As it turns out, starting a new job in the new year takes up quite a lot of energy. My apologies in advance.

---

I had spent days on that speech. Days of writing and rewriting and then rehearsing in front of the mirror to make it as perfect a speech as I could possibly give for graduation, and now the auditorium was on fire and it was all for nothing.

It was a terrible thought. Even as I was thinking it, I knew how selfish I was.

“We need water,” my brother Jake yelled beside me. The fire roared, people screamed.

Water, yes. There were buckets in the supply shed on the other side of the hill. My feet moved on their own, ran towards the shed. I slipped on the icy grass, but eventually I made it. It was locked, of course, but my hand knotted itself into a fist and punched through the window. I was amazed at myself, even as I was crawling through the hole and throwing the buckets outside. My mind had trouble catching up with the rest of my body.

Jake waited for me beside the pond in the plaza where he’d gathered a few of the other students. I threw the buckets at them and yelled, “Water.” They immediately knew what to do.

Technically, we all knew what to do. We had emergency training days every year, because the closest fire brigade was ten miles out. I’d been there a few times as a kid and I knew they weren’t big enough to handle a fire like this. Flames lept out the windows. The edges of the wooden door were gleaming from the light inside. The next bigger department was another ten miles away.

That’s what you get for going to school in the middle of nowhere, I thought. You prepare a speech for days and then the auditorium catches fire and all your work was for nothing because there is no proper fire department in yelling distance and all there is is buckets and a bunch of students forming a line.

Terrible, selfish thoughts.

“We need more people,” Jake yelled. He ran up and down the bucket line. I ran towards the closest person I could reach. Hannah, from English class, stared at the flames through tears streaming down her face.

“Go to the bucket line,” I yelled, but she didn’t move. There was a sound, and when her eyes focused on me, I realized I had slapped her. “Bucket line,” I yelled and pointed. She moved, awfully slow, but she moved. I went to the next person. And then the next.

I heard the sirens of the fire brigade. I felt someone push me away from the building.

“You did good,” Jake said beside me. “Better than last time.” I turned my head towards his voice, but he wasn’t there.

“May!” Mom’s voice echoed over all the noise. “May!” She wrapped her arms around me before I’d even seen her.

And then I remembered that Jake was dead.

“Are you alright?” Mom asked, wrapping my head in her hands. I struggled to nod.

“The fire,” I said, remembering a similar sight two years ago. The flames, the noise, Jake yelling instructions. Then Jake, running into the building for someone who was stuck. No, not someone, Hannah’s sister. Neither of them coming out.

“It’s under control,” Mom said, then, apparently reading my mind, she added: “The auditorium was empty.” She drew me in for another hug. Around her shoulders, I catch Hannah’s eye.

She’s still crying and her cheek is red. She touches it, then mouths something, but I can’t make out the words.

---

 

Original photo by LearningLark on Flickr.
Did you like the story? Then please let me know in the comments!
If you want to be notified whenever I post a new story, sign up for my mailing list and get a free bonus story!

Last story for 2015! A friend of mine suggested I try a different genre and I picked „Romance“. As you will see, the story ended up taking its own turn again.

---

The wind howling around the house did nothing to cover Susie’s cries. Clouse had dragged her downstairs but she was putting up quite a fight for such a small girl.

Aria stood by the fire and stirred the soup. Clockwise, clockwise. Counter-clock, counter-clock. Clockwise. It was only for Susie’s own good.

The door fell shut downstairs and finally drowned out their daughter’s screams. Clouse’s footsteps were heavy on the stairs.

„It’s worse this time,“ he said, wiping his forehead. „We should have kept her inside sooner.“

Counter-clock, counter-clock. Clockwise. Aria nodded.

„It hurts me, too,“ Clouse said. „I hate that they make me do this.“

„I know,“ Aria said. She did know. She knew that Susie was only safe down there where she couldn’t hear the call. She knew that Susie wasn’t herself this time of the year. She knew it was necessary. But her heart broke every time, nonetheless.

She poured Clouse a bowl of hot soup as he sagged into the chair. Susie was getting stronger and stronger every year as Clouse got older and older. Aria kissed the top of his head as she placed the soup in front of him.

„What would I do without you?“ he asked after the first spoonful. Playful, lightening the mood.

„Eat uncooked leaves and berries, probably.“ Her smile was genuine and yet more for his benefit than hers.

„That’s for damn sure.“ He asked for another bowl shortly after. „You can’t bring her anything, yet,“ he said when she poured soup into a second bowl. „She’s still too wild.“

„Do you think she may have… been exposed?“ Aria asked. Clouse grunted.

„Don’t know. Schuster’s girl definitely has, what with the way she took off on him earlier. Punched him square in the nose that girl. He’d be proud if it weren’t so tragic.

„He’ll heal.“ At least his nose would. His pride… his heart might not.

Clouse yawned. Finally.

„Why don’t you head to bed?“ Aria offered. „It was a rough day.“ The village had lost three girls to the woods today. That was more than they usually lost in a year.

Clouse grunted and yawned again.

„I’ll be right along,“ Aria said. „I’ll just finish the dishes.“ She busied herself with the pots and bowl until she heard his first snore. It sounded through the house like an alarm.

She grabbed her coat from the rack. She’d leave the candle on the dinner table burning. Just in case. Then, before she could change her mind, she opened the front door and slipped out.

Braeden leaned against her neighbor’s house. As soon as he spotted her, he peeled off the wall. She fell into his embrace.

„I’m so glad you came,“ he whispered, his voice a deep whisper. It reminded her of the wind whistling through forest leaves. „I was afraid you wouldn’t.“

„Never,“ she said. She looked up into his face. His green eyes, always so captivating, shone in the moonlight. She kissed him. He tasted like summer rain.

Aria had known from the first moment she’d met him that this was inevitable. When she was younger, she’d never understood why the girls lost their minds. She’d always thought the forest song had driven them crazy.

„Are you sure?“ He asked. „I want you to be sure of this.“

„I’m sure,“ she whispered. „I’ve never been surer of anything in her life.“ His smile went right to her heart.

Aria loved Clouse. They had been destined to be together, get married, have children and live in that house of theirs. It was comfortable, knowing her life was so secure and she’d gotten one of the good ones. She loved him for everything he had ever given her, especially Susie.

Then she’d met Braeden. He’d sought her out by the lake months ago, just like his kind sought out young girls every year. She’d expected him to try and hex her with a song, like they always said the forest did. But all he’d done was ask questions. She was far too old for the forest to be singing to her, anyway. She’d felt safe answering and asking her own. He’d answered every single one of them. With every answer came a new question. With every question came a smile.

She hadn’t known that was his way of singing.

Aria didn’t want to leave Clouse. She would miss his heavy footsteps on the stairs. She would miss Susie’s laughter. She would miss their dinners and his thundering snore. But Clouse had never asked any of the questions Braeden had. He’d never answered her questions the way Braeden had. And he’d never been able to offer more than ‚comfortable‘.

She’d thought she’d be frantic and crazy, like the other girls. And even though she didn’t feel like running or screaming, or punching anyone’s face, she knew that this was what the forest song did. It made her want more than ‚comfortable.

„I’m sure,“ Aria said again for good measure. Holding Braeden’s hand, she went slowly, quietly into the woods.

---

Original image by JackPeasePhotography on Flickr.
Did you like the story? Then please let me know in the comments!
If you want to be notified whenever I post a new story, sign up for my mailing list and get a free bonus story!

A quick one whipped up out of an idea I’ve had for a while.

---

I found the hand behind a dumpster in my alleyway.

It was a good alleyway, if only for the fact that all the dumpsters gave us plenty of room to crash back there. I’d just stolen a leftover sandwich from a table outside Chili’s Cheesesticks three blocks down the streets and was wolfing it down when I noticed the hand.

Long silver fingers attached to a metal stump, it just lay there next to my foot. I was sure it hadn’t been there when I sat down — I kept my place clean, or at least as clean as could be. Then, suddenly, it moved. Jumped up to my leg and poked my ankle, then fell back down.

“Hey there, little fellow,” I said, because it seemed like the most reasonable thing to do.

It didn’t answer. I finished my sandwich in silence, keeping an eye on the hand.

It didn’t move again until I curled up on my cardboard a little while later when it crawled down to my feet and wrapped its fingers around my ankle. I instantly felt a warmth rush through me, as the hand began to purr. Like a cat.

That was the moment I decided to keep the hand.

*

Good things started happening after I found the hand.

It started bringing me food to eat whenever I returned to the alley. Then money.

And once, the hand brought me proper sleeping bag. It was stolen the next day, but I didn’t mind. I’d had my warm night, now it was someone else’s turn. The sleeping bag returned the day after.

“Hey there, little fellow,” I’d greet the hand and it would purr. Like a cat. It would keep me warm at night.

The hand and I, cuddled in the sleeping bag together.

*

Before I found the hand, there was a guy who used to hang out in the alleyway, too. He didn’t talk, just grunted in greeting and we left each other alone. Mostly.

He wasn’t quite right, sometimes. He’d scream and trash in his sleep, sometimes waking and rattling everything. He’d grabbed me, once, in a fit, his eyes staring at me but not really seeing. I bit his hand and he let go.

He didn’t come back for weeks after that.

I was rattled awake one night, the hand purring by my feet, by his booming voice. He was dreaming, I knew. I crouched deeper into my sleeping bag, hoping he wouldn’t wake up. Praying, he wouldn’t grab me like that again.

The hand purred louder.

“Don’t,” I whispered, but the hand was already on its way. I watched in fear as it crawled over to the man. It disappeared in the bundle of paper and junk. The groaning got louder as the bundle began to shake. His body, massive as it was, thrashed around. He got up, still groaning. On all fours, eyes wide open, he tried to move. A car drove by, its lights flashing his face.

The hand was wrapped tightly around his neck.

I stared as he moved, winced, groaned until the noise subsided and his limbs went still. His eyes were wide open, staring right back at me. He looked as scared as I’d felt.

The hand crawled up to his face and closed his eyes, then came back to me, purring.

*

Bad things started happening after that night.

The hand would still bring me food and money, it would still curl up with me in my sleeping bag every night. But its touch now felt stronger, harder. Gripping me.

I tried to leave it behind one night, making my bed underneath a bridge. When I woke up, the hand was there, around my ankle, purring louder than ever before.

Its gifts got more elaborate. Soon, the hand brought me jewelry, clothes, entire wallets with bundles of cash.

I started to wonder if the spots that were on them were dirt or blood.

After the second time I tried to get rid of the hand, it would no longer let go of my ankle. It sat there, all day, only leaving for five minutes to grab whatever gift it had for me. Once I started to run while it was gone and when it found me, it grabbed my ankle hard enough to leave bruises.

See what you made me do, it seemed to purr when it stroked the bruises later that night. It’s you and me now.

Nobody else.

The hand and I, cuddled in the sleeping bag together.

---

Original image by Don Harder.

Did you like the story? Then please let me know in the comments!
If you want to be notified whenever I post a new story, sign up for my mailing list and get a free bonus story!

October is the month of Halloween, ghosts, pumpkins and just general… autumn depression. So here we have a story that fits the mood.

---

„Your wife is sleeping with my husband.“

Granted, these weren’t the words I had planned to start out with. I don’t even think these words were anywhere in the speech I had prepared and said out loud in the mirror several times. But right there, sitting in your office — all glass and metal and tasteful, fancy black-leather furniture — these were the words I opened with.

Your wife is sleeping with my husband.

I found out only the week before through a hotel matchbook in a jacket pocket — the classic, isn’t it? A jacket I was throwing in the wash with a couple of my blouses. For work, he said. He’d need it for work, which he’d been coming home late from these last few months. He was up for a promotion, he’d say, and I’d leave a plate of home-cooked dinner for him in the oven, ready to be heated up. Because I was his wife and that’s what wives do for their husbands.

You were sitting across from me in that office, in a comfortable black leather chair that swiveled as you assessed me. I immediately felt a tad uncomfortable and only barely resisted touching my hair to check that my bun was still in place. You pressed your lips together right after the words had come out of my mouth and then you sighed.

„I was wondering when you’d show up,“ you said then.

If you’d ask me now — which you won’t, of course — I’d say that this was the moment I first had the thought. Until then, you’d been a victim, like myself. Unbeknownst to you, I thought, you were wronged by the person you treasured most in life.

But at that moment, I realized that wasn’t true.

„Well,“ I said, „what are you planning on doing about it?“

I had come here, to your office, to enlist your help. You and I, we were kindred spirits. Surely you’d have already thought of a plan to end the affair. Surely, you were about to confront your wife with your knowledge and demand she stop it. You had known about it for however much longer than I and even I already had considered several options.

But you laughed. You didn’t even deign my question with an answer, you only shook your head.

„My wife,“ you said, after several bursts of laughter, „does as she pleases.“

You got up then and opened the door motioning for me to leave. If you asked me now — which we already established you won’t — I’d say that this was the moment the thought manifested.

If only you hadn’t thrown me out of your office so callously. None of this would have had to happen.
I came home that day to a message on the answering machine.

„I’m sorry hun, but I’ll have to stay late again. This project is breaking my back, I tell you. Don’t wait up for me.“

He used to say he loved me at the end of every message. He also used to call my cell phone to tell me he was late. How had I not seen this earlier?

I deleted the message and sat in the kitchen until it got dark. I don’t remember what I did or what I thought about. I only remember thinking that this kitchen table was a wedding gift of his parents and that, surely, I would have to give it up when we divorced.

I wondered if you’d sat at your kitchen table the same way when you found out. And then I realized that you weren’t like me. You didn’t care.

When my husband came home that night, there was no dinner plate in the oven to be heated up. He didn’t ask for one, either.

*

Right now, as I am remembering that day in your office, everything is already done. Even if I wanted to spare you I couldn’t.

It’s a beautiful night. Especially out here at the cabin my husband and I bought only a year after we were married. We were going to take our kids here once a year to show them the treasures of nature. We’d always wanted kids, but he was always saying things like, „Now is not a good time.“ and „Work is really busy right now.“ He kept promising „next year“ as if having children weren’t a time sensitive issue. I guess it’s too hard to leave your wife when you have kids.

I have to admit, I was amazed by how easy it was to borrow your car. I’ve driven it past the cabin out of immediate sight. But of course, still close enough for CSI to find its tracks. My husband’s car is at the cabin right now, your wife’s heels still left in the passenger’s seat. It appears as though getting inside was more important than where her shoes end up. They have all weekend. And yet, they couldn’t wait 30 seconds.

I can’t remember the last time 30 seconds seemed too long to wait. Can you?

I’m afraid it’ll take longer than 30 seconds for the venom to get into their bloodstreams. Of course, based on their activities, time of death may vary. But it is inevitable nonetheless.

I’m sure you read that report on your desk about the neurotoxins contained in the drug your company is testing? Borrowed that, too, I admit. Interesting read. Especially for someone who once planned a career in drug development before she got married and planned on having kids that never came.

Anyway, those neurotoxins are what cause the headaches in most of your test subjects. Chances of 1 in 100? Terrible for the marketability of your product. But I’m telling you, for me, those neurotoxins are a fine thing.

With just the right dose, you can kill a man right away.

Or you can make him suffer.

I’m told that by the end, it feels like a bomb inside your skull. In slow motion.

I’d ask you if that was true, but by now you’re probably already gone.

---

Did you like the story? Then please let me know in the comments!
If you want to be notified whenever I post a new story, sign up for my mailing list and get a free bonus story!

Don’t worry, the story isn’t about winter.

---

He’d died and gone to hell. That must be it. There was no other explanation. The noises too loud, his body too heavy, the light too bright.

But he was cold. That didn’t fit the picture.

He fought, with his eyes closed, against the intrusions on his senses until slowly, after what felt like years, the sensations got less and less.

„Well, Miss, the reversal is a long and difficult process. You’re going to have to be patient.“ Those were not the kind of first words he’d wanted to hear, he thought, and then was dragged slowly into the darkness again.

When he woke next, he wasn’t quite as cold.

„Oh good, you’re awake,“ a woman’s voice said. Too loud. Too shrill. He squeezed his eyes shut despite never having opened them. „Oh come on, old man. Don’t be a wuss.“

He didn’t recognize her. Judging from the tone in her voice, he didn’t want to, either. She sighed heavily, then plopped down in what he presumed was a chair next to his bad.

„The greatest thief of all times,“ she whispered, „afraid of a little reality.“

„Not.“ His voice was barely above a wheeze, his throat burnt. „Afraid.“ He was rattled by a cough. A hand touched his face and someone, the woman probably, pushed a straw into his mouth.

„Drink,“ she said. „I need you able to talk.“

He gulped down the fluids too quickly and coughed again. When he opened his eyes, she was leaning over him, her face a blur.

„Do you know who I am?“ she asked.

He shook his head. Slowly, her face came into focus. Her eyes, her nose, her thin lips. The expression on her face stern, as if about to scold him. It couldn’t be.

This was impossible.

„I’m Alice. Your great-granddaughter.“

Eh. Apparently very possible.

Alice’s eyes reminded him of his mother. The expression, too. She also had his wife’s nose. Carla.
He lifted his arm high enough to reach a strand of her hair. It was soft as it wrapped around his fingers. When he pulled her down, she winced.

„What¬“ his voice was barely above a whisper although he meant to shout. „¬have you done?“

Her mouth twisted into a smile.

#

The clothes lying in front of him were the ugliest he’d ever seen. There’d been some fashion trends in his lifetime that he hadn’t understood and he had imagined quite a bit about the future, but this was beyond anything his mind could have dreamed up. The pants were a mixture of silver and black, at least two sizes too small. He hadn’t tried putting them on, yet, but they looked like they’d barely fit over his calves. The jacket matched the pants in color and design. They had several tags and symbols embedded in the chest area. At least the undershirt was plain black, but he didn’t recognize the fabric.

Alice didn’t knock when she entered his room.

„What is taking you so long?“

„I’m not wearing these,“ he said. He still stood in his hospital issued underpants. „They look ridiculous.“

Alice sighed. Her expression went from quizzical to annoyed. It was still fascinating to watch her. She was so foreign and yet so familiar. He wondered how many more of his family members he’d see in her face.

He wondered if it would continue to hurt like this whenever he did.

„No,“ she said, „they look like they will protect you from the rays outside. They also look like what everyone else is wearing.“ His eyes left her face for a moment. She did seem to be wearing the same color palette, although it looked a lot less ridiculous on her. He wouldn’t put it past her to pick the worst of the bunch for him to wear. Carla would have done the same. „Put these on,“ Alice said, „or I’m putting you out again.“

When he finally tried them on, the pants fit better than he’d thought. They slid smoothly over his legs, form-fitting without being too restricting. The jacket was too hot, though. Or maybe it was him. His body temperature hadn’t quite adjusted after she’d gotten him back from the dead. When Carla had suggested they freeze their bodies after death on the off chance that sometime in the future they could be revived and live a second lifetime together, he’d just nodded along. He’d never expected that this would be where he’d end up: a hundred years in the future with his great-granddaughter barking orders at him.

Alice carted his wheelchair down the hall into the parking garage. Nobody passed them on the way. The rooms on each side lay in darkness, doors half ajar. Aside from the squeaking of his wheels, there really weren’t a lot of hospital noises.

None, actually.

„Where is everyone?“ he asked.

„Vacation,“ Alice said, her voice twisting easily around the lie.

There was only one car in the parking garage and it was black with silver tinted windows. Of course it was.

So she dragged his dead-for-a-hundred-years frozen body to an apparently abandoned hospital to wake him up. Made sense.

„Are you at some point going to explain yourself?“ he asked.

„Yes,“ she said. He raised an eyebrow at her. She tilted her head to the side. Then, she sighed. She looked so much like Carla when she did that. „I want you to show me where you hid the treasure.“

#

The house she took him to was a small box with grey walls and a flat root. Same as all the other houses on the street. Same as all the other houses on the past ten streets, actually. A great place to hide.

Or go crazy.

„Times have changed, Gramps,“ Alice said when he stared at the box. She helped him through the front door and down the steps that immediately descended. The lights turned on automatically with each step they took. The floor below, completely underground, provided much more living space than the box above ground would have made him believe.

Alice wasn’t kidding about the radiation.

„I know about the treasure,“ she said as soon as she got him sitting down on a couch. „You got some big hit and hid it right before you got iced. Show me where it is. You do that and I’ll let you go.“

„The car?“ he asked. He still had trouble pronouncing words. Like his limbs, his voice seemed to be waking up slower than his brain. „The house?“

She shrugged. „The neighborhood is just being developed. They won’t look here.“

„Brilliant.“ Who were they anyway?

„What makes you think I’ll help you?“ he asked and laughed. It was more of a wheeze.

Her fist hit the table so hard it jumped.

„You left us with nothing,“ she spat. Her eyes shone in the bright light of the kitchen. „Your daughter was hunted by your enemies for revenge and by your allies for the damn treasure. You know, she died shortly after my mother was born in a car chase. A car chase, of all things. I’ve read all about you. I know how great a thief you were and how well you lived off it. I found your cryo cell ages ago and kept it hidden. You owe me. You realize you can still be tried for your crimes now? The statute of limitations is measured in your lifetime years.“ He hadn’t known that. When had that happened? „So, dear Gramps, you’re going to help me get that treasure. I have no other use for you.“

He should slap her, put her in her place. Who was she to talk to him like that? But his anger was kept in check by his pride. Here was his great-granddaughter, his heir, in all her furious glory. She’d read his journals, she knew of his crimes, and still she’d dragged him to the middle of nowhere and yelled at him like she was in charge.

She’d have made such a great head of his empire.

„If it’s all the same to you,“ he said, slowly rounding out each word, „I’ll propose a deal.“

#

The fact that Alice agreed to his deal was her second mistake. Her third was to agree to get Carla before they’d unearthed the treasure. He’d showed her the hiding place, a dump that was still there, surprisingly untouched after a hundred years. Maybe that’s because the dump was used for chemical waste.

Her fourth mistake was to trust him and Carla enough to split up for the supplies.

„I feel bad for her,“ Carla said from the passenger seat. Her voice was still quiet, raspy. She had been frozen later than he had, so she had a few years of age on him now. Her face was wrinkled, her hands small and thin. And yet, she was just as beautiful as he remembered.

„Don’t,“ he said. „I had to learn the hard way, too.“

„You were her last hope.“

„No, not her last. Just the most convenient at the time.“ If he was right about her, she’d recover from this setback sooner than they’d like. He had seen it in her eyes back at the house: She had that fury, that anger, that determination to push through. And now he had given her more of that. More of that fuel that would make her follow them to the ends of the Earth to destroy them.

Because Alice’s first mistake had been not to ask about the treasure itself.

He wasn’t sure if early 20th century Bordeaux wine was still as valuable as it had been in his lifetime.

But he sure wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

---

Original image by Costel Slincu.

If you were woken up a hundred years after you died, what do you think the reason would be? Let me know in the comments!

If you want me to send you an email as soon as the next free story is up, sign up for my newsletter!