AN ATTENDED DEATH
Fifteen Tales of Horror and Suspense
Inspired by Actual Events
The call came in at about 2 A.M and it was our turn to go. Outside, the storm raged, its electrical surges tripping alarms all over town. Investigation was an act of futility. Mother Nature was the only intruder but we had to go, just in case, protect and serve and all that jazz.
Bless me Father for I have sinned
"And when you are alone with your thoughts, I want
you to consider Revelations 3:15,16 from the Holy
Scriptures which says ‘I know thy works, that thou be neither cold nor hot, so then because thou art lukewarm I will spue thee out of my mouth."
Therapist of the Wind
The wind whisked into my office, unannounced, whooping its’ wordless pain as it blew open my door.
“I am utterly transparent,” it moaned on my couch, “it’s rare that anyone knows I’m even around.”
It spun in place, sucking dust to form its clothes, and exploded upwards in swelling indignation.
My first thought when the phone rang at 11:30 pm was that something must be wrong.
“Hello?” I said.
“Hello,” a voice answered but it was my voice in the receiver. “It’s me.”
The darkness has shown him a singleness of purpose; a purity of each moment, and seeing this, he believes the evidence has been around him, his entire life. All beautiful things: art, music, sculpture, literature, and everything creative; come from one place.
This track was recently remastered with music and effects in 2022
There is a man in my wall.
I was sitting at my desk which I keep in the living room because I work all the time. I face the windowed wall with the stairs to my back and type away at my edits and punctuation and I am often so lost inside that world that I hear nothing at all.
But I heard the man inside my wall.
His gaze was drawn to the shoreline outside the cabin and the makeshift boat dock just beyond. There in the morning fog was something he had not seen in all his years of coming here. A dark and rounded hump rested just off shore. Its’ details were smudged with atmosphere but it looked mechanical.
Bill has not left his closet in two weeks. He relieves himself in glass pitchers and plastic cups he has on the edges of the carpet floor. The odor is abysmal, but he no longer smells it.
Empty bags, cereal boxes and assorted cans litter the floor. His food is gone but the idea of leaving his safe place terrifies him. When his stomach pangs get too insistent, he eats the tongues from his shoes.
The Perfect Grout Line
At home, Manny stands beneath the fluorescents of his garage; looking, seeing. Trowels and sponges litter the top of his work table. His eyes dart to its’ lower shelf, lingering on the ceramic pots, plant stakes and his dead wife’s gardening gloves.