Mad Flashes Read online

  She turned and smiled. “You’re welcome.” She waved goodbye to Mallory, then disappeared out the door.

  With a deep sigh, I rolled my seat back into my blue-walled territory. I was the new young alpha female office wolf, but I sure felt like an idiot.

  PRIORITIES

  Quild skipped past the moaning beggars who reached for his fancy red coat with gnarled fingers. His feet crunched the garbage littering the path, and he added to it as he flung the wrapper off a new strawberry sucker.

  A tattered old man stumbled out in front of him, his lined face the color of ashes. “Please. Can you spare a dime, young sir?”

  “Can’t,” Quild said around the sucker in his mouth, keeping his gaze locked on the swirls of color that loomed over the graying landscape. “I’m off to see my Momma in the Candy Castle.” A grin stretched Quild’s lips, and he pulled the sucker from his mouth just so he could smack them at the thought of all that sugar.

  Ahead, a little girl wrapped in dirty rags sobbed over a puppy in her arms. “Help my puppy, please. Her mommy’s dead, and I don’t have any milk.”

  Quild shook his head. “Can’t. I’m off to see my Momma in the Candy Castle.” The little girl sobbed harder, but Quild skipped on. He thought he’d walk on the blue cotton candy clouds first. No wait, climb the chocolate chip cookie walls. After he saw his Momma first, of course.

  A woman screamed up the path. Two men grasped each of her arms and pulled her into the woods beyond the path. “Help me!”

  “Can’t. I’m off to see my Momma in the Candy Castle.” Quild’s stomach rumbled, so he plugged the sucker back into his mouth.

  A flash of black twirled in front of him and blocked his way. An old woman appeared in a dark cape with a bloodied knife and a wicked grin. “Your momma’s dead, boy.” She wiped the blade clean with a gloved hand. “Killed her myself.”

  Some of the beggars gasped and cheered.

  “My… Momma?”Quild’s gut churned as he looked at the rainbow-colored castle turrets made out of ice cream cones. He thought he might be sick.

  The old woman smiled again to show a mouthful of rotten teeth. She twisted her cape around her and was gone.

  “She’s finally dead!” A man lifted himself from the side of the path and raised his arms. “Let’s all celebrate!”

  Quild swallowed. “Can’t. I’m off to see my…” He watched the bent backs of the poor straighten. Their happy eyes looked like warm pools of chocolate. Like cotton candy clouds encrusted with jewels. The graham cracker door would be just over the next hill. His mouth watered. “…in the Candy Castle.” He rolled the sucker to the other side of his mouth and skipped the rest of the way there.

  WILLOW ROAD

  The sky spits snow through the crack in my window. It pricks my fingers which are curled tight over the steering wheel, but I barely notice. I squint past my little brother and look for the numbers 16128 somewhere on the next house.

  “Two, six, eight?” I read. Snow has collected in the curves of the numbers, and I can’t tell if that’s an eight or the rounded edge of a mailbox.

  My brother displays the numbers I just said on his fingers. “Ninety-six.”

  I take a puff on my Virginia Slim and hold the cherry up to the slip of paper with my bitch of a stepmom’s directions scrawled across it. “Jesus, are we even on the right road?”

  My brother sighs and clasps his hands over the tip of his tie.

  “Help me look, Nathan. What’s the street sign say?”

  He stares straight ahead through the windshield and tilts his head like he’s listening to something. Snowflakes burst when they fall on the glass. The wipers smear through them.

  I bite the inside of my cheek and step on the gas until we get to an intersection. The snow catches the glow of my headlights and makes it look like we’re traveling at warp speed. I touch the brake. We slide through the stop sign, but no one’s coming.

  Steam from our breath clings to the windows, but I use my coat sleeve to brush it away. “Stop breathing so much.” The green road sign sways in a rush of wind. “Willow Road. This is the right one, so help me look.”

  I drive on, figuring the next block is the three hundreds. “Three, four, eight,” I read over the top of Nathan’s head.

  He works his fingers to the numbers again and tilts his head to the other side. “Ninety… six.” A crease puckers his forehead.

  I smack him on the arm and point out the window. “Would you stop multiplying and help me look?”

  He blinks. His crease deepens.

  We creep forward, the tires crunching on the snow. I wonder for the millionth time what’s going on in that bizarre brain of his. And why none of these houses have lights on inside. “Three, eight, four,” I say.

  “Ninety—”

  “Six.” I stare at the odometer. 9696. That’s not right. Can’t be. A chill pebbles my skin under my dress even though the heater is cranked. I flick my cigarette out and push the button to put up my window. “Nathan? What’s with ninety-six?”

  His face is pale. He swallows, then shakes his head.

  I stop the car at the base of a steep hill to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

  He curls his fingers around the edges of his seat, gripping it tight.

  I shake my head and step on the gas. The tires spin and moan over the snow. “Shit.”

  Nathan lets out a trembling breath.

  Dark shadows, darker than the night, glide behind the swirling snow. Coming down the hill.Lots of shadows. The sudden cold in the car scratches my throat with each quick breath.

  I shift into reverse and smash the gas, but we aren’t moving. The headlight beams jab through the dark and up the hill. A row of pale faces materializes out of the shadows and drifts closer.

  What the hell? I push the button to lock the doors, ram the car into drive, and sink my foot on the gas. More spinning, groaning tires.

  The wipers rub through the snow, but not the faces. Another row appears behind the first. And another. They all glide closer. Their bodies aren’t right. The headlights shine right through them.

  I glance at the door handle, then at Nathan. Tears slide down his cheeks. He displays ninety-six on his fingers, again and again.

  The rows of faces slip past my side of the car. Their eyes are black, their expressions empty. Nine rows of ten people pass by, snow blowing right through them. Ninety.

  Plus four. Right in front of the car’s hood.

  Nathan whimpers. “Ninety-four.”

  I try not to look at the four things staring at us through the windshield and creep a trembling hand into my coat pocket for my phone. There’s no Christmas party at 16128 Willow Road. And my stepmom knows it.

  No one moves. Except my fingers over 9-1-1. But I think I tap the one too many times.

  Then the car doors burst open.

  Nathan gasps.

  Ice clenches my heart until I can’t breathe.

  Ninety-six.

  RECOIL

  That new wrinkle-reducing cream was a complete waste of fifty bucks. It looked and smelled like mayonnaise anyway. Guys would take one whiff of me and run the other direction. Kind of like they did now, only not because of my smell.

  My face looked red since I’d scrubbed the cream off, probably much harder than I needed to. Acne scars still pitted my cheeks from the hellish days of high school twenty years ago. Frown lines pinched my mouth downwards, and the skin under my eyes sagged with ugly blue pockets.

  No wonder nobody was knocking at my door. I was hideous. A monster.

  That guy I always saw at the grocery store actually recoiled from me when he saw me up-close earlier today. Recoiled, as in “Eww, what’s wrong with your face?” I’d always thought he was checking me out from down the aisles, across the store, a million miles from actual viewable distance. Fantasies floated through my head about him wrapping his arms around me before that recoil.

  Stupid, stupid me.

  I grabbed my make-up bag from u
nder the sink and slammed it down on the counter. Cases and tubes and pots skittered and rolled. I uncapped the Kiss Me red lipstick and jammed it into my reflection. Take that, Ugly. Thick, red scribbles covered my face. I colored harder until the metal tube scraped against the mirror in a burst of squeaks.

  No wonder no one wanted to be with me. No wonder no one wanted to hold me. I didn’t have a face anymore.

  I snatched the wrinkle cream and unscrewed the lid. With a handful of the goopy mayonnaise stuff, I smeared it all over my lip-sticked reflection. You’ll be lonely forever, Ugly. The red and white colors swirled together over the mirror, creating a sickly pink color.

  Sick. Ugly.Monstrous. that was me.

  I sagged against the counter and pressed my face to the mess. My heavy breaths steamed the glass, blurring my stupid reflection even more. Erasing it. I curled a finger over the lip of the wrinkle cream jar, and stepping back, smashed it against the mirror.

  Glass shattered. No more me. The web of cracks would hide me forever. My reflection had escaped the mirror. I was free. Free.

  There should have been red dripping down my hand, over the smudges of lipstick and globs of cream. There should have been something. But just like my reflection, my entire body had vanished.

  Gone.Nothing. I was invisible.

  The mirror had masked my face with lies, and by cracking it, I’d uncovered the truth. I’d set myself free.I was beautiful. Perfect, really, and so clear I could see the scuffs on the linoleum floor where my feet should be.

  A shard of glass seemingly floated in the air in the palm of my transparent hand. Recoil. Time to show that grocery store guy the true meaning of the word.

  IN THE LONG HALLWAY

  Someone beats on the door so loud, cat poop goes flying out of the scooper. I put my hand where my heart should be, but it’s jumped into my throat.

  “Darned dang,” I mumble, and shovel the stray poop into the old grocery bag. Ellis twists her body around my legs the whole way to the garbage can in the kitchen. My heart’s still pounding. “You’re slowing me down, cat. I gotta throw your poop out before I get the door.”

  Whoever it is pounds some more. It’s probably Belinda, come to collect her knitting needles after the nightly news.

  “Just a second,” I holler while I tip the garbage lid and drop the gifts in.

  As I step out of the kitchen, Ellis swipes at my ankles with a black-striped paw, suddenly in the mood to play. “Not now, cat.” When I round the corner into the dark hallway, she darts in front of me and springs up onto her hind legs. I stop and perch both fists on my hips, giving her a real stern look not to mess with her Momma.

  Boom. Boom. Boom. The knocks start to shake the walls. The cat door flaps a little with all the booming. Maybe it’s someone lost on the country roads again.

  “I said just a second. Don’t you have any manners?” I give Ellis one more evil eye, and she slinks off behind me with her ears flat. My bare feet stick to the wood floor in the hallway, making a slap suck, slap suck kind of sound.

  I flip the hallway light switch, but nothing happens. With a sigh, I pull the door open. “Whaddaya need at this hour of the night?”

  There’s no one there.

  I lean out as far as my rickety hips will let me and look both ways like I’m crossing a street or something, but there’s just the night and the spray of stars between the swaying oak branches. A strange feeling rumbles my gut. I stand up straight again and close the door quick. Then I deadbolt it.

  A pile of shoes sits in the corner. I find a matching pair and step into them since my feet are chilly from all that cool air I let inside. Now my feet are silent as I step away.

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  I jump and yelp at the same time. A shiver skids up my back, and I turn around again to face the door. Three knocks. Didn’t Grandpap say one time that three knocks meant it was Death’s collector at your door? I shake my head. Nah, it’s got to be just kids getting their kicks.

  “You darned dang kids. I’ll give you some extra holes with my shotgun if you don’t leave. Ya’ hear?” I holler, but my voice comes out shaky.

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  The door doesn’t have a peek hole, and the window on it is too high. I move down the hallway and through the living room doorway. The heavy paisley curtains on the window rustle when I push them aside a little. The darkness holds up the sky, and there’s no one out there.

  I move to the living room doorway as I worry the buttons on my housecoat. Something creaks the floorboards at the shadowy far end of the hallway, opposite the front door. I don’t see anything, not even the broken grandfather clock at the very end. Must be just house noises.

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  My stomach spins. Using the wall for support, I lower myself to my knees and crawl across the floor like a baby toward the door. I lift the cat flap a tiny bit and peer through. Nothing.

  Another creak, this time a little closer up the hallway, coming toward me.

  I close the cat flap and use the wall to stand, and then back away from the door but not too far down the hallway. Is something at the other end by the broken grandfather clock? All I see are shadows.

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  I slap both hands over my mouth to keep from crying out. My feet move quiet while I step backwards against the wall, looking down the hallway toward the clock, then at the door, whipping my head around back and forth.

  One more creak, even closer, moving toward the door. And me.

  Somewhere close by, Ellis makes a low hiss.

  All I can think of is my old hunting shotgun. It’s in the top of the closet in the bedroom so Ellis doesn’t get to it. In the bedroom further down the hallway. Past whatever’s making that creaking sound.

  My eyes aren’t so good any more, but I don’t see anything coming at me down the hall. Nothing at all. I make my hands into fists and take a step.

  Nothing at all.

  Another step. Then ice floods into me. I can’t even breathe, it’s so cold. There’s a squeezing around my heart, like someone’s fingers are wrapped around it.

  Ellis gives a deep growl, but I don’t see her. I never heard her that angry before.

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  The cold pulls through me, and then it’s gone. Warmth rushes back, and I take a long gasping breath. But there’s no time to enjoy it. Had that been a ghost I’d stepped through? Was Death’s collector here for it? But what if it wasn’t the collector at all?

  I hurry down the hall into my bedroom and swing open the closet. My hands shake so bad, I can hardly put the shell in. But I do. Then I step out and aim the gun at the front door.

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  I cry out. The gun’s barrel is all over the place with my shaking.

  Another creak in the hall.This time in front of me, almost to the door.

  “I got my shotgun,” I yell. “I’m not afraid to use it.”

  Three more booms send tremors down the hallway.

  A creak, then the cat door opens out on its own. It flip-flaps closed again.

  My heart’s banging against my bones.

  There’s a crackling, and a green glow lights up the window at the top of the door.

  Then the doorknob rattles.

  “No. You got what you came for,” I whisper. I level the gun at the door the best I can. And shoot. Bang. I’m knocked backwards into the broken grandfather clock. Glass shatters at my feet. My shot went wild. There’s a hole as big as my head in the ceiling in the center of the hallway.

  The whole door quakes. The shaking’s so strong, I can feel the vibrations in the wall behind me.

  I tighten my lips so I don’t scream. Ellis is crouched next to me, ears flat, hissing like crazy.

  “You can’t have me or Ellis,” I say through clenched dentures. I glare at that shaky door and charge at it.

  Just as I get there, the cat flap begins to open inwards by itself. I use the barrel of the gun like a cane to help me to my knees. Th
e whole house is banging and shuddering so much I can’t hear my pounding heart. I jab the gun through the cat door before it opens much further.

  Something snatches the barrel and yanks.

  I grunt as my head hits the door. But my finger’s still wrapped around that trigger, and I pull it. Bang.And again.Bang.

  The whatever it is lets out a wail I won’t ever forget, but lets go of the gun. The house stops shaking. The wails keep going, but get further and further away.

  I pull the barrel back inside. My heart bangs against my back and into the wall when I lean against it. The cat door swishes with a flip-flap, flip-flap.

  Ellis sneaks up to me, climbs on my lap, and rubs her face all over the barrel of the gun.

  “You didn’t say we had ourselves a ghost, Ellis. Death’s collector took it but couldn’t take us, could he?” I stare up at the hole in the ceiling, then at the cat door, catching my breath. “Whaddaya say about becoming an indoors only cat?”

  MAKE A WISH

  My daughter lit the candles, all sixty-seven of them. She, my two sons, and my four grandchildren were all crowded around the kitchen table, watching. Flames danced shadows across their faces and lit up their brief smiles that didn’t touch their eyes.

  “Where’s your fire extinguisher, Mom?” Rodney asked with a wink.

  I snorted.

  Beth shot him a look and waved out the final match. “Okay, Mom. Make a wish.”

  My gaze shifted to the empty chair on my right. He’d always been on my right. My right-hand man.

  Beth choked back a sob. Her daughter tucked a small hand inside her mother’s and squeezed.

  I’d held his hand up to the very end. His sunned skin had looked bleached because of all the chemicals the doctors were pumping into him. The strength in his grip had weakened, so I clutched his hand to offer him the last of mine. But it wasn’t enough.

  The candlelight shone on Eli’s tears and tracked them down his cheeks. He stood tall and rigid, just like his father.