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Latest Stories

May 27, 2023
Science Fiction Stories Daniel P. Douglas

A Course Toward Hope

Like countless times before, Braemore took to the smoky skies in his camo quadpod with another load of food and meds, all of which awaited a warm welcome in the camps west of the big river. He tapped his throttle pad with a gloved forefinger until it reached…
May 27, 2023
Flash Fiction Paweł Markiewicz

The Druid

In a Druid´s soul: gold of rainbow. A druid wanted to go into a forest and pick some fungi, to cook a magic super decoction from them. In the Druid´s soul: the Golden Fleece. He gathered some mushrooms such as the red-capped scaber stalks-fungi, a boletus…
May 27, 2023
General Stories Emanuel Diaz

Azgōn Unðá Blōðan

Amid a world brimming with clamor and chaos, Ivar Gunhild remained an enigma unto himself. A man perpetually shrouded in the veil of introversion, he navigated life with trepidation, his spirit burdened by an innate fragility. Fear seemed to be his constant…
May 25, 2023
Flash Fiction Frank Talaber

The Eyes Don't Lie

The bell jingled above the screen entrance door of the twenty-four hour Esso truck stop alerting the three of us sitting there that someone had entered. It was around two am, he was muscular, partly unshaven, smokes hung from his jean jacket waiting to be…
May 25, 2023
Poetry Paweł Markiewicz

The Responsive Awakening Of Springtide

The springtime wakes up in may glory and dreams in May-tender homeland O! Dreamy moony spring immortalize the enchantment of the Naiad forever! the pensiveness of a feather from crows you are black such a muse-like falchion thinker with many oboli I listen to…
May 25, 2023
General Stories Frank Talaber

Kodak Moments In Rose

I’d agreed to clean out some of dad’s stuff after he passed away. As I looked through his college journals, a picture fluttered free and fell to the floor. A black and white photo of a young woman leaning against a Harley. Black stiletto leather boots rose…
May 25, 2023
Science Fiction Stories Alyssa Gonzalez

Movement

“Don’t you know it’s rude to turn up in a woman’s bedroom uninvited?” The visitors quivered. It was hard to read that as an expression, taking place as it did on masses of slightly wet tentacles that occasionally flicked, waved, and rubbed against each other.…
May 25, 2023
General Stories Armita KH

Black Like Golden

In the maddening dark depths of the ocean, under a small boulder, lived a lonely little fish. As long as he could remember, his entire life had been spent under the same boulder .Sometimes when he opened his eyes, boredom and loneliness forced him to take a…
May 24, 2023
Romance Stories Stephanie Dolan

The Poop Deck

Sitting in the too-warm classroom, I drummed my fingers on the desk. Staring out the window, my vision clouded. I didn’t really see anything aside from the far-off horizon-line of the ocean. I thought I could almost hear the surf rolling in as I focused on…
May 21, 2023
General Stories George Primov

The Customer is Always Right, Right???

The dreadful phone rings, jolting me like a vicious Taser and its high-pitched tone drills straight through my head. I have exactly 5 seconds before it rings a second time and this is when the soulless mainframe in the bowels of a nondescript, huge…
May 21, 2023
Flash Fiction George Primov

Nia

Nobody at the ward knew where she came from, or if that was her real name. She appeared one hot May morning from nowhere, barely dragging her exhausted feet on the scorching asphalt, rib cage protruding in the air, tail hanging loosely between hind legs,…
May 21, 2023
General Stories George Primov

Alexandra Takes Care of business

A dark shadow knocking loudly on the windshield ended his afternoon nap in the shade of the cathedral. Startled, he rubbed his bloodshot, sleep-laden eyes, and was ready to bless the intruder and his immediate womenfolk, when a red paper showing a man with an…

The old man walked gingerly down the dim lighted back alley official known as Keegan Street.  Once a bustling commercial area of Porterville, the old street was now in a state of decay and long forgotten by most people living in the area.  He walked silently, head down, much like any other man in his late 80’s.  But Argus McKane was not like other men.  That’s for sure.

McKane stopped at an old grey door with peeling paint and fumbled for his keys.  Argus had lived at 105 Keegan Street for longer than he could remember and could walk the area almost blindfolded.  Which was good given his failing eye sight and feeble condition.

The old man opened the door and went inside.  The stairs immediately behind the front door took McKane up to a modest one bedroom apartment that he was renting.  Over the years, Argus had paid enough in rent to actually own the whole building if he had just been wise enough to purchase it over 31 years old.  But that had not been the case and Argus didn’t care.

McKane went up the stairs and entered the small kitchen area.  He turned on the old stove and started to prepare a can of soup for dinner.  He didn’t eat much and tended to have the same meals on most days.  Canned soup and white bread.  It made shopping easy for Argus.

People in Porterville had a hard time remembering Argus even though he had lived in the area all his life.  He was a quiet man, a man of few words.  In fact, many people had trouble remembering anything that he had said.  He generally just nodded or grunted if approached by anyone in town.

But Argus had a history, a long forgotten history that he had successfully covered up for years.  In truth, Argus had once been a successful businessman, operating a mill which had once been located at the eastern most end of Keegan Street.  The mill had once dominated wheat processing in southwestern Ohio.  McKane had established the business with his best friend, Jonathan Grugen.  Together, the two men worked long hours and through their sweat, they built a milling empire which at its peak had employed 215 men.  But over the years, the mill started to falter and employment cuts had to be made to keep the business solvent.  Then there was the fire that largely consumed the mill building.  What was left of the old structure was shuttered and ultimately torn down in favor of new development.  Over the years, the business that had provided growth for the small town that became Porterville was largely forgotten.

McKane put his hot soup on a snack table in the living room area of the apartment and turned on the radio.  Argus was too cheap to have a TV.  He did have a set a number of years ago.  An old Zenith black and white set with vacuum tubes.  But when the TV failed and Argus found no stores in southwestern Ohio which carried vacuum tubes any longer, he just decided not to bother replacing the old Zenith.  That was back in 1984.

The old radio was not in much better condition than the Zenith but at least it still worked.  Argus had the radio tuned to an AM station that he listened to for news.  The dial was never changed so he didn’t have to deal with finding another channel with failing eye sight.

The radio news for this evening was boring and monotonous so soon Argus was dosing off.   His sleep; however, was interrupted by a familiar voice that seemed to come from the radio.

“Argus, Argus” the voice called out as the old man woke in a start.  “Argus why did you kill me?”  The voice was initially calm but became shrill as the words “kill me” came forth.

“Who, who’s there?” asked the old man as he nervously looked around the modestly furnished room in a state of fear.

“You know damn well who’s here” came the reply which seemed to emanate from the radio.

Argus rose from his chair and walked nervously around the room.  It couldn’t be.  There is no way this could be happening.

“Jonathan, is that you?”

“Yes, Argus.  I have come to see you.  I have come back to find out why you left me to die in that fire.”

The old man started to sweat as he continued to walk around the room.  “You can’t be here.  You’re dead.  You died in the mill fire.”

“Did I?  My body was never found Argus.  How can you be so sure?”

The old man continued to move around the room in an effort to find any actual corporal being within his apartment.  No one was around.

“Jonathan, I didn’t kill you.  I, I tried to find you but the fire was too strong.”

“Liar!  You knew where I was.  I was calling for your help and you ignored me.”

“Jonathan, that’s not true.  You have always been my friend.  I cared about you.  I still care about you…”

“You only cared about the money.  That is why you started the fire.  The money.  The insurance we had on the mill.”

“No Jonathan.  That’s not true.”

“Argus, where is the money?  Where have you hidden our money?”

The old man was perspiring more than ever as his eyes darted around the room.  This just couldn’t be happening.  The fire was nearly 50 years ago.

“I, I haven’t spent any.  I can’t….”  The old man stuttered as he tried to reply.  He turned the volume knob on the old radio to “off” but the voice still continued.

“You can’t spend it because you worship having it.  It’s your god.  You can’t tolerate the thought of spending any of it.”

The old man looked around, not knowing what to say in reply.  Then the voice spoke again.

“Argus, you know what you must do.  It’s been too long.  You must make amends….”

As if in a stupor, the old man walked into the kitchen and picked up a pen.  The note was short since there was not much to say.  He put the pen down and walked to the old gas stove.  As if in a trance, Argus turned on all of the burners and let the gas fill the room.  He fell to the ground and sat against the wall of the room.  Would he finally have peace?

 

Epilogue

 

The fire department and police came to 105 Keegan Street early the next morning when a 911 call came in for a gas odor at the building.  The gas to the building was turned off and when the firemen entered, they found the limp body of the old man.  The note on the stove seemed strange but after investigating scene, the police decided that the wishes outlined in the note should be honored.

Emily Grugen, the only child of the late Jonathan Grugen, seemed puzzled when summoned to the Porterville Police Department.  She explained to the officer that she did not know of anyone named Argus McKane and to be honest, she had barely even known her biological father.  As she explained, her father had been killed in an unfortunate fire many, many years ago and as a result, she had been raised by her mother and stepfather.

The officer escorted Emily to the Porterville Community Bank where she was handed the key to safe deposit box #34 and then ultimately shown to a private room. Inside the room, Emily opened the box that once had belonged to Argus McKane and shuffled through the papers.  To her astonishment, she found cash inside multiple unmarked envelopes which totaled $530,000.  The cash was in crisp, uncirculated bills which were all dated in September 1965.

A yellowed newspaper article tucked inside the safe deposit box provided a brief story about a 1964 fire which had occurred at the McKane-Grugen Mill and how Jonathan Grugen had presumably perished in the fire.  The article stated that the old mill had been in decline for years and how it was unlikely that the surviving partner, Argus McKane, would rebuild the business.  The estimate business loss quoted in the article was a value of approximate one half a million dollars.  Nothing else was in the safe deposit box.

 

The End

Author’s Bio: Tom Schmidt is a Chemical Engineer working in medical diagnostics in upstate New York.  He enjoys creative writing and is currently working on the “Paul Garigan Crime Mysteries”, a collection of short stories centered around a Malibu based police detective which he hopes to publish in the future.

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