A long time ago in the town of Lydenbourgh, lived a man named Ernest Forkhike. Ernest lived alone. Kept to himself. A true introvert. But all that changed when it rained. Everyone knew Ernest loved the rain because he could spotted prancing about Cross St with his signature black umbrella. “That weirdo with the black umbrella, what a loser.” His neighbors would say. Ms. Rogers a single mom, who would let you know she was single said “I wouldn’t let that freak near my babies.” Ernest didn’t much care what people thought. He just loved the rain. One particular stormy afternoon, Ernest spun around a telephone in delight. Water droplets cascaded down his smile. He loved recreating scenes from his favorite movie “Singing in the Rain”. It was his mother’s favorite too. That was before she died suddenly leaving Ernest all alone, but dancing in the rain helped. As Ernest began to sing, a car screeched around that corner at an extreme speed. The tires burned as the rubber met the road. Ernest didn’t have a chance to even jump as the car careened toward the sidewalk. Ernest laid on the ground bleeding from his head. The rain washing his blood down the into sewer drain. No one was ever charged in the hit run. In the years that followed some peculiar things began to happen on Cross St. Particularly a large rise in single car accidents. Cross St was a 25 mph zone lovated in a neighborhood with two stop signs on either end. Not a difficult street to maneuver. The drivers would say they saw something in the road. Like an umbrella, or a large stick. Betsy Mullins sweared on her life that she wrapped her Honda around a telephone pole because a man suddenly appeared on the street. “The roads were slippery. I had my lights on, but the rain was really coming down. Out of nowhere he came. A man. All I could see were his eyes, blue like crystals.” She spoke to the officier taking the statement at the scene. “Anything else ya remember ma’am” the officer huffed. “ Yea he was holding a big black umbrella. And when I got out of my car he was gone” The End
Mavis Bennett sighed as swapped out the May copy of Time magazine for the newer June issue. The cover read “The Demise of Diabolical Dental Debt” plastered over a set of chompers that would make an Englishmen grimace. “Why do we even carry these anymore?” She thought as she worked her way over to the Sports Illustrated slot. Even “any reading is good reading” Mavis knew magazines were dead. She herself barely read any physical media anymore. Best to keep that fact to herself, though. Beep. Beep. Beep. An alert from her Apple Watch signals its 10 AM. “Shit” she thought as she looked out the window to see a carrier of death. That being the bus from Sherwood Ivy Retirment Community. Old people loved libraries. Old people also love to complain. Old people love to bark orders. And no one complained or barked more than despicable old Bob Ferneli. Bob slid his walker at a such pace that not only would he have lost a race fk both tortoise and the hare, but both creatures could complete the race and live long and fulfilling lives before ol’ Bob got to the finish line. At 10:20, the automatic doors whoosh open. “MA’AM! MA’AM!” His gravelly voice sends a shiver down my spine. “ Always with the ma’am.” She thought. “I’m less than half your age. I’m a not a damn ma’am.” “I’m right here, Mr. Ferneli” she said as she ran over to help him. She knew exactly what he wanted. The same table, the same chair, and a copy of the Boston Herald’s sport section. “PAPER!” he shouted as she shoved the folded up newspaper in front of his sagging jowels. “Never a please. Never a thank you.” she thought. “Anything else I can help you with?” He waved her off with a scowl. Mavis headed back over to the magazines to put out the new Cosmopolitan that described “Ten ways to rid your BF of the ICK” as she heard it. PFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTT, THRRRRRRP! “BATHROOM! BATHROOM NOW!” The old curmudgeon belted. “Did he just shit his pants? I do not get paid enough for this!” She rushes over to him. Then grabbed his arm to help him up. That’s when it hits her. The smell of sulfur meets garlic bread. She gagged as her nose was assaulted. She put her hand over her mouth to stop her breakfast from returning. “HURRY UP, BITCH” he howled. Mavis swallowed hard. Her vomit slide back down her throat. While holding her breath, Mavis moved to lift him to his walker. For moment, she considered how satisfying it would be to just drop him with no warning. Watch him crack his head on the table. Maybe get a serious brain injury or maybe just thrive in pain. She smiled at the thought. “Not today though.” She get the geezer over to the bathroom. He slammed the door. Once again she returned to the magazines. Later as she placed a group of Highlights magazines on the kids rack, the voice boomed again. “TOILET PAPER! TOILET PAPER!” “I don’t get paid enough” The End
His boots clack against the concete. “You can’t hide from me no more!” He shouts practically belching the last few syllables. I turn. I got about 20 yards on him. What the fuck! What the actual fuck! How did he find me? 4 years of relative safety, gone in seconds. People told me that when living in Witness Proctection “You’re always looking over your shoulder.” I knew there was a possibility he’d find me. I prepared for it even. But obliviously not well enough. I dash to towards my pickup only to be greeted by a knife stuck in the front tire. “Shit”. I turn. “Just leave me alone, Brett? It’s over. You’re free. It’s over!” Charging like drunken bull, Brett lets out a guttural cry as he tackles me to ground. Grappling around on the grass he wraps his massive hands around my throat. “Shush now!” Brett says as his eyes widen. “It’ll all be over soon, you little snitch…” His sweat drips onto my face. I try to grab at his hands but their so sweaty mine slip off. I’d try to push him off me, but he’s such a fat fuck, it futile. I gasp for air but there’s nothing there. If this is the end… I ain’t going alone. With the last breath, I wriggle my car keys from my pocket. Brett smirks through his sweat. “You ain’t going for no more joy rides anytime soon, sweetheart.” I turn the fob so that the peculiar bright red light flashes right in Brett’s eyes. His eyes forced to blink, as he turns to me dumbfounded. “Bye.” Then I press the Panic button. My pickup explodes. In a flash, Brett howls as the beautiful yellows, oranges, and reds engulf him. I smile as I begin to feel the embrace of the the intense heat. End