Short Stories Read online

  He saw a bit of space ahead of him that appeared devoid of any stars and he was moving toward it.

  It gave him a morbid feeling just seeing it from the distance as it mirrored every human fear he'd ever felt.

  He tried looking away in the hope that he would travel the other way, it was a dream after all.

  It wasn't working. No matter how much he fought, something was pulling him toward the nothingness.

  Shutting his eyes didn't help either.

  ‘Please don't let me go into that darkness,’ he prayed.

  He felt as though the universe was going to vomit him into oblivion.

  He was motionless.

  He was in the nothing.

  He screamed.

  No one heard.

  He was in the nothing.

  Back At The House

  Indoors two paramedics were hurrying up to his bedroom.

  “I don't know what happened,” his wife said, “when I woke up, he was like this, just staring at the ceiling. I tried to wake him, but he hasn't stirred.”

  One of the paramedics shone a torch into Dale's open eyes.

  “His pupils have blown,” he said to his colleague. “He must have hemorrhaged. He’s brain dead.”

  Dale's wife collapsed to the floor.

  But Dale was not brain dead at all.

  Dale was in the nothing.

  Train Of Observation

  It's the school holidays, so instead of the bustling rowdiness of school children, the train is crowded with families sitting side by side with commuters who have sneaked out of work early on this sunny Friday afternoon. I sit in my usual place and let the brain juices flow. Who are all these people around me? I can never know. I’m a prime example of that. I shake the thoughts of my own life away as I don’t want to think about that right now.

  The Arab looking man next to me is so irritating, talking on his mobile. I can’t understand a word. He stinks by the way, but I’m just too tired to move and I cover my face nonchalantly.

  At least the man sitting on my other side is clean. He's wearing a suit, he looks like an estate agent. What’s he reading, I have to know? Keeping my head as still as I can, I move only my eyes. Damn these bifocals, I can’t see a thing. Whoops, there’s a man opposite watching me, how embarrassing. My attention focuses toward him. He’s about fifty, stocky build with gray hair. Filthy with builder dirt. He’s wearing a bright orange jumpsuit. He works on the railway lines I think. Oh no, yuk, he's picking his ear, stop looking Poppy! Why didn't you stop looking woman, you really didn't need to see the finger enter the mouth. Eww

  What’s the matter with the young girl beside him? She looks sad, all crouched over, like she’s in pain or mental anguish. Her St. Christopher glistens while dangling from around her neck. Does she realize we can all see her breasts in that position? Reading my thoughts, she sits up and focuses on the adverts above. Massive blue eyes, beautiful and amazing lips. I wish I had lips like that! She has African in her with those features, a white African woman. She crouches down again as if she’d known I was done looking.

  My eyes move along the seats to the woman busy listening to her iPod, head moving to the beat. Suddenly, she takes the earphones off to get something out of her bag. A tablet. She slips it into her mouth, holding her head back as far as possible, looking like a stretching swan. I can see her throat, trying to swallow the tablet while she coaxes it down with the stroking movement of her hand. She is going red and I feel concern. Is she choking? No, she’s fine. She puts her iPod back in.

  At the next stop a big family get on. Mum and four children, ages five to twelve I reckon. Three girls and a boy. I feel for him having all those sisters to contend with. What part of the world are they from, being so dark skinned, navy almost, Sudan, Uganda, I don't know? They are all wearing shorts which make their legs look longer and quite beautiful. There is a chubby one. I feel sorry for her. She's identical to her sister only fat. Mum seems pleasant enough. She pulls out some fresh pineapple and shares it out, dripping it all over the place. Why would she feed them such sticky food? When they're done, the chubby one wipes her hands on the seat. The builder looks on in disgust. I assume he's racist.

  Here's my stop. I walk up the stairs and head for home. Dread fills my heart. I hate this part of the day, going home. I reach my door and before I've had time to put the key in, he opens it. Such a good looking man, how foolish I was to fall for that.

  “Why are you late?” he slaps the back of my head.

  I have no chance to reply.

  “Just move you idiot. Get upstairs. I've been waiting."

  I run up stairs, straight to the kitchen, hands shaking as I put the kettle on for his drink. He goes back into the lounge and I hear the sound of the chanting football crowds.

  I quietly rummage into my bag and find the bottle. As I stir his coffee, I drip the poison in. It's a good job he has such a sweet tooth as the sugar will disguise the bitter taste, or does the arsenic taste at all, I don't know? It was so easy to buy, quite legal. I researched it on the Internet, "what is the best way to poison someone?" It was amazing, there was even a link where I could order some. Okay, it doesn't say poison on the label, it's some kind of fertilizer, but I don't care as long as it does the trick.

  I feel nervous and yet excited as I hand him his arsenic-laced drink. His eyes focus on the stupid football and I sit down on the armchair opposite to watch.

  "What are you doing sitting?" he screams.

  I jump back up and run back to the kitchen.

  I can hear him slurping his drink from the other room. How I hate that sound!

  "Poppy!" he yells, I ignore him.

  "Poppy!" He stumbles around the room.

  He cries.

  I sit down and sip my coffee, mmm, tastes nice.

  There is a loud thud as he collapses to the floor.

  Peace at last.

  I walk in the room and turn the TV over. I'm just in time for Columbo. I love Columbo. I sit down to watch it.

  I will deal with the mess later.

  Fun Night

  Thursday club was held in a different part of the church, near the belfry. The décor was funky with pop star posters and zany paintwork all over the walls. It was the seventies. There was even a bar!

  I left home at six, called over the road for Eleanor and we both walked to the vicarage to pick up the church door key. We were always the first to arrive at the club, just to get it all prepared. We got there and opened the huge gates slowly as they were too heavy to move any faster. The key to the wooden church door was massive, like something out of a Harry Potter movie. We pushed open the door to reveal a spiral staircase to the right, and a glass door leading to the vestibule straight ahead. We were feeling a bit nervous at this point, which was usual, as the building was old and creepy. We switched on the lights and ran up the stone spiral steps to our clubroom, leaving behind the darkness of the main church which was always full of life on Sundays. The room was shaped like an attic and had two big stain glass windows.

  Eleanor put the kettle on while I got the record player ready. As we drank our tea Eleanor asked me if I'd ever been up to the belfry. I had, when I was very little. It wasn't something I liked to remember. “What happened?” she asked me. “My friend Linda took me up there with her mates" I replied. "She was older than me, they all were. We were so scared but trying not to show it as it was a dare.” I paused for thought. “Carry on,” Eleanor pleaded. “We walked and the more we walked the darker it became. It was a winding and narrow staircase like the one we have here but with no windows. Nearing the top we saw light again as we entered a big room. I remember the grayness. There were sheets with lumps under them on the floor. They looked like bodies. Someone shouted, ‘dead bodies.’ We flew down the stairs again, nearly tripping over each other, with our hearts in our mouths. I didn't want to talk about it any more. I could feel a lump in my throat and shivering down my spine.

  During this quiet moment of pausing, I
thought I could hear something. So did Eleanor, I could tell from the expression on her face. We heard it again. This time we knew we hadn't imagined it, as it was as clear as if it had been in the room. Someone was walking up the spiral staircase leading to our room. We just sat looking at each other, too frozen to speak even. Then the footsteps stopped. We looked towards the silence, expecting the door to open. We waited. Still the silence remained. The door did not move. I could hear my heart pounding. All of a sudden Eleanor jumped up, grabbed a broom and headed for the door. I thought she was mad. I wasn't following suit. She swung the door open to find no one was there. She noticed that the door to the belfry was open. Had whoever it was gone straight past them up to the belfry? She beckoned me to run and that’s exactly what I did. We didn't stop until reaching the vicarage.

  The vicar's wife gave us lemonade and cake. It all seemed rather silly then. He was standing by the fireplace looking deep in thought. Sucking on his pipe, he said, "maybe I gave you too much to cope with.” "Please" we begged, "we were being silly." The vicar replied, "Let's walk around there now. We’ll cancel the club for tonight."

  It all seemed fine went they went back and there was no one to be found. It might have been a very different outcome, however if they'd checked the belfry.