Category: My stories

Shopper

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Susan held the can of peas in her hands and thought for a moment… how did she know that there were peas in there?
She grabbed a can of corn from the shelf and looked at it. Was she certain it contained corn?
She took a razor blade and peeled off the labels from the cans, switched them, and smoothed them over the dribble of glue on the can’s seal.
What was in each can now? Was there corn in the corn can and peas in the pea can?
She put them back on the shelf to maintain the mystery.

Product Testing

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When I was growing up, we lived in Deerfield, which was next to Northbrook, and that’s where Underwriter’s Laboratories was.
We went on a tour, and I saw smart people in white lab coats, breaking things all day long.
When we got home, the first thing I did was break something.
“See!” I said, happily. “I’m smart!”
“You moron!” said my brother. “Why did you do that?”
“I’m testing products to see if they’re safe,” I said.
“I think Nana Ruth’s vase was safe,” said my brother, and he told Mom.
Soon afterwards, Dad tested his belt across my ass.

The Hunt

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When the sun goes down, vampires wake up from their slumber and roam the countryside.
Here’s my question: do the vampire hunters come out and hunt them?
Back in the romantic days of vampire hunting, yes. They would face off with the vampires under the moonlight.
But then, vampire hunters started to use technology to seek out and hunt vampires during the day, rooting out their hiding places and destroying them while they were defenseless.
Now, it’s a mix of those daytime operations and some highly sophisticated tracking methods at night.
One day, all the vampires will be defeated.
Hallelujah.

The Oldest

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We’re going to miss Daisy.
The first words that she ever said was “This is the oldest I’ve ever been.”
Everyone was shocked to hear this, because it took a level of self-awareness and deep understanding of the nature of life and mortality you wouldn’t expect in someone so young.
Over time, Daisy faced her life’s struggle and would say that phrase with pride. Then, when things turned too rough for her to handle, she said it with worry.
As she approached her twilight years, her accomplishments already made and legacy established, the worry gradually changed to a confident wisdom.

Juel’s Fish

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The song’s over, now you’ve got your chance.
Ask her why she has a fish circling her head and she’ll point to the fishbowl on her counter top.
It’s a perfectly ordinary glass fishbowl, filled with water. There’s some teal blue gravel at the bottom and a nice little castle and sea diver in there, too.
“He’s claustrophobic,” she says, tickling the fish on its belly as it passes by her ear.
Sometimes, it’s orange. Other times, it’s blue. And then, when it’s really happy, it’s a rainbow of colors.
She picks up her guitar, smiles, and begins to play.

War Is Hell

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You know those letters than the Post Office digs up now and then from a World War 2 soldier writing his wife or girlfriend, but it doesn’t get delivered until fifty years later?
I found one of those under some carpet I was ripping up in the office.
Policy says to go get a supervisor to read it before delivery, so I did.
He steams it open, takes a gander, and smirks.
Blah blah blah… killed some Germans… blah blah blah… screwed a bunch of whores… blah blah blah… stole artwork…
He pulls out a lighter and burns the letter.

Nailbiter

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Ned couldn’t remember a day he didn’t bite his fingernails.
The tips of his fingers were always ragged, bloody, and infected.
So he stuck his hands in a pair of gloves and duct-taped them shut to keep from biting them.
Or, so he thought.
By the time he bit through the leather in the gloves, his fingertips had healed and the urge to bite his nails was out of his system.
Of course, he’d ruined his teeth in the process, but Ned never really smiled, anyway.
Besides, it’s so much easier to type a colon and a closing parenthesis.

Gertrude

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As we wait for the water to boil, Old Gertrude pulls glass jars down from the shelf, lifting lids, taking a pinch of this, a pinch of that.
“I’m glad you finally came to see me,” she says.
Sally, crying, holds the baby and mumbled “Thank you” in between sobs. I twist my wool cap in my hands.
Gertrude mixes the leaves and herbs, sprinkles them in a cup, and pours the water from the kettle.
We dip a rag into the tea and put it to the baby’s lips.
She won’t drink. She’s not breathing. She’s…
We’re too late.

Bobby

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Bobby died three days ago. We kept him the the tub, trying to decide how to get him out of here.
Man, did he stink.
We opened all the windows, but the stink just got worse.
“Let’s leave him,” I said. “Let’s leave him.”
Joe said no. “He’s got the key inside him.”
Without the key, no money.
So, we cut him open, slipping our hands all inside him, pulling things out, squeezing and searching.
Still no key.
Did he really swallow it before we shot him in the leg? Or did he palm it…
Where did that key go?

The Cult

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Right in front of their eyes, vision fades to static.
Frightened and confused, we, the masses, heed the call.
Stripping off our clothes, we gather in the woods, swaying in the summer heat, naked… writhing.
One beast, many mouths… many fingers… many hearts beating.
The flesh circle opens briefly, and our leader mounts a tree stump, the cow skull over his head glowing in the moonlight.
We have no choice. We are compelled to listen.
He raises his staff and tells the tales of our childhood, like many generations before.
This is what happens when the neighborhood cable goes out.