Posts Tagged ‘short story’

”Where did they go?” Okie asked. “I think they went up the stairs” Teresa answered. Okie the Walrus Boy looked at her. “Why did they do that?” he asked. “Because Jesus is up there” she answered and pointed her hideous bony finger at the top of the stairs. They were brown and worn, and they smelled like burnt leaves. “W-w-w-who’s Jesus, Teresa?” the Walrus Boy stuttered, the hair on his back started to stand up. There was something eerie about the old hag, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Was she nice? Or was she bad? She sure looked evil to Okie, but she had given him a box of chocolates earlier, some very good chocolates indeed, so she couldn’t be bad. Could she? Okie had never seen a bad person give anyone any candy.

“Jesus is the son of God, my little tusky friend. He is a great man and he died for your sins” she answered. Her voice sounded like she’d just downed a handful of gravel. Harsh and unwelcome. “Don’t you want to meet Jesus, Okie?”. Okie looked up the stairs. It was dark up there. Couldn’t see a thing. Was that music coming from above? He looked back at the old woman, her hump moved with the soothing rhythm of her breath. Her breath smelled like burnt matches. She smiled at him. With her teeth. All of them. They weren’t normal. They looked a little shorter than normal and it seemed like there were twice as many as normal.

“I don’t know. He sure sounds like a nice fella” the Walrus said. “But why is he all the way up there? Can’t he come down here? The stairs look so very dangerous to step on!” Okie said. He looked in the chocolate box for the last piece of coco delight. They were all gone. “Because, my curious little friend, Jesus is old now. He was born waaaaay back, almost 2.000 years ago, and when you are 2.000 years old, you wouldn’t be happy to walk down those stairs, would you? Now get up there and say hello…”

Okie looked at the stairs again. Tiny ants crawled all the way up his spine as he took the first step. The wood started screaming as he took the next. He stopped at once: “Why are the steps screaming?” he yelled. “Those are some very old steps, young friend. Just hurry up there. Maybe I’ve got another box of candy for you if you hurry!” the old witch lured. Okie sure liked candy, and that Jesus guy did sound nice, and if he was that old, it sure would seem rude not to say hello. Not many old people tend to get visitors and all their friends are dead. Okie knew that because his great grandfather’s friends died too.

As he took the final steps towards the top of the stairs, he looked down at Teresa. It seemed that the staircase has gotten longer since he started climbing them. “Don’t you want to see Jesus too, Teresa?” The bottom of the stairs seemed so very far away that he had to yell for her to hear him.

“I will join you in a minute young lad” Why didn’t she have to yell for Okie to hear her? This was indeed a very weird house. Very weird indeed.

At the top of the stairs Okie saw a small door. It looked like a door for a dog. Not a small one, but certainly not for a big one either. He knocked three times: “Mr. Jesus? Mr. Jeeeeesus? Are you in there?” Okie didn’t get any answer; he took hold of the door knob and opened the door. He really had to squeeze his way in there.

When he got inside Okie was stunned out of his mind! The room was huge! Not just big, but really, really huge! There were at least 50 meters to the next wall and when he looked up he couldn’t see the ceiling! Never had Okie been in such a huge room before. He started to walk about. There wasn’t much to see. The walls were covered in white wallpaper with something that looked like purple flowers and the floor was made of wood, the same wood as the staircase.

A voice called out. It came from the other side of the room. Okie started to walk towards it. “Hello? Anybody there? Mr. Jesus?” he asked, hoping to get an answer. “Who’s there” the voice answered. It reminded Okie of his great grandfather just before he died. “I am here” the voice said. It sounded like whoever it belonged to where very, very tired. At the opposite side of the door he came in from, he found him. Jesus. He looked very old, after all Teresa said that he was about 2.000 years old. And that’s old. His eyes where pale and his long white hair and beard almost reached his hips. “Are you Jesus?” Okie asked. “I am Jesus Christ” Jesus answered. “What are you doing here, young boy?” he asked. The Walrus Boy tried to look him in the eye, but his wrinkles was in the way. He looked as if he was in great pain. “I came here with Teresa. She’s an old hag but she gave me chocolates, she doesn’t smell good but I think she’s nice. There were some other people too, but I don’t know where they went” the boy said.

Then he saw what had happened to Jesus. He was strung up on a cross! Somebody had put nails through his hands and feet and hung him on a wooden cross! “Oh, Jesus! Why are you on a cross? Don’t it hurt?” the choked Walrus asked. “It doesn’t matter anymore young lad, get away from here. Bad things happen here. The things I have seen. Oh, dear Lord, get away from here!” the tired Jesus replied. “But I have to get you down from there!” said Okie. “No! The woman you are with. She is not good. She will get you the same way she got me! Get away from here quick!” said Jesus. He tried to shout but he was too weak. Then suddenly the door went up with a huge slam and in the door stood Teresa. She looked older than before. “Young boy! Get away from here”

But it was already too late. The boy and Jesus were doomed. As Teresa moved towards them, Okie felt the hairs on his back stand up, and he was certain that he’d eaten the last chocolate in his life. “Jesus!” Okie screamed. “We are doomed!” and suddenly all went black.

When you float around in pure darkness nothing seems real. No light. No sound. No smell. No nothing. When you can’t smell, feel or hear anything, are you really present then? Where do you go, when you die? These where the thoughts that went through the mind of the Walrus Boy. Okie found himself floating through the mighty abyss of darkness that is death. He didn’t know what had happened, but he didn’t feel anything. Suddenly he felt an eerie presence in the dark, something familiar. He didn’t know if his eyes where shut or open. How could he?

Then, like a huge explosion out of nothing, all his senses returned. A woman was shaking him, yelling, at him. “Okie! Okie!” she screamed. The boy didn’t understand. Who was she? Where had he been? “You were just having a bad dream, boy!” she said, as Okie started to realize where he was. He recognized the posters, his bookshelf. It was just a bad dream! But it felt so lifelike. He didn’t understand, it had felt so lifelike, there was no doubt that he had died earlier.




This is the first part of a new short story I’ve started to write, during my time “between jobs”.

I haven’t figured anything out yet about the story or the character yet, but it will come as I write.


Just another saturday afternoon (1)

“What’s that?” he said.

“That’s a coffee mug” she said.

“Coffee mug?”

The sound of a roaring airplane was like needles and pins in his skull. God damn it. Those last three or four whiskys last night was totally uncalled for, and her voice didn’t help his headache either. Not one bit.

“Yes. I can see that. But what the hell is that?” he pointed at the content of the orange clay mug.

“That is your decaf latte” she answered. There was something about her. Something he just couldn’t take. It wasn’t her hair. Her hair was a strange shade of blonde but it actually looked quite good. Still, there was something off about her. Maybe it was the fact, that in just a few seconds, he’d stab her in the chest with Mother’s old butcher’s knife and tear her limbs off her body and bury the leftovers in the woods.

“Listen…” he looked at her name tag. “… Mary, I never ordered a decaf latte. You see, I’ve been up all night writing; do I look like I had 8 hours of sleep? Huh? No? Then why the hell would I order anything without caffeine?” he started to get a little angry with her. Not the kind of angry where you start shouting and throwing things around, but he felt his pulse rise a little. Not much, but more than usual.

“I’m very sorry, sir. I’ll make you a new one right away. Black, right?”

And that was the end of it. 18 seconds later, the blonde had a knife sticking out between her ribs. She didn’t scream. He didn’t like when they screamed. He always covered their mouths with his hand when he killed them. But the only thing he hated more than screaming was the blood. Not because he didn’t like blood, he would have been a poor murderer if he couldn’t take the sight of blood. No, the reason? It was messy. It took quite some time to clean it up. He tried not to make a mess out of things. After all, what he did wasn’t exactly legal, so he didn’t have much time to clean up after himself.

In the beginning they didn’t bleed at all. He just beat them until they stopped breathing. No blood, no cleaning. But things started to get boring, and he almost completely stopped to do these kinds of things. Like a kid who got bored of a toy or playing soccer. He knew he couldn’t carry on his work if it wasn’t any fun anymore, so he tried to spice things up. He bought a gun. A nice 9 mm. and he brought it to work one night. Shot a prostitute. In the stomach. It wasn’t that it was still boring, but it wasn’t that practical. It was loud. Messy. And he hated when they screamed. He was a little weird when it came to the screaming. In a book about some serial killer, the guy said that the screaming was the best thing about it, and it gave him a feeling of power over his victims. But it wasn’t power he was looking for. Power he had and he didn’t need any more. But shooting wasn’t satisfactory, so he tried stabbing. Sure, he needed to get closer to whomever he wanted dead, but it was easier.


8 black plastic bags. That was all he needed to get rid of that waitress. He didn’t bury her in the woods as planned. Turned out they were cutting down trees all week, and it wasn’t exactly clever to bury 8 plastic bags filled with body parts when lumberjacks where around 24/7. So where could one get rid of a dead waitress these days? Back in the day they just found a well and dumped the bits and pieces there, but it seemed like wells wasn’t exactly fashionable anymore. The answer came a Saturday night. The Discovery Channel showed a programme about sea currents. Why didn’t he think about that sooner? It was perfect. Weigh down the bags with some rocks and drop them off into a sea current. Like the Gulf Stream. If the bags ever showed up anywhere again, it could be on the other side of the Atlantic. For a few seconds he felt like a genius. Then he got bored.

He remembered how his dad used to bring him on fishing trips just off the coast. Dad was a great fisherman and fortunately he still had the boat. The Cleveland Steamer. That was never a good name for anything; in fact it was a horrible name. But Dad did come from Ohio and had been a captain on a steamboat once. At least that’s what he told.

These days Dad lived at a retirement home down town, he’d been paralyzed for a couple of years now, so he figured that it wouldn’t be a problem to borrow the boat for a couple of days. And it wasn’t. Well, Dad didn’t actually say that he could take the boat, because Dad couldn’t really talk anymore because of the paralysis and all, but he knew that if Dad could talk he would’ve. Anyways, that wasn’t a question up for discussion, because he needed to use the boat, and fast. For the past couple of days a strange odour had made its way through his small studio apartment.

When he was asked what rotting flesh smelled like he simply told them, that it smelled like rotting flesh. He couldn’t really compare it to anything. If he could it probably would be a mixture of anything that’s been dead for a while and left in the sun, like rotten eggs and the smell of really bad diarrhea because of all the leftovers, excrement, in the intestines that has started producing gasses, and because people with excrement and urine inside them when they die… Lets go of their… Contents, when they die. He really wasn’t bothered by the smell, but he wasn’t retarded either. Other people where bothered by the smell, and he didn’t want to start answering questions from the other residents in his building if they started to smell dead people.