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.
Carson Ryder: Former
Marine/Has retrograde amnesia/Searching for clues to his past
Damien Albright: Found and
saved Carson/Has no family/Doesn’t seem to care about anything
Kenny Sudrow: Former spa
porter/Happy to be doing something else
Trevor Virden: Former comic
book store owner/His knowledge of useless facts is limitless
Janice Whitfield: Four months
pregnant/Wife of Regis Whitfield
Chuckie Razzano: His only
concern is his Rolex and his hair gel
Chase Crawford: Religious
zealot/Loner/Keeps to himself
Scientist/Worked for the C.D.C./Knows of a cure
Brent Blaze: Mall
survivor/Former police officer
Ally Burton: Mall
survivor/Sister of Eli Burton
Eli Burton: Mall
survivor/Brother of Ally Burton
Vern Sheldon: New ally/Drives
a box truck/Carries a badass flamethrower
Arnold Vesti: Biters got him
Regis Whitfield: Biters got
Devin Morris: Strangled in his
Darren Mays: Shot by Damien
Albright/Claimed that Carson arrested him at one point
Dorchester is about a two hour drive from Cherrywood. It took five days to get
past the roads that were jammed up with abandoned automobiles, not to mention
all the encounters with the Biters that surely slowed them down. Some of the
sectors were virtually impassable, forcing the coalition of survivors to seek
were running on fumes by the time they finally touched base in Dorchester. And
by fumes, I don’t mean gasoline. They had expended so much energy just
traveling a hundred and ten miles. The concept of escaping New York itself
seemed impossible at this rate. They’d all be dead before they reached Jersey.
Ryder scanned his ID, the only remaining clue to his past, and took the wheel
of the van from Trevor Virden. He didn’t know where Newtown Lane was, but he
was hoping his instincts would kick in and guide him to the property, much like
his instincts seemed to take over when he operated a firearm.
couldn’t help but think of Darren Mays’ final words. “You arrested me.” What had he meant by that? Did I used to be
a cop? Did I work for the FBI or the DEA, the ATF? Was I a military police
officer? Who the fuck am I?
he reached the end of Dorchester Avenue, he had two options. If he went left,
he’d be going down Fulton Street. If he made a right, he’d be driving through
Canon Street. Something awoke in his brain, his mind lighting up like a
Christmas tree and ordering him to go right, so he listened and turned the van
onto Canon Street. Four blocks down, they had found Newtown Lane.
Ryder tapped the brakes gently and as the van came to a
halt, Vern Sheldon pulled up behind him in his box truck. 816 Newtown Lane.
That’s where they stopped.
A two-story snout house with a protruding garage that
nearly grazed the sidewalk. Ryder studied the diamond windows. All the ones on
the first floor had been smashed.
He studied the green color of the house, and the tall elm
tree beside it. The tree, the garage, the diamond windows; none of it jogged
“Are you…are you going in?” Kenny Sudrow asked.
“I guess I have to,” Ryder said. “It’s the only way to
know if this is my place for sure.”
“You’re not going alone,” Damien Albright told him,
checking the magazine of his pistol. It still held eight rounds and they had
plenty of ammunition to spare. Still, they tried to remain conservative. So
when Damien tucked the pistol into the waistband of his jeans, he made sure he
was carrying his Bowie knife, too.
Carson took a pistol and a fire axe they had acquired at
the mall. They both exited the van and Carson instructed them to keep the doors
locked until they got back.
“Need some backup?” Brent Blaze had asked. “I can cover
you. I used to be a police officer. And I’ve still got my gun.”
“We’ll be fine,” Damien dismissed him as they walked from
The wooden steps leading up to the porch were dilapidated
and the first step caved as soon as Carson placed his boot over it. They
climbed over the decaying steps and reached solid ground atop the porch.
They didn’t need to knock. The door had been kicked to
splinters some time ago.
* * *
In the van, Chase Crawford had removed the crucifix from
his neck and was grasping it loosely between two fingers, letting it dangle
back and forth as if he was trying to hypnotize a pregnant Janice Whitfield.
Janice stared at the crucifix intently, not because she
was actually being hypnotized or put into a trance. She stared because it was a
symbol of hope. If there was a God, He had guided Janice and her unborn child
this far. She was hopeful He would guide her through to the end.
But Chase didn’t see it that way. Chase saw this plague
as the wrath of the Almighty himself. He believed he was being condemned for
the sins of others.
“Doomed,” Chase muttered. “We’re all doomed.”
“Please don’t start in again,” Kenny said from the front
of the van.
“What do you care?” Chase asked. “What do any of you
care? You’re the ones that brought the wrath of God down upon us. We’ve all
been struck by the vengeful hand of the Lord. And let me tell you something,
when the Lord strikes you, the sting doesn’t go away.”
“So, what you’re saying is we’re all marked for death?”
“Please don’t engage him,” Trevor shouted from the front.
“He’ll drone on and on forever. He’s a fucking broken record.”
“I’m more interested in hearing the story about you and
that black dude in the box truck,” Kenny said to Blaze, leaning over his seat,
eyes toward the back of the van. He was really showing his mental age by using
the word dude.
“There’s not much to tell,” Blaze said, clearing his
throat. He was parched, but he knew they couldn’t be careless with the water
supply. “He was a truck driver and a smalltime dealer. Marijuana. I busted him
years ago. DUI. A week later, the tires of my Mustang were slashed. I never
could prove it was him, but I know it was.”
“We’re in the midst of a zombie apocalypse and you’re
harboring a grudge over your car tires?” Trevor asked, but it wasn’t really a
question. More of a rhetorical statement. “Let it go. He saved our asses. And
that flamethrower makes him an even better ally.”
“Just be careful he doesn’t use that flamethrower on
you,” Brent said. Trevor didn’t follow up and that statement hung in the air,
making Kenny really wonder. He wondered in a world like this, with no laws, no
rules, was there anyone you could really trust?
* * *
In the house, Carson and Damien did a full sweep of the
first floor. The place looked as if it had been looted. There was a television
unit, but no TV. A wide groove in the carpet where a couch or sofa used to sit.
Spots on the wall where picture frames might’ve hung.
A lone Biter had wandered through the open backdoor and
Carson saw that it didn’t make it past the kitchen as he buried the axe so deep
on its skull, it stuck. He wiggled the axe free and they ascended the stairs to
the second floor.
More signs of destruction, as the rooms had been
ransacked and vandalized. Damien found a picture frame lying face down on the
floor of what he assumed was the master bedroom. It was the biggest room in the
He picked the frame up and flipped it over. The glass was
cracked and the picture had a slight tear in the upper right-hand corner, but
Damien could clearly make out one of the three people in the photo. It was
Carson standing next to a red haired woman with fair skin. Beside the woman was
a little girl with pigtails, no older than nine or ten.
“Carson,” Damien summoned him from the hallway. “You
better take a look at this.”
Carson stepped in from the hall and took the frame from
Damien’s hands. In the photo, he was wearing a blue uniform and a blue cloth
police hat. An NYPD badge was pinned to the front of his uniform. “Is that your
old lady and your daughter?”
“I…I can’t remember,” Carson said. He undid the back and
slid the picture from the frame, folding it and placing it in his back pocket.
He surveyed the rest of the bedroom. There was a metal bedframe with no
only thing that remained besides the bedframe was an oak dresser. Ryder
checked, but every drawer was barren. “I guess this answers one question,”
Carson said as they exited the room. “I did used to be a cop, just like Blaze.”
and a marine. Man, you’re full of surprises.”
this doesn’t explain everything. If I had a wife and daughter, where are they
don’t know, buddy. But if they’re out there, and they’re alive, there’s a good
chance we’ll find him.” When Ryder heard that, he thought of what Janice had
told him when he promised the group would protect her. She said, “You can’t
make promises like that. Not in this world.”
Damien said as they descended the staircase. “I saw a door beside the kitchen.
It was locked, but I’m willing to bet it leads to a basement or a cellar. Maybe
there’s something down there. It couldn’t hurt to check it out. We came all
led the way and motioned with Carson to take care of the door. With one swing
of the axe, the brass knob snapped off, and Damien nudged the door forward. It
was dark, but Carson saw the glow of a flashlight as it beamed across a brick
think we’ve got company,” he alerted Damien.
Damien muttered, yanking his pistol from his waistband. He cocked back the
hammer with his thumb and told Ryder to do the same.
don’t kill the living,” Ryder told him. “We should make that a rule. No more blood
has to be shed.”
only have to kill the ones willing to kill us first. Now take out your gun and
be ready for anything.”
* * *
The box truck had a mesh partition that allowed Vern
Sheldon to communicate with his passengers. Willard Pickman and Ally and Eli
Burton were seated on crates of supplies Vern had attained in his travels.
His trusty flamethrower he always kept in the cab, along
with the .357 Magnum he had stored in the glove box.
there really a miracle waiting in some underground lab or are you just blowing
smoke up our ass?” Vern felt compelled to ask Pickman.
assure you the antivirus is as tangible as the virus itself. The C.D.C. always
had a backup plan. I just can’t understand why that plan hasn’t been put into
effect. The only assumption I could make is that everyone else who knows about
it must be dead already.”
the president, the vice president, they’re all dead?” "It's very likely." "And the president, he was behind all this?"
never said this virus was commissioned by the president. The secretary of
defense was the one who approached us, and if I had to guess, he approached on
his own volition. As far as I know, the president and vice president were in
the dark on this one. I think the S.O.D. planned to use this in a time of warfare.
Maybe it was intended as a weapon, maybe to use against our enemies. But I
don’t think he anticipated an outbreak of this magnitude.”
make it to Texas and this cure does exist, I owe you a beer.”
owe me more than that.”
your story?” Vern asked, directed towards Eli and Ally.
much to tell,” Ally did the talking. “Our dad was a very wealthy man and when
he died, he left us both a large sum of money. Not much good that does us now.”
* * *
Ryder and Albright found the missing mattress in the
basement, along with the sheets, duvet, and pillows. The couch, the kitchen utensils,
even the television had been transported to the basement by two male squatters,
both in their teens. They claimed to have moved in after the sixth day, when
the house had already been abandoned. They made no mention of a red haired
woman and a little girl with pigtails.
squatters were armed. Albright spotted a large machete propped against the wall
and several firearms that lay beside the mattress. And they both had guns
tucked into their waistbands, visible underneath their stained shirts.
how’d you get here?” one of the squatters asked when they were done with their
line of inquiry. “You got a car or a truck?”
the other squatter said. “And supplies? We’ve been living on jars of
preservatives and cans of beets. I swear if I eat another beet, I’ll puke.”
got a van,” Damien said. “But I’m afraid there’s no room, guys.”
Carson said. “Vern could fit two more in the box truck.”
way,” Damien said.
your friend said there’s room, so what’s the problem?”
problem is I don’t trust you,” Damien said frankly.
I can be very persuasive,” the first squatter said, reaching slowly under his
shirt. Damien saw what he was going for and put a stop to that with his pistol.
He didn’t kill him. He just blasted a gaping hole through his hand.
first squatter fell to the floor, writhing, squealing in pain. The second
squatter reached fast for his gun, but Carson was a shade faster and raised his
pistol, firing one deafening shot through his temple.
said no killing the living,” Damien reminded him.
you said only if they don’t try to kill us first.” Carson looked at the
squatter writhing on the floor. “Put him out of his misery. Don’t forget to aim
for the head so he doesn’t come back as one of those Biters.”
* * *
had traded the fire axe for the machete the squatters had left behind. It was
incased in a green sheath and the blade was about eighteen inches long and
razor-sharp. The handle was black and tied to the hilt was a lanyard, a thick
strap that can be used to secure around the wrist.
had his Bowie knife. Vern had his flamethrower. And now Carson had his machete.
they drove on, Damien and Carson dared not speak a word of what happened in the
Thirty-Two, they had escaped Long Island and were heading for the big city. But
again, the roads proved to be treacherous. Several sectors of the city were
rendered virtually impassable by vehicle from the oceans of abandoned cars left
by fleeing motorists.
they navigated their way through the rough terrain, taking detour after detour,
they came upon a mock Georgian style house that was unscathed by the chaos. As
night was rapidly gaining on them, they decided this could be a good place to
set up camp.
pried the backdoor with a crowbar and they all piled in. There was more than
enough room for the entire group to spread out and get some rest. Carson,
Damien, and Brent did a full sweep of the house with their guns to make sure
they were alone.
found no Biters. No squatters. No threats.
they did find was that the stove/oven combination ran on a propane tank that
was still half full, and the mini chest freezer they discovered in the basement
had been running since Day One. It was a wireless, battery operated model. And
the batteries still had life in them.
were steaks, pork chops, racks of ribs. It was like hitting the
in God’s name would’ve left this place behind?” Blaze wondered.
cares?” Damien said. “Their loss is our gain.”
took the meat and poultry out to thaw overnight. Then they all retired to their
separate quarters to catch up on some much needed sleep.
* * *
With the help of Janice Whitfield and Ally Burton, Vern
Sheldon volunteered to prepare a sumptuous feast for the group. He spent the
day frying, roasting, broiling everything the guys had removed from the chest
freezer. The girls had raided the pantry and cabinets and had rounded up every
sauce and seasoning at their disposal.
By nightfall, the entire group was seated at the glass
dining room table. There were eight white fiberglass dining chairs that lined
Damien took a seat at one end of the table and Carson was
going to take the other end, but he graciously offered his seat up to Vern for
all the effort he had put into this meal. Extra folding chairs were carried up
from the basement so that everyone would have a place to sit.
Janice had found candles and holders in the pantry and
placed them at both ends of the table to illuminate the pan-fried chicken,
marinated steak, and mouthwatering pork chops.
At Janice’s request, they all joined hands and said a
prayer of thanks before they dug in. The only one who didn’t join them at the
table was Chase Crawford, who opted to subsist on jars of preservatives.
As Brent Blaze finished the last plate of ribs, he let
out a tremendous belch and covered his mouth a second too late. “Excuse me,” he
“No need to excuse yourself,” Trevor Virden laughed. “Social
etiquette isn’t exactly a requirement in this new world we’ve found ourselves
“So you’re saying the rules don’t apply anymore?”
“With all due respect officer, have you taken a look
outside? What rules are there left to follow?”
“What do you guys miss about the old world?” Kenny Sudrow
asked, changing the subject.
“The internet,” Chuckie Razzano answered first.
“I’d have to say the internet, too,” Ally Burton said. “And
I’d just about kill for a French vanilla latte.”
“I miss horror movies,” Eli Burton said. “It’s sad to
think I’ll never get to see Phantasm Five.”
“I miss comics, fantasy football, video games, Netflix,”
Trevor Virden rambled on.
“All the essential things in life,” Kenny chuckled. “Me,
I miss my family the most.”
“I miss my wife,” Willard Pickman confessed. “I feel
terrible for what I did. And I feel worse for having a hand in all this. I miss
the entire world. I just want things back the way that they were.”
“I wish I had something to miss,” Carson Ryder said,
trying to remember anything from his past life that brought a smile to his
“Since we’ve got nothing to lose here, I’ll be the first
to admit I miss marijuana. I’d do just about anything for a blunt right now.”
Blaze rolled his eyes at Vern Sheldon’s statement.
“I miss my old house,” Janice said. “And television. I
never thought I’d miss it this much, but I’d be satisfied watching a soap opera
marathon at this point. I’d even watch infomercials.”
“What do you miss?” Kenny asked Damien.
Damien thought about it for what seemed like an eternity,
scanning the archives of his mind for anything that brought him joy over the
years. He finally replied with, “Nothing…I don’t miss a single thing about the
“Uh, guys,” Chase called from the spacious living room
that caused an echo to carry through the house. “I hate to break up your party,
but we’ve got company.”
the pane glass windows, Chase could see a mob of Biters slowly creeping towards
the house. The group gathered in the living room, where they saw what the
commotion was all about.
me,” Trevor muttered.
where’s the flamethrower?” Carson asked.
I left it in the cab,” Vern slapped his palm across his head as if to say
must’ve smelled the food,” Pickman surmised.
Biters crept past the lawn, their numbers became visible. It was dark and they
couldn’t see all of them, but Trevor lost count after fifty.
need to find something to barricade the windows,” Brent suggested.
time,” Damien said as the Biters made their way to the front of the face,
pressing their decaying bodies against the glass.
chests bloated and distended. The flesh rotting away from their arms, blackened
skin peeling from their faces. Among this congregation of the dead, Janice spotted
a little girl, the skin missing from the lower half of her face, fully exposing
her jaw and bottom row of her red stained teeth. Janice’s heart sank and she
turned away, clutching at her belly, thinking of the unborn child that was
growing inside of her.
“I don’t think the glass is going to hold them,” Kenny
said, taking a few steps back to prepare himself for the inevitable.
men scrambled for their weapons and extra rounds of ammunition, the glass
couldn’t hold anymore and as it shattered, the mob of Biters began to spill in
To Be Continued With Part
Seven: Death Comes Knocking
want to hear a ghost story? Well, every true ghost story begins with an
irreversible tragedy, a senseless death or deaths that could’ve been prevented
if the necessary precautions had been taken.
This particular story takes place in the early nineties, against
the backdrop of the fleeting Gulf War. Operation Desert Storm had commenced on
January 17th, 1991.
January 18th, 1991, three bodies were discovered in the quiet Long
Island suburbs of New York. Danny Miller was found floating face down in his
in-ground pool. Drowning was the official cause of death as ruled by the
coroner. But Miller’s chest and back were riddled with various puncture wounds
and lacerations caused by a serrated hunting knife.
wife, Kristin, was found in the upstairs bedroom. Official cause of death was
blood loss. The coroner counted 39 stab wounds along her neck, back, arms, and
only child, Davey Miller, was still in bed when the killer found him…and stabbed
him to death in his sleep.
The Fairview Police Department never apprehended the
person who committed this heinous crime. As the bank possessed the house
because of the Millers’ mortgage, they seized the property and sold it at
auction to the highest bidder.
The highest bidder was a defense attorney named Calvin
He moved in with his wife, Helen, the next month.
* * *
By February 28th, 1991, the Gulf War had
reached its anticlimactic conclusion. A peace conference was held and a treaty had
been signed by both sides. And just as that document was being inked and dated,
Calvin and Helen Kinnear were settling into their new home on 743 Hemlock
“Did you see the in-ground pool?” Helen asked, sounding
like a giddy little child getting ready to start bouncing up and down like a
jumping bean. “I can’t wait for summer.”
“We had a pool at the old house,” Calvin reminded her.
“And you barely used it then. What’s so different about this one?”
“That was an aboveground pool,” Helen said, rolling her
eyes as if to say her husband was the one who needed reminding. “This is an
in-ground pool. I can’t tell with the tarp covering it, but I bet it’s at least
eight or nine feet deep. And I bet we can get a diving board installed, too.”
“Great, I can practice my belly flops,” Calvin joked.
“And let’s not get ahead of ourselves. This is starting to sound like a lot of
money. It costs big bucks to keep up with a big pool like that in the
“So what?” Helen shrugged. “It’s not like we don’t have
the money for it.”
Calvin considered it for a moment. And it was true. They
did indeed had the money to keep up with the pool and install a diving board.
They had enough money to build a second pool if the town granted them the
permits. Shit, Calvin had enough greenbacks sitting in his bank account that he
could’ve converted his whole backyard nightclub without blinking an eye.
But in addition to being one of the wealthiest defense
attorneys in New York, Calvin was always a frugal man, pinching pennies
wherever pennies could be pinched. And at that precise moment, the last things
on his mind were summer or the pool.
He was haunted by two things: The name Vito Corelli, and
the history of his new home.
Calvin was well aware of the macabre events that had transpired.
Helen was the only one not clued in, and keeping this a secret from her was his
top priority. But he had been off his game for days from lack of sleep,
partially due to the nightmares that had assaulted him every time he drifted
off to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he’d see flashes of crime scene
photos. Photos of victims with white sheets draped over their bodies; the crimson
red blood soaking right through the sheets.
The victims had been placed on their knees and shot
execution style, with a silenced 9MM Luger pressed to the back of their heads.
Vito Corelli’s tumultuous relationship with the victims made him fall under
But Calvin knew the evidence was all circumstantial. They
were missing the three big factors that can make or break any case.
Witnesses, they had none.
Fingerprints, hair samples, blood samples, fiber, DNA;
they had none.
The silenced 9MM Luger; never recovered.
They didn’t have the murder weapon. In fact, they didn’t
have any solid evidence to link Corelli to the scene of the crime. All they had
against him was hearsay and conjecture. But that didn’t change the fact that
Corelli was guilty as sin.
He sat in that courtroom every day with a smug grin smeared
across his otherwise cold, emotionless face. His trial lasted five days and the
deliberation process took less than an hour. The judge and the jury both found
Corelli not guilty due to lack of evidence and he wriggled free from the hook
He’ll never forget the day Corelli came up to him in the
lobby after the trial like Marlon Brando in The
Godfather,and threw his huge arm
around Calvin, giving him a big sweaty bear hug. “I owe you big time,” Corelli
had told him. “Anything you ever need, anything at all, you come to me. No
questions asked. I’ll take care of it for you.”
Calvin never forgot that day, and he certainly never
forgot Corelli’s final remarks.
* * *
Helen was curled up in the fetal position on her side of
the bed, snoring peacefully with a sleep mask pulled over her eyes while Calvin
lay restless beside her.
Every time he tried to close his eyes, he’d get those
flashes again. Flashes of crimson red blood and two bodies splayed under white
The clock was a newer, digital model that clicked every
time the numbers changed.
2:03 AM. Click.
2:04 AM. Click.
2:05 AM. Click.
It was enough to drive an insomniac insane. Not as if an
insomniac needs any help in that department. Calvin knew the lack of sleep
would inevitably turn his brain into mush and his body into jelly.
At 2:06, when the clock clicked again, Calvin sat up and
rolled off the bed gently so as not to disturb Helen. He walked to the door
when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. He was being watched.
A shadowy figure loomed in the corner of the bedroom. He
couldn’t make out a face. All he could see were two green eyes that seemed to
glow like cats eyes in the moonlight. They weren’t the eyes of a happy camper.
They were the eyes of a man or woman who had suffered undeniable torture. The
eyes of pain, the eyes of affliction.
Calvin leapt back onto the bed, nearly waking Helen as he
crawled underneath the covers and drew them over his head.
He closed his eyes and didn’t see flashes of red.
Instead, he saw flashes of a mysterious figure that was standing a few feet
from the bed. Calvin’s mind was too fried from sleep deprivation to register
the difference between apparition and hallucination.
Though, writing it off as a hallucination would’ve made
things a hell of a lot easier.
When he pulled the sheet down from his head and opened
his eyes, the apparition had faded into the night. It was just him, Helen, and
the warm bathing glow of moonlight that shined through their bedroom window.
And that’s when the voices started…
Cries for help. Agonizing screams. Harsh whispers of the
deceased. All the voices were begging for Calvin’s aid in alleviating their
He tucked a pillow behind his head and folded the ends
over his ears, holding them in place with both hands. But even that wasn’t
enough to dull the voices.
Because the voices weren’t in the room. The voices were
in his head.
At least that’s what Calvin chose to believe at first.
* * *
Calvin had called out of work sick so he could visit the
doctor at two o’clock. He lied to Helen, telling her he stayed home because he
felt a slight touch of the flu.
“I hope you’re not feeling too sick to greet the
neighbors with me,” Helen had said.
“No I think I can manage,” he said, forcing a smile. He
wasn’t her husband at this moment. He was an actor struggling to constantly
retain his character. He couldn’t let her catch on and know that something was amiss.
Most of the neighbors proved to be pleasant, the one
exception being Walter Greco, the cranky man who lived next-door. They
presented him with a bunt cake and he squeezed out a thanks in such way that
made Calvin realize he was speaking with a man who was not accustomed to saying
They saw his wife, Emma, wheeling through the living
room, but she never came to the door and Walter failed to give the proper
introductions. He just accepted the cake, said thanks, welcome to the
neighborhood, and then he shut the door in their face.
“Remind me not to invite them over for pasta night,”
Helen quipped, nudging Calvin in the ribs with her elbow in a teasing fashion.
* * *
doctor’s office was newly renovated. The smell of fresh paint and newly
installed pinewood was overpowering, almost nauseating. Ribbed pinewood wall
panels lined the bottom half of the waiting room. The panels had been stained
to give the wood a slick, glossy appearance.
in the waiting room patiently, flipping through outdated celebrity gossip
magazines until they called his name.
nurse weighed him, took his blood pressure, and checked his heart rate. She
assured him his blood pressure and heart rate was copasetic. And she remarked
he was the perfect weight for his average height.
the nurse excused herself and left Calvin to wait for the doctor.
minutes later, Doctor Crenshaw walked through the door and introduced himself
to Calvin. Crenshaw was on a first name basis with all his patients, but seeing
as how Calvin was new in Fairview, he remained formal for this appointment.
Mr. Kinnear, what brings you here today?”
don’t really know how to explain it without sounding crazy...so, I’ll just say
that I saw and heard things last night that I couldn’t have possibly seen or
auditory hallucinations,” Crenshaw said and chortled. “You should consider
yourself lucky. Most people have to pay for such a thing. But in all seriousness,
I must ask a few questions before I can give a diagnosis. Remember what I ask
you and what you tell me is strictly confidential. I’m not obligated to share
your information with anyone.”
understand,” Calvin nodded.
Kinnear, do you use any drugs, including alcohol or tobacco?”
drink on occasion and I smoke one cigar for every victory in the courtroom as
sort of a reward, but that’s it. I don’t use drugs.”
a defense attorney, right?”
you say you’re under a lot of stress?”
could say that,” Calvin said, thinking of Corelli and those crime scene photos
that had been submitted into evidence.
the voices, the visions, has this ever happened to you before?”
never,” Calvin said emphatically.
“What about sleeping? Are you getting enough rest?”
“I toss and turn most nights, drift in and out of sleep.”
“And what about food? Are you eating on a regular basis?”
“I usually have breakfast and dinner, I skip lunch unless
I’m meeting with a client or having lunch with a co-worker.”
“Mr. Kinnear, it’s my personal diagnosis that you’re
simply under a lot of stress. When we’re stressed out or distracted, when we’re
not eating right or getting enough sleep, the mind doesn’t function properly.
It can play tricks on you. And in reality, that’s probably what you experienced
last night. Nothing more than mind hocus-pocus. But on the off chance I’m
wrong, I’d like to schedule a series of tests, starting with a CT scan, just to
make sure it’s nothing serious.”
“Whatever you think is best,” Calvin said.
if this happens again, I want you to contact my office immediately. In the
meantime, I’m going to write you a prescription for thirty doses of Ambien.
It’s a sleep aid. It should help you get a good night’s rest.”
* * *
But the Ambien failed to give Calvin a good night’s rest.
He tossed and turned and kept cranking his neck to the side to peek at the
corner of the room, expecting the shadowy figure to suddenly return the minute
he let his guard down.
Helen’s sleep mask was draped over her eyes and she was
snoring away on her back as Calvin listened to the digital clock click every
SAVE ME, a
voice cried out somewhere in the darkness of the room.
“You’re not real,” Calvin said, not even aware he was
speaking out loud. “You’re just in my head. Now leave me alone.”
Help me, he’s got a
knife, a second voice cried out from the dark.
“LEAVE ME ALONE!” Calvin shouted and Helen snapped awake.
She peeled the sleeping mask from her face and stared angrily at Calvin.
“What the heck is your problem?” she asked, shaking her
“Nothing, I just had a bad dream,” he lied. He was
becoming an expert at lying straight to his wife’s face. “I’m sorry I woke you.
Go back to sleep. I’m gonna go downstairs for some fresh air.”
A set of clear glass sliding doors led out to the
backyard, where Calvin sat by the tarp covered pool and tried to catch his
He looked up, and beyond the pool, beside a barren oak
tree that had shed all its leaves, the shadowy figure loomed.
Those dead green eyes gleamed in the pale moonlight.
“What do you want?” Calvin shouted. “Name it and I’ll give it to you. You want
us to move out?”
The figure shook its head no.
“You want me to demolish this place?”
The figure shook its head no.
“You just want me to help you?”
The figure shook its head yes.
“Help you with what?”
The figure pointed one bony finger, devoid of all its
flesh, towards the house next-door.
Kill him, a
voice commanded. Make him suffer the same
fate I suffered.
“Are you…Danny Miller?”
The figure shook its head yes once more.
* * *
Before he went through with it, he had to be sure. He had
to know more about Walter Greco and the Miller family. He needed to understand
the connection between the two, establish a motive for Greco’s heinous actions.
When Helen had pulled Calvin’s arm to get him to go
around greeting all their new neighbors with bunt cake, he had been introduced
to Ms. Cobb.
Myra Cobb had been divorced for twelve years, but she
still preferred her husband’s name. Myra was thirty years his senior.
Nevertheless, she was full of energy and spunk. A loquacious woman, Myra could
drone on for hours if you got her started on the right topic. And like most
neighbors, she did her fair share of gossiping.
And that’s exactly what Calvin was hoping for when he
paid Ms. Cobb a second visit, sans Helen on this occasion. She had offered
cookies and coffee, but he declined both.
“Water would be fine,” Calvin said.
She fetched him a clean glass from the cupboard and
poured him a glass from the tap. She had an ice bowl in the freezer that included
a pair of ice tongs she used to drop three cubes into his glass.
He sipped his water and she drank her coffee while they
said in the living room. The sofa Calvin was seated on was plaid, and though it
had been sealed in plastic, he could tell it had been scotch guarded from the
texture. Ms. Cobb sat in old padded rocking chair. The chair had been there so
long the floor was riddled with scuff marks from the wooden legs.
She asked how they liked Fairview, and Calvin lied and
said it was a pleasant place to live. Truth be told, he couldn’t wait to move
back to the city.
“What’s the deal with Walter Greco?” Calvin asked, trying
to steer the conversation in Greco’s direction.
“Whatever do you mean?” Myra asked, and right away Calvin
could tell she was holding something back.
“He seems like a bit of a grump. I hope I’m not out of
line by saying that.”
“Not at all,” Myra said, knowing she had called Greco
worse in the past. “Walter is…well, he tends to keep to himself after the
incident that occurred at your place. I’m sure by now you must be aware of what
happened in your home.”
“I’m aware,” Calvin said and then thought silently, more aware than you know. “But what does
that have to do with Mr. Greco?”
“Well if you met Walter, I suppose you meet Emma, too.”
“The lady in the wheelchair? We weren’t properly
introduced. He slammed the door in our faces before we had a chance to say
hello to her.”
“Well, there’s quite a story behind Emma and that
wheelchair. I wouldn’t know where to start."
“The beginning is always the best place.”
“Danny Miller and Walter Greco never got along. But no
one in the neighborhood knew why. The truth is that Greco found out Danny was
sticking it to his wife while he was away on business trips. Emma confessed
after he found a prophylactic wrapper under their bed. Supposedly, Walter was
so overwhelmed with rage he pushed Emma down the staircase. That’s how she
ended up in the chair.”
“Do you think Walter Greco could’ve killed the Miller
“If a man could push his own wife down a flight of
stairs, I suppose he’s capable of anything else he puts his sick mind to. The
police certainly questioned him after the murder, but he had an alibi, and
there was no evidence to link him to their house, your house, the night of the
murder. Ever since then, he’s kept to himself.”
“I really should be going,” Calvin got up to suddenly
excuse himself. “Helen has a touch of the flu.” He lied again. He was becoming
a real pro at this.
* * *
March 5th was right around the corner. Every
year, Helen flew from New York to San Francisco to spend her cousin’s birthday
with her. All Calvin had to do was wait a few days. In the meantime, he had
cashed in on Corelli’s promise and acquired his services. He needed Vito to
obtain something a guy like Calvin could never get his hands on. And Vito was
more than happy to oblige so long as Calvin didn’t tell him what he intended to
use it for.
* * *
March 5th, 1991. As Helen was in the air,
Calvin set his plan into motion. He waited for nightfall and watched out a
second floor window behind the maroon drapes Helen had him install. When the
Greco’s bedroom light went out, that was his cue.
He jimmied the backdoor open with a crowbar, which led
him to the kitchen. There, he borrowed a chair from the kitchen table, careful
not to drag it. He positioned the chair under the smoke detector and climbed on
top, sparking a lighter and waving it back and forth in front of the detector until
it started emitting a horrendously loud beep.
He knew Emma would pose no threat with her chair. She
wouldn’t be the one coming down the stairs to see what the problem was. He
dropped from the chair and listened to the descending footsteps from the
When Walter Greco entered the kitchen, the chair was back
in place at the Formica table and the alarm was still beeping. His eyes darted
around the kitchen, trying to find the cause of this disturbance, and the last
thing he saw was the backdoor ajar.
The needle pierced his neck as Calvin snuck up behind and
jammed down on the plunger of the syringe. Hit with about fifty milligrams of
liquid horse tranquillizer, Walter Greco’s world went black and he spilled to
the floor, drifting off into a world of darkness.
* * *
When Walter Greco came to, he tried to sit up, but his
movements were restricted. That was when he realized he had been bound hand and
foot with plastic zip-ties. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the in-ground
Calvin had removed the tarp the moment Helen had left for
the airport. The pool was only half full, but Calvin figured it would do.
The horse tranquillizer was only part one of a part two
request. Calvin had also requested an unregistered firearm, preferably a 9MM
Luger with a silencer.
“What is this?” Greco asked as Calvin approached with the
Luger in hand.
“This is justice,” Calvin said. “I want you to feel
exactly what Danny Miller felt. I want to see you submerged in that icy water.”
“You’re crazy!” Walter screamed.
“We’ll let the courts decide that. I am a defense
attorney, after all. I’m a wiz when it comes to having people found mentally
unfit to stand trial.”
“You expect me to go in there willingly?”
“Not at all,” Calvin said, giving him a hard kick and
letting his body roll over the edge of the pool. His body splashed in the
water, but even with his wrists and ankles bound, he was still able to keep his
head above water due to the level.
“Now let’s see how long you can hold your breath under
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” he said, brandished the
silenced 9MM Luger.
Walter gasped, not at the sight of the gun, but at the
sight of the shadowy figure that stood beside Calvin. It’s cold, dead green
eyes were fixed on Greco.
“God forgive me,” Walter said and took his final breath,
lowering his head into the water.
Calvin waited until the water stopping bubbling at the
surface. When Greco was no longer breathing, he fished his body from the water
and glanced over his shoulder. To his astonishment, the shadowy figure had
vanished without a trace.
He had given the Miller family peace. And now, like
Greco, like Corelli, he was going to have to live with this on his conscious
for the rest of his life.
But Calvin didn’t think he’d have any trouble sleeping
tonight. In fact, he was going to sleep like a baby.