Phantom Voice

“Mr. Luclin,” said the little boy. He sat among the other children watching the old man closely.

“Yes, Scotty?”

“Will you tell us a story?”

“Of course, of course,” said Christian Luclin. “But I don’t know if I can remember any right now,” he said as he rubbed his bearded chin.

A sigh could be heard across the gathering of children. Christian Luclin was the best storyteller on the block. Children would gather around him at about this time every day looking for a fantastical story of wizards, witches, dragons, and more. The parents thought the old man to be eccentric. He had moved into this apartment complex only ten years before, and most of his friends were children. The blue sparkle in his eyes was reassuring to them, however. So they let their children listen to the stories. It kept them occupied while the parents prepared dinner. He was supposedly a rich man, which made them wonder why he chose this place to live. It was one of the more rundown apartment buildings in the city.

Christian Luclin started to laugh and the children smiled, knowing he was only teasing them.

“Christian Luclin, not having a story to tell? Bah,” he said as he looked around the room to make sure all of the children were paying attention. Other than Bobby, who was secretly picking his nose, the children were all staring at him, waiting patiently.

“It began long ago, as most of my stories do, when Saphrym, a boy who was soon to become a man, was fighting the trees and the squirrels with his wooden sword…” (more…)

(This is a fiction written in answer to the challenge Alan made to me.)

I got out of the taxi and headed into the large building in front of me. It was raining and all I had was today’s newspaper to cover my head. I unfolded it quickly and caught a glimpse of the person I was about to meet. He always had a funny look on his face. I put the newspaper over my head and stepped around the puddles on the sidewalk leading up to the building.

Once inside, I was greeted warmly by a woman in a black business suit. She looked to be in her forties. Her skin was showing the wrinkles but her beauty still existed.

“He’ll be ready to see you in a moment.”

“Thanks,” I said as I followed her.

She walked me through the maze of a building until we reached the door to a room I had never been in and had always wanted to see. When she opened the door it was like the gates of Heaven opening as the light peeked out of the edges of the doorway. My eyes, of course, were playing tricks on me. It was probably my reverence of the place that made me see such a bright light. It faded quickly and I looked closer at the supple leather and old wood furniture behind the door.

“Go on in and have a seat. He’ll be with you shortly.” (more…)

The rain beating on the hood of the car and the cold November air were calling me closer to sleep. I needed to get off the highway and to a hotel pretty fast. I frantically searched for an exit sign. About twenty minutes later, I spotted that familiar green glow. There was a city called Friarville only 2 miles away. I was a few days early getting to my next job, so one night wouldn’t hurt me.

Driving through Friarville took about two minutes. It was one of those places you see in scary movies, with one street filled with houses and a larger building at the end of the street, on a hill. Not a single light was on in any of the houses, and I was certain that if I drove up to the big house, a man carrying an axe would chop me in two. In my line of work, you always had to expect the worst, but this place actually scared me. I had to get some sleep though, so I drove up the hill, to the only building with lights shining through the rain.

The larger building was the house and business of the local undertaker. According to the shining placard hanging next to his house, his name was Joseph Friar.

This is just my luck. The undertaker of this backwoods town is the richest and the one it’s named after. I bet his family even had that exit sign put out on the highway.

I took the keys out of the ignition, turned off the lights, and prayed for God to help me live through the night as I climbed out of the car and raced to the front porch of Mr. Friar’s domain. The door knocker was a miniature coffin.

I decided to knock with my fist, not wanting much to do with death on a night like this. (more…)

Matthew Corsair frowned as he watched the cops surround the bank. They pulled their guns and were pointing them straight at the door. This was the first time he had ever messed up while doing a job. He checked his pockets to make sure all of his tools were in place and then pulled the woolen mask off of his face.

It started when he was fourteen years old. He had just recently moved into the small town of Laplace, Louisiana. His parents had been kind enough back in Georgia to ask him if he wanted to move to New Orleans. Since he was never in the same school for more than two years at a time due to his father always finding new and better jobs, he had answered with an emphatic “no.” The next morning, a yellow Ryder truck was parked outside of his house already being loaded.

Since his move to Laplace, not New Orleans, Matthew hadn’t made many friends. He was a shy person. Instead, he would walk through the woods next to his parents’ house and right across the four-lane was Wal-Mart. He’d walk in and start looking around the place. He loved to look at the board games even though his parents never played them with him. His other reason for going was to look at girls. He had just reached puberty, and his hormones were kicking in.

One day Matthew was over in the men’s department standing by a display of belts. He was looking towards them, but actually his eyes were focused across the aisle at a cute brunette about his age. He watched her for a little while, then started making his way to the board games.

As he turned corners through the aisles looking at items that caught his attention along the way, he noticed that the same two people kept showing up on the aisles with him. This went on for half an hour. He realized he was being followed. He decided to try and lose them but every time he turned the corner, there they were, acting like shoppers.

He had enough, so he headed to the front of the store and right out the front door. He still had that odd feeling of being watched, so he turned around. Standing behind him were the man and woman who had been following him.

“What do you want from me?” he asked.

The man said, “We don’t want anything from you. We were just told to watch you and make sure you didn’t steal anything.”

Matthew couldn’t believe what he just heard. Never in his life had Matthew even thought about stealing. He had been mostly a happy child and although his parents caused him some grief, they did manage to raise him to know right from wrong.

“Why? I’ve been coming here for a long time and no one has ever followed me before.”

The woman said, “Because you were standing by the belt rack for a long time and fidgeting.” (more…)

“You guys can go ahead without me. I think I’m going to stay around here,” said Miles Crandle.

“Are you sure? We’re planning on having a lot of fun, Miles. We’re going to the zoo and then heading downtown to go window shopping,” said Julie Graylin.

“Yeah. Like I want to shop with a bunch of women,” he said with a grin.

Julie playfully slapped him on his shoulder. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later. Take care of yourself and promise me you won’t go looking through old photos again.”

“You know I can’t promise that, Julie. Sometimes they make me feel better.”

“But she’s gone, Miles. And every time you look at those photos, I can see the pain in your face,” she said with a worried look on her face.

“I know she’s gone. But I will do my best not to look. Ok?”

“Ok.” Julie lightly kissed Miles on the cheek and walked out the front door. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Sure. Coffee in the afternoon at Gerald’s again?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you there.”

Miles closed the door behind Julie as she waved and walked away. He stood in the entry to his three-bedroom house as a tiny tear trickled down his cheek. He remained there for a few minutes, lost deep in thought. After a while, he wiped the tear from his face, and headed to his bedroom, the one that used to be their bedroom. He sat on the blue-flowered bed and reached under it searching for a familiar touch. The album slid easily out from under the bed and he placed it on his lap. Miles Crandle gently touched the white leather cover of the album. His fingers traced over the words “Our Wedding Day” that were embossed in a golden hue. (more…)