Short Story 2: Breaking News

           The familiar yellow tint in the sky should have appeared by now, tracing the darkness with light. But oddly, the dawn remained lifelessly grey and hazily dull. A fog hovered around the area; it was as if the ground had been covered with a heavy blanket of opaque smoke. In reaction to this, I turned on the car headlights. It didn’t help much. While scanning my surroundings and glancing in the mirrors, I suddenly realized that no other cars were in the street. Am I really the only one who’s awake by this time in this town? The highway, deserted and seemingly infinite, had an ominous feel to it. I shrugged it off and led my thoughts to more important issues. Like that recently assigned work which, after its successful completion, I probably would not get credited for anyway. I sighed.

Shifting into gear, I pressed on the pedal to accelerate. The constant humming sound of the engine provided me with some sort of company. I passed by the orange tainted forest that paralleled the street. It reminded me of those pictures in National Geographic. Autumn had clearly put its mark on nature. As I was jotting down mental notes, my eyes caught a solid figure in the distance. The silhouette was positioned at the edge of the forest. I wasn’t able to make out what it was, but as I approached closer, I could perceive that it was human. I felt the hairs on my arms automatically rise and the thudding of my heart increase in rate and vehemence. Though I wrote off these notions, there was something undeniably disturbing and eerie about this scene. I dismissed the idea that this person might be in need of assistance. As I got closer, I decided to look the other way and nonchalantly pass by. Then I saw that she was signaling me to stop. This woman (a girl) did look rather helpless. I felt a pang of sympathy; it spurred me to slow down and come to a halt. Through the dew covered window, I could see her more clearly. She was rubbing her arms and stomping her feet, trying to heat herself from the chilly weather. As I rolled down the window opposite to me, she smiled, though I doubt that she could see my shadowed face. Quickly scanning her, I instantly noticed that she was very good looking, but admonished my thoughts as to not display any corrupt intentions.

                “Sir, can you please drop me off somewhere?” she asked throatily, while adding another “Please” in one breath.

                “Yeah, sure. Hop in,” I replied, to my irritation, quite eagerly.

                “Thanks,” she whispered. She opened the car door and entered in a childlike manner. After putting on her seatbelt, I resumed the journey. The girl turned to me and smiled again. “I’m sorry for bothering you but I really need to get home.” I nodded and picked up the pace.

                “Are your parents searching for you?”

                “Oh, not really,” she answered rather lightheartedly.

                Attempting to seem concentrated on the road, I let the silence temporarily pass by. I stole several glimpses of her, hoping it would not look so apparent. I had to admit; I found her attractive. She owned an exquisite doll like face and a lovely figure. I realized how pathetic I was to even think of her in this way. I didn’t even know her name. Needing to break as what I perceived as awkwardness, I decided to ask her questions, hopeful that a conversation would flow from there. A nervous laughter slipped out; I had to redeem myself.

                “So what’s your name, kid?”

                “Julie.” She looked at me meekly and in return I looked back at her. Her large, almond shaped eyes were dark and hazel, almost shadowy grey. “Yours?”

                “Aaron.” The girl nodded.

                “Well, thank you for stopping Aaron. I was beginning to think no one would come.” She heaved a disapproving sigh.

                “Yeah,” I acquiesced. “No problem. Where do you want me to drop you off?”

                “Bonne Arbor. I’ll direct you to it. We have to pass that bridge though.” Julie pointed at the distant piece of concrete.

                “Are you from around here?”

                “I’m actually a new girl in town,” she said as-a-matter-of-factly.

                “Oh.” Quickly, I conjured up more questions in my head to ask her. “How old are you?”

                “Nineteen.” There was a momentary pause. I waited. “How old are you, Aaron?”

                “Twenty six.”

                “Ah”

“So, Julie, do you mind telling me why you were in the forest in the first place? And at the breaking of day?”

                “It’s complicated, really.”

                “I’m listening”

                After a few moments of quietness, she drawly said, “Well, what started as an independent, self guided tour turned out to be a disaster.”

                “Oh.” Disappointment showed in my voice. I was expecting more. “And you couldn’t just contact 911 or something?”

                “My phone’s battery died.” That was excusable, I guess. “And I was already walking around for hours. I hoped that someone would come and rescue me. And here you are.” I smirked.

                “Well, people must be searching for you.”

                “Maybe.”

                “What prompted you to go head out for an excursion? Studies?”

                “You could say that.”

                “You in college?”

                “You ask a lot of questions, Aaron.” I suddenly felt embarrassed. Julie chuckled and continued, “It’s ok. I’m sorry, I’m just tired and have a lot of things on my mind. Besides, I’m hungry.”

                “Pardon my intrusion.”

                “No it’s ok, really. Let’s carry on with this questionnaire.”

                “There’s a pack of whole wheat cookies in the seat pocket behind you. Go devour it.”

                “Do you mind?” I shook my head. “Thank you so much.” Carefully, she reached for it, and wolfed it down to her delight. “Want some?” Again, I shook my head. After she’s satisfied, she reached out a napkin from her leather sling bag and wiped her hands. We had already passed the bridge; the big welcoming board was there to assure us that we had entered Heathstead.

                “How long were you stranded there?”

                “One night.”

                “How’d you manage to sleep?”

                “I didn’t, hence my exhaustion.”

                “Right. You can recline the car seat if you want.”

                “That’s fine.”

                “You weren’t afraid?”

                “Sure, of my mind’s own illusions.” I wasn’t sure I understood what she meant, but I let that slip by.

                “You know, it’s quite dangerous to hop inside a stranger’s car?”

                “And that stranger is you?”

                “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m just saying. You should be more cautious. But I guess, seeing your circumstances, you’re an exception.”

                “You’re not dangerous, Aaron,” she sneered. “Why were you there anyway? Your car was the only one. It still is.”

                “Work related matters. Had a meeting in Porter Woods, stayed in that town the last few nights. I live here though, in Heathstead. I’m just dropping something off while having a self imposed break.”

                “Okay.” She didn’t seem a tinge bit curious about my occupation. Her indifference instead made me curious.

                “So what do you do? Or study?”

                She shrugged. She cut off the conversation by taking off her coat and untangling her heavy mass of long, ebony hair with her fingers. This time, she caught me red handed stealing glimpses of her.

                To again curve the silence, I decided to turn on the radio. I adjusted the tuner to get to the desired channel. There were buzzing, crackling noises at first, but I eventually found the right frequency. Throughout this, Julie was quiet, seeming content and relaxed, except for her agitated fingers, which were playing with the cross charm of her necklace. A series of songs by well known artists in the 60s were playing on the radio.

                “You like this? Rock and Roll?” I asked her after, more or less, half an hour. Julie nodded.

                Suddenly the music was interrupted by a clear, feminine voice. “We are sorry to interrupt you with some breaking news. Sources have reported to us that there was a recent murder in the suburbs of Heathstead. Three bodies have been found dead in the forest adjoining Heathstead and Porter Woods. The culprit is suspected to be lurking somewhere in the area, the exact whereabouts are unknown. A witness claims that the offender is a female. She is described as a young, dark haired, dark eyed woman with an oval face and a pale complexion. She was wearing a trench coat and a pair of dark denim pants, and carrying a leather sling bag. If you see anyone resembling our aforementioned description, please call 911 immediately.” As the broadcaster repeated the news, the information seeped into my mind.  

                A sudden horror grasped me. My heart palpitated; the pounding of it against my chest was unexpectedly painful. I can feel the hammering pulse behind my ears. I lost control of my hands, of my whole nervous system. I began to tremble. All this happened in a fraction of a second. I yanked my head towards Julie. No, no, no. The descriptions fit her perfectly. Those eyes, that hair, that ghostly pallor. That thin, beige blouse, those dark denims. The black trench coat was folded neatly on her lap. On top of it lies her leather sling bag, now open and revealing a gleaming knife.

Julie’s lips curled into a sinister, blood curdling smile.  “Drive on,” she instructs me.

Short Story: The Second Hand Book

The previous blog had problems, so we'd created a new one! And now I'll re-post my story!

“Honey, we are running low on cooking oil. Could you go to the provision shop for a bottle?”

That dreadful, high-pitched yell came from the kitchen. Oh how he disliked that phrase. How he wished that his wife would stop going to him for household expenses. She had a job had she not? He needed cash too! How many days had it been since his last pint of gin? Two? His daily alcohol intake was suffering a beating from the household expenses. He had to speak to his wife about it. He simply had to.

For the moment though, he had better to do her bidding, and smolder his anger for another day. He ought to build his courage. Getting up to leave for the market, the thirty-nearing-forty year old reached for his battered leather wallet.

The walk to the market was a short one. The father of four hastened to complete his errand, then came to his favorite part of such an outing. He lingered a little longer than usual in the glass front of the liquor shop. Standing like a little child before a candy store, staring dazedly and dreamily at what laid inside, the husband could see tall shelves that stretched to the ceiling, all filled to the brim with expensive wines. In his mind, he would calculate his resulting bank balance if he bought three, four, five of those bottles. Finally, he would conclude that it was all not worth it, and make a silent retreat back to reality-his life.

That day was a little different, though. For some reason, he wanted to spend. His pocket was a little heavy that day after receiving his paycheck. The nearly-middle-aged man instantly thought of one thing-a cheaper liquor shop someplace in the outskirts of the town. There, he would be able to get what he wanted without causing his bankruptcy. Why, his own wife was a descendent of a considerably noble and respectable family, fairly well to do in fact. Come the sad time when fortune was split, however, his wife had received nothing. They were sad, and the absence of the inheritance saddened them further. They watched in envy as her siblings lived with riches, while they themselves wallowed in rags. Then he recalled how badly he had treated her after that day.

Now he regretted his actions-whispers of anger directed at her, and all his attempts to antagonize her. It was not her fault, certainly not, but all his jealousy he had directed at her. Now he repented, and wanted to make it up. Suddenly, he knew where and how to spend his heavy coins. He knew of a second-hand bookshop not far from his home. He would go there and make her a present of a storybook he knew she liked immensely. He still remembered their conversation on her birthday when she spotted that book among the bits and pieces of that old shop.

                “What a lovely book!” said she.

                “We cannot afford it,” came the staunch reply.

                “But please, honey, I had such a book when I was young. I liked it so much. It was from my father’s library, but I lost it for him,” she pleaded.

                “Then you have experienced owning it before. You don’t need to own it again.” She had pouted for the rest of the day.

This time, he was going to surprise her. He would buy that book as a little gift for her, get it wrapped with colourful paper and tied up with ribbon. She would be so surprised and pleased that it was almost worth his pint of gin to see the look on her face. The husband hurried to the bookstore.

It was quite a while before he made it home; a bottle of cooking oil was carried strenuously in his left hand, and the precious present cradled gently in his right. He hid the gift until dinner time when the entire family sat down to eat together, whereupon the present made its stately appearance. He could never forget the look of joy, surprise and please that spread across her face when she took off the wrapper and saw the book (sadly a little tattered and torn) underneath. Beaming with happiness, she threw her arms around him and very nearly hugged him to death. For a minute or two, this display of expressive gratitude continued until the lady calmed down enough to resume dinner, and the children were scolded enough to cease laughing. Dinner was continued with a happier atmosphere and without further disruptions.

When the table was cleared and the children resumed their own activities, the couple sat down together at the empty table to converse. The wife toyed with the book, flipping through the pages with nostalgia washed over her face. The husband was busy telling her how he gave up his liquor money so as to obtain that gift for her. He secretly hoped that by doing so, he would rise higher in her esteem. She was, however, more concerned about her book than his story.

She thumbed the pages several times, - an action which caused a slip of paper, wedged within the pages, to dislodge. It fluttered to the ground, and the wife bent down to pick it up. She was a trifle surprised, and read it aloud:

                “My dear child, when one of you finds this book, you are in for a surprise. Here I would tell you the location of a secret treasure hoard in which I have hidden some small fortune. You know that I have been trying to instill in all of you a love for reading since you were all young. Now if you carry this habit, you would have gone through all the books in my library, and chanced upon this particular book, and the key to my hidden treasure. Congratulations to you then, lucky finder and avid reader. Now I will tell you the exact location of the little treasure I have saved just for you…”

The poor couple sat dumbstruck at their table, anxious to find an answer to the mystery. The wife was the first to speak up, “I…believe…this…is….my…fathers…own…book…from…his…library…”

They hastened the front page, and confirmation lay there. Written in the unmistakably familiar hand of the lady’s father, was the name they both recognised well. Still puzzled as to how it ended up in the bookstore, the lady suggested a possible explanation.

                “I had lost the book when I was a child. In most probability, I had dropped it in the playground where many passer-bys frequent. It must be then, that somebody found the book and decide to sell it. There was a bookshop at that time that accepted old books for a meager sum, and it is highly probable that someone had sold it there.”

                “And there it lay for so many decades, untouched. The not instide addressed to you or your siblings still remained inside” added the happy husband, “then there I went to buy it, and here it is, back in your own hands.”

The couple rejoiced in their own small cozy home. Needless to say, they did follow the instructions in the sheet, and recovered the hidden treasure. The old man was generous and gave a considerable sum. It put them through a comfortable life. Every now and then, however, the husband and the wife would stop to wonder, was there some other force at work to arrange such a coincidence to happen to them, at a time when they needed the money most? Perhaps there was.