Stories on the Go: 101 Very Short Stories by 101 Authors

by Hugh Howey

  Sheryl Fawcett’s Website

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  Action/Adventure

  The Gambino Theater Gambit

  Nathan Williams

  Even amidst bustling Manhattan, it was impossible to miss the clanging, incongruous crash of the aluminum trash can and subsequent rattling of the lid as it came to rest on the pavement.

  “Stop! You two!”

  Luke Dvorak glanced over his shoulder as he sprinted between two washed out, single-story stores, and hurdled over a transient. The police officer clung to his policeman’s cap as he followed Luke and his best friend, Raj Bose, around a corner and into an alley.

  Further into the alley, Raj spotted a door ajar at the rear of an old building. Sprinting through, they spilled into a warehouse stuffed with an odd collection of items: a giant green and brown toad, some oversized orange daffodils, some multicolored cardboard letters, among others.

  “We’re in the old Gambino Theater,” Raj said.

  A shuffling sound came from one of the two hallways leading out of the room. An older gentleman was charging purposefully toward them, stick in hand. Luke’s attention was drawn skyward where some props hung from a series of wooden battens suspended high above.

  “Here, take mine!” Luke tossed to Raj a thin chocolate bar wrapped in brown and green paper over a sleeve of tin foil.

  Luke pointed toward the second exit, the one without the plainclothes guard. “You go out that way.”

  “Where’re you going?”

  “Up!”

  Raj disappeared into the hallway as Luke sprinted for a twelve-foot stepladder that had been propped against one of the walls. Luke, small for his eleven years, hurled his tiny frame at an airplane suspended from a series of steel cables. He latched onto one of the legs of the landing gear and pulled himself onto the top of the plane.

  Below him, the policeman and the guard’s paths had met inside the prop room, and they were speaking animatedly with each other.

  “You take the Indian boy!” the policeman said. “I’ll nab the short one!”

  “The stairwell is down the hall there,” the guard said.

  “Right,” the policeman said, even as he darted in the direction the guard was pointing.

  Luke clambered fifteen feet up the plane’s central cable until he was within reach of an iron I-beam. Reaching with his right hand, he grabbed hold of the beam ledge, and then followed with his left. He slid along the beam with his hands until he was hovering over a catwalk. Carefully positioning himself, he dropped onto it softly. To his left, connected to the catwalk, was a small platform where there was an opening into a narrow hallway.

  The policeman, who’d taken the stairs, suddenly burst into his vision a few paces down the hallway, huffing and puffing. Seeing Luke on the catwalk, the officer started towards him. Luke reversed direction, sprinting back across the catwalk to another platform, yanked down a metal latch, and burst through a small door. He found himself outside, standing on another small platform. The honking of horns and screeching of brakes carried on a slight breeze up to Luke’s perch, now three stories high.

  To his right, a fire ladder snaked its way along the face of the building. Luke peered through a small window in the door. The policeman was barreling down the hallway straight for him. Luke leapt from the platform onto the fire escape and was about to descend, when a second policeman appeared on the street below, looking up at him. Luke’s attention was diverted by the policeman, who’d burst through the door, onto the platform.

  Luke scrambled up the ladder, narrowly avoiding the grasp of the policeman, who’d lunged for him. As he ascended, he discovered that portions of the ladder had come detached. Narrowly avoiding a fall, he stepped onto an air conditioning unit. He tip-toed precariously along a series of gaps in the brick wall, using some inch-diameter tubing for hand support, until he reached another platform. He re-entered the building, and dashed back down another corridor until he happened upon the theater’s fly gallery.

  Below him, the performers’ voices reverberated and echoed up to him. He saw Raj scramble along the back of the stage and slip through a trap door. As the audience below erupted into applause, he gasped. The policeman was running towards him again.

  He quickly tip-toed across a wooden batten, scaled another cable to another platform, climbed a ladder, opened a trap door, and stepped onto the roof. A few seconds later, the two policemen had followed him onto the roof, cornering him.

  The heavyset one wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve. “Gotcha kid,” he said as he grabbed hold of Luke’s arm.

  The officers dragged him down to the prop shop where the guard had hold of Raj by the scruff of his neck. “That’s the one,” said a fourth man, the owner of a chocolate factory.

  The officer grunted. “You wanna press charges, Mr. Kaminsky?”

  “Naw. So long as he apologizes and returns the two candy bars.”

  The officer knelt down, looking Luke in the eye. “What say you?”

  “Sorry,” Luke mumbled.

  The officer said, “The candy?”

  “It’s here,” Raj said as he slid the two small packages from under his T-shirt.

  The guard snatched them from Raj’s hands and gave them to Kaminsky.

  “Now you boys better scram! That happens agin’, I’ll throw you in with the goons and pedos!”

  Luke felt the officer release his grip.

  “Shame,” Luke said, after the officers and guard had left. “Almost had ’em.”

  “Who says we don’t?” Raj said, as he pulled two paperless chocolate bars from his pants.

  “How’d you do that?”

  Raj led him to the oversized toad. “I lost the guard and then hid in here for a while.”

  Luke slid through a tiny door in the toad’s back, where he found two brown tiles and some tape. He peered at Raj through the toad’s mouth.

  Raj shrugged. “Floor tiles from the basement. Almost the perfect size.”

  Luke smiled broadly. “Sweet! C’mon, Raj. We’d better scram.”

  Nathan Williams

  has been writing fiction action/adventure and espionage since 2008 with one novel and three novellas to his name. Aside from writing he enjoys swimming, travel, and music. He has been working in the financial services industry for over four years. He resides in Omaha, NE.

  Nathan William’s Website

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  Humor — Science Fiction

  Witch in Space

  and other Mishaps

  K.D. Hendriks

  Bodies nestled together, still breathless; strong hands caressed her body. He crouched back on his heels, squatted above her; round-shaped, sea-green eyes studied her, traveling upwards until their gazes locked, united. He blinked, opened his mouth and whispered…

  … emitter failure … emergency shutdown in three minutes … emitter failure …

  She frowned as she raised her hand to comb through his soft, long hair and — woke up as her hand bumped hard against something unyielding. "Ow."

  … emitter failure … emergency shutdown in three …

  Irritated at the noisy interruption of what had been a highly enjoyable dream, she opened her eyes and, shaking her throbbing hand, rolled ungracefully off her cot, landing smack on her face.

  "Ugh." She rose, stumbled, heedless, around her cabin in search of clothing, and rammed her big toe against the machine part. Which she had earlier attempted — in vain – to repair until she fell asleep. That damn broken part, which then, obviously, had tumbled off her cot. She hopped around, one-legged, cursing loudly.

  … emitter failure … emergency shutdown …

  "Yes, yes I know, that’s what I tried to avoid, schlepping the cursed part here," she exclaimed, still hopping around until she stopped in front of the closet. She slapped the opening mechanism — braced with the other hand against the frame — as the door swishe
d open. "Ow, ow!" This finger would be blue tomorrow.

  …emitter failure… emergency…

  Sucking on the injured digit, she grabbed a fresh jumpsuit and stuffed the aching foot into it, vacantly wondering why the smooth fabric didn’t slide up her leg. She wrinkled her nose, as she remembered still wearing yesterday’s jumpsuit. Oh.

  "Open hatch!" Intending to storm towards the helm, she turned, and took her second nosedive since being rudely awoken. Her injured foot — still stuffed into one leg of the jumpsuit and immobile, since she’d just stepped on the discarded cloth — complained vehemently. As did the attached ankle, being forcefully twisted. She whimpered as she rolled and sat up, swept back her platinum blond mane, and freed her foot from the fabric.

  …emitter failure…

  "Aw, shut up. I’m coming." Distrustfully eyeballing the open hatch, she scurried through, and then limped along the hallway towards the helm, sucking on her throbbing finger.

  Sighing in relief as the formfitting material of the pilot’s chair nestled against her body, she absently rubbed her shoulder. That damn narrow hatch. She raised her hand to switch off the overhead alarm control, and rammed her index finger powerfully up into her nose. Instantly tearing up, she relented and howled her pain across the ship. Furiously blinking, she attempted to read the red flash of warnings on the screens, hand cupped over her nose, blood running down her fingers.

  It seemed her ship now was kaput for good. It had appeared such a good idea to take off on her own at the time. As the last of her clutch still at home after her twelve siblings had gone off to make a living for themselves, her parents had fretfully observed her final ripening process. Restless, they’d tried to offer her attendance to several businesses. But strangely, those who had tried to utilize her services had sent her back home after a short time. All with irritated relief, some with kind, regretful words. Others with incomprehensible remarks. Although curiously, everyone had paid well.

  So after a few false starts to master a craft or trade, she snatched her savings, once she turned nineteen, and after studying the offers available had made a reasonable bid on one of the older spaceships for sale. It at least had a nice appealing paint job, and a sexy overall complexion. The hull was sound, and the engines – the obliging salesman with the red, flushed, face assured her – were in fine condition. As a bonus, he gifted a tremendous amount of parts, stored now in the freight area. For resale, he’d said. The problem was that the boxes all tumbled around during her slightly … well … exotic takeoff. Since her piloting license was brand new it was understandable. The nice, flustered, instructor mentioned experience for smooth ship-handling came with practice.

  Several boxes were destroyed — nobody informed her she needed to secure freight — the contents now formed a big heap in the corner of the freight area. Since she wasn’t a mechanic, it was futile to try sorting through them. She’d just piled everything neatly — her nails had not taken kindly to that act — and spaced the wreckage.

  As the ship warned the first time about its engine problem, she’d eagerly studied databases and manuals, pulled up the repair instructions "for dummies" and set to work.

  Unfortunately, she’d needed to shut off the main engine to take out the critical part. And broke another set of nails, dismounting the thing. At least the stand-by engine still sped her ship through space towards her destination. During the attempted repair she’d succumbed to sleep, and now the part was still unrepaired. And the annoyingly obvious thing was, the stand-by engine was about to die as well.

  …emergency…

  A glance at the navigation screen revealed her ship’s position smack in the middle of her transit line; half way to Space Station Bagnio, which the nice sales man had recommended as a suitable place to find work. She sniffed in an attempt to stem the nosebleed, which dripped down her chin onto her grease-smeared, pink and blue designer jumpsuit. And uttered a cry of despair at the bloodstains on its fluffy white lace decoration.

  What would her mate, the one she dreamed about since puberty — since her gift emerged — think of her untidy appearance? Every earth witch from Cantripsos, destined to meet her mate eventually, foreknew and dreamed of him. At least he was humanoid, and in for a scolding for showing up late, when they finally met. After the emergence of her mated witch’s full power.

  And really, this inappropriate stand-by engine breakdown was highly bothersome, too. Resigned, she started to read the instructions "for dummies" on emergency cases.

  K.D. Hendriks

  was born and raised in Germany’s capital. After finishing her education, K.D. still lives and works there, and uses every free moment on writing a debut trilogy in the English language, about space ships and aliens.

  K.D. Hendriks’s Website

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  Paranormal

  The Oak Tree

  EelKat’s Twisted Tales

  Wendy C. Allen a.k.a EelKat

  A couple sat under the bare branches of an ancient dead oak tree. The tree stood alone, overlooking a small town. It was a monstrous tree, so huge that three grown men could stand, arms stretched around it, and not be able to hold hands.

  “Wanted to bring ya up here to see the tree before it fell down,” the man said to the girl. "Been trying to come up with a way to save it, but nothing comes to mind as yet. Shame. It’s a great old tree, don’tcha think?”

  “Yeah," replied the woman half-heartedly. She didn’t really like being way out here with a man she barely knew.

  "My grandfather planted it you know.”

  “Really? I didn’t know.” She didn’t care either. She was bored. Sitting on a grassy hill under a dead tree was not her idea of a good time. Too quiet. Too peaceful. Too devoid of people. She longed for the city. She twisted her red wool scarf aimlessly as she pretended to listen to her boring companion. They had met this morning and she only agreed to come out here because she had not been able to make up an excuse otherwise.

  “My grandmother tied a pendant to it, 85 years ago, back when it was just a spindly little thing. The bark of the tree grew around it and buried it inside the tree. It’s a family tradition, hanging a pendant in a tree on your wedding day. They say, as long as the tree stands the marriage will last. Romantic isn’t it?”

  “If you say so.”

  “Think we’ll ever find it?”

  “Find what?”

  “The pendant.”

  “Is that why we’re here? To find the necklace?”

  He ignored her question and went back to talking of the oak tree as though she’d not asked anything at all.

  “Use’ta be a whole bunch of ’em out here. My family planted every one of ’em. This is the last one. Folks say the tree is dangerous now, basically dead and will fall down in a big wind storm, or so I’m told. I wonder if there’s a way to find the pendant and save it from being destroyed with the tree. Do you think it’s possible?”

  “Maybe, what would I know?”

  “I didn’t ask you to know, I asked what you thought.”

  “You’re asking the dunce for advice?”

  “You’re kind of hard on yourself aren’t you? Pretty girl like you, so young and full of life, you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m just a stupid klutz.”

  “Not interested in my tree, are you?”

  “No. Why would I be? It’s just a stupid tree.”

  “What’s got you so down?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, everything. I don’t have a family. My parents are dead. I’m alone in the world, no one to help me. I haven’t had a relationship last more than 3 weeks, in like years. You know ten boyfriends in a past year, kind of adds up and equals, hey girl, you’re a loser no guy wants to stick around more than a few days. Been trying to find a job for 6 years now. Six years! Can you believe it? I put in 400 job applications in the past year, I make a career out of job interviews I’ve been to so many of them.”
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  “You could start a home business. Sell some bread and cookies at the farmer’s market, you can cook can’t you?”

  “Oh, yeah, me cook, yeah, right. Like that’s gonna happen.”

  “Things will get better soon. You’ll see.”

  “No reason why they should.”

  “Hug the oak tree.”

  “What?”

  “Hug the tree.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “No, really, it’ll make you feel better. Hug the tree.”

  “Seriously? Why would I hug a stupid tree?”

  “You won’t let people in. Try letting nature in. Hug the tree and you’ll feel so much better.”

  "I’ll feel better?”

  “Yes, try it and see.”

  “You want me to hug a dead oak tree?”

  “Yes.”

  She stood up and flung her scarf at him.

  “All right! I’ll hug your stupid tree.”

  The girl wrapped her arms around the tree far as they would reach.

  “There! I’m hugging your stupid tree, you happy… arrah!”

  The tree turned its evil branches round about the girl as she screamed, crying, begging, trying to reach out for the young man to help her. He just stood and watched. An evil grin slowly spread across his face. The girl’s voice died away as the tree strangled the sound from her throat. The man watched as the tree tore the girl apart, devouring her entrails. Her skin collapsed to the ground, an empty husk, as the roots of the tree wriggled up through the ground encircling and entrapping her withered remains, sucking them down beneath the soil until there was nothing left, not even a hair.