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8:03 – Friday Flash

May 25, 2012 by Melissa L. Webb

8:03

By Melissa L. Webb

Sitting straight up in bed, Dennis gasped as he tried to untangle the sheets from around him. His head pounded from the flood of fear left behind by the dream he had been trapped in. The images that had plagued him were already turning into a foggy mess, slipping away faster than they had claimed him.

He sat up, wiping at his eyes. It had been a long time since he woke up this terrified. Not since he was little. Sliding his feet over the side of the bed he took a deep breath, the first trickles of foolishness setting in. Grown men didn’t freak out over nightmares.

Looking around at the darkness in his bedroom, Dennis wondered just how early it still was. There was no way he could get back to sleep now. He was awake for the day no matter what time it was.

Switching on the lamp next to the bed, he glanced at the clock. 8:03. Jumping up from the bed, he pulled back the curtain from the window. Darkness surrounded the outside world. Everything was peaceful and quiet as only the early morning hours could be. There was no way it was after eight in the morning.

Letting the curtain fall back in place, Dennis headed out his bedroom door. He needed to know what was going on. Passing through the living room, he glanced at the cable box. 8:03. That one was wrong too. Continuing on, he entered the kitchen. The old Mickey Mouse wall clock stared back at him, his white gloved hands pointed merrily at the time. 8:03.

“Not you too, you traitor,” Dennis muttered as he went by. He reached the stand by the front door and snatched his cell phone from it. Flipping it open, he stared down at the screen.

3:28.

He flipped his cell phone shut with a satisfied grunt. That was more like it. He knew it was still early. But what was wrong with the other clocks? Why were they still showing 8:03?

He sat down on the couch in the living room and turned on the TV. Every channel that showed the time was correct, yet the cable box still read 8:03. He wasn’t the type of guy who believed in signs or portents, but…combined with the nightmare, maybe he was being warned about something.

Goosebumps covered his arms as he thought about that. A faint stirring prickled against his mind. Something about those three numbers seemed familiar. Dread clouded his chest as certainty settled in. Those numbers were in his nightmare. He was sure of it.

Dennis silently got up and started a pot of coffee. Later this morning his world was going to change. Forever. He knew it without a doubt. He was going to need caffeine in his system if he was going to start his slow countdown to 8:03.

 

© 2012 Melissa L. Webb

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Dust Settles On Us All – Friday Flash

May 18, 2012 by Melissa L. Webb

 

Container of Kitchen Utensils

Container of Kitchen Utensils (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

DUST SETTLES ON US ALL

By Melissa L. Webb

 

Standing in the kitchen, the woman looked around at the dinner she had created.
Pot roast, mashed potatoes, green beans, and stuffing were just a few of the items she was planning to surprise them with.

She glanced at the clock on the stove. They should have come home already. Her husband and children were never this late. The food was beginning to get cold. The last thing she wanted to do was serve them a cold dinner. That wasn’t the way she did things. She hadn’t cooked all day for nothing.

Huffing, she smoothed the wrinkles in her floral print dress. This wasn’t like them. Not at all. Her boys were always so considerate. And her husband was always so thoughtful. If they were going to be late, they would have called. The men in her life were nothing if not gentlemen.

Something must be wrong. That’s the only reason something like this could happen. They wouldn’t just forget her. She lived her life for them. She was always here waiting and they knew that. They would come home to her if they could.

She needed to make some phone calls. Her husband’s company or the boys’ school would surely know what happened to them. They would tell her. They would explain why her men were late and why her food was cold.

Heading though the living room, her eyes narrowed on the phone in the corner. Just one phone call and everything would be okay. She reached out for the phone, expecting to pick the receiver up from its cradle, but nothing happened. It stayed where it was. She tried several more times; but her fingers kept going right through it.

Closing her eyes, she ran a hand across her temple. She didn’t have time for this. She needed to find her family and get the food reheated. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

Opening her eyes, she gasped. The phone was now gone. In its place was a corner filled with nothing but dust and cobwebs. She spun around desperate to free her mind from such sights and cried out in horror. Her beautiful living room was gone. In its place was a hollow shell of a room, covered in dirt and mildew.

What was going on here? Was this someone’s sick idea of a joke? She moved through the broken room quickly, tears in her eyes. She didn’t find this amusing. Not in the least. How dare they mess with her like this? Didn’t they know she had things to do and dinner to heat?

Floating back through the wall into the kitchen, she hoped to salvage her evening. “No,” she wailed in frustration. The counters were cracked and filthy, the sink was rusted; the refrigerator and stove missing. Worst yet, her food was gone. All of it. All her hard work and preparation gone in a blink of an eye.

No. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t her life. Her life was picture perfect. She was a happy homemaker waiting for her men. And she needed to get dinner ready.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, centering herself once again. When she opened them everything was as it should be. Her kitchen was immaculate. Plates of hot, steamy food sat on the table, waiting to be devoured. She smiled, straightening the wrinkles from her dress. Everything was in its place. Her family would be home soon.

 

© 2012 Melissa L. Webb

 

 

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Voices- Friday Flash

May 11, 2012 by Melissa L. Webb

A picture of a simple Ghost Box or Frank's Box

A picture of a simple Ghost Box or Frank’s Box (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

VOICES

By Melissa L. Webb

Carter took the small plastic box out of the package, discarding the empty mailing box into the garbage next to his desk.  It was finally here.  He had won it in an online auction almost three weeks ago.  Now, after so much waiting, it was his.

His friends were going to love it.  Everyone would want one.  But that was impossible.  This was a one of kind, and he was the only in the world to have it.

Sure, you could get Ghost Boxes by the dozens, but this one was special.  It was unique.  It wasn’t mass produced somewhere in a factory.  No, this was carefully handmade, by a real live witch no less.  Who knew the spirit world better than a witch?

Carter and his friends could get some serious ghost hunting done with this.  Maybe even catch the next big piece of paranormal evidence.  How cool would that be?  To have his name among the paranormal elite would be a dream come true.

Sweeping his desk clean with one quick movement, he sat the white plastic box in the middle of the empty space.  Excitement bubbled up in his chest as he reached for the on switch.  This was going to be legendary.  He could feel it.  How often did you get a chance to work with something made by a witch?  They had promised an experience like no other.

He flicked the switch and sat back, listening to the device oscillate between the different frequencies.  Static sounded as it searched back and forth, scanning the airwaves.  Garbled noise came from it suddenly, quickly turning into words he couldn’t make out.

Carter took a deep breath.  This was it.  It was now or never.  It was time to experience his first truly paranormal experience.  “Hello?” he called out, a faint trace of fear hitching the word.  “Can anyone hear me?”

Static sounded from the speaker.  “We…can…hear…you,” the disjointed voices spoke.  “You…are…not…a…lone…Carter.”

Carter sucked air in between his teeth.  They were talking to him.  And they knew his name.  Wait ’til the guys heard that.  They were going to be so freaking jealous.  “Who are you?”

More static crackled.  “We…are…voices.”

This was unreal.  Actual communication.  “What do you want?  Is there something you need?”

“Voices.  We…need…voices…to…speak.”

What was that supposed to mean?  Weren’t they already speaking?  They had plenty of radio waves out there to choose from.  He opened his mouth, to ask why they needed more voices, but no sounds came out.  He tried again, thinking the fear must have gotten to him.  Once again, nothing came out of his parted lips.

Carter grabbed at his throat, his eyes opening wide in panic.  He couldn’t talk.  He couldn’t make any sound at all.  He had been struck mute.  He stared down at the Ghost Box in horror.  What had it done to him?

The box squelched, causing him to flinch at the horrid sound.  “Thank you,” came the voice from the speaker.  His voice.  It was his voice coming from the box.  “We needed another voice and yours is a perfect addition.  We are almost complete now.”

Realization washed over Carter as he sat there, staring at the horrible thing.  Those weren’t voices off the radio.  No, those were real voices, snatched away and confined within plastic.  And he had been their newest victim.  All because he had to stick his nose somewhere it didn’t belong.  It was wrong to mess with the paranormal.  And he sure didn’t have any business buying from a witch.

© 2012 Melissa L. Webb

 

 

 

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Companion- Friday Flash

May 3, 2012 by Melissa L. Webb

The Earth seen from Apollo 17.

The Earth seen from Apollo 17. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

COMPANION

By Melissa L. Webb

I am, generally, a lonely man.  Not too many people actually take the time to notice me.  They’re too busy doing what they want to pay me any heed.  So I never really get the chance to be heard.  But you’ll listen to me, right?

You’ll invite me to sit with you and tell my story.  I can tell.  You’re a lot like me.  We both like a good story.

You’re still reading.  I’ll take that as the invite.  After all, if you had decided against it, you’d already be gone.  But you’re here.  And I am glad.

Once upon a time, back when the world was new, I arrived here.  It was an exciting and wonderful place.  There was so much here I had never seen, so much I hadn’t touched.  I was like a kid in a candy store.  I went wild, having the time of my life.

There was nothing off limits to me.  I was right there in the thick of things.  This world was my kingdom, and I, its prince.  We were meant to be together.

But others came.  And my paradise was lost.

They didn’t like who I was, what I believed in.  They said I corrupted this world.  I see now my ideas were too modern for them.  They couldn’t handle the free thinking I represented.  So they confined me.  Locked me away to rot for all Eternity.

But I, more than anything, am a thought.  An idea that spreads, making people look at everything differently.  And you can’t stop that.  My essence is like air, it can’t be contained.  They call me evil.  But I am not.  I am the First.  I am the Last.  I am the Only.  And I can’t be stopped.

What?  Am I scaring you?  You want me to leave?  Well, too bad.  You invited me in. You listened to my tale, and by doing so, you’ve given me the room to move in.

I’m here right now, in this very room, as you read this.  You can tell by the hairs rising on your arms, by the warm breath creeping across your neck.  I am now the devil on your back; your constant companion.  And now that I’m here, I will never leave.

© 2012 Melissa L. Webb

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Destination Unknown- Friday Flash

April 27, 2012 by Melissa L. Webb

Rosary

Rosary (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

DESTINATION UNKNOWN

By Melissa L. Webb

I straightened my tie as I headed down the deserted hallway.  It was late, but I still had some work to finish.  Meetings that ran late were no excuse around here.  I glanced at my watch.  I figured I was just about the last person left in the building at this hour.  That was the way I liked it.  It was easier to get work done when there wasn’t fifteen-million people asking you questions.

I turned a corner, eyes on my office door at the end of the hall.  Only a few things needed done.  If I hurried, I could finish and still have time to hit the bar with the boys.  I wondered if that blonde would be there.  The game of exchanged looks and flirty one-liners was getting old.  She needed to come home with me.

I reached in my pocket and grabbed my keys out, searching for the right one.

“Where are you going?” a voice asked suddenly behind me.

I jumped, almost dropping my keys.  Great.  I was going to have a heart attack just because someone talked to me.  I turned around, feeling very foolish and stopped in shock.

A little boy stood there, staring up at me.  He wore a Rosary made out of thick wooden beads around his neck.  He looked normal enough, but something about him unsettled me to the core.

“Who let you into the building?” I asked, ignoring the quiver in my voice.  ”Do your parents work here?”  The child continued to stare at me.  My unease deepened as I watched him watch me.

“Where are you going?” he asked again.

“To my office,” I told him, turning away and stabbing the key in the lock as fast as I could.  I didn’t know who this kid was, but my instincts were screaming at me to get away from him.

“Oh.  That’s not what I meant.  That’s not what I meant at all.”

The lock clicked and I flung the door open before I looked back at the boy.  I stood in the doorway, staring at the hall in front of me.  I had only taken my eyes off the child for a second, yet he was gone.  Disappeared as if he was never even there.

I walked back out of my office, locking the door behind me.  I suddenly no longer felt like working.  It was best if I just headed home.  Called it a night.  The work would still be waiting for me in the morning.  I hurried back down the hall, straightening my tie.  Maybe it was time for me to put some direction into my life.  Where was I going, indeed.

© 2012 Melissa L. Webb

 

 

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Chances- Friday Flash

April 20, 2012 by Melissa L. Webb

Coffee cup icon

Coffee cup icon (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

CHANCES

By Melissa L. Webb

”Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

The old man looked up at the woman standing in front of him.  He took her in.  From the dark circles under her eyes, greasy ponytail, and the stains on her apron, he knew her day hadn’t been the greatest.  Then again, this waitress’ life hadn’t been the greatest.  He could see all her mistakes as clearly as if he were watching a movie.  The choices you made were always reflected in the bags under your eyes.  “No, thank you.  I’m just waiting for someone.”

“Look, mister.  You can’t be in here if you don’t order something,” she snapped impatiently.  “You can’t take tables from paying customers just to sit here.”

He looked at the empty diner around him.  Yeah, sure.  He was really taking up space that they needed.  He sighed as she popped a bubble in frustration, bits of the gum sticking to her lips.  He knew she was only moments away from tossing him out.  “I’ll take a coffee and a piece of your apple pie.  It’s cold outside and I don’t want to wait out there.”

“Fine by me…as long as you keep ordering,” she said , scrawling his order on her pad.   Turning around, she headed towards the kitchen.  ”And you better have money for a tip,” she called back over her shoulder.

He leaned back in the booth, staring at the ratty upholstery opposite him.  He couldn’t believe how rundown this place had become.  Gone was the luster it had when it was new.  Had it really been that long since he was last here?  Maybe they were right about it after all.

The waitress brought his cup of coffee to him.  She slammed the mug down on the chipped Formica table, the coffee sloshing over the rim.  “Here.  Your pie will be out in a bit,” she said, voice gruff, hurrying away once again.

The old man turned his attention out the window.  He watched shadows dance in the streetlights as the busy city went on around him.  Pollution and grime coated everything out there.  He needed to find one redeeming thing.  That’s all.  Just one thing.

A couple walked by, the woman stopping for a moment to straighten her stiletto.  The man looked over his shoulder, a frown forming on his misshapen lips.

”What are you doing?” he demanded, stalking back towards her.

“I’m fixing my shoe,” she yelled back at him.

He grabbed her arm.  “I’m not paying you to fix your shoes.  Let’s go,” he told her as he lead her away, disappearing into the night.

The old man turned away from the window.  No, there was nothing here that would save them.  Nothing that needed to be saved.  This cesspool had to be sanitized.  The angels were right.  He needed to wipe it clean and start again.

He got up from the booth, not bothering with the check or tip.  It’s not like they could use it anyway.  He quickly headed out the door.  He had terrible work to do.  He created this world.  Now it was his responsibly to take it out.

© 2012 Melissa L. Webb

 

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Nonbelievers- Friday Flash

April 13, 2012 by Melissa L. Webb

A Cisco 7960G IP telephone

A Cisco 7960G IP telephone (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

NONBELIEVERS

By Melissa L. Webb

Ellen brought a bowl of mashed potatoes to the table, sitting them between the gravy and the roast beef.  With a satisfied glance at the table, she sat down across from her husband and smiled brightly at him.  “How was your day, dear?”

Harvey grunted, scooping food onto his empty plate.  “The same as usual.  More people demanding things from me.”

”That’s what you get for being so good at your job,” she said, trying to cheer him up.

Shaking his head, he took a big bite of the roast beef.  A smile spread over his lips.  Ellen’s roast never failed to boost his mood.  After he finished chewing, he looked over at her.  “How was your day?”

”Good,” she replied.  “I got the shopping done and all the laundry put away.

“Good.  Good,” he said, eating another spoonful of mashed potatoes.  It was life as usual, and it was good.

“Oh, I think the answering machine is broken.”

Harvey looked up from his plate.  That was different.  “How so?”

She shrugged.  ”It’s been making weird noises all day.”

“Hmm,” he pondered, going back to his meal.  “I’ll check it out later.”

They settled into silence, enjoying the taste of good home-cooked food.  Thoughts of the day drifted away as they dined together, their nightly ritual in full swing.  Ellen served dessert just as the phone rang.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harvey said, dismissing his wife with a wave of his hand when she stood.  “Let the machine get it.”

“If it’ll work right this time,” Ellen said with a sigh.  Sitting back down, she listened as the machine went through its spiel.

When it was done, words came on the line.  They were spoken in a hundred different voices, each one more inhuman than the other.  They hissed with malicious intent, in a language that hadn’t been spoken since old gods had worshipped at their own altars.  The words were unrecognizable, but their meaning was clear.  The pits of Hell had opened and set their sights on this house.

The answering machine clicked off, leaving the room drenched in the venom the voices had carried.

Harvey and Ellen sat there, staring at each other.  The unanswered phone call hanging heavily between them.

“See, I told you,” Ellen told him.  “It’s not sounding right.  I think something is wrong with the internal speaker.”

Harvey nodded, digging into his dessert.  “Sounds like it,” he told her.  “I’ll buy a new one in the morning.”

She gave her husband a grateful smile and started in on her own dessert.

 

© 2012 Melissa L. Webb

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