Mystery Super Short Stories

The forest was still. There was no wind, only the sound of running water from August Creek. Then from behind him a croaking sound, as of a man trying to breathe through lungs that were nearly dust, a horrid sound of a beast trying to speak.

Charles turned toward the sound. Before him on the path toward the bridge, were two glowing eyes. Eyes without feeling. The flames of hell twinkling red in them. He moved and the eyes followed. He stepped forward, past Robber’s Rock and the eyes never blinking, quivered.

He tried to speak, “Ba… Baa… Beggar?” He asked the night.

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There was another of those croaking, wordless replies and every hair stood on end.

“You… You have what is yours.” he pointed toward the tree stump where it seemed the ghoul was sitting, staring at him with its hellish glare, “It… It’s there, at your feet.”

He stepped toward the specter and the eyes went out! Disappeared!

Still there was that horrible croaking sound, sounding less and less like a voice trying to speak and more and more like a hungry predator about to pounce.

“Spirit.” he asked, “will you let me pass?”

The growl continued.

McGee gathered up his courage and started back toward the bridge. Passing the tree stump where he had last seen the specter and walking slowly away. He was nearly to the bridge when the growl suddenly became a roar, he turned and saw the fiery eyes coming toward him.

Don’t ever go down Potter’s Road after dark. During the day you can traipse about in the hollow as much as you like. Ride your bicycle. Take your lady friend for a walk. Fish in the stream. Do anything you please. But when the sun sinks behind the hills, stay away.

Not all of Potter’s Road is haunted at night mind ya. You can walk safely from Vincent’s Bridge, all the way down into town. It’s getting past Robber’s Rock, to Vincent’s Bridge that gets you jiggered. Before Robber’s Rock, you’re as free as a bird, past it, and you’re doomed.

It all began forty years ago. Back then Potter’s Road was safe to walk at any time of day. The whole length of it. Other than a tree root or an ill placed rock, there was nothing there that could harm you.

One bright summer’s day a man walked into town. He had no horse and no bicycle, his only mode of transport was his own two feet. Now people say that this man had been lucky from birth. To all appearances he was one of the most vile looking beggars that ever walked into the town. He wore long robes that were old and full of bits of cloth that had been patched on, to keep the garment from falling apart. His face was dirty and his hair was prematurely grey, and wild. Even his shoes were full of holes; he himself seemed to have very little luck.

But the man himself was very lucky.

Lucky for others that is.

If you helped this man out, your fortunes would change for the better.

“Hey, what’d you bring?” Brandon asked.

“I swiped a beer from my dad and a couple of candy bars.”

Brandon didn’t know about drinking the beer. It wasn’t as if he was some kind of prude, but he’d heard all about what it did to Billy’s dad and if that’s how someone acted when they were drunk he wanted no part of it. He’d seen the bruises on Billy in the past and figured his dad must have done it during one of his benders. He’d asked Billy about it, but his face darkened and his had simply said that he didn’t want to talk about it. Why would Billy even bring something like that in the first place?

As they walked through the woods they came across an abandoned well. The weeds had grown over it, almost covering it up entirely, yet they could still see a bit of moss-covered stone.

Billy stepped closer to it and leaned down.

“Whoa, we could have fallen in that thing, Billy. What are you doing, be careful!”

“I want to look inside.”

As Billy pried on the wood covering the well, they both heard something inside. It sounded almost like a rustling noise with a slight roar to it.

“Dude, what if it’s a huge bug? There can’t be anything in there that isn’t a snake or a bug or something.”

Finally, one of the boards came off, knocking Billy onto his butt. Brandon laughed at him and then walked a little closer to see what was in there.

The creature they saw looked somewhat like a lavender colored lizard, yet it had wings that were golden. It was making mewling noises and looked like a baby of some sort.

I might as well get this out of the way from the start. I’m not crazy, no matter what you think after reading this. The truth is, I’m a world-famous author. Many of my books have been adapted to screenplays and have become major motion pictures, royalties from which have made me wealthy.

In my early days, finding someone to publish my work was impossible. As a result, I collected a stack of rejection letters probably taller than the five-story tenement building where I rented a one-bedroom flea-bag apartment paid for by an assortment of part-time jobs.

It’s often been suggested I have an attitude problem, a sense of superiority. But how difficult is it to be superior to what we think of as the general public? In my opinion, most of the people out there are barely human.

The concept of what constitutes humanity is paramount to what I’ve learned and what truths I’ll reveal to you soon.

By the time the snow melted, five people were dead.

The village of Viremoor had always been quiet, too quiet, Detective Eloise Marrin used to say, before Winter Garden came alive with ghosts. It was supposed to be an old, forgotten estate. A crumbling relic hidden behind frost-covered hedgerows and rusted iron gates. But over the course of two months, it became something else:

A stage for murder.

Five victims. Five perfect crime scenes. And all of them, in one way or another, pointed to Thomas Vale, the godson of Victor Harroway, the late owner of the manor and a man with enough wealth to buy a town’s silence.

I was out behind the shed watering the tomatoes and the eggplant when I heard Charlie calling for me.

“Dad! Dad! Come quick!”

Well, I didn’t go there quick. I didn’t even move. I was tired. Dog tired, actually, after working at the plant all day spray painting the doors to Dodge trucks and then off to work at the feed and seed store at 4pm and just got home a half hour ago at 7:45…I was done running for people.

Charlie came running to the garden screaming: “Dad! There’s a hole in the ground! Like in the movies! The ground is moving! The ground is moving!”

I swiveled around slowly to face him, the water hose blasting the plants, the lawn chair, and finally Charlie. He laughed as he tried to defend himself from the spraying water, yelling for me to cut it out. I dropped the hose and asked him what was so important he had to interrupt the only enjoyment I get the entire day.

His response: “The earth might swallow all of us up!”

I blinked.

“Including your mother?”

“Dad! Yeah!”

“Even Gosomer?” He was our Blue tick hound who had little patience for squirrels, passing cars and generally anyone walking up the drive, including me.

“I said everybody, damn it!” Charlie immediately looked down at the ground and apologized.

“Alright,” I said, removing my hands from my waist. “I’ll look at your moving earth, Charlie Cole, if it will humor you.”

“Dad,” Charlie said with a scoff added at the end. “I wish you’d stop saying if it will humor me, usually when I’m serious nothing will make me laugh.”

Huh. I had to smile at that. Barely twelve and the boy already has his mother’s biting wit.

“Okay, okay. Where’s the hole.”

She dropped at my voice, and I had time to curse myself while I made a light and tried to raise her from the floor. She shrank away with a murmur of pain. She was very quiet, and asked for Boris. I carried her to the divan, and went to look for him, but he was not in the house, and the servants were gone to bed. Perplexed and anxious, I hurried back to Geneviève. She lay where I had left her, looking very white.

“I can’t find Boris nor any of the servants,” I said.

“I know,” she answered faintly, “Boris has gone to Ept with Mr. Scott. I did not remember when I sent you for him just now.”

“But he can’t get back in that case before to-morrow afternoon, and—are you hurt? Did I frighten you into falling? What an awful fool I am, but I was only half awake.”

“Boris thought you had gone home before dinner. Do please excuse us for letting you stay here all this time.”

“I have had a long nap,” I laughed, “so sound that I did not know whether I was still asleep or not when I found myself staring at a figure that was moving toward me, and called out your name. Have you been trying the old spinet? You must have played very softly.”

I would tell a thousand more lies worse than that one to see the look of relief that came into her face. She smiled adorably and said in her natural voice: “Alec, I tripped on that wolf’s head, and I think my ankle is sprained. Please call Marie and then go home.”

I did as she bade me and left her there when the maid came in.