The Grim Keepers

by CW Publishing House

  “It would have been fine if you hadn't dragged along that stupid carriage lamp, Gary.”

  “I didn't know it was in the trunk with the tent. I thought we might be able to use it. I was just cleaning the glass to see if there was still any oil in it when that…that thing just appeared out of nowhere. Remember how pissed off it was when you called it a genie?” Gary chuckled a little in spite of the horror of it all.

  “That's right,” Felix laughed. “It puffed up its chest and floated in a cloud of black smoke above us.”

  “You call me a genie. You think I am a genie with its paltry three wishes? I can do your bidding as many times as you like, it told us,” Gary remembered.

  “You didn't have to take it up on its offer, Felix. Why did you, anyway? You could tell it was pure evil just by looking at it. I was terrified down to my bones.”

  "You know why. I wanted it to bring us the biggest fish in the river to win the derby. We could have shared the brand new fishing boat prize between us. I had no way of knowing that the thing was homicidal."

  "You're right, you couldn't have known that, or that the biggest fish had already been caught by a guy further down the lake.”

  Gary shivered at the sudden image that entered unbidden into his head—the wide, staring eyes of the gray, waterlogged body that drifted up to shore right below their campsite. He could only have been in the water for a few hours since the derby entry number was still pinned to his shirt, but it looked like he was already decomposing.

  The trunk burned steadily as Gary and Felix went over the nightmare that they had lived through thirteen years ago. Gary sat on a rock and Felix made himself comfortable on a clump of grass nearby.

  "We should have at least let someone know where the poor guy was. It took two days for the searchers to find him. Everybody assumed that the huge Muskie pulled him overboard and he drowned. He was still clutching his fishing pole with the fish on the end of it when they found him," Gary remarked thoughtfully as he watched the fire.

  "If you hadn't panicked and trapped the thing inside the tent, we could have used it to do stuff for us all these years. I wish I still had him to do my bidding."

  "Maybe, but at what expense? You know that whatever we wished for, someone else would pay with their lives."

  "We don't know that for sure, Gary. If we were specific enough, we could get around that. I just wish you hadn't pulled the tent down on it and smashed it repeatedly with a rock."

  As they talked, they had turned away from the fire, so they didn't notice that the smoke had taken on a sinister shape all it’s own.

  "It is as you bid, master."

  Both men screamed in horror as the evil thing floated over to Felix.

  "You're dead, you're gone. Go away,” Felix yelled.

  "I am Bollywog. I cannot die. I merely slept because you made no further biddings of me."

  "Well, then, I wish you gone somewhere else—the bottom of the ocean, forever."

  "If you so desire, but you did say earlier that you wish you still had me to do your bidding. That wish predates this wish. First come, first served."

  "Hold that thought. I'll get back to you."

  Felix turned around and looked for his friend. He wasn't there.

  "Where is Gary?"

  "He was very astute in assuming that every wish you make is paid for…by someone else."

  The Bollywog nodded toward the trunk, its burning lid still wide-open. Gary lay crumpled up in the trunk. His head hung over the side where a gaping wound in his throat dripped his life's blood onto the smoldering coals of his funeral pyre. Felix fainted in terror. The fire crept along the ground and set Felix's clothing alight. He woke up from his faint just in time to feel the agony of the consuming fire.

  ***

  Three days later, Sharla sat up in bed, crying her heart out. The truck had been found at the dump but with no sign of Gary and Felix. The whole town had been out searching for them ever since. She just couldn't believe that her dad had abandoned her without a word of goodbye. She got up to go to the bathroom and she tripped over something in the dark. She turned the light on and discovered the old, iron carriage lamp that had been up in the loft. For some unknown reason, she sat down and picked it up. She hugged it to her chest.

  “I want my Daddy back!” she wailed.

  A thick black cloud of smoke formed above her head.

  About Sharon Flood

  Sharon was born and raised in the St. Lawrence River Valley in the 1,000 Islands region. She graduated from grade 13 in Thousand Islands Secondary School in Brockville and began writing in high school. Her talent lay dormant until many years later she discovered protagonize.com in 2008. Making contacts and collaborating here led to publishing a time travel anthology.

  Sharon likes to think of herself as the “Mob Boss” for masquerade crew, where she writes book reviews.

  After working forty years in retail, Sharon is now retired and has more free time to do what she loves most—reading and writing.

  http://www.protagonize.com/author/moonwalker

  http://www.amazon.com/Forevermore-Travel-Anthology-Sharon-Flood-ebook/dp/B00XSBH4UW

  http://www.masqueradecrew.com/p/the-masquerade-mob.html

  Cherry Oak Road

  By Laura Callender

  Two butterflies danced provocatively across the cloud-cast sky. A streetlamp illuminated their impressive designs, a momentary distraction from my daily walk home. Autumn was not my favorite month. I loved the colors as the leaves started to turn from a vibrant green to a burnt, delicate brown, but had come to hate the promise of a brutal winter knocking at my door.

  This neighborhood gave me the creeps. I walked along the same tree-lined path for almost a year now, but still felt a shiver crawl up my spine every single time. All the houses sat back off the street behind cascading lawns. Each remained proud on its own plot, looking down at me with vacant gloom. My realtor had told me something bad had happened on this street, and although the houses were solid, they now did not appeal to anyone who did their research.

  One house in particular grabbed my attention, it sat a bit closer to the road than the rest. I was sure I just saw someone inside, a man stood at the window. I had to crease my eyes and tilt my head slightly to be sure, but decided it was nothing.

  Locals had petitioned many times over the years to allow developers in to make use of the land, but the law prevented it. These houses were owned by not one but six families, one for each respective house. As yet, no one could be traced to change those laws.

  I lived just one block from this street, and financially benefitted from having to endure this daily walk to the station. There was another route, but it added ten minutes to my four minute journey. After a long day, those extra ten minutes could be a killer.

  I didn’t care for old ghost stories and really didn’t listen to idle gossip, so I figured learning more about Cherry Oak road could wait until a rainy day.

  That night, a storm set in, bringing with it howling winds that swirled around and under my window hatches, causing an irritating vibration against the wall. I pulled my duvet up over my exposed shoulder, and shuddered at the cool evening air. My muscles clenched, fighting my stubbornness, demanding I get up and turn on the heat. Through gritted teeth, I grabbed my robe and draped it over my tired frame, inching my way downstairs. As I stepped into the kitchen I allowed my eyes to fully adjust to the darkness, waking me enough so I knew I would have trouble falling back to sleep.

  I looked towards the swirling, battering sounds the storm played on my window, and gasped at what I saw. An old man stood at my window, raindrops hugging his now completely saturated face. His eyes opened unnaturally wide and I watched ants crawl out of his eye sockets in a terrifying march. My hands grasped the counter and I felt my own eyes mimicking his. My breath quickened as I tried to make sense of what I saw. I grabbed at a dish cloth and yanked it to my mouth like a toddler seeking comfort in a rotten piece of material, and unknowingly pul
led a disregarded kitchen knife off the counter, sending it to its final resting place.

  The knife stood vertical whilst pinning my foot to the floor. I gurgled a scream through fear and shock, and arched my body to cope with the pain. I reached down, frantically fondling the skin around the knife, wondering if I should just yank it out or stay pinned to the floor.

  I heard the sound of my key turning in the lock. The metal key clanked as it hit the kitchen floor. My breath stilled; I was stiff with fear, watching as the doorknob slowly turned. The door pushed the old rusty key along the tiled floor, which jumped along the patterned tiles and sounded an intimidating warning.

  The terror of what was coming into my home consumed me. I was pinned to the spot and gasping for breath. Each footstep brought with it a squelch, most likely mud from the sodden yard, yet as I watched blood seeping from my foot my mind reminded me that the squelch could be anything. I closed my eyes, too afraid to face the unwelcome visitor, and curled into my wounded foot in some kind of defensive stance.

  The man reached down and lifted my chin to meet his face. I didn’t resist his spindly finger and hoped my compliance would encourage him to leave me alone. My eyes watched the march of the ants. If it wasn’t so horrifying it would have been beautiful. The ants didn’t scurry as though they were afraid; they had purpose and rhythm, suggesting this man had been their home for many years.

  He studied my eyes, fixated on the terror he saw resting below the hopeful exterior. “You wish to live?” he said curiously, as though surprised anyone could want that.

  My chin chattered in his ice-cold fingers, while tears percolated as I acknowledged my impending fate.

  “Why me?” I managed to say. “Why me?”

  “You witnessed the dance of the butterflies on the thirty-first night of the thirty-first moon. Your fate has been decided, my dear.”

  My foot throbbed and I absorbed the pain, wanting to remember every feeling before it was taken from me. The man seemed so real, so there. If he was dead, why did he feel so present?

  I knew I had more fight in me. Why was I suddenly succumbing to a fate such as death? I grabbed the knife, yanking it from the floor, and in one swift move plunged it into the man’s skull. His anger spiked and he began to grow. With outstretched arms his form blurred and changed as the knife lost all traction and fell through him to the floor. I scurried away, fighting with bated breath to move, to get to somewhere safe. The entity swirled around me in fragmented patterns, similar to the march of the ants. I hobbled my way through the house and reached the front door. I burst through it with such haste that I tripped on the welcome mat, launching myself straight into the pillar on the front porch. The impact was sudden and hard, and I immediately blacked out.

  When I woke, I dragged my fingers through my hair, expecting to find blood. Instead, I was only met with a soft pillow, which cradled my face comfortingly.

  I sat up in bed with a frightened start, ripping the duvet off so I could inspect my foot. It was fine. Last night had been nothing but a dream.

  For the next week I avoided Cherry Oak Road, and decided the extra ten minutes each way was a good investment in my life. It took time for me to accept my vision hadn’t been real, and I found myself jumping at the slightest surprise. My on-off boyfriend Malcolm agreed to come over for a few nights. He was a great distraction and found something endearing about my softened character. We grew closer that week and I was excited that our relationship finally seemed to move forward.

  “You’ve changed, Jenny. You made it so hard for me to get close to you before, and I’d started to lose hope. You were always just so damn stubborn.”

  I chuckled at Malcolm’s analysis. “I hadn’t realized. I was just…well…you know. I was used to being on my own. For what it’s worth, I’m glad I figured out why you backed off all the time. You could have just told me.”

  Malcolm laughed. “The old Jenny didn’t want to hear it. Look, I’ve had a really great week with you. I think we have something here. I want to spend more time with you, see where things go. Is that okay?”

  My grin spread wide across my blushing cheeks. Who knew a nightmare about death could make me feel so alive and in love?

  I forced myself out of bed; lying next to Malcolm’s warm body was heaven, but I wanted to make him a nice breakfast. I put some music on in the kitchen and searched for the flour and eggs. Pancakes with fresh strawberries and sweet cinnamon yogurt with a side of eggs. This was going to be good. I switched on the mini radio and played the 80’s classics channel. The music always got me in the mood for cooking, and rather than a quick rinse and chop, the strawberries got serenaded in a loving bath, and I cleaned each berry to the beat.

  I reached across the counter and grabbed a kitchen knife from its holder, waving it through the air as I shimmied across the floor. My strawberry was perfectly positioned and as I went in for the kill, I froze.

  The very tip of the blade was slightly bent, and a red mark stained the point. My mind raced, searching my memories to confirm my instant conclusion. This was the knife from my dream. I threw the blade down onto the chopping board and walked away. As I splashed cool water onto my face from the downstairs closet, I convinced myself I was being stupid and seeing things. With newfound confidence and a harsh reality check on myself, I went back into the kitchen to finish what I had started.

  Malcolm stood at the chopping board with his back to me.

  “Hey baby, you’re awake. I didn’t even hear you come down.” I slid my arms around his naked torso. His body felt cold and ridged despite cozy, warm temperature of the kitchen.

  “Malcolm, are you okay?” I took a tentative step backwards to allow him space to turn around. He didn’t move, just continued to slice the strawberries, ignoring me completely. “Malcolm. Hey, hello? Earth to Malcolm.” This time I stepped closer, but rather than nuzzle into his back I peered around him to look up at his face.

  My eyes caught the mess before registering what it was. Blood pooled over the worktop as Malcolm sliced the fingers off his left hand. He had cut chunks off each one without a single sound.

  I felt the terror tremble through me, rumbling like an unexpected storm. Vomit hit the floor before I even realized I was throwing up. The smell and taste of it brought another wave of rancid nausea. I stood helplessly over the sink as my body betrayed me multiple times.

  Glancing up, I saw that same strange, familiar face just outside my window. An awkward smile now replaced his vacant stare. I felt myself lose control as my body fell to the floor and I fainted again.

  My head pounded. I darted up and found myself in bed next to Malcolm, who slept soundly with all fingers intact. I couldn’t fathom how a nightmare could be so realistic. It had taken me ages to get over the last one and now I felt that terror burrow into my heart once again.

  My hands shook and I felt glued to the bed. I knew it was probably silly, and no doubt Malcolm would laugh if I told him, but I was afraid. Not only did I fear another dream, but I was gradually starting to hate my house—my home.

  I nearly leaped out of bed when Malcolm reached over and placed an arm on my thigh. His cold touch shocked me. I burst into tears and cried for what felt like forever as Malcolm tried to calm me. Through each sob I managed to stutter one word, ‘nightmare’, making Malcolm’s concern turn to amusement. His affection relaxed with him. He just didn’t understand. I’d had nightmares as an early teen and remembered how they felt. This was something so different, so much more terrifying.

  I called in sick for work, despite not wanting to be in the house at all. Malcolm refused to stay home on account of a bad dream, so I got ready and left with him, opting for the sanctuary of my favorite coffee shop in town.

  It was now over a week past Halloween, yet decorations dominated every yard and the cafe still had little hand-decorated pumpkin cookies and cut out lanterns, which delighted the kids. It was quiet today and I sat alone, sipping my Cappuccino while captivated by ‘The Concierge’, a
new novel I had just started. The story had me totally gripped; my eyes barely left the page until I noticed someone sitting on the other side of the room. The figure had his back to me, but I hadn’t see him enter the coffee shop. Surely I would have noticed someone walking past the table, I thought. Regardless, I continued to read, sucked into the imaginary drama that made me forget about my own.

  I always hated getting to that last dreg of coffee. It posed a difficult question of whether or not to order another. I knew I shouldn’t, but going home was not an option. I approached the checkout but couldn’t see Louise. Instead, I saw the stranger shuffle to my left, and as I leaned forward to try to see through the back door, I felt his presence right behind me. I turned and smiled to politely say, ‘Get off my ass,’ but was met with a ghastly face—that face, his face, covered in ants.

  My eyes popped in shock and doubt. I cautiously looked around me, refusing to accept the vision for what it was—refusing to allow myself to register it as nothing more than the sick things my mind had conjured up.

  The man reached his hand out and gripped my neck, forcing me back against the counter. He pushed me further until I caught a glimpse of Louise, pale and lifeless, crumpled behind the counter. I felt the anger surge inside me, filling my arms with sudden strength to push this thing’s hands off me. In one swift move I was free, out the door and running down the street. It was broad daylight. How the hell is this happening to me? Am I losing my mind?

  I found myself backing into a kids’ park, looking around continuously like a crazy fool. Two moms exchanged puzzled glances, seeing the terror I carried like a heavy rucksack.

  “Are you okay?” the dark haired lady asked, walking up to me and placing a reassuring hand on my arm.