Friday Flash: Zane's Closet

Zane's Closet

by Eric J. Krause

Roger finished clearing out Zane's closet and put a drop cloth down, though he wasn't sure quite why. They needed to replace the carpeting in this room soon anyway. Zane's slovenly ways had been murder on the walls, carpeting, and anything else unlucky enough to be stuck in here. Now that he was away at college, Roger and Lisa could make the room habitable again.

As Roger examined the inside of the closet, contemplating the best spot to start painting, an imperfection in the drywall caught his attention. He ran his hand over it and discovered a makeshift door. He pulled it open and found a crawl space that ran for a few feet and then took a hard turn to the right.

He turned and saw Lisa coming in with another drop cloth. "Check this out," he said. "There's a crawl space in here I never knew existed."

She tossed the sheet on the bed. "What do you mean? In the closet?"

"Yeah. I wonder if Zane knew about it."

She looked over his shoulder and scoffed. "He kept the closet so full of junk he couldn't see the back of it."

Roger started shimmying down the tunnel. "Yeah, and he's so lazy that he wouldn't explore it even if he knew it was there."

"Poor Zane," Lisa said as she followed. "How in the world is he surviving on his own in college?"

Roger turned the corner and found it opened up into a larger space. How in the world did this exist in his house without him knowing?

"How big is it?" she asked from behind him, but in the dark he couldn't answer at first.

They crawled out into the bigger space and stood up. This hidden room was as big as Zane's. There also seemed to be things in here, though it was still too dark for him to tell.

Lisa's eyes adjusted first. "Zane! What in the world are you doing here?"

"Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad. I, uh, was hoping you wouldn't notice me."

Once Roger was acclimated to the dark, he saw Zane lying on a ratty couch, presumably with crumbs on the front of his shirt.

"Hard not to when you're supposed to be away at school," Roger said.

"Yeah, well, they expected me to go to my classes, like, a lot. I mean, that's not why I went to college."

Roger waited for Lisa to explode, but instead she threw up her hands and dove out through the crawl space. Roger and Zane stood quietly for a minute until Roger broke the silence. "You expelled?"

"No," Zane said. "I just left the day before yesterday. They probably don't even know I'm gone."

"Then you have two choices. Head back to school or get a job."

That got Zane's attention, and he sat up for the first time. "A job? C'mon, Dad. Jobs are for tools."

"Then you either need to be a tool at school, or a tool with a job. Make up your mind. I'm sure your mother has worked herself into a frenzy by now. I can probably keep her out of here for an hour or so."

"Come on, Dad; be cool."

"I tried to be the cool dad during high school, and look where that got you. Since she'll be back soon, I'd suggest you be halfway to school by then. I'm guessing you have another way in and out of here."

Roger fell to his hands and knees and crawled back out of the secret room, ignoring Zane's moans and complaints. It was time to paint the closet.

#FridayFlash--The Funeral

The Funeral
by Eric J. Krause

"Priscilla Peabody lived a full life. She brought joy, not only to those of us in this family, but to everyone whose life she touched. She will be missed the world over.

"I remember the first time we met. Neither of us said a word. We didn't have to. We shared a bond right from the beginning. I saved her from a life of retail and neglect so she could live in luxury amongst treasure and all she could eat.

"As we say our final farewell, I hope everyone truly understands how special she, Priscilla Peabody, was. She will be missed. Each and every day. For as long as the world turns."

"C'mon, Dad, it's just a stupid fish. Flush it already so we can get on with our lives. Why do you have to make a ceremony out of everything?"

#FridayFlash--Used Brooms

Used Brooms
by Eric J. Krause

Esmeralda snapped her fingers over the broom and it flew straight into her outstretched hand. Nice. She ran her fingers over the shaft and found a few small gouges, but nothing she either couldn't buff out or live with. It wasn't like the broom was splinter city or anything. And the price was reasonable, much more so than what she figured from a used broom lot. If it gave a smooth flight, she wouldn't bother haggling. This would be her new ride.

Just as she was about to walk in to ask for a test drive, a well-groomed, neatly-dressed warlock strolled out of the office. He flashed a dazzling smile, and his teeth gleamed as if fresh from the final touches of a polishing spell. She didn't need magic to tell he was a salesman; it oozed out of every pore.

"I'm not going to lie to you," he said as he advanced on Esmeralda. "She's a beaut. One of the best models we have in stock."

"I'd like a test drive, if you don't mind," she said.

"Of course, of course. But I'd consider myself a terrible person if I didn't at least show you a few better options."

Esmeralda tried to squeak out a protest, but the smarmy warlock pushed her towards the pricier models. She saw right away that these were each more broom than she needed. And, truth be told, all in much worse shape than the one she liked.

"I can tell by your expression that you're impressed," he said. "Why don't you go ahead and start one up?"

Esmeralda tried to back away and head for the first broom. "No, I . . ." But the warlock wasn't having any of it. He nudged her towards a beat-up jumbo broom that wanted to infect her with splinters just by looking at it. And was it being held together by batty tape?

"Just a quick go," the warlock said. "Wait until you feel the power in this baby."

She sighed, put her hand out, and snapped her fingers. The broom rose a few inches, sputtered, and dropped back to the ground. She tried again, and this time it rose halfway to her hand before petering out.

The warlock gave a nervous chuckle and kicked the broom aside. "Guess it's a bit more than you're used to. Why don't we go look at something a bit more your size."

"But I just want . . ." Esmeralda tried to say, but he wasn't listening.

"Now these over here. These are sleek, lightweight, and can outmaneuver almost any other broom enchanted to fly."

She could see why; they were nothing but glorified toothpicks. She wouldn't want one of these new, let alone in whatever shape this guy would sell it in. And a quick glance around proved them all to be in horrible condition indeed. Besides, even if one flew brilliantly, there was no way she could get her shopping home on it.

"Try this one out. I know it'll be the perfect fit."

Esmeralda sighed, stretched out her hand, and snapped her fingers. The broom jumped up and smacked her palm, where it promptly cracked in two. The warlock gave another nervous chuckle as he kicked both pieces away.

"No worries," he said. "I have plenty more I can show you."

"I'd really like to go back to the first one," Esmeralda said.

"That one wasn't right for you," the warlock said. He glanced to the front of the lot. "Besides, looks as if someone just bought it. But no worries. If you had your heart set on it, I can sell you one in almost as good of shape for just a bit more. You'll love it."

Esmeralda clicked her tongue, and the warlock disappeared, only to be replaced by a toad. "I'm sorry," she said as she bent down to pick him up. "I don't usually lose my temper like that. But if you can manage to go through an entire day without telling a lie, you'll revert back to your original form. Understand?"

The lying toad in her hand could only belch out a croak.

"Good. I'm glad we're on the same page." She set him down, and he hopped into the bushes. She sighed and headed back to her old broom, which would hopefully hold on for a trip to another used broom lot. As she kicked off into the night sky, she muttered, "Fucking used broom salesmen."

#FridayFlash--Sudoku in the Sky with Diamonds

Sudoku in the Sky with Diamonds
by Eric J. Krause

James stared up at the night sky, doing everything he could to forget the whole goddamn week. The problem was the memories didn't want to go anywhere. His week had sucked so bad, why wouldn't they want to hang around to help mock him?

The stars twinkled down at him, and he couldn't suppress a chuckle. They all looked like little diamonds. Not surprising. Ever since he gave Kate the diamond engagement ring, everything looked like diamonds. Big honking mocking fucking diamonds. Would the world have taken on this sparkling new hue if she hadn't disappeared with the ring? Yeah, maybe, but at least they would have been happy hallucinations. At least he'd spent way more than the recommended two paychecks on it. He always had that.

As he stared up at the sky, the normal constellations shifted into strange new patterns. He blinked hard to see if he was imagining things, but the stars still lay in their new positions. Was that . . . ? No, couldn't be. But, yes, it was.

The stars had formed a Sudoku puzzle.

James loved solving Sudokus. Maybe this was a sign. Maybe if he solved this one, everything would be clear. It made no sense, but neither did the night sky becoming a huge Japanese number puzzle. Neither did his life, for that matter.

He stared up at it for a few minutes. Oh, geez. If this one was in his one-a-day calendar at home, it'd be listed as an easy one-starrer. He began filling in the blanks, and as he did, more stars popped into view and formed the new numbers.

The puzzle moved closer to completion, and James kept plugging away. He was having so much fun--the first bit of fun since Kate said yes before skipping town--that he missed two important factors. One, he wasn't dwelling on losing Kate. That was a good thing. And two, he didn't notice his chest tightening and the tingles running up and down his left arm. That wasn't such a good thing. As he put the final number in place, the pain hit, and he slumped back onto the grass. The stars shifted, showing their natural order.

#

Officer Reynolds frowned. Something was a bit off about this one. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves, pried open the dead guy's eyes, and gasped.

His partner, Adams, pointed to the body. "See the discoloration here? I've seen this before. He had a busted ventricle. The paramedics will back me up on that, I'm sure."

Reynolds shook his head as he continued to stare into the dead man's eyes. "No, partner. You may say he suffered from a broken ventricle, but I know the truth. This guy died of a broken heart."

#fridayflash--The Security Guard

The Security Guard
by Eric J. Krause

Why did this shit always happen after midnight? Garcia never had to deal with this crap. Todd reached for the distress button, but paused. Maybe it was just a drifter looking for a warm, dry place to bed down during the thunderstorm. Since the craze of super villains in trashy trench coats started, it was hard to tell them apart from the bums.

Last time he'd alerted the Hero Department, it turned out to be a simple vagrant. Luckily one of the level-headed ones answered the call, and no one had been hurt. As the masked man--Super Stud? Marvelous Man? Hell, he couldn't keep these guys straight--left, he'd admonished Todd, telling him his building had security sensors for a reason, and it wasn't to call heroes to give homeless guys the bum's rush. He'd felt dumb for a week, and thanked his lucky stars every night no one else had been here.

Tonight he wouldn't foul up. He watched the trench coat man stumble about in the huge lobby. Yup. Good call. Not a super villain, but a drunk. Todd grabbed a stun gun and his heavy-duty flashlight and headed downstairs. Hopefully this'd be an easy one and he could shuffle the guy outside. But, Christ, how had he gotten in? None of the perimeter alarms had sounded.

He reached the lobby floor and just about crapped himself. That wasn't some random bum, but an honest to god super villain. (Killbot McGee? The Masked Bandit? Dammit he was bad with names!) Todd turned to bolt back upstairs, but the villain spotted him before he could get away.

"Stop right there or I'll blast you. No one gets away from the Masked Bandit that easily."

Hey, the Masked Bandit. He'd gotten it in just two guesses. Though he doubted that would get him out of this jam.

"Which one did you call? Which mask is coming to thwart me?"

Todd shook his head. "I . . . I didn't call anyone. I was about to go back up and do that."

"Don't you lie to me!" The Masked Bandit pulled out a huge handgun, one that looked like it shot missiles instead of bullets, and shoved it in his face. The barrel was as big as his head.

Todd took a deep breath. "I'm not lying, I swear. I didn't call anyone."

The Masked Bandit lowered his oversized gun. "Yeah, right, like I believe that. You're just trying to buy time. So who was it? The Jailer? Wendell the Wonderkid? Corporal Awesome and the Awesome Brigade?" He turned and gazed out to the street. "Yeah, you probably realized you needed a whole team to deal with me."

"Or not." Todd pointed the stun gun, and before the Masked Bandit could react, shot him full of volts. The super villain flopped around for a few seconds, and then fell to the ground, unconscious.

He grabbed his cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. Maybe this superhero gig wasn't so tough. Maybe he could go vigilante. But who would he be? Captain Stun Gun? The Stunning Avenger?

Nah. He already had a gig to be proud of. He was . . . The Security Guard.

#fridayflash--Wedding Night Blues

Wedding Night Blues
by Eric J. Krause

I get high-fives, winks, nudges, and blushes. Laughs--from snickers to the tawdry type--always follow. It's funny what a simple statement like, "We spent our wedding night in the emergency room" will bring. Especially when followed by, "Because of what happened in the bedroom."

Not everyone gets the full story. In fact, most don't. Why should they? The imagination goes to places that would never be possible. Who am I to disappoint?

Think about it. If I admit to anything less than wrenching my back while executing some kinky move with my wife, you'd be disappointed. I know I would be.

What difference does it make if I twisted my knee taking my pants off? Not to consummate my marriage, but to take a quick shower. If I leave that little detail out, I'm a legend. Keep it in?

Heh. Not so much.

#fridayflash: Writer's Block

Writer's Block
by Eric J. Krause

He sat staring at his computer, not sure what to type. The word processing program laughed at him, taunting him to try writing something, anything. His fingers chose not to obey.

"C'mon, Jerry, think. If you can't get this done, how are you going to accomplish anything?"

His pep-talk didn't work. The blinking cursor made him realize how hopeless he really was. Maybe his wife was right to leave him. Maybe his friends were wise in giving up on him. Maybe the world would be a better place if he just guzzled dozens of pills, jumped off a high building, or picked up a wicked razor.

Tears gurgled up out of his eyes, and he didn't bother blinking them back. The warm tracks they left down his cheeks didn't make him feel better, but they snapped something awake in his brain. His right index finger pushed the "m" key.

Could he work with that? Another minute passed. No inspiration. The first sob erupted from deep within as he moved his hand to hit the backspace button.

But wait. With a clumsy slip, he hit the "i" key, and everything stopped. He couldn't breathe. Yes, this would do. Though the sobs didn't subside, at least now they were pouring out in happiness.

"Milk, eggs, butter, bread."

He smiled, maneuvered the mouse to the print button, and stood up to get his shoes.

#fridayflash--Love's a Myth

Love's a Myth
by Eric J. Krause

"Let me tell you something. Listen up because this is important. Love doesn't exist. It's a lie developed by greeting card companies, the flower shops, and the candy industry to push product. Human beings aren’t wired to be monogamous, to spend all their time pining on a single person.

"I'd been taken into this lie myself. Her name was Stephanie Beth Donaldson. Usually I called her Steph, but when I had my groove on, she was Stephy-Beffy. Sick, right? That's the depths this so called love will drag you down to.

"I wined her, I dined her, and all that B.S. I brought her little trinkets just because and big presents on her birthdays and Christmas. And even though I didn't have a pot to piss in, I did the girl up on Valentine's Day. No one in the neighborhood had a better February 14th than Stephy-Beffy Donaldson.

"After three years of exclusive dating, I knew it was time. I was head over heels for this girl. I couldn't afford much of a ring, but managed to scrape enough together to buy her a respectable one. She accepted without hesitation as soon as I dropped to one knee. Three weeks later, she was Stephanie Beth McGee.

"Since money was tight, she got a job as a secretary to supplement our income. At first, everything was great. Not only did she bring in enough money to help us afford a house in a nicer section of town, but she still managed to get home in time to have supper on the table for me. And I don't want to brag, but our sex life was fantastic.

"After a few months, though, everything started to sour. She came home later and later each passing week. It got to the point where I had to learn to heat up my own beans and franks, and grill up my own toasted cheese sandwiches. What kind of husband should have to do that? And while she brought in more money, the fun in the bedroom dried up. She was either too tired or had a pounding headache.

"This was too much. I could deal with having to cook my own supper, but I had needs and urges. Because I quote-unquote loved this woman, I couldn't get some strange on the side, so I did what I found necessary. One afternoon, I marched over to her work and barged in. The receptionist tried to keep me out of the boss's office, but I was a man possessed.

"I'm guessing you can already see where this is going. I found my wife, Stephy-Beffy McGee, formerly Donaldson, nude on her knees in front of her pantsless boss. I gasped, he gasped, and she turned and gasped. I wish I could say that I said something witty and clever that cut them right in two, but in my grief, I could only slam the door and stumble home.

"That night she tried to explain, but I'd hear none of it. I gathered up my things and never stepped foot in that house again. I saw her only one more time, at the divorce proceedings. She tried to make everything right between us, but judging by the fancy jewelry she wore, which she'd never be able to afford on her salary, I knew she was just trying to clear her conscious.

"And that, my boy, is why I am not, nor never will be, in love. It doesn't exist. Love's a myth. I think it would do you good to remember that."

"Wait, Uncle Phil. Are you saying I shouldn't ask Melody Daniels to the 6th Grade Valentine's Mixer?"

#fridayflash--The Forest Mountain Troll

The Forest Mountain Troll
by Eric J. Krause

There once was a Mountain Troll who wished he were a Forest Troll. I can guess what you're thinking: What's the difference? A troll's a troll. That, friend, is where you're wrong. And if a troll, either from the mountains or a forest, heard you say that, you had better hope you can outdistance him in a hurry.

This Mountain Troll, called Cogburr by his peers--though when he wasn't around, the names they used often made even the most hardened troll matron blush--would stand at the edge of his cave and look wistfully down to the forest below. When he was picking the ripest rocks for the nightly feast, he'd regale his fellow harvesters with the sights and sounds from the green patch he considered heaven. At said feasts, he'd ask endless questions of the elders and hunters about the Land of Trees and the troll inhabitants.

Cogburr's behavior continued season after season, from the dark blizzard nights of winter to the bright burning days of summer. His peers, the hunters, the elders, even the younglings, asked him to stop and be a proud Mountain Troll. He couldn't; that green canopy simply held too much mystery, too much excitement.

One fateful night, during a feast, Cogburr proclaimed he would leave in the morning to visit the forest and the Forest Trolls. He ignored all of the warnings and curses and retired to his cave to get a good night's sleep. Said sleep, however, didn't last long. A dozen of the more burly Mountain Trolls grabbed him by his limbs and dragged him to the lip of his cave. They hurled him off the side of the mountain towards his beloved forest far below.

The moral, you may ask? Simple. Mountain Trolls fucking hate Forest Trolls.

#fridayflash--Real Monsters Don't Take Time Off

Real Monsters Don't Take Time Off
by Eric J. Krause

"Daddy, the monster under my bed says he gets Sunday afternoons off."

Jim nodded as if this was common knowledge. What he was really doing was trying hard not to bust up laughing.

"Good. That'll give you plenty of time to play Barbies or read a book."

Cara smiled, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and scampered up to her room. Only then did he allow himself a chuckle as he walked in to grab a beer.

He'd only just popped the top when a grunt, thud, and scream erupted from upstairs. He managed to set the can down without spilling any before rushing up the stairs. She'd probably just scared herself with the monster under the bed talk, but that'd been a pretty loud thump. Life never slowed down when living with a child with an overactive imagination.

At the top of the stairs, a cold breeze brushed by him, though he knew all of the windows in the house were closed. Cara didn't yet have the strength to open any of them.

He burst into her room, his heart racing so fast it hurt his chest. "What? What happened?"

She lounged on her bed, the picture of the teenager she'd become in a few years: a book lay open in front of her, and a Princess Dream slipper hung from her toes. She gave him a sweet smile.

"I told him that the monsters above the bed don't take any time off."

#fridayflash--The Chosen One

No one believed him. No matter what he said, no matter how much he swore he wasn't lying, they just wouldn't listen. And, really, who could blame them? His stories were a bit outlandish for most folks. But if someone had just paid him some mind, he might still be here.

Greg Jordan was your average, middle-class male, with a pretty wife and two point five kids. (Janice, his wife, was four months pregnant at the time.) The Jordans had left their dingy two-bedroom apartment and moved into their own home. Greg and Janice had fallen in love with the ranch-style home in its nice neighborhood. They tried to mask their interest so the sellers wouldn't peg them as easy marks, a tip provided by Janice's dad, but the owners were eager to sell. They agreed to the Jordan's first low-ball offer without negotiating. The Jordans, including little Timmy and Britney, couldn't have been happier.

Their first month was terrific, even if it did include a ton of hard work. Being pregnant, Janice mostly sat down and gave orders. She could have done more, but she was the boss and everyone knew it. The kids, bless their hearts, tried their best, but being five and three, Timmy and Britney often did more damage than good.

About that time, Greg felt a presence in the house. He claimed he heard footsteps, voices, and other weird sounds. He swore a strange man occasionally walked through their living room, and at times a young man, maybe a teenager, sat in the breakfast nook. Neither the kids nor Janice heard or saw any of these things. Everyone, including friends and relatives who heard the tales, began to wonder about him.

Greg wouldn't be dissuaded. He knew what he heard, saw, and felt. He'd lay awake at night, listening and watching. Whatever was going on, this was his house, and he wanted to know what he shared it with.

That's when the voices started. At first it was just small talk. "How are you, Greg?" "Wife thinks you're nuts, eh?" "Can you buy us some beer?" (Actually, that last one was those teenagers who loitered outside the liquor store. It all blended in.) Then the voices grew more persistent and, Greg wasn't afraid to say, scary. "Join us." "We need you." "Kill the non-believers."

He learned to ignore the voices, but that just pissed them off. They turned from simple murder whispers to full-blown poltergeists. At first Janice blamed the kids when she found her grandmother's knick-knacks shattered on the floor. Then Greg got the brunt of her fury. It was a dark week in the Jordan household. Mercifully, the poltergeist activity didn't last long. Janice must have scared the hell out of those ghosts because they never touched her stuff again.

The final showdown came one day after work. With Janice and the kids out running errands, Greg had to face the spirits on his own. They materialized on the staircase, and he finally got a good look at all four of them. He still had no idea who they were, but they weren't in a talking mood. Greg tried to run out the front door, but it was stuck. He even tried jumping through the plate glass window, but no matter how hard he threw his body at it, the glass wouldn't shatter. He had only one option; he turned and faced his destiny.

Janice and the kids came home an hour later. Timmy and Britney ran into the house as soon as their mom opened the front door, and when Janice walked in, two little kids rolling on the floor laughing hysterically greeted her. It seemed Daddy had taken off all his clothes right there in the front hall. "Even his nunderwear," little Britney said between howls. Janice didn't find it nearly as amusing. The three of them wandered through the house looking for the "necked daddy." When he didn't turn up, Janice drove around the neighborhood. The search proved futile. Greg had vanished.

Not long after, Greg Junior arrived. Janice had to get a second job, but she managed to keep the house and a relatively good lifestyle. She hated Greg for abandoning the family, but something changed her mind. Actually that something was Greg Junior. Not only were his first words "Daddy," but he had the oddest habit of looking at nothing, holding his arms out for a hug, and giggling wildly.