Smart Guy – A Short Tale, free online read.

   Slim Chester smiled contentedly as he swung on to the crowded bus on a spring evening of 1949.  He’d just made it onto the bus, and that was a stroke of luck.

  It wouldn’t have done to be late this time, not after the way he’d kept Marge waiting last Friday.  He’d talked her round, of course, but even a smart fellow like himself couldn’t talk a girl like Marge round more than once.

  Marge wasn’t the kind of girl you kept waiting.  Sort of smart and uppity, you know the kind, but there was something about the set of her head and the look in her eyes that made Slim feel that the world was a pretty wonderful place.

  In less than ten minutes he’d be meeting her.  He’d give her a swell time tonight, too.  There was that two quid he’d won at the poker game, that ought to stand them a feed and a show, maybe a taxi, too.

  Whistling softly Slim stared at the other occupants of the bus.  He wondered idly why that tall skinny woman had to wear a hat like that.  It looked so flaming silly perched on top of her head, with the leathers bobbing against that little fat guy’s face.

  Suddenly Slim stiffened.  That little fat guy!  His beady eyes goggled as he stared at the thick wad of notes held in the podgy hands. The fellow was counting them, cool as a cucumber.

  With an effort, Slim looked away, staring unseeingly at the absurd hat.

  Cripes, there must be a hundred quid there, he reflected.  More than a hundred, most likely.

 Furtively he looked at the podgy hands again.  It was true all right.  The little fat guy had rolled up the notes and was stuffing them in his pocket.  An inside pocket.  Still that was nothing to a smart lad like Slim.

  Imagine that.  A wad of dough just asking to be taken.  Already the fertile brain was working.  It would be easy to make a quick getaway. The bus was crowded, the fat guy wouldn’t find it easy to make his way through the crowd. The whole thing was child’s play.

  As the bus jolted to a stop, he’d just lift the wallet and be out on the pavement in a jiffy.  Once clear of the bus he could grab a taxi and be with Marge before the victim realised the wallet was gone.

  It was then Slim noticed the policeman.  He was big and bulky, and his massive frame blocked the doorway. What’s more, he was staring at Slim in a ruminant sort of way, or maybe he was just staring at the advertisement above his head.

  Anyway, there was no sense in taking chances, he’d just have to bide his time.  Ten, 15 minutes sped by.  Marge would be furious.  Of course, she wouldn’t wait this long, but the cute present he’d be able to buy her would smooth things out.

  As the bus approached a busy section, Slim saw his chance.  The pavement was crowded, and the policeman’s attention seemed to be centred on his paper.

  Nerves tensed, Slim waited, his hands and legs ready for speedy action’.  Now for it!

  As the bus swung to the kerb and stopped with a jerk, he lightly lifted the wallet, and, swiftly transferring it to his own pocket, jumped to the pavement.

  But the policeman was hot on his trail.  The fellow must have eyes in the back of his flaming head, Slim reflected, as he darted through the crowd into a department store.  The policeman was following him, though, no doubt about it.

  The ground floor offered no shelter.  But there was a group of people waiting by the lift, which he could get into with a bit of luck, but the policeman’s heavy hand was already on his shoulder.

  He wasn’t cornered, though, not by a long shot. With a deft movement, Slim slid the roll of notes into the overcoat pocket of an unsuspecting shopper, and turned to face his captor.

  “I saw you as you left the bus,” the policeman boomed.

  So what? They couldn’t pin anything on him, Slim reflected.  He’d been a little bit too smart that time.

  The policeman opened his massive hand, and smilingly disclosed a cigarette-lighter. “Yes, it was lucky for you this was my stop, too. You dropped your lighter as you jumped off.”

  Slim stared open mouthed. It didn’t take him long to thank the policeman, just long enough for the lift to whirl the roll out of his sight.  And he hadn’t even noticed what overcoat he’d dropped it in.  Yes, he’d been pretty smart that time, a bit too smart.

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Rose Petals – A Ghostly Tale, free online.

Do you believe in ghosts?  All right, go ahead and laugh, but I’m not kidding.  As a rule, I can take ’em or leave ’em, and the only kind of spirits I’m familiar with come in bottles. But this has got me thinking.

  Maybe it never happened.  Maybe it was only the heat playing tricks. Or maybe it did happen and maybe you’ll think so, too, when I tell you about it.

  The tenement was in a narrow back street. Not a pleasant street but a dirty, smelly, forgotten part of the city, it’s odors heightened and exaggerated by the searing heat of a relentless noonday sun.

  A dog foraged among the garbage in the side alley.  The shrill chatter of children playing in the street, and the occasional sound of rumbling buses were the only noises.  But the heat was terrific and even these subsided or became less noticeable.

  The pavement burned underfoot and the interior of the tenement house was almost as bad, especially on the top floor just under the iron roof.

  Martin lay spread-eagled on the bed, his lank hair matted to his forehead and his face glistening with sweat.  He lay on his back, his mouth agape.  His was not a peaceful sleep.  It was a drugged, summer sleep, fitful and exhausting.

  A fly played about the corner of his mouth.  His lips twitched and it rose in flight, flying to the window where it buzzed and bumped against the dusty window panes, the only sound of movement in that stifling room.

  But then came another sound, a strange sound, like the murmur of wind in high branches.  A long lonely sighing, full of sadness and despair.

  Martin heard it and thought he was having another nightmare.

  “My damned conscience again,” he mumbled, tossing fitfully.  “Why can’t it leave me alone?”

  He thought it was just a bad dream, he hoped it was only a dream.  But he heard it again and this time a voice called his name.  It was a woman’s voice, barely above a whisper, that seemed to come from far off, as though echoing down a long passage to reach him.

  Wearily, reluctantly he dragged heavy-lidded eyes open and stared at the grimy ceiling.

  He heard the voice again, this time nearer and more insistent.  His heart thumped, he could hear it pounding, driving hot blood through his veins.

  He was awake, and he could still hear the voice!  Had he gone mad?  Was he still dreaming or was it really happening? He lay inert, in strained silence, listening.

  Downstairs someone slammed a door. He heard the raucous voice of a woman abusing a man.  Then silence.  The strong smell of cabbage cooking downstairs in the kitchen had permeated the building.  It hung heavy on the landings and stairways.  Even in the locked privacy of his room it assailed his nostrils with its suffocating odor.

  So too did other odors.  The smell of stale sweat from his clothes tossed aside.  Body smells, sticky, overpowering, nauseating and the perfume of fresh roses!

  He started and the short hairs on the back of his neck tingled.  An icy shiver traced its way down his spine.  He was not alone!

Someone or something else was in the room!  The perfume of roses became overpowering.

 Fearfully his bloodshot gaze roved across the ceiling, moved down the opposite wall and focused at the foot of the bed.  Through a mist he saw a figure standing there, the figure of a woman!

Frantically he rubbed his bleary eyes and looked again.  His eves bulged and his throat constricted with fear.

  “You!” he screamed. “It can’t be! It – can’t – be – !”

  The woman approached the foot of the bed and rested slender white hands on the rail.  She smiled, but there was no humor in her glowing dark eyes.  Her eyes burned right through his soul.

  “But it is me, Martin,” she said softly.  ‘I’ve come back for you!”

  The man recoiled away from her “No, NO!  Don’t touch me!  Don’t come near me!”  His voice bubbled with fear.  “You’re dead. Do you hear?  Dead.  I killed vou!  I watched them fill your grave!  You can’t come back now !”

  She was still smiling. “But I have come back. Martin, I was your wife once.  You murdered me, remember?  You made it look like suicide and nobody thought any different.  You wanted my money very badly, didn’t you?  But it’s all gone now and it didn’t do you any good.”

  “That other woman ran out on you, didn’t she?  She got all the money out of you and left you flat.  You’re sorry now, but that won’t help you.  Justice must be done.  You’ll have to pay for the crime you committed, and that is why I’m here.”  She moved slowly around the end of the bed.

  Martin cringed away from her.  “You’re trying to frighten me.” he croaked hoarsely.  “You don’t look like a ghost, maybe you didn’t die.  Maybe you tricked me and let me think you were dead . . .!”

  “You’d like to believe that, wouldn’t you?”  She still moved slowly towards him.  He looked about desperately.

  “You’re wearing a white street frock and a corsage of roses,” he babbled suddenly, “Ghosts don’t dress like that!  You’re alive!”

She was still smiling.  “I’m not a member of the union yet.” she answered drily, “so I can dress as I please.”  She was standing beside him.  He lay in a cringing, quivering heap against the head of the bed.

  Slowly she reached out and laid her long tapering fingers lightly on his forehead.  They were icy cold, so cold that they seared like fire!

  Martin’s scream burst from his lungs and re-echoed from the walls.  The room heaved and spun crazily before his eyes, his heart was trying to beat it’s way out of his chest with its pounding.  His eyes dilated with fear, the scream bubbled and died in his throat.  He fell back across the bed and did not move.

  The doctor turned to Inspector Grant.  “Frankly, I’m puzzled,” he said.  “It’s a clear case of heart failure, and it may have been caused by the terrific heat we’re having today.  But this man seems to have had a terrible shock of some kind.  Do you suspect foul play?”

  Grant mopped his brow.  “I don’t know,” he replied.  “The door was locked from the inside, and there is a sheer drop of 3 storeys from that window.  I don’t see how anyone could have been in here.”

  “Then it must have been the heat,” the doctor answered.  “I’ll make out the certificate to read that way.”

  “Yes.” Grant said slowly. “It must have been the heat.”  

But he was not looking at the doctor.  He was looking at 3 fresh rose petals lying on the dusty floor near the foot of the bed.

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Funny Stuff for Laughs.

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Curse of the Tomb – A short Tale, free online.

There are three thieves who, as one final job together, plan on robbing a sacred tomb. Locals warn them that any who attempt to steal from the tomb will be cursed & great danger will befall them, but they decide to go through with it anyway.

They decide to go one at a time in case there really is any danger. The first man enters the tomb, grabs as much as he can carry, and sprints out. As he’s leaving, he passes by a giant stone coffin and then hears a booming voice say “if you dare to rob this sacred tomb, a great curse shall befall you. You shall die by FIRE!” He’s a little spooked but escapes the tomb unscathed with his riches.

The second man enters the tomb, grabs as much as he can carry, and sprints out. As he’s leaving, he also passes the large coffin and hears a booming voice say “if you dare to rob this sacred tomb, a great curse shall befall you. You shall die by WATER!” He’s kinda freaked out, but knows that the first guy survived, and he too escapes the tomb unharmed with more wealth than he could imagine.

The third man enters the tomb, grabs as much as he can carry, and sprints out. As he’s leaving, he too runs by the huge sarcophagus and hears a booming voice say “if you dare to rob this sacred tomb, a great curse shall befall you. You shall die by PLAGUE!” At this point, the thieves aren’t scared anymore because they’ve all managed to escape unharmed, so the third guy just walks out of the tomb, his arms full of the spoils of his plunder.

The three thieves part ways and go on to live lavish, pleasant lives using the treasure they’d stolen to get rich. Each man had more than he could ever want, and each was in fantastic health for many years following their tomb robbing.

Fast forward twenty years, and the thieves have all but forgotten the words that echoed from the tomb that fateful day. The first man was enjoying a bonfire with his friends at his Miami beach house. After a night of drinking, most everyone was drowsy or passed out completely. The first man stood up to go inside, tripped over one of his friends, and fell headfirst into the fire pit. He suffered horrible burns all over his body and died as a result of his injuries.

The story made headlines, and after a while word got back to the other two thieves that their friend had perished. Both of them had a vague memory…something about a curse…and dying by fire…but after a few months they all but forgot their old friend and went about their lavish lives.

The second man was celebrating his birthday with his friends and family at an extravagant party on his private island. As night fell, he and a few of his friends decided to go down to the shore and go night-swimming. They too were a bit intoxicated, and there was a bit of a storm brewing, but they hardly cared. After swimming for a while, the man gets swept out to sea. He’s not a strong swimmer and his friends can’t see him, and he ends up drowning.

The third man catches wind of this and starts to panic. Dying by fire, dying by water…will he truly die by plague, as was foretold in the sacred tomb? He starts to put the remainder of this wealth into his health – he visits a different specialist every week, spends money on diet and workout programs, and does whatever he can to ensure that he stays healthy.

However, after several months, a mysterious illness befalls him. Doctors can’t figure it out no matter how many tests they run. He’s confined to a hospital bed for weeks on end, and is too weak to even stand and walk. However, eventually he stops getting worse, and he starts to regain hope that maybe he’s beaten the curse.

His health begins to improve, and soon he has enough strength to sit up in bed and eat on his own. He never has any visitors, as the thieves were his only real friends because of his great fortune.

One day, a nurse tells him he has a visitor. He’s surprised, but excited, and tells the nurse to send them in. She leaves, and soon he hears someone coming down the hallway.

Except it doesn’t sound like footsteps.

It’s more like an awful, clunky, dragging sound. As if someone’s struggling to push a heavy object down the hall.

He hears screams outside his closed door and begins to panic as the noise gets closer, closer, closer. He’s still not strong enough to get out of bed, much less escape. He starts looking around him for something to defend himself with. The only things on his side table are a lamp, some magazines, a glass of water, a book he’d been reading, and some throat lozenges (cough drops, as he’d had a pretty nasty cough.)

Suddenly, the door swings open. Staring the final thief in the face is the sarcophagus from the tomb. A voice booms out “You have attempted to avoid the curse, but death waits for no man!” The coffin then begins inching towards him. It flies open, revealing an endless, black emptiness, and the thief knows if he can’t escape, he’ll be trapped in that coffin and die.

In a last attempt to defend himself, he starts throwing whatever he can reach at the sarcophagus. He chucks the lamp at it as hard as he can, but it keeps coming towards him. Then he tries the book, to no avail. The glass of water – nothing. The magazines – useless.  

Finally, all that’s left are the cough drops.  The man all but resigns himself to his fate, picks up the lozenges, closes his eyes, and hurls a cough drop.  The moment the cough drop hits it, the coffin stops.