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Latest Stories

October 14, 2018
Crime Stories Julie Achilles

The Boy in a Hoodie

I am walking along the road, the road that leads to home and I see him. I do not know him but for some reason I know there is a significance. He is casually dressed and wearing a grey hoodie which is pulled up, yet, I can still see his face. I can see that he…
October 14, 2018
Fantasy Stories M.B.Manteufel

Two Heads are Better than One

He opened the jewelry box with one gloved hand, holding steady a slim flashlight with the other. He cursed under his breath. Empty. Again. Matt Sanders wasn’t used to bad luck. He had become one of the best in his profession because he refused to rely on…
October 14, 2018
General Stories Julie Harris

The Man Who Left His Wife With A Goat

The morning’s warm rain finally drizzled to a wind-blown spray before a strong sun blazed in the cloudless sky. Christine stood motionless at the kitchen sink staring beyond the teardrop stained window to where he stood watching from the summer house.…
October 14, 2018
Mystery Stories Salvatore Difalco

Vertigo

Juan rose to pee in pitch darkness, his eyes fluttering. He found the toilet, but peed all over the unraised seat, splashing his shins and toes. Catching jeweled glints of chrome and glass, his eyes oriented to the darkness. Incomprehensible, his next move—he…
September 09, 2018
Crime Stories Frankie Neptune

It's The End of The World as We Knew It

 Reggie Benangin had always been this way. He couldn’t do anything right. The following is true - Though not even Polish, he couldn’t screw in a light bulb. When growing up in Westfield, New Jersey, his father knew never to ask Reggie to cut the grass. Every…
September 09, 2018
Horror Stories Vidal Martinez

La Llorona

I almost slam my head on the dashboard when the car suddenly stops in the middle of the dirt road. “What are you doing?” He looks behind me. “Right there… those trees,” he says. “Are you serious?” I look out the passenger window, and in the dark distance is…
September 09, 2018
Mystery Stories Roger Ley

Curing Brian

The day started pleasantly enough, we’d met for our regular game of tennis, the old reliables, Chris, Marilyn, Malcolm and me. Then the man in the dirty suit appeared and everything changed. It was summer and the weather was warm, so we’d used the outside…
September 09, 2018
Romance Stories John L. Yelavich

Sunny Souls

I have fond recollections of my high school years roaming the hallways with my best pals and their gals. We all thought that we embodied the right stuff or whatever that mindset was. We were all proud, cocky and cool and never wanted to be labeled pretenders…
September 09, 2018
Science Fiction Stories Majoki

Snarge

What do you think we hit? Can’t say. We went through the critters pretty fast. I’ve never seen anything quite like that flock: multicolored, almost metallic-looking, circling in a protective formation. Very strange. We’ll have to wait until the techs evaluate…
August 21, 2018
Fantasy Stories Roger Ley

Making Babies

Martin Riley unlocked his front door, stepped over the threshold, and stopped dead. Everything was different: furniture, décor, layout, all changed. It didn’t look like his house anymore. A voice behind him said, “Hello Darling, I have some wonderful news.…
August 21, 2018
Science Fiction Stories R.Scott Venegas

How Far Back?

“The test subjects’ mental acuity, such as it is, and physiology are unaffected, the samples it obtained show little out of the ordinary, however it is quite agitated.” “Is it?” “Yes, seems it was spotted and chased.” “Did it do any damage during the…
August 21, 2018
Romance Stories Susan C. Nigra

A Lie is Born

Dec. 12, 2012 was a dreary uninspired winter day, and also the day I returned to relive the beginning of the lie. It was 43 years ago when I first came here at the tender age of 23 in high spirits... high on life, high on being young; and I have returned a…

 

 

A crowd gathered at Davenport, Iowa Train Station. Murmurs and hushes traveled through the peering heads. The attention of about a dozen pairs of eyes was caught by the argument taking place down on the train tracks. From above, the silver full moon stared down from a starless sky painted pitch black.

“Someone call the police. Please, I don’t have a cell phone.” Squeaked a skinny old lady with close-set eyes, a long beak-shaped nose and a green and white feathered hat; the latter only added to her bird-like features. But nobody paid any attention to the bird lady’s plea. The small crowd of travelers had their attention paid elsewhere.

“Quiet down lady,” a gladiator-size man barked to the women’s suggestion. The man wore size 15 work boots and seemed to have stolen the hands of an adult ape. “This is the city, crazy people are a dime a dozen!” He said.

A wave of shushes cruised through the audience of about a dozen or so people. Elbows were nudged, and shoulders were squeezed in to make room. Crowds are always a curious bunch. Immediately people began to whip out their cellphones. More than half of the onlookers had turned on the camera or camcorder. Watches were currently forgotten about, which just a minute ago had many of the owners glancing at the hands of time.

“How’d he get on the tracks over there?” a teenage girl with short pink hair asks.

“Shhhh” a Spanish woman with too much perfume on says, poking a tan finger to her mouth.

“Hopped the gate.” Someone said.

Meanwhile, about twenty feet down from the end of the waiting dock a heated argument grows louder from between the train tracks. The man screams, “What are you gonna do More? Huh? Run again? Get on that train? We almost got caught last time!”

The other man barks back, “I know… I fucking know all right!” Morrison screams at Thomas, his small stature barely reaching five feet, is shaking with nervousness and even more so with fear. Morrison lowers his voice, “We didn’t hide the body good enough man.” He looks toward the dark empty tunnel and then glances back down at Tommy’s trembling hands; he could tell Thomas was scared too. He knows he is because he knows him all to well. Morrison has known Tommy ever since the first time they “Played” with a girl… played until she had to go home... and go to bed, the painful thought cuts across his mind like a knife.

“We should have buried her,” Morrison hisses through his paper-thin lips, then, as if speaking to himself, “like I said too.”

Back up on the edge of the waiting platform, a businessman shoves his way to the front of the crowd. “Come on, come on,” he growls and taps the right toe of his Steve Maddens, “B-seven, B-seven. Let's go!” He says and keeps glancing back and forth from his gold Rolex to the tracks in anticipation of his train. His watch reads five to eight, and according to the electric display hanging behind him from the station’s ceiling, Train B-7 is set to arrive at 8:01 p.m.

From the back of the small crowd a man with a pinstripe suit on says, “What is going on down there, why’s that man yelling for? Is he arguing?”

“Because he is a dumbass.” The construction worker, fit to be in the Spartan army, cursed.

The nosey crowd listens in on the heated conversation that is taking place on the train tracks.

The bird-lady convinced a teenage girl to stop taking a video and call the police. The only other noises that can be heard over the yelling is now the blaring of sirens.

The snooping mob squishes closer to the end of the waiting station’s concrete ledge, trying to hear the commotion down below. High heels and dress shoes are well over the yellow warning paint with the bold red letters advising to STAY BACK.

From below, “You get on that train, it’s over for good! Do you get that More? You and I are both over! What I created is over. You’ll destroy me too. Don’t you get that? No, no Morrison, don’t you step on that track. We have to agree on this!” He screamed. Greenish-blue veins palpated from the side of his neck as if to emphasize what he was saying. He needed to convince Morrison to stay put when the train came.

The crowd moved in even closer trying to figure out what would happen next. The screeching sirens grew even louder as eight o’clock ticked into existence. From the distance of the dark tunnel, speeding wheels could be heard howling. Faces with an expression of puzzlement etched most of the gathering. The assembly of travelers watched the argument carry on, as it began to boil.

“Her face won’t leave my fucking head. It’s gnawing through my brain like a fucking termite!” Morrison screamed right by Tommy’s ears so loud it could be heard over the cries of the police sirens and the screeching of steel wheels.

Thomas responds, “I know what you're thinking. You think you can just jump on that train, and it will all go the fuck away! Huh! That it?” He yells and reaches for Morrison’s head. He grabs a hold of his skull and pushes his palms hard against his ears. “Listen to me More! More, I don’t want to die on the run! Not here man. Not now, Morrison. We can still get away, it doesn’t have to end dammit!

Thomas takes a step away from the tracks.

But then Morrison takes a step closer.

Meantime, two Davenport police cruisers skid to a stop in the stations parking area. Four cops come dashing out, three males and one blonde-haired female. The heavyset one of the cop quartet wobbles over while spitting words into his radio fumbling to press the Mic button.

Back by the tracks, the crazy show is about to come to an end.

One step forward.

One step back.

Thomas continues his attempt to wheedle his partner in crime, “Don’t forget that I made you. What you are, the reasonyou’re alive is because of me. You can’t control me! I created you!” He shrieks as loud as his small body is capable of. Much louder than how his old man used to holler when he came home drunk or high, or—often—both.

But Morrison only shakes his head, slowly. Then turns away from Thomas. Again as if speaking to himself he says, “No, Icontrol us now. I’m done killing, I’m done running away, it’s over. No more Thomas. No more Killing.” And with that Thomas leaves. Now it’s only Morrison waiting for his ride, the ride that would take him away.

A robotic female voice comes over the loudspeakers above. “Please step back from the yellow line. Please step back from the yellow line. Train B-7, non-stop to Rock Island Illinois.

The cop quartet makes their way up on the stage finally. They scream and yell, but Morrison isn’t listening. Train B-7 has arrived on time. Morrison thinks, no more running.

The giant, vibrant eye of the big steel machine blast through the darkness of the tunnel. “WAAANK! WAAANK! WAAANK! WAAAAAANK!” The horn roars, warning everyone to get the hell out of the way.

“He’s gonna get hit!” The girl with pink hair screams. Morrison hears this; he can hear all the chatter from the crowd above him on the stage. He hears one of the male cops commanding him to, “Step away from the tracks. Stand down sir!” A female cop is ordering him to, “Put your hands in the air! Now!” He hears, too, the warning robotic voice from above. Morrison can hear all this. But what he is concentrating on is the rattling of the steel wheels vibrating on the metal tracks. The termites will be gone soon… no more bugs… no more Thomas. Morrison thinks as he digs the tips of his toes into the stone gravel floor getting ready to jump.

The silver, steel snake shoots sparks of spittle as it puts on the brakes. But when Thomas Morrison jumps on the nose of the locomotive, Train B-7 is still coming at killing speed. Like a fly crashing into a car’s windshield, SPLAT! Bloody chunks of raw meat spray the windshield of Train B-7. Thomas’s blood is sprinkled all over the gawking crowd. Morrison’s bones and flesh explode like fireworks over the waiting platform. The businessman’s slick black shoes are now speckled red.

For Morrison, the voices of the crying girls are erased for good now. His mind is lost amongst his splattered brain. With no more Thomas, Morrison can finally be at peace. No more murders, no more running. No more hurting those innocent girls like Thomas made him do. It is over. No more.

Overhead, the moon peeks out from behind an ebony cloud, still looking, still watching as a silent witness to the pandemonium that is mankind.

 

The Davenport Daily

-Guilt Trip-

 

Last night at the Davenport Central Train Station a middle age man (Thomas Morrison-37) jump onto the front of a speeding Amtrak passenger train. Four Davenport city police officers that were called by one of the bystanders were at the scene when it happened. A large group of civilians witnessed what the authorities are calling a suicide. Harriett Cladzick, who was traveling to visit with her grandkids, witnessed this bizarre act, she told reporters, “That crazy man kept screaming at himself like he was having an argument. I had a young gal call the police. That man was holding his head, hands going wild, taking steps back and forth and then, well oh dear ... he just ... oh my, he just leaped.” She wasn’t the only one who claimed that Morrison was mentally disturbed. Officer Nancy Duncan of the DPD reported that Thomas Morrison was yelling at himself and going back and forth in two different voices as he argued with his split personality. Police searched the mobile home of Thomas Morrison, and what they found is stomach twisting. A young teenage girl— (Continue pg-6)

End

Trevor Abbud is a first-time author writing speculative fiction. Developing a taste for literature as a young child, Abbud took a serious interest in writing. His work has been published by Short-Story Me and has placed in the Sixfold Fiction Contest. Working as an at-home writer, Abbud is currently developing a novel and a collection of short stories.

 

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