walked through the darkness. In the light, he thought, this tunnel would be filled with moss and flowers. It would explain the humidity.

He could see light ahead, jagged beams shooting through barbs. Stalactites and stalagmites, he reasoned. He could break enough to get out, then he would need to find his way back to the car. He had parked a fair hike from the cave, but he was sure fresh air would give him enough strength.

The ground was even softer now, shifting beneath his feet. He could feel a breeze blowing in, cool and refreshing. Then he felt another breeze from behind him, warm and rank.

Finally he was at the entrance. He pushed forward, trying to to slip on the wet and shifting ground.

At last at the barrier he realised, with mounting horror, that his way was blocked by teeth. He had yet to fully realise what this meant when the giant tongue moved beneath his feet.