Category: Flash Fiction
The Storm Ghosts (Audio Version)
Here is the audio version of The Storm Ghosts, a short monologue from The Field Guides to the Ghostly World.
for written transcript see post here The Storm Ghosts
Triangle Macabre
Triangle Macabre by Joe Stanley
Synopsis
Hired to appraise a legendary collection, an antiquarian discovers the treasure of a lifetime. Torn between two impossible desires, he faces a simple choice.
TALES FOR THE HOURS OF DARKNESS
Read online fiction created by Joe Stanley
Above Ground part three
by John Riley
iii
Below Ground
He never could play the piano, always wanted to, so what a bit of luck when a man with an old battered suitcase turned up on the doorstep. The wife answered.
“Hey, get this, Hughie, this guy wants to grant a wish for some deal.”
No answer.
“Hughie, you hear me?”
He shuffled up beside her, his face in permanent strife, giving her that stare as to the reason for disturbing him reading his newspaper.
“Let me deal with this,” pushing his way around her.
“Son, I ain’t got time, not interested in what you sell.”
Mr Bainbraker then attempted a thin smile, coaxing his wife back inside and just about to close the front door.
“Sir, I shall pay you 100 dollars, here and now, if I do not give you what you have always wanted. To play the piano? Right now, I shall grant you a wish to escape into a world of music. You always wanted to play the piano, just like your Ma did.”
“What bottle did you escape from?”
He turned back to his wife.
“What have you been telling him?”
“Nothing, he told me you always wanted to play.”
“Sir, give me a minute. All I need is for you to donate your soul when you die to the cause. Simple as that, and I shall bring you a dream fulfilled. If I fail, to give you what you want, then I shall pay you. You have my word.”
He reached down and pulled out a wad of dollar bills.
Mrs Bainbraker’s eyes lit up. Mr Bainbraker chuckled.
“Hell, boy! I ain’t got much use for my soul after I’m gone. When dead, you’re dead. You don’t believe in all that hogwash about an afterlife?”
The money did look like an attractive prospect. They could do with it after what both had been through.
Sam smiled.
“Well, not for me to say Mr Bainbraker, now to business.”
At the end of the deal, Mr Bainbraker was thrilled to hear himself play the piano beautifully as ever he could imagine. He couldn’t believe it. Hellfire! The guy had given him the money. Forced him to take it as an extra gesture.
However, to Mrs Bainbraker, the piece her husband played sounded no different to what it always sounded like. A riot of discordant noise. Anyway, she got her wish and now preoccupied with how she looked in the mirror. She looked so young, even though 80 years of age. Well, anyone seeing what reflected would take issue with what promised and what is real.
Above Ground part two
by John Riley
ii
The man with the battered suitcase used the name Sam. He’d made good progress on his own, walking the length of the road for over a week now.
He followed the signs pointing to Slaughter Bridge. He reckoned on getting closer as the place name kept appearing more frequently.
There were fields of man-high corn on either side of the road. The smell hanging around hung thick, strong fertiliser, and gut-wrenching. Sam pushed on walking.
He strode out with the sun in his eyes until a cloud passed over and offered respite from screwing up his face allowing time to see the way ahead, converging to a spot on the horizon.
He could do with emptying the case, reckoned a few more down there would help, call in some more debts and cash in some karma. He pushed forward, letting his thoughts wander.
He whistled that familiar tune with Grandpa Mathis on his mind and a little bit of business they’d sorted out. Then, Sam noticed it. He picked out something dumped up ahead. He stopped and tried to see what it might be before getting back into his stride.
The stench hitting him emanated from a dead farm boy, lying crumpled at the side of the road with his eyes pecked out by scavenger crows.
Sam tipped his sunhat, offering condolences to the deceased, and pondered on a few words. In the heat of the day, Sam stared down at the lad. Must have been about 10 or 12 years of age this time.
Sam looked northward. Time to make a move. He set off without looking back at the kid. Sam didn’t see the dead body twitch and then in jerky moves bring itself up to a sitting position.
“Take me with you…” It called out. “Take me with you…”
Sam kept on walking.
It made one last try. Sam was a fair distance away so as not to hear its pleading.
“You’d be too much trouble, kid, too much trouble.”
“Haven’t you heard? No room at the inn,” indicated by raising the suitcase above his head.
When Sam was out of view, the kid slumped back down, a crumpled mess at the side of the road.
A light breeze rustled the man-high corn and made a sound like whispering. Sam crossed into Slaughter Bridge and then had second thoughts about the kid.
Lake of Tears part 3
by Joe Stanley
3
The balance of power had shifted. She spat her stinging words without effect, other than to see me smile. Fury trembled her frame and twisted her face into that of an old hag. I hadn’t told her anything, but somehow she knew it all. That she even knew Emily’s name told me, as I had already dimly suspected, that she was having me watched.
She admitted so frankly to my accusation and began to promise me Hell on Earth.
“But, Dear,” I observed, “The open marriage was your idea.”
She insulted me, she threatened not only myself but Emily as well. Now it was my turn to seethe, but after so long a treatment of cold cruelty, I simply returned the favor.
I quietly poured myself a drink while she gawked in disbelief.
“Accidents do happen, my darling, but you’d better hope none happen to me or Emily.”
She began to roar, but I silenced her at once.
“You shut your hateful face right now! You shut the hell up and you listen and listen well. Those classes I take, the ones you’re always ridiculing me for, I have to sit through a lot of lectures…”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” she demanded, trying to shudder me with her evil laugh.
“Shut your bitch-hole and you’ll find out.” I replied, very amused to see her eyes so wide they nearly popped from her head, “Like I was saying, I have to sit through a lot of lectures and I’ve never been great at taking notes…”
“You’ve lost your mind…” she bellowed, her voice becoming a growl, ” and you’re going to lose a whole lot more…”
“But the bookstore has lots of little things to help a student out. As for the lectures,” I said, reaching into my pocket, “This little recorder has been a life-saver. See here, it’s recording right now. Let’s see what’s on it.”
She listened with horror to her own voice promising an accident.
“You can’t record me without my permission!”
“I’m in my own home, I can do whatever I want. And if anything happens to us, the cops aren’t going to give a damn about the technicalities, they’ll be looking at you. In the future, if you don’t wish to be recorded, I guess it would be better if you simply didn’t speak to me.”
to be continued