Call It What You Want


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Enjoy this short story.  Tell me what you think.      


HE FOUND HER ON the bedroom floor when he came home for lunch.  She was lying beside their bed in a nightshirt.  He touched her to wake her.  Her body was cold.  Immediately he called the police.  A couple of hours later he called me.

My sister was dead.  The message was like a hammer upside the head.  Ringing was in my ears.  My brother-in-law, David, went on to explain what happened to her.  But I could not hear anything else he said.

At that moment I thought I would have to be institutionalized.  My sister was as much of my identity as I was of hers.  We were all each other had.  We stopped speaking to our parents and our two siblings years ago.  That is a family saga I will not get into now.

My heart jumped back and forth from grieving for my sister to grieving for David.  My husband understood when I told him I had to be with David and the children.  I was their godmother.

I rushed to be at David’s side.  My husband and my two children were left to fend for themselves.  They were more than capable.  My twin boys were twelve.

Standing inside my sister’s home magnified the dark, gigantic hole in my heart.  Her aura permeated throughout the place.  Her smell was everywhere.  It was comforting and overwhelmingly sad.  Reality pounded on my heart.  Her sweet odor would eventually be gone from her home.  With it would go some of her memories.

I forced myself to pull it together.  David and their children would need help getting through this dark time.

My poor brother-in-law was in a much worse place than I was.  He had no time to mourn.  Three children, all under the age of five, still had to be loved, cared for, and given direction.  He immediately donned both parental hats.  There was no time for a trial run.

For three weeks I helped, watched, and listened.  Calling my husband to keep him and my children posted on when I would be back.

Watching my brother-in-law suffer, while being strong for his children, was almost unbearable.

One night I walked by his bedroom to go to the bathroom and heard him softly crying.  This was a normal occurrence.  On my way back to my room I paused and listened to him.  He was worse than normal.

For three weeks I had wondered and feared whether he had a breaking point.  In public and around his children he restrained his grief.  In private, alone, he was inconsolable.

Standing at his door, I started crying myself and had to leave.  I took several steps and stopped and looked over my shoulder.  I could not leave him in the state that he was in.

I went back to his door, eased the door open, walked inside and locked it behind me.  I climbed into bed with him.

Neither of us talked.  We just reached out and held each other.  We both needed someone to hold onto.  We needed someone to feel the way we did.  We were both dying inside.

For one week we comforted one another.

Ten years later we have never talked about it.  Not even a slight mention of it.

It remains our secret.


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Good Friends.  Good Drinks.  Good Food. Good Time?


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Enjoy PART 4. 




BRENDA STARED AT THE other guests, confused.  What were they looking at?  Their eyes were no longer on her.  They were fixed above her.  “What?” Brenda asked.  Then she laughed.  Oh, she got it.  The joke was on them.  She was not going to be sucked into the joke they were about to play on her.  Instead, she joked with them.  She covered her mouth with her hand.  Blinking her eyes quickly, she slowly turned her head, looked over her shoulder and froze in terror.

The giant snake had raised a quarter of her body from the table.  She towered over Brenda.

Brenda’s mouth dropped open and stayed there.  She panted and shook all over.  Gripping the knife tightly she was unable to move.  She watched the snake sway and slowly recoil.  Her lungs would not let her take a deep breath.  Her feet refused to move.  Her eyes would not blink.

The snake seemed to grow taller and taller and more menacing.  Her yellow eyes met Brenda’s.  Brenda let out a scream as the snake’s head rushed down toward her.  Her scream was muzzled as the snake took Brenda’s head inside her mouth.

The guests had been frozen and watching in horror as the scene unfolded.  The snake’s mouth opened wider and slid down over Brenda’s shoulders.  Brenda’s feet left the floor as the snake recoiled with her in her mouth.  Her feet kicked violently.  Her hands and fingers moved quickly.  But her arms were pinned at her sides.  Her body was halfway down the snake.

The guests saw the last waiter run around the corner and out of sight.  The chef was already gone.

The guests screamed and yelled and ran after the waiters.  A few guests tripped, stumbled and fell to the floor.  Scrambling to their feet they continued running.  Some guests, including Phillip, looked back only to see Brenda’s legs sticking out of the snake’s mouth.

It was the last time that Francis, her friends, and Phillip saw Brenda.  It was a sight that none of them had forgotten.  How could they forget seeing Brenda being devoured by that monster?  They knew where she was.  The question was “Where was the snake?”  No one ever went back to find out where it went.

Francis took another drink.  She wanted to tell the detectives the truth.  But the dinners were illegal.  Eating exotic animals.  They would all be arrested.  Their names would be tarnished.  Their lives, their status, would be destroyed.  What would it serve to tell the truth?  They would destroy themselves for no reason.  Nothing could bring Brenda back.

Francis poured another drink and brought it to her mouth and tossed her head back and gulped it down.


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Good Friends.  Good Drinks.  Good Food. Good Time?


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I call this a hybrid story.  It is a combination of suspense, thriller, and a little horror.  The story comes with the arrogance of getting away with something.  But then there is the comeuppance that shows what starts as a secret does not always stay a secret.  Enjoy PART 3.  See you the next time at the final PART 4.        




FRANCIS WIPED HER EYES and remembered what happened next at the dinner.

The chef walked up to the table with a roar of applause from the guests.  He raised two knives in the air.  The claps grew louder.  The guests whistled.  The evening events had begun.

A waiter rolled out a box on a cart.  The chef placed his hand inside the box and pulled out a red tag.  He looked at the tag and said, “Jason Carmichael.”

Jason, a guest, smiled and did a playful bow to the other guests.  He was getting the head and the first twelve inches of the snake.  It was an entrée that went for seven thousand dollars.

The chef pulled the next tag out of the box and said, “Phillip Counter.”  Phillip raised his hand up in the air and nodded his head as the other guests applauded.  He would get the second twelve inches of the snake for a mere sixty-five hundred dollars.

The chef continued to pull tags out of the box and call out the guests’ names.  Each tag laid claim to the guest’s entrée, their section of the snake.

When the box was empty a waiter brought out a small jewelry box in his hands.  The chef opened the jewelry box while the waiter held it.  The chef picked up the card from inside, read it and said, “Mrs. Brenda Counter will have the first cut.”

Phillip hugged Brenda.  Brenda smiled and raised her glass to the other guests and to chef and then to the snake.  She had been chosen for the highest honor of the evening.  She would be the one who would cut the snake first.  The first cut was worth an additional five thousand dollars, plus the cost of her entrée.  And this first cut was special.  No one in their group had ever cut an Anaconda.

The chef called Brenda up to the table and handed her the knife.  Brenda looked at the snake and admired it.  Its size was incredible.  She imagined its meat would be so succulent.  It was fresh.  Although the snake was still, it was not dead.  It was safely sedated.  Cutting the meat live kept it fresh.

Brenda turned to address the other guests.  “Let’s get this meal underway,” she said and laughed, raising the knife above her head.  The other guests laughed too.

“That’s my wife,” Phillip said.  “I may as well be on that table.  I’m use to that tone of voice.  Hurry up and get it over with.”

The guests laughed.

Brenda playfully waved her hand at Phillip to stop it.  “This is going to be one of our best dinners ever since starting this group,” she said.  “And, I can’t think of anyone else to share it with except for my best friends in this room.”  The guests clapped and cheered and laughed.  “And I can’t thank my wonderful accommodating husband enough for this birthday gift.  He worked tirelessly to set this evening up.  Without him, she,” she pointed to the snake, “wouldn’t be here.  Thank you, sweetheart.”  She blew Phillip a kiss.  He gave her a nod and smiled.  “So, without further ado, I’d like to…”

Brenda stopped talking and watched the other guests back away from her.


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Good Friends.  Good Drinks.  Good Food. Good Time?


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I call this a hybrid story.  It is a combination of suspense, thriller, and a little horror.  The story comes with the arrogance of getting away with something.  But then there is the comeuppance that shows what starts as a secret does not always stay a secret.  Enjoy PART 2.  See you the next time at PART 3.



THE DOOR CLICKED CLOSED behind the detectives.  Francis shot up off the sofa and went straight to the wet bar.  She grabbed a bottle of vodka and a shot glass and filled the glass to the top.  She drank it down and poured another.  She drank that down and poured another.  She drank that down and poured another.

“Francis,” John said.  Francis looked over at him.  “You have to stop this.  You have to get control of yourself.  I’ve called another doctor to come over and give you a sedative.  It’ll calm you.  Keep you from saying things you’ll regret.”

“You’re my lawyer!” she yelled.  “Not my boss.  Don’t you forget it!”  She looked down at the vodka bottle and the full shot glass.  “You don’t know what I saw!  You were not there.”  He told her to keep her voice down.  “Don’t tell me what to do!  Damn it!”  She brought the glass to her mouth and tossed it and her head back and gulped the drink down.  “It was like watching a damn horror movie!”  She poured another drink.  He told her to slow down.  “You were not there!  Don’t tell me what to do!”  She stared at him and gulped the drink down.

She leaned back against the wall and slid down it.  Sitting on the floor she put her head down and covered it with her hands.  “It was awful,” she cried.  “Just awful.”

That night was still fresh in her mind.  Two weeks had passed.  But the memory was not fading at all.

It was supposed to be the dinner of the year.  Fifteen of the most influential people in New York gathered in an old warehouse.  The place was decorated like a five-star restaurant.  Elegant tables and chairs and lighting, everything was just right.

The guests were in their tuxedos and evening gowns.  Everyone milled about the room until the evening events were to begin.

Waiters in white tuxedos served aged bottles of wines and special ports and exotic hors d’oeuvres.  Trays and trays of unique goodies made their way throughout the room.  Only the best would be served for this dinner crowd.

Wheels rolling across the floor had the guests looking around.  Ten waiters rolled a twenty-five feet table in the middle of the guests.

The guests gasped and were silent.  Laughter followed.  This was a surprise.  It was the best ever.  This dinner was living up to its hype.

In the center of the table was a female Anaconda lying lifeless on her stomach.  She was enormous.  Her head would not fit in a person’s hand.  She was placed straight out to show her full length of twenty feet.  She weighed four hundred and seventy-five pounds.  On top she was dark green.  Her belly was yellowish.  A straight white mark was at every twelve inches on her back.


If you enjoyed this story, send it to a friend and follow me on my blog.  



Good Friends.  Good Drinks.  Good Food. Good Time?


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I call this a hybrid story.  It is a combination of suspense, thriller, and a little horror.  The story comes with the arrogance of getting away with something.  But then there is the comeuppance that shows what starts as a secret does not always stay a secret.  Enjoy PART 1.  See you the next time at PART 2.


Spending time with friends should bring us closer, but sometimes it tears us apart.



DETECTIVE MURRAY AND DETECTIVE BUNNER sat across the coffee table from Francis Devor.  Francis leaned back on her sofa in what she thought was a relaxed pose.  The detectives saw her differently.  She looked uncomfortable.

You would have thought she was sitting in an interrogation room at the police station.  Instead, they were sitting inside her twenty million dollar condo on the twenty-first floor.

The detectives had to force themselves not to look around the condo curiously.  Large brightly colored paintings covered parts of the walls.  The detectives were not art aficionados.  But, they knew one of the paintings could pay off both of their houses and their children’s colleges’ tuitions with millions left over.  The condo’s white on white interior was like being inside a museum.

The detectives knew it was easy to become distracted by the condo.  It was interesting.  Even Francis was a distraction.  At sixty-nine with white hair and good skin she was attractive in her designer dress and classic pumps.  A diamond necklace hung around her neck.  A matching diamond bracelet was on her wrist.  A gigantic emerald ring was on the ring finger of her right hand.

The detectives thought she was overdressed for an interview.  Telltale signs said that she was nervous.  That was one of the reasons they could not get distracted by the trappings of a woman with her wealth.  Their focus was on her missing friend, Brenda Counter.

Neither detective felt that Francis was telling them everything she knew.  Francis’s lawyer who sat beside her was picky on what and how Francis answered the detectives’ questions.  This seemed odd to the detectives.  They had not called Francis for this interview.  She had called and set it up.  She never mentioned her lawyer would be there.

On the phone Francis seemed to have something she wanted to get off her chest.  But, in person her tone was different.  She was not opening up at all.  Or, she was not allowed to open up.  The question was why.

The detectives decided the “why” would not be answered that day.  Even if Francis wanted to tell them what was on her mind, her lawyer was not going to allow it.

The detectives told Francis they had to leave and stood up.  They told her they would get in touch with her if they had more questions or got more information on her friend’s whereabouts.

Francis’s lawyer told them to call him first if they had something for Francis.  He handed them his business card.

The detectives nodded to Francis and closed the door behind them.


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Want To Have Some Fun?


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Enjoy Part 4 of this horror story.  




SHE WALKED BACK INTO the room.  Marvin’s eyes were glued to her.  Her hair was a mess.  But she was pleasant to look at, even more so than earlier.  It was going to be harder to kill her than it was the others.  She was a keeper.

Of all the young women he had gone through and disposed of this middle-aged woman comes out of nowhere and blows his mind.

Stop procrastinating, he told himself.  Get it over with.  Before she suspects anything, do it.  If you don’t, you’re going blow everything.  He sat up and slid to the bottom of the bed and sat there looking up at her.

“You never asked me my name,” she said.

“Does it matter?” he asked and started to stand.

“Wait,” she said before he could get up.  “Where are you going mister?”  He was taken back.  “You promised to give yourself to me.”  She took a step toward him.  “You’re not going to renege on a promise.  Are you?”

She was great, he thought.  She was just as wild as he was.  What a crazy sexual thing.  Maybe he could work something out this time.  Maybe she could save herself.

Inside he was floundering.  Stick to the plan, he told himself.  Get rid of her.  Do not deviate.  Do it!  Do it now!

“No,” he said.  “I don’t renege on promises.”

“Good,” she whispered.  “I’d be disappointed.”  She took another step toward him and stood between his legs.  He reached out and held her butt and kissed the dark patch of hair between her legs.  She stepped back and pushed him in the chest.  He fell back onto the bed.  “It’s my turn to do the work.  Slide all the way up on the bed.”  He pushed himself up on the bed.

She crawled onto the bed and began to crawl up his body.  Her tongue slid along the front of his legs.  She got to his manhood and blew hot air on it.  He got erect.  “Not yet,” she whispered.

She slid her body up his and stopped to circle his belly button with her tongue.  He shivered with anticipation.  She was going to be his lover.  This was not going to end here.  They could take this to another level.  How far?  It was worth exploring.  Not only that.  This was going to be one of those nights that guys brag about to one another.

He could hear himself telling the story.  He met this woman in a bar.  They both had had too much to drink.  But, that was not what attracted him to her.  He liked her slutty appearance and just wanted to have sex with her.  She was more than he bargained for.

Just think, he thought.  Just hours ago this crazy bitch had told him at the bar that she had told her friend who left her at the bar that she was thinking about killing herself.  Her husband had just left her for a younger woman.  She did not want to go home alone.  What luck, he thought.  Talk about being in the right place at the right time.

Her friend left her at the bar and told her he was coming back.  But while he was in the bathroom he went up to her and said, “You’re beautiful.  I’d like to take you home and make love to you all night.  I’ve never seen someone so gorgeous.  Let’s get out of here.”  Even though she looked at him through hazy drunken eyes he knew he had her.  He took her by the arm.  They were out of that bar in less than a minute.

Now he can say he just had the best two hours of his life.  And hour number three was probably going to be just as great.

She made her way up to his mouth.  “Kiss me,” she said.  He lifted his head to her.  She brought her mouth down over his.  He squeezed her ass.  She reached down between them and took hold of him and eased him inside of her.  She lifted her head and whispered, “Don’t let go of me.”

“Oh fu…” he said, losing his breath, feeling light-headed.  She was amazing.  He groaned loudly.

She put her mouth back over his.  She slid her hands down his arms and around his wrists.  She slid his arms up over his head.  She stared into his eyes.  He could not believe her.  She was too much.  He wanted to hold her and went to bring his hands down.

She had his wrists pinned to the bed.  He pulled harder to free his arms.  He wanted to hold her.  But he could not free his hands.  She stared into his eyes and rocked back and forth.  She looked different.

He tried turning his head away from her.  He wanted to tell her to let go of his wrists.  Her mouth was clamped down hard over his.  She was using it to press his head into the bed.  He grunted and groaned.  Not in pleasure.  He wanted her to let him go.

Her tongue snaked around the inside of his mouth.  It was suddenly thick and forcing its way down his throat.  His eyes were wide.  He could not swallow.  Breathing was getting harder.  What little air his lungs took in was putrid.

The smell of rotting flesh filled his lungs.  They burned.  The taste of the smell was sickening and choking him.  He began to shake.  He body began to convulse.

Gravel, dirt, bugs and worms slid down his throat.  He could feel them crawling and sliding down into his stomach.  This was a living hell.  He wanted to die.  If he could just pass out he would be satisfied.

She was changing before him.  Her black hair had turned to a grayish matted mess.  Her skin was changing.  Her makeup was gone.  Her skin was no longer Olive.  It was gray and slimy and wrinkled.  Her cheek began to poke out further and further.  A black snake broke through her skin.  He slithered out the hole and down the side of her face.

He shut his eyes.  Just let me die.  Please.

She clamped down tighter with her mouth.  His eyes shot open.  Bugs, worms, maggots and flies were coming from the corners of her eyes, out her ears and mouth and dropping onto him.  They entered his body through his nose and ears and tear ducts.

He struggled hard, groaning and yelling, but the sounds were trapped inside him.  After a minute he stopped moving.  His eyes were still open.  Insects were still entering inside him.

She kept her mouth over his and eased her body all the way down on top of him.  She then removed her mouth from over his and took a deep loud breath and sighed.

She laid there for a few minutes.  Then she lifted her head and looked down at Marvin.  “What an end to a perfect night.”  Her skin rippled and moved as small creatures crawled beneath it.  “Thank you for making the ultimate sacrifice.”

Marvin’s corpse was already decomposing.  It looked as if he had been dead for a week.  His skin was gray and slimy.  His hair was dried up.  His eyes were sunk deep into their sockets.  His body shook slightly as the insects inside him did their jobs.

“You willing gave yourself to me.”  She kissed him gently on the lips.

“Happy Birthday to me.”

She laid her head on his chest.  Her hair began to turn darker. Her skin began to tighten.  Its Olive color was slowly coming back.

She slept.


In PART 5, what is the truth? 


If you enjoyed this story, send it to a friend and follow me on my blog. 




Want To Have Some Fun?


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I initially told you this would be a three-part story.  It will be a five-part story.  I do hope you enjoy it, all of it.



MARVIN PUT THE KEY into the lock of the motel room’s door.  The middle-aged woman from the bar had her arm around his neck.  He could feel most of her weight leaning on him.  Her knees buckled again.  He squeezed her tight around the waist and held her up for the fourth time.

He looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was in the parking lot.  He looked quickly to his left and right and pushed the door open.  Holding her up he pulled her inside the room and shut the door and locked it.  Only then did he touch the wall to his left and flip the light switch up.

The bed had a green blanket on it.  The carpet was dark green.  A cheap table and two chairs sat in the center of the room.  The walls were a grimy looking off-white.  They were probably white at one time, he thought.

He dragged her over to the bed.  One of her heels came off along the way.  He tossed her on the bed.  Her body bounced on it and stopped.  She mumbled a few incoherent words.  He looked down at her and smiled.  He then leaned over and put his hands on her thighs.  Her dress was hiked up revealing red panties.  He stood up and admired his catch.  She was his prey for the night.  It was time for him to devour her like a wild animal, he thought and grinned.

He reached under her dress and grabbed her panties and pulled them down.  He pulled the left side and then the right side, alternating sides until her panties were down her thighs and just above her knees.  He then slid them down to her ankles and took off her other heel as he pulled the panties off.  She moved her head and mumbled.

“Shhhh,” he said and dropped the panties on the floor.  He then pulled her dress up to her waist.  Then he got behind her on the bed and lifted her upper body.  With her leaned back against him he pulled the dress up and over her head.  She was not wearing a bra.  He grabbed her breasts and massaged them.  “Firm breasts for a woman your age,” he whispered.

His eyes strolled down her nude body.  He licked his lips.  “You’re going to be a good one,” he said.  He could barely restrain himself.  No rush, he thought.  Still, he hurried and took off his clothes, pulled her legs apart, and climbed on top of her.  He took hold of himself and pushed himself inside her.

Her eyes opened wide.  She gasped.  His hand went over her throat.  “Wait,” she whispered.  He ignored her.  She pushed her hands against his chest.  “Please, wait.”  She gasped.

“Why?” he asked, irritated.  She was supposed to be drunk.  No conversation.  No resistance.  “Why am I waiting?”

She swallowed and panted.  “Because,” she whispered.  He asked her because what.  “Promise me.”  He asked her to promise what.  “I don’t this.”  He stared down at her in disbelief.  “I don’t.  This means something to me.”

He tried to hide how annoyed he was.  He was not going to have a conversation with this woman.  She was a drunken slut.  A stranger.  This was going to go one way.  His way.  And then he was going to end it.  He was not making any promises.

“Just promise me,” she said.  He was getting mad.  She was going to ruin this.  “Don’t hurt me.”  He told her he could not promise her that.  She looked terrified.  “Then…Then I’ll give myself to you.  Just don’t hurt me too much.”  He told her he could do that.  He started again on her.

“Wait,” she said, holding her hands in the air.  He exhaled and stared down at her.  She looked too afraid to touch him again.  Maybe he would hurt her just because if she did.  “Just one more promise.  Please.”  He told her this was it.  No more stopping.  “Promise me you’ll give yourself to me if I give myself to you.”  His annoyance was showing on his face.  “Please.  I don’t have sex with just anyone.  But if we’re giving ourselves to each other we’re making love.  Then I can be uninhibited in what I’ll do for you.”

He paused and sighed.  “I promise,” he said.  “I’ll give myself to you.”  He figured that was the least he could do for her.  If a little lie relaxed her and made her more willing, why not tell her what she wanted to hear?  He began to aggressively take her.

For the next two hours he took her every way he could imagine.  Even when he knew she did not like some of what he did, he did it again and again.  She was just a vessel.  Nothing about her was important.  She was close to fulfilling her purpose.

He moved faster and faster.  Then he groaned loudly and collapsed on top of her.  She lay under him panting.  It took him a minute to roll off of her.

She curled up in a ball with her back to him and cried.  He lay beside her, panting.  After a few minutes he turned and looked at her.  He liked her body.  It was sturdy.  She could take a lot of abuse.  He rolled over close behind her.  He stroked her long, thick dark hair.  He pushed her hair away from her neck.  She was actually a good looking woman.

But, he could not keep her.  No one could know what he did.  No one could ever know what he does.  He had a life to protect.  And she was probably going to say he raped her.  All that crying and regret would win people over to her side.  He clenched his fists and opened them and brought his hands up.

He hated it.  Finally, he found someone who he wanted to hurt and pleasure.  A rare find she was.  But he could not keep her.  He had to end it.  Should he choke her or break her neck?  That was the only question.

She looked over her shoulder.  He dropped his hands.  “I need to go to the bathroom,” she whispered and sniffed.

He paused and thought, no.  Then he changed his mind.  Why not?  It was her last time.  “Go ahead,” he said.  “But keep the door open.”

“Okay,” she said in a weak timid tone.  She slid off the bed and walked gingerly to the bathroom.

He watched her, proud of what he had done.  Guarantee what little time she has left she will never forget it, he thought.  He craned his neck to watch her.  What a body, he thought.  What a waste.

He listened to her peeing.  Her urine hitting the water in the toilet bowl was relaxing to him.  It was like a calm stream.  Maybe he would do her again before he got rid of her.  A farewell gift, he thought.


In PART 4, don’t make promises you can’t keep.   


If you enjoyed this story, send it to a friend and follow me on my blog. 




Want To Have Some Fun?


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The joy of a new relationship, of stolen love, can be intoxicating. 

This is a three-part horror story.  It is not meant for the squeamish.  If you dare to read it, may I suggest you keep one eye closed.  And, be prepared to force yourself to forget what you have read.  If you are ready, happy reading.  I will wait for you at the end, if you dare.  Or, maybe I will wait for you in your sleep.  Ha.  Ha.  Ha.  Ha.  Ha. 




MARVIN GOT TO THE front door and looked back at his wife, Stacy, in the kitchen.  “Honey, I’m leaving,” he said.  Stacy looked over her shoulder and went around the counter to him.  She was in shorts and a tank top.  Marvin thought about skipping his plans and staying home with her.  She looked good.  She looked damn good.  With that body, who would ever know they had two kids, he thought.  He reached out and hugged her.  “Where are the kids?” he whispered in her ear.

“Not far enough away for you to think about doing what you’re thinking about doing,” she said and pecked him on the lips.

He let go of her, disappointed.  Where had all their time gone to?  He remembered when they would have sex all night.  They would go until they were exhausted.  Now he was lucky if they got a few minutes in here and there.  Years ago they always had time to do it.  And when they did not have time to do it, they did it anyway.  Now it was different.  There were always reasons why they could not do it.

“Don’t look so glum,” she whispered.  “We’ll do it later.”  He smirked.  “Promise.”  She smiled.  “Go out with your friends and yuck it up as you guys call it.  When you come back, if it’s not too late, we’ll see what we can do.”  He smiled and told her he was holding her to it.  But he knew nothing was going to happen.  It did not matter what time he got home.  Nothing ever happened between them anymore.  “Don’t be out too late.”

He kissed her.  “I won’t,” he said and walked out the door.  Outside he turned around when he heard the deadbolts lock.  He then turned back around and headed for his car.

Inside his car he started the engine and slowly backed out onto the street.  He looked at his house.  The curtains separated.  Stacy appeared in the window and waved and blew him a kiss.  He waved at her and sped off down the street.

He turned on Sirius radio and found a Rock station.  At the end of his street he took a right.  He thought about Stacy waving to him and felt guilty.  He did not like lying to her.  But, it would hurt her if he was honest.

Ten miles up the road he saw the city’s lights.  He wondered how things were going to go tonight.  He had gone through a dry spell lately.  If everything went as planned he would break that dry spell tonight.

Just up the road was the white and red sign that read Back Room.  He began smiling.  That’s where he belonged.  Let off some frustration and have a good time.

He turned into the parking lot next to the Back Room building and parked.  He got out of the car and could not believe how dark it was in that parking lot.  He walked alongside the building toward the front of it.  Then he turned the corner and was shocked.

A steady stream of people poured into Back Room.  Easy pickings, he thought.  From the corner of the building he watched people come and go.  He hoped the Back Room would not stop accepting patrons before he got in.

He rushed and got in line.  The line was moving fast.  There was space inside, he thought.  When he got to the entrance the doorman nodded for him to go inside.

Inside it was packed.  The dance floor was full.  The bar was full.  The seated areas were full.  He wondered if there was some special event planned for that night.

He took a few minutes to checkout what some of the women were wearing.  Short dresses, short shorts, tight pants, tight shirts, lots of high heels, it was a smorgasbord to choose from.

His imagination did not have to do any work.  Anything and everything he wanted to see was in plain view.  And there were a few women who had more than captured his attention.  He was getting an erection watching them.

One of the women who had captured his attention was sitting at the end of the bar.  She and a man seemed to be having a serious discussion.  He wondered what it was all about.  The man was pointing toward the bathroom and talking to her.  Her hands were moving throughout the air as she talked back to him.  They were both getting more and more animated.

He watched and waited.  The couple was talking more aggressively.  Hands were moving faster.  Mouths were moving faster.  Go ahead, he thought.  Don’t just argue with her.  Do something about it.  Leave her.  Just for a brief minute.  And when you get back she’ll be gone.

The man threw up his hands and walked away from her.  She yelled something after him.  He turned around and went back.  He pointed his finger in her face.  She knocked it away.  He turned and left her at the bar.

The woman turned the half-full glass up to her lips and drank it.  Then she called the bartender over and pointed down at her empty glass.  He filled it.  She brought it up to her lips and emptied it again.  She then slammed the empty glass down on the bar and pointed to it.  The bartender filled it again.  Then he rushed to the other end of the bar.  She downed half of the drink.

Marvin liked what he saw.  She was perfect.  He guessed the woman was early fifties.  She had a hard, alcoholic look about her.  Her makeup was on thick.  But her face said that she had been extremely attractive at one time.  She looked as if she could use a good night’s sleep.  Her hair was black and not brushed or combed well.  But the dark fitted dress she wore made up for all her sins.

Her body was great for a woman of any age.  It was a middle-aged body.  She had some fat on her.  But, he could work with it.  Overall, she was a slutty attractive woman.  Best of all, she was almost drunk.

He needed to get her out of the bar and quick.  She was going to be his tonight whether she wanted to be or not.

Oh what plans he had for her, he thought.  He began to make his way toward her.


In PART 3, the bottom of the glass may not provide the fun we seek.  Then again, it could. 


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Want To Have Some Fun?


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This is a three-part horror story.  It is not meant for the squeamish.  If you dare to read it, may I suggest you keep one eye closed.  And, be prepared to force yourself to forget what you have read.  If you are ready, happy reading.  I will wait for you at the end, if you dare.  Ha.  Ha.  Ha.  Ha.  Ha. 




DETECTIVE MACK AND DETECTIVE QUERY looked down at the decomposing body.  They pressed the handkerchiefs over their noses and mouths a bit harder.  It was not keeping out the stench.  The odor was nauseating.  They looked at each other.

Query nodded at the doorway.  Mack nodded and headed for the door.  Query followed him outside.  They did not stop walking until they were thirty feet or more from the motel room.

They took the handkerchiefs from their noses and mouths and exhaled loudly.  Their eyes watered.  They shook their heads and walked back and forth in the cold morning air.  Grunting and groaning and breathing loudly they tried to get their wits about them.  They spit several times.

“I’ve never smelled anything like that,” Mack said.

“And I hope we never have to do it again,” Query said.  “That was unbelievable.”  He coughed and spit.

“What’s unbelievable is what’s in that room,” Mack said.

They were puzzled.  The motel manager’s story did not make sense.  He claimed the motel rooms were cleaned every day.  Yesterday that room was cleaned, too.  The maid had changed the sheets, cleaned the bathroom, vacuumed the floor, dusted off the furniture, and did a general wipe down of the entire room.  She never saw a body in the bed.  There were no odd smells.  She left the room clean.  The body had to have been put there overnight.  So the motel manager says.

“We’re going to need to talk to the manager again,” Mack said, pointing toward the motel manager’s office.  “There’s no way that body just got there.  Smells like a damn open cemetery where all the bodies were left out to rot in the sun.  He’s lying.”

“Not unless it’s some kind of prank,” Query said.  “It’s Halloween.”  Mack told him not yet.  “What are a few more days?  You know these damn tricksters.  Maybe someone dug it up.”  Mack listened to him but was not buying it.  “It probably took a group to pull off something like this.  You know how it could be done.  Go to a burial sight or funeral home.  Steal a body.  Keep it for several days in some hot place or a sealed bag.  Bring it to a motel like this place where people rent rooms by the hour.  Then they sit and wait.  A couple leaves after doing the nasty.  Maybe there is a window of a few hours before another couple rents the room.  You know damn well a maid isn’t cleaning those rooms after every couple.  She may change the sheets.  But she’s not cleaning that damn room.  This isn’t the Four Seasons.  So the pranksters wait until the maid leaves and sneak the stolen body into the room and put it in the bed.  The next couple opens the door ready to get busy.  Instead they get the shock of their lives.  Find the pranksters.  Case solved.”

“Good explanation,” Mack said.  But something was bothering him.  “Let’s go back in there and see if he has an ID.  That’ll tell us if you’re theory is right.”  Query told him with the body’s level of decomposition he would bet him that he was right.  They both knew a body would not decompose that quickly overnight.  It had to be kept somewhere else for it to happen.  “Let’s go see.  When CSI gets here we’ll get a couple of masks from them.  Right now we’ll go back in there.  See if he has any ID and come back out.  These thin-ass handkerchiefs aren’t cutting it.”

The two uniformed officers who were first on the scene stood outside the door.  The officers told them good luck.  Mack and Query sarcastically told them thanks.

Standing ten feet from the room’s doorway, Mack and Query pressed the handkerchiefs hard against their noses and mouths.  They walked back into the room wearing white latex gloves.  More prepared for the smell, they looked about the room.

A pair of pants were on the floor beside the bed.  Mack picked them up and gently laid them over a chair and stuck his hand in the back pocket.  He grabbed the wallet and made a grunting sound.  Query rushed over.

The wallet was a tight fit in the pocket.  Mack could not remove it with one hand.  He was not going to drop the handkerchief and use both hands.

Query held the pants.  Mack pulled the wallet out and put it on the table.  He opened it and looked at the driver’s license.  The name Peter Hills was on it.

Query looked back over his shoulder at the body.  Damn, it stunk.  He went back over to the bed and stared at the decomposing corpse.  There was something there.  He leaned in closer, fighting the urge to vomit and leave the room.

A large maggot slithered from the corpse’s mouth.  Then another and another and another.  More followed those.  An earthworm wiggled its way out through a tear duct.  A slug slid out through the ear canal.  What the hell, he thought and looked over at Mack.

Mack had seen it and was headed for the door.  Query followed him outside.  They dropped the handkerchiefs and exhaled loudly.

“Officer Baldwin,” Mack said between deep breaths.  One of the uniformed officers looked at him.  “Tell me who Peter Hills is.”  Mack had put the license in an evidence bag.  The officer took the license to his patrol car.  Less than a minute the officer came back.

“Your boy was reported missing,” Officer Baldwin said.  “As of this morning.”

“Something’s not right,” Mack said to Query.  Perplexed, Query nodded.

Things would only get more confusing from there.

Later that day they would learn Peter Hills was reported missing by his wife.  He had been out with friends last night and had not come back home.  He was not known for staying out all night.  He was thirty-six years old and a father of two.

News from the medical examiner would make the case even murkier.  Peter’s body’s cavities were filled with dirt, maggots, and different types of worms and bugs.  And at the moment no one knew how a man who went missing between eight to twelve hours could decompose at a rate of someone being dead for two weeks.


Do not miss PART 2.  Someone will go down a dark path.  You can watch them.  You just can’t warn them.


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Is It Really An Affair?


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Thank you for stopping by and reading this short story.  At the end tell me what you think.


THE AIRPORT CLUBROOM WAS EMPTY.  Mary walked in and sat at the bar and ordered a rum and coke.

One in the morning and all flights were cancelled.  Rain was coming down in sheets.  With the holidays in full swing and nasty weather, most passengers were smart enough to stay away from airports.  But not her, she thought.  She had one overseas client that could make or break her business.  The client did not celebrate the same holidays as the U.S.  And, he was willing to listen to her proposal on what her company could do for his company.  The meeting was a success.  But it had required her to meet with five different people within the company before she got the yes.  The meetings had started at eight that morning and ended at eight that night.

Over twelve hours in high heels.  Her feet were killing her and swollen.  She slipped her shoes off and let them fall to the floor beside her stool.  She wiggled her toes and sipped her drink.  The bartender had disappeared in the back.

“This seat taken?” a man’s voice asked.  Startled, she turned her head to the right.  A middle-aged man with a short beard was standing near her.  “Don’t want to disturb you.”  He held his hands up.

She paused before telling him, “The stool is open.”  Expecting and waiting for a pickup line she was prepared to say she was married.  The bartender reappeared from the back room.  The man ordered a rum and coke.  Same drink as hers.  She doubted it was coincidence.  She glanced at the man as he took a drink from the glass.  “So, what takes you out on a night like this?  Are you like me?  Stranded away from your family?”  She hoped mentioning her family would have the man move on without her having to be too direct.

The man put down his drink and smiled at her.  “Actually, no,” he said.  “I’m not stranded.  Not for long.”  She glanced at him and took another drink.  “I’m actually a massage therapist for the airport.”  She was not sure if he was honest.  He wore nice pants and a buttoned down shirt.  “I’m in the spa just downstairs.  I’m officially off for the night.  But, I can’t leave because of the weather.  See.”  He showed her his employee card with his photo on it.

She read it.  His name was Larr.

“Yes, you are,” she said.  “And I understand.  I can’t leave either.”  She told him about her flight delays, the bad weather, and her next flight that could be hours away or a day away.  Before long they were talking about their families.

“I hope this isn’t too forward,” he said.  “I see your shoes are off.”  He nodded toward her feet.  “I assume aching feet.”  She nodded.  “We have a great reflexology masseuse on the next floor.  You said you may be here for hours or a day.  Go see her.  Thirty minutes and you’ll feel brand new.”  She pursed her lips.  “Stranded passengers normally get discounts.”

She paused and thought and took another sip of her drink.  “What about you?” she caught herself asking.  “You don’t do that kind of massage?  Stinky feet scare you?”  He told her that was not his specialty.  “What is it?”  He told her neck and shoulders.  She nodded and thought about the time she may have to spend at the airport.  “You know what?  I think I’ll get a foot massage.”  He told her he was heading that way to get his things.  “Then I’ll follow you.”  She slipped her shoes back on and grimaced when she stood up.  They were tight.

They took the escalator down to the next floor.  He walked her into the spa and to the receptionist desk.  “Is Kerri booked?” he asked.

“She’s gone for the day,” the receptionist said.  “And Nicole,” the other reflexology masseuse, “can’t get in because of the weather.  We’re short staff.”  The receptionist looked at them with a sad face.  “Sorry.”

Mary thanked him for trying and said good-bye to them and walked out the door.

“Mary,” Larr said walking toward her.  “It’s not my specialty.  But, I know how to do it.  And if you want, I’ll do my best.”  She told him he was off duty.  She could not ask him to do that.  “I’m stuck here.  Same as you.”  She paused.

“If you don’t mind,” she said and bit her lip.

“It will be my honor,” he said.

Three months later Mary and Larr met in a motel room near that same airport.  They had been meeting once a month.  Mary had not been able to explain to her husband her need to have Larr massage her feet once a month.  Larr had not been able to tell his wife that he secretly sees Mary once a month to massage her feet.

While they have never kissed or been intimate beyond the foot massages, they know they have a strange connection.


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