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Excerpt for Anthology of Short Stories From Authors Glenn C. and Sasha Gabriel by GlennAndSasha Gabriel, available in its entirety at Smashwords

Anthology of Short Stories from 2011

By Glenn and Sasha Gabriel

ISBN: 978-1-4659-4385-9

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes:

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the authors, Glenn C. and Sasha Gabriel, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

The stories presented here are works of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations are entirely coincidental (our attorneys made us say that). Should a company, locale, event, person, animal or creature, idea or product (real or fictitious) be mentioned in these works, then all trademarks belong to those respective individuals / companies.

Sasha and I were asked to make an Anthology covering all the short stories we wrote in 2011. We are very pleased to have so many request our stories within one convenient file, and here it is. We will create an Anthology each year, so be sure to look for it!

Thank you for all your support!

Murder On The Mountain

Soul Survivors

By Sasha Gabriel

“It’s ridiculous, that’s why!” Jason snorted.

“But why is it ridiculous?” she countered, clearly upset.

“Look, no one’s ever proven that a soul exists!” He was frustrated. “It’s junk that religion feeds you so they can control you… ‘Believe in us or your soul will burn in Hell’,” he said in a sing-song voice.

Stephanie loved him but here was something else they would never agree on. She decided to drop it.

“You hungry?” her voice more cheerful than she felt.

He nodded, feeling guilty about hurting her feelings.

Watching her carefully choose a piece of lettuce to eat from her salad, he started.

“Steph… I know this belief stuff is important to you, but it’s not to me. I’m sorry I hurt you but I can’t lie to you. I love you. Can we get past this?”

Stephanie grabbed his hand. “’Course we can. I don’t mean to come across all strict or something but I do believe we all have souls. It’s just that…” she shrugged.

“What?” he smiled.

“Well… it’s just that when we have kids… I’d like them to believe, too.”

Jason realized what this meant to her. “I understand… I do, Steph. Look, when we have kids you can take them to church. But I won’t come. I’ll make up some excuse… like the dust in the pews is so holy I’ll start sneezing and interrupt all the singing and…”

Stephanie burst out laughing. They walked home, holding hands tight, and it was forgotten.

Jason kept his word and so did Stephanie.

Ten years have passed and Stephanie and Jason have twin boys, Edward and Ethan. As an inside family joke, Jason would call them E squared, written as in Einstein’s famous formula.

One day, the twins came home excited they were chosen to attend a seminar in Paris with their debate team the following week.

Non-stop chatter, packing and re-packing finally gave way to the day when the boys waved goodbye to their proud parents at the airport.

Jason and Stephanie watched the plane slowly make its way down the runway, taxiing for takeoff.

Tired, they decided to go home just as someone yelled. They saw a runaway baggage tram crash into the still-lowered wheels of the plane, turning the tram into a giant fireball.

Screams filled the air as the fireball engulfed the plane, and in a jolt that shook the building, exploded, burning debris falling everywhere.

The entire school and most of the community attended the funeral.

Since the accident, Jason was bereft, lost without his boys. Stephanie comforted him as best she could but the pain was overwhelming.

That night, Jason was in the bathroom, crying quietly. Finally, he turned on the hot water, hoping the shower would wash his despair away.

The room filled with steam. Turning, he gasped.

There on the mirror were two words, written as clear as ink on paper.

“Hi Dad”

Jason turned… did Steph… but, no, the door was still locked.

In disbelief, he looked back. The words were gone. Just some bizarre illusion created by the steam, he decided.

Finding himself oddly disappointed, he turned back to the shower.

Just to make sure… he looked again.

“We’re okay. It’s awesome here. Don’t cry. Love E2”

Jason almost ripped the hinges from the door, yanking it open and yelling Stephanie’s name.

He babbled that she had to see this!

He pointed to the mirror, the words crisp for them to see.

He looked at her, his eyes begging the question, could this really be true?

Through tear-filled eyes, she nodded, both believing.

To TOC

The Best Friend

By Sasha Gabriel

I’m. Going. Insane.

I know it. I feel it.

Please don’t shake your head and tell me I’m not! I’m telling you I KNOW I AM!

You don’t just wake up and find yourself covered in blood… and think that everything’s hunky dorey!

So much blood.

On my hands... my blouse… in my mouth.

I look around my bedroom. The walls are bleeding.

I rush to the bathroom and throw up. My legs are shaking… angry with me for forcing them to stand… and stumble to the sink. I look into the mirror, afraid of what I’ll see and see what I’m most afraid of.

Me.

The scarf! I’ve got to tape the scarf to the window! He’s got to see it and help me!

My legs stop whining and race me toward the dresser. I grab the yellow scarf and slam it against the window, our own private signal.

PLEASE!! My mind screams… Please see it, CJ!

I fall back to the bed but the scarf stays put… the blood on my hands acting as glue on the glass.

I try to calm myself… I know CJ will come. He always does. He always knows what to do. I wish he would hurry…

“I saw the scarf…” CJ enters in a rush. “What happened?” and stops when he sees me.

I hold up my hands to him, unable to say a word. What can I say? I think. I’m going insane.

But my best friend enters and looks down on me. His hands caress my face, then he wipes the blood from my mouth.

He sits in his favorite chair… my white wicker rocker… and holds his arms out to me.

“It’s going to be all right,” he whispers to me. “Come here.”

I rush from the bed into his open arms. CJ cradles me like a mother cradles a child. Whenever something happens that upsets or frightens me, CJ is there. He’s always there. I love him so much.

“I love you,” he whispers into my hair. “You know that, right?”

I look into his eyes and nod. His eyes have always mesmerized me. One blue. One brown.

“What happened?”

I shake my head. Frail and helpless, I beg him to understand with my eyes. “I’m going insane.”

“Who else knows?” his voice is hushed, as though this can be a secret.

“I don’t know. I woke up like this. I don’t know what happened.”

“Is it like before?”

I move slightly away from him, thinking. Was there a ‘before’? Please don’t let there be a ‘before’! I push myself away from CJ even more, my mouth opening a little in surprise and nod.

CJ nods at me and pulls me against him, rocking a little faster. “I thought so.”

“What should I do?” knowing he’ll tell me. CJ always tells me what to do. He loves me.

“Before they come home, let’s find it and bury it. Then, we’ll clean you up… and your room.” His blue and brown look at me with understanding.

When it’s all done, CJ hugs me and leaves, saying as he closes the door, “I’m always here for you. You’ll be all right. Take a long hot bath and have a nice dinner with your family.”

I just finish dressing when the front door opens and I hear her voice, “Cindy Jean, come down and help me with dinner, sweetie.”

I look in my makeup mirror on the nightstand. “Am I insane?” I ask my reflection.

And CJ looks back at me with one blue and one brown and smiles.

To TOC

The Letter

By Sasha Gabriel

Kelly heard the mail drop through her door slot. She loved these relaxing Saturdays.

She sighed… bills and a small letter tucked between the large statements. It was a plain envelope with no return address. Only her name and address, hand written in a strange swirled font that, for some reason, made her shiver.

She opened it:

In 8 days I will come for you. You will only see me then. 8 days.

There was no signature.

She crumpled it, the envelope and her confusion and threw them all in the trash.

Monday breezed through at work. Finally home, she picked up the mail and froze as she held another envelope with the hand written swirled font. She walked to the kitchen to throw it away, but stopped.

Just to make sure it was the same as the other one, she opened it.

In 6 days I will come for you. You will only see me then. 6 days.

Shaking slightly, she stuffed the letter back in the envelope, found the first one she threw away, put them in a top drawer and slammed it shut.

The next day at work was insane as she battled problem after problem.

Finally home, she poured some Chablis and threw off her shoes. Only then did she pick up the pile of mail she stepped over and was strangely relieved to see no oddly fonted letter in the bunch. Weary, she threw the lot on the kitchen counter and crawled into bed.

The next morning, Kelly was almost out the door when she looked down and saw the letter.

What the hell!? and irritated, threw it on yesterday’s pile.

Late that day, her boss told her she was going to London next Monday to negotiate a deal. Everyone congratulated her good fortune.

She went out to dinner, and once home, relaxed, then she remembered the mail. Nothing more than the usual junk mail and those ever present bills.

And two more letters.

The first one read:

In 5 days I will come for you. You will only see me then. 5 days.

The next one read:

In 4 days I will come for you. You will only see me then. 4 days.

That’s it! Tomorrow, I’m going to the police!

On Thursday, Kelly showed them to the Sergeant who asked sarcastically, “And exactly what do you want me to do about these?”

“Do!? They’re… they’re threatening!”

“Threatening? They could be a joke.

“Now look,” he said sternly as Kelly started to argue, “You don’t like the letters... throw them away!” and turned his back to her.

Kelly left, indignation in each foot step.

Still fuming, she saw the letter as soon as she opened her door.

In 3 days I will come for you. You will only see me then. 3 days.

Wanting to shove this letter under his arrogant nose, she decided the Sergeant was right. She took all the letters and threw them in the trash. Her destiny was London and nothing was going to stop her.

Sunday was a perfect day. Kelly boarded Flight 254, loving her life.

Jonathan Isles was excited about his art show. This would be huge for him. Before starting his work, he turned on the TV.

“Behind me is the wreckage of Flight 254 to London. Miraculously, everyone but one person, survived. Their name will be released once their family is notified.”

Jonathan heard the mail drop in the studio. He picked the mail up and saw a letter with strange hand written swirled font addressed to him.

He opened it and read.

To TOC

The Lost Moments

By Sasha Gabriel

I remember…

When I was four years old, you took me to see my first movie, Mary Poppins with Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke. As soon as we entered the lobby the smell of hot popcorn filled my head and I asked you for some.

We sat in a side area, me on your lap, happily munching my popcorn. It was a matinee so most of the chairs were empty. From the moment the lights dimmed to the last song sung, I was lost in the experience.

You made that day special for me.

I remember…

When I was six, you took me for my first ice skating lesson. Even though I fell a lot, I liked it and that day started a passion that lasted over a decade.

After the lesson, you bought me my first skating outfit. I was so excited! Through the years, you bought me forty-five more beautiful outfits.

You made that day special for me.

I remember…

When, after working a long day and making a nice dinner, you sat with me for hours to help me with homework all through school. You took time with me and I always did well… even with fractions… thanks to your explanations.

You made those days special for me.

I remember…

When I was sixteen and went on my first date. I sat next to Adam at school and liked him so much. We first had dinner at Denny’s, then saw a movie. I felt so grown up. You stayed up until I got home at 10:30 pm and only asked if I wanted some hot cocoa.

You made that day special for me.

I remember…

When my fiancé broke up with me because he fell in love with someone he just met at a convention. I thought my heart would never recover from the shock and anger I felt toward him and the world.

You talked to me for many days and nights, telling me that some things, as painful as they are, can be a catalyst for something better to happen. We just can’t see it while it’s happening. I told you that I’d have to see that something better for myself, to believe it.

Through the worst time in my life, you made me understand that I was special.

I remember…

When, two years later, you and Dad paid for my wedding to the love of my life, on a gorgeous yacht in Orange County. You made sure that everything would be perfect for us. And it was.

You made that day special for us.

I remember…

When, at my baby shower, you and Dad bought all the furniture for the nursery and even gave us a trip to Hawaii that we (very gratefully) took while you watched the baby.

You made those days special for us.

I remember…

How you listened to me, encouraged me, taught me, helped me, laughed and cried with me, and always supported me.

And through all that… how I never once said Thank you.

It wasn’t that I didn’t feel it… I just never said it.

And now, holding your hand in the hospital, looking down at your pale face as your life slowly ebbs away, I realize the moments in our lives that are lost… lost forever if we don’t make the moments count.

I lean down and whisper in your ear, “Mama… Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I love you so much and wish you could, somehow, hear me.”

And the slight pressure in my hand told me she did.

To TOC

The Magic Bag

By Sasha Gabriel

So odd. Now where did I put it? Only three small words on paper. Chuckling softly, he patted the pockets of his Prada suit only feeling spare bills and change.

Today was the day. He knew it. He felt it. Just like before, it woke him out of a deep, dreamless sleep. He patted his stomach to quiet its swooping sensation, as though he were in an express elevator that had forgotten to invite his stomach along for the ride.

Picking up his $800 Raffaello briefcase downstairs, he heard his name.

“Sally… how are you this beautiful morning?” his $6,000 perfect white teeth smiled at her.

“Oh, sir, don’t you look smart! Going to work on a Saturday? You don’t never rest, do you?”

“You didn’t think I’d forget… did you, Sally?”

“Well, sir, with everything you do… for everyone… I wasn’t expecting you’d remember. But,” looking at him adoringly, “you did!”

He handed her something. “Sally, go and buy something for yourself. And take the whole weekend off! For a couple days we’ll be fine…” then, leaning into her so she smelled his Ralph Lauren cologne, he kissed her lightly on the cheek.

“Oh, sir! $100! I swear, you spoil me something fierce!”

“22 years ago today, I hired you – best decision I ever made!” He pretended to look at his Chanel H1693J12 watch, a steal at only $30,000. “I have to go, Sally… I’ll be late… and I never want to be late for my Saturday patients!”

He got into his silver Aston Martin Super Sport car, waving to Sally who was waving back.

His stomach swooped again and he stopped suddenly. He opened the glove box but it was not there.

Chuckling, he realized it must be on his desk. Only three small words but they were important.

He unlocked the burl wood door to his office. He looked everywhere but it was gone. Odd.

She knocked on the door and timidly walked in. He welcomed her warmly. Lovingly.

“I have a surprise for you, Claire.”

She looked into his Adonis-like features and blushed. He liked that.

“Today, we’re going to a special place where, I promise, you’ll be happy and never scared again!”

“Not here?” she said looking around.

“No. Not today.” He drove through the countryside and parked near a picture-postcard lake surrounded by large pines.

She looked at him with gratitude and he smiled at her, nodding his understanding. There was not much beauty in Claire’s life. But, he was going to change that. He loved her.

He showed her his favorite bench and bid her sit. She always obeyed. He went back to the car, opened the trunk and removed his bag.

“What’s that?” Claire’s voice barely a whisper.

“It’s my magic bag, Claire, so you’ll not be sad again.” His eyes gentle and caring. “Close your eyes and tell me about the most wonderful thing in your life,” already knowing the answer.

“You,” she said simply. He smiled, nodding.

Standing behind her, he opened the bag and smiled broadly. There, on top, was the paper. Chuckling at his silliness, he picked it up and put it into his pocket.

He looked at the 21 names pinned carefully to the velvet lining of the lid. And now, Claire would be 22.

He picked up the needle and the small bottle of Clostridium botulinum. Just the tiniest amount will do.

“I love you, Claire.”

“I love you, too.”

Driving home, he looked at the paper and smiled at the three small words he wrote with such care: TIME TO KILL.

To TOC

The Mirror

By Sasha Gabriel

The bed felt as it had for the past 79 years. The clothes were the same. Her hairstyle, a tight bun high on her head, seemed to form itself without much help. Her tea, chamomile with milk, tasted the same.

That was the problem. Everything was always the same. As she was.

But, deep inside, she remembered.

Looking at herself in the mirror, seeing only a thin, frail, helpless reflection, a tear slid between the hills and valleys of her cheek.

Too late, she thought, and a sob escaped.

I wanted to do so much! The weight of the loss of her dreams caused her to stumble back to bed.

She had to get hold of herself - put on a happy face for her family, who were visiting. They expected her to be happy and insulted if she just wanted to be.

She loved them but they didn’t understand. She never wanted to be “the same.” She wanted a life of adventure. Her life wasn’t over! But they thought it was… and sadly, she had begun to believe it, as well.

Her grandson called. Breakfast was ready. Chamomile with milk was waiting for her.

Sighing, she tested her smile in the mirror her son brought her as a gift, an antique mirror with mysterious carving around its corners.

He told her he found it in the basement of a home he sold. The owners, a young couple, left only this mirror.

Called again, she walked by the mirror to the door and stopped, as though a hand reached out and held her still.

What did she see out of the corner of her eye? Nothing.

Her name was called again, nearer this time. She slowly turned to the mirror, and seeing her reflection, stumbled back letting out a small cry. There in the mirror was her image as she had been when she was 25.

How cruel was this? Now she was losing her mind as well as her dreams?

She closed her eyes tight, hot tears escaping down her face. She opened them slowly, realizing it was only an illusion of youth. That was all.

Her younger self smiled at her gently.

“Who… what… are you? How could this be?” she stammered quietly, afraid her family would hear her.

Her younger self gestured for her to come closer but she did not.

The image spoke. “Em… it’s real enough. You’re not mad. Come closer and touch me.”

She was angry now. “Don’t tell me it’s real! I’m no fool!” and started to cry in earnest, not caring who heard her.

“Em…” her younger self soothed, “it’s not a joke. Didn’t we always know there are things in life to still be discovered? Strange, wondrous things? Didn’t we, Em?”

“Yes,” she whispered, nodding her head. “Yes, so many things to be discovered…”

“This is one of them, Em! Your son didn’t realize what this mirror does because he has no need for it. But you do… come Em… just touch me… and live our dreams…”

She looked through the door and saw her family having the same breakfast, wearing the same clothes, talking about the same things and saw her chamomile with milk, waiting.

What could it hurt? Just a silly old woman’s dream…and touched her own, younger hand, as it reached for her.

Her son knocked on her door and opened it. Scratching his head at the empty room, he saw a note slid into the edge of the mirror.

“Live your life but never forget to live your dreams, too! I’m off to live mine!”

To TOC

The Watchman

By Sasha Gabriel

H.H. Herbert was born in a hurry. Growing up, he didn’t have time for friends or idle chatter. In college, he was teased that his middle name must be “Hurry.”

He soon decided that his name, Harvey Hinton Herbert was too long to write, so he used his initials and last name.

One ordinary day, H.H. bought his subway ticket for work. He never looked at his ticket – he knew where he was going.

H.H. was a man on the move and he was in a hurry to get there.

Pushing through the crowd, he noticed an old man sitting on the floor. Next to him was a large oil lantern burning with a steady flame and a bowl of matches. Near the lantern was a sign.

AMEN WITH A MATCH

Never saw him before, H.H. thought with disgust. Probably wants money. They all do. The thoughts came fast and furious.

Turning away, he was astonished to find himself alone in the loading area.

Did the train come and they all got on except me? Was I so preoccupied with the old man that I missed my train?

Angry for making him late, H.H. was surprised to see the old man looking back at him, watching him.

What right does he have to look at me? Who does he think he is, anyway?

Hearing voices, he turned around to see another group of commuters arriving.

Perfect! This time, I’ll board the train and have done with him!

As soon as the thought ended, he felt the thundering silence and saw he was alone again.

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded to no one.

“May I see your ticket?” the voice asked gently.

“What?” He was shocked that the man spoke to him!

“Your ticket.”

“Why?” he asked suspiciously.

“I think I may be able to help you.”

“I don’t need your help! What I need is to get on the damn train!”

Fuming and against his better judgment, H.H. thrust the ticket at him.

Glancing at it, the old man sighs.

“It’s been a long time coming,” and stands.

“This,” pointing to the dirty blanket, “is yours now. You’ll be taking my place.”

H.H. realized the man was a lunatic.

“What in the hell are you talking about? Take your place? Get away from me or I’ll call the police!”

“Look around. There’s no one to call. It’s begun.”

H.H. looked around. They were alone.

“Now look here, who are you?”

The old man points a gnarled finger at the sign.

H.H. looked at the sign by the lantern. Mesmerized, he saw the letters move, rearranging themselves.

I AM THE WATCHMAN

“What… wha…?”

“Once in a generation,” the old man began, smoothing his dirty, torn, three piece suit, “someone is chosen to watch over us all.”

He continued as H.H. opened his mouth, “I didn’t understand either, so listen. You must fulfill the prophecy.

“This is the lantern of hope and goodness. Keep it always lit with these matches. Don’t worry, you’ll never run out.

“In every generation, a special train comes. You’ll know it by the screams that turn your blood cold. When it stops, you must stand and hold your lantern high. They hate the light.

“They’ll scream ever louder because they must go back through the Portal.

“You are now the Watchman. It is your turn.”

He put his hand on his replacement’s shoulder, nodded, their eyes meeting, and shuffled past him.

H.H. turned to ask a question, but he was alone.

Turning around, he suddenly realized he needed to sit down… and wait.

To TOC

The Window

By Sasha Gabriel

Whose idea was it to go to this godforsaken lodge out in nowhere? Not mine, I can promise you! I’m a city girl through and through. The only thing about nature that I like is the lavender in my shampoo.

To be fair, the view is breathtaking… spring flowers, lush pines. Okay… so nature has some things going for her.

Oh, yes… the idea belongs to my best friend, Lydia, with her auburn hair, green eyes and hourglass body.

I’m a bit jealous but I’m a good friend. Who else would stay in a room where I just killed one spider and two roaches just to accompany a friend who wanted to meet someone new but didn’t want it to look so obvious?

I checked in before lunch, killed the unwelcome roommates and waited.

After lunch, I called Lydia to find she has car trouble but promises she’ll leave tomorrow.

Great.

I decide to go to my room and read until dinner.

I make some instant coffee and turn to sit by the window.

And that’s when I had my breakdown. What else could it have been?

What happened to the window?

It’s only 1:30 pm… but the window is black. How could that be?

I peer closer and see movement… a shifting of darkness… and with a sharp cry, I fall backward as I see an explosion and fire.

I move closer and watch as the darkness fades faster. I see clearer movement… a figure is thrown backward as an explosion rips a room apart.

The figure is, no, it can’t be… it’s… Lydia! She’s in the kitchen and turns to answer the phone. While talking, fire erupts in the oven and the kitchen… and Lydia… is blown apart.

I’ve never believed in portents… but this is real, I tell you!

I grab the phone, punching in Lydia’s number. She answers.

“Lydia! Just listen to me…” I’m yelling.

“Susan…? Why are you shouting?”

Something stops me… Lydia is talking on the phone… the window…

“Lydia…where are you?” I sound demented.

“I’m in the kitchen, baking cookies to take for you – your fave – peanut butter … what’s the matter?”

“LYD-I-A! DO AS I SAY RIGHT NOW! GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN NOW!!!”

“Now? Why?” her voice is tremulous.

“NOW! NOW! GET OUT NOW!”

“Okay, okay! I’ll change phones in the bedroom,” and the phone clicks.

I turn to the window and see the explosion…

Time stands still. Lydia does not pick up the phone. I drop the phone and go to the window.

“No! No!” I pound on the glass as all I see is the damn outside beauty! I hate nature! “What’s happened to Lydia?” I scream.

I run back to call Lydia but all I hear is a busy signal.

I call the police and ask them to check out Lydia’s apartment and give them my name and number.

Forty-seven minutes later, Lydia calls. My legs shake from weakness when I hear her voice.

“How did you know? The gas line burst! You saved my life, Suzy Q…” she was as puzzled as I.

I had enough of nature and as I was checking out, the owner asked me how I liked my stay.

“It was memorable. I especially liked the view from my window, though,” sounding rather vague.

He looked at my key, then up at me. “Next time you come, I promise you’ll get a room with a view. I don’t know why… but that’s the only room with no window. Sorry ‘bout that.”

Next time… I might just ask for that room again.

To TOC

When Is Ever After?

By Sasha Gabriel

The office Christmas party was a happy time for everyone except Mandy. Work was forgotten as everyone laughed, toasting each other… and themselves.

But no one ever toasted Mandy. She was used to it. She would put a brave face on for everyone’s benefit - otherwise someone might be insulted - but she never felt worse than at this time of year.

Mandy wasn’t pretty… but she wasn’t un-pretty either. Her hair was brown and thinning. Her size 14 dresses strained at the seams. Her personality was good and she was quick-witted, but no one ever seemed interested enough to want to find out.

Mandy went to the office picnics, cooking her delicious chili and beans, but still sat alone. Even during fire drills when everyone had to leave the building, no one watched to see whether Mandy had left, as well.

It was always the same. She felt alone... left out. Never part of anything or anyone.

She would Good Morning! and Hey! to everyone every day. But they would give a half-hearted reply, as though it took too much energy to answer her.

After dinner alone with her cat, Sylvester, she would read a book and fantasize she was one of the girls in the story… a pretty girl that others noticed and wanted to be with.

But sometimes she had to stop reading when the words became fuzzy, until she’d wipe the tears away.

And at those times when she could not fathom why her life was the way it was, she would speak her mantra, “When is Ever After?” the only answer coming from Sylvester, as he snored on her lap.

When New Year approached, she brought her favorite cupcakes to the office party - devil’s food cake with marshmallow icing.

Everyone took one but Mandy took two: one for Sylvester (it was the only time she gave him human food) and one for next year. She made a wish on that cupcake… that next year, someone would share a new year with her.

The partying started in the morning. As the office revelers reveled, Mandy got some punch and her cupcake, said her silent wish and took a bite.

A deep voice behind her said, “Looks good. By any chance is that devil’s food cake with marshmallow icing?”

Mandy choked as she tried to swallow, surprised that someone spoke to her. She turned around, red-faced and nodded, trying to swallow the last of the cupcake, which had suddenly turned to glue.

She did not recognize him. He must be new…

“What’s your name?”

She wanted to respond but instead smiled shyly, some chocolate cake still embedded between her teeth.

He didn’t seem to mind and smiled back. “Sorry… I didn’t introduce myself. My name is Glenn and I’m new here.” (That she didn’t need him to tell her).

“When Jim introduced me to everyone earlier, he missed you. But I noticed you and wanted to meet you.”

Mandy was too stunned to answer. Was this a joke?

“Look… I don’t want to seem presumptuous, but… they all want to take me out to a drinking lunch and I just can’t stand those things. Any chance you’d like to have a sandwich with me in the coffee shop downstairs?”

Shocked, Mandy blurted out, “With me? Why with me?”

He shrugged and said, “I don’t like crowds. I’m happiest when it’s quiet and since they’re all in the conference room and you’re here… I was hoping you felt the same.”

Mandy stood up, grabbed her purse and finally knew the answer to her mantra.

Now.

To TOC

Wishful Thinking

By Sasha Gabriel

I don’t know why people don’t like me.

I try to be nice and smile at them but they just look at me… or past me… and ignore me.

I used to like school… I had so many friends… but it’s different now. Now, I hate going to school. Maybe they think it was my fault – but it wasn’t! It wasn’t!

I wish… more than anything… that they’d like me again.

At lunchtime, I sit by myself and watch everyone else laugh and talk together, but no one wants to sit with me. And if I go over and want to join them, they all get up and leave.

At recess, I sit alone, watching all the other kids play. I don’t know why they’re so mean to me… I just want to be friends.

Sometimes, when I throw a ball to someone, they’ll just point at me and run away.

I wish… more than anything… that they’d let me play with them.

At home, I end up in my room upstairs… mostly looking out the window and wishing for things to be different.

But I always remember that awful day at school when a fire broke out down the hall from my classroom. I remember hearing the fire alarm going off and thinking it was another stupid fire drill.

I was alone in the second floor classroom doing some extra credit work, when I heard screaming. No one ever screamed before during a drill, so I went and opened the door. I saw Mrs. Hendricks, our teacher, hurrying kids to the stairway as orange flames tinted their faces and clothes.

I ran back to get my books and by the time I shoved them all in my backpack, smoke was sneaking under the door. I reached for the handle but cried out as it burned my hand.

I ran back to the window, opened it and looked out. Below on the grass were all my friends and I see two fire trucks! I yell to them, again and again, but no one can hear because the fire alarm is screaming louder than me.

Suddenly I see my Mom. I wave to her and she sees me! She pushes away from the firefighter holding her and rushes into the building.

Mommy’s going to get me!

I look around for something… anything… to get the door open so Mommy will know where I am!

I see Mrs. Hendricks’ chair and somehow, I pick it up and throw it against the door and to my surprise, the door shatters!

There’s fire everywhere! I yell for her and… she’s there! She runs through the flames and embraces me and I hold her crying.

There’s no time, Mommy says, and takes me to the window. A fireman is there, motioning to us. Mommy hands me out but the fireman yells at her to hold me and climb out together… that there’s no more time.

As we climb out the window, Mommy loses her footing and as the fireman grabs for her, she lets go of me.

I hear her scream my name…

I feel her arms around me. She’s rocking me and calling my name.

I start to cough and open my eyes and see all these faces around me. I smile at them and they smile back.

And that’s when it started… when no one wanted to talk to me again. It’s because they think I started the fire but, I swear, I didn’t!

I wish… more than anything… that they’d like me again.

I wish… more than anything… that... I was… alive.

To TOC

The End Of Time

By Glenn C. Gabriel

It all started when the wagon pulled into town. People started staring and pointing at me, saying how beautiful I was as they ran beside the wagon.

We stopped right in front of the new town hall. All eyes on me. A crowd gathered, until all the town was there.

Many in the crowd cheered as the Mayor stepped up into the wagon beside me. Others, looked at me in awe, I could feel their eyes on me. They whispered about never having seen anything as beautiful as I.

The Mayor quieted the crowd to give his speech. But as he spoke, their eyes stayed on me.

Many said things like, “Look at her face! Have you ever seen anything as beautiful and flawless in your life?” Many said how much they loved my hands, and as I moved them, they smiled, the children pointing.

That was ages ago. I’m no longer beautiful, my face now dirty, scarred and weathered. My hands don’t move like they used to, they’ve slowed greatly. I’m old, and I just don’t work well now.

I guess I started dying the day they hung me, high on the tower of the town hall, for everyone to see.

Now the people who once cheered for me, who talked about how beautiful I was, will sometimes stop and stare up into my dirty face, as I now hang, dangling from the rope.

Why? Why are you doing this to me? I’ve worked hard, all these years for you, and this is the thanks I get?

Hung from an old dirty rope, eyes watching, waiting for me to stop moving.

The eyes of the town still look at her, but only glances now, for it is too much to bear, seeing her swinging there.

Two days later, a woman and her little girl join the crowd gathering in front of the old town hall.

“What are they doing mommy?” the little girl asks, looking high above her, to where a man is standing on the tower.

“They’re taking her down honey. She’s finally died. She’s been hanging there for, well, a very long time. We all thought she would have died days ago, but, whenever we’d look up at her, if you watched long enough, she’d move her hands, and we’d know she still had some life left in her after all.

They watch as the old gal is lowered to the wagon, waiting to take her to her final resting place.

“It’s really sad,” the girl’s mother says shaking her head. “Grandpa used to say, ‘You should have seen her when she first came to town. Everyone loved her. Her face… flawless, and her hands! Oh, her hands! They moved with such precision and grace. You just couldn’t help looking at her when you passed.’ But now look at her. Face filthy and scarred. What a shame. But she outlived grandpa.”

They watch as she is laid to rest in the wagon, a tarp thrown over her.

As the horses slowly begin pulling the wagon, everyone turns as one to watch her leave.

The Mayor steps up onto the steps of the town hall and calls for silence.

“Well, we all knew this day would come. It was only a matter of time after all.” Everyone laughed. “But what’s done is done. Move along now, nothing more to see.”

Turning to leave, the little girl asks, “Will we hang another one mommy?”

“Of course honey, that’s what a clock tower is for. New clock should be here next week.”

To TOC

The Shortcut

By Glenn C. Gabriel

Crack!

Startled, Laura squints into the shadowy branches of a tree, certain she sees something moving within the deeper shadows.

It’s nothing! she shivers, eyes scanning the shifting fog around her. Just an old branch is all. It’s after midnight, should have been home an hour ago.

Recalling the earlier fight with her boyfriend, she quickens her pace, cursing at having taken this shortcut through the ancient cemetery’s many rolling hills.

It’s just an old cemetery… get a grip!

It’s dark, moonless and the sky heavily overcast.

Laura stumbles, trying to find her way around a fallen headstone in the fog.

Panicked, everything looks the same in the darkness. She doesn’t know which way to turn.

“Lost dearie?” A high pitched voice sounds from her right.

With a cry, Laura turns to see a dark figure step from behind a large tree. Frightened, Laura can just make out the figure of a thin, pale woman.

“I… I was just taking a shortcut home, and…”

“Got lost?” the cloaked woman cackled stepping forward. “Happens here at night.”

Forcing a swallow, Laura asks, “Do you know the way out?”

“Oh yes… come,” the woman turns and walks into the darkness of the trees, the fog swirling up around her.

As the fog envelopes the old woman, her form fading, Laura hurries forward.

Soon, they’re walking down a steep embankment, dense fog rising above their heads.

“Keep up now!” The woman laughs as she vanishes into the fog. “Wouldn’t want those of the night to take you now, would you?”

Frightened, no longer seeing the woman, Laura hurries forward. “Wait! Where are you? I can’t see you!”

Silence.

Stopping, Laura listens… nothing.

It’s very cold. Wet from the fog, her hair sticks to her face. Trembling, brushing the hair aside, she calls louder, “Where are you?... Please… answer me!”

Silence.

It begins to rain.

Walking quickly, Laura is startled when a large open mausoleum looms in front of her. Thinking the woman slipped inside, Laura enters cautiously.

Flickering light comes from ahead.

Shaking more from fright than the cold and rain, Laura cries, “Hello! Are… are you in here?”

“Back here dear,” a faint voice replies.

Afraid to continue, she turns to look behind her. It’s raining hard and I don’t know where I am. But, she seems to know this place, so… shaking, Laura continues further in.

Startled as she rounds a bend, Laura sees the woman standing in the center of a room filled with hundreds of candles. Dozens of crypts are set into the dark rock walls.

“What… what is this place?” Laura asks, her voice cracking.

“Why, home dearie.”

“You live… here? Please mam, I just want to go home.”

“Oh, but you are home dear,” the woman says pointing to an open crypt. “See… this one’s… yours.”

Turning quickly to leave, Laura screams as five men and two women enter, blocking her escape.

With a bone chilling shriek, the old woman flies at Laura, knocking her to the floor.

Teeth sink deep into Laura’s neck as the woman takes a good drink, the sweet young blood revitalizing her. Wiping the blood from her chin, she rises, “Welcome home… dearie.”

Patiently, the others take their turn.

Three weeks later, having taken a shortcut, Brenda is lost in the cemetery.

It’s late, dark, and the fog is thick.

Startled, Brenda sees a cloaked figure step from behind a tree.

“Lost?!” Laura cries. “Don’t worry, I know the night. Come, let me show you the way… home.”

To TOC

The Snow Globes

By Glenn C. Gabriel

Emma loved looking at Gran’s snow globes. She had never seen such life-like figurines. The globes were throughout the house, but there were hundreds of them in the attic.

When Emma asked Gran about them, she would make up the most wonderful stories. Emma laughed when Gran told her how she put the people in the globes and why.

Gran told her how she and her best friend used to climb a nearby mountain. One day, Gran overheard her telling a boy who Gran liked, that she didn’t like him at all and couldn’t stand being around him.

Gran got so mad, she took one of the empty snow globes her father sold, and put it beside her pillow when she went to bed.

Just like her Gran had taught her.

Dreaming, she visualized her friend trapped in the globe, standing by the mountain.

In the morning, the snow globe had the exact scene she dreamt about... her friend looking up the mountain, only her eyes moving frantically with a horrified expression.

Several globes held teachers Gran didn’t like. Emma loved those stories.

In another globe was a boy who had made fun of Gran and called her names. Gran hung him from a tree.

In a large globe were a lot of kids in a pretty lake, surrounded by beautiful pine trees.

Emma asked why they were in the globe. “Oh, that was one summer when I was swimming and my top came off! They all laughed at me! They told the whole school! Took years to get ’em all so I wouldn’t get caught, you know? But I got ’em! Emma giggled.

As Emma grew older, she found that all those within the globes had actually gone missing… as though they had just… vanished.

Years later, long after Emma’s mother had simply up and left, (according to Gran, who never did like her) Emma moved away and started a family of her own.

Gran was very frail and Emma decided to visit.

Rummaging through the attic, Emma finds a snow globe with the exact figure of her mother inside. She is standing in their old kitchen holding her favorite cookbook.

Emma recalls the fight Gran had with mom the day before she disappeared.

Remembering Gran’s stories of the other globes, a horrible thought strikes her. As she frantically searches the old chests, to her horror, she finds a globe with Grandpa in it. He is sitting beside his favorite fishing hole, his face contorted, looking up through the falling snow. Leaning closer, Emma gasps! His eyes are moving!

Stumbling from the attic, Emma grabs an empty globe off Grandpa’s old workbench and runs from the house. She just had a terrible fight with Gran about her husband. Gran did not approve of him and wants him… gone!

Placing the globe beside her pillow that night, Emma quickly falls asleep.

Three years later, Emma’s daughter, Ann, finds a snow globe and brings it to her mother.

“Mommy, who’s this?”

“Oh, that’s your great Gran honey… I got her before she got daddy!

“She’s trapped in there forever. Got what she deserved too, but, let’s give her some company. Put her up there between Uncle Ted and our old neighbors, okay?”

Setting the globe next to her Uncle, Ann thinks about the fight that day with one of her teachers and smiles.

That night, Ann takes a globe from mommy’s workbench, and places it next to her pillow.

To TOC

Murder On The Mountain

By Glenn C. Gabriel

Running for his life, all he can do is think of his kids - their mother killed last year by the ones now hunting him.

Crashing sounds come from behind as he leaps from the brush at the mountains base, up onto the jagged rocks of the steep mountainside.

A thunderous sound bursts from somewhere behind and below, as a rock explodes just in front and to the left of him. Startled, he almost falls.

The kids! he thinks frantically, I have to get away… I’m all they have!

Scrambling up a steeper part of the sheer, crumbling rock, he loses his footing and slides down a ways before regaining his balance, sending cascades of tumbling stones crashing to the brush far below.

Another burst of thunder from below forces him to quickly change direction, heading for a small ledge not far away. Sprinting, he turns his head to look at his pursuers.

They’re coming! Quicker than I thought they could!

Racing forward, with all his might, he leaps from one ledge of the deep crevasse to the smaller ledge on the far side. Skidding as he lands in loose rock, his momentum almost carries him over the edge. He knows that if he had not stopped, he would have fallen to his death.

Murderous yells come from below… wanting to kill him and leave his kids to fend for themselves.

Directly beneath his belly, another rock bursts apart, sending him scrambling on all fours up the rocky part of the mountain.

A sharp pain flares in his side the same instant he hears a loud boom, causing him to lose his balance and fall. Crashing against a small ledge, he slips over the side and falls through the nothingness between him and the jagged rocks below.

Striking the ground, the wind is knocked from him as his leg snaps. Terrified, his eyes dim as his pursuers close in.

My kids… he thinks with his last breaths. Please, not my kids… don’t…

Losing focus, those who had murdered his kid’s nannie the previous year, and now will murder him, crash through the brush.

Why? Why are you killing us?

He can think of no reason.

We have done nothing to deserve this!

As his killers look down baring their teeth, with a deep shudder, he closes his eyes for the last time.

“Good shot Mike! He’s still breathing though, better put another round in him. That sure is a fine looking mountain goat! That head will look great on the wall of your den.”

Mike points his rifle and shoots the billie again, smiling wider as he watches the body go still. “Yeah, I shot a nannie last year by mistake, but this one… it’s a beauty! Here, take a picture with me holding its head up, will ya?”

Pulling a camera from his vest pocket, Dan takes a picture of the murderer holding up the head of the dead billie, gripping each of the long, beautiful black horns, grinning like the idiot he is.

“God, I love this sport, don’t you?” the murderer asks.

“Yeah. Think this billie had any kids?”

“Maybe, but we’ll get them next year, or maybe the next. There’s always more. For now, help me get this big guy back to the truck, then, let’s go kill another.”

To TOC