TBD on Ning
Parts
This thread is for those parts of tales we’ve written – inspired beginnings (or middles and endings) and flashes of brilliance that came out of nowhere – only to mysteriously disappear as quickly as they came- leaving us stranded at our keyboards.
Good writing, but orphaned without a “rest of the story”.
Check your files…show off some of that stuff. Who knows? Maybe now is the right time to complete it.
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Permalink Reply by Bmichael on
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The place turned out to be better than most he’d seen, but was still a hovel.
The old lady stared at him for a moment – deciding whether or not she would show it to him.
“ ID” she wheezed past the dangling cigarette , wisps of smoke curling up her face, fluttering her eyes.
She held it up towards the light, squinting.
“How you pay?” in an accent he didn’t recognize.
“Credits.”
Her face softened. That was good news. It meant he had a regular income and she could attach it.
“Six months.”
“Three…maybe more.”
“Six!”
He held out his hand for the ID.
She tossed it on a side table piled with old receipts and eviction notices.
Pointing towards the ceiling, she said “Go look. Upstairs in back.”
It was small – three sparsely furnished rooms that smelled only slightly better than the rest of the place, but the door was good and it had a private entrance at the top of a rickety staircase outside. He would probably bake in the summer and freeze in the winter up here. But for now it was okay. He opened a window.
The short, squat building stood between two much taller tenements. The east side was a burned out shell – windows gone, iron fire escapes swinging precariously – scraping against blackened bricks – the aftermath of the riots.
Looking down, he could see through an opening. The edge of a mattress, some clothes and scattered trash disappeared into the darkness. A cat jumped on the window sill, looked around , and began grooming itself.
Across the alley, a group of kids he figured to be about eight or nine years old were hanging out in a vacant lot. Their attention was suddenly drawn to a pedestrian walking down the alley. They quickly surrounded the man who appeared to be in his twenties. The man shook his head repeatedly and took a side step to continue on his way. The group moved with him.
When he pushed two of the kids out of the way, the others attacked from behind. He threw a punch at one of them and sent her sprawling, but was no match for the others who quickly grabbed his legs, and in seconds he was down. He tried rolling out, but the swarm of furious kicks, fists, and hurled rocks followed him.
A group of older kids wearing some kind of colors appeared and broke it up. They ran the younger ones off and helped the man up. After a moment of conversation with more head shaking, the bloodied man was forcibly led across the lot and into a crumbling building on the other side.
He felt for the pistol…
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The dream always ended the same way.
Driving down the ramps of the parking garage – gray, dirty concrete crossbeams overhead, appearing impossibly close, ready to shear off the top of the truck.
On the fifth level it all disappears into a narrow, downward spiraling tunnel. There is no third and fourth floor. You twist your way through them in dim lights trying to keep from scraping the wall and hitting the car ahead.
Everything stops.
No.
Ok…maybe for a minute…breathe.
Can’t…won’t be trapped.
Minute’s up. Back up.
Cars behind.
Okokok…one more minute, and then…
…building shakes.
Overhead lights flicker and go out, all except for one, mixing with the brake lights ahead, casting an eerie glow.
Get out.
The floor is shifting…can’t stand…truck slides…slams wall…bounces back…chasing me…panicked eyes in the mirror ahead…airbags fills the cab…
Can’t move…pinned…twist towards the light…legs moving back and forth…running…
“HELP!”
More vibration…a groaning sound from above…getting louder…closer…
He jumped up from the chair tripping over the table in the darkness.
“Where…?”
A breath of stale, dank air reminded him – the woman with the smoky face, the movement behind the curtain, the gang in the alley – all came back.
He stayed low and crawled to the window.
The alley and the lot were gone – hidden in the darkness. In the window where the cat had been, a faint light quivered inside, extinguished for a moment as a shadow passed over and quickly disappeared.
He felt it before he heard it – something on the other side of the door that lead into the house.
A sniffing sound at the bottom of the door…back and forth…loud and soft.
A dog…yeah…that’s it… the old broad must have a dog. He relaxed.
He listened as the sniffing grew louder and faster -and began to move up towards the doorknob.
Big dog, he thought.
The floor creaked and the sniffing continued, past the doorknob and up the wall. At the top it turned to the right, tracing the outline of the door.
He remembered an old can of bug spray in the kitchen that did little to the creatures under the sink and quickly retrieved it.
When the sniffer returned to the floor, he pointed the nozzle underneath and fired.
A muffled cry followed by choking and hacking grew fainter as hurried steps moved away from the door.
Gun in hand, he pulled the deadbolt and opened the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Locked from the other side.
The lights came on.
Outside, a single street lamp cast a dim glow on the alley and some shadowy figures gathered at the edge.
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Permalink Reply by Carol T on
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You gotta stop eating the brats with the chili chaser just before bedtime, Bmichael.
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Permalink Reply by Westerly_2 on
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☺
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Permalink Reply by Marilyn on
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Just got back from Oh Canada! and read these --- brrrrrrr .... rrrrrrrr. Creepy! (And good!) So what finally happens, B?
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The carton slipped out of his hand – bouncing, along with the closet floor a few inches, releasing a small cloud of dust.
‘What the…”
Reaching down, he pried up the small area revealing underneath, a sub floor with a trap door in the center.
It was secured by a simple hasp with a metal rod through it – clearly designed to keep things out – not in.
“Oh man…”
This was getting stranger by the day. First, the kiddie gangs, then that weird sniffing thing last night, and now, secret doorways in his bedroom. He thought about leaving, but had already paid for three months and didn’t think much of his chances of getting his money back from smoke face.
He replaced the floor and stacked the boxes in the closet and, as an afterthought, placed a small piece of tape in the corner…just in case.
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He sat on the edge of the opening and looked down into the darkness. Approximately 3X3, he didn’t relish the idea of going down there, given his phobia of small, closed in places and wondered why he was even sitting here now.
But the mystery of this secret door coupled with a few beers had proven to be too much of a temptation. He flipped the light switch just inside the opening – nothing happened, probably because of the current power outage.
What he could see was a narrow, dust covered wooden stairway – very steep - almost like a ladder, with no handrails. Old imprints on the steps indicated someone had come up some time ago.
He decided that he would not go down there in the dark - probably full of giant, hairy spiders…or worse.
He made a mental note to bring the bug spray.
There was a pounding on the door – the sniffer door.
“Who ?”
“Open.”
Smoke face.
He pulled the bolt. The door opened.
She stood glaring at him , a growling, fat dachshund in her arms.
“Son bitch. Hurt puppy dog. Why?”
“I don’t know nuthin’ about a dog. What are you talkin’ about?”
She made a hissing sound as she waved her arm around – miming a spray can.
He looked past her down a hallway lined with doors… three on each side. He could tell one on the left was open – sunlight shone into the hall. Someone was probably listening.
Screw this, he thought. “Oh that. I was chasing one of the millions of rats in this dumpster and maybe…”
“Boolshit! No rats!” she interrupted.
“Yeah? My mistake … maybe it was a roach then…there’s damn sure plenty of them around here.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Watch youself mister. Leave puppy dog alone.”
He started to respond when she reached for the door, and slammed it closed. He heard the metal slide lock into place.
Well, that went well, he thought.
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The rental from hell...
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I knew a fat dachshund once who climbed up on the dinner table and ate a whole pound of butter.
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