Moments
Moments
William Stuart
The door opened. He set his helmet on the dryer.
“Daddy! Daddy!” the chorus rang. His two girls ran to him and holding a leg each, tried to hug him as hard as they could.
“Do you know what we did in school today?” asked 5-year-old Sarah.
“What?” he asked, genuinely interested.
“We made dinosaurs!” she exclaimed, holding up her picture.
“That’s great honey!” he replied.
“Da Da!” his younger daughter said, with just as much excitement.
“Well hello, Baby!” he said as he picked her up and hugged her to his chest.
“Nothing’s thawed so it’s leftovers and macaroni for the kids.” said his wife.
“I don’t want macaroni!” said Sara.
“Well, that’s what we have, so that’s what there is.”
“I don’t want that either,” he said.
“We can’t afford to eat out again and that’s what there is.”
“I think we can afford a hamburger,” he countered.
“Yay!” said Sara as her mother raised an eyebrow.
“Way!” said the baby and his heart broke in two.
The government man had been snooping around the last few days. He carried a leather binder and smelled of office coffee and bullshit. He’d come to “assess operations” after a containment breach in sector 7G. Only he had arrived two days too late. The breach had been contained and everything had been sealed up and back to normal. Then this guy.
“Mama, please?”
“Ma-ma! Peez!” echoed the baby.
He looked at his wife and shrugged, tears fighting to be released, but now, bacon cheese and curly fries.
“And another round,” he said, motioning toward their drinks.
“Hitting it a little hard?” she asked.
He shrugged and downed the bottle. All he had to offer was a smile.
“So that’s it?”
“That’s it,” said the government man. “Go home, Hug your kids. Make love to your wife. We’re done here.”
“But…”
“You have about seven hours till the end of the world. You want to spend it arguing with me?”
“I guess…”
“Look. We are trying to contain this. You, me, the rest of us, we’re done-for. But maybe…” He shrugged.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Avery says I’m not pretty.”
“You know what? Fuck Avery.”
“HONEY!”
“Just go home. There’s nothing more anyone can do.”
“I…”
“Goodnight Mr. Thompson.
Goodnight.
“And then everybody and everything said, “Rawrrr!!!” and that’s how that movie ended!” said one child.
“DaddyMomma!” said the other.
He kept them up for as long as he could. His wife was annoyed at first but they knew each other well enough. She could tell something was dreadfully wrong. She sat quietly and sipped her wine while he played with the kids.
“Come on, Momma!” they called. It was nearing eleven at night. She set down her glass and piled on. The baby was dozing on the floor, still giggling occasionally in her sleep.
They put Sara to bed and made love on the sofa. He tried to remember a time when his wife looked more beautiful than she did at this very moment. He knew the jets were already flying. He held her close and finally allowed himself to cry as she drifted off to sleep.
Troll Bridge
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Troll Bridge
Every town has the place—an abandoned building, an alleyway, a wooded area—where the ‘bad’ kids hang out. You know who I mean; the long hairs, metal heads, the druggies. It’s where these outsiders go to smoke cigarettes and listen to music. For us, it was the bridge over Boot Creek, the little stream that snaked through town. Boot Creek itself was rarely any more than a muddy ditch. But at the top of the bank there was an area where kids could hang out and make noise and ride their skateboards without the nosy gazes of adults.
My friends and I took to calling it, “Troll Bridge,” on account of it was occupied almost all the time by Billy Logan and his crew of pothead screwups. Billy was three years older than us but was only one grade ahead because he’d been held back twice. I was in the seventh grade and here was this giant, nearly fifteen-year-old bully running around terrorizing everyone. Don’t look so shocked. It was the eighties. Things were just like that. It was a different world then.
Anyway, Billy had grown this sort of scraggly goatee on his chin and my friend Chad made the remark that all that hanging out under the bridge was turning him into a Billy goat. My other friend Daniel pointed out that it had been the troll who lived under the bridge, not the goats. I agreed with Daniel, that Billy was much more like the troll than the goats. And after that, it was Troll Bridge, not Boot Creek, that we avoided as much as we could. (more…)
Her First Day- Audio Narration
I am honored and humbled to announce that a story I wrote recently just got an incredible audio adaptation by Ghost Mummy on YouTube. Please give it a listen and then check out her other awesome adaptations.
Her First Day
Her First Day
His heart breaks all over again.
He shoulders his rifle and his pack, snatches up his keys, and chambers a round in the pistol. Just in case.
The knocking is weaker this time and he holds back tears because he knows what that means. Shaking it off, he tells himself there will be time to mourn later. Always more time, always later, but for now he has to focus.
An old calendar hangs on the wall next to the door. The actual month and year long past, it is now marked up with x’s and o’s of a dozen different colors. He checks the most recent series of blue x’s. 17 days. Longer than the last time by nearly a week. Maybe it would be over soon.
The knocking comes again and he swallows the lump in his throat. A coil of rope hangs on a hook under the calendar. Pistol at the ready, he grabs the rope, then throws the bolt and opens the door. (more…)
The Trees Have Eyes
Hello everyone! Please click here to purchase my stories!
In this anthology, I have two stories that take place in the deep, dark woods:
“Seeker”
In 1984, a young teen moves to a small town in rural Texas. An outsider, he meets a group of misfits like himself and shows them the joys of heavy metal and role playing games. But in the midst of the Satanic Panic, some players take the game way too far.
“Lucie and Snaggletooth”
In an unexpected financial windfall, a family can finally afford their dream house in the country. But mysterious neighbors and dangerous creatures quickly turn that dream into a nightmare.