Night Work

By John McDonnell

Sarah woke up screaming. She sat up in the bed gasping for air, her heart pounding in her chest, sweat bursting out of her pores.

It took minutes to calm down, but echoes of the dream reverberated in her head. It was the same as before. Something was trying to strangle her. It was a dark shape close to her face, so close she could feel its heat, smell its rank breath. There were yellow eyes staring at her as the claws tightened around her neck.

She got up and stumbled into the bathroom, flicked on the light, and looked at herself in the mirror. In the harsh light she looked carefully at her neck for any marks. There was nothing.

She ran the water in the sink and splashed some on her face, then grabbed her bathrobe from the hook on the door and put it on. She found her slippers under the bed, and went downstairs, making her way by the light of the moon that streamed through the windows.

In the kitchen she went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of milk, then poured a glassful and drank it in one gulp. She wished Lou was here. He would know how to comfort her. But he was out. He worked nights as an EMT, and every time she heard a siren in the night, she thought of him working in the back of an ambulance, biting his lip the way he did when he was nervous. 

This is an excerpt from my latest e-book, "13 Scary Stories". It's available on Smashwords.

Amateur Night

By John McDonnell

“Halloween is my favorite holiday,” Cole said, looking through the Trick or Treat bag that the little boy dropped when he ran away screaming after Cole jumped out of the bushes in his clown costume. “I get to scare all these stupid little kids and take their candy.”

“It’s so easy,” his buddy Ted said, tearing open a bag of M&Ms and pouring its contents down his throat. “Little kids are all afraid of clowns.”

Cole had an orange fright wig on, and a clown costume with baggy pants and big shoes. He had painted his face white and put big red lips and a red bulbous false nose on. He was 17, and it was the third Halloween in a row that he had pulled this stunt. Ted was dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants. He just went along to help carry the candy they stole from the kids. This year they had tried a new neighborhood, because there was talk that parents would be out watching for them in their usual haunts.

“We still don’t have anything crunchy,” Ted said. “That’s my favorite. I don’t really like chocolate that much.” He had chocolate dripping from his mouth when he said this.

“Yeah, let’s keep going,” Cole said. “This next street over has some big old houses. I bet they give out a lot of candy.”

Sure enough, the street was teeming with children in their Halloween costumes. Every one of them had a parent, however, and Cole was afraid to scare the little kids when their parents were nearby.

“Damn,” he said. “Nothing happening here.”

“Yeah, but look at that house,” Ted said, pointing to a big Victorian style house with turrets and gables and a wrought iron fence around it. “It’s all lit up, and there are tons of kids coming out of it. They must give a lot of candy at that place, otherwise the kids wouldn’t be there. Let’s go and just pretend we’re trick or treating. Maybe we’ll get some crunchy candy.”

“Sure,” Cole said. “I’d rather scare some kids, but what the hell.”

By the time they walked up the long paved walkway most of the children had left. There was one small girl dressed as an angel walking down the steps from the porch, and she seemed to be alone. Cole didn’t see a parent around, so when the girl walked past him he pushed her down and took her bag.

“Hey,” the little girl said. “That’s my Trick or Treat bag!”

“Get out of here, kid,” Cole said, making a scary clown face at her. “Beat it, before I do something nasty to you.”

The little girl ran away crying.

Cole and Ted heard something behind them, and they turned to see a very small man on the porch who was looking at them. He was a midget, dressed in a clown outfit, with baggy polka dot pants, a black bowler hat, and a brown coat that was too big for him, with a large yellow flower in the lapel. He was grinning at them.

“That’s the spirit of Halloween,” he said. “Come up here, boys, and let me take a look at you.”

Cole and Ted went up the steps and the little man ushered them through the big oak door to the foyer of the house. There were circus posters hanging on the walls, newspaper clippings, and the smell of chocolate in the air.

“Let me shake your hand,” the little man said. “I always love to meet a fellow clown.”

Cole held out his hand and the little man clasped it firmly in his. There was a smell of electricity, a buzzing sound, and Cole jumped a foot in the air, then fell on the floor with a dazed look on his face. The little man laughed heartily at this.

“The old handshake buzzer,” he said. “Gets ‘em every time.”

Cole slowly got to his feet, but his eyes had a vacant look.

The little man turned to Ted, held out his lapel, and said, “Doesn’t this flower smell wonderful?”

Ted bent over to smell and got a squirt of something in his eyes. Within seconds his eyes were on fire, and he howled in pain.

The little man laughed again, and ushered the dazed boys into the living room, directly over a trap door that opened when they stepped on it, sending them tumbling down to the basement below.

Immediately there was a very loud growl, and then the sound of screaming and people running for their lives.

The little man adjusted his flower, smoothed his long coat and called into the kitchen. “You don’t have to worry about feeding the Beast, dear. I’ve found two amateurs who will provide him with an excellent supper.”

“Why thank you, dear,” came the voice from the kitchen. “And if there’s anything left over, I’ll use it for the next batch of chocolate. It’s always nice to add a little crunchiness, don’t you think?”

THE END
Copyright John McDonnell 2010. All rights reserved.

Big Hearted Fella

By John McDonnell

 

“It’s not goodbye, Sue, not at all.” He took another forkful of the fish and put it in his mouth. “This is delicious fish, by the way. Never had anything like it.”

“Don’t change the subject,” she said. “You’re saying goodbye.”

“No, I hate goodbyes. I hate endings.”

“But you cheated on me. I found the pictures on your computer terminal.”

“Now, Honey, I told you, I’m a man who can’t be tied down to one woman. My heart is too big. I see a beautiful woman and my heart turns flips. I’m a lover of beauty, a sentimentalist, a softie. That’s all it is.”

“We had vows.”

“I didn’t mean to break our vows. I had good intentions when I made them. I just, I just can’t help myself. You forgive me, don’t you Honey? Please say you do.”

“How can I forgive you? You cheated on me. Do you want some more fish?”

“Yes, I do. It’s delicious. I know what the problem is. It was hard for you to open up to me, wasn’t it? You don’t open up to many people. I think this will be good for you, it will open you up to new possibilities. We’ll all be friends. It’s a beginning, a new beginning for us, don’t you think?” He was getting very flushed, and there were beads of sweat on his forehead.

She watched him closely. “A new beginning?”

“Sure, that’s it. It’s a new chapter in our relationship. I’ll still see you, along with Dakota and Mandy, and maybe one or two other girls, but we’ll have such good times. Don’t you think that’s better, Honey? A beginning instead of an ending? Gee, it’s awfully hot in here. And I’m having trouble breathing. Honey, why are you looking at me like that?”

“It won’t be long now,” she said.

Suddenly he slumped over and fell to the floor. He looked up at her with wild eyes, questioning.

“Can’t move?” she said. “That’s the poison working. The fish you liked so much, it was blowfish. A delicacy in Japan, although it’s also very toxic. You have maybe an hour of consciousness, and you won’t be able to move during that time, but you’ll feel everything I do to you.”

She went over the drawer where she kept her utensils, opened it and pulled out a large carving knife. She ran her finger delicately along its razor sharp edge.

“It will be interesting to see how big your heart really is,” she said.

 THE END

Copyright John McDonnell, 2010. All rights reserved.

FROZEN TREAT

A #fridayflash story

By John McDonnell

The Mr. Sweety ice cream truck was as much a part of summer on the island as bikinis and sunburn, and when the kids heard its tinkling music they’d run from the beach with their money and line up to get their frozen treats.

The truck was owned by a man named Banana Joe, who wore a big floppy hat and pretended he liked kids, although the kids knew his smile was fake and his cheery manner disappeared when there were no parents around. Besides, he had one long fingernail, his pinky nail, and the kids thought that was weird.

Banana Joe had a specialty, miniature bananas dipped in chocolate sauce and frozen. He called them, “Banana Joe bars”. The kids loved them.

He had a brother named Willy who was not too smart, and he helped out on the truck, but Banana Joe was mean to him. He called him “Stupid,” and “Dummy”, and ordered him around.

One time Willy felt sorry for a little girl who didn’t have any money with her, and he gave her an ice cream bar for free. When Banana Joe found out about it he got angry at Willy and called him really bad names until Willy got tears in his eyes and looked embarrassed in front of the kids.

“You do that again and I’ll put you back in the home,” Banana Joe said.

“No,” Willy said. “Please, don’t do that, Joe.”

“I swear I will,” Banana Joe said. “I oughtta do it anyway. You’re more trouble than you’re worth, you moron. I oughtta put you back there where you belong.”

Willy’s lip was quivering, and he was wringing his hands.

The next day, when the kids heard the music from the truck and they ran to get their ice cream, Banana Joe wasn’t there. “He got sick,” Willy said. “I’m gonna sell the ice cream now.”

The kids all cheered, because they loved Willy. They lined up and fired their orders at him, and Willy tried his best, but he got all mixed up about what everybody wanted and how much everything cost. He took forever, and the kids were getting impatient. One teenaged girl tried to butt ahead of everybody.

“I’m tired of waiting,” she said. “I want a Banana Joe bar.”

“I’ll get to it,” Willy said. “Just give me a chance.”

“I want it now,” she said. “My Dad knows the mayor. He can get you kicked off this beach. Now!”

Willy wiped his brow, and said okay. He reached in the freezer and brought out a Banana Joe bar. The girl paid him and tore the wrapper off the bar. She bit into it, said, “Ow!” and cursed. “Why is this so hard?”

She looked closely at the place where she’d taken a bite. Her face changed, and her eyes got very, very big.

“Oh my God,” she said. She dropped the Banana Joe bar on the pavement and ran screaming down the beach.

In the noonday sun, you could see a fingernail protruding from the chocolate.

THE END
Copyright 2010 John McDonnell. All rights reserved.

The Thing In The Basement

A #Fridayflash Story

By John McDonnell

“Watch out for the thing in the basement,” Billy’s Uncle Hank used to say. He thought it was funny, and he’d smile when he told Billy about it. “Been down there a long time, since before I bought this house,” he’d say. “People told me about it, told me not to buy the house, but I didn’t listen. I know it’s there, though -- I can feel its presence. Like a cold, clammy feeling; it makes your skin crawl. You know something’s watching you, just waiting to pounce.”

Billy didn’t like his uncle. He was strange, had too many rules, and every rule had a punishment. The worst punishment was the basement. If you ever did something really bad, Uncle said, you would have to go downstairs where the thing lived.

The basement was called a “Michigan basement”. It was unfinished, with a bare earth floor and walls. There was a workbench, with tools scattered all around, and clutter everywhere. Old, broken furniture. Ancient toys. Old magazines moldering in stacks. A bare lightbulb in the ceiling. It smelled damp and musty, and there were strange noises that came from the shadows. His uncle came down here to do his woodworking, and he had an assortment of saws, lathes, and chisels. There was even a big industrial table saw that could cut thick planks of wood.

When Billy’s mother told him she was going away on vacation with his father and that he’d have to stay with his uncle for a week, he pleaded not to go.

“Now, Billy,” his mother said. “You’re being unreasonable. We can’t afford to hire a babysitter for you for the week, and we have no other close relatives living nearby. We’re not really friendly with any of our neighbors (you know I don’t believe in getting chummy with neighbors), so Uncle Hank is the only option we have. I don’t know why you keep saying you don’t like your Uncle Hank. Why, he’s my brother -- we’re so close, we could almost be twins.”

The first day, Billy broke a rule. His uncle had a strict rule about not wasting anything, and Billy accidentally tipped a liter bottle of soda over on the kitchen table, and all the soda poured out.

His uncle got red in the face, smiled, and said, “Well, Billy, I think for that infraction you need to spend some time in the basement.”

Billy begged him not to go, but his uncle didn’t listen. He grabbed Billy by the collar and marched him down the old wooden steps, then marched back up himself, closed the big wooden door and bolted it shut.

And then he turned out the light.

It was a good thing the house was set back from the road, and there were no neighbors close by, or they would have heard Billy’s screams. Billy’s uncle seemed not to notice the screams, or the pounding on the door, or any of the other noises that came from the basement. The next morning he came down to breakfast whistling a cheery tune. When he was finished eating his cereal, he said, “Well, Billy, I think you’ve had enough punishment for one night. Let’s see how you’re doing.”

When Billy’s mother got back from her trip and came to pick him up, she rang the doorbell over and over, but nobody answered. She tried the front door handle and found that the door was unlocked. She made her way through the house calling, “Billy, Hank, where are you?” In the kitchen she saw a cereal box on the sideboard, and a bowl and spoon in the sink.

The door to the basement was open.

She went downstairs slowly, calling, “Billy, Hank? Are you there?”

It was dark in the basement, and it took several moments before her eyes adjusted.

There was something at the far end of the room, by the table saw.

The thing in the basement moved toward her.

“Mama,” it said.

THE END

COPYRIGHT JOHN MCDONNELL, 2010. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Prime Cut, a #fridayflash story

By John McDonnell

“This is a wicked good steak,” Joey said. “Where’d ya get this meat, Angie?”

“You like it?”

“I love it. I never tasted nothing like it.”

“I got it from the supermarket. They have a new butcher in the meat department. He’s such a cute guy, blonde wavy hair, ice blue eyes. And so helpful. The kind of guy who really listens to a girl, and tries to help her out. Anyway, he has the best meat.”

“Yeah, well, that’s good, Angie. I’m glad you found a new friend. Now, listen, I’m gonna tell you something, but I don’t want you to cry. I hate it when you cry.”

“What’s that, Joey?

“I got a new girlfriend. Her name’s Honey, and she has a body on her like a damn Mack truck. I mean, she has curves on top of her curves. She has skin like, you could bounce a quarter off it.”

“You used to say that about me, Joey.”

“I can’t help it, Angie, I’m in love with her. You’re not crying are you?”

“I’m not crying, Joey.”

“That’s a switch. You always cry when I tell you about a new girlfriend.”

“I’m over that, Joey. I mean, after the 200th time, a girl gets used to it. Well, maybe not used to it, so much. You want another piece of steak?”

“Yeah, sure. This is the best meat I ever had. So what was it you were saying?”

“Nothing, just that I decided crying don’t do no good. I mean, what good did it ever do me to cry about you cheating on me on our wedding night? Or the time when I was in the hospital after my car accident, and you couldn’t come to see me right away because you had a date?”

“Angie, I told you, I promised that girl I’d take her out. I didn’t want to break a promise.”

“I know, I know. Here’s your steak. Good, isn’t it?”

“Better than the first one. I better finish this fast, though. I gotta date with Honey tonight. Funny thing, she hasn’t answered her cell phone all day.”

“I’m sure she’ll turn up eventually, Joey.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Now, here’s a nice little salad I made you.”

“Angie, you know I don’t like salad.”

“Joey, it’s good for you. You don’t eat enough salad. Besides, I fixed this one special.”

“Yeah, looks like you put some crazy new vegetables in it. What are these things, anyway. They look like little pink carrots, except -- what the? Is this a finger? What is this, a joke? It’s a joke, right? And wait, is this a ring? Oh my god, that’s the ring I just gave Honey!”

“Remember that nice butcher I told you about? Well, it turns out he’s a whiz with a knife. Oh, I’m sorry, Joey. Was there something wrong with the meat? You look like you have an upset stomach, sweetie. You’re turning all green.”

THE END

Copyright John McDonnell, 2010. All rights reserved.

Another Horrifying Flash Fiction Tale

I've been writing horror stories lately. Very short horror stories. My latest, The Smell Of Love is up on the Micro Horror site today. Here's the link!

My Flash Fiction Story Is Live Today

I recently started writing flash fiction again after a three year hiatus. My first published story from the new batch is live today at Flashes In The Dark magazine. It's a dark fantasy/horror/spec fiction called "Tick Tock". I appreciate any feedback you give me, readers. Also, if you're reading this after February 23, it will probably be archived. You can either search for it under Recent Posts in the right column, or under Archives for February, or under my name. I hope this is the first of many new stories that I will be publishing.

One big favor you could do for me, if you like the story, is to click on the icons at the end of it and submit the story to some social networking sites. Thanks!

Heart-Stopping Beauty

Sometimes I like to write horror stories. I wrote Heart-Stopping Beauty several years ago, and it was published in The Harrow magazine. Some people say it reminds them of "The Hunger", the David Bowie movie from a few years back. It gave me a chill to write it. I think it's a horrific horror story, but I'd be interested to know what others think.