Adam stood in the middle of his deserted street, the Kimber .45 trembling in his hand, as he flipped the safety off. The faint metallic click almost echoed along the concrete and through the maple tree branches swaying in the warm spring breeze. With so much silence everywhere else, each sound had an amplified, warped quality to it, like echoes from a sealed narrow corridor. The warm gust of air did nothing to ease the Ar...

He could only stop and stare. There was nothing else he could do at that moment. He’d skidded to a halt on his bike, nearly going over the handlebars, as he saw the abandoned house on one of his familiar trails. For 15 years, he had ridden along this pathway, twice a week, and not once during that time had he seen the semi-detached, set back from the path, surrounded by the trees the route cut through. A well trodden path...

Part Two: Night of the Clippies A half hour later, Monroe was alert, bandaged and bruised, but sitting upright in the kitchen chair drinking a tall glass of orange juice. He borrowed the phone and called Sheriff Taylor at his home. “Hey boss. My apologies for calling you so late but –“ “No problem.” Monroe could tell he just woke him up. “What’s news?” “I’m up at the Baldwin residence. We’ve got ourselves a killer clothes...

It was late April. Harold Bailey, stiletto attack survivor, woke up with that queasy feeling in his innards. For months, he’d contemplated spilling the truth to his wife about that fateful Halloween Eve, but knowing how inconceivable his encounter was with the satanic shoes, he could not divulge a word. “No,” he said to himself gazing at the bathroom mirror after a brisk tooth brushing. “I can’t risk losing my job, or cos...

Reader discretion advised. The story you are about to read contains mature content that some may find offensive. In consideration, Stories Space has hidden the preview of this selection. By choosing to view the piece in its entirety, you agree that you are 18 or older and do not object to such content. *** August 24, 1980: Thecarnival was hot. I waved at the man standing behind me. I took a bite of my cotton candy while I...

Who do you trust when you can't tell what's real and what's not? Who is really here, who did my head make up? Is the man with the drugs and the questions real? Are the noises, the lights real or imagined, hallucinated? I know the sleep deprivation is real, that much I know, but is someone really waking me up, or am I doing it to myself? Are they reading what I write, if they are real? He's so gentle and sweet when he brin...

The crash looked quite strange, at least at first sight. Straight, deserted road, nice weather, but the little Toyota somehow had managed to ram into a roadside tree. Maybe someone had pushed the car out of the way, and then ran away. That seemed logical. Or the driver was drunk? The hearse’s chauffeur pulled out to the right, stopped and got out. It’s obvious that the accident had happened minutes ago and it was his “hon...

It started so innocently, all those years ago, when they were six years old, when he woke up to discover a big plastic spider on the pillow. Even at that age, spiders were frightening beasts to him, and he had been in tears for hours afterwards, much to the other boys amusement. Gary and Steve were childhood friends that had grown up into 34 year olds who were still good friends now, as then. They lived five miles apart i...

Michael noticed yet another change in Anthony’s behaviour. They were subtle changes. Not enough for people to notice, other than family and friends, basically those who knew him, and were around him often. Michael was his older brother, older by eleven years, Anthony being fourteen. The age where they cannot be given advice, because they knew it already. Michael kept a watchful eye over him, mostly for their mother’s sake...

Everybody has a price. I learned that recently. A price in which anybody will do anything for money. The premise is simple. If I said I would pay you one hundred pounds to walk into a supermarket and steal one item, it being of no concern what it was you stole, would you do it? Of course you would. What if I gave you 200 or 400 pounds? The more money I give you, the more likely you are to do it, to break the law. If I gav...

When he awoke, pain rushed immediately to greet him, and he cried out, putting his hands to his head as the headache tore its way through his brain. He kicked out instinctively, knocking over an empty bottle of whisky. There were also empty bottles of vodka and cans of beer strewn around him. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, his vision slightly clarifying, but the pain remained. It was an effort to move, and ev...

Personal note to the readers, this story is not for the weak of heart to read for the content of this story. By choosing to read it, you agree that you are over eighteen and mature enough to handle the content of this story, thank you. 7:15pmDark times approached, as everyone waited in anticipation. Their hearts beat rapidly with eyes glued to the screen. Today was the day of the drawing, to learn who the lucky son of a b...

Jim jumped to his feet when the doorbell rang, not an easy task at his age. He could picture Marjorie in the kitchen rolling her eyes, wondering how much this one cost. He wondered what would happen if he ever told her she only had herself to blame. She’d bought him a train set for their fifth anniversary, back when they were happy together. If divorce hadn’t been a forbidden word he knew she’d have gone by now. But peopl...

I was out one day driving to Lake Tahoe. It was a long way from home, but a nice drive. I was on a back road in Jackson CA, when I stopped at a small diner for lunch. I also needed to take a break and freshen up. The small town beckoned me to stop and visit. When I had plenty of time to drive, I avoided the interstate. California had some interesting small towns in unusual places. Jackson was one of those towns. Jackson w...

The late October night sky was clear, full of stars with a gentle push of wind coming from the east. Margaret Braeburn, thoroughly entrenched in her sixties and sporting all the vivacious curves of a fire hydrant, strode outside carrying a huge laundry basket full of bed sheets. According to Margie, a nickname used only by her closest friends, the night air always seemed to make them smell fresher. Her late husband, Ralph...