Mysterious Photograph #7: Chips Ahoy

I have not received official word on this story, but enough time has passed that I can only assume I am a loser.  Nevertheless, here it is!

Chips Ahoy

 I was beginning to regret my decision to kill Kevin so impulsively. Now I only have a photo on my phone. So many parts inside these old watches! Oy! Why don’t I think these things out?

          Living next to the Cambrinis, I knew that Grandfather Gino was a consummate watch repairman with a garage shop. He had dozens of old watches he tinkered with, still there after he died. Father Robert used his inherited talents for tiny parts, working on a revolutionary chip for the next generation of AI. Kevin thought the chip could be worth BILLIONS.

          When Kevin’s father was fired, he stole the chip and hid it in one of the old watches. Kevin made the mistake of telling me. Remember? Impulse problems? We tortured his father to get him to tell us exactly where the chip was. Unfortunately, I tortured him a little too hard.

          Kevin got angry and started beating me. Well, he did for a little while. Then I got the upper hand.

          Now I had to find the damn chip by myself, with only their cat to keep me company. I had a pile of watch gears, nothing that looked like a chip.

          I refused to give up. The cost had been way too high. Then Eureka! I found it. The cat swooped in and swallowed it whole.

          Should I gut the cat and get the chip, or should I wait for it to pass? 

          I decided to wait.

          I’m not a monster, you know.

Falcon Fever: Mysterious Photograph #5

 

My fourth entry into Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine's Mysterious Photograph contest. Yes, it won nothing.  I have no idea what that bird is.  Probably not a falcon.  But it fit the story I wanted to write.  That's me - always on the edge, always taking chances.

Falcon Fever

 

My dearest Dulyngia,

            I pray this message finds you. I know that Flash has been trained primarily to hunt, but since you sent him to me, I have confidence he will return to you. Please forgive the dampness of the note. I hope it is still legible.

            No, things are not well here in Midgar. The Grim Plague is spreading faster every day. My beloved mother passed two days ago, my father last night. It’s not pleasant. The sweats, the vomits, the sloughing off of flesh; ‘tis a nightmare I wish I could forget.

            It starts with a fever and a lack of appetite. I have a fever. I no longer wish to eat. I fear you may never see me again.

            Our physicians have discovered the source, but it is too late. Once introduced into the water system, it spreads quickly. You don’t even need to drink it. Contact alone will start it. And then it carries from person to person.

            How did it get into our water system? We believe a foreign agent planted it. We recently had a visit from a delegation from your Kingdom, including your brother, Ranaldo.

            Falcons appear to be immune. That is how I can send you this special present, which I pray will spread throughout the land. If you’re reading this, it is already too late.

            I will not see you again in this world. I hope you will join me soon in another.

Your loving companion in hell,

Infortuno

The Walls of Jerry Coe: Mysterious Photograph #4

 My fourth entry into Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine's Mysterious Photograph contest. Yes, it won nothing.

The Walls of Jerry Coe

He came a-tumbling down. It took three, but they did it. Smashed, left bleeding, gasping, the alley walls closing in. A forehead cut dripped down into his eyes. Jerry Coe was paying for his sins in the cruelest way possible.

What sins? Introversion? Dressing differently? Pushing back at Tommy Tuba, making the big bully look weak at practice? Breaking into his locker, spray-painting two words – TOMMY TUTU?  

Jerry realized the alley shortcut was a mistake. Yes, he'd get him home quicker, but he didn't factor in how isolated he would be. And that Tommy Tuba would bring friends who'd make easy work of Jerry.

Jerry tried to scream, but no sound came out, frightened into silence. Looking at the right alley wall, he saw his trumpet. They had thrown it there, miraculously undamaged. He stretched to reach it. No good. Too much pain.

 He wouldn't give in. Jerry Coe tooted to the sound of a different trumpet. Two tumbling rolls, and Jerry grabbed his horn. He put it to his lips. If Jerry couldn't speak, how could he play? He closed his eyes, concentrated, mustering as much breath as he could.

And he played. A beautiful reveille. A clarion call echoed down the walls and into the nearby street.

Someone heard it. Help was coming.

But not for Tommy Tuba and his bully buddies. This was not over. Jerry Coe wouldn't let this go unavenged.

Soon, the walls would tumble in on Tommy Tuba.

 

One More Lick: Mysterious Photograph #3

 

Once upon a time, I knew everything there was to know. But now, that time is gone. At my age, I’ve forgotten more than I remember.

I look down at my beautiful stamp collection. One stamp for every country. Switzerland, where I pushed a man off the Matterhorn. Gambia, where I injected a man with strychnine. France with poisoned wine. Strangulation in the USA. 

Every country in the world. But somehow, I had missed Uruguay. I couldn’t stand being incomplete. I had to correct my lapse. Even at 86.

I booked a cruise to Montevideo. As the cruise was leaving port, I knew I had to act fast. Failing to kill in the city itself, I acted before we entered international waters. I pushed an old woman over the railings, but my mind was not what it was. I left a witness, and the police slowly traced it back to me.

Now I sit at my desk, holding the precious Uruguayan stamp in my tweezers, ready to place it in my collection. I hear loud knocking. I move the stamp towards my tongue. I hear the door breaking down.

I need time.

Time for just one more lick.

Like most of my entries, this one neither won nor received an honorable mention.  Nevertheless, I persevere!

The Cleansing of the Soles: Mysterious Photograph #2

 Everybody has dreams. 

One of mine was to see my name as an author in a pulp fiction magazine.  I was reading Worlds of If and Fantastic Stories from when I was as young as 8, buying them for 35 cents.  I fantasized about what it would be like to have a story published in them one day.

Sixty-one years later, I still dream about it.  What feeble efforts I made over the years were ignored and easily swatted away,

But I'm not giving up.  I have found a contest in Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, a short (flash fiction) story based on a "mysterious photograph."

My first submission, One Small Step, did not win.  It did not receive honorable mention.

Nevertheless, I persist.

I submitted the story below. my second attempt.

I am pleased to report that it was runner-up, and my name will be in the January/February issue of Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine! 

So, part of my dream has been accomplished!  The story itself won't be, but my name will be in a pulp magazine, and for writing!

This reinvigorates me to keep trying, that maybe there is some merit to my writing!

And now, for the winning runner-up!

The Cleansing of the Soles

by T. M. Strait 

It had to be you. Of all the people to walk into my basement, it had to be Marvin. Restraining order be damned – there you were.

“Get out!’ I shouted. “You can’t be here!”

“Yes, I can! I don’t care what the lawyers say! This is my house, and I’m taking it back!” Marvin moved menacingly toward me, a bat in his hands.

Enough of his belittling and abuse! I’d had my fill. Rather than cower, I surprised him by rushing toward him, my arms in front of me. I took advantage of his confusion, and I knocked him down. He fell heavily, his head crunching on the concrete basement step.

He didn’t move. “Marvin? Are you okay?”  I kicked him, but he didn’t respond. I checked for breath. There was none. A pool of blood under his head seeped out to redden the gray of the step.

Marvin would never threaten me again. It wasn’t easy, but I stuffed his body in the freezer. I mopped up the blood. I thought I was done when I noticed the blood on the bottom of my sneaker.

In a panic, I took off my shoes, and threw them to the washer.

I needed to be done with this.  I wanted the last remnant of Marvin off of me.

I wanted to wash that man right out of my sole.

One Small Step: Mysterious Photograph #1

Everybody has dreams. 

One of mine was to see my name as an author in a pulp fiction magazine.  I was reading Worlds of If and Fantastic Stories from when I was as young as 8, buying them for 35 cents.  U fantasized about what it would be like to have a story published in them one day.

Sixty-one years later, I still dream about it.  What feeble efforts I made over the years were ignored and easily swatted away,

But I'm not giving up.  I have found a contest in Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, a short (flash fiction) story based on a "mysterious photograph."

I submitted the story below.  I did not win the grand prize of $25.  I did not get honorable mention.

Nevertheless, I persist.

I have submitted two more stories since.  I've heard nothing back, but I am determined not to give up.  Like a monkey in front of a typewriter, someday I may stumble out a winning entry.

Meanwhile, as I lose, I will continue to post out my losing entries as the deadline passes.

One Small Step

by T. M. Strait

I don't always think things out. Rob the Scherba Museum's space exhibit of its rare Martian rocks? Not a bad idea. Hiding in a spacesuit until closing? Not so much.

Lisa got me into the suit and convinced others it was part of the show. Near closing, she told them she needed to take me to a backroom to remove the suit.

Instead, she left me in the suit, kissing me for luck, leaving bright red lipstick on the face glass.

I waited several hours after closing, timing my exhibit exploration with the security guard's routine.

The rocks lay on a Martian landscape, including a Mars Rover. Lisa's app neutralized the lasers protecting it. I filled the suit's pockets with valuable rocks. Lisa's fence thought we could get millions!

I left the museum and went into the streets behind it. Lisa was to meet me and help me out of the suit, 

But there was no Lisa. I waited. And waited.

Dawn approached. Where was she?

I heard a ding from inside the suit. A voice said, "Ten minutes air remaining."

What? I had no idea how to get out of this suit. I screamed for Lisa.

I don't know if she heard me, but suddenly she was skipping towards me. She smiled, reaching into my spacesuit pockets, gathering the Mars rocks. I couldn't hear her, but she was dancing and making happy noises. She mouthed the words, "Thank you!"

And she danced away.

Nope. Didn't think that part out.