Melinda

There was something about the girl that made me uneasy. I wasn't quite certain what it was, as she seemed perfectly normal. Maybe it was that she seemed a little too perfect. Her dress very modest, her long brown hair neatly combed, her shoes low and comfortable. She folded her hands in her lap, while her mother talked to me, not fidgeting in the least. Altogether, a very polite young lady. No child of eight should be that still and quiet, I thought. Most children I knew couldn't sit till for five minutes, let alone the hour her mother and I had been talking.

“Melinda is an exceptional child and I know she would do well here in your school,” Mrs. Martinson concluded. “Will you take her on?”

I could feel the girl's dark eyes watching me, and I shuddered internally, still not knowing why.

“From everything you've told me today, Mrs. Martinson, I see no reason why not. When would you like Melinda to begin?”

I fancied I saw a flash of relief in the woman's eyes, but it was gone before I could truly know if I was right.

“We brought her things with us, actually, in hopes that you'd take her. We can settle her in immediately, if you've no objection.”

Ignoring my inner voice that was screaming plenty of objection, I nodded. “I'll show you to the open room that we have available.”

The three of us walked up the stairs, our feet tapping lightly as we moved. The room was on the far end of the third floor, and had a window seat and large window that overlooked the grounds. It also overlooked the small cemetery on the property. Knowing this made made some girls uneasy, I commented “If you don't like the view, we can see about changing you with another student as soon as possible.”

“Oh no,” Melinda spoke sweetly. “The view is perfect.” Her tone was low and well-modulated. An internal shiver passed through me again, but I ignored it. She looked at her mother, and the woman smiled and nodded.

“Let's bring up your things then.”

Melinda settled in quickly and was a model student, even if she didn't seem to develop friendships very easily. Sometimes, when checking on the girls at night, I would hear her talking softly in her room, but I assumed she was saying her prayers and left her alone. What a fool I was.

Three weeks later, the first zombies rose from the cemetery, Melinda leading the way to the school, where she watched as they feasted on the other students. Those that were able to flee did so, but few escaped.

Now I wait, in the bunker I have made for myself in the basement, my food and water almost exhausted and I hear the polite knock at my door yet again. “If you come out, Miss Haversham, I promise it will be quick.”

500 words {including title}
Angelique_Rider

Hah! What an ending, I really enjoyed this piece; well done.

Getting The Job Done

There was something about the man that made me uneasy. Uneasiness is not a feeling I particularly care for. When I start to feel uneasy about someone or something, it usually means something very, very bad is about to happen. Oh, it never happens to me, mind you, so you might wonder why I care one way or the other about it. Well, what can I tell you? It’s all part and parcel of the job description when you’re a freelance Guardian Angel.

You’re expected to care about people and things to a degree others don’t. It only gets worse when you’re a freelancer like me. Instead of having the luxury of investing all of your love, devotion and concern in a single, special individual, I get lumped with the enormous entirety that is all of mankind.

Now, what was it about this mook that had my celestial Spidey sense going haywire? I suppose it might have been the handgun he had poorly concealed beneath his blue plastic windbreaker. In my experience, poorly-concealed pistols tend to mean trouble. The very fact that they’re not better hidden, suggests they’re not something the individual totes around with them. See how the reasoning works?

If I had to guess, and I don’t really, what had every bell and whistle ever conceived going off; I’d have to say it was the fact the guy was alone…solo…all by himself. Now, as a general rule, that’s not such a such in the grand scheme of things. There are, literally, millions upon millions of the Big Cheese’s handiworks that simply don’t play well with others. That’s okay, I’m sure He understands that.

It was more than the aloneness, though. He was at Super Happy Fun Time Land all alone! Nobody, and I mean nobody, does that unless there’s some seriously hinky stuff about to go down. It’s not the kind of place one goes to be alone, see?

Reaching for the gun, he pulled it out, nearly ripping his slacks off in the process. Before he could recover from the momentary distraction, I made my move. Locating the exact spot and delving to his inner core, I deftly slipped his immortal soul from his body and into a convenient storage receptacle. While things might not have worked out exactly as this poor sod had expected, at the end of the day, everybody gets to go home with memories of a joyful and magical theme-park variety. I guess that beats all aces out of harboring the memory of a mass shooting any day, eh?

So, I can see you’re kind of confused here. Why was I doing the Angel of Death’s gig and not my Guardian Angel shtick? Well, I’ll let you in on a wee bit of a trade secret. They let us freelancers do the “taking immortal souls” routine, too. Cool, huh? So, just remember the next time you contemplate doing something that might just give me cause to feel uneasy…I got the cure for that.

500 words @klingorengi

HUNTED

There was something about the woman that made me uneasy. It wasn’t the fact that she was trying to kill me, so much as the fact that I didn’t know of any reason why she should want to. Heck, I didn’t even have any clue who she was.

I’m a simple guy, and I don’t go out of my way to offend people. True, I am in a somewhat unsavory line of work and make a few enemies—but it pays the bills and as long as I’m still breathing I won’t complain. Thing is, like I said, I had no clue who this lady was.

My build is tall and lean, I hit fast and frequent more than hard. That said it was pretty tough not to laugh when this cute little Asian charged screaming out of the alley as I was leaving the pub. Aside from a nasty scar bisecting her face she looked soft and fine. Not a threat.

So why was she trying to kill me? Digging and raking like she thought her fingers were claws? Maybe she took one of the hits on me. That seemed unlikely, the nonsense she was screaming and desperation in her movements made it seem personal.

She could have just been crazy. I was ready for things to get out of hand when we passed by a young couple out for a moonlight stroll. Her attention remained entirely on me. On target. Of course that couple would have called the cops, so that introduced a timeline for resolving the situation.

Crazy Lady was wearing a wedding dress. Nice one too. Maybe I looked like the guy who left her at the altar? Though why was she screaming about me being “one of them”? I suppose she could be possessed too, though if the scar on her face was any indication she hadn’t worked out as good an arrangement with her demon as I had.

Her movements were too fast for me to track. As she got warmed up I was only barely keeping ahead of her. Even my demon seemed nervous.

Then it occurred to me, maybe this was the older sister of that demon-hunting magical girl I beat up last week. I hoped that wasn’t the case. Lady Scarface was liable to get hurt at the rate we were going. Little Sister I was able to just knock out, but this crazy woman I’d be the one who got hurt if I tried to pull my punches.

Sirens. Time to decide one way or the other.


427 words
@DavidALudwig

Storytelling.

“There was something about the boy that made me uneasy, and even today; thirty years after, it makes my bones ache,” Alexander said, and looked down at his grandkids all sitting on the floor looking up at him.
“What was wrong with him?” the youngest asked; the one who loved playing cowboy out in the woods.

Alexander laughed huskily, and patted his knee; the boy was quick to climb up.

“Well, let’s see,” he said, and rearranged him on his lap.

“He seemed like a regular kid, at first; I remember he loved playing cowboy in the woods,” he said, and winked. “Not to mention fishing in the lake, jumping on the trampoline and going to the movies,” he added, to the horror of his other grandchildren.
“They didn’t have movie theaters back then,” the oldest whined, though her cheeks were slightly flustered.

“You’re right, Isabelle. Well, there was something about him. He was all quiet like, and never had much friends either,” he said, and rubbed his chin. “One day, he came down the road. I decided to talk to him, he’d gotten a new dog, you see,” he said, and looked out the window.
“It was a fine day, sun shining, birds chirping; much like today out here by the cabin. He didn’t look right, like something was botherin’ him, so I nudged him and asked what was wrong.”

The kids sat silently, big eyed, and listened. They’d heard the story before, but it was their favorite.

“He said nothing to me, just gave me a look,” he explained.
“What kinda look?” the youngest whispered, her face covered in freckles.

“It gave me the shivers, that’s for sure.” he replied, and shook all over, making his grandchildren laugh.

“His eyes were dead, as if his soul had been taken out of him. There was no joy to be seen, or anything for that matter.”

A chorus of ‘oooh’ erupted around him, and he saw his daughter leaning in the doorway.

“He’d been out to the woods, not one mile from this very cabin. There was a witch there, you see; though, she died many years ago,” he whispered.
“Then what happened,” the oldest whispered, she was clutching her sister’s hand.
“The dead witch cast a spell on him; she drained his soul, right out of his nose!” he shrieked, and launched out of the chair, racing after the hysterical kids.

“Dad,” Miranda, his daughter, said and walked over to him after the kids had all escaped to the outdoors. “Do you really have to scare them like that? Brian refused to sleep in his own bed for days after the last time,” she chided.

He laughed quietly and kissed her forehead. “They know it’s just a story, honey. I used to tell it to you all the time,” he reminded her.

His wife Carlie, rounded the corner. “Dinner’s ready!” she called, and rang the bell on the porch with a smile on her face.

Word count: 496

@ChessnySilth