A collection of horror, mystery, and science fiction tales, with contributions from fellow writers, James Darko and Dexter Lynch. If you wish to contribute, I'd be happy to showcase your writing. Just send me a message. The stories are free to read and always will be. Some are better than others (I'm speaking only for myself), but I can't give all my best ideas away for free, ha ha. Feel free to share any stories, but please be sure to give credit where credit is due.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Larson’s husband had not touched her in six months. Not so much as a pat on the
back or a kiss on the cheek. And though she took his lack of affection as a
personal insult, she was relieved he hadn’t raised his hands to her either. Six
months earlier, if she so much as spilled a drop of water, Dennis would’ve
blackened her eye faster than she could get a towel to wipe up the mess.
Larson was too preoccupied with Roscoe to even acknowledge his family’s existence
beyond the dinner table. Amy would swear he loved that dog more than he did his
own wife and child. Roscoe was a Saint Bernard that Dennis had rescued from the
Greenville shelter, looked just like the dog from those Beethoven movies. The
week he brought Roscoe home, Dennis spent five hundred dollars on a dog house,
bed, personalized collar, and a cage for when a visit to the vet or kennel was
the family scrounged and scraped to survive, Roscoe was treated like royalty.
When they went to the beach, Roscoe rode shotgun. While the family dined on
macaroni and cheese, Roscoe munched on raw sirloin. There was nothing too
expensive for that adorable little mutt.
let Roscoe roam free whenever he pleased, which angered some of the neighbors.
But they were too afraid of Dennis’s awful temper to speak up. When it rained,
Roscoe would track mud in the living room and shake himself off, soaking the
furniture or whoever was unfortunate enough to be standing in his way. Dennis thought
this was adorable. Amy found it to be a pain in the ass seeing as she was the
one expected to do the cleanup.
was a grey December afternoon when Evan Larson strolled in early from school. His
brown jacket was stained red, his knuckles skinned down to the bone. He had
been in another fight. Ten years old and he was already taking on kids twice
used to stay up late to watch amateur boxing on the sports networks. He loved
it so much that on his ninth birthday Dennis bought him gloves and a punching bag.
He figured wailing on a heavy bag wouldn’t hurt anybody and might help work all
the aggression out of his boy. But the bag didn’t quell Evan’s rage; it only
seemed to feed it.
recent incident involved a young boy named Ronnie Henderson who pegged Evan in
the back of the head with a dodge ball during gym glass. Evan leapt over the
dividing net and threw the first punch, which crushed poor Ronnie’s nose. Kids
were going around school saying when it was over Ronnie’s face looked like raw
hamburger meat, all mashed and bloody. The verdict was in on Evan: Permanent
expulsion. The doors of Greenville Middle School were closed to him forever.
were you thinking?” Dennis shouted, his face turning beet red. Roscoe got so
worked up over his master’s fury that he started barking along with Dennis’s
screams. “Do you know how hard it’s going to be to find a new school? And what
about the kid you sent to the hospital? His parents are probably going to sue
not a big deal,” Evan shrugged it off, shaking his hands to alleviate the pain
from his throbbing knuckles.
can’t go around beating people up. It won’t solve your problems.”
seems to work on mom,” Evan remarked. That snide comment sent Dennis sailing over
the edge. Amy was preparing supper in the kitchen and heard the crinkle of
leather as Dennis slid his belt from his jeans.
I’m going to whip the skin off your ass.”
turned her back in the kitchen, fearing that Dennis would belt her too if she
interjected. As Dennis raised his belt, Evan planted his fist in his father’s
gut. Roscoe jumped up and sunk his teeth in Evan’s forearm. Shaking Roscoe off,
Evan swung again. This time Dennis was prepared and as he ducked, Evan’s tender
knuckles smashed against the wall.
belt swung through the air and snapped across Evan’s back. Roscoe backed away
as Dennis lashed his boy again and again until his son’s back was raw as his
get your worthless ass upstairs, boy. If you thought that was bad, let’s see
how you like going to bed without your supper.”
can’t starve me,” Evan protested.
hell I can’t. Until we find you another school, you’re going on a mandatory
hunger strike. Now move it!”
Evan retreated from the living room without further resistance. Dennis kneeled
down and petted Roscoe behind the ears; gave him a treat for helping out.
the kitchen, Amy trembled like the last leaf on a dying tree. Dennis and her
son had their disagreements in the past, but it never came to blows before. As
many times as Dennis raised his hands to her, he never raised his hands to his
rearranged his room looking for a source of food. A stale bag of chips or stray
candy bar he had brought up and forgotten about. A whole night without food and
even the church shoes in his closet were starting to look appetizing.
retired that evening with a big smile plastered across his chubby face. His son
had stepped out of line with him, and he had remedied the situation in his own
savage way. Was it any wonder where Evan got his anger and violent tendencies from?
lied awake in bed, reading silently. She never once mentioned the incident. She
didn’t even bother to ask Dennis why Roscoe wasn’t planted at the foot of the
bed like usual. She just enjoyed the silence, took it as a brief reprieve.
room was side-by-side with his parent’s bedroom. Dennis pressed his ear to the
wall, expecting to hear his boy snoring away. Instead, he could hear Evan
chewing softly, slowly. Whatever he was munching on, he was really savoring the
got to be shitting me,” Dennis yelled, making Amy twitch again. “I think he’s
eating in there. I’ll teach him, that little bastard. Where’s my belt?”
the heck could he be snacking on?” Amy wondered. “There were no leftovers. And
there’s nothing else in the fridge. I haven’t been shopping since Sunday.”
Larson’s eyes widened. “Roscoe,” he whispered, and a single tear sprawled down