The last of the group made their way up the three steps and onto the bus. Thomas shut the door and studied the happy faces behind him from the rearview mirror. Like kids on a field trip. He hoped he could still summon that kind of excitement at their age. The youngest of the lot was 75.

The Sun and Fun Retirement Home had chartered this trip up the mountain for a day at the casino on the reservation. Thomas would earn time and a half as their driver. Maybe a few tips as well. He really needed the money but, after a restless night with little sleep, he didn’t feel well. In fact, the pleasant greetings from his passengers annoyed him. Nothing was fine about today, as one old woman had remarked. Nothing was fine about his life, when it came right down to it.

The gears ground as Thomas shoved the old bus into first, pulling away from the curb with a slight sway and shudder. As they made their way up the hill, he tuned out the excited chatter, turned his thoughts to Jenny instead.

The bitch didn’t deserve both house and alimony – she was the one who left. Normally, he didn’t spend time dwelling on the inequities, but for the last few days he couldn’t seem to think of anything else.

The dark mood started right after the accident in the store, when he got the stitches. Thomas brushed his fingertips against the bandage gingerly, although it didn’t hurt. He still had a headache; nothing seemed to touch it, not even the pills the doc prescribed for him. He hadn’t told his employer either, since the bottle said “do not drive.”

None of that had anything to do with his present state of mind. On any given day, Thomas could stuff his depression into a dark corner, ignore it and move on. Not so for the last four days, when an unfocused revenge dogged his every step.

As the bus wound around the last steep curve to reach the top, clarity breached Thomas’ thoughts. He knew what he had to do. The bitch wouldn’t get any more alimony out of him.

Laughter gave way to stunned silence in those first few moments. The bus jerked hard to the right. The tires left the pavement. Then the screaming started.

Thomas watched the view change from clouds to rocks as the bus nosedived on its way to a flip. His mad grin widened. He thought about the time he executed a belly flop in much the same way. It had been painful, too. Then his head hit the wheel. Thomas missed the rest of the action.

The bus didn’t make it all the way to the bottom. It landed on the road some 1500 feet below the top. No one lived to give thanks for that small mercy. The resultant explosion took care of that.

"Wild Ride"

Copyright: © 2011 Laura Eno

-------------------------------------

Laura Eno lives in Florida with a very tolerant husband, three skulking cats and an absurdly happy dog. She has a pet from the Underworld named Jezebel and a skull called Mr. Fluffy who help her write novels late at night. Please visit her strange imagination at http://lauraeno.blogspot.com

Ruth Mason walked into the dentist office fifteen minutes early, even though she dreaded the appointment. She was early for everything. Her husband joked that she’d be early for her own funeral, but Ruth liked to think that she was punctual.

The bland beige office with its bland beige sofa did nothing to relax her tension. Neither did the two-month-old magazines she now flipped through without really seeing. Soft elevator music played in the background, but it annoyed rather than helped.

When the assistant finally called her back, 20 minutes late, Ruth jumped at the sound of her name. She wouldn’t be here at all except her tooth had really been bothering her for the last several days. There was no getting around it. She needed it fixed.

The assistant carried in a tray that the dentist would need, setting it on the small table beside her. The sunlight glinted off the metal array, making them look like dangerous weapons. Ruth’s hands began to sweat and she closed her eyes.

“The doctor will be with you shortly,” the assistant said and left the room.

Ruth was glad to be left alone. The girl was excessively cheerful, blending with the elevator music to create a nauseating experience.

Ms. Chirpy came back to take x-rays and left again. After what seemed like an eternity, the doctor arrived.

“It’s a good thing you came in before the tooth became infected.” Dr. Jessop examined the upper molar in Ruth’s mouth, comparing it to the x-ray. It needed a root canal without any further delay. He injected the lidocaine in several spots.

“The upper teeth are very close to the sinus cavity, which is a direct pathway to the brain. We wouldn’t want an infection to work its way in there, now would we?”

Ruth grunted her assent, wondering why dentists always chose to ask questions when their patients couldn’t answer. Maybe they taught that in dental school. Still, overall he was a kind man. She’d been coming to him for years.

Left alone in the chair while the anesthetic took effect, Ruth studied the same plaques on the wall that she’d seen a dozen times before. She never remembered to bring something to read in with her, although it’d be a blur since her nerves were always on edge here. A visit to the dentist wasn’t on her list of favorite outings.

Dr. Jessop came back in with another tray, covered in a white cloth. He set it down on a table behind Ruth’s head. After inserting a bite block into her mouth, he asked if she was ready.

Ruth gargled a response that made no sense and squeezed her eyes shut, just as she always did. That was why she missed the power drill with the 1/2” bit.

“I’ve often wondered just how close the sinus cavity really is to the upper teeth so I brought my own tools in this morning to experiment.”

The doctor hummed along to the song of the drill, adjusting angles to compensate for the lolled head of his patient.

“Thank you for being such a quiet patient, Ms. Mason. It makes the job so much more pleasant.”

"Bits and Pieces"

Copyright: © 2011 Laura Eno

-------------------------------------

 

Laura Eno lives in Florida with a very tolerant husband, three skulking cats and an absurdly happy dog. She has a pet from the Underworld named Jezebel and a skull called Mr. Fluffy who help her write novels late at night. Please visit her strange imagination at http://lauraeno.blogspot.com

The pockets were torn, slashed beyond repair, and several stains stubbornly clung to life on the camel-colored jacket despite repeated washings. Other than that, it was serviceable and warm. Beggars can’t be choosers, Jenny thought, since beg was part of her current vocabulary.

“I’ll take it.”

“That will be $5.25, with tax.” The cashier eyed her dubiously as Jenny pulled an assortment of change and lint from her pants pocket, spreading it out on the counter in front of her.

“That’s all I have.” No apology or remorse in that statement, just fact. If she might have felt embarrassment at one time, that memory no longer registered. It had slipped away with all the rest.
The girl behind the register scooped the change into her hand, all $2.57 of it, and handed it back to Jenny.

“Keep it. They shouldn’t be charging for that jacket anyway. Just because it belonged to some famous person doesn’t mean it’s fit to sell.” The clerk muttered that last sentence to herself. Jenny barely caught it.

“Who did it belong to?” Not that it mattered. Jenny wouldn’t recognize the name.

“Some big movie star,” the clerk said, warming up to the subject. “His helicopter went down right over an active volcano. Swallowed him up, right in the middle of a live broadcast. It was all over the TV. Didn’t you see it?”

She stopped, took in Jenny’s obvious homeless condition. “Well, anyway, his estate donated a lot of his clothes here. The owners won’t miss one ratty jacket – oh, sorry, no offense.”

“Thank you for your kindness.” Jenny meant it. The underpass where she slept had been cold the last few nights. The jacket would keep her warm, even if others thought of it as ratty.

***

“Welcome to the fold.”

Jenny snapped awake, hugging her new jacket more tightly around her. It wouldn’t be difficult for someone to rob her of her only possession. A beautiful man stood before her, an aura of golden light about him drove the shadows to distant corners.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. What is your name?”

His gentle voice shattered Jenny’s suspicions; the kind face framed by light brown hair made her feel safe. She shrugged in answer to his question.

“I don’t remember, but people around here call me Jenny.”

“Come with me, Jenny. I can take you away from this.” He stretched out his hand.

Fear nibbled at the empty corridors of her mind. “What do I have to do in exchange?”

“All I ask is that you remember how you moved up in life – a simple thing really – and talk to me once in a while. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

“Who are you, my guardian angel?”

His rich laugh filled the void in her memory. “If that’s how you perceive me. Take my hand if you agree to my terms.”

***

Jenny woke up to the sound of a knock. She opened her eyes and stared at the comfortable bed, the silk sheets caressing her skin. She sniffed the air. Gone were the odors of car exhaust and sweat, replaced by the delicate scent of jasmine. Her hair drifted across her shoulders in a dark cloud as she sat up, its clean bounce a welcome change from dirty strands.

The door opened slowly, a woman entered with a tray of food. “I hope I didn’t wake you, but you requested breakfast at 7 am.”

Jenny felt disoriented, but hunger drove her to nod at the woman, who set the tray on a table and left her alone once more. Shoving her old jacket aside, Jenny donned the dressing gown lying next to it on the chair and hurried over to the table. Her guardian angel joined her there.

“Is it to your liking? You’re a wealthy woman now.”

“I don’t understand,” Jenny replied around a mouthful of food. She couldn’t help it; it was more food than she’d see in a week of living on the street.

“There’s nothing to understand, just enjoy it and remember how you got here.”

There was something in his golden stare that spoke of greater depths, layers within layers. Jenny shoved it away, too grateful to question. He winked out when the housekeeper came back to collect the empty dishes.

***

Jenny spotted her old jacket in the back of the closet as she dressed for the charity event. The memories flooded back as she ran her hand across the worn and stained garment.

“It’s been awhile since you’ve called me. Why have you forgotten?”

The voice no longer soothed her; instead, it chilled. Icy tendrils of fear slithered in ribbons around her heart. She’d purposely spent the last few months determined to forget about her unsavory past. The world Jenny moved in now wouldn’t understand her rise to the penthouse any more than she did, but she liked the view from up here. Nothing would stand between her and success, not even him.

“I’m sorry. I guess I’ve been busy.” Lame, but she couldn’t say much else.

“I forgive you…this time.”

Jenny shuddered when he faded out again, but finished dressing. She was the guest of honor, and benefactor, for the new homeless shelter benefit that would begin in one hour. It wouldn’t do for her to be late for her own party.

***

The golden angel stood in front of a park bench, studying the sleeping form huddled within a worn and stained camel-colored jacket. The homeless man had wrapped layers of newspapers around his legs to protect against the chill in the air.

The being noted the two-week-old headline on one of the sheets – Heiress dies in fiery crash – and smiled to himself. They always forget. The bench sleeper opened his eyes, staring in drunken befuddlement at the golden glow.

"The Golden Demon"
Copyright: © 2009 Laura Eno
---------------------------------

Laura Eno lets the stories decide how long they’ll be. Some are flash and some are novels. Various online publications include 10Flash, Everyday Weirdness, The New Flesh, MicroHorror, Flashes in the Dark, Static Movement, House of Horror. To learn more about her, please visit http://lauraeno.blogspot.com

The rumbling deep within the earth’s crust awakened Lucien from his dreamless sleep. How long had he been without awareness? He rode the wave of molten lava to the surface, cat-eye pupils shrinking in the unaccustomed brightness of sunlight hitting the deep blue water.

The island was gone, sunk as they cast him into the crevice. They sealed their doom the day they sought to destroy him. Atlantis was no more, yet he lived on, awaiting the inevitable moment of his resurrection.

Call him demon or jinn, neither label fit nor did it matter. Once more, the world lay beneath his feet, ripe with possibilities. Let the feast begin anew, he thought, and rode the wind to a new civilization.

Lucien grew puzzled as he walked amongst the pitiful humans in this place. No one knew him or seemed to care. He strolled through a park next to the sea, a tall bridge crossing an expanse of it. They called the year 1968 by their way of tracking time. It meant nothing to him, without a reference point from the past to guide him.

His stance didn’t strike fear in the hearts of these souls. A few even handed him flowers. These people intrigued him. He would stay awhile; learn more about them.

A thick haze enveloped Lucien as he mingled amongst laughter and music, causing him to sway in time to the gentle beat. Soon more people arrived, all dressed in blue, intent on harm with their sticks. He set them on fire for their efforts; his new friends nodded their approval and stuck a small square of paper in his mouth.

Lucien soared over the city, lighting fires in each building where the blue men congregated. He noticed the red trucks trying to help, so vanquished them as well. “Groovy,” the man next to him exclaimed, but his face turned into a monstrous visage so Lucien eliminated him. Soon his new friends ran, fearful and no different from the Atlantians of so long ago. Lucien watched the flowers curl into smoky wisps as they caught fire from molten flesh, heard chanting turn into screams.

He awoke the next morning in a park, the city around him a smoldering ruin. He couldn’t remember previous events, but clearly, no one lived in this burnt-out shell. Lucien wondered what had drawn him here in the first place, but gave up trying to recall and headed south in search of new souls to harass.

"Demons And Acid Don't Mix"
Copyright: © 2009 Laura Eno

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Laura Eno (http://lauraeno.blogspot.com) has written two YA fantasy novels and a paranormal romance. Her flash fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Twisted Dreams, The Monsters Next Door, Flashes in the Dark, 10Flash, House of Horror, The New Flesh, Everyday Weirdness and MicroHorror.

The smell assaulted Susan first, left her gasping for air despite the breeze flowing through the window. Lazy swirls of red and blue lights played against the dark backdrop of the alley below. Radios squawked, breaking the silence, while smoke still curled in wisps from inside the dumpster. Another burnt body. She slammed the window closed with shaking hands.

A knock sounded at the door a few minutes later, startling Susan out of her reverie. She looked through the peephole into the dimly lit hallway. A man in a suit stood outside, his badge already displayed as if he expected to be asked for it. She left the chain on anyway.

“I’m with the police. Do you mind if I come in and ask you a few questions?”

“About what?”

“There’s been a murder in the alley. I saw you close your window. Perhaps you could help us with our investigation. May I come in?”

Susan glanced at his badge again before studying his clean-cut looks. His expression was impersonal, used to the scrutiny and suspicion. She made up her mind quickly. If there was something she could recall to stop the immolations terrorizing the city, she was willing to try. As she opened the door, he picked up a bag and stepped inside, crossing over to the window.

“You have a good view of the scene from here. Did you see anyone around that dumpster before the fire started?”

“No.” Susan walked over to stand beside him, shuddering as she spotted the coroner vehicle pulling into the roadway four stories below. “I’d just gotten home from work when I opened the window. The smell made me close it right away.”

“I can’t really be sure you’re telling me the truth, now can I?” The man spoke softly, pulling a small roll of duct tape out of his pocket with one hand while shoving a wad of cloth into her mouth with the other.

Susan struggled without success as he lowered her into a chair. He had her bound and gagged with expert finesse within moments. She watched in horror as he pulled a few items out of his bag, seeming in no hurry. His rapt expression spoke of dark pleasures as he slowly doused her with lighter fluid, then struck a match.

"Well Done"

Copyright: © 2009 Laura Eno
----------------------------------

Laura Eno (http://lauraeno.blogspot.com) has written two YA fantasy novels and a paranormal romance. Her flash fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Twisted Dreams, The Monsters Next Door, Flashes in the Dark, 10Flash, House of Horror, The New Flesh, Everyday Weirdness and MicroHorror.

“Go on – we’re waiting.”

Another lit match tossed into his lap. Remy attempted to bat it away without flinching too much. He looked at the other four through unfocused eyes, trying to determine which one had spoken. Not that it mattered. If he wanted to join their group, he’d have to do it – run across the highway stark naked.

“That’s the initiation, man. We all had to do it.” Steve tilted the bottle up, missed his mouth. Jack Daniels soaked his shirt. “Look what you made me do. Get going or get out of here.”

Cruel laughter sliced Remy open as he undressed, his skinny body underscoring the reason why the jocks didn’t want him as a friend. The buzz left, leaving him more determined to show them his worth. Bullies, every last one of them, but also the most popular kids in school. Remy figured that if he passed their test, they wouldn’t harass him so much.

Watching for a break in traffic amidst the howls of his companions, Remy darted out during a clear section. Two lanes crossed and he made the dirt divider in the center. Two more to go and he was home free. A single car loomed, then a break before more headlights. He would run between them.

The driver spotted him as she passed, slamming her brakes hard in reactive fear. Remy broke free of his paralysis and ran as the car spun to a stop in the middle of the lane. He turned to pump his arm in victory to his new friends, just in time to see the gas tanker slide sideways in an attempt to avoid the stalled car.

The jack-knifed behemoth crossed over the lanes into oncoming traffic. Flames shot through the air as the tank exploded, the light illuminating the other boys. Drunken stupor riveted them to the ground, unmoving as bits of fire rained on their position.

Remy watched Steve’s soaked shirt become the catalyst for a human torch. Within moments, all four filled the night with shrieks and the stench of burning flesh. They would never again taunt and torment those less endowed. The jumbled fireball of legs and arms struck a blow for nerds everywhere, Remy decided. A slow smile touched his lips. He wondered why he’d ever wanted their approval in the first place.

"On a Dare"
Copyright: © 2009 Laura Eno
----------------------------------
Laura Eno (http://lauraeno.blogspot.com) has written two YA fantasy novels and a paranormal romance. Her flash fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Twisted Dreams, The Monsters Next Door, Flashes in the Dark, 10Flash, House of Horror, The New Flesh, Everyday Weirdness and MicroHorror.

"Why have you brought me to this place of sorrow and bitter memories?" The man trembled, beads of sweat glistened upon his brow.

"Bitter for you, Papa? I think not, but for them... perhaps." The serene voice gently chided him.

"What do you want from me, after all these years? Why have you come back?"

"I needed to see you one last time, Papa. You're tired from the walk. Come sit down for a while. Lean back and rest against Mama's headstone."

"We will talk, but not here. It's late. Please take me back to the house and I will explain if that's what you wish."

"You knew they were coming that night, didn't you? Those men, bent on exacting their blood money, seeking revenge for your mistakes."

"I don't know what you are talking about." He wondered how she knew.

"I saw them, Papa. I watched them burst through the door, heard them yelling for you to pay up or die.

"You couldn't have seen that. You were gone by the time they arrived."

"Oh, but I did, and so much more. You planned it well. I saw you place the knife in their car. I followed you as you ran next door, lying your way inside."

"Impossible! You weren't there."

She ignored him, continued to speak. "The words flowed from your mouth, begging the police to hurry. You knew the cops would track them down; discover the evidence of 'their' crime. How long had you rehearsed such a scene?"

"Don't bring the memories to life, I beg of you."

"Do you remember how Mama begged? Can you see once again the pool of blood as she lay dying?"

"How do you know this? You weren't there." Desperation crept into his voice as memories flowed, unbidden.

"I saw it all, Papa. I heard her voice, pleading to no avail, telling my brother to run and hide."

"Please stop. I still hear his screams at night. My dreams carry me along a river of blood."

"But you still dream, Papa. A luxury they no longer possess. Why did you treat me differently? Perhaps that is the question I'd like to ask most of all."

Anger overcame fear now, hatred rose above all other considerations. "Is that why you've come here, to seek the answer? All right. You are the essence of your mother's betrayal. I found I couldn't live the lie, studying your face each day, wondering who stared back at me."

"Rest your hand against my brother's tiny headstone, Papa. Why did he feel your revenge?"

"My son... so much blood. For that I weep." He fought against the vision called up before him.

"And for Mama? Is there not even one tear for her?"

"What do you want from me?"

"I would think the answer obvious, Papa. I've brought you here to join us. Do you see Mama, her throat slashed by your hand? And brother, his nightclothes stained with the blood you spilled? Can you see me, Papa? Can you see the gaping hole in my chest, the emptiness within? Lay your head down upon my grave and rest. We've been waiting to embrace you."

"Family Reunion"

Copyright: (c) 2009 Laura Eno

---------------------------------------------

Laura Eno (http://lauraeno.blogspot.com) lives in Florida with her husband. She has written two YA fantasy novels and a paranormal romance, but lately feels compelled to write in the dark fantasy/horror genre. Her flash fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Twisted Dreams, The Monsters Next Door, Flashes In the Dark, 10Flash, The New Flesh, Everyday Weirdness and MicroHorror.

Jessica felt the heft of the blade in her hand, pleased with the balance. She stashed it in the leather sheath strapped to her thigh, in plain view. Her act of defiance marked her as a hunter, not one of the sheep. The promise of a confrontation hung in the air. Good. Bring it on.

Tales of the Overlords filled her bedtime stories as a child, living in the communes, raised by the sheep. She’d lost her parents as a babe during those months of conflict, twenty years ago. The swaths of destruction in the city beyond lay fallow, silent graveyards attesting to the absolute power of the diabolical soldiers. The bleats of mourning for missed conveniences had been her education about the world of yesterday. Let them lament what they’d lost; it had been their world, not hers.

The raiders had left enough infrastructure in place to subsist in a rudimentary fashion, even improving it on some levels, from what she’d been told. No one wanted for food or clothing. And if they were forced to reside in groups, what of it? Jessica didn’t see the allure of living by oneself. The old ones were crazy anyway, wanting what they no longer had.

A few of the Overlords remained, determined to hold that which they’d so brutally taken. Their two species were quite similar; at a glance, the Overlords could blend in well. What set them apart were the uniforms they were so fond of wearing. That attitude of superiority sparked a budding hatred in Jessica as she grew up, convincing her to become a hunter.

The assholes could be killed, just as any mortal man. A swift plunge of steel in a well-chosen spot would silence the organs that kept them breathing. Only death would stop the advance of their tyranny. Let the sheep huddle in the safety of their comfortable cages. She, and other hunters like her, would liberate the planet…or die trying.

Stealth brought Jessica up behind a lone Overlord, taking his ease in the sunshine behind a building…sunshine forbidden to the sheep, because of the anti-congregation laws. She withdrew her blade with the slightest whisper of sound, the snick of leather just loud enough for a casual turn in her direction. The thrust held true, his eyes widened then closed forever.

Jessica pocketed his uniform patch to add to her growing collection of souvenirs. Perhaps she wouldn’t kill the next one as quickly, have a conversation with him instead. She’d been wondering for some time now as to where their home world was located and what ‘United Federation of Earth’ meant.

"Hunter" Copyright: © 2009 Laura Eno
----------------------------------

Laura Eno (http://lauraeno.blogspot.com/) lives in Florida with her husband. She has written two YA fantasy novels and a paranormal romance, but lately has felt compelled to write in the dark fantasy/horror genre. Her flash fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Twisted Dreams, The Monsters Next Door, Flashes in the Dark, 10Flash, and MicroHorror.

The blood still dripped from the windowsill. Soon the shadows would obscure it completely. No one would be the wiser then. The deed would be lost, not to be discovered until morning. By then, he would have his alibi ready, no longer thinking about the satisfaction that came from rending flesh, nor the pleasure derived from hearing the pop and crunch of bones.

Indeed, by morning he might not even remember this night. That was his way, after all. The morning light would hit his face, showing an innocent composure. But tonight… tonight he still recalled everything that had transpired.

It wasn’t his fault, not really anyway. They shouldn’t have led him to it, shouldn’t have given him the opening to such temptation. They knew what acts he was capable of, but chose to ignore his inner nature, believing that he had been rehabilitated by the docile life forced upon him. In the morning they would discover the truth. This might be his last night of freedom.

He saw the moon rise now. The light spilled across the windowsill, hitting the blood stains. The dark blotches stood out on the carpet to his eyes, but they wouldn’t be noticeable to anyone else…not until daybreak anyway.

What should he do with his last night of freedom? Run? Look for more trouble? No, he finally decided. He was too weary for that. He would just sleep and wait for the morning. Whatever accusations came his way wouldn’t really belong to him anyway. They knew his nature. It was their fault. They shouldn’t have left the damn bird sitting on the windowsill in the first place. What did they expect a cat to do?

"The Windowsill"
Copyright: © 2009 Laura Eno

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Laura Eno (http://lauraeno.blogspot.com/) lives in Florida with her husband. She has written two YA fantasy novels and a paranormal romance, but lately has felt compelled to write in the dark fantasy/horror genre. Her flash fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Twisted Dreams, The Monsters Next Door, Flashes in the Dark, 10Flash, and MicroHorror.