Cuento de Mi Id
“Victor”
Victor cradled the dueling pistol he held under his cloak and prayed that his drunken informant’s information was correct. It had taken him four years to track his quarry down to this deserted Argentine back street -- years in which he had often been tempted to forcibly reunite himself with his long-lost Elizabeth by means of a single pistol shot. But such romantic gestures would not help avenge his beloved. Only bloodshed would suffice.
The creature responsible for her death should have died in the same fire Victor had set to destroy the mate the creature had forced Victor to make for him. Instead, the creature had escaped -- and so had his mate, if his informant was correct. Victor had heard talk in the cantina about a mysterious pale man who lived in town with a tall, black-haired European woman. That woman could only be the mate Victor had created for his creation -- and the mysterious pale man could only be the creature. Somehow they had survived the same fire which had claimed his beloved Elizabeth.
Victor had cursed the vagaries of fate when he first heard this. Yet he now rejoiced that the rumors he had heard in Europe had been correct. The creature was in South America. And no doubt preparing to sire that race of monsters that had rampaged through Victor’s nightmares prior to the lab fire.
Victor had paid his informant well for the address of the mysterious European. The address was a house in a bad area of town. Victor had no illusions about surviving his confrontation with the creature -- but if he could take the creature with him…
He knocked on the front door of the house mentioned by his informant. A woman answered. Victor had no time to take in more than a general impression -- black hair, smiling face, bulging belly -- when the creature appeared. He was bigger than Victor remembered. Fiercer too. Victor had just enough time to pull out his pistol and get off a single shot before the monster was upon him.
With a hamhock-sized hand, the creature forced Victor to drop his gun. With an iron-hard fist, he forced Victor to his knees. The creature was beginning to throttle him -- but it was too late. Victor’s bullet had already found its mark. The monster’s mate -- the long-lost Elizabeth -- was dead, her degradation at the creature’s hands finally avenged.
There would be no race of monsters born of his creation, Victor thought as darkness began to swim before his eyes. Then he heard an infant cry within the house. And everything grew black.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Cuento de Mi Id
“Ghost”
(Not to be confused with the Patrick Swayze movie of the same name, of course.)
There is a ghost in your attic. You know this because your older sister Lupe has told you so.
But your mother does not believe in ghosts and you‘re not sure you should, either.
But Lupe just smiles. “Go to the attic tonight,” she says, “and you’ll see a ghost, all right. I guarantee it.”
So you go.
You set your clock for midnight and wake up before anyone else in the house hears it. Then you put on your slippers and creep up the attic stairs.
Suppose there’s nothing up there, you think.
Then what?
In spite of yourself, you feel disappointed at the thought that there might not be a ghost up there.
You find yourself praying that you will find a ghost up there and yet you pray that you won’t.
As long as it doesn’t hurt me, you say to yourself, it doesn’t really matter either way. But in your heart of hearts, you know you lie.
You are almost at the attic door now.
Your hand is on the glass knob.
Still not too late to return to the safety of your bed, but you don’t.
Then you see it.
The ghost.
It lies suspended from a rope tied to a ceiling beam.
And then it turns around to greet you.
Too late you recognize its features.
Then you run downstairs and hide yourself in the safety of your bed.
The next day, of course, Lupe does not show up for breakfast.
Your mother mutters something about ungrateful children wasting food but you stay silent.
You still stay silent after your father goes upstairs to fetch something from the attic.
Once the screaming starts, you begin to wish that you really had seen a ghost.
“Ghost”
(Not to be confused with the Patrick Swayze movie of the same name, of course.)
There is a ghost in your attic. You know this because your older sister Lupe has told you so.
But your mother does not believe in ghosts and you‘re not sure you should, either.
But Lupe just smiles. “Go to the attic tonight,” she says, “and you’ll see a ghost, all right. I guarantee it.”
So you go.
You set your clock for midnight and wake up before anyone else in the house hears it. Then you put on your slippers and creep up the attic stairs.
Suppose there’s nothing up there, you think.
Then what?
In spite of yourself, you feel disappointed at the thought that there might not be a ghost up there.
You find yourself praying that you will find a ghost up there and yet you pray that you won’t.
As long as it doesn’t hurt me, you say to yourself, it doesn’t really matter either way. But in your heart of hearts, you know you lie.
You are almost at the attic door now.
Your hand is on the glass knob.
Still not too late to return to the safety of your bed, but you don’t.
Then you see it.
The ghost.
It lies suspended from a rope tied to a ceiling beam.
And then it turns around to greet you.
Too late you recognize its features.
Then you run downstairs and hide yourself in the safety of your bed.
The next day, of course, Lupe does not show up for breakfast.
Your mother mutters something about ungrateful children wasting food but you stay silent.
You still stay silent after your father goes upstairs to fetch something from the attic.
Once the screaming starts, you begin to wish that you really had seen a ghost.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Cuento de Mi Id
“The Separation”
(Another early short story)
“I’m sure glad my parents aren’t divorced,” said Timmy.
David ignored him, intent on the toy soldiers.
In the next room, his mom cradled the phone like an expectant lover. “No, I haven’t heard from him in months. No child support, either. Just like the bum.”
Mom had worked hard since Dad left. First as a secretary, then as a bookkeeper. Eventually she became a C.P.A. Otherwise, she spent almost all her spare time in the garden.
“No, I don’t intend to sell the house,” she said to her friend. “Just because Doug shirked his responsibilities doesn’t mean I’m going to.”
One afternoon last week, Dad had showed up at the patio door, looking very pale. David had ran to let him in, but he was gone by the time he got there. David had then went outside, but no one was there.
Later that same day, he had told Mom. She turned pale.
“What did he say?” she had said.
“Nothing.” David had told her. “He just looked sad.”
The next time he mentioned it, Mom bawled him out for lying.
“Don’t you believe me?” said David. “David, your father left for good,” she said. “He’s not coming back. You have to believe that.”
“Then why does he keep showing up?”
One night, Dad came to the window. He beckoned to him. David followed him outside to the garden. Dad handed him a garden trowel and told him to start digging. David didn’t want to. He would be destroying Mom’s favorite spot. But Dad insisted.
A few feet down, David came across a hand bearing Dad’s ring. He looked up, but Dad was not there.
*************************************************************************************************************
“They‘re really quiet in the morning and always trying to outstare each other,” said Timmy of his parents. “But at least they‘re not talking divorce. I can‘t imagine anything worse than that.”
“I can,” said David quietly.
He said nothing more.
“The Separation”
(Another early short story)
“I’m sure glad my parents aren’t divorced,” said Timmy.
David ignored him, intent on the toy soldiers.
In the next room, his mom cradled the phone like an expectant lover. “No, I haven’t heard from him in months. No child support, either. Just like the bum.”
Mom had worked hard since Dad left. First as a secretary, then as a bookkeeper. Eventually she became a C.P.A. Otherwise, she spent almost all her spare time in the garden.
“No, I don’t intend to sell the house,” she said to her friend. “Just because Doug shirked his responsibilities doesn’t mean I’m going to.”
One afternoon last week, Dad had showed up at the patio door, looking very pale. David had ran to let him in, but he was gone by the time he got there. David had then went outside, but no one was there.
Later that same day, he had told Mom. She turned pale.
“What did he say?” she had said.
“Nothing.” David had told her. “He just looked sad.”
The next time he mentioned it, Mom bawled him out for lying.
“Don’t you believe me?” said David. “David, your father left for good,” she said. “He’s not coming back. You have to believe that.”
“Then why does he keep showing up?”
One night, Dad came to the window. He beckoned to him. David followed him outside to the garden. Dad handed him a garden trowel and told him to start digging. David didn’t want to. He would be destroying Mom’s favorite spot. But Dad insisted.
A few feet down, David came across a hand bearing Dad’s ring. He looked up, but Dad was not there.
*************************************************************************************************************
“They‘re really quiet in the morning and always trying to outstare each other,” said Timmy of his parents. “But at least they‘re not talking divorce. I can‘t imagine anything worse than that.”
“I can,” said David quietly.
He said nothing more.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Cuento de Mi Id
"Really Cool Air"
(A story I wrote several Octobers ago though for some reason, I always picture it as more of a summertime story.)
The AC was up high, just like he expected. Very high. In a place like this, cold temperatures didn’t surprise him, but he did wish the management had made allowances for the occasional human visitor. As it was, he almost expected to see his breath every time he exhaled.
All the windows in the place were covered with tinted glass and every other corner was covered in shadow. The bartender gave him one of those odd looks as if he was the type of ghoulish tourist who would deliberately seek out a place like this.
He kept telling himself he had a legitimate reason to be here. Then he saw her.
“About time you showed up,” she said. She was dressed in black, of course. And seated at the bar. Even in this dim light, she seemed pale. But oddly enough, she wasn’t shivering even though her arms were bare and her silk blouse and leather skirt way too revealing.
“How about the two of us get a booth at the back?” she said.
“How about we not?”
“So it’s going to be like that.”
“Our parents want you home, Karen.”
“Of course they do. And the moon is made of green cheese.”
“No, seriously,” he said. “They told me to come get you. All is forgiven, they said. You can come home any time you want.”
She smiled. “Suppose I don’t want to?”
“What do you mean?”
“I like it here. The temperature’s just right, the sun is not always shining in my face. I can virtually live here if I wanted. In a manner of speaking.”
He frowned. “The accident wasn’t your fault. They know that now.”
“Now,” she giggled. “They know that now. Of course it doesn’t help much that they know it now.”
She smiled and sipped at her drink. “Antifreeze,” she said, pointing at the clear liquid in her glass.
“Just come home, please, Karen,” he said. “I already said they forgive you. You know how rarely Mom and Dad do that.”
“Well, maybe they forgive me but I don’t necessarily forgive them.” She took another sip. “You can’t stay away forever, you know.”
“I don’t have to,” she said. “Mom and Dad are getting old. In a couple of decades, they’ll be gone. I can wait till then. And then I’ll come home.”
“That’s pretty cold.”
“Hey, watch the puns.”
“No, seriously. It’s not just Mom and Dad who need you. I need you, too. You’re my sister. You belong at home.”
“I belong somewhere else, you mean,” she said. “Besides, I’m not your sister. You said so yourself. I look like your sister. I talk like your sister. I even think like your sister. But I’m not your sister. Not really. Not since the accident.”
“For the last time—“
She interrupted. “Your sister died in that accident. And she was glad to be dead. She hated living at home. Never having any friends. Never having any love. She had one chance at freedom and she took it. And of course, your parents had to screw even that much up.”
“But they saved you.”
“No, they did not save me. They saved something that looked like me. The me I used to be died in that accident. I’m no longer here anymore. You just think I am.”
“Please come home.”
“Someday,” she said. “When I think I’m ready.”
He could grab her, he thought. He could grab her and force her to come with him. But then she really would hate him—-far more than she did now. And he couldn’t live with that. Besides, he thought, as he walked away from the bar, it’s not really her. Just something that looked like her. She said so herself.
As he started toward the door, a woman came in. She was still reeling from her time in the sun and it was obvious that she craved the cold and the shadows. She smelled of the stuff he had remembered smelling at grandma’s funeral. She looked darn good and it was all he could do to look away.
He walked out into the harsh sunlight and told himself he would never come back to this place. And he wouldn’t, he promised himself.
At least, not while he was alive.
"Really Cool Air"
(A story I wrote several Octobers ago though for some reason, I always picture it as more of a summertime story.)
The AC was up high, just like he expected. Very high. In a place like this, cold temperatures didn’t surprise him, but he did wish the management had made allowances for the occasional human visitor. As it was, he almost expected to see his breath every time he exhaled.
All the windows in the place were covered with tinted glass and every other corner was covered in shadow. The bartender gave him one of those odd looks as if he was the type of ghoulish tourist who would deliberately seek out a place like this.
He kept telling himself he had a legitimate reason to be here. Then he saw her.
“About time you showed up,” she said. She was dressed in black, of course. And seated at the bar. Even in this dim light, she seemed pale. But oddly enough, she wasn’t shivering even though her arms were bare and her silk blouse and leather skirt way too revealing.
“How about the two of us get a booth at the back?” she said.
“How about we not?”
“So it’s going to be like that.”
“Our parents want you home, Karen.”
“Of course they do. And the moon is made of green cheese.”
“No, seriously,” he said. “They told me to come get you. All is forgiven, they said. You can come home any time you want.”
She smiled. “Suppose I don’t want to?”
“What do you mean?”
“I like it here. The temperature’s just right, the sun is not always shining in my face. I can virtually live here if I wanted. In a manner of speaking.”
He frowned. “The accident wasn’t your fault. They know that now.”
“Now,” she giggled. “They know that now. Of course it doesn’t help much that they know it now.”
She smiled and sipped at her drink. “Antifreeze,” she said, pointing at the clear liquid in her glass.
“Just come home, please, Karen,” he said. “I already said they forgive you. You know how rarely Mom and Dad do that.”
“Well, maybe they forgive me but I don’t necessarily forgive them.” She took another sip. “You can’t stay away forever, you know.”
“I don’t have to,” she said. “Mom and Dad are getting old. In a couple of decades, they’ll be gone. I can wait till then. And then I’ll come home.”
“That’s pretty cold.”
“Hey, watch the puns.”
“No, seriously. It’s not just Mom and Dad who need you. I need you, too. You’re my sister. You belong at home.”
“I belong somewhere else, you mean,” she said. “Besides, I’m not your sister. You said so yourself. I look like your sister. I talk like your sister. I even think like your sister. But I’m not your sister. Not really. Not since the accident.”
“For the last time—“
She interrupted. “Your sister died in that accident. And she was glad to be dead. She hated living at home. Never having any friends. Never having any love. She had one chance at freedom and she took it. And of course, your parents had to screw even that much up.”
“But they saved you.”
“No, they did not save me. They saved something that looked like me. The me I used to be died in that accident. I’m no longer here anymore. You just think I am.”
“Please come home.”
“Someday,” she said. “When I think I’m ready.”
He could grab her, he thought. He could grab her and force her to come with him. But then she really would hate him—-far more than she did now. And he couldn’t live with that. Besides, he thought, as he walked away from the bar, it’s not really her. Just something that looked like her. She said so herself.
As he started toward the door, a woman came in. She was still reeling from her time in the sun and it was obvious that she craved the cold and the shadows. She smelled of the stuff he had remembered smelling at grandma’s funeral. She looked darn good and it was all he could do to look away.
He walked out into the harsh sunlight and told himself he would never come back to this place. And he wouldn’t, he promised himself.
At least, not while he was alive.
Cuento de Mi Id
"The Ultimate Monster"
(I am reposting some old stories of mine on this site for practice. Eventually I hope to post newer stories which have not yet been posted online. I hope you enjoy them.)
I met an old man in the marketplace. He promised to show me the ultimate monster. But all he had to show me was a piece of silvered glass.
I feared he would laugh at me so I beat him to death with my fists and buried him beneath the floor of his own shop.
Much later, it occurred to me that he might have given me a magic mirror. But the only image I ever could see in the glass was my own face.
"The Ultimate Monster"
(I am reposting some old stories of mine on this site for practice. Eventually I hope to post newer stories which have not yet been posted online. I hope you enjoy them.)
I met an old man in the marketplace. He promised to show me the ultimate monster. But all he had to show me was a piece of silvered glass.
I feared he would laugh at me so I beat him to death with my fists and buried him beneath the floor of his own shop.
Much later, it occurred to me that he might have given me a magic mirror. But the only image I ever could see in the glass was my own face.
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