New Identity

Posted in Uncategorized on May 4, 2011 by uncleloony


New Identity

John sat in his Mercedes at a Seven Eleven. He bought a French vanilla cappuccino and a snow ball from the store, and waited. Looking up at the huge house on the mountain, he expected the light to go on around 8:52. It didn’t. It came on at 8:54 on the clock in the car. He reminded himself he must syncronis his watch to the clock on car, since his watch read 8:52. The victim was now getting ready for a night on the town.

He had been watching Simon Korsokof for the past month, watching his every move. He had done this numerous times before. Watching his victims. Waiting for the moment to enter their homes. Killing them while they slept, and taking over their identities. These people were recluses, no family, no real friends, but they had lots of money. John would transfer their funds to a Swiss bank account, and then sell their houses. Nobody know. Nobody was the wiser. They just disappeared off the earth. And John reaped the benefits of their lives.

John started his Mercedes, and traveled up the long steep dead end road.

He turned around a Cul De Sac just past Simon’s driveway. He watched as the Rolls Royce exited the gate and started for the city. He knew where Simon was going from previous watches. Simon was going to the local gay disco tech.

John parked his car, and followed Simon into the bar. He kept away, but within eyesight of Simon. He watched Simon walk up to the bar.

Simon was about 40 years of age, with a graying mustache and sideburns to match. He was always dresses elinquently, and always picked on a younger male about 20 years old.

Immediately, a young buck approached Simon, and they engaged in conversation. This was a normal encounter observed by John, and he sipped his seven up as he watched. A dark haired man approached John, and asked him to dance. John declined, saying he was waiting for someone.

John watched as Simon and the young man walked out the door. He didn’t follow, knowing full well where Simon lived.

John waited outside the Seven Eleven. He saw the light go out at Simon’s house. This was the time for him to move. He started his Mercedes, and drove up the mountain.

The gate was obviously closed, and John parked his car in the nearby Cu De Sac. He walked up to the gate, and climbed the rails effortlessly.

John hid in the bushes, watching Simon’s bedroom light. After twenty minutes, the light went out.

John slowly ascended the front lawn to the house. The house was massive. In this location, he could probable get four million or more from the sale.

John went to the back porch door. He put in the code that he had acquired from the local Real Estate agent. Stupid woman left to use the bathroom and left her computer on.

The door was unlocked. Good, less damage to the house. He entered the dining room, and turned on his flashlight. The stairs was nearby, and he ascended them. He could hear noise in the Simon’s bedroom. He could shoot them both, and no one would be the wiser. He would assume the identity of Simon, and the young man would just be another gay casualty in the city.

John entered Simon’s bedroom. The room was pitch dark. But he could hear someone moaning. Good, he caught them both in bed. It would be an easy kill.

John switched on his flashlight. He saw a young man tied to the bed, hands and feet bound. The young man looked frightened, and there was blood all over his chest. John did not see Simon. He searched the room with his flashlight. No Simon. Then John heard a shreek from overhead. He lifted his flashlight, and saw Simon ascend to him from the ceiling. John didn’t have time to scream as Simon sunk his fangs in John’s jugular vein.

May 3, 2011


The Bridge

Posted in Uncategorized on November 13, 2010 by uncleloony


I see him. He is dragging a bag. To the garage. It seems heavy. I wish he was here by me. There he is, he came through the door. I am so happy to see him, as I have always been. He doesn’t seem to see me. I jump near him. Still, no reaction. I hear crying….from a distance…the boy…he is crying…I come to him… he doesn’t respond….he cries some more…. the man comes upstairs….he holds the boy… I watch the two of them…. The boy sobs loudly….

I don’t understand. He isn’t paying attention to me. He never acted this way before. I bark at him. He doesn’t respond. I follow him upstairs, and lay on his bed. I hear something. He is crying.

I see him pull up in his car. He looks happy. I haven’t seen him like this in quite awhile. The boy comes out as well. He too is happy… there is another dog… part hound, part lab…… almost like me but smaller…… the dog barks at me… she keeps looking at me… what is she…. she sees me…. the man yells at her. She is sooo pretty.

I see a light. A bright light. I feel love and warmth once more. I see….a bridge. A bridge of many colors? I have never seen colors before…. so many colors….. who is that? Grandma Pearl? How do I know her name? I go toward the light…the rainbow bridge.

The Night Pit

Posted in Horror Fiction on November 11, 2010 by uncleloony


The bar was crowded. It was Friday night in Autumn, and Brad and Sal were in their senior year at PTMU. They both had passed their science midterms, and were celebrating at one of the city’s pubs. Sal smoked, so Brad went out into the cold night air to accompany him.

“Hey Brad,” said Sal, “what do you say we find one of those out of the way bars. This place is about to close.”

“I don’t know, Sal. It’s getting pretty late.”

“Come on pal, let’s have a couple more.”

A police car pulled up, and two officers ran past the two college students, and one accidentally bumped into Sal.

“Hey buddy, watch it!”

“Sal, don’t get so pissed. They are just doing there job. There’s something going on inside. Let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah, they have been assholes ever since those two cops disappeared. They take it out on us, when it was probably some gang related thing.”

“Whatever. Let’s get out of here. If you want, we can find an all night bar.”

The two walked away from the bar. The street had some pedestrians, but not many at this hour. And after a couple of blocks, there were hardly any people around.

“Where are we?” asked Brad.

“Hell if I know. I have been here over three years, and can’t figure out this city.”

Brad saw a bus stop up ahead. “Let’s go see what the schedule is for the buses. That will tell us where we are.”

“Hey!” said Sal, “I see a neon sign down that alley! Let’s check it out.”

Brad looked over at the bus stop, and tried to jot down in his memory where it was from the alley. “Okay Sal, but only for a couple of drinks. Then back to the dorms.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.”

The alley was dark. There was a huge parking garage building looming over the neon sign which read “The Pit.” The sign lit up a huge metal door with a small window over it. The two entered the door.

They were in a stairwell. The stairs leading up where blocked by and iron gate. But the stairs descending were dimly lit.

“This place looks creepy. Let’s find another bar,” said Brad.

“Forget it, it’s probably part of a Halloween theme. Let’s check it out! “exclaimed Sal.

They followed the stairs to the floor beneath. But there was no door, just descending stairs. They continued to follow the stairs.

“We must have gone down three flights already!” Brad said nervously, “ Let’s go back.”

“I hear something. We are almost there.” They could hear an old Blue Oyster Cult song getting louder. Brad recognized it as “Don’t Fear the Reaper.”

The stairwell bottomed out, with what looked like debree and concrete mixed together. There was an entry way to a room. They continued to the dimly lit room.

The room was old and smelled of mildew. But there were about fifteen people in the room. All drinking and talking. Young men and women. There was a bar at the far corner of the room with what Brad considered one of the ugliest women he ever seen. They crossed the floor to the bar.

“Geez Sal, I think this floor is moving!”

“Of course it is, you jerk. You had too much to drink! Let’s have another!”

“What will it be, boys,” The ugly barmaid asked.

“Two Rum and Cokes,” said Sal.

“Coming right up!”

Sal turned to Brad, “Hey bud, pay for this one. I have to take a fucking piss.” And without waiting for a reply, Sal went to the men’s room.

There was only one toilet. And boy, did it stink! Sal swayed back and forth as he pissed. He shook his dick three times, and heard something. A gnawing sound. It sounded like it was underneath him. He turned off the light, and saw something shining through the floorboards. Fire. A torch. Way underneath.

Sal left the bathroom, and grabbed Brad. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he said as he pulled Brad. Brad spilled some of the drinks he bought.

“What’s the matter, Sal?” Asked Brad.

“Hey, you can’t take those drinks out of here!” yelled the barmaid.

Sal continued to pull Brad. He reached the doorway, and Brad’s shirt suddenly pulled tight and downward. Sal looked back, and saw the floor had collapsed. He could hear screaming as the fifteen or so other people fell thirty feet into a pit. He could hear limbs breaking as they hit the bottom.And the screams. The entire pit was walled with concrete, and the bottom looked like dirt, bones and debris. Sal could see several people coming out of holes at the bottom. No, not people. Half people, half…he wasn’t sure. They reminded him of old comic books about ghouls. He held tight on Brad’s shirt, as Brad screamed for him to help him. The old hag at the bar smiled at him. The only floor that didn’t drop. He could see her sharp and pointy teeth.

“Don’t let go of me, Sal!” Sal reached over and grabbed Brad’s left armpit. With all of his might, he pulled Brad up to safety. The two ran up the stairs as fast as they could.

The light’s went out in the stairwell. Sal continued to hold Brad by the arm as they ascended the stairs. Sal could hear scrambling from below him. But he could also hear voices above him. Female voices. Some other victim coming down the stairs. Brad could see light as they continued upward. And the voices getting louder. Confused voices. Why are the lights out? He ran into someone and she fell on the stairs.

“What are you doing, asshole?” said the female. The light from the small window only showed shadows.

“Don’t go down there!” screamed Sal, “They’re killing everyone!”

“I am not a guest,” said the female as she bit off Sal’s first three fingers.

Nora’s Babies

Posted in Horror Fiction on September 7, 2010 by uncleloony


Nora’s Babies

Nora stood on her weathered porch, calling for her babies. All twenty four of them. Or was it twenty five? None the less, they were all her babies, and it was time to eat. In another hour it would be twilight, and that’s when the coyotes come out. She had lost several of her babies to those damn coyotes. But soon a stray would come along, and add to her family.

“Here, puss puss puss puss,” Nora called, “here, puss puss puss puss.” An entourage of cats came running up the stoop, past Nora, and into the old farmhouse. She tried to count them all as they ran past, but couldn’t. After the last cat ran by her, she turned and shut the door.


The kitchen was probably the only room that had some floor space. Nora collected everything from old clothes to newspapers, and stacked all her belongings throughout her house. Most of the house was a maze, but somehow Nora believed she knew where everything was. She counted the cats. Twenty two, twenty three, twenty four. Yep, they were all here. No, there’s twenty five now. Where did that last one go to. She scanned the group of cats for Sebastian. He was always the one to be late for dinner, so it had to be him. He was probably still going after some poor dumb animal. That fat cat actually killed a gopher once and brought it home. He was always going after the big ones.

Nora fed the cats, then opened the outside door. “Sebassssstian! Here, puss puss puss puss…” she called.

Sebastian came running around the corner of the house and flew threw the door. Nope, no dead animals in his mouth this time. Nora closed the door.


Billy and Sam watched the cat lady from the woods as she called her cats into the house.

“See,” said Billy, “I told you she was a freak. She must have bought that dress at Old Maid’s Incorporated. There must be fifty cats living in that house. I betcha it stinks in there! Better hold your nose once we get inside.”

“Gee Billy, I don’t know if I want to do this,” replied Sam, not giving eye contact.

“Come on Sam. She’s all alone on top of this hill. And from what I heard, she’s a major nut job. She used to work up at the hospital, before she retired. And I heard some stories about her.”

“Yeah I know. Nutty Nurse Nora. But she was never prosecuted for anything.”

“That doesn’t mean she never did anything. My mom said she killed someone. And then the hospital made her retire.”

“Your mom’s a big gossip. All she does is talk about people at her hair salon.”

Billy slapped Sam on the side of his head. “Don’t talk about my mom!”


Nora sat in her kitchen, sipping a cup of tea and reading the newspaper. She didn’t notice the dead fly fall off the No Pest Strip hanging from the ceiling, and into her cup. She slowly sipped as the fly flowed into her mouth. She didn’t notice the lump in her mouth, and she swallowed.

She heard a thump from the cellar. Probably one of the cats knocked over a box. She went to the open cellar door.

“Here, puss puss puss puss.”

Nothing. No, not nothing. She felt something was down there. She didn’t hear anything, just a feeling.

“Here, puss puss puss puss.”

Sebastian ran up the stairs, and started rubbing against her orthopedic shoes.

“Ah Sebastian, You naughty boy! Always getting into trouble. Did you find any mice down there?” She picked Sebastian up and rubbed her face on his. He gave her a slight bite on the nose. She dropped Sebastian, and he ran around the corner.

“Ow Sebastian, that hurt. If I didn’t know how playful you were, I would have thought you did that on purpose.”


Billy and Sam watched in the dark of the cellar. She was still in the kitchen. But Billy staked out the house before, and knew Nora would go to bed shortly. Then the kitchen light went out.

“Billy,” whispered Sam, “There’s nothing but junk in here. And the place smells like cat piss and…something else. Let’s just get out of here.”

“Are you kidding?” answered Billy, “There must be a gold mine in here. She keeps everything. And her mother owned the house before her. Can you imagine how much shit we can find after two generations of hoarders?”

“Okay, but I’m taking off the first sign of trouble. We take what we can quickly, and get the Hell out!”

Billy turned on his flashlight, and started first. They could see the junk was piled to the ceiling.

“Fuck Billy, we can’t go through all this! Besides, most of it is just old furniture.”

“Okay we’ll try upstairs.” Billy pointed his flashlight and started toward the cellar stairs.

“Don’t you think we should shut this window,” said Sam as he walked in the dark to it.

“No. We may need to get out quickly. Leave it alone.”

“Shit, that hurt!” yelled Sam, as he put his hand to his mouth.

“Shut up, asshole!” whispered Billy as he swung his flashlight around to Sam. Sam had cut himself, but not to bad. Just enough to bleed.

“Point your flashlight over here,” said Sam. The light shown an old hospital bed, slightly askew because of the junk it was lying on. A large piece of plastic had broken away, leaving a large sharp piece sticking out.

“I told you to bring a flashlight.”

“I did! I dropped it when I climbed through the window.”

“Well, we can’t look for it now. Stay close to me so you won’t hurt yourself again,” whispered Billy.

They ascended the stairs slowly, stopping when a step creaked. Sam made sure not to step where Billy’s stance made noise. They entered the kitchen. There were old tuna fish and cat food cans lying in corners, covered in shedded cat hair. Mostly there were unwashed pots, pans, and dishes cluttering the counters and table. All the chairs, but one, had boxes piled on them. Billy checked the boxes and found only old utensils and kitchen gadgets. They decided to try the living room.

The room was filled with newspapers. They found their way around to an area with a rocking chair and television. Sam felt something sandy and wet on his hand. He let out a slight scream, and saw it was a cat. A cat that had been licking the blood from his cut.

“Shut up asshole,” whispered Billy, “do you want to wake her?”

“Billy, there are cats all over.”

Billy slowly scanned the tops of the newspapers, and the nooks and crannies in between. Sam was right. There were cats watching them all over. Their red eyes reflecting with the light of the flashlight.

“They’re not going to hurt you,” answered Billy, “Let’s go upstairs. She must have some money or something up there.”

“She’s up there!”

“Yeah, do you hear her snoring? Nurse Nora the snora. She won’t hear a thing if we don’t bang into anything.”

There was a night light in the upstairs hall, so Billy shut off his light. They walked past the clutter on the sides toward the room with the snores. Billy looked in the room, and could make out the silhouette of Nora’s large derrière under the covers. Billy turned back on his light and flashed it into the room. There was a lamp sitting on a nightstand by the bed. No, not a nightstand. A safe. And it was open. Billy could see money, many bills.

“I’m not going in there,” said Sam.

“Don’t worry. If she wakes, I’ve got this.” Billy shown his light on a switchblade, and the blade popped out.”

“Oh no, Billy. No way. I can’t be a part of that!” Sam said, raising his voice.

The lamp turned on in the room.


Billy jumped. A strange smile started to spread across his face. An insane smile. He quickly ran toward Nora.

A cat ran from beneath the bed and into Billy’s legs. He fell forward, and tried to catch himself by putting his hands out. The knife stuck straight up and rammed his right eye and into his brain. His body convulsed as the flashlight spun round and round on the floor, giving off eerie shadows on the walls.

Sam turned and ran down the hall and tripped over a cat that had just made his bed at the top of the stairs. He tumbled down in the dark, and broke his neck. Another cat came and rubbed itself against Sam’s face, and across his still staring eyes.


Nora got out of bed and checked the pulse of the young man on the floor. No pulse. She would have to call the police. She hated doing that. Having strangers prancing around in her house. She walked out into the hall and down the stairs. She saw the other young man lying at the bottom. She limberly walked over his body. She had gotten very good at that. She hardly ever fell, except for that time back in 74′ when she sprained her ankle. But she knew where everything was now. Her own little world.

She checked the young man’s pulse. Again none. And his eyes were staring at her. Accusing her. But she didn’t do anything wrong. She remembered back at the hospital. Another young man. Same staring accusing eyes. Not her fault.

Suddenly she thought of something. How did they get in? Could her babies get out? What if one of them already did? The coyotes might get them. Tear them up and eat them. She couldn’t let that happen again to one of her babies. Since the young man tried to go downstairs, she decided to check any access out on the first floor. She found none. They must have come in through the cellar window.

She turned on the cellar light. Sebastian startled her when he started to rub against her legs. She picked him up and and petted him. And then she had an awful idea. Sebastian loved to eat larger animals. What if she were to feed the young men to the cats? Then she wouldn’t have to call the police and she wouldn’t have to let anyone in. She set Sebastian down, and descended the stairs.

Sure enough, the cellar window was open. Not broken, which was good. She would shut the window, and then call out the back stoop for any of her babies that might have gotten out.


Two weeks had passed. Sebastian had enough to eat for the day. The other cat’s chewed on the rotting flesh of the young man in the bedroom. The eating wasn’t very good anymore. Sebastian walked down the stairs to the other body. He had been the first to eat the eyes, leaving deep dark sockets. But again, the flesh was pretty much gone and most of the inner organs as well. Sebastian went to the kitchen and sat at the slightly open cellar door. And guarded it. He knew he couldn’t keep all the others away forever, but just for a while.

Sebastian had seen the woman close the window down in the cellar. And then she turned and tripped on a flashlight. The sharp corner of the bed had gone directly through her heart. Sebastian stood and guarded his private stash, for as long as he could.

Written September 6, 2010

To End a Life

Posted in Horror Fiction on March 8, 2010 by uncleloony

            She looked up at the building. So tall. How could anything stand so tall? Especially how she was feeling today. The bricks on the building were many… and the pattern was discerned. Just a jumble of bricks on an old building. And the windows…so big! She couldn’t believe she was contemplating taking a life.

            The doors were in front of her. She made her decision. She was going to go up and do what she must do. To justify the way she felt. But it didn’t feel right.

            So many times she had said how much she hated her. How she could kill her so easily. To snuff the life out of her. She thought about it many times. So many years of fighting. So many years of hatred. It would be so easy. Just to go up to her bed, and…

            But she couldn’t think of her old thoughts now. She made her decision. She would go up and do it. There was no other choice.

            She went into the automatic doors. How funny how accommodating they were. Just open for her. Let her in. So convenient. She walked down the long corridor.

            She pushed the elevator button for the second floor. The floor she knew she was on. To finish it all. To do what she must do. And not look back.

            Her mind started wander. Back to so many arguments. How she told her she hated her. Many times. Enough to kill her. And now she was in the elevator. Almost there. And she knew what she had to do.

            The elevator doors opened. She slowly stepped out into the corridor. Room 1203. She had been there before. So many times before.

            The door was closed. She opened the door slowly. And saw her. Lying in that nasty bed. She walked over to the side of the bed. Her mother woke up, and smiled at her.

            A nurse came into the room and worked on one of the machines by the bed. She left.

            She looked at her mother. Her mother’s face was not the same. So thin. Sunken eyes.

            “I’m sorry mom, but I can’t do it. I love you so much, it’s just too much to ask of me. I will stay by your side, and hold your hand.”

            Her mother looked at her and understood. She closed her eyes to sleep. And soon would sleep forever.

To my friend Bobbi….I miss you

Rotten Eggs

Posted in Horror Fiction on December 25, 2009 by uncleloony


            “You grab one end Hank, and I’ll jump up in the truck and grab the other,” said Paul.

            The couch was large, but light for its size. They had no problem lifting it. But the ice on the road made Hank lose his footing.

            “Watch yourself Hank,” said Paul, “It’s a little icy.”

            “Yeah duh,” returned Hank, as he shifted his grip.

            This was Paul’s first apartment. His friends Hank and Larry, whom both still lived at home with their parents, were helping him move. Larry had just come from the apartment, and held the front door for Paul and Hank.

            “Only one flight up, boys,” smiled Larry.

            “Thanks,” replied Hank, “you can take the next heavy load.”

            “No way. You know I have a bad back.”

            “Yeah right.” Hank rolled his eyes and continued through the door.

            The stairway was large, but the couch was bulky. They had some trouble maneuvering it around the first landing, but it fit. Barely. They had to turn the couch on its side, and then it slid through. When they got to Paul’s apartment just at the top, they set the couch down to rest. Larry followed behind, carrying a small box. Larry could see he couldn’t get past the couch.

            “No time to rest boys,” said Larry, “I have to be somewhere by two.”

            “Now where do you have to be at two?” asked Hank in disgust.

            “Anywhere but here. Paul, I can’t believe you picked this old building to live It’s haunted!”

            “Yeah, that’s why it interested me. But you never believed in such things before, Larry.”

            “No and I still don’t. But I’m not taking any chances. I heard there’s an old lady next door who’s a witch. Heard it around town. They say she has lived here for a hundred years.”

            “Ssssh. She might hear you. I seen her down the hall. Just a shadow. But just an old woman. Besides, I heard those stories as well. We have all heard them for years. I bet you she’s just someone’s grandmother.”

            “I think you believe in those stories. I think your scared!”

            Hank chirped in, “Look who’s talking, Mr. Two O’clock!”


            Paul lay in bed, looking at the fourteen foot ceiling. He could probably build a loft in this efficiency apartment. Since his bedroom was his living room, it would give him more privacy. Privacy. He was the only one living here. How much privacy did he need? Still, the ceiling loomed above him. So high. He felt the need to be in a more enclosed space. Something comfortable. Not so vast.

            He heard tapping across the hardwood floor. No, not in his apartment. It was outside in the hall. Mice. Damn. It must be. He would have to tell the landlord. Pretty soon he’d probably find little turds throughout the cupboard.

            BAM BAM BAM

            There was pounding at the door. Paul sat up bolt upright. “Who’s there?!”

            “It’s Larry and Hank. Let us in!” yelled Larry.

            Paul threw off the covers and ran to the door. “Jesus guys, it’s almost midnight. Keep it down!”

            Larry pushed his way through the door. Hank came behind him carrying a case of beer. Paul could tell they were already hammered.

            “We thought we’d come by and party!” exclaimed Larry.


            Paul’s head hurt. He had too much to drink the night before. He saw his two friends asleep; Hank on the floor and Larry on the couch.

            Paul had a hard time getting his friends up. Hand finally stood up and stretched, but Larry was fast asleep. Paul shook Larry hard. Damn, he could sleep. But he was more drunk than they were last night.

            Larry finally turned towards Paul and opened his reddened eyes. Paul could see Larry had a large cut on his cheek.

            “Larry, where did you get that cut?” asked Paul.

            “What cut?”

            “The cut on your cheek.”

            Larry got off of the couch, stumbled, and went to the bathroom.

            He came back out, holding his face. “What did I do last night?”

            “Hell if I know,” said Paul, “We were just sitting around and talking.”

            “And drinking and listening to Hendrix. Did we go anywhere?”


            “I must have fallen then.”

            “Yeah, you were pretty hammered.”


            The three friends decided to get something to eat. Hank and Larry ran ahead down the stairs while Paul locked the apartment door. He turned, and was startle by an old woman by his side. An extremely old woman, who’s presence cast the hall in a shadowy haze.

            Paul started to say “excuse me,” but he got caught in her gaze. She stared at him with hatred in her eyes. He couldn’t move. He felt he was frozen to the spot.

            “Hey Paul, let’s go!”

            Paul snapped out of his hypnotic state and looked down the staircase to his friends. When he looked back, the old woman was gone.


            Paul decided wanted to build the loft. The landlord agreed, as long as Paul would take it down and pay for any damages if he was to vacate the apartment. Which would come out of his deposit if need be.

            Paul didn’t have the funds, but he knew he could hit up his parents. He was no longer a burden (unless getting money for lumber is counted as a burden) and it was near Christmas. Parents always cave around Christmas when their kids request help.

            Paul climbed the stairs this first Saturday of December. He had hesitated every time he approached these stairs since his encounter with the old woman. And he was afraid. Afraid of disturbing her again. Afraid of encountering a her a second time. She never said a thing. Just her glare. Her strange mesmerizing glare. That he wished he had never seen. Or will ever see again.

            He cautiously turned at the stairway landing, and looked up. No one there. As always. He climbed the rest of the stairs to his door. One step at a time. Looking further down the hall as he ascended. Finally, at his door, he breathed a sigh of relief. He turned the key, and heard something behind him. He quickly opened the door and went inside, shutting the door behind him.

            Tap tap tap

            Not tapping on the door, but light tapping on the floor. The mice again. He had heard them many times before. But there was no proof. No turds. No chewed up floor boards. But he heard them. He always heard them. And he could hear them now, outside in the hall.

            Tap tap tap

            Then nothing. He slowly put his ear to the door.

            TAP TAP TAP

            Paul jumped back, and fell onto his bed.

            “Hey, open up, It’s Larry and Hank!”

            Larry was getting plastered again. So was Hank. But Paul was a little more subdued tonight. He kept turning the volume of the stereo down every time Larry turned it up. Paul would also tell his friends to tone it down if either one became too loud when they were talking.

            “What is it with you,” slurred Larry, “You have your own apartment now. You can make all the noise you want!”

            “There are other people living here. I don’t want to upset them,” answered Paul.

            “Who? The old witch down the hall? Come on Paul, you don’t really believe in that shit, do you?” Larry pronounced the word ‘ssshet.’

            “No…but people live here.”

            Larry stood up, trying to catch his balance. “I don’t give a fuck! I can be as loud as I want!” He took a swig of beer and staggered to the door.

Before Paul could stop him, he ran down the hall to the old woman’s apartment. Larry started to pound on the door.

            “Come on out, you old witch, come on out and party!” screamed Larry.

            “Larry, get back in here!” Paul said in a loud whisper at his opened door. He wanted to go and grab Larry, but something held him back. Something called fear.

            “Open up, you old cunt! Let’s party!”

            Tap tap tap

            Paul closed the door. Hank stood up, laughing.

            “What’s he doing, Paul?” Hank swayed back and forth. He pushed past Paul and opened the door. “Larry…where the Hell did you go?”

            Paul looked past Hank. The hallway was empty.


            It was Christmas Eve, and Paul was almost done with the loft. Just a few finishing touches left. His bed and dresser was up there, and his couch with two new bean bag chairs was placed und the loft as living space. His friend Hank helped him place things. But Hank hardly came around anymore since Larry disappeared.

            Larry’s disappearance was strange. The police investigated, but found nothing. The apartment next door had been vacated for years. The landlord explained that every time he rented it, things would go wrong. Weird things. And the tenants would leave.

            He didn’t elaborate on any of the happenings except the smell. The smell of rotten eggs. No matter what the landlord would do to clean, the smell always came back.

            But Paul never smelled anything in his apartment. And he didn’t have any reason to venture down the hall. By this time he had convinced himself that the old woman was just a figment of his imagination. Or maybe a ghost. And wasn’t that one of the reasons he came to here to live? His infatuation of the place?

            The more time he spent away from Hank the better he felt anyway. He wasn’t getting drunk every weekend, and the exercise he got from building the loft did him good. He thought about joining a gym.

            After hammering the guard rail on the top of the loft, he continued up the ladder to bed. He was exhausted. And tomorrow he would visit his parents for Christmas.


            Paul felt something jab his face as he slept. He awoke startled, and turned the on the light on his end table. He couldn’t believe what he saw. Several small figures with wrinkled heads were shimmying down the ladder rails. The last one turned and laughed his wrinkled head off. He had the same face as Larry.

            Then the smell. The smell of rotten eggs.

Written December 24, 2009

Uncle Bob

Posted in Horror Fiction on December 2, 2009 by uncleloony

            Robert stood looking at the house as the gray clouds rolled above the roof. The house had been left to the elements for many years. It made Robert’s depression deepen, but at least there was no one living here to interfere with his purpose. He pulled the whiskey bottle up to his lips, and took another swig. The liquor went down hard, but he was getting used to it. So many years of abusing his throat had numbed it.

            The wind rustled through his hair and blew his raggedy coat back. The buttons of the coat had long ago fallen off, and he hadn’t the money or the inclination to fix it. He thought of the long bus ride that took him here, how he spent every cent he had on the ticket. Except of course for the $ 7.95 he spent on this cheap whiskey. He had been thirty six cents short, but the clerk was nice enough to spot him the extra.

            Robert looked up at the right window on the second floor. His old room. One of the shudders must have fallen off some time ago, and the other was barely hanging on. He thought back to his childhood when everything seemed fresh and good. His mother was the only relative he knew back then, and she was his world. He was only six years old when she died.

            He walked up the steps to the porch. The front door was open. No, the front door was lying inside the house. He walked over the door into the foyer. This used to be a homey place, but now it looked like a good place for old raccoons to die. Especially the one laying in the middle of the floor. Its eyes were either sunken in, or they were eaten away by some small animals unknown. Robert walked past the dead animal, and started up the stairs. Looking around on the third stoop, he saw a beam that would work just fine for his purposes. He took off his belt, and swung it around the beam. He pulled hard, to make sure the beam would hold his weight. It did. He had tried this many times before, back at the orphanage and into his adult life. But someone and something always stopped him. This time there was nobody around.

            Robert took another swig from the whiskey bottle. He could feel a good buzz coming on. Maybe in a little while, he will continue his plan. At this time he was feeling too good. He decided to wander around the house.

            The furniture was still in the living room. His mother and he must have been the last tenants, because he recognized all the furnishings. He walked over the bureau on the far corner. There were pictures there, but dust had covered them. He dusted off the glass on one of them, and saw two men. Two men he never met, but he knew who they were. His father and his Uncle Bob. Both men had died in the war when he was only two years old. He was told his father was buried in the town cemetery, but his Uncle Bob’s body was never found. They said Uncle Bob was lost in action. He stared at his Uncle Bob’s image. He remembered he was named after his uncle. And by the looks of the picture, he could have been his twin. He thought back to how old Uncle Bob was at the time of his death, and realized he was about the same age.

            Robert set the picture down and sat on the floor. He gulped his whiskey again. And stared at the picture. Dusk was coming soon. He had to finish his plan. But not waste a good bottle of whiskey. He drank again. And again. His head started to swim. He found it hard to keep his eyes open.

            Robert woke, and found it odd that his head didn’t hurt. He found it odder that everything around him looked fresh and knew. The furniture. And floors and walls. And the picture. The picture of his father and Uncle Bob.

            He stood up and looked around. No, he wasn’t dreaming. He still had on the same dirty clothes he arrived there with. He ran to the kitchen.

            The appliances, though old models, looked brand new. He could still smell coffee that had been freshly made earlier. And bacon. Every morning the same. He looked at the calendar on the wall. It was a calendar of the year 1944. He looked over at the chalkboard his mother used for errands. In her handwriting, it said ‘May 2 pick up milk, butter and pork.’

            May 2, 1944. The day his mother died in a car accident. He looked at the clock. It was 3 pm. Too late to save her. He was told she had died sometime that morning. He ran to the porch. He could see the figure of a young boy coming down the dirt drive. A familiar figure. Him.


            Robert stood looking at the house as the gray clouds rolled above the roof. He was glad that he had those fellows put the new roof on. Despite the mounting hospital bills. It looked like it was going to rain. And hard!

            The last few months had not been easy for Robert and his family. But the cancer was in remission, and he could only thank his Uncle Bob. He thought about the man who had raised him, and started to miss him. He never knew his father, and barely remembered his mother, but he remembered Uncle Bob. He remembered Uncle Bob telling him to have regular check ups. And although he procrastinated about seeing the doctor, he was lucky enough to catch it in time. Unlike Uncle Bob.

            Robert looked over at his grandson on the swing set and smiled. “Come on Bobby, I think your grandma has lunch ready.

            Bobby jumped off the swing and ran to his grandfather.

Written December 1, 2009