Scruples

The highway had flooded, forcing Sam to detour onto an old back road; but at least the rain had stopped. She’d driven through gloom for hours, adding to the depressing atmosphere of the desiccated scenery. There wasn’t much to see except overgrown fields and an occasional dilapidated farmhouse.

 

“Why won’t this detour just end?” Sam griped, flicking the radio off as the signal fizzled with static.

 

Movement further up the road caught her eye. There, on the right near the edge of a field, dirty and ragged, something strange was coming out of the grass. It looked like a kid.

 

Slowing as she drove by, Sam turned in her seat to get a better look. Sure enough, there was a child under a mess of tangles and grime, carrying a baby. She watched the child make an aborted move towards the car, only to shrink back.

 

What were they even doing out here? Driving at a crawl, Sam looked for some sign of other people. A sick feeling slithered up from her stomach, burning her throat. There was nothing.

 

“Hell,” she sighed, pulling off the road. She watched the kids in the rear-view mirror, torn between a creeping feeling of unease and a nauseating guilt. It wasn’t safe to pick up hitchhikers; but those were kids. Grabbing her phone, Sam told herself, “Okay. Okay, first thing.”

 

A quick call to 911 had an operator promise a patrol car would be sent. Sam was told to stay in her vehicle and wait until they arrived.

 

 

 

Half-turned in her seat, knee against the center console, Sam alternated between watching the kids and scanning the area. Thirty minutes had passed since she’d called and it was starting to get dark.

 

The children hadn’t moved from their spot near the road. Occasionally, the older one would stare at the car before slowly looking away. The kid seemed to be wilting, struggling under the weight of the baby. Sam watched, stomach twisting, as the kid used a knee to try pushing the baby higher. From what she could see, they looked half-starved and desperately in need of care.

 

“God, this is a bad idea,” she grumbled, biting her lip as she eyed a bag of snacks on the passenger seat. A bottle of water and half a box of granola bars. It wasn’t much, but the kids probably needed it. Leg bouncing with nerves, she closed her eyes. The cops had to be there soon.

 

Glancing out the back window, she watched the older child wobble, almost drop, and said, “Screw it.”

 

Keys clutched in one hand, bag in the other, Sam stepped out of the car, looked around, and slowly headed towards the kids. She made it to the back bumper before the older kid noticed her, head snapping up so hard Sam winced in sympathy.

 

“It’s okay,” she said, trying to be soothing. She hoped they didn’t notice the slightly panicked edge in her voice. “Help is coming, but I have some food if you guys are hungry.”

 

She waited a beat. Two. Three. The kids did nothing as Sam opened the bag, angling it to show them the food.

 

“I’m going to come a little closer and put the bag down, okay? Then, I’m going to get back in my car. The food is for you.”

 

Slowly, watching in case they startled, she took a few steps and put the bag on the ground. The baby’s face was hidden, but the older child watched, eyes fixed on Sam, unblinking.

 

“It’s okay,” she assured, as the children edged towards her,“you can eat.”

 

 

 

Hours later, a police cruiser pulled up behind Sam’s car.

 

“Dispatch, this is Kyle. Quinn and I have found the car described in the 911 report. No immediate sign of anyone. We’re going to have a look.”

 

“Empty,” Kyle said, as they came around her car, flashlights shining through the windows. Turning toward the dark field behind him, he called, “Hello? This is the State Police. Can anyone hear me?”

 

“HELLO?” Quinn hollered, walking down the road. “We received a 911 call. If you need assistance but aren’t able to respond, try to make some kind of noise.”

 

“Think we should look around?” Kyle asked after a few minutes.

 

“I guess,” Quinn agreed. He stopped, staring the edge of the field just behind his partner. “What’s that?”

 

Flashlights shifted, landing on the kids huddled low to the ground, practically invisible in the long grass.

 

“Hey, kids” Kyle called softly, as he crouched down, “we’re Police Officers. Could you come out?”

 

Slowly, the kids crept onto the road; wet, muddy, and splattered in blood. The officers shared a look. A silent conversation passed between them. Quinn turned, closely scanning the area, hand resting on his gun.

 

“It’s okay,” Kyle assured the kids, holding out his hand. “It’s okay.”

 

 

 

“Kyle. Quinn. What’s your APB?”

 

The soft crackle of the radio joined the wet, crunchy, smacking that filled the air as the children feasted. They hadn’t eaten so well in years.

Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.

Marauders

The first man checked the device on his wrist, Braunau am Inn, Austria, 20/04/1889.

They’d arrived safely, now to find the hospital. Leaving the seclusion of the forest on the outskirts of town they followed a worn, twisting track towards their destination.

The first man ushered his companion with the surgical bag inside the hospital and followed the signs towards the maternity ward.

Finding their destination they prepared themselves for the task ahead. A porter, pushing a trolley, approached them. He raised a silenced pistol and fired.

They fell.

Why do these time-travellers insist on coming after Hitler? he thought.

 

Missing

Placing a gloved hand upon the door handle he forced his way inside the residence.

A cloaked man was standing over the body of a mutilated and disembowelled woman. He was holding a knife in one hand and her heart in the other.

Aiming his pistol towards the murderer the man spoke, “Put everything inside your bag and move slowly towards the door.”

Puzzled, he begrudgingly obliged.

Pressing the pistol into the murderer’s back, he cautiously escorted him from 13 Miller’s Court.

“Walk slowly towards the yard on your left.”

In an electric blue flash Jack the Ripper disappeared, forever.

 

Mission

“Do you have everything, Lewis?”

One final check and the man gave a solemn thumbs up.

“Great, now go fetch your companion.”

Lewis left the room, momentarily, returning accompanied by another man dressed in a smart suit, top hat and cape, carrying a leather surgeon’s bag. They both presented the appearance of 19th century gentlemen.

Before securing away his pistol Lewis gesticulated it in front of The Ripper, “Don’t give me cause to use this. Just do exactly as I say.”

Lewis directed his fellow traveller towards a futuristic, arched steel construction.

“Good luck, Lewis. Time to go kill Hitler.”

Third Time’s A Charm

The Ant King called a meeting and all the insects attended. The roaches, beetles, flying insects, biting bugs, and stinging wasps answered his call. They flew, crawled, swam, and marched to the conference.

The Ant King said, “There are too many people. They carry too much water in their bodies. They poison us, they destroy our homes, and they eat too much food. This has to stop.”

The Roach Queen said, “It’s your fault. You bred the bony animals for food. You let them get out of control.”

‘Not true,” said the Ant King. “The mosquitos and fleas were supposed to keep their numbers under control.”

The Mosquito King said, “Not our fault. They created potions to protect themselves. They kill my children by the thousands.”

Queen Flea agreed. “We do our best but their medicines protect them.”

The Ant King pointed at the moths. “If you’d eaten the papyrus like I told you, they wouldn’t have learned to write. That was the beginning of the problem. But no, your larva didn’t like the way it tasted. You brought this on ourselves.”

The Beetle King said, “It’s not the moths’ fault papyrus tastes like so bad. My people eat almost anything, but no one likes papyrus. We have to do something. They’ve modified some of the plants so we can’t eat them. They treat their waste and their dead with chemicals and we can’t eat them. We’re starving.”

The Ant King shouted for order. “I know. That’s why we’re here. We need a solution, not a blame session.”

The Queen Bee of all queen bees said, “Millions of my people die every day. We’ll do our part.”

The Chief Locust said, “My people want war. We’ll breed like crazy and destroy their crops.”

The Beetle King said, “Their power is in their inventions. We’ll crawl inside their machines and destroy them.”

“They have billions of machines, but our numbers are endless. If we lose a life every time we kill a machine, we’ll win,” said the Gnat Prince.

The Ant King laughed, “We’ll show them what it means to have a bug in the system.”

Electricity arced from the computer server and David jumped. He spotted the short immediately. He used plastic tweezers to remove a roasted caterpillar. He slapped his neck and looked at the crushed bee in his hand. Bees swarmed him and he dropped the damaged module. An army of ants crawled over his body and into the thousands of servers.

Carlos pointed at the dark cloud. “Locusts.” The hoard blackened the sky. They ignored the pesticides and devoured the crops to their roots. They forced their way into people’s mouths and suffocated them. The insects packed their bodies into the air intakes of the equipment. The engines overheated and died.

The mosquitos and fleas found a diseased male, swarmed him, and filled themselves with his contaminated blood. They spread it widely and untold millions died. The people never found an antidote to the new pathogen.

In months, the people were reduced to primitive living conditions. Their cities, machines, and power supplies were only a memory, but the insects didn’t stop. The Ant King ordered, “Kill them all.”

The insects met again after the last person died from untreated malaria. The Roach Queen asked, “What do we do now. We have to breed new people.”

The Flea King hopped to the front and said, “Yes, we need new people to prey on. I move we begin immediately.”

The Bee Queen asked, “This will be the third time. Our ancestors tried with lizards and that didn’t work.”

A wasp woman interrupted, “The Pig People were a disaster. They turned on us and we had to kill them all.”

The Flea King said, “Doesn’t mean we quit trying. My children have been watching some small apes. The apes seem peaceful. They never fight. They just play in the trees, breed, and sleep. I believe they have potential. I suggest we develop them.”

After much debate and a fight between the Beetle King and the wasp woman, the insects voted to develop the apes.

The Ant King said, “So be it, but I want the apes under constant surveillance. Let me know immediately if they get out of control.”

The Flea King laughed, “They’re afraid of their own shadows. They won’t be a problem.”

Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.

Salvation

Mother lay there quietly. There was nothing anyone could do; her clock was winding down. She gazed at me serenely, she was at peace. Amongst the clinical whiteness I saw an incongruous sight. A moth fluttered across the ceiling. It found its way to the window, its wings hitting the glass. I instinctively reached out to squash this unwelcome visitor in the death chamber, but a gasp stayed my hand. My mother’s eyes stared at me imploringly. I suddenly understood. I opened the window and let it fly. It soared to the heavens. Behind me, mother took her last breath.

Redemption

I lay in the road; the wheel of my bicycle and the fender of the car that had hit me were the only objects visible. I couldn’t move my body. I heard voices around me, shouting about blood and injury.  I felt my eyes closing, my heart stopping.

“Keep awake,” said a voice, but I couldn’t will myself to draw in air.

I saw a moth fluttering above me. It descended, alighting briefly on my mouth before flying away.  I felt an odd sensation in my chest. My heart suddenly beat once more, and I found I could breathe again.

Damnation

The third injection hadn’t worked. The condemned man twitched and moaned on the gurney. He was unable to move.

“Damnit, can’t you find a vein?” cursed the guard.

“I have, three times now,” replied the exasperated doctor. He tried again. The death row prisoner stared at him in mute agony.

Aware of the growing disquiet of the watching people, the guard looked round for a solution.

“Just keep injecting him, doc.”

“I’m running out.”

A moth fluttered past the guard’s face. He reached out and crushed it, throwing the pulverised creature onto the floor. The prisoner finally closed his eyes.

 

Succumbing

Skittering firework embers shed ruby streaks into the sky. The naked branches of clustered trees framed and then obscured the show from sight. It was the silences in between volleys that tore at her nerves the most, the pauses that spurred her staggering into sprinting.

Her long dress had split up to her thigh, revealing flesh mottled with golden-blue bruises. She wanted to ruin the rest. Her fingers flexed over her collarbone. Would that she could, tear the pearl necklace and scatter it; but the beads would only turn into bread crumbs, into a bridge that leads to the worst ending within a fairy tale.

Won’t let him catch me. Won’t be caught. Can’t be caught.

Another firework whistled overhead. They wouldn’t keep his attention. Soon he’d return to the checkered blanket, the lukewarm wine and untouched food to find her gone.

He’ll wait for me. And when I come back, it’ll be the look. He’ll hold me inside it, hold me there until it hurts, hold me until I drown inside the black of his pupils, until I can’t breathe and–

 

She ran. The question of where was no more present in her mind than it is for any prey fleeing its predator. She ran until she had cleared the woods and found herself before a broad, black-watered fountain. The decimated remains of fall leaves floated in broken clumps. Branches cleaved the moon and starlight into a quivering stratum.

She tottered over to the fountain and gazed down at her reflection. At her red-rimmed eyes. The cheap foundation, smeared and flaked over swollen knots.

I won’t be caught. I can’t be caught.

Sudden motion caught her off guard: a beetle, crawling over her temple, feelers wriggling. When she batted at it, the creature toppled down into the water and fractured her reflection into trembling pieces.

She watched the beetle fight to keep afloat.

Can’t be caught.

“help”

Its legs splayed out and squirmed.

Can’t be caught.

Bile filled her throat.

“help”

She raised her hand and struck. Created a wave to pull the drowning thing under.

“ah”

Glancing down, her reflection held its jaw and smiled. An angry red welt blazed upon the reflection’s skin.

“i wanted him to stay with me”

It mouthed the words with the corners of its chapped lips upturned. Its eyes were slit into mirthful razors.

I’m hallucinating.

“i wanted him to hold me hold me” Its plaintive note sank like a nail between her eyes. “hold me hold me hold me hold me”

“Stop it, you’re hallucinating,” she snarled into her palm, but the reflection did not copy her, only continued to gaze up with mocking eyes.

“i wanted him to hold me down and”

“STOP IT!”

She thrust her hand into the fountain, crushing the water into ripples and foam, soaking her dress, catching grime in her fingers.

When her reflection reassembled, it was with cuts and bruises. Still, the eyes glinted merrily. Still, the lips, the bleeding lips, mouthed the words:

t-o -d-e-v-o-u-r -m-e

“STOP”

She plunged both her hands into water. There they found not wetness, but flesh, a neck to squeeze, and so she squeezed it, squeezed against the flesh and blood and bone, until the water went still.

Upon withdrawing her hands from the fountain, she found them slick with black blood. The reflection’s face broke above the water with a plop. It bobbed slack-jawed, laughter still trapped inside its lifeless eyes.

Drawing back, she screamed. A fresh wave of fireworks erupted overhead.

I killed her!

Triumph or despair?

I KILLED HER!

She turned from the fountain and ran.

When she cleared the forest, the show had only just ended, firework smoke staining the sky, but there were no more picnic blankets to be found, no rows of cars or lukewarm coolers. Instead she found herself standing at the foot of a long, unraveling silk white carpet.

The carpet stretched out towards seven figures who stood gathered in the field. Dazed, she stepped onto the carpet. Her body pitched forward–or was she walking towards them, the scenery running fast beside her?

She came close. Six of the seven moved off into the grass. Whether they were shadow or flesh, man or woman remained unknown and unseen. The moonlight promised nothing.

As the carpet carried her down, her filthy feet smeared mud and water over the ivory silk. When she reached the six shadows, she cast her eyes down, terrified and abashed. They took no breath, only stood and drank her in with black, glittering beast eyes.

The seventh, the one waiting for her, gnawed at his fingernails, smiling even as he tore them bloody. The whites of his eyes were pitch-black, but this only served to enhance the beauty of his features.

The seventh’s stare swept over her dress, her bruises, her pulverized face.

Shame overtook her. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For… for being…” A sob flexed in her throat. “…for being like this.”

The seventh shook his head. “Please. Give me your hand.”

The six shadows drew closer. Their combined anticipation was heavy, palpable. When she raised her hand, the seventh reached out without hesitation and squeezed her bloodied fingers into his own.

“Now, look at me.”

When she did, he caught her right inside his gaze, and smiled.

“You’re perfect.”

Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.

Hooked

 

Fishing was one of Electra’s joys. The challenge of finding a good spot, the relaxing wait, the thrill of reeling in a catch.

 

Today, sunshine filtered through the sea like a sparkling aquamarine jewel. Perfect weather for sailing.

 

As if on cue, a shadow passed above. A dropping anchor sent shudders through the water and quivers of anticipation through Electra.

 

She swam upward, waiting for the line and bait to drop too. A hook for her to snag. As it did, she tugged down hard, a man splashing in after it.

 

The Siren and her children would eat well tonight.

 

 

The Sea of Siren Screams

 

Manolin hated fishing. His da had gone missing in these waters.

 

Yet here he was, rod in hand, floating in a dingy.

 

The line grew taught. Manolin held tight. The rod ripped down, dragging Manolin into the sea.

 

As he sunk down Manolin saw it – the beautiful yet terrible creature from sailor’s tales. The thing bared its teeth in a smile, snaring Manolin in her embrace.

 

Manolin smiled too. He pulled out the knife he’d tucked in his shorts and stabbed the Siren in the side.

 

Blood, seawater and Siren screams mixed together as Manolin reaped his sweet revenge.  

 

A Song of Sorrow

 

Vivian sat watching the ocean where her mother had died. A sad song drifted from her lips, floating over the water like waves of sorrow. 

 

Then, a sound from behind made her stop. A young man stood listening on the rocks.

 

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You sound so… alone.”

 

“Not alone,” Vivian said as the man approached.

 

She felt a stab of guilt as a blade split through his neck from behind.

 

Vivian’s Siren brother smiled as the corpse on his knife fell to the ground. She was the bait, he the hook. Their mother would have been proud.