-The best stories on the web-
Read or link to over 1000 stories listed under Stories to the left.
Submit your short stories for review as a Word document attached to an email to: Read@Short-Story.Me

Latest Stories

December 09, 2018
Mystery Stories Wally Smith

Body of Evidence

Crime Scene Tours Ltd. had built their business, some would say, on the basis of appealing to people’s morbid curiosity for grisly acts of murder, and Liz and Colin Stevenson therefore had no qualms at all about conducting tours around the scenes of the most…
December 02, 2018
General Stories John L. Yelavich

Aesthetic Shock

Allie is delicate and gentle, waif-like in her presence. Her luminescent smile frames an image that seems so lighthearted. A sense of reality cannot disguise my enamored, whimsical feelings. I rhapsodize her essence in my affectionate mind excursions. She…
December 02, 2018
Fantasy Stories Vidal Martinez

The Purpose of Life

The front door slowly creaks open just as I reach to touch it with my cold, stiff hand. I stand still, hesitant, wanting to walk away, but finally I peek into the house, and through the darkness of the old Victorian home is a shadow of a flickering light from…
December 02, 2018
Fantasy Stories Pat Tyrer

It's All Relative

Before I get started talking about what I did, and why I did, what I did, I need to explain that Harold was no prize. He retired from John Deere because he couldn’t get along with the guy who worked next to him on the line. Not the supervisor, mind you, but…
December 02, 2018
Crime Stories J.D.Plummer

What Goes Around Comes Around

It was 12:45AM on a Tuesday. The old TV in the corner was playing some idiotic sitcom rerun. The ball game had gone into extra innings, but had basically ended a half hour before. There was a couple sitting at the table in the corner, having wandered in…
December 01, 2018
Crime Stories Nicholas Tomsko

Special Delivery

“BE THERE IN 5 MINUTES”...Tammy hit the SEND button and tossed the cell phone. It made a thud as it bounced off of the passenger seat. She hated the feeling of things in her pockets and never used a purse. Cruising the highway during a mild September…
December 01, 2018
Fantasy Stories Marie Anderson

Epiphany

After the meeting, Leo hurried back to his office and filled his briefcase and pockets with everything that mattered. His company mug brimmed with cold coffee. He poured the coffee over his PC’s keyboard, then threw the mug at a framed portrait mounted on the…
December 01, 2018
Romance Stories James Ross

Bones

‘Park here,’ Leo said, ‘We’re early and I’d like to sit in the sunshine for a while.’ Michael parked the car in one of the empty bays and went to purchase a ticket. When he got back to the car Leo was standing by the door grinning broadly. 'See!' he said.…
December 01, 2018
Mystery Stories Virginia Revel

The Shape I'm In

“Good morning, Mr. McCord.” “Good morning Dr. Porter,” I say, inclining my head slightly in his direction. His answering nod pays tribute to my quiet self-possession. I show him no hostility, but I do not pretend he is my friend. There will be no heartiness…
December 01, 2018
General Stories Jesse McKinnell

Hi, My Name is Mark

The drug store stretched out in front of Mark like a fun house, dizzying in its array of colors and textures and smells. Racks filled with Halloween candy, masks and plastic pumpkins sat in front, requiring shoppers to battle through their compulsions before…
December 01, 2018
General Stories Roger Ley

Harley

“It’s in here,” said Martin as he unlocked the door of the old, dilapidated wooden shed. “My dad lets me use this as a garage.” The shed was sited on the edge of the golf course that his father’s family owned. They went inside. It didn’t smell too bad, and it…
December 01, 2018
Science Fiction Stories Matt King

In Formation

Honking, the geese fly overhead in a giant V as the sky reddens in the late September dawn. Tralley watches them for a moment before continuing to unload the pickup truck outside the transmission tower high on the hill. Rucker fixating on his smartphone in…

 

 

“Stupid piece of crap!” Fists clenched, I scream, and kick the flat Michelin so hard that pain shoots through my foot. Whimpering, I pull the cell phone from my pocket. No reception. My jaw clenches, but before I verbalize my colorful thoughts, my father’s voice whispers in my ear: “You’re stranded two hours on a deserted highway and you wonder why your cell phone still doesn’t work. How stupid can you get?”

I whirl, breath caught in my throat. He’s not there. Nothing is—just giant cactus, sand, and miles and miles of empty road. All I see in either direction are heat waves shimmering above the asphalt. My eyes dart to the trunk … closed. “Get a grip, girl,” I tell myself then fold my hands to calm their shake.

Fear takes the form of a pounding heart and an acrid taste in my mouth when I catch a movement out of the corner of my eye. It’s just a lizard skittering across the sand. I pick up a rock and throw it at the damned thing, but I miss. I hate things that skitter.

Wiping perspiration from my lip, I'm careful not to snag the fresh piercing. Wait. Do I hear a car?

Moments later an old, dust-covered station wagon pulls up beside me. The female who rides shotgun wears a bitter, down-in-the-mouth expression. It suits her. Dark eyes widen as they travel from my dyed black hair to the pierced eyebrows, over my nose ring, and across the three studs in my lips. No, lady, I'm NOT dressed for Halloween I think, but I keep quiet. The woman’s mouth has fallen open. Her eyes continue downward to my white blouse and plaid-skirted uniform that I hate with a passion. They come to rest on my right leg – the one with the sacrilegious tattoo. The air she sucks in hisses over her teeth. She turns away, mutters something then stares straight ahead.

It’s an interesting reaction, although tame compared to my father’s. A glance down at my wrists reveals lingering bruises, reminders of Dad's response to the blasphemous artwork. The memory of his offended rage brings an inward smile.

The driver grunts then reaches over the woman to crank the window the rest of the way down. His blue eyes seem kind. He looks nothing like the person the Bible says I’m supposed to honor . . . yet something about the blonde man is unpleasantly paternal. Unseen fingers tap at the base of my neck and traipse down my spine.

When the man offers me a lift, I hesitate then refuse with a shake of my head. “Are you sure?” His expression is concerned, but his next words make me feel stupid—a thing dear old Dad accomplished daily. “It’s a good thirty miles in either direction to the next town; it wouldn’t be wise for you to stay out here all alone.”

What business is it of his? There’s no way I’m getting in a car with this jackass! I pull out my cell phone and wave it in the stifling air. “Thanks anyway, but I just talked to my father. He’ll be here any minute.”

Two hours later I’m startled out of a fitful sleep when a car horn blasts behind me. Damp hair matted to my forehead, I get out of the front seat wearing a scowl. Arms spread, I yell, “What?”

A stocky man with a poor excuse for a mustache exits the Escalade. The shape of his face reminds me of Casper the Friendly Ghost, only this guy has hair. His eyes are drawn to my flat tire. “Um, sorry," he says as he rubs sweat off his thick neck. "I just thought maybe you needed help.”

He’s got chubby cheeks, just like Dad’s.

“I’m alone,” the man says as he puts his hands in front of his chest, palms out. “But don’t worry; you’re completely safe. I stopped because I hate to see a lady in trouble, especially one so young. You don’t even look old enough to drive.”

I’m not; I turned fifteen last week, but that’s none of his damned business. Staring at his odd face, I think If Dad were here, he’d ask this goofy-looking guy how stupid could he be for driving a big SUV when a sedan is so much smarter. My father used to tell anyone who'd listen that if he had his way, SUVs would be outlawed. Yeah, if he ruled the world, I wouldn’t have been the only one who got screwed.

“If you want me to change that flat for you, you’d better let me know quick,” Casper says, arms folded across his chest. He's tapping his foot. “I have to get back on the road soon; I still have a lot of driving ahead of me.”

This time, I don't hesitate; I wave my cell and say my father is on his way.

It’s late afternoon now and the lack of food and water is making me loopy. My throat’s dry, and I’m quite possibly on the brink of dehydration. “How long am I going to be stuck in this particular hell,” I say into the motionless air. My voice is gravelly which tells me I’ve been screaming again, although I don’t remember. I hope I can dial it down.

A glance in the rearview mirror reveals a car in the distance. I get out of my father’s sedan, open the hood then stand next to the driver’s side door. A slight breeze comes from nowhere, and I catch the stench from the trunk, thanks to this ridiculous heat and my rotten father. A black sedan, empty except for the driver, slows as it passes. For an instant I think it’s not going to stop, but the guy pulls over and backs up. He gets out of his car – tall, redheaded and covered in freckles. He looks to be in his early thirties, so why does he remind me of Dad?

“You’re alone – on this stretch of road?” the man asks. “How stupid can you get?”

My fists clench. Hatred pulses through my veins. Something inside me shifts; and my mouth falls open, yet I can’t breathe. Paralyzed, I watch as the man’s red hair turns to a grayish brown, and I see his dark green eyes fade to blue. Then the freckles on his face disappear only to be replaced by creases and lines. He reaches into my car and removes the keys from the ignition then shuffles toward me just like my father’s done every night since I hit puberty. My limbs unlock. Each step the man takes toward me, I’m propelled one back. The blood pumps through my ears so loud that his words are unintelligible. All I see is my hypocritical, bible-thumping father heading in my direction to force himself on me . . . again! He rounds the car toward the trunk, keys poised and ready for insertion. The lock sticks. Dad crouches and wiggles the key.

Sun glints off the knife as I pull it from the sheath on my thigh. The weapon feels good in my hand; its weight calms me. Head cocked, all my senses are alive as I once again quietly approach the man who's made my life a living hell. A sense of release washes over me at the sound of blood gurgling in his throat; the blade's made a clean slice through my tormentor's wrinkled skin. Eyes closed, I savor the blessed moment.

Then I look down.

What I see before me, crumpled in a heap, is the body of a tall, redheaded man covered in freckles. And blood. Oh God, there's so much blood! Voices reverberate in my skull. It takes all I have to fight the urge to scream again. Dazed, I blink until my father’s license plate comes into focus.

But that can't be! We never lived in Nevada.

Stumbling back, I fall then scoot several feet away from the redhead’s inert body. Questions tumble through my mind: Whose car is this … and who’s that guy in the trunk? Or is there a guy in the trunk?

Lifeless faces of my father and six other men flash in front of my eyes. The voices in my head start again. Then, as if I'm looking at a movie screen, the blur in my mind sharpens, and I watch myself struggle to lift dead weight into the trunks of different colored sedans. The vision changes; it's like someone pressed the fast forward button, and I'm driving, driving, driving until the sedans run out of gas or break down alongside the road. Each time I'm stranded, my father appears and each time I rake the knife across his throat.

Am I insane?

The moment that question becomes a thought, a shaft of light flashes behind my eyes. Stark fear grips me, but I force myself to get the keys from the redhead’s lifeless hand and open the trunk.

I don’t recognize the man inside.

My father’s laughter rings in my ear as he repeats his question about my intelligence. "You bastard,” I scream. “How many times do I have to kill you before you stay dead?"

 

Bio: C.F. Ciccozzi's goal is to entertain readers, one story at a time. "The Mayan Calendar" will be published at Apollo's Lyre this March

0
0
0
s2sdefault

Donate a little?

Use PayPal to support our efforts:

Amount:

Genre Poll

Your Favorite Genre?

Sign Up for info from Short-Story.Me!