Friday Flash: A Brief Encounter

A Brief Encounter

by Eric J. Krause

That moment didn't register with me until years later. Now when I tell the story, someone will invariably ask if I wish I had a time machine, and I can truthfully say I do. But it's never for the reason they think. I don't want to kill the guy, but befriend him. That statement loses almost everyone. If looks could kill, as the old adage goes, I'd be dead a hundred times over.

I ran into him 20 years ago, and nothing about our meeting stood out. We shared an elevator down and made brief small talk. That was the extent of my encounter with the evil that would one day construct a neural bomb and release it over the Internet, resulting in the death of half the world's population. Why I even remember those three minutes from all those years ago baffles me. I'm the type of guy that can barely remember what he did a few weeks ago.

So why wouldn't I want those moments back to put a bullet in the monster's head before he had even the seed of the idea to decimate the world's population? Think about it. What if I could have made him my friend? What if that's all he needed? What if I could have turned him in a direction to help humanity instead of hurt it? He obviously had the smarts; he obviously had the drive. He only needed direction. Instead of this hell, the world could have been in a much nicer place. We may have been in or on our way to a utopia. Think about it. Kindness stops violence, not more violence.

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.

Friday Flash - Teenage Love and Heartbreak

Teenage Love and Heartbreak

by Eric J. Krause

 

No one cares. No one listens. Everyone sucks! They babble on about how she's my first love, and I'll have plenty more, but they don't get it. She's my everything; my only, for now and forever!

#

"We leave in two weeks," Nat told me. "Dad got a new job in Bakersfield. Bakersfield! Can you imagine? What am I supposed to do there?"

"Don't go." That's all I said. I should have elaborated, maybe proposed. But I left it at that. "Don't go."

She laughed without humor. "Yeah, right. That'd go over big with my parents." Then she gave me a gentle kiss and a hug, and left. I watched her go. Why hadn't I followed? I should have followed.

I tried texting and calling her over the next few days, and even went to her house, but she wouldn't talk to me. Jenny Brewster, Natalie's best friend, explained why.

"She loves you, but if she sees you, this'll be way harder for her. She doesn't want to forget you, but she knows she has to."

It made sense. Sort of. I guess. But it didn't make me happy. We could have had an awesome final two weeks together, but I obeyed her wishes, relayed through Jenny, and stayed away.

Honestly, I didn't plan for it to work out the way it did. What happened was spur-of-the-moment, seat-of-my-pants. I doubt many people would believe that, but it's the truth. Cross my heart and hope to die. But I never actually hoped to die. That's just the way things worked out.

Two days before she was to leave forever, I saw her at Royal Pond Park, one of our favorite hang-out spots. Like I said, I didn't plan to meet here there, but I'd be lying if I said I hadn't hoped. In fact, I'd hoped so much that I'd raided my piggy bank and converted that change to bills. I'm sure you're thinking it's silly for a fifteen year old to have a piggy bank, but I'd had it since birth. And I'd never once taken anything from it. So there I was, cruising around on my skateboard with a fortune in my pocket -- over 300 bucks.

So I hadn't planned, but I'd prepared. When I saw her across the pond, everything entered my mind at once. She saw me coming and didn't run off. That's when I knew it'd all work out.

I'm not quite sure how she died. I mean, I know it was the fall from the roof of the 7-11, but I don't know if it was an accident or murder. She yelled at me, I shoved her, and she stumbled. If that ladder hadn't been there, I don't think she would have tumbled down. But what do I know?

"I want to be with you. I do. I love you." She paused, and the look in her eyes told me I wouldn't like what she had to say next. "But this is crazy. Stupid even. We're way too young to run off together, to start an adult life. I know I am."

I tried to reason with her. I said something along the lines of we weren't too young, and I wasn't stupid. She didn't listen, but turned to climb down off the roof. I tried one last thing, this time proving how incredibly stupid I really was.

"If you leave now, you're dead to me."

A ton of different emotions flashed across her face until anger stuck. "This is why I didn't want to see you anymore."

That did it. I shoved her. I didn't do it to hurt her. Instead, my emotionally overcharged brain used the physical to show the symbolical. I pushed her away. She stumbled backwards, her feet smacked into the top of the ladder, and she tumbled off to the pavement below. A fall from that height isn't usually fatal, but she landed awkwardly. I saw right away that she'd died instantly, and a little bit of me died with her. It wouldn't be long before the rest of me joined her.

I shimmied down the ladder and bolted before someone came out of the convenience store. She'd fallen to the side, in an alley. Pretty convenient for me. I still had 300 dollars and change in my pocket, and I'd need it in my new life on the run from the law. Or so I thought.

I wish I could say my death was symbolic, as in the loss of my youth and innocence. Or that I offed myself in a perfect Romeo and Juliet-type suicide. Or maybe even that I'd gone out in a made for the big screen action sequence. But no. Late the next night, I bedded down on a park bench in a strange town. A floating sensation jarred me awake, and I found myself rising to the sky, my body lying in a pool of blood from a gushing wound in my neck, while a scraggly man, presumably my killer, ran away with my cash clutched in his fists. As I moved towards that proverbial white light, my thoughts focused on Natalie and a possible reconciliation. Maybe it had worked out for the best after all.

#FridayFlash - Millennium Ship

Millennium Ship

by Eric J. Krause 

Matt's eyes flickered open as the seal of his hibernation pod cracked. He wiped the sleep crust out of his eyes and stretched. Damn. His turn for upkeep. Why they couldn't trust the computer to run the ship the entire way was beyond him.

He pushed the pod open and stepped out. It was amazing how limber he felt after 300 years of sleep. He yawned. Even though it did a perfect job of stimulating his muscles, it did little to get his mind ready for the awakening. Ah well. The faster he ran all of the diagnostics and made any necessary repairs and maintenance, the sooner he could return to another 300 year nap.

As he walked out, he didn't spare a glance to Amanda or Carlos. He stumbled out of the hibernation center and headed for the galley. A stim-drink would get him to full power quick enough.

Halfway down the curved hallway, a shadow danced in front of him. He blinked hard, but saw nothing to have caused it. Footsteps sounded from the other end of the hall, near the galley.

"Hello? Carlos? Amanda? Why are you awake?" Maybe he should have checked their pods. Maybe the computer had some problems and it needed all of them to fix it. The scientists said it was an unlikely situation, but certainly possible.

No one answered. He shook his head and continued on. If he was imagining things, he needed that stim-drink more than he thought.

Taps and bangs sounded throughout the ship, but he couldn't pinpoint them. The lights died in the galley, and the emergency lights flashed on. He slugged down the rest of his drink and rushed to check the main computer. As he ran, footsteps followed him. He turned his head, but saw no one.

The problem was easy enough to catch from the main terminal. Somehow the reset button had been pushed. The lights would be on again in less than an hour. But how had it happened? The system needed the safety key to be turned at the exact moment the button was pressed. It couldn't be done by accident. If Carlos and Amanda were both asleep, that was impossible. Unless there was an intruder or a stowaway.

The footfalls again sounded behind him, and a shadow passed the doorway when he turned. He leaped up and pursued whoever was there. He found no one, but a lingering scent of Amanda's perfume filled the hall. It was unmistakable; he'd smelled it enough that first year before hibernations. They'd slept together almost every night.

Matt sprinted down the hall to see if she was still asleep. He peered through the tiny porthole in her pod and saw her face. Something was wrong. It looked as if she'd been jammed in there. He cracked the seal, and she tumbled out. He caught her before she smacked into the ground, and checked her pulse. It should be slow but strong, but he felt nothing. He hugged her before laying her corpse on the ground.

He stood, looked in Carlos's pod, and found him in a similar state. Before he could open it up to examine his body, a presence filled the doorway. He turned and found Amanda standing there. He let out a yelp when he realized he could see right through her.

Matt's blood ran cold. A horrified look was etched on her face. She mouthed something, and it took a few seconds for him to catch on. Over and over she said a single word: "Run."

A burst of energy behind her dulled her ghost. He should take her advice, but couldn't. He had to see what this was.

"Carlos!" Matt yelled. It wasn't him, not exactly. His crewmate and good friend was now an energized alien being. His body was nothing but a blob of unformed mass, though his head remained. He stumbled into the room with no grace until he spotted Matt. Then he moved smoother than lightning.

Matt screamed as this Carlos-monster gripped him with its oversized hands. The energy bled off and encircled his chest. Precious oxygen seeped from his lungs, and he realized he wouldn't survive this. Before he drifted off to death, visions of what happened permeated his mind.

Wires worked loose under the ship's main terminal. As Carlos welded them together, the ship glided through an unknown energy deposit. Some sort of being launched itself through the wires and snuffed Carlos out before he knew what was going on. It took his essence and jammed his physical body back into the hibernation pod. Then it waited. 100 years later, Amanda emerged. It killed her and did the same with her body. 100 more years passed, and Matt woke. Now it had eradicated the entire crew and had the ship to itself.

He had no clue what it planned. As soon as his soul released from his dead body, Amanda grabbed him and they fled. Interestingly enough, one does not need to be on Earth to travel into that bright light that leads to the afterlife.

Friday Flash: Russian Roulette

Russian Roulette

by Eric J. Krause

 

Ryan took a deep breath and tried to remain invisible. He'd already revealed that he asked Hannah Bailey, the prettiest girl in school, out on a date. She'd been polite about it, but still turned him down faster than a rocket accelerating out of the Earth's atmosphere. He'd never told anyone, not even James, his best friend, and now everyone at the party knew. No doubt that would equate to the entire school. Why had he come tonight? He'd have been much happier mining and blacksmithing in World of Warcraft while watching a MythBusters marathon. But, no, he had to be stupid and show up in the hopes that a girl would somehow notice him. He should wait for college when girls actually took brains into account when judging guys. At least that's what Brandon, his big brother, and maybe the only person he knew who was smarter than him, said.

Now he just had to stay hidden in the background and hope no one noticed. It worked well at school, and since these were his classmates, there was no reason it shouldn't work here. He hoped. After all, in this game of Truth or Dare, if someone didn't answer a truth or perform a dare, they'd be held down, pummeled, and who knows what else. From the stories he heard, the last part was scariest.

Diana Samson scanned the room and found Tyler Huxley. "Tyler, Truth or Dare?"

Tyler flipped his hair and flashed a smile that made the girls swoon. Ryan didn't get it, as Tyler was a slacker who did nothing with his life but smoke pot, drink booze, and skateboard. What sort of future was that setting up? He probably wasn't even going to college, which Ryan had planned for himself since the second grade.

"Dare, baby," Tyler said. "And I hope it involves you."

Diana giggled, blushed, and looked at her friends, who giggled back and nodded. "Yeah," she said. "I dare you to go into one of the empty bedrooms with me."

Tyler shrugged and stood. "Accepted." The two headed for the back of the house amid cheers and cat-calls. If Ryan could be assured of a dare like that, especially with a hottie like Diana Samson, he'd try to be noticed.

"Okay," Henry Rogers said, "we're not going to wait for them to come back, so I'll choose the next person." No one objected. "How about you, Ryan? Want to tell us about more girls who were out of your league?"

Ryan's face ignited as all eyes turned to him. He looked to James for support, but found him staring at his shoes. Thanks for the support, bro.

"What's it gonna be, lover-boy? Truth or Dare?"

Everyone expected him to choose Truth, but there was nothing safe about that. By the twinkle in Henry's eyes, the question wouldn't be comfortable, and maybe a bit dangerous. Besides, since Henry, who was quite popular, teased him about girls, maybe he'd pick one of his lady friends to do something with Ryan. And if not, Henry had the imagination of toast and would probably come up with a lame dare on the spur of the moment. Ryan wasn't a gambler, but this bet was worth taking.

"Dare." He again glanced to James, and this time his friend stared back, but his expression didn't exactly send Ryan's confidence soaring.

"Wow, didn't think you had the balls, Egghead. But let's see what you're really made of. If you do this, Hannah Bailey might even go out with you." Henry reached into the backpack lying at his feet and pulled out a pistol. The room gasped and went silent. "This is a six-shooter with one bullet loaded. You ever hear of Russian Roulette?"

Ryan nodded, his mouth too dry and his throat clenched too tight to answer.

"Good. I dare you to play. Just one time. Spin the chamber, put the barrel to your head, and pull the trigger. That's it."

"No, come on, that's stupid," James said, leaping to his feet. "Where'd you even get the gun, Rogers?"

"What does that matter? He doesn't have to play. But, remember, there are consequences."

"No, Ryan, don't do it" James said. "It's better to get beat up than risk your life. C'mon, man, you got MIT waiting for you. Take the black eye, and we'll get out of here."

Ryan almost agreed, but then he looked around the room. Some of the girls had lust in their eyes. If he did this, it might mean a date before high school was over. Maybe more than a date. Sure, the one in six odds were bad, but still. Five out of six were safe.

He strode over to Henry. "Fine. Give it here." Ryan had been smart his entire life, and he'd received great grades and entry into a pristine university because of it. But right now he wanted a girl. A hot girl. And this was his best bet.

Henry popped out the chamber, showed him that there was indeed only a single shot loaded, and spun it before popping it back in. Ryan couldn't tell where the bullet went. He took the gun and saw the fear in Henry's eyes despite a desperate attempt to remain cool. No doubt he'd expected Ryan to not only decline but to try to run to get out of the punishment. It wasn't too late, and now he had the gun in his hands. No one would grab him while he held a gun.

Another quick peek around at the girls drove him to continue this stupidity. He'd be a legend, right? And girls loved legends. James again tried to talk him out of it, but Ryan ignored his buddy. Henry gave him a shrug which said, "Whenever you're ready," and Ryan put the gun to his right temple. Sweat beaded up on his forehead, but he barely felt it. He cocked the hammer back, took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger.

16 Short Horror Stories

Halloween is now over, but why let the horror stories vanish? This year I reposted two short horror stories a day for eight days, ending on Halloween. One was a story that I'd had published in an ezine, collection, or someone's blog, while the other was a Friday Flash story I'd written through the years. I'm going to put them all in one place in case you want to see what I released but missed my posts on either Facebook or Twitter. Enjoy the reads!

Eight Days of Previously Published Horror Stories
1. 1-800-FUN-TALK
2. The Bird
3. The Eye
4. Fast Food Zombies
5. Find the Flag
6. Scream Time
7. Weeds and Dead Flowers
8. The Clown Killer

Eight Days of Revisited Friday Flash Horror Stories
1. Shadow in the Mirror
2. Chained Love
3. The Black and White Photograph
4. Pumpkin Patch of the Damned
5. The Scarecrow
6. The Fantabulous Funnybone Floatiboats
7. Bloody Mary
8. The Green-Faced Witch

Halloween Story #8 - The Green-Faced Witch

 This one might not scare the pants off of you, but I hope it'll take you back to old campfire stories you heard in your youth. I wrote this one for the young teen/tween set, but I think it's fun, and it takes place on Halloween night, so it's a perfect wrap for my eight days of revisited Friday Flash horror stories. I hope you enjoy the read!

The Green-Faced Witch
by Eric J. Krause

Jeremy stalked over to the snack table and let out an exaggerated sigh. Why did it have to rain on Halloween night? He had the perfect costume and everything. He would have had a full bag of candy, but instead Mom forbade him from trudging around the neighborhood in the wet weather. Now he was stuck at a party in his school's auditorium.

He scarfed down a few chips and scanned the room for his friends. Before he spotted anyone, a voice came from behind him. "Fun party, huh?"

He turned and found a girl in a witch costume. He didn't recognize her, but she looked pretty cute underneath all the green makeup. "I guess. I'd rather be out Trick or Treating."

"Not me. Parties are way more fun. You get to meet all sorts of people."

He squinted, trying to figure out who she was, but no luck. "Do you go to school here?"

"I used to. I like to come back and visit on Halloween."

Before she could elaborate, Mr. Martin, the assistant principal, spoke up. "Gather around, everyone. It can't be Halloween without a spooky story."

The witch grabbed Jeremy's hand. Her grip was ice cold and clammy, as if she'd just come in from the wet weather. She led him over to the group, and they all formed a circle. The lights shut off, and Mr. Martin held up a flashlight to his face. Everyone giggled, but quieted quickly in anticipation of the story.

"Thirty years ago tonight," Mr. Martin said in his creepiest voice, "a student from this very school went out Trick or Treating with her friends. She dressed up as a witch, complete with green makeup covering her face. She had a great time, and pulled in a sack-full of candy, but when they got to the large house right across the street from the school, they stopped."

One of the kids called out, "But there's no house across the street. It's a mini-mall."

Mr. Martin nodded. "It is now, but back then, it was a rickety old mansion. Most kids, and even many adults, kept their distance because they said it was haunted. And no one could dispute that, especially on dark Halloween nights.

"The young witch's group of friends crossed the street to stay as far away from the house as possible. But not her. She saw a light on and guessed whoever lived there probably had the best candy. What better place to Trick or Treat than at a haunted house? None of her friends would go up there with her. Instead, they watched as she approached the front of the house alone.

"As she stepped up to the door, it creaked open, but no one was there. She pushed it all the way open and called out, "Is anyone here?" She received no answer. Just as she started to turn away to go back to her friends, a small sign in the middle of the floor caught her eye. "This way for candy," it read. How could she pass that up? She stepped inside, and the door slammed shut.

"Her friends hollered at her to come back out, but the door remained closed. One friend ran to a pay phone in front of the school--remember, this was before people carried cell phones--and called the police. When an officer showed up a few minutes later and walked through the house, no one was there. The girl was never seen again.

"People say on dark Halloween nights, just like this one, a strange girl in a witch costume can be seen wandering around the area looking for her friends."

Mr. Martin gave a sinister laugh, and the auditorium lights flashed back on. No one said anything for a few seconds, but then the room filled with laughs and applause. Jeremy turned to the girl in the witch costume to ask if she liked the story, especially since she was dressed the same as the ghost, but she was gone.

Darren, a kid he knew from his math class, was sitting a few feet away. "Hey, did you see where the girl that was here went?"

Darren gave him a funny look. "What are you talking about? There was no girl sitting here. You walked over here alone."

Jeremy's blood froze, and he pulled out his cell phone to call his parents. It was time to go home and hide under the covers.

Halloween Story #7 - Bloody Mary

For the day before Halloween, I hope you agree this one fits the scary bill. It's also a bit gory, but that's perfect for the season, too, right? I wonder how many of you played this game as kids. If you're reading this, the results were nothing like this tale. Enjoy!

Bloody Mary
by Eric J. Krause

Jenni handed Samantha a thumbtack. "Jab your thumb and wipe the blood on your forehead. Then spin around three times and say, 'Bloody Mary,' each time."

"No," Samantha said. "That'll hurt."

"But you said 'dare,'" Melinda said. "If you don't do it, you lose."

"And we tell the whole school you like Gerald Wilcox," Jenni said.

Samantha froze. They would, too. They'd been holding that threat over her head to make her do whatever they wanted ever since Jenni saw her doodles proclaiming her love for Gerald on the inside of her notebook. Fine. What was a few seconds of pain compared to an entire school year of torture?

"What happens after I spin and say her name?"

"Bloody Mary will show up in the mirror over the fireplace," Melinda said.

Samantha chuckled. "And then she'll grant me my greatest wish, right?"

The other two girls rolled their eyes. "No," Jenni said. "She'll probably do something bloody. Why do you think they call her Bloody Mary?"

Samantha held out her thumb and positioned the tack over it. The two girls squealed in delight and pushed closer. They hadn't thought she'd do it. She nicked her thumb, bringing a quick sting, and fought hard not to jam it in her mouth. Instead, as the rules said, she rubbed the blood on her forehead and spun three times, chanting "Bloody Mary," with each spin. Only then did she suck her thumb to quell the bleeding.

Jenni was the unlucky one who noticed first. She let out a gasp and pointed to the mirror. Blood poured down her face as her eyeballs melted. Melinda screamed and tried to run out of the room, but her yells turned to gags, and she skidded down on the carpet. Her tongue turned to gore, and blood gushed from her mouth.

An evil presence grabbed Samantha by the chin and forced her to look at the mirror. A beautiful woman with alabaster skin, a blood-red dress, and glowing eyes smiled down at her.

"How did you trick them into letting you call me, my daughter?" Bloody Mary asked.

Samantha flashed a wicked grin. "Mind manipulation. These two stupid sluts proved to be no challenge."

"All because of the boy?"

Samantha scoffed and gave her mother a look that said she was getting a bit dull in her old age. "Not any boy. Unwittingly or not, they did almost force out the Anti-Christ before his time. The agents of good would have no doubt intervened and put an end to his wicked ways before we could even start. And where would that leave us?"

A whimper escaped Jenni as she tried to look around the room with holes where her eyes used to be. A strangled moan erupted from Melinda as she reached into her mouth, only to find her tongue obliterated.

"Let me put them out of their miseries, Daughter. I swear, sometimes you surpass even me in your cruelty."

"Don't go soft on me, Mother. We've been planning this for two millennia. These girls mean nothing in the grand scheme of things."

"Fine, fine. Shall I take my leave for now?"

A look of hate flashed across Samantha's face. "Not yet. The blind one's parents are around somewhere. Don't you think their genitals need to be punished for breeding such a stupid bitch?"

Halloween Story #6 - The Fantabulous Funnybone Floatiboats

I enjoyed naming this one because it really doesn't fit the mood of the story, which I hope you will agree is pretty spooky. And gruesome. I still cringe at a certain part late in the story. I wonder if you will do the same? Enjoy reading!

The Fantabulous Funnybone Floatiboats
by Eric J. Krause

Heidi waited for the last boat to cycle through, and then grabbed her waders, flashlight, and walkie-talkie. She couldn't put into words how much she dreaded Tuesday nights, her turn to walk the flume. As light and airy as it was during the day, the building was that much darker and heavier once the last guest left.

She took a deep breath and stepped down into the water. Though it was only 18 inches deep and the waders were insulated, she felt chills flash all over her body. That wasn't from anything other than her dread and anticipation. So far.

During the day, the Fantabulous Funnybones sang and danced to the delight of the children, and to a lesser extent, their parents. Now, though, in the dark of night, the various dogs, cats, and mice stared down with menace in their dead, mechanical eyes. But as creepy as the robots were, they weren't the problem. No, the real problems drifted unseen around the lifeless automatons.

Or at least that's what the stories said. And as much as she laughed about it with her coworkers in the well-lit break room, she didn't when she was down here alone.

She sloshed through the first room without incident. The flume and propulsion devices worked fine, and she didn't hear any cringe-worthy sounds. Just as she did every Tuesday night, she said, "One down, four to go," referring to the various rooms of the ride.

It started in the second room. Just tappings and footsteps up among the characters. Heidi ignored it, instead focusing on the flume. She'd heard it all before. But then came a whisper that caused her blood to run cold.

"Heidi, Heidi." She couldn't tell where it originated from, but she knew right away it wasn't human. The malice in the voice caused her to pick up her pace. Her flashlight stayed trained on the flume and propulsion system, but her attention remained up amongst the cartoon characters. She saw nothing.

As she passed from the second room to the third, she walked through the coldest spot she'd ever felt. If every air conditioning vent in the building was pointed to that one area, it wouldn't have been as cold. She sloshed a few steps forward, and the air remained frozen. A voice, different from the one before, said something, but it was so garbled that she couldn't understand. This time she lifted her flashlight, but other than the various Funnybone characters, she saw nothing.

After a few more feet, the voice returned, and this time she had no problem understanding it. "Die, die, die." As it spoke, something splashed into the water in front of her. A scream escaped her lips, and she positioned her flashlight so she could see. It was an animatronics eye. She pulled out her walkie-talkie, intent on calling for help. She'd feel stupid relaying the story, but at this point, she didn't care.

Before she could press the talk button, the ride turned on. But that was impossible. A padlock lay attached to the start mechanism, and the only key was in her pocket. Either someone had cut the lock, which they wouldn't do--they knew she was in here--or even more improbable, something in here caused an override.

As the Fantabulous Funnybones sang their signature song of tolerance and peace, the water propulsion jets spit out more air than necessary to move the boats at a steady pace. It knocked Heidi off-balance, and the walkie-talkie flew from her hand. It splashed into the water at the same time she did, but it was far out of her reach and already rushing away in the current.

She tried to prop herself up, but her hand slipped on the bottom. Her head went under, and before she could pull it out, hands pushed her down. She struggled and tried to scream, but water rushed into her lungs. She'd only been under a second, and she already felt the first signs of drowning. She knew she shouldn't panic, but with phantom hands still pushing down, that was impossible. Thrashing about did no good.

Her head hit the bottom, and the hands disappeared. She pushed up, but pain assaulted her scalp. Through the chlorinated water, she saw her hair stuck in one of the propulsion mechanisms. A quick yank broke a good chunk of hair loose (with a fair amount of scalp). It wasn't enough. She still couldn't rise. And she'd already taken in too much water. Unless she acted fast, she was going to drown in a foot and a half of water.

Heidi grasped her hair and planted her feet on the bottom of the flume. It would hurt like a bitch, but her legs were strong enough to pull her free. And she had to hurry. Not only was she about to pass out, but the boats had no doubt been launched. With the speed of the propulsion jets, they'd not only get to her in a hurry, but would hit too hard to survive.

With the speed of the water, she couldn't get traction on the bottom of the flume. She tried a new angle and moved her feet to the side of the flume. She pushed hard, screamed out the last of the air in her lungs as her scalp ripped, and freed herself. She pushed up, but before she broke the surface, the first boat slammed into her. She didn't die right away, but it pinned her down, trapping her at the bottom.

As the happy music of the Fantabulous Funnybone Floatiboat attraction played above her, the last thing she heard was a raspy voice.

"Join us."

Halloween Story #5 - The Scarecrow

Who's spooked by scarecrows? Surprisingly, this one was written in May of 2010 instead of October. I think it goes great with the Halloween season. Enjoy the read!

The Scarecrow
by Eric J. Krause

Teddy lifted one strand of barbed wire high enough for Cal to scoot through unscathed. They'd thought earlier the full moon would hinder them by illuminating their shenanigans, but the bright light had thus far proved to be their ally in sneaking onto the Johnstone farm.

Cal pointed at the paint cans and brushes. "Pass those over, and then I'll help you through." Teddy complied, and less than a minute later they headed towards the main barn.

"This'll teach his ass," Cal muttered under his breath.

Teddy nodded but said nothing. Cal hadn't explained how Farmer Johnstone had messed with him. But if Cal said the farmer was in the wrong, that was good enough for Teddy.

"There's the barn. Think of good cuss words to paint on the side."

Teddy frowned. "Cuss words? I thought we were just going to give it a crappy paint job."

"Yeah, that'd show him. Let's do his chores. The paint job on there now is so piss-poor, I don't think it's possible to make it worse."

Teddy's retort died in his throat. The scarecrow was looking at him. But that wasn't the weird part. Its eyes glowed ruby red. And they followed him.

"What the hell's up with that scarecrow?"

Cal looked over at it. "What? It's a scarecrow. Now you're afraid of scarecrows and cuss words?"

Teddy felt himself blush. "No, no. It just . . ." What? Looked at him? He glanced back and saw it was nothing but a crude, lifeless face. "Never mind."

Teddy thought he heard Cal mutter that he should have brought Dean instead. He gritted his teeth and promised himself he wouldn't disappoint Cal.

"Alright. You got some good words?"

Teddy nodded and tried to catch his breath. He was nervous, but not as much as this warranted. It felt like he'd just run the mile in PE. He glanced back and saw the scarecrow staring at him again, its glowing eyes back.

"Cal?"

"Yeah?"

Teddy wanted Cal to look at the scarecrow to tell him he wasn't crazy, but he caught himself. He didn't want Cal to start hanging out with other people because he was a chicken.

"What?"

"Uh, what if we just did one cuss word per wall. I mean, we'll write it a bunch of times, but each one will have a cuss word theme."

Cal thought for a second, then smiled. "See? This is why I brought you. That's brilliant."

Teddy could only nod. His whole body felt like it was being pushed to the ground. He looked up at the moon. Did it look bigger than normal tonight?

No, the moon wasn't the problem. The scarecrow . . .

Teddy looked back at it and had to stifle a scream. Its face. It was . . . different. He shook his head. Wasn't its mouth straight across before? A piece of string? Now it looked almost real.

"Come on, bro, we need to finish before we get caught." Cal was already painting "shit" over and over on one wall. "Either help me or pick a different wall to start on."

Teddy decided to head around the corner to get away from the scarecrow. Neither his feet nor the paint can wanted to lift up. He glanced over his shoulder and tripped, spilling the paint.

"Dude! Watch it! Now we won't have enough."

He opened his mouth to apologize, but couldn't. The scarecrow. It moved. It couldn't be the wind, as there wasn't so much as a breeze. No, it'd shifted on its own.

"It's moving, Cal, it's moving!"

Cal dropped his paintbrush. "What? Old man Johnstone? Crap! Grab your stuff and book." He grabbed his paint can, shoved the brush in, and took off the way they came.

Teddy watched him go. He wanted to follow, but couldn't move. He couldn't even scream. He found that out as the scarecrow stumbled towards him, the hay and leaved stuffed inside shuffling about.

It reached him and smiled. How had he ever viewed its face as anything other than real? The odor emanating from it, though a pleasant harvest blend on the surface, had a decay underneath that had nothing to do with nature. It reached out and brushed his cheek with an outstretched finger. It felt like a mix between a dried-out leaf and a squished slug. If he had any control of his muscles, he'd have retched and spilled his dinner down with the paint.

"Your turn," it said in a barely audible whisper.

It pushed its palm onto his forehead, and the world blinked. When everything reappeared, he found himself standing in the middle of the Johnstone field. At least he thought he was standing. He couldn't feel anything at all.

After a few minutes of trying, he flopped his head around, though he wished he hadn't. Not only was he wearing the scarecrow's clothes, complete with hay and leaves, but someone who looked exactly like him was hightailing it out of the field.

Halloween Story #4 - Pumpkin Patch of the Damned

 This one comes from all the way back on October 30, 2009. It's not a horror story, per se, but some of you who hate venturing out on Saturday afternoons might find it to be. I hope you enjoy this one!

Pumpkin Patch of the Damned
by Eric J. Krause

Why the hell wasn't this ever an easy process? And every year Daisy had to come during the game. Just because there were games morning, noon, and night on Saturdays didn't make it any better. Think of all the great plays he was missing.

"Daddy, can I go in the bouncy house?"

He looked over at the purple balloon structure shaped like a haunted house, complete with a blow-up Frankenstein and a few sheets with eye holes cut in them glued to the side. Those things used to be a huge treat when he was a kid, but nowadays you couldn't go a city block without bouncing into one.

"No, we're going to grab a pumpkin and get out of here."

"Don't listen to your father. Go have fun, baby."

"Yo, Dad, a corn maze. I'm gonna go check it out."

A corn maze? In the suburbs? He'd been in a corn maze once when he was a kid. His parents drove he and his brothers an hour and a half out of town to get to a farm in the country. Now here was one in this empty lot that'd probably be a Denny's or a Walgreens by this time next year.

"No, we're just here for a pumpkin. Go grab your sister and pick one out so we can get on home."

"Pish-posh. Go have fun, sweetie. Don't get lost!"

He turned to Daisy, ready to tell her off. She'd promised him fifteen minutes, half-an-hour tops. Now here she was sending the kids off to pointless activities instead of what they were here for: to find a carving pumpkin.

Before he could lay into her, her eyes sparkled. "Ooh, a craft fair. You don't mind, do you honey?"

Holy hell, a craft fair? How could this lot hold so much crap? Were there even any damn pumpkins in this pumpkin patch? None that he'd seen. Next year they'd just get one at the megamart down the street. If they'd done that this time, he'd be on his way home by now to watch State versus U.

"No, Daisy. Come on. You promised. Get the kids, let's pick out a pumpkin, and we'll get out of here."

Of course she paid him no mind and wandered over to the half-dozen or so booths, her hand already in her purse to snatch out her wallet.

He found a random bale of hay and took a seat. His eyes scanned all three attractions, but he couldn't spot the kids or his wife. Would he ever see them again, or was he stuck forever here in this pumpkin patch of the damned?

Halloween Story #3 - The Black and White Photograph

 In this third installment of eight for Halloween, I'm revisiting my Friday Flash from October 14, 2010. This one is a horror story set in a first-grade classroom that involves a mystical photograph. I hope it gives you the creeps. Enjoy!

The Black and White Photograph
by Eric J. Krause

Andrea sat at her desk with her lukewarm coffee and glanced at the clock. A half-hour until first-grade recess. In years past, these oral reports usually took about that long, but this class never made anything easy. No doubt they'd do everything they could to stall the process, so she figured on another half-hour after recess. But she'd put a button on this project, even if it took the rest of the school day.

The first few students did a great job. She had to prompt them to give their first and last names--they found it silly since everyone already knew who they were--but otherwise it went quick and smooth. They showed an old family photograph, briefly explained what the picture was about, and said why they liked it. Instead of having each student take five minutes to allow everyone to scrutinize the picture (and, yes, this group would drag it out to a full five minutes or more), she'd promised they could get up and look at all the photos at the end. That would be a horribly noisy unorganized chunk of time, but it was better than wasting that same amount with each presentation.

Though a few of her usual suspects mucked up the process a bit with feet dragging and excess questions, she was pleased with the kids. They might hit recess with only a few left to complete. But up next was one of her wildcards. Maude (such a strange name for a child nowadays) could give the best report of the day, or she'd forget about her photo altogether and perform a song and dance. To Andrea's relief, the girl clutched a black and white photograph on her way to the front of the class.

When Maude held up the picture, everyone in class, even her most rowdy boys, went silent. Andrea perked up because this never happened. Jared and Hector would whisper and giggle even if she brought in their favorite animated feature to watch.

"This is my great-great-great Grandma Maude. She's relaxing in her favorite sofa on a warm day. I love this picture because she's me."

"You mean she looks like you, Maude?" Andrea asked. She couldn't see the picture clear enough from back at her desk to tell. Or was Maude simply confused because she shared her ancestor's name?

Maude looked up and flashed a wicked grin, unlike any a six year old should possess. "No, Mrs. Billups. Watch."

Some sort of energy pulsed out of the photo, and every student slumped down in their desk. A few face-planted hard on the surface. How was she going to explain broken and bloodied noses to the parents?

"And now I have seventeen more souls stored up next time I need to be young again. But I can always use another."

Before Andrea could do anything, Maude stepped forward and held up the photo. The woman in the picture really did look like the girl. The eyes glowed silver, and she couldn't look away.

"It's true about photography and the stealing of souls. It's not the camera that does it, but properly prepared photographs. Don't worry, Mrs. Billups. You won't remember this until you die."

The glowing eyes flashed, and Andrea found herself sitting at her desk. Maude walked back to her seat, her photo in hand. Had she given a presentation? Andrea couldn't remember. She glanced around the room and saw four or five of the kids sporting bloody noses. The entire class noticed at that same moment, and all hell broke loose.

Halloween Story #2 - Chained Love

In this second Friday Flash Horror/Halloween revisit, I have a zombie love story of sorts for you. This one comes from way back on the 1st of July, 2010. I hope you have fun reading it!

Chained Love
by Eric J. Krause

The chains on the bed rattled, jarring him from his uneasy slumber. Meredith needed to feed again. Sean headed for the kitchen for the raw hamburger. She calmed down, seemingly aware of what he was up to.

#

Sean clicked off the radio, unable to stomach any more talk about the new zombie epidemic. Besides, he was almost home. He'd take Meredith up to their cabin in the mountains. It was fully stocked with food and water for emergencies, though he'd always figured the crisis would be an earthquake or flood, not zombies. Whatever. They'd beat this. Together.

As he pulled into the driveway, he saw something lying on the front porch. Something mauled. Something bloody.

He put the car in park and leapt out. Tears filled his eyes as he guessed what this was. They'd been here and gotten to Meredith. He broke down right there when he saw he wasn't mistaken. Her body was decimated by bite and rip marks; her head attached only by a few sinews of muscle.

#

The hamburger disappeared fast. Meredith took big bites out of the middle, but ate carefully around his fingers, even though he wore heavy-duty work gloves. Was this thing trying to lull him into a false sense of security, or was she still in there? Best not to dwell on it. The isolation was close enough to driving him mad without such thoughts.

With the meat gone, she licked and sucked the excess off his fingers. A week or so ago, before she'd been constructed of rotting flesh, it would've turned him on. Their sensual play with food had led to many a night of passionate love making. Now though, as he felt the pressure of her lips and tongue, it was all he could do to keep from vomiting.

She lay passive, staring into his eyes. He'd learned during the week that if he talked to her, she wouldn't respond. Nothing about her showed any sort of recognition, any sort of humanity. It pained him to converse with her like that, so he stopped. He left her chained, unmoving on the bed, and went to wash off the glove.

#

"Sean, did you see this report? There are actual zombies roaming the streets of New York."

"Yeah, I saw it earlier on CNN. I thought they were just making up a funny news story or something."

"No, it seems legit." Meredith paused. "Do you suppose they wander around, arms outstretched, moaning for brains?"

He looked and saw her mouth fighting a smile, trying to stay serious, and that did it. He busted up laughing, and she joined him.

#

The power flickered. The generator wouldn't hold out much longer. He hadn't heard anything outside in quite some time, but that didn't mean it was safe. He'd taken pains to make sure nothing could squeeze though the boards on the windows and doors. That meant he couldn't see out, either. The Internet had been down for days, and his satellite TV picked up nothing but static.

He wouldn't worry so much about the power--the raw hamburger for Meredith was almost gone, and he'd been eating out of cans for a few days anyway--except for how stuffy the house was. He'd been running electric fans around the clock, and he could still barely tolerate it.

He sighed and looked at the bed. If her schedule held up, it'd be feeding time in an hour or so. What would he do when the meat was gone?

#

Sean carried her remains to the bed, tears so thick in his eyes he couldn't see straight. Before he lost it altogether, he needed to protect himself. The work would keep his mind clear. He washed Meredith's blood off the porch, hooked the generator up in the garage, and boarded up the house.

With the physical labor done, he came inside to mourn his dead wife, but stopped in his tracks at the bedroom door. Her flesh. It was growing back. It looked dead, rotted, but it was there. That could only mean she'd be moving soon.

He rushed into the garage and grabbed the rope of heavy chain that'd been there since they'd moved in. He had no idea what the previous owners had used it for, or why they hadn't taken it, but at this point, he didn't care. Good thing he'd never gotten around to tossing it like Meredith wanted.

He wrapped it tight around her and secured it to the bed frame with padlocks. There. If that didn't hold, he was a dead man. He didn't have anything better. There was nothing left to do now but wait for her to wake up.

#

Meredith sucked the last of the hamburger off of his glove with a hearty smack. As she did so, she gave him a lusty gaze. But no, that was impossible. This wasn't actually his wife. It was just a moving shell, a monster. Right?

He looked around the kitchen, but found little he could feed her. There was plenty of canned ravioli, but somehow he didn't think that would satisfy. And he couldn't let her starve because, god damn it, what if that really had been her soul staring up at him?

He sighed and slumped to the floor. He was sick and tired of this fucking isolation. But it didn't have to be like this. He could set her free. What better way to say "I love you" than giving her his flesh? It'd grow back. Hers did. And then they could be together forever.

Sean rushed into the bedroom before he could rethink this, and worked on unlocking the padlocks. Meredith shifted, as if she could sense his intentions. As he folded the chains off of her torso, allowing her to sit up for the first time as a dead woman, he giggled. Would they wander the streets, arms outstretched, moaning "hearts" instead of "brains?"

Halloween Story #1: Shadow in the Mirror

I decided I'd revisit eight of my former Friday Flash stories for Halloween this year. Since it is for Halloween, I'm going to choose horror stories to republish - one a day until Halloween. If you've already read these, I hope you enjoy revisiting them; if you haven't seen 'em before, I hope you enjoy them. This first one comes from way back in October of 2009. It's called Shadow in the Mirror. Enjoy the read!

Shadow in the Mirror
by Eric J. Krause

Brianna ran her brush through her long blond hair, counting each stroke, a ritual she'd kept up since high school. She sometimes felt silly, but it really did make her hair that much silkier. Since she and Tim had found this old-fashioned vanity, complete with its fancy mirror, at a garage sale, brushing her hair at it felt right. She didn't know if it was real or faux antique, but she could picture an old-timey, high society lady from years past doing the same.

She set down her brush and did a double-take. Her reflection brushed its hair an extra time. They stared at each other, neither moving. Brianna let out her breath and giggled at her overactive imagination. She stood up to head for the kitchen when a shadow flashed in the mirror.

"What the hell?" She whirled around but didn't see anything. Tim was working late, so it couldn't have been him. Besides, she'd have heard the bedroom door open. It creaked even if moved an inch.

She turned back to the mirror and gasped. Not only was her reflection gone, but there were bright crimson splotches all over the surface. She hesitated for a second before runner her finger over one of the spots. It came back dry and didn't distort the crimson. It was on the other side of the mirror. Impossible. She ran her hand along the braided wood pattern of the frame and felt the back. Just wood-paneled backing, as she expected.

Before she turned her attention to the puzzle of the crimson splotches (blood?) and no reflection, the shadow again crawled across the mirror. It moved slow and seemed to focus on her. It glowed black, as if it not only blocked the light, but ate it as well.

In the mirror, the shadow lightened. Behind Brianna, in her room, in her world, the lights dimmed. The proportion of light lost from the lamps matched the loss of dark in the shadow's mirror world. Whatever it was that murdered her reflection (that's what it did, right?) was coming for her.

Brianna did the only thing she could think of: she picked up her hairbrush and smashed it into the glass. The vanity and mirror, being bolted together, rocked back, but the glass didn't have a mark. The light continued to seep out of her room.

She smacked the brush into the mirror again, this time leaving a dimple in the glass. The light flickered back to full brightness behind her. The shadow in the mirror world remained, but it looked halfway between solid and gone.

She swung again, this time breaking the impact zone into a spider-webbed crack. The shadow disappeared. Another smack brought a second large crack and got rid of the crimson goop. Her reflection flickered back--her true reflection from an ordinary mirror.

Brianna took a deep breath and stared at herself through the ruined glass. Whatever magic that had lived in the mirror was gone. Would it come back? She didn't know, but had no interest in keeping the vanity set to find out. She wasn't sure what she'd tell Tim. A lie would have a much clearer ring of truth than this mess.

She stood up and walked out of the room. All of that could wait. Right now she needed a stiff drink.

End

I hope you enjoyed the story. Check back tomorrow for another tale of horror. Happy Halloween!

Friday Flash: Behind the Glass

Behind the Glass

by Eric J. Krause

Donny didn't notice the blood spilling from his nose. He didn't realize his left eye had already begun the process of swelling shut. The three loose teeth in his mouth--one on top and two below--didn't cross his mind. All that mattered at the moment was the reflection in the mirror. No, not his, but what was behind him, beyond him.

Bronco and his cronies caught up to Donny after school in Pride Park. Donny was lab partners with Jessica Tanner in chemistry class, and Bronco figured that meant Donny and Jessica had a thing. Though it wasn't true (Donny wouldn't have said no, but the problem was Jessica wouldn't have said yes), it made perfect sense that Bronco would consider that the only explanation. After all, he couldn't spell chemistry. Heck, he probably didn't even know what letter it started with.

Bronco had a crush--a mad crush--on Jessica, and anyone he noticed getting close to her got a beat down. Now Donny found himself on that list without earning it. Jessica had already put him in the dreaded friend zone for which there was no escaping for guys like him. Did Bronco understand that? Of course not. He still didn't understand why it was called tying his shoes when all he had to do was connect the Velcro strips.

But who cared about all of that? What mattered was in the mirror. Another world. A world where Bronco couldn't get him.

Or did he just have a concussion? Maybe he was just seeing things. Maybe? Ha! No doubt about it. Medieval castles surrounded by a lush forest, his idea of heaven, didn't show up in mirrors in a public park restroom. Or any mirror, for that matter. No, Bronco and his crew added a brain bruise to the bargain.

Donny put his hand up to the glass and gasped. It gave a little, as if made of a sheet of plexiglass. He pushed again, this time harder, and his hand disappeared in a sploosh. Dare he go further? It wasn't like Bronco would stop. Donny would remain lab partners with Jessica, and Bronco would still be after him, probably with worse results next time.

That made up his mind. He pushed his arm in further and watched in awe as it disappeared. He couldn't see it on the other side, but that didn't bother him. He'd be in the castle universe soon enough, far away from Bronco. He shoved his other arm in and crawled up onto the counter, where he threw his entire body through.

*****

Donny opened his eyes and found himself in a long, dark corridor, no castle in sight. He looked back at the mirror, the back side of it, with a full view of that public restroom. On the floor, sprawled out as if dead, lay his body. He pushed against the glass to get back, but this time his hands wouldn't pass through.

He pounded against the glass, but it still wouldn't budge. He couldn't leave his body lying there helpless. He sagged against the mirror and let out a huge sigh. What else could he do? He turned and looked down the dark corridor. A bright light now shone at the other end. He started towards it.

#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--Sunday Morning Walks

Sunday Morning Walks
by Eric J. Krause

I loved walking on early Sunday mornings. I felt like I had the world to myself; no one wanted to move before eight or nine. Just me and the occasional other walker or jogger, whom I sometimes acknowledged and sometimes didn't. Depended on how groovin' the song playing on my iPod was. Or how crappy my week at work was shaping up to be.

That particular morning was bliss. I saw only one other walker, and she was on the other side of the street. I didn't need to play the ignore-or-say-hi game in my head. After her, no one else existed.

About halfway through my walk, I must've snapped fully awake. That or an inexplicable super mood hit me, overtaking my already good one. The world seemed bigger, brighter, in Technicolor. My shoes felt lighter, my legs springier, and my lungs stronger. I could walk all day. Even my iPod, loaded only with my favorite bands, played nothing but the absolute best songs. The only blight on the otherwise perfect morning was the sound of sirens wailing in the wind.

I stopped walking, but kept my legs and arms pumping for the sake of my heart rate. I looked back, but no sign of any police cruisers or fire trucks. Same with straight ahead. In fact, there were no vehicles at all.

Something up ahead, though, did catch my eye. If I was seeing clearly it was at the corner of my street, about a mile down. It made me think of a shimmering doorway, though I guessed it to actually be a full-length mirror catching the sunlight and other reflections at odd angles from this distance. A figure stood next to it, though I couldn't make out any details.

As I continued on, the sirens still pierced the morning air. At times they seemed right behind me, though I found no sign of their source. I turned up my music, but I couldn't mute their screaming voice.

The shimmering thing on my street corner captured my attention. The closer I got, the more it looked like a doorway. Maybe the person next to it was waiting for a delivery truck? But this early on a Sunday? And what could be causing that weird, swirly refraction of light? It couldn't be a normal mirror, if it was even a mirror at all.

The closer I got, I still had no answer. The man waved at me, and I saw he was nothing but skin and bones. I also noticed the sirens had stopped.

"You've arrived," he said in a voice that growled with disuse.

"Yeah," I said. "Just went for my Sunday morning walk." Before I could ask who he was, he pointed a bony finger behind me. I turned and gasped.

I was back at the halfway mark of my walk, looking down at paramedics fiddling with a dead body. Wait. My body. A car with a cracked windshield and dented hood sat half on the sidewalk and half in the street.

I turned back to the strange figure and even stranger doorway. We were again on my corner. I felt like I should be in pain, both physical and mental, but I wasn't. An air of ease, the same I'd felt the entire walk, stuck with me.

The figure said no more. He pointed to the doorway, and I nodded. The shimmering, swirling patterns were so pretty. I stepped forward.

#FridayFlash--Intruder

Intruder
by Eric J. Krause

Becca stared down at Geoff's body--the body of her husband, lover, best friend--and tried to scream. It wouldn't come, but babbling words, murmured in a low whisper, pushed up her throat and out her mouth. "Wake up, Geoff, not funny, not funny at all, open your eyes and start breathing, the joke's over, you aren't dead, you can't be."

But it wasn't a prank. Her Geoff, her beloved Geoff, lay dead. She'd left him on the bed, quite satisfied and very much alive after a vigorous love-making session, to take a quick shower. As she dried off, she felt that frisky itch and headed to the bedroom to initiate round two. Instead she found him like this.

Now that scream threatened to tear through her, but she couldn't afford to lose it. 9-1-1. Yes, that's who she had to call, and she couldn't be hysterical during it or the operator wouldn't understand. Calm, cool, and collected, that's what she needed to be.

Before she grabbed the phone, she reached for Geoff. He'd had a physical for work just last week. The doctor pronounced him in excellent shape for a man of 43. Maybe a bit too much of a bulge around the middle, but his cholesterol and blood pressure were at acceptable levels, and his heart was strong. No sign of any diseases or defects. Keep it up, the doctor said. So how was he laying here like this?

Becca had often heard the term "dead weight," but never having handled a dead body bigger than a hamster, she'd not grasped the concept. She struggled to roll him to his side, and once she succeeded, a gasp escaped her lips and she leapt back. Geoff flopped face-down on her side of the bed. A small pool of blood, about the size of a quarter, congealed on his pillow. On the back of his neck was a small round wound, already festering. But that was impossible. She might not be in the medical profession, was, in fact, merely the manager of an independently-owned games and hobbies shop (The Game Room--"we cover all your gaming needs"), but she knew there was no way either the wound or the blood should look like that. Not yet. It hadn't been there before her shower. She'd wrapped her hands around the back of his neck during their intimate act, and they'd come back clean. No, as inexplicable as it was, this happened while she was in the shower.

Which meant, among other things . . .

Terror replaced her grief, and she lunged for the phone. Dead. As dead as poor Geoff. That almost brought down the dam holding the tears back, but somehow she managed to keep herself in check. Hysteria could, would, come later, but for now she had to keep her head so she could survive. Someone was in the house, and he was dangerous, deadly.

She tried to ascertain if there'd been a struggle on the bed, but she knew very well there had been--quite a pleasurable one that she'd been involved in. Other than that, besides the spot of already congealed blood, she couldn't tell. Should she dash out and run for the neighbors, or was unknown death waiting for her? The window? This was the second story, and her two landing options were rose bushes or concrete. She preferred neither choice. No, she'd sneak downstairs and bolt out either the front or back door, whichever proved safer.

Nothing seemed disturbed in the upstairs hallway. She tiptoed to the stairs and stood silent for a few seconds, listening for anything out of the ordinary. When only the regular sounds of her house came back--the ticking of clocks, the whir of the dishwasher, the hum of the computer--she hurried down the stairs. Once at the bottom, she had a clear path to the front door, to freedom, and took it. She twisted the handle and pulled, but it didn't budge. Damn deadbolt.

As she moved her hand to unlock the door, something thudded behind her. She whirled around and finally allowed herself to scream. Geoff stumbled towards her, no life existing in his eyes. But that wasn't the worst part, not by a long shot. The worst stood at the top of the stairs behind him. His new puppet master pulled the strings, and it wanted her in its collection.

#FridayFlash--Writer's Block

Writer's Block
by Eric J. Krause

He sat down and stared at the blank page. No ideas flooded his mind, but he didn't worry. Inspiration would come; it always did. Besides, he could dig up a writing prompt on the web, listen to a song, or simply freewrite. He'd been through this before. The words would come.

A minute. Two. Five. Ten.

Nothing.

Fine. He stood and headed to his computer, ready to bring in the big guns. A writing prompt. This mini-bout of writer's block wouldn't stand a chance. He had a few sites bookmarked that had served him well in the past, and a few keystrokes later, he'd printed out a dozen prompts that were sure to get him through.

He dove into the first, finished a paragraph, and stopped. No, this one was a good freewriting exercise, but it wasn't leading to a story. The next one proved the same. And the next. And the next. And the next.

The pen smacked onto his desk when he dropped it. This was no good. It wasn't a traditional writing prompt night, or, for that matter, a freewriting type of night. Maybe a song would jar a story out of him.

The iPod went to random, and he stared at the display. The name of the first song would be the title of his story. "The Price of Pain." Perfect. That could go in a hundred different directions.

Except it didn't. The page remained blank, and his pen stayed silent. He started to get up to take a mind-clearing walk when the pain hit. His chest burned and his arm tingled. He plopped back into his chair and took a deep breath. After a few seconds, everything went back to normal. Damn heartburn.

As he picked up his pen, something about it caught his eye. For the first time, he examined the writing instrument. It was clear plastic, the kind where you can see right to the ink. Except that wasn't ink in there. Ink didn't move like that, not any kind he'd ever seen. It swirled and bubbled and dripped and rose and changed from black to blue to green to yellow to red and back to black to start it all over again.

Where had this pen come from? He couldn't remember. Had it been a gift, part of a pack he'd purchased, or had he grabbed it as a freebie somewhere? No matter how much he thought about it, the answer wouldn't come.

He dipped the tip onto the paper. He'd done it plenty of times in the past hour in his attempts at the writing prompts, but this time the ink came out different. It swirled on the page as it had inside the pen. Hypnotic. Multi-colored. Moving where no movement should be possible. And it wasn't just the ink. Now his words flowed, given new life by the dancing print.

He filled one blank page. Then another. And another. He had no idea how much time had passed, but it felt like mere seconds. And these words were gold. He hadn't gone over them yet, but he knew. He'd sell this story and plenty of subsequent ones based on it. This was his key to success in the business, and it was all due to whatever was in this strange pen.

Four more pages in, he finally jotted those two magic words: The End. As fast and furious as his pen had travelled over the paper, he couldn't believe his hands hadn't cramped up. As he set it down, he massaged his fingers, but it was unnecessary. They didn't even tingle. He stood up, intent on heading to the kitchen for a bottle of celebratory beer, and had to stifle a scream.

He hadn't actually written anything at all. His dead body lay slumped over the still blank pages, and the pen, which proved to be one of those plain, run-of-the-mill jobs from an office supply store, had rolled off the desk and bounced a few feet away. The ink was clearly black and definitely not swirling.

Cries of sorrow, frustration, and downright anger stopped in his throat. A bright light behind him melted away those negative emotions and left only a peaceful aura around him. What else could he do? There was nothing here for him anymore. He turned and stepped into the light.

#FridayFlash--The Fantabulous Funnybone Floatiboats

The Fantabulous Funnybone Floatiboats
by Eric J. Krause

Heidi waited for the last boat to cycle through, and then grabbed her waders, flashlight, and walkie-talkie. She couldn't put into words how much she dreaded Tuesday nights, her turn to walk the flume. As light and airy as it was during the day, the building was that much darker and heavier once the last guest left.

She took a deep breath and stepped down into the water. Though it was only 18 inches deep and the waders were insulated, she felt chills flash all over her body. That wasn't from anything other than her dread and anticipation. So far.

During the day, the Fantabulous Funnybones sang and danced to the delight of the children, and to a lesser extent, their parents. Now, though, in the dark of night, the various dogs, cats, and mice stared down with menace in their dead, mechanical eyes. But as creepy as the robots were, they weren't the problem. No, the real problems drifted unseen around the lifeless automatons.

Or at least that's what the stories said. And as much as she laughed about it with her coworkers in the well-lit break room, she didn't when she was down here alone.

She sloshed through the first room without incident. The flume and propulsion devices worked fine, and she didn't hear any cringe-worthy sounds. Just as she did every Tuesday night, she said, "One down, four to go," referring to the various rooms of the ride.

It started in the second room. Just tappings and footsteps up among the characters. Heidi ignored it, instead focusing on the flume. She'd heard it all before. But then came a whisper that caused her blood to run cold.

"Heidi, Heidi." She couldn't tell where it originated from, but she knew right away it wasn't human. The malice in the voice caused her to pick up her pace. Her flashlight stayed trained on the flume and propulsion system, but her attention remained up amongst the cartoon characters. She saw nothing.

As she passed from the second room to the third, she walked through the coldest spot she'd ever felt. If every air conditioning vent in the building was pointed to that one area, it wouldn't have been as cold. She sloshed a few steps forward, and the air remained frozen. A voice, different from the one before, said something, but it was so garbled that she couldn't understand. This time she lifted her flashlight, but other than the various Funnybone characters, she saw nothing.

After a few more feet, the voice returned, and this time she had no problem understanding it. "Die, die, die." As it spoke, something splashed into the water in front of her. A scream escaped her lips, and she positioned her flashlight so she could see. It was an animatronics eye. She pulled out her walkie-talkie, intent on calling for help. She'd feel stupid relaying the story, but at this point, she didn't care.

Before she could press the talk button, the ride turned on. But that was impossible. A padlock lay attached to the start mechanism, and the only key was in her pocket. Either someone had cut the lock, which they wouldn't do--they knew she was in here--or even more improbable, something in here caused an override.

As the Fantabulous Funnybones sang their signature song of tolerance and peace, the water propulsion jets spit out more air than necessary to move the boats at a steady pace. It knocked Heidi off-balance, and the walkie-talkie flew from her hand. It splashed into the water at the same time she did, but it was far out of her reach and already rushing away in the current.

She tried to prop herself up, but her hand slipped on the bottom. Her head went under, and before she could pull it out, hands pushed her down. She struggled and tried to scream, but water rushed into her lungs. She'd only been under a second, and she already felt the first signs of drowning. She knew she shouldn't panic, but with phantom hands still pushing down, that was impossible. Thrashing about did no good.

Her head hit the bottom, and the hands disappeared. She pushed up, but pain assaulted her scalp. Through the chlorinated water, she saw her hair stuck in one of the propulsion mechanisms. A quick yank broke a good chunk of hair loose (with a fair amount of scalp). It wasn't enough. She still couldn't rise. And she'd already taken in too much water. Unless she acted fast, she was going to drown in a foot and a half of water.

Heidi grasped her hair and planted her feet on the bottom of the flume. It would hurt like a bitch, but her legs were strong enough to pull her free. And she had to hurry. Not only was she about to pass out, but the boats had no doubt been launched. With the speed of the propulsion jets, they'd not only get to her in a hurry, but would hit too hard to survive.

With the speed of the water, she couldn't get traction on the bottom of the flume. She tried a new angle and moved her feet to the side of the flume. She pushed hard, screamed out the last of the air in her lungs as her scalp ripped, and freed herself. She pushed up, but before she broke the surface, the first boat slammed into her. She didn't die right away, but it pinned her down, trapping her at the bottom.

As the happy music of the Fantabulous Funnybone Floatiboat attraction played above her, the last thing she heard was a raspy voice.

"Join us."