Here’s a short story my husband, Brian and I submitted to the Rhine Short Story Contest 2018. It is meant to be for a Halloween party so it’s creepier than I would normally write. If you want a good Psy related scare, then tarry on dear reader…
I watch Candy as she floats gently above the mountaintops. The mist whirls ghostlike around and past her body. She doesn’t notice me, not yet. Not until I want her to. She had been the object of my desire, but that was once upon a time. I fly above her, a dark presence meshed within the mist until it is my turn to caress her. My shadows turn into claws. I catch her legs and pierce her flesh. I watch her serene visage rapidly transform into shock and pain. My shadow covers her body as we fall. Her scream cuts off as she is smothered by my darkness
I awaken redeemed. That manipulative whore got what she deserved. I just wanted to spend some time with her, with them, but they’ve all played me. I could have made them…any of them…happy. Well, I will teach them. I will teach them all. They can’t call the cops on me for penetrating their dreams, can they? It’s perfect. They’re asleep, I jump into their dreams, and then I take my sweet, sweet revenge over and over and over. It’s only 3 in the morning. Plenty of time to revel in the memory of our night together before the alarm goes off.
Later that morning, Candy is behind the counter serving another surly customer his designer coffee. She doesn’t look like her normal chipper self and I know why.
I sidle up to the coffee bar, “Hi there Candy.”
“Hi,”
“Didn’t sleep well?”
“No, not really. What do you want today?”
“Oh, the usual is fine.”
“What’s ‘the usual’?”
“Just dark roast, black.” Damned bitch doesn’t even remember my order even though I’m in here every day. I feel much better about my nighttime visit. Now she looks like the ugly thing she is inside, disheveled and baggy-eyed.
I sit down in my usual spot opening up my laptop. I can work from anywhere that has Wifi. I watch the girls who don’t notice me. There’s a new one, a sweet thing with straight blonde hair wearing a pair of Daisy Dukes and a tank top. The fantasies about her spring into my imagination. I’m getting stirred up as I stare at her from my corner. She doesn’t notice at first, but when one of her friends nudges her elbow and points at me, she turns to look. She has bright green eyes that stare back at me with an indifference that turns to disgust. My fantasies crash and burn again. I turn to read what’s on my computer’s screen feeling the flush of embarrassment suffuse my cheeks. She isn’t worth it, just find one who isn’t shallower than a summer puddle. I immerse myself in work until my shame subsides.
Anticipation has me all atwitter. Margot enters the coffee shop for her evening tea. She isn’t pretty like the shallow blonde in her short shorts. She’s tall but doesn’t hold herself up like a queen. She’s hunched in on herself as if she thinks doing so would make her invisible. Her hair is a natural brunette and a bit out of control covering much of her face. Her blouse is two sizes too large and she wears a long green skirt. No one would accuse her of being fashionable or powerful.
She likes chamomile after a long, hard slog of a workday. Margot is one of the nice ones who notices that I’m alive. We talk sometimes, just small stuff. I want to ask her out, but I’m afraid she’ll shut me down just like all the others have. Being angry with her would be like being mad at sunlight after a rainfall. Today, I will go through with it. I got the script down pat. I wait until she sits down with her tea.
“Hi there Margot. Can I join you?” I’ve got my steaming cup of tea in hand.
“Oh, hi Joe,” she says with a shy smile. She gestures to the chair with her slender hand, “Sure go ahead.”
“Rough day?” I ask with a genuine smile. I sit down in the offered chair.
Margot launches into a monologue about the crap she has to endure. I know when to interject those noises of commiseration. She told me once how much she appreciates a man who’ll listen. Her story ended, she takes a sip of tea. No time like the present, I take a deep breath.
“Margot, would you like to go out to dinner this weekend?”
The look on her face is one I’ve seen countless times. She isn’t interested.
“Joe, I really appreciate that you listen to me,” she says, “I just can’t go out with you. I’ve just got over a bad break-up and…”
I don’t let her finish her sentence. I get up from the table and walk out of the coffee house.
For the next few days, I stay in my dingy little one bedroom apartment with the shades drawn. I’m still wearing the shorts and t-shirt I went to bed in a few nights ago. Nobody cares that I haven’t showered for several days. As a matter of fact, nobody cares about me, just that I crank out good work on time. I throw myself into my work trying not to think about Margot.
She’s really messed me up. I’ve always been the captain of my dream vessel but I can’t stop jumping into her head. For the first time in a long while, sleep is my enemy. She must have affected me far worse than I realized. When I close my eyes, I’m sitting in a chair in a white-walled room. I look around but see no door, windows or any decor in the room. There are no shadows, no corners, just Margot. She is huddled in the corner wearing a long white tunic. When she notices me, she rushes at me with a terrified look on her face.
“Joe… Joe, I need help! You’ve got to get me out of here. They’re torturing me!”
Her fingernails dig into my forearm as she grasps me with all her strength. I try to pull my arm from her grip but she holds on like an alligator. I try to turn my arm to mist but I remain stubbornly corporeal. That’s weird, I’ve always had absolute power when I walk into dreams.
“Calm down Margot!” I say over and over but my pleas fall on deaf ears. Instead, her cries escalate in volume until my ears hurt. It’s at that point that I wake up sweating and shivering from the experience.
So many nights have gone by and I haven’t slept but a few hours total. Every dream has a crazed Margot coming at me wanting me to save her from someone. I have tried to calm her down, slap her silly, reason with her, whatever I could think of, but she doesn’t respond. She reacts the same way every time. I will go nuts if I don’t get some real sleep soon. I decide to confront Margot at the only place I know she should be… the coffee shop.
I’m hallucinating, and if I don’t keep moving, I start to nod off and I’m in the white room with Margot. I don’t trust myself to drive so I call for an Uber. When we approach the coffee shop, it looks like someone dropped a bomb on it. The coffee shop window is boarded up and the walls seem like they’ve been pushed in. I tell the driver to wait while I walk up to the store. There are tire marks like someone tried to slam on their brakes. I get back into the car and direct the driver back to my crappy apartment building. When I get there and open my laptop, I search through the local news sites. I find an article written on the last day I was in the coffee shop. My heart sinks when I realize what’s really been happening.
I am so screwed.
Truck accident at a local coffee shop by George Locke
A delivery truck driver lost control crashing his vehicle through the front of High Octane Coffee shop at 6:15 pm today. The driver was not injured but several patrons seated near the front window have been hospitalized. The delivery truck driver, Anthony Beardly claimed that he had been trying to retrieve his dropped cell phone and swerved to avoid hitting an oncoming car. He is being charged with several misdemeanor traffic violations. A spokesperson for Memorial Hospital says that all of the victims are in stable condition except Margot Atwater who is in a coma.