Basement Light

fiction

2011-07-22T07:50:00.001-07:00

The Mark
By Alexander Salas

Its red fiery eye scanned the mark on her shaking left palm. Though It showed no mouth Its eye gleamed a smile. It approved.

She received the mark the day they reached an agreement.

Not guilty. The jury had spoken. She’d be free to roam the rest of her days on earth. It had kept Its end of the bargain.

She tried to breach the deal by confessing to the murder of her baby girl on her death bed. But the mark superseded her feeble attempt to break their contract. A ‘confession is good for one’s soul’ if one had a soul.

“Welcome home.” A disembodied voice snickered

-end-

My Twitter

2011-05-18T15:59:00.000-07:00

http://twitter.com/#!/Minnrain

fiction

2011-05-08T11:06:00.000-07:00

Billy Jackson Kills Santa or The Townspeople Of Happy Valley Ohio Disappear
By Alexander Salas

Christmas Eve Happy Valley, Ohio-

"Billy, Billy wake up...wake up." Martha Jackson shook her husband Billy.

"Huh? Wh...what, what is it? What's going on?"

Creeeeaaaaakkkk... "There, right there." Martha sat up. "Some...one is down there." She whispered. Creeeeaaaaakkkk... "The living room...Someone is in our living room."

"Sh.'' Billy murmured, as he jumped out of bed and turned on the lamp. He reached under his pillow for his .45.

"Billy, what are you gonna do? Don't go down there. Just call the police." Despite her panicky state she spoke softly.

"Shhhh...Police? You mean Jim? That's who you want me to call? Hell, he's a hundred years old. Now you just go and get Sally and take her into Little Billy's room. And stay quiet.'' The old wooden floor below creaked again.

Sweat began soaking Billy's pajama top. He wiped his brow as he stealthily stalked to the top of the steps. "One step at a time, Billy." He said under his breath lifting his left foot. Creeeeaaaaakkkk... "Fuck it.'' Billy darted downstairs.

"Stop right there!" Billy spotted a fat darkened silhouette standing near the Christmas Tree. The bulging shadow froze momentarily then his ebony arm came up.

Bammmm....Bammmm. Two gigantic photograph flashes blinded Billy and the two blasts rattled the windows and made him deaf. Dead air enveloped his opaque world.

"Billy...Billy...Billy...'' Martha shouted running down the stairs. "Oh my God, Billy. What happened? Are you alright? Billy? Billy?'' She grabbed Billy's shoulder.

"Huh...what?'' Billy felt his mouth move but he could not hear his own voice.

"Billy, what did you do?'' He saw Martha's lips moving.

"...anta....Santa....Santa...'' Sally's wailing brought Billy's hearing back. "Santa...Santa...''

"Holy shit, dad. You killed Santa Claus.'' Billy Jr. spoke.

"Get the kids out of here. Take 'em back upstairs...'' Martha snatched up Sally and led Jr. out of the room. "Shit shit shit...shit. What did I do?''

Santa's famous red suit became redder. Billy placed his hand on Santa's neck hoping for a pulse. "Oh geez. He's dead. Oh man. I killed Santa.''

Martha returned alone. Billy kneeled beside the Father Christmas, whose empty eyes stared lifelessly at the ceiling.

"Billy...Billy, are you okay?''

"Okay? Okay? Are you kidding? I mean look. I just killed Santa Claus.''

North Pole fifteen minutes later-

"There's something wrong. The GPS on Santa's sleigh shows the Big Guy is still in the Jackson house in Happy Valley, Ohio.'' The ancient white-bearded elf scratched his wrinkled bald head. "Call the White House.''

Happy Valley, Ohio thirty minutes later-

Jim Caulfield, the town's only policeman and Fred Watson, the Town Manager, stood inside the Jackson's home. "What the hell did you do, Billy?'' Jim asked.

"It was dark. I couldn't see a thing. It look like he was going for a gun.'' Santa lay sprawled on the carpet with two big bullet holes in his chest. Thick rich blood oozed from his wounds like ruby lava. Santa's dead hand held a lunch-bag size burgundy bag by a white drawstring.

"Well, if that's his gift bag over there,'' Fred said pointing at the mammoth sack near the fireplace, "Then what's the one he's holding onto for?''

Everyone shrugged. Billy finally spoke. "Maybe it's his bag of weed?''

"Oh, come on Billy. Jesus, he's Santa Claus. Santa don't smoke no weed.'' Fred replied.

Whoop...whoop...whoop... ``What's that?'' Billy cried. Whoop...whoop...whoop...

Outside lit up like daylight. The whooping grew louder. Military helicopters landed by the dozens on the once stilled streets of Happy Valley. Armed soldiers in Battle Dress Uniforms (BDUs) jumped from the whirlybirds. Soon all eight-hundred and eleven citizens of Happy Valley, Ohio were rudely awakened.

Three men in black suits, white shirts, black ties and wraparound sunglasses rang the Jackson's doorbell. "Who are you guys?'' Billy asked opening the front door.

"We're with the United States Government.'' The man in the middle answered. "Please hand over your gun Mr. Jackson.'' Billy hadn't realized the .45 was in his hand. He surrendered the gun. The three men and four soldiers stormed pass Billy into the living room. "Can someone please explain to me what happened?'' The same man asked.

Billy told the story.

"Magic dust.'' The government man, the only one of the suited men to speak, said. "Santa is supposed to sprinkle a bit of Magic Dust as soon as he enters through the chimney. Just a little ensures the whole household stays asleep. He must have forgotten. That's what's in the bag he's got in his hand. That's what he was reaching for, Mr. Jackson, not a weapon. An honest mistake Mr. Jackson. Smitty.'' He turned to one of his black-suited cohorts, "Grab the magic dust bag and get up on the roof. You know what needs to be done. According to the North Pole, they're about one and a half hours behind schedule. So get to it, please. The rest of you please remain here. I have to step outside and make a call.''

The Jackson's roof-

Smitty tossed Santa's bag of gifts onto the sleigh. He glanced at the reindeer and remembered his favorite Christmas cartoon, 'Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer'. Smitty smiled at the glowing red light in front of the team of reindeer. On the seat of the sleigh, he grasped the reins and shouted with glee, "On Donner, on Blitzen, on...''

The Jackson's front yard-

"`Yes sir...I understand...Yes sir, a full report when this is over.'' The government man flipped his cell phone shut. He marched back into the Jackson's house. "Is there anyone else in your house, Mr. Jackson?''

"Yes, my two kids, Sally and Billy Jr. are upstairs''

Government man nodded to a soldier, who sprinted up the stairway. "Gentleman, we are now in an Operation Clean House.'' The soldiers drew their M-16s.

"What...What are you doing?'' Fred asked.

"Shut up and get your hands up. All of you, hands up.'' Government man barked and then addressed his fellow black-suited companion. "Get on the radio and ensure that we roadblock all roads leading in and out of Happy Valley. And pass the order that absolutely no survivors.''

"What.'' Billy cried. His wife, Fred and Jim stiffened like mannequins.

"What? What? You ask what, Mr. Jackson?'' Government man adjusted his tie. "You know how much Americans are hated throughout the world. Huh? Do you? Can you possibly imagine how they will feel about us when they find out some gun-toting American shot and killed Santa Claus? Huh? Can you imagine that, Mr. Jackson? Fire at will.''

Christmas Day-

"...and the comparison to the disappearance of Roanoke Colony some four hundred and twenty years ago is palpable. I'm Christiane Amanpour CNN, reporting live about two miles west of Happy Valley, Ohio.''

-end-

fiction

2011-04-23T03:22:00.000-07:00

The First Time Is Always The Most Memorable
By Alexander Salas

Well now what?

What do you mean now what? It's over with.

Yeah... I guess you're right.

Of course I'm right, we're finished.

What about the cops?

Fuck them! This is Lorain, Ohio, small town hicks. They ain't no `NYPD Blue'.

I'm good to go, right?

What did I tell you? If you would have listened to me since you were a kid, maybe you wouldn't be such a pussy.

I really should have. Maybe I would have been more of a man.

You damn right you would have. Too late now, no sense of worrying about it, besides you're becoming a man awful quick.

Well I should jump in the shower and wash off the blood.

Yeah you go do that. After you clean yourself up, remember to take these garbage bags to the city dump. And please, please don't be a shit for brains and leave them out front with your normal trash.

I know, I know.

One more thing, don't go to the dump till about three or four in the morning, okay? Less chance of someone seeing you.

Sure, sure.

You got someone else picked out yet?

Yeah...yeah, Tanya Worthington.

You mean that fine little high school bitch from across the street?

Yep, that's the one.

Can't wait to chop her up to pieces. Good choice.

Thanks. Ah...I...I don't mean to be prying, but how come you are not covered in blood?

What are you stupid? Of course, I'm covered in blood. I'm you.

-end-

fiction

2011-03-23T15:44:00.000-07:00

Marriage, Dreams, Uma & Death
by Alexander Salas

"Wow, you look beautiful as always. Uma...Oh, Uma." My cock strikes midnight. My tongue dangles. My heart explodes.

I sit in bed. Uma smiles lustfully wearing only six-inch stilettos. I must be dreaming...God if I am, please, please, please don't wake me.

Uma performs a perfect stripper walk. Her mound inches from my face. I inhale her wetness deeply. I crave a taste. My tongue slithers closer and...

"Sonny... Sonny wake up... wake up asshole."

Shit my wife. "What...what...what do you want Karen?" I ask.

"I don't want nothing from you."

"Why...why did you wake me up?"

"Cause you're keeping me awake with your 'oh Uma' and your 'I love you Uma'... what the hell is the matter with you? You really think someone like Uma Thurman wants somebody like you?"

Yeah, yeah laugh all you want you stupid ugly... "Just shut up and leave me alone, okay?"

"You don't have to worry about me leaving you alone. You good for nothing... Ah... forget it."

Good go back to sleep... I hope you die there... I need to get back to my dream... Sleep damn it sleep.

"Uma"... Uma wears the yellow jumpsuit from 'Kill Bill', Samurai sword and all...
"Oooh...wow...Uma..."

"What the..." A mind-numbing pain rushes through my body. "Why?" I grab the blade with both hands. "Why Uma? Uma...Uma..."

"Hello Jimmy... yeah, it's Karen...it's done... yeah, Sonny is dead...I'm sure...just like you told me...yes, while he slept...a butcher knife... can you come and get me...I love you Jimmy..."

-end-

fiction

2011-03-14T15:35:00.000-07:00

I Remember When
By Alexander Salas

The air conditioner hummed a steady drone. Inside Joshua's head the monotonous buzz tortured his mind. He wanted to scream. Joshua realized it was his own hesitation to speak that left the room deafly silent and magnified the irritating noise. He stared at Dr. Hutchinson deeply, as if looking inside the doctor for answers.

"I...I remember when," Joshua started, "I pushed Lucy off the balcony. I remember her cry of terror as she plummeted down to the unforgiving pavement below. I remember hearing her bones crunch on impact.''

Dr. Hutchinson nervously adjusted his bow tie.

"I remember when," Joshua continued, "we first got married. And how beautiful she looked in her wedding dress. I remember when Josh Jr. was born and me and Lucy thought we were the perfect family. I remember when...''

"Ahem, ah, excuse me Joshua." Dr. Hutchinson interrupted a bit apprehensive. "You do understand that I am obliged by law to report any crimes such as murder. I mean morally..."

"No doctor you don't understand!" Joshua jumped up on his feet. He took a couple of deep breaths and sat back down. In a more calmer fashion he said. "What you don't understand is that tomorrow I am marrying Lucy."

-end-

fiction

2011-03-01T09:06:00.000-08:00

Clara's Revenge
By Alexander Salas

The hum of the electric motor lowering the window reminded Clara of a vibrator. Tingles raced down her spine and into her vagina. A wet spot grew in Clara's panties.

"Uh...can I help you lady?" The hooker asked eyeing the inside of Clara's car. Dressed in jet black thigh-high boots the prostitute also wore white fishnet stockings, a purple mini skirt that showed off a red thong tucked firmly up the crack of her round yet firm ass and an ashen camisole which gave her customers a sneak peek of her quarter sized nipples. "Are you lost?"

"No, I'm not." Clara answered. "I... was wondering..."

"You looking for a date?" The hooker smiled. "I charge extra for fucking you and your husband. Is that what you looking for?"

Clara covered her wedding ring with her right hand. "No...no not my husband. Just me. Just you and me. At my house, though."

"We don't need to go back to your house. There's a motel right around the corner."

"No, please I would feel better at my place. I...I want to tie you up on my bed.'' Clara grinned as she thought about her strap-on dildo cloaked with razor blades. "I want to strap my cock on and fuck you." She reached into her purse and pulled out a hundred dollar bill. "Here, take this. I have ten more of these at home for you."

The hooker's face lit up. "Sure baby. For that kind of money I don't mind being fucked by a woman."

***

The blades ripped flesh as Clara stroked deep. The hooker screamed. Clara yelled. "You like fucking wives' husbands. Huh?" She forced the dildo in deeper. "Answer me."

Clara pumped her hips faster. The hooker's cries faded. "Answer me you fucking whore. You like fucking other wives' husbands?" The hooker never answered. Clara had fucked the life out of her.

***

"You look beautiful." Clara's reflection spoke. She stood in front of a full-length mirror nude. Blood dripped from her strap-on. An hour passed. Sixty minutes of admiring herself filled the void of her husband's lack of admiration for her. "Who needs him?"

"Time for you to get out of my house." Clara grabbed the handles of the dolly, wheeled the body out of her farmhouse and to the entrance of the storm cellar. She yanked the underground shelter's door open. A putrid smell of piss, shit and death smacked her in the face causing her to gag.

"Clara, please. You gotta stop this." Duncan, Clara's husband, pleaded. His chains only allowed him as far as the bottom step. "Clara, please let me out. I...I can help you...honey. I'll help you get rid of the bodies. No one will ever know. Please, Clara. I'll get you help."

"Here's another 'lady of the night' for you." Clara tipped the handcart forward and the dead hooker rolled downstairs to Duncan's feet. She reached for the storm cellar's door and laughed. "You...you can help me? I don't need your help, honey." She slammed the crypt back into darkness.

-end-

fiction

2010-12-21T08:46:00.000-08:00

Fritos
By Alexander Salas

“I want Fritos...yeah, Fritos for breakfast.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Jed barks at Billy as he stands topless scratching his balls through the hole of his boxers. “Betty! Betty, get your ass out here and makes us some breakfast.”

Betty stumbles into the kitchen. Her hair in disarray and her breath reeking of a brewery. “Good morning Billy, my sweet. Where's Jr.? What you fellas want?” She wears one of Jed's wife-beater t-shirts like a dress with nothing on underneath. Her nipples blossom though the white tank top.

“I want Fritos.”

“Shut the fuck up. You fucking retard.” Jed roars. “And what the hell you mean ‘what you fellas want’...huh? We want breakfast...that's what we fellas want.”

Jr. saunters into the room dressed in his class of ‘09 sweatshirt, blue jeans and a LSU hat. “Why you yelling, pop?”

“Because it's my fucking house and I'll yell if I want to yell.” Jed's bellowing echoes off the walls.

“I want Fritos. I want Fr...”

Sllllaaaaaaaaaap.

Jed's gigantic bear-claw leaves a rosy hand print on the side of Billy's face. The twelve-year-old erupts crying.

“You stop that crying boy. You hear me. Or I swear I'll give you something to cry about.”

“Stop it Jed. Now stop it. He means no harm. He can't help himself. You know he's retarded.” Betty gently brings Billy's head into her bosom. “Ah baby, you okay Billy?”

Jed yanks Betty away from their son. “Quit babying the boy. I know he's retarded but he's still got to grow up to be a man.” He eyes her from head to toe. Jed lifts the bottom of Betty's make-shift dress exposing her pubic hair. “And what the fuck you mean by wearing almost nothing in front of the boys. Huh? What kind of a momma are you?” He shoves her down to the floor. “Now you get your ass dressed and hurry the fuck back and make up some break-.”

“Leave her alone!”

“What?” Jed turns to face Jr. “What you say to me boy?” His hard stare drills holes in Jr.

“I said leave her alone.” Jr. pulls out a switch-blade from his pants pocket. He clicks it open.

“Well, well, well. What you gonna do with that knife boy? Hah.”

“J-J-J-Jr., p-p-put that away, honey. I'm okay.” Betty stumbles to her feet.

Billy tears stop. He begins. “I want Fritos. I want Fritos. I want...”

“Jesus Betty, look what you gave me. A half-wit and a dip shit. Two dumbasses, who if I could, I would shove them back in your pussy and hope you spit out one damn boy who is worth a shit.” Jed inches closer to Jr.

Jr. waves the blade with his right hand. Jed snatches Jr. right wrist-

“Stop-I-it-want-you-Fritos-two-I-stop-want-it-Fritos...”

-Jr. brings his left knee into his father's goodies. Jed crumbles to the ground gasping for air-

“...want-it-Fritos-stop-I-it-want-stop-Fritos...”

Jr. grabs his dad's hair, picks up Jed's head and slices his father's throat nearly drowning himself in blood.

“...stop-want-it-Fritos-st...I want Fritos. I want Fritos...”

Betty freezes.

“...I want Fritos. I want Fritos...”

“Look what you done. You, you, you killed him. Jr. you killed him. Why? Why you kill him Jr.” Betty asks.

“...I want Fritos...I want Fritos...”

“Why? You ask me why?” Jr. lets go of Jed's head. Jed falls face first, dead. “You should have killed him yourself, long time ago.” He drops the switchblade.

“...I want Fritos...I want Fritos...”

“Me? Me? Why should I've kill him. It was you two. Both of you who made him the way he was. Not me, Jr.”

Jr. sucker-punches his mother. She collapses like a rag doll.

“...I want Fritos. I want Fritos...”

Jr. walks over to the counter and grabs a butcher knife. He stabs his mother over and over again.

“...I want Fritos. I want Fritos...”

Jed stares at Billy. A mixture of his parent's blood shroud him. He opens a cabinet and snatches a brand new bag of family-size Fritos. He hands the Fritos to Billy.

“Thank you.” Billy smiles.

-end-

fiction

2010-12-13T07:41:00.000-08:00

The Comedic Cow
By Alexander Salas

Stephen and his boy Ray sit silently at the kitchen table. The humming refrigerator reminds Ray he is hungry.

"How 'bout making us some breakfast Pop?" Ray asks as his stomach rumbles like a sputtering lawn mower engine.

"Sure thing... let me just get some eggs out of the fridge."

Stephen retrieves six eggs out of the ice-box. Opening a cabinet, he grabs a heavy-duty charcoal frying pan.

"Ray, can you pour me a glass of milk, please?"

"Yeah...no problem, Pop."

Stephen sets down the whisk. "Thanks." He sips the milk, and his face crinkles. "Ugh...this milk tastes kind of funny."

"Maybe the cow was a comedian." Ray quips before erupting into laughter.

Stephen stares.

Ray's laughing is uncontrollable.

Stephen stares.

Ray rolls on the floor as if he is on fire.

Stephen stares.

"Oh...Oh...sorry..." Ray giggles as he crawls back onto the chair. "Woo...a comedian...hah..." Ray snickers in short bursts.

Stephen stares.

"Oh man... comedic cows...hah...imagine that..." Tears blur Ray's vision. An unidentifiable round black object races towards his face.

Thuuummmmppppp... Shards of Ray's skull pierce his brain killing him instantly.

Still holding the skillet like a baseball bat Stephen shouts, "Not so funny now, is it Ray?"

-end-

fiction

2010-12-02T06:41:00.000-08:00

Death By Twinkies
By Alexander Salas

Mortality's odor rocketed into Detective Angel De Los Santos's nostrils. Despite fifteen years of working homicide, a right jab from the Grim Reaper's fragrance always staggered him a bit. His partner, Detective John Dough, recognized the scent upon entering the one-story, faded sky-blue dwelling.

They stood in the entranceway of the living room. Crime Scene Techs examined evidence. Uniform police talked quietly amongst themselves. Angel and John observed only one thing. Twinkies. It looked like a piñata filled with individually wrapped Twinkies exploded.

"This certainly looks like number four," John said.

Angel nodded. 'The Twinkie Assassin', famously dubbed by the L A Times, struck again. "Let me guess, this guy is a personal trainer?" Angel asked a question that he already knew the answer to. The previous three victims were all Adonis-like who helped keep Hollywood's elite in tip-top shape.

Frank Stine, the county Medical Examiner (M.E.), motioned for the detectives to join him in the bedroom.

Lying in bed, shirtless, the workout guru's neck bulged like an overfilled potato sack. Unwrapped Twinkies were jammed down his gullet. The murderer's usual lyrical jingle covered the walls. Angel and John had memorized the words by heart.

'It smells so good, it taste so great,
eat a few and you'll be fine.
With a glass of milk, with a glass of juice,
they're yummy all the time.
It's Twinkie, it's Twinkie oh what a wonderful joy.
It's Twinkie, it's Twinkie fun for a girl and a boy.'

The FBI became involved after the third murder and placed an alert to all stores in California to watch for a purchase of an unusual amount of Twinkies. But recently, their labs determined that all of the killer's weapons were produced more than a decade ago. Everyone was baffled.

"So Doc, how many do you think?" Angel checked to make sure that him, his partner and the M. E. were alone.

"Since there seems to be no pattern, my guess is 19," Frank replied.

"I'll say 21," John said.

"Both of you guys are way too low." Angel scratched his bald head. "Look at his throat, for God's sake. I'm going to say 27... yeah; I think you'll find 27 of those things inside his mouth, Doc... And remember, if none of us guessed right, we all have to add fifty dollars to the pool."

-end-

fiction

2010-11-15T10:39:00.000-08:00

A Strange Trigger Sets Off A Strange Mind
By Alexander Salas

Roger Zywocki eyes burned holes into Assistant District Attorney (ADA) John Abel, who sat sandwiched between a couple of FBI agents.

"Mr. Zywocki, help us understand why you murdered nine people."

Two families were slaughtered before Wellington, Ohio's finest called the Feds.

"It was simple," Roger answered. "My list had the Aarons first, the Abbeys second; Mr. and Mrs. Abbot, then you, of course."

A Bureau's profiler figured out Zywocki's list. The White Pages. Abel followed Abbot in the phone book. Federal Agents surrounded Roger in John's house.

"But why?"

"Since kindergarten, everything was alphabetical. I wanted to be first."

-end-

fiction

2010-11-05T06:09:00.000-07:00

The Dream Cannibal
By Alexander Salas

The two fiery red eyes from outside the bedroom window frightened Ricardo. He froze. His heart raced. A foul odor filled the air. Ricardo felt the wetness spread throughout his pajama bottoms.

Hide! Hide! Ricardo threw his Spiderman blanket over his head. He shivered like a wet Chihuahua.

Mother had warned him about the Dream Cannibal, but Ricardo didn't believe her at the time.

"I am tired of you staying up all night." Ricardo remembered mom's words. "Little boys and girls need to be asleep by ten o'clock. You know the Dream Cannibal feeds on kid's dreams. If you do not sleep, you do not dream. If you do not dream, the Dream Cannibal cannot eat your dreams. Instead he will eat you!"

Ricardo heard the squeak of the window opening.

Eyes squeezed shut, he begged. "Please...please...please." His covering was yanked off of him.

"Mommeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

"Ricardo, what's wrong with you?" Ricardo's mom asked as she held a corner of the blanket. "You have a bad dream? A nightmare? Did you wet the bed? Oh, Ricardo. You are too old for that. And why is your window open?" She marched over to close the window. "Now you change into dry pajamas and I will get you some clean sheets."

Mother left. The bloodshot eyes returned. This time the Dream Cannibal smiled brandishing rows and rows of yellow razor sharp teeth.

-end-

fiction

2010-10-25T10:49:00.000-07:00

Step On A Crack
By Alexander Salas

"You keep making that face and it will get stuck that way.'' My mom used to say that to me. You see I would imitate Freddy, the retard from across the street, whose head always tilted sideways and his eyes always looked up as if asking God why he made him a retard. And every time Freddy said something, "duh" was the first word out of his mouth. I swear, every time.

...So here I am waiting in the Emergency Room.

My mom tried to slap my face back to normal. She screamed with every smack, "What did I tell you." Dad just snickered.

I begged, "Duh...p p please stop hit... hit... hitting me." My mom slapped me till the cops came.

...I'm still waiting. They took my mom right away. You see she broke her back. The ambulance people asked the police how she broke her back. They didn't know. No one knows and I will never tell.

-end-

fiction

2010-09-15T05:56:00.000-07:00

Bob: The Maggot-Eating Horse-Whispering Man
By Alexander Salas

Bob whispered in Goldilocks' ear while pointing down at his dead neighbor Franklin. Goldilocks neighed heartily. Bob eviscerated Franklin. They waited. Maggots formed.

Bending over, Bob scooped a handful of the pasty grub and swallowed them live. The horse laughed, then dove snout first and snagged Franklin's lifeless heart. She chewed. Bob giggled and ate more maggots... Goldilocks ate the stomach... Bob ate more maggots... Goldilocks ate the liver... Bob ate more...

Both man and horse enjoyed their meal. Flies buzzed their heads. They paid no attention. Eating the moving larva, Bob smiled with every bite. Goldilocks consumed the innards like a bear at dinnertime.

"Oh my God. What have you done to my Franklin?" Betsy cried.

Goldilocks and Bob looked up at Franklin's wife. The horse flicked out its tongue and licked blood from its lips. Betsy ran.

Bob whispered in Goldilocks' ear.

Goldilocks raced after Betsy overtaking her with ease. Betsy stopped. Goldilocks kicked her in the temple dropping Betsy like a boneless body. Bob strolled over with his scalpel.

-end-

fiction

2010-09-02T11:11:00.000-07:00

My Only Regret
By Alexander Salas

The gravel road shredded my right cheek. Shards of glass lacerated my face thanks to an unexpected flight through the windshield. My vision blurred red.

I thought about Britney. It took me three long months to accumulate the courage to ask her out. How long will she wait at the restaurant for me?

Motionless on the ground, I think I cracked a smile as memories of mom and dad flooded my mind. I would never see them again. If I did smile, it was gone now.

The crushed rock shuffled in front of my limited sight. I made out a black robe and rounded stick. My left eye scanned up. The frocked man held a scythe with a bony hand.

I started thinking that my time was about to end and my only regret was mom would eventually find my stash of porn.

-end-

fiction

2010-08-21T11:04:00.000-07:00

I Met David Berkowitz
By Alexander Salas

I met David Berkowitz. "So you're the famous Son of Sam? Or should I say, infamous?" I laughed nervously. My laughter echoed, though I couldn't see any walls. As matter of fact, I couldn't see a thing. Other than David, of course.

The Son of Sam looked me in the eyes. Silence.

We stood on a glass floor. I saw nothing below us. Emptiness reigned.

A very quick and sharp clicking noise came from behind. We turned around.

A pair of shiny black boots clicked. A familiar military uniform grew out of the boots. A swazitka armband encircled the left bicep. Short dark hair parted to the left and a short dark mustache. Evil personified.

"You too? Where are we?" I asked.

"Wartezimmer." The newcomer replied.

"I don't understand."

"Vaiting room"

-end-

fiction

2010-08-04T10:50:00.000-07:00

All The Training She Needs
By Alexander Salas

Mission statements were perfectly clear: A) slash to the jugular B) let the red elixir wash over you C) dump the body in the lagoon. The only three rules grandpa wrote on the chalkboard. Five-year-old Jacqueline sat straight-up and gave her grandfather her full attention.

***

Sixteen-year-old Jacqueline gently caressed her late grandfather’s old scalpel. Her soon-to-be victim screams ruined the beautiful summery day. Strapped to a tree, the buxom blonde’s cries disappeared harmlessly in the woods. ‘Girls are easier. They put up less of a fight.’ Grandpa’s words returned to Jacqueline.

Duct tape held the victim’s head still exposing the fetching throat that contained grandpa’s secret to a healthy life. ‘Let me tell you little Jackie,’ She remembered sitting on grandpa’s lap, ‘when that red blood washes over you, there is no better shower that can even come close to cleansing you.’

Blade in hand Jacqueline cut from ear lobe to ear lobe just like grandpa had taught her that cool summer day so long ago. A day of training was all she needed. The blood showered Jacqueline’s naked body, covering her from head to toe. Her woebegone feeling, which she endured for all her life, instantly left.

“You were right, Grandpa.” Nothing in her life would be impossible.

-end-

fiction

2010-07-16T11:05:00.000-07:00

Lost Faith
By Alexander Salas

Juan's breath floated like a frozen cloud. The frosty ambience kissed his skin. Chills dashed deep inside his bone marrow.

He shivered momentarily before adapting to the nippy atmosphere of the basement. His calling overshadowed the brisk climate.

His eyes caressed the various body parts displayed neatly on his makeshift altar. Juan marveled at the offerings and an onset of tears blurred his vision. Yes, I am doing God's will.

A wooden crucifix hung high above the shrine watching.

The bum groaned. Juan double-checked the shackles. A dirty vagrant no one will miss. Arms and legs chained to a metal table, the hobo blinked himself awake.

He looks familiar. The vagabond's long dark hair, a full beard and light olive-brown skin eerily reminded Juan of someone. Nah... I'm just tired.

In his previous experiences, lowlifes began begging for mercy upon coming to. Not this man. Not an ounce of panic showed on the derelict's face. Juan trembled at the transient's composure.

It's like he knew he would be here in my temple. It's like...like this filthy animal expected to be here...no...impossible...no...I'm just tired, that's all, I'm tired. Why am I shaking? God's work, yes that's what I'm doing.

Juan spoke. “So m...m...m... my friend, you awake now? Your h...h...h...head hurt?” Stop it! Stop it you fool. You are in control. Not him! You have God on your side. Not him!

Juan inhaled several times calming his nerves. “The pain you feel now...” Juan stroked the grapefruit-size knot growing from the side of the homeless man's head. “... is nothing to what you will feel when I get started with you.”

The drifter brandished no emotion.

“Scream if you want, as loud as you want. Nobody will hear you. You are all mine.”

An uncomfortable silence engulfed the room as if the air molecules stopped moving.

Juan closed his eyes. Relax...Relax...Relax... In a false confidence, he spewed, “You ever hear of the old saying ‘God helps those who help themselves’? Ring a bell? Huh? Well does it? You think God put you on this earth to waste your life? That His master plan for you is to roam the streets begging, stealing or picking through garbage for food? Why are you out there on the streets? Huh? Drugs? Drinking? Gambling? Huh? Answer me”

Juan waited for an answer. None came. Who are you? What are you? Relax Juan, relax. You're in control.

“You see about a year ago God admonished me. Me, a God-fearing man, me a Sunday-go-to-church man and me, a help-a-fellow-man, was being scolded by God Himself. He asked me, ‘how can I live amongst the wretched?’ You know... the whores, pimps, drug addicts and the likes of you and still call myself a good Christian? I had no answer for Him. So, I...I...I thought He wanted me to pass the ‘word’. You know. So I did. I preached and preached the ‘word’ of the Lord and they all just laughed and laughed.''

Quietness dominated. A mouse pattered across the cellar, breaking the silence.

“I was mocked. No one would listen to me. And God returned...and guess what? He was still angry with me. You believe that? So I asked Him, what can I do? And, and He tells me to ‘eliminate those who do not wish to listen’. Eliminate! Did He mean Kill? I was so mixed up...So, so I asked Him again... I waited and I waited, but He never answered.”

A cricket sang.

“So I did it... Some hooker down the street was first...I cut her up...real good, you know, real good. And the rush, you know, the rush cleansed me. I mean really cleansed me. And the more and more I killed the more and more I knew this was my calling. No doubt in my mind, you know, absolutely no doubt that I was truly doing God's will.”

Say something. Say something. Beg for your life. Juan walked towards a workbench turning away from his prisoner. He picked up a spotless shiny scalpel and caressed it. You'll say something soon enough.

Juan spun back around dropping the medical instrument. The man stood in front of him unchained. Juan's bladder released. He finally recognized the man.

“My Father never told you to kill anyone Juan.”

-end-

My fiction on-line

2010-07-12T03:56:00.000-07:00

My story Clara's Revenge appears in Thrillers, Killers & Chillers

http://thrillskillsnchills.blogspot.com/search/label/clara%20revenge%20horror

allso another story at Macabre Cadaver

http://www.macabrecadaver.com/features/fiction/flash/2008/08/nature-just-nature-alexander-salas.html

fiction

2010-07-10T05:04:00.000-07:00

Back In The Argument
By Alexander Salas

Just when I thought I was out she pulled me back in the argument by saying that she played footsy with my best friend Jacob while the three of us enjoyed my mouthwatering Beef Wellington. I couldn’t figure out their aberrant behavior at the dinner table.

“What can I say?” Flora spoke arrogantly as if she was empress of the beachside bungalow we both shared. “You’re starting to bore me.”

“Have you fucked him?” I asked.

“No…not yet.” She laughed.

My grip tightened around the clean butcher knife that I had just hand washed. “Not yet. Huh? So I guess that’s it for us?”

“Oh, come on. I just said I’m a little bored with you. It doesn’t mean I want to end what we have.”

“And what? I’m supposed to just hang around here while you gallivant around with other men.”

“No. You can go out and have some fun. What about this Patricia you always tell me about. You work with her. You have lunch with her. It seems to me that you really like her. So just go for it. I won’t mind.” The look she gave me with her piercing emerald eyes told me she was serious. “And besides a little office romance adds excitement to life. And believe me I know. I wasn’t laid off from my last job. I was fired. I was caught fucking Mr. Wilson in the janitor’s closet.”

I jammed the butcher knife into the wooden slot. “It’s over. You and me.”

Flora smiled. “It’s over? Seven years together and that’s it.” She shook her head. “You...I don’t understand…I’m giving you a free pass to sleep around and alls you say it’s over.” She turned and walked away.

She was in the bedroom packing. I stood in the kitchen waiting. I waited for her final verbal jab at me. Every argument we ever had always ended with her taking one last shot at me.

“And by the way,” Flora shouted, “your Beef Wellington sucks. It always has.” And there it was. Her final blow.

With our halcyon relationship ending, I opened up the cabinet door under the sink and grabbed the fire extinguisher. I ran into the bedroom and cracked her skull open. Her brains spilled onto the carpet like a bad guacamole.

-end-

fiction

2010-06-30T08:23:00.000-07:00

fiction

2010-06-25T10:43:00.000-07:00

The First Time Is Always The Most Memorable
By Alexander Salas

Well now what?

What do you mean now what? It's over with.

Yeah... I guess you're right.

Of course I'm right, we're finished.

What about the cops?

Fuck them! This is Lorain, Ohio, small town hicks. They ain't no 'NYPD Blue'.

So I'm good to go, right?

What did I tell you? If you would have listened to me since you were a kid, maybe you wouldn't be such a pussy.

I really should have. Maybe I would have been more of a man.

You damn right you would have. Too late now, no sense of worrying about it, besides you're becoming a man awful quick.

Well I should jump in the shower and wash off the blood.

Yeah you go do that. After you clean yourself up, remember to take these garbage bags to the city dump. And please, please don't be a shit for brains and leave them out front with your normal trash.

I know, I know.

One more thing, don't go to the dump till about three or four in the morning, okay? Less chance of someone seeing you.

Sure, sure.

You got someone else picked out yet?

Yeah...yeah, Tanya Worthington.

You mean that fine little high school bitch from across the street?

Yep, that's the one.

Can't wait to chop her up to pieces. Good choice.

Thanks. Ah...I...I don't mean to be prying, but how come you are not covered in blood?

What are you stupid? Of course I'm covered in blood. I'm you.

-end-

fiction

2010-06-17T08:02:00.000-07:00

Marriage, Dreams, Uma & Death
by Alexander Salas

"Wow, you look beautiful as always. Uma...Oh, Uma." My cock strikes midnight. My tongue dangles. My heart explodes.

I sit in bed. Uma smiles lustfully wearing only six-inch stilettos. I must be dreaming...God if I am, please, please, please don't wake me.

Uma performs a perfect stripper walk. Her mound inches from my face. I inhale her wetness deeply. I crave a taste. My tongue slithers closer and...

"Sonny... Sonny wake up... wake up asshole."

Shit my wife. "What...what...what do you want Karen?" I ask.

"I don't want nothing from you."

"Why...why did you wake me up?"

"Cause you're keeping me awake with your 'oh Uma' and your 'I love you Uma'... what the hell is the matter with you? You really think someone like Uma Thurman wants somebody like you?"

Yeah, yeah laugh all you want you stupid ugly... "Just shut up and leave me alone, okay?"

"You don't have to worry about me leaving you alone. You good for nothing... Ah... forget it."

Good go back to sleep... I hope you die there... I need to get back to my dream... Sleep damn it sleep.

"Uma"... Uma wears the yellow jumpsuit from 'Kill Bill', Samurai sword and all... "Oooh...wow...Uma..."

"What the..." A mind-numbing pain rushes through my body. "Why?" I grab the blade with both hands. "Why Uma? Uma...Uma..."

"Hello Jimmy... yeah, it's Karen...it's done... yeah, Sonny is dead...I'm sure...just like you told me...yes, while he slept...a butcher knife... can you come and get me...I love you Jimmy..."

-end-

fiction

2010-06-09T09:11:00.000-07:00

fiction

2010-06-03T08:44:00.000-07:00

I Remember When
By Alexander Salas

The air conditioner hummed a steady drone. Inside Joshua's head the monotonous buzz tortured his mind. He wanted to scream. Joshua realized it was his own hesitation to speak that left the room deafly silent and magnified the irritating noise. He stared at Dr. Hutchinson deeply, as if looking inside the doctor for answers.

"I...I remember when," Joshua started, "I pushed Lucy off the balcony. I remember her cry of terror as she plummeted down to the unforgiving pavement below. I remember hearing her bones crunch on impact."

Dr. Hutchinson nervously adjusted his bow tie.

"I remember when," Joshua continued, "we first got married. And how beautiful she looked in her wedding dress. I remember when Josh Jr. was born and me and Lucy thought we were the perfect family. I remember when..."

"Ahem, ah, excuse me Joshua." Dr. Hutchinson interrupted a bit apprehensive. "You do understand that I am obliged by law to report any crimes such as murder. I mean morally..."

"No doctor you don't understand!" Joshua jumped up on his feet. He took a couple of deep breaths and sat back down. In a more calmer fashion he said. "What you don't understand is that tomorrow I am marrying Lucy."

-end-

fiction

2010-05-28T04:39:00.000-07:00

fiction

2010-05-16T14:58:00.000-07:00

fiction

2010-05-09T09:58:00.000-07:00

Yogi's Last Ride
By Alexander Salas

Yogi heard the ringing. The bell lap. I'm so close to the end. He dreaded meeting Death on a bicycle.

"Me riding a bike..." Yogi despised being a circus performer. "Me... riding a bike...that's what people find entertaining? Don't they know who I am? Well... no more...no way...I'll shake the Grim Reaper's hand on a motorcycle...yeah...a motorcycle."

Yogi still considered himself an actor. At the height of his popularity, drugs, women and loneliness stalked him like prey. Eventually, his audience evaporated. And along with his fans, Yogi's money began disappearing. Ringling was a last resort.

Yogi tossed the bike in the dumpster.

Like any good old cowboy, Yogi rode off into the sunset. And unlike any good old cowboy, he rode on five hundred horses.

Sunlight's last glimmer reflected on the windshield. Rushing wind greeted him like a long lost friend. His once dormant genitals sprung back to life. Freedom overwhelmed Yogi. This is better than a pic-a-nic basket.

-end-

fiction

2010-05-03T16:43:00.000-07:00

fiction

2010-04-21T10:44:00.000-07:00

fiction

2010-04-14T10:26:00.000-07:00

Billy And The Tooth Fairy
By Alexander Salas

The Tooth Fairy shook her head in confusion.

“Why did I start here?” The Tooth Fairy whispered. She had 28,975 quarters to deliver. “Damn.” The Tooth Fairy reached into her pocket and pulled out her Blackberry. “Billy Thompson, 1400 West 18th Street, Lorain, Ohio. Yep, this is the right address, hmm.”

Usually kids who left a tooth were mostly under five years old, but Billy looked to be a teenager.

“Well rules are rules.” The Tooth Fairy grabbed a quarter out of her bag.

“Give me all your money, bitch!” Smirked Billy while pointing a gun at the Tooth Fairy.

-end-

fiction

2010-04-12T10:38:00.000-07:00

Step On A Crack
By Alexander Salas

"You keep making that face and it will get stuck that way." My mom used to say that to me. You see I would imitate Freddy, the retard from across the street, whose head always tilted sideways and his eyes always looked up as if asking God why he made him a retard. And every time Freddy said something, "duh" was the first word out of his mouth. I swear, every time.

...So here I am waiting in the Emergency Room.

My mom tried to slap my face back to normal. She screamed with every smack, "What did I tell you." Dad just snickered.

I begged, "Duh...p p please stop hit... hit... hitting me." My mom slapped me till the cops came.

...I'm still waiting. They took my mom right away. You see she broke her back. The ambulance people asked the police how she broke her back. They didn't know. No one knows and I will never tell.

-end-

fiction

2010-04-05T16:08:00.000-07:00

Ray Of Light
By Alexander Salas

Night. I looked though my kitchen window. Rolling black clouds, accompanied by exploding thunder, blocked the full moon. I squinted. Blackness.

I blinked. A pinhole of light appeared in the darken sky. It grew. I froze.

"This is it." I shouted. "This is it. My salvation. Me, yes me. The 'Full Moon Strangler' is about to be saved." I closed my eyes and spread my arms welcoming my deliverance.

A strange noise chaperoned the storm's roar. My brain scanned my memory banks to try and determine what I was hearing. An engine. I opened my eyes. I was blinded by the light. "A plane!"

-end-

My story Fritos on line at Rejection Digest

2010-03-27T07:58:00.000-07:00

http://rejectiondigest.weebly.com/fritos-by-alexander-salas.html

fiction

2010-03-24T15:32:00.000-07:00

fiction

2010-03-16T10:30:00.000-07:00

The Deal
By Alexander Salas

I'd never been afraid of the dark till I saw his ebony eyes. The two black pits stared back at me. I wanted to run, but the man approached me at my lowest.

Shame overtook my fear. A 'better life' for my family he promised. Everything I'd lost would be returned and so much more.

Cornered, I shook the man's cold hand. I shivered. Dread swam in my blood. Desperation won.

As we completed the handshake, a bird burst from my chest and flew away. Silhouetted by the growing dusk, it disappeared in a matter of moments.

Afterwards, my life became a shadow of what it once was.

-end-

a poem

2010-03-10T04:43:00.000-08:00

What's Up Doc?
By Alexander Salas

What's up Doc?
Bugs stabbed me in the eye with a carrot
What you talking about Willis?
Gary kicked me in the shin
What the deuce?
Stewie berated me in a polished British accent
Why do I listen?
Why do I care?
Where's the beef?
Who killed J R?
I told my boss 'I'll be back'
I came
I shot
They're dead
Why do I listen?
Why do I care?

-end-

fiction

2010-03-03T07:22:00.000-08:00

fiction

2010-02-25T16:38:00.000-08:00

The First Time Is Always The Most Memorable
By Alexander Salas

Well now what?

What do you mean now what? It's over with.

Yeah... I guess you're right.

Of course I'm right, we're finished.

What about the cops?

Fuck them! This is Lorain, Ohio, small town hicks. They ain't no 'NYPD Blue'.

So I'm good to go, right?

What did I tell you? If you would have listened to me since you were a kid, maybe you wouldn't be such a pussy.

I really should have. Maybe I would have been more of a man.

You damn right you would have. Too late now, no sense of worrying about it, besides you're becoming a man awful quick.

Well I should jump in the shower and wash off the blood.

Yeah you go do that. After you clean yourself up, remember to take these garbage bags to the city dump. And please, please don't be a shit for brains and leave them out front with your normal trash.

I know, I know.

One more thing, don't go to the dump till about three or four in the morning, okay? Less chance of someone seeing you.

Sure, sure.

You got someone else picked out yet?

Yeah...yeah, Tanya Worthington.

You mean that fine little high school bitch from across the street?

Yep, that's the one.

Can't wait to chop her up to pieces. Good choice.

Thanks. Ah...I...I don't mean to be prying, but how come you are not covered in blood?

What are you stupid? Of course, I'm covered in blood. I'm you.

-end-

fiction

2010-02-19T11:21:00.000-08:00

Marriage, Dreams, Uma & Death
by Alexander Salas

"Wow, you look beautiful as always. Uma...Oh, Uma." My cock strikes midnight. My tongue dangles. My heart explodes.

I sit in bed. Uma smiles lustfully wearing only six-inch stilettos. I must be dreaming...God if I am, please, please, please don't wake me.

Uma performs a perfect stripper walk. Her mound inches from my face. I inhale her wetness deeply. I crave a taste. My tongue slithers closer and...

"Sonny... Sonny wake up... wake up asshole."

Shit my wife. "What...what...what do you want Karen?" I ask.

"I don't want nothing from you."

"Why...why did you wake me up?"

"Cause you're keeping me awake with your 'oh Uma' and your 'I love you Uma'... what the hell is the matter with you? You really think someone like Uma Thurman wants somebody like you?"

Yeah, yeah laugh all you want you stupid ugly... "Just shut up and leave me alone, okay?"

"You don't have to worry about me leaving you alone. You good for nothing... Ah... forget it."

Good go back to sleep... I hope you die there... I need to get back to my dream... Sleep damn it sleep.

"Uma"... Uma wears the yellow jumpsuit from 'Kill Bill', Samurai sword and all... "Oooh...wow...Uma..."

"What the..." A mind-numbing pain rushes through my body. "Why?" I grab the blade with both hands. "Why Uma? Uma...Uma..."

"Hello Jimmy... yeah, it's Karen...it's done... yeah, Sonny is dead...I'm sure...just like you told me...yes, while he slept...a butcher knife... can you come and get me...I love you Jimmy..."

-end-

fiction

2010-02-13T08:43:00.000-08:00

Private Flores Goes AWOL
By Alexander Salas

Death himself must have joined the United States Army. At least that's what Private Flores thought while gazing at Major Turner.

Major Turner stood straight and motionless like a statue. His best Battle Dress Uniform cleaned and pressed beyond reproach. Moonlight reflecting from the Major's spit-shined boots acted like small spotlights announcing his presence.

The cowering homeless family reflected on Major Turner's mirror sunglasses. These dirty, hungry and smelly people were the enemy.

In a calm manner Major Turner spoke, "Fire on my command."

Private Flores locked and loaded his M-16 rifle aiming at the vagrants. A man bravely shielded a woman and two young girls in the dark alley.

Our Father...Flores ran through his normal routine before completing his duty. A prayer for his sworn enemy and one for his own soul... Amen. Please God, forgive me.

In the past year Private Flores accumulated a death count of eighty-three. Despite the number of kills, he still was a bit apprehensive in killing fellow Americans. But orders were orders.

And these orders came straight from the top. The President sealed American borders and declared homelessness unlawful. 'Every American must and will contribute to make America stronger.' Congress approved the President's motto.

"By orders of the President, you are herby declared unfit to be called Americans and are considered enemies of the United States of America. By law you will be exterminated on site. May God have mercy on your souls." Major Turner smiled.

"Fire." The Major barked.

Nothing. Normal city noise echoed in the alley.

"Flores, what the hell is the matter with you?"

Car horns beeped. Busses hissed. Sirens wailed. Music played. Voices chattered.

"Private Flores, so help me God if I have to repeat myself you'll be the sorriest motherfucker on God's green earth."

"I can't take it anymore," Flores whispered while squeezing the trigger. Los Angeles drowned into the background as the gunfire exploded like the Fourth of July. Private Flores kept firing long after he ran out of ammunition. The Major lay dead on the ground.

-end-

fiction

2010-02-10T10:08:00.000-08:00

What's In A Name?
By Alexander Salas

Sometimes the name they give you is all wrong. Sometimes it's just backwards. Rehc Tub decided the latter statement applied to him.

Rehc stood and admired the macabre scene he'd just created. Blood splattered everywhere like a can of exploded rich, ruby red paint. With his eyes opened as wide as humanly possible, Rehc demanded that his brain to photocopy every last detail for future enjoyment.

After the picture developed, Rehc sent the photograph to the top drawer of his brain and placed it in folder number twenty-five. The twenty-fifth binder because the dead blond before him was his twenty-fifth victim, a simplified filing system for a not so simple mind.

Rehc tongued the tools of his trade. He mastered the art of licking the blades spotless without cutting himself.

The next morning Rehc enjoyed a steamy hot cup of coffee. He unfolded the newspaper and was once again awed by his name in the headlines. 'The West Side Butcher Slashes Victim Number 25.'

-end-

my stories at Bewildering Stories & Everyday Wierdness

2010-02-04T16:14:00.001-08:00

http://www.bewilderingstories.com/bios/salas_bio.html

http://everydayweirdness.com/e/20090611/

fiction

2010-02-01T10:41:00.000-08:00

My story at Thrillers, Killers n Chillers

2010-01-24T07:34:00.001-08:00

http://thrillskillsnchills.blogspot.com/search/label/Bob%3A%20The%20Maggot-eating%20Horse-whispering%20man

fiction

2010-01-20T04:50:00.001-08:00

The Deal
By Alexander Salas

I’d never been afraid of the dark till I saw his ebony eyes. The two black pits stared back at me. I wanted to run, but the man approached me at my lowest.

Shame overtook my fear. A ‘better life’ for my family he promised. Everything I’d lost would be returned and so much more.

Cornered, I shook the man’s cold hand. I shivered. Dread swam in my blood. Desperation won.

As we completed the handshake, a bird burst from my chest and flew away. Silhouetted by the growing dusk, it disappeared in a matter of moments.

Afterwards, my life became a shadow of what it once was.

-end-

short fiction contest

2010-01-07T07:17:00.000-08:00

http://clarityofnight.blogspot.com/

fiction

2010-01-04T10:26:00.000-08:00

This story appeared in Macabre Cadaver # 1 August 2008

Nature, Just Nature
By Alexander Salas

The odor punched me harder than a Mike Tyson right cross. My knees buckled, my head spun and my eyes watered as the stench raced up my nostrils.

I gagged. I tasted last night's pepperoni pizza. My stomach decided to expel my supper through the same tunnel it had entered. A volcano of yesterday's dinner neared eruption. A second gag halted the nutriment lava from erupting out of my mouth.

The lump in my throat was massive, like a live gopher taking a break from burrowing out of me. I massaged my neck downwards with both hands and swallowed the digested meal. I swore off pizza for life.

I gathered myself and stared at the mess King made. The Great Dane's diarrhea looked like somebody built a mud bath in my living room.

That's all I could take. I ran upstairs to get my gun.

"King...King...King..."

King did not respond, though I must say I wasn't surprised. I believed that there was no way a man; beast or dog could survive such a bowel movement.

I got to my bedroom and reached under my pillow for my .44. What I pulled out was King's electric dog collar. How in the hell did he get this off?

Just as my mind contemplated the question, King's massive jaws latched onto my arm. The pain bolted up and down my spine faster than it takes electricity to travel from a wall socket to a light bulb.

"No King...No!"

I shook my arm, but King clamped down with enough force to drive me to my knees. His choppers dug deeper and deeper till they scraped bones.

I let go of the collar, figuring that's what he wanted. King slowly released pressure and seemed to smile evilly showing off his crimson stained pearly whites.

My arm looked like shredded beef. Several pieces of skin hung on in desperation. For the third time that day I gagged.

My head throbbed and tears flowed freely. What the hell is going on?

Standing as tall as the Trojan Horse, King stood over me. The jet-black spots splattered on King's white coat made him look like a giant Dalmatian. And believe me when I tell you this, King would not be confused with any of those cuddly Disney Dalmatians you see in the movies.

King eyed me. If looks could kill... well... this monstrous Great Dane slayed me a thousand times.

Every hair on my body stood at attention as King let out a low, frightening guttural growl. I froze staring at man's best friend.

And let me tell you, for seven years, man, for seven fucking years I owned him and it was like; I was only really seeing him for the very first time...an animal that yearned.

King's yearning scared the shit out of me, almost. I squeezed my asshole and prayed my insides would hold on and stop me from shitting myself. King's nostrils' flared as he breathed in my fear and enjoyed my cowardice aroma.

With his snout he pointed to the collar. And I knew. Don't ask me how I knew, but I just did. I struggled (with only one good arm) to fit the collar around my neck.

King spoke. Not like you and I, no sir not like us at all. He barked like any other dog on this planet. But I knew what he was communicating to me. Again, don't ask me how I knew, but it's like, oh I don't know, not déjà vu, no, no... what am I thinking of, hmm...ESP...no, no that's not it at all, hold on, it'll come to me... telepathy, yeah that's it, telepathy. Well... maybe not telepathy, hell I don't know, but alls I can say is I understood King's barking.

King's communication was perfectly clear. I became his pet from that moment on.

...So here I sit in the middle of my backyard. How much of a shock can this electric collar give? Will it knock me down? How long will it take King to notice me flopping around on the ground like a fish out of water? Should I just take off the collar?

I look up in time to see Thor, my neighbor's Pit Bull, yanking my neighbor out of his back door on a leash, and I suddenly think, we're fucked.

-end-

fiction

2009-12-17T10:52:00.000-08:00

This story appeared in Twisted Tongue # 12

A Morbid Christmas Tale
By Alexander Salas

Christmas Eve

Mike and Sammy shivered. Darkness surrounded them. Old Man Winter iced them. Greed motivated them.

They hid in Ragan's Woods with their eyes glued to the Jefferson home.

Mike checked his watch. "Okay...it's been an hour since the bedroom light went off...ready?"

"Let's do this." Sammy said.

Mike and Sammy crept out of the trees and into the Jefferson's backyard. A light snow sprinkled their black skullcaps like dandruff.

Breaking and entering took a second. "You believe these people? Huh...they don't even lock their back door...I told you this would be easy." Mike whispered.

Inside the living room, Sammy turned on his flashlight. "Wow...look at that...a Plasma...how big you think that is?" He quietly asked.

"I don't know...but if they can afford that, imagine what kind of gifts they have."

Sammy panned the light to the left of the fireplace. A mammoth Christmas tree grew out of a pile of presents.

"Let's get as many of the presents out of here...we'll take them to our snowmobiles...and we'll come back and see what else we can get...let's hurry." Mike murmured.

Sssswwwwwooooooooshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...

"What...shit...something is coming down the chimney." Sammy blurted.

"Sh...damn it...quiet."

A pair of black boots with white cuffs and red legs attached landed softly in the ashes.

"The light...the light." Mike pointed at Sammy's flashlight. "Shut it off...shut it off." They became mannequins in the dark.

Santa brushed the soot off of his famous red suit. Despite the darkened room, Old Saint Nick shimmied his way through the furniture obstacle course arriving safely next to the milk and cookies.

A snap of Santa's fingers and a silver flask appeared. Unseen fingers unscrewed the cap of the floating decanter. And an unseen hand poured a clear liquid into the glass of cow juice. Snap. The flask disappeared.

Santa swallowed the milky concoction. He grabbed the biscuits and stuffed them inside his coat pocket.

In cowboy fashion Santa placed both hands down his sides challenging the fireplace to a duel. Santa drew. Both hands a blazing... snap... snap... snap... snap... snap... snap...Christmas presents raced out of the chimney and crashed softly under the tree, joining the Jefferson's gifts.

Santa put away his six-shooters and headed upstairs.

"Did you see that?" Sammy asked.

"I'm right here, ain't I?"

"Why do you think he's going upstairs?"

Mike shrugged. "Come on. Let's find out." Sammy followed Mike to the second floor.

A light glowed through a small opening of the bedroom door.

"In there." Mike said pointing.

Mike crouched down and Sammy nearly placed his chin on Mike's head forming a strange totem pole.

"What the..." Mike's lower jaw dropped.

A little boy stood looking at Mike and Sammy, but not really seeing. Robot-like he untied his pajama-bottoms and let them fall around his ankles.

Behind the little boy, Santa unbuckled his red pants and dropped trow. He began pulling on little Saint Nick.

"Well, I guess Santa really is cumming to town." Sammy laughed. Santa heard.

Mike shoved the door open. Sammy froze. Mike charged Santa.

Snap. Santa had a 9mm. Two shots equaled two deaths.

"Anthony... Anthony...Anthony..." Voices echoed from the hallway.

Snap. Anthony's pajama bottoms and Santa's pants zoomed up to their waist. Snap. Anthony snapped out of his trance.

"What the hell?" Anthony's father spewed.

"Oh my God...oh my God...Oh..." Anthony's mother cried.

"Dad...Mom..." Anthony confused. "...Santa?"

"It's alright Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson. Anthony is safe now." Santa snapped his fingers one last time.

Christmas Day

Local, national and international news trucks converged on the Jefferson household.

Mike and Sammy were juvenile delinquents. The FBI found a ransom note and surveillance photos of Anthony scattered throughout Mike's bedroom. Santa's last snap worked to perfection.

A week later, Oprah smiled into the camera, "Well, what can I say. How do I introduce a hero? A hero who is world renowned. Some call him Kris Kringle. Others Saint Nick. But me. Well, I like Santa Claus..."

-end-

fiction

2009-12-13T07:48:00.000-08:00

fiction

2009-12-07T06:59:00.000-08:00

Breaking Point
By Alexander Salas

Ninety-six hours can be a long time without a meal.
The rancid smell of raw meat filled the air like a perfume of death. Boiling temperatures added to the nasty, gut-wrenching odor that made consumption out of the question. But four days without food gave them the illusion that the provision was an appetizing and succulent Filet Mignon.

They all stared. They all craved. They all wondered how they could do this to a man who fed them daily. Never ever once missing a single day, but hunger was now erasing the rotten aroma with every tick of the clock.

Finally someone stepped forward. Red, yes Red of course would be first and the rest would follow. Red the fearless leader, the cock-of-the-walk, the oldest, the wisest, the biggest.

Red circled the man, whose fatal fall twisted his neck to an awkward position. Red was now face to face with John's soulless eyes. The rooster pecked at the farmer's cheek. A few seconds later, 29 hens joined the crazed feast.

-end-

fiction

2009-12-01T05:41:00.000-08:00

The First Time Is Always The Most Memorable
By Alexander Salas

Well now what?

What do you mean now what? It's over with.

Yeah... I guess you're right.

Of course I'm right, we're finished.

What about the cops?

Fuck them! This is Lorain, Ohio, small town hicks. They ain't no 'NYPD Blue'.

So I'm good to go, right?

What did I tell you? If you would have listened to me since you were a kid, maybe you wouldn't be such a pussy.

I really should have. Maybe I would have been more of a man.

You damn right you would have. Too late now, no sense of worrying about it, besides you're becoming a man awful quick.

Well I should jump in the shower and wash off the blood.

Yeah you go do that. After you clean yourself up, remember to take these garbage bags to the city dump. And please, please don't be a shit for brains and leave them out front with your normal trash.

I know, I know.

One more thing, don't go to the dump till about three or four in the morning, okay? Less chance of someone seeing you.

Sure, sure.

You got someone else picked out yet?

Yeah...yeah, Tanya Worthington.

You mean that fine little high school bitch from across the street?

Yep, that's the one.

Can't wait to chop her up to pieces. Good choice.

Thanks. Ah...I...I don't mean to be prying, but how come you are not covered in blood?

What are you stupid? Of course, I'm covered in blood. I'm you.

-end-

my story at Bewildering Stories

2009-11-23T04:51:00.001-08:00

http://www.bewilderingstories.com/issue362/dream_cannibal.html

fiction

2009-11-16T08:01:00.000-08:00

fiction

2009-11-09T08:33:00.000-08:00

Marriage, Dreams, Uma & Death
by Alexander Salas

"Wow, you look beautiful as always. Uma...Oh, Uma." My cock strikes midnight. My tongue dangles. My heart explodes.

I sit in bed. Uma smiles lustfully wearing only six-inch stilettos. I must be dreaming...God if I am, please, please, please don't wake me.

Uma performs a perfect stripper walk. Her mound inches from my face. I inhale her wetness deeply. I crave a taste. My tongue slithers closer and...

"Sonny... Sonny wake up... wake up asshole."

Shit my wife. "What...what...what do you want Karen?" I ask.

"I don't want nothing from you."

"Why...why did you wake me up?"

"Cause you're keeping me awake with your 'oh Uma' and your 'I love you Uma'... what the hell is the matter with you? You really think someone like Uma Thurman wants somebody like you?"

Yeah, yeah laugh all you want you stupid ugly... "Just shut up and leave me alone, okay?"

"You don't have to worry about me leaving you alone. You good for nothing... Ah... forget it."

Good go back to sleep... I hope you die there... I need to get back to my dream... Sleep damn it sleep.

"Uma"... Uma wears the yellow jumpsuit from 'Kill Bill', Samurai sword and all..."Ooh...wow...Uma...''

"What the..." A mind-numbing pain rushes through my body. "Why?" I grab the blade with both hands. "Why Uma? Uma...Uma..."

"Hello Jimmy... yeah, it's Karen...it's done... yeah, Sonny is dead...I'm sure...just like you told me...yes, while he slept...a butcher knife... can you come and get me...I love you Jimmy..."

-end-

fiction

2009-11-01T08:43:00.000-08:00

fiction

2009-10-26T04:48:00.000-07:00

Heaven Is A Photograph Away
By Alexander Salas

“A picture is worth a fortune in joy and in this case it’s priceless. As you see, we take your happiest moment in life and return you to that exact point of your existence,” says the man in white. His skin, suit, shirt, tie, socks, shoes, hair, mustache, beard and eyebrows all ivory as the North Pole snow.

He continues, “I trust you brought your photo album along?”

I nod.

“Very well then. Have you selected a picture?”

I hand the bleached man the photo. It’s of me and a bunch of friends in Vegas. That is where I was the happiest. I figured if this is what Heaven is about, then fuck it, might as well be in Vegas for eternity.

“I’m sorry sir, but the photograph must be of a joyful occasion,” the man states.

“I don’t understand. That weekend in Vegas was the best time of my life.”

“I see,” the man replies. “You don’t really believe that do you?”

“No.” A simple two letter answer. My life simplified by no. No money. No wife. No kids. No career. No life. No love. No happiness. No picture. No Heaven.

“What about the time before photographs? How did people get to pick their Heaven?” I ask.

“Why through memories, of course. Do you have a blissful memory? Certainly in your forty years on God’s green earth, you have attained that one magical juncture of love, enjoyment or anything that made life worthwhile to you?”

My silence answers his questions.

“I see,” the man frowns, “I’m sorry. There is no place for you in Heaven. My deepest sympathy.”

“What happens to me now?”

I stand alone. The pasty man is gone. I’m scared. I hear footsteps behind me and I am afraid to turn around.

-end-

fiction

2009-10-19T08:02:00.000-07:00

fiction

2009-10-11T07:41:00.000-07:00

My story on line

2009-10-02T04:26:00.000-07:00

http://www.everydayfiction.com/the-hungry-squirrel-by-alexander-salas/

fiction

2009-09-30T08:17:00.000-07:00

The Yodeler
By Alexander Salas

Yo yodel, yodel-laydee yodel yo yodel, yodel-laydee-hoo...

The yodeling accomplished what the cool midnight air could not. A shiver streaked down Roger's spine. Ginger squatted low to the grass as if laying an egg.

"Come on Ginger. Hurry girl." Roger hated being in the park after dark. But Ginger needed a walk and a chance to do her business so she wouldn't bug him later that night.

"Who the fuck yodels in the park at night?" Roger whispered. "Come on Ginger, come on."

Roger squinted trying to locate the lunatic yodeler. It was as if the darkness was yodeling.

Yo yodel, yodel-laydee yodel yo yodel, yodel-laydee-hoo...

Roger pulled the leash. "Hurry up Ginger." The black-and-tan Cocker Spaniel finally finished. And as if relieving herself made her deaf, Ginger turned her ear up towards the yodeling.

Roger nearly crapped himself as Ginger responded to the yodels with her own howls.

Aaaoooooooo...yo yodel...aaaoooooooo...yodel-laydee...aaaoooooooo...

"Shh...shut up...Ginger...shut up, shut up" Roger yanked the dog's leash and Ginger followed obediently back home.

******
The next morning birds sang. The sun warmed. Flowers bloomed. Sirens blared. Radios cracked. And hundreds, including Roger and Ginger, stood behind yellow police tape on the lushes green grass of Pawlak Park.

"What a shame." Detective Stephenson said. His eyes glued to the victim's breasts. "36C. Perfect."

"What the fuck is a matter with you Joey? Show some respect." Detective Richards, Stephenson's partner, barked.

In unison, all the Crime Scene Techs and policemen stopped and stared at Stephenson.

"Easy Frank. You know I'm not like that." Joey's face reddened. "Take it easy, alright Frank. Don't go busting my balls. The captain is all over my ass too. Relax Frank, okay?"

The once alluring blonde had been slashed countless times from head to toe. Only her breasts remained untouched. A bra was stuffed down her throat to stifle any screams. The first three women were all found in the same condition. A serial killer was loose.

Silence reigned between the two detectives. Frank started walking towards the gathering crowd being held at bay by uniforms. "I'm gonna find out if there any witnesses."

An officer intercepted Frank and pointed out Roger as a possible witness. The same officer pulled Roger from the ranks and led him to Frank.

"...Yodeling? Wait... let me get this straight. Around midnight last night you heard someone yodeling?"

"Yes I did Detective Richards." Roger replied. "I was out here walking Ginger and I heard yodeling. A man. Yes, it was a man yodeling... And don't look at me that way... I know what I heard."

Frank wrote Roger's statement in a small notebook.

"And you say you live in that blue house right there?" Frank asked as he aimed his finger across the street.

"Yes. 2173. The blue one, that's right."

"Thank you." Frank handed Roger his card.

*****
A cool and comfortable evening replaced the hot afternoon. Roger set his coffee mug on the kitchen table after hearing the doorbell ring. Ginger yapped like a mad dog and took off to the front door.

Yap, yap, yap, yap...

"Hush! Ginger, hush... Ah, detective Richards. Come on in. Follow me into the kitchen and join me for some fresh coffee."

Frank crouched down to stroke Ginger. Standing up, he reached inside his coat pocket pulling out a butcher knife and with a couple of long and purposeful strides he arrived in the kitchen. And from the kitchen, a combination of screams and barking could be heard, along with...

Yodel-laydee-hoo yo-yo yodel-yodel-laydee-hoo...

-end-

fiction

2009-09-20T08:07:00.000-07:00

Pain = Pleasure
By Alexander Salas

"Stop! Please! Stop! No more! Please! I can't take it! Help!"

"I love you! I love you! I love you! I love you! I..."

"Help! Stop! No! Please..!"

"I love you! I love you! I love you! I love you! I..."

"Help! Please! Hellllllllllppppp! Ple..."

"I love you! I." Jamie stopped. It was over. She gently caressed her harden nipples. Her pussy was alive and wet.

The water in the pool slowly took on a dark maroon hue.

Though it was fast, Jamie had counted two orgasms. Pain brought on her pleasure. Pain and only pain gave her a climax. Every time.

Men found her unconquerable. Resistance of her hour glass figure, model-like face and platinum blond hair was, as some old Sci-Fi show use to say, futile.

Stunned at what men would do just to be inside her, Jamie laughed at the poor schmuck in the pool. Actually, her laughter was for what was left of the asshole inside the pool.

"Not as fast a swimmer as you thought." Jamie giggled the words out.

She remembered the look on his face, as she waited nude on the opposite side of the pool. He dove in. Jamie smiled. She simply was, as the old song goes, irresistible.

The water finally calmed. The piranhas' feeding frenzy ended as abruptly as it started.

-end-

fiction

2009-09-08T15:22:00.000-07:00

fiction

2009-08-31T06:26:00.000-07:00

fiction

2009-08-23T15:00:00.000-07:00

Breaking Point
By Alexander Salas

Ninety-six hours can be a long time without a meal.

The rancid smell of raw meat filled the air like a perfume of death. Boiling temperatures added to the nasty, gut-wrenching odor that made consumption out of the question. But four days without food gave them the illusion that the provision was an appetizing and succulent Filet Mignon.

They all stared. They all craved. They all wondered how they could do this to a man who fed them daily. Never ever once missing a single day, but hunger was now erasing the rotten aroma with every tick of the clock.

Finally someone stepped forward. Red, yes Red of course would be first and the rest would follow. Red the fearless leader, the cock-of-the-walk, the oldest, the wisest, the biggest.

Red circled the man, whose fatal fall twisted his neck to an awkward position. Red was now face to face with John's soulless eyes. The rooster pecked at the farmer's cheek. A few seconds later, 29 hens joined the crazed feast.

-end-

fiction

2009-08-16T08:04:00.000-07:00

The Shark In The Pool
By Alexander Salas

Lenny stretches as if reaching for the morning sun. Daybreak's cool crisp air blows into his boxers cooling his sweaty balls. Before hitting the pool, Lenny inhales the gentle breeze initializing the refreshing stage of a brand new day. The rejuvenating water waits.

Looking forward to the plunge, Lenny prances to the end of the diving board like Gene Kelly. Hands together above his head forming a steeple, "This is heaven. Look out belo..."

A fin freezes him so fast his nuts shrivel like two prunes. She knows. Lenny looks back to the house. How...I was so careful. Gwen's newlyweds promise screams inside his head. "Remember Lenny, I will always love you, no matter what. But if you cheat on me, I'll kill you without a thought."

Like a first-timer on a balance beam, Lenny backs off the diving board. "Gwen...Gwen..."

"I'm in the kitchen."

"Gwen...Gwen...what the hell is going on...huh...Gwen..."

Gwen sets down her cup of coffee. "What...what do you mean what's going on?"

"The shark Gwen...the fucking shark...you trying to kill me..."

Gwen's face curls in confusion. "A shark? What shark? What are you talking about?"

"In the pool...there's a fucking shark in the pool!"

Gwen rises slowly and glances out the kitchen window. She sees the fin moving back and forth the length of the pool as if the shark is swimming laps. "What the..."

"What...you saying you don't know nothing about it?"

"What...how would I...a shark...what me...how does...a shark..." Gwen stares at the pool.

"Damn. So much for starting my day with a swim. You know how much I like to swim in the morning...Damn."

"Yeah...yeah...I know." Gwen sits down. Shaking her head she continues. "Look, I don't know what's going on...I'll...I'll just call 911...I guess..."

Lenny shrugs. "Fuck it. I'm going to see if I can get a tee time." Lenny heads upstairs to change.

"Remember, I moved your clubs from the garage to the basement." Gwen yells.

Back in the kitchen, Lenny heads for the basement door.

"I called 911." Gwen tells him.

"What'd they say?"

"Well, it took me about five minutes to convince them we had a shark in our pool. And they said they were going to call the Fish and Wildlife or something like that."

Lenny starts down the dark cellar stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, he reaches for the small chain and pulls. The hundred-watt light gives Lenny a split-second to see the five hundred pound, fully mane lion.

-end-

fiction

2009-08-10T17:06:00.000-07:00

fiction

2009-08-05T10:25:00.000-07:00

The Wheels On The Bus
By Alexander Salas

The children’s voices drilled straight into Ernie’s brain. Their high pitch screaming, obnoxious laughter and their constant bickering reverberated like a pinball throughout the yellow school bus.

“Shut the fuck up. You hear me you little bastards.” Ernie exploded. “If I hear one more word from anyone back there, so help me, I will stop this bus and beat the living shit out of each and every one of you.” This would be Ernie Garvey’s final day of employment.

Ernie finished the route that morning. The children rode like seated statues. Only the diesel engine’s puttering broke the absolute silence.

Ernie drank coffee afterwards at Bill’s Diner. His cell rang. “Hello…Yes…Yeah…I understand.” The caller informed him that his services were no longer required.

“Fuck. Twenty-five years. Down the shitter.” Ernie got up, threw his bus keys on the counter and left without saying a word.

“Twenty-five years, twenty-five years, twenty-five years…” Ernie whispered his new mantra for the entire walk home.

Three months passed. Like a dam on the brink of collapse, Ernie stewed on his front porch, gun in hand. “Two o’clock. Just enough time for one last pick-up.” He hiked the mile to the bus depot.

“Hey Ernie, long time no see. How you doing?” Roger asked climbing down from number 831, Ernie’s old ride.

“Hey Roger, I see you got my old bus” Before Roger answered Ernie shot him. “Twenty-five years.” Ernie hopped aboard number 831.

“The wheels on the bus will run you over, run you over, run you over. The wheels on the bus...” Ernie sang with reverence. A smile grew as he spotted his precious little cargo waiting at the bus stop. He floored the gas pedal. “The wheels on the bus will run you over, run you over, run you over. The wheels on the bus…” The bus plowed through the children.

-

‘The wheels on the bus...’ Played softly over and over in Ernie' mind as the jury read the guilty verdict, as he enjoyed his last meal and as he waited electrocution.

The song stopped for Ernie's last words.

“I just wanted to say that I deeply regret what I did to Roger. I never meant to kill him. I'm sorry.” He inhaled deeply and began singing loudly, “The wheels on the bus will run you over, run you over, run you over…” A black hood was placed over his head. “The wheels on the bus will run you over…” The clock struck midnight. “…run you over…” Electricity finally ended Ernie’s singing.

-end-

fiction

2009-07-30T08:27:00.000-07:00

The First Time Is Always The Most Memorable
By Alexander Salas

Well now what?
What do you mean now what? It's over with.
Yeah... I guess you're right.
Of course I'm right, we're finished.
What about the cops?
Fuck them! This is Lorain, Ohio, small town hicks. They ain't no 'NYPD Blue'.
So I'm good to go, right?
What did I tell you? If you would have listened to me since you were a kid, maybe you wouldn't be such a pussy.
I really should have. Maybe I would have been more of a man.
You damn right you would have. Too late now, no sense of worrying about it, besides you're becoming a man awful quick.
Well I should jump in the shower and wash off the blood.
Yeah you go do that. After you clean yourself up, remember to take these garbage bags to the city dump. And please, please don't be a shit for brains and leave them out front with your normal trash.
I know, I know.
One more thing, don't go to the dump till about three or four in the morning, okay? Less chance of someone seeing you.
Sure, sure.
You got someone else picked out yet?
Yeah...yeah, Tanya Worthington.
You mean that fine little high school bitch from across the street?
Yep, that's the one.
Can't wait to chop her up to pieces. Good choice.
Thanks. Ah...I...I don't mean to be prying, but how come you are not covered in blood?
What are you stupid? Of course, I'm covered in blood. I'm you.

-end-

fiction

2009-07-27T04:16:00.000-07:00

Lost Faith
By Alexander Salas

Juan's breath floated like a frozen cloud. The frosty ambience kissed his skin. Chills dashed deep inside his bone marrow.

He shivered momentarily before adapting to the nippy atmosphere of the basement. His calling overshadowed the brisk climate.

His eyes caressed the various body parts displayed neatly on his makeshift altar. Juan marveled at the offerings and an onset of tears blurred his vision. Yes, I am doing God's will.

A wooden crucifix hung high above the shrine watching.

The bum groaned. Juan double-checked the shackles. A dirty vagrant no one will miss. Arms and legs chained to a metal table, the hobo blinked himself awake.

He looks familiar. The vagabond's long dark hair, a full beard and light olive-brown skin eerily reminded Juan of someone. Nah... I'm just tired.

In his previous experiences, lowlifes began begging for mercy upon coming to. Not this man. Not an ounce of panic showed on the derelict's face. Juan trembled at the transient's composure.

It's like he knew he would be here in my temple. It's like...like this filthy animal expected to be here...no...impossible...no...I'm just tired, that's all, I'm tired. Why am I shaking? God's work, yes that's what I'm doing.

Juan spoke. "So m...m...m... my friend, you awake now? Your h...h...h...head hurt?" Stop it! Stop it you fool. You are in control. Not him! You have God on your side. Not him!

Juan inhaled several times calming his nerves. "The pain you feel now..." Juan stroked the grapefruit-size knot growing from the side of the homeless man's head. "... is nothing to what you will feel when I get started with you."

The drifter brandished no emotion.

"Scream if you want, as loud as you want. Nobody will hear you. You are all mine."

An uncomfortable silence engulfed the room as if the air molecules stopped moving.

Juan closed his eyes. Relax...Relax...Relax... In a false confidence, he spewed, "You ever hear of the old saying 'God helps those who help themselves'? Ring a bell? Huh? Well does it? You think God put you on this earth to waste your life? That His master plan for you is to roam the streets begging, stealing or picking through garbage for food? Why are you out there on the streets? Huh? Drugs? Drinking? Gambling? Huh? Answer me"

Juan waited for an answer. None came. Who are you? What are you? Relax Juan, relax. You're in control.

"You see about a year ago God admonished me. Me, a God-fearing man, me a Sunday-go-to-church man and me, a help-a-fellow-man, was being scolded by God Himself. He asked me, 'how can I live amongst the wretched?' You know... the whores, pimps, drug addicts and the likes of you and still call myself a good Christian? I had no answer for Him. So, I...I...I thought He wanted me to pass the 'word'. You know. So I did. I preached and preached the 'word' of the Lord and they all just laughed and laughed."

Quietness dominated. A mouse pattered across the cellar, breaking the silence.

"I was mocked. No one would listen to me. And God returned...and guess what? He was still angry with me. You believe that? So I asked Him, what can I do? And, and He tells me to 'eliminate those who do not wish to listen'. Eliminate! Did He mean Kill? I was so mixed up...So, so I asked Him again... I waited and I waited, but He never answered."

A cricket sang.

"So I did it... Some hooker down the street was first...I cut her up...real good, you know, real good. And the rush, you know, the rush cleansed me. I mean really cleansed me. And the more and more I killed the more and more I knew this was my calling. No doubt in my mind, you know, absolutely no doubt that I was truly doing God's will."

Say something. Say something. Beg for your life. Juan walked towards a workbench turning away from his prisoner. He picked up a spotless shiny scalpel and caressed it. You'll say something soon enough.

Juan spun back around dropping the medical instrument. The man stood in front of him unchained. Juan's bladder released. He finally recognized the man.

"My Father never told you to kill anyone Juan."

-end-

fiction

2009-07-23T04:19:00.000-07:00

Red Life
By Alexander Salas

Sledgehammers inside his head. Jeff kept his eyes closed. Don’t move. “Uhhhh…Don’t think. Don’t even think.”

Jeff’s stomach rumbled. Budweiser, Jack, Chevis and Bacardi all conspired to make their escape.

The cool wooden floor offered some comfort. Slow…slower…come on…gotta see where I’m going if I want to make it to the toilet and puke my guts out…slower, come on eyes, open…Light. Wood grain. A wine glass? Red wine?

“Is this some kind of a joke? Ow...Shit, shut up, shut up.” Hair of the dog. Hair of the dog. “Ooowwww…” Jeff rolled onto his knees. He shook. “Slow…take your time.” Both hands grasped the goblet. Motionless, Jeff looked like a priest offering the blood of Christ. He drank.

“Pppffffftttt…” The red liquid spewed to the far corners of the room. “Blood? What the…Ooowwww” Jeff’s body heaved. He looked up at the ceiling. Drink this all of you, for this is my blood…

“It can’t be.” Jeff glanced down at the chalice still in his hands. He placed it on the floor. “When I open my eye, it’ll be gone.” The air conditioner hummed. On three. One…two…three…

“Damn. What’s going on?” A half-empty bottled of whiskey stood next to the wine glass. Seconds ticked. Minutes passed. Sweat blurred his vision.

Jeff grabbed the alcohol and chugged. “Ahhh…Ooowwww.” He fell forward clutching the booze. Eyes glued to the red wine he heard his heartbeat.

Th-thump…th-thum…th-thu…th-th…th-t…-----

-end-

fiction

2009-07-16T11:18:00.000-07:00

Marriage, Dreams, Uma & Death
by Alexander Salas

“Wow, you look beautiful as always. Uma...Oh, Uma.” My cock strikes midnight. My tongue dangles. My heart explodes.

I sit in bed. Uma smiles lustfully wearing only six-inch stilettos. I must be dreaming...God if I am, please, please, please don't wake me.

Uma performs a perfect stripper walk. Her mound inches from my face. I inhale her wetness deeply. I crave a taste. My tongue slithers closer and...

“Sonny... Sonny wake up... wake up asshole.”

Shit my wife. “What...what...what do you want Karen” I ask.

“I don't want nothing from you.”

“Why...why did you wake me up?”

“Cause you're keeping me awake with your ‘oh Uma’ and your ‘I love you Uma’... what the hell is the matter with you? You really think someone like Uma Thurman wants somebody like you?”

Yeah, yeah laugh all you want you stupid ugly... “Just shut up and leave me alone, okay?”

“You don't have to worry about me leaving you alone. You good for nothing... Ah... forget it.”

Good go back to sleep... I hope you die there... I need to get back to my dream... Sleep damn it sleep.

“Uma”... Uma wears the yellow jumpsuit from ‘Kill Bill’, Samurai sword and all... “Oooh...wow...Uma...”

“What the...” A mind-numbing pain rushes through my body. “Why?” I grab the blade with both hands. “Why Uma? Uma...Uma...”

“Hello Jimmy... yeah, it's Karen...it's done... yeah, Sonny is dead...I'm sure...just like you told me...yes, while he slept...a butcher knife... can you come and get me...I love you Jimmy...”

-end-

Fiction Contest

2009-07-13T05:46:00.001-07:00

http://clarityofnight.blogspot.com/

fiction

2009-07-02T14:56:00.000-07:00

Fritos
By Alexander Salas

"I want Fritos...yeah, Fritos for breakfast."

"Shut the fuck up." Jed barks at Billy as he stands topless scratching his balls through the hole of his boxers. "Betty! Betty, get your ass out here and makes us some breakfast."

Betty stumbles into the kitchen. Her hair in disarray. Her breath reeking of a brewery. "Good morning Billy, my sweet. Where's Jr.? What you fellas want?" She wears one of Jed's wife-beater t-shirts like a dress with nothing on underneath. Her nipples blossom though the white tank top.

"I want Fritos"

"Shut the fuck up. You fucking retard." Jed roars. "And what the hell you mean 'what you fellas want'...huh? We want breakfast...that's what we fellas want."

Jr. saunters into the room dressed in his class of '09 sweatshirt, blue jeans and a LSU hat. "Why you yelling, pop?"

"Because it's my fucking house and I'll yell if I want to yell." Jed's bellowing echoes off the walls.

"I want Fritos. I want Fr..."

Sllllaaaaaaaaaap.

Jed's gigantic bear-claw leaves a rosy hand print on the side of Billy's face. The twelve-year-old erupts crying.

"You stop that crying boy. You hear me. Or I swear I'll give you something to cry about."

"Stop it Jed. Now stop it. He means no harm. He can't help himself. You know he's retarded." Betty gently brings Billy's head into her bosom. "Ah baby, you okay Billy?"

Jed yanks Betty away from their son. "Quit babying the boy. I know he's retarded but he's still got to grow up to be a man." He eyes her from head to toe. Jed lifts the bottom of Betty's make-shift dress exposing her pubic hair. "And what the fuck you mean by wearing almost nothing in front of the boys. Huh? What kind of a momma are you?" He shoves her down to the floor. "Now you get your ass dressed and hurry the fuck back and make up some break-."

"Leave her alone!"

"What?" Jed turns to face Jr. "What you say to me boy?" His hard stare drills holes in Jr.

"I said leave her alone." Jr. pulls out a switch-blade from his pants pocket. He clicks it open.

"Well, well, well. What you gonna do with that knife boy? Hah."

"J-J-J-Jr., p-p-put that away, honey. I'm okay." Betty stumbles to her feet.

Billy tears stop. He begins. "I want Fritos. I want Fritos. I want..."

"Jesus Betty, look what you gave me. A half-wit and a dip shit. Two dumbasses, who if I could, I would shove them back in your pussy and hope you spit out one damn boy who is worth a shit." Jed inches closer to Jr.

Jr. waves the blade with his right hand. Jed snatches Jr. right wrist-

"Stop-I-it-want-you-Fritos-two-I-stop-want-it-Fritos..."

-Jr. brings his left knee into his father's goodies. Jed crumbles to the ground gasping for air-

"...want-it-Fritos-stop-I-it-want-stop-Fritos..."

-Jr. grabs his dad's hair, picks up Jed's head and slices his father's throat nearly drowning himself in blood.

"...stop-want-it-Fritos-st...I want Fritos. I want Fritos..."

Betty freezes.

"...I want Fritos. I want Fritos..."

"Look what you done. You, you, you killed him. Jr. you killed him. Why? Why you kill him Jr." Betty asks.

"...I want Fritos...I want Fritos..."

"Why? You ask me why?" Jr. lets go of Jed's head. Jed falls face first, dead. "You should have killed him yourself, long time ago." He drops the switchblade.

"...I want Fritos...I want Fritos..."

"Me? Me? Why should I've kill him. It was you two. Both of you who made him the way he was. Not me, Jr."

Jr. sucker-punches his mother. She collapses like a rag doll.

"...I want Fritos. I want Fritos..."

Jr. walks over to the counter and grabs a butcher knife. He stabs his mother over and over again.

"...I want Fritos. I want Fritos..."

Jed stares at Billy. A mixture of his parent's blood shroud him. He opens a cabinet and snatches a brand new bag of family-size Fritos. He hands the Fritos to Billy.

"Thank you." Billy smiles.

-end-

fiction

2009-06-27T13:58:00.000-07:00

fiction

2009-06-18T09:35:00.000-07:00

My story on Everyday Weirdness June 11th

2009-06-11T06:45:00.001-07:00

http://everydayweirdness.com/e/20090611/

fiction

2009-06-08T07:38:00.000-07:00

Private Flores Goes AWOL
By Alexander Salas

Death himself must have joined the United States Army. At least that's what Private Flores thought while gazing at Major Turner.

Major Turner stood straight and motionless like a statue. His best Battle Dress Uniform cleaned and pressed beyond reproach. Moonlight reflecting from the Major's spit-shined boots acted like small spotlights announcing his presence.

The cowering homeless family reflected on Major Turner's mirror sunglasses. These dirty, hungry and smelly people were the enemy.

In a calm manner Major Turner spoke, "Fire on my command."

Private Flores locked and loaded his M-16 rifle aiming at the vagrants. A man bravely shielded a woman and two young girls in the dark alley.

Our Father...Flores ran through his normal routine before completing his duty. A prayer for his sworn enemy and one for his own soul. Amen. Please God, forgive me.

In the past year Private Flores accumulated a death count of eighty-three. Despite the number of kills, he still was a bit apprehensive in killing fellow Americans. But orders were orders.

And these orders came straight from the top. The President sealed American borders and declared homelessness unlawful. 'Every American must and will contribute to make America stronger.' Congress approved the President's motto.

"By orders of the President, you are herby declared unfit to be called Americans and are considered enemies of the United States of America. By law you will be exterminated on site. May God have mercy on your souls." Major Turner smiled.

"Fire." The Major barked.

Nothing. Normal city noise echoed in the alley.

"Flores, what the hell is the matter with you?"

Car horns beeped. Busses hissed. Sirens wailed. Music played. Voices chattered.

"Private Flores, so help me God if I have to repeat myself you'll be the sorriest motherfucker on God's green earth."

"I can't take it anymore," Flores whispered while squeezing the trigger. Los Angeles drowned into the background as the gunfire exploded like the Fourth of July. Private Flores kept firing long after he ran out of ammunition. The Major lay dead on the ground.

-end-

poem

2009-05-31T07:43:00.000-07:00

I’m Gonna Buy A Cow
By Alexander Salas

I’m gonna buy a cow
Alls I wanted was a glass of milk
My pajamas are made of silk

I’m gonna kill my cow
Alls I wanted was a juicy steak
I drink cocoa on my coffee break

fiction

2009-05-25T16:33:00.000-07:00

I Met David Berkowitz
By Alexander Salas

I met David Berkowitz. “So you’re the famous Son of Sam? Or should I say, infamous?” I laughed nervously. My laughter echoed, though I couldn’t see any walls. As matter of fact, I couldn’t see a thing. Other than David, of course.

The Son of Sam looked me in the eyes. Silence.

We stood on a glass floor. I saw nothing below us. Emptiness reigned.

A very quick and sharp clicking noise came from behind. We turned around.

A pair of shiny black boots clicked. A familiar military uniform grew out of the boots. A swazitka armband encircled the left bicep. Short dark hair parted to the left and a short dark mustache. Evil personified.

“You too? Where are we?” I asked.

“Wartezimmer.” The newcomer replied.

“I don’t understand.”

“Vaiting room”

-end-

fiction

2009-05-17T15:34:00.000-07:00

The Yodeler
By Alexander Salas

Yo yodel, yodel-laydee yodel yo yodel, yodel-laydee-hoo...

The yodeling accomplished what the cool midnight air could not. A shiver streaked down Roger's spine. Ginger squatted low to the grass as if laying an egg.

“Come on Ginger. Hurry girl.” Roger hated being in the park after dark. But Ginger needed a walk and a chance to do her business so she wouldn't bug him later that night.

“Who the fuck yodels in the park at night?” Roger whispered. “Come on Ginger, come on.” Roger squinted trying to locate the lunatic yodeler. It was as if the darkness was yodeling.

Yo yodel, yodel-laydee yodel yo yodel, yodel-laydee-hoo...

Roger pulled the leash. “Hurry up Ginger.” The black-and-tan Cocker Spaniel finally finished. And as if relieving herself made her deaf, Ginger turned her ear up towards the yodeling.

Roger nearly crapped himself as Ginger responded to the yodels with her own howls.

Aaaoooooooo...yo yodel...aaaoooooooo...yodel-laydee...aaaoooooooo...

“Shh...shut up...Ginger...shut up, shut up” Roger yanked the dog's leash and Ginger followed obediently back home.

******
The next morning birds sang. The sun warmed. Flowers bloomed. Sirens blared. Radios cracked. And hundreds, including Roger and Ginger, stood behind yellow police tape on the lushes green grass of Pawlak Park.

“What a shame.” Detective Stephenson said. His eyes glued to the victim's breasts. “36C. Perfect.”

“What the fuck is a matter with you Joey? Show some respect.” Detective Richards, Stephenson’s partner, barked.

In unison, all the Crime Scene Techs and policemen stopped and stared at Stephenson.

“Easy Frank. You know I'm not like that.” Joey's face reddened. “Take it easy, alright Frank. Don't go busting my balls. The captain is all over my ass too. Relax Frank, okay?''

The once alluring blonde had been slashed countless times from head to toe. Only her breasts remained untouched. A bra was stuffed down her throat to stifle any screams. The first three women were all found in the same condition. A serial killer was loose.

Silence reigned between the two detectives. Frank started walking towards the gathering crowd being held at bay by uniforms. “I’m gonna find out if there any witnesses.”

An officer intercepted Frank and pointed out Roger as a possible witness. The same officer pulled Roger from the ranks and led him to Frank.

..."Yodeling? Wait... let me get this straight. Around midnight last night you heard someone yodeling?”

“Yes I did Detective Richards.” Roger replied. “I was out here walking Ginger and I heard yodeling. A man. Yes, it was a man yodeling... And don't look at me that way... I know what I heard.”

Frank wrote Roger's statement in a small notebook.

“And you say you live in that blue house right there?” Frank asked as he aimed his finger across the street.

Yes. 2173. The blue one, that's right.”

“Thank you.” Frank handed Roger his card.

*****
A cool and comfortable evening replaced the hot afternoon. Roger set his coffee mug on the kitchen table after hearing the doorbell ring. Ginger yapped like a mad dog and took off to the front door.

Yap, yap, yap, yap...

“Hush! Ginger, hush... Ah, detective Richards. Come on in. Follow me into the kitchen and join me for some fresh coffee.”

Frank crouched down to stroke Ginger. Standing up, he reached inside his coat pocket pulling out a butcher knife and with a couple of long and purposeful strides he arrived in the kitchen. And from the kitchen, a combination of screams and barking could be heard, along with...

Yodel-laydee-hoo yo-yo yodel-yodel-laydee-hoo...

-end-

fiction

2009-05-07T08:52:00.000-07:00

A Vibrator & A Tornado
By Alexander Salas

Sugar and spice and everything nice. Bullshit. Why is it only men get to be pigs? Roberta reached inside her underwear drawer and explored her rainbow array of panties. There you are. Out came 'Mega-Man', her-thirteen-inch, four-D-batteries-using, skin-toned dildo.

Her hands caressed and squeezed simultaneously. A moan escaped her perfect pink lips. 'Mega-Man' received a gradual and passionate tongue bath. My one true love.

Hundreds of lovers tried. Hundreds of lovers failed. Only 'Mega-Man' generated an orgasm.

Alas, she could not marry her vibrator. Though jokingly, Roberta once asked her mother if the Catholic Church would frown upon it. 'The hell with gay marriages. How bout, human and rubber marriages?' Mom never spoke to her again.

The lights and the TV flickered in her bedroom. A thirtyish and handsome local weatherman warned the viewing public that a tornado had touched down. Roberta spotted the cyclone outside her window.

The twister looked like a gigantic dark penis coming down from the sky. Her G-Spot contacted her brain. Go for it!

Roberta ripped off her clothes. Carrying 'Mega-Man' like a relay baton, she ran outside. Powerful winds nearly pushed her back inside. Lust kept her moving forward. She lay down in the backyard. The tall green grass stroked her body electrifying her sensations.

The storm was deafening, yet she heard the familiar hum of 'Mega-Man', intensifying her sexual appetite. Lifted in the air, like the first hill on a roller coaster, pleasure exploded from her love box. The higher and faster she went the more pleasurable the explosion. "Yeessss... yeessss..." Roberta flew round and round and round and faster and faster and faster...

After the storm, calmness settled over the early evening mid-summer day. Five miles from Roberta's house, a farmer frantically called 911 to report that a nude woman had crashed into his barn. He thought she was dead, but was to afraid to check because of a strange humming noise. Authorities responded.

A Lieutenant, from the county Bomb Squad, nudged the joystick forward. A robot crept closer to Roberta. The camera eye followed the length of her arms to the buzzing sound. Laughter mixed with the gentle breeze.

Even the strong robotic hands struggled to pry Roberta's cold dead fingers from 'Mega-Man'.

The robot's lens panned and captured Roberta's eternal smile.

-end-

fiction

2009-05-05T15:14:00.000-07:00

A Bear Walks Into A Bar
By Alexander Salas

The front entrance opens. A flash of daylight exposes 'Billy's Bar & Grill' as a dank, smelly hole-in-the-wall. An eclipse drowns the establishment back into darkness. A massive black hairy body obscures the light.

The beast hunches down pushing its head through the opening. Countless keen yellow teeth lead the bear's face inside. All twelve customers freeze in fear as if judgment has arrived. Standing up, the grizzly's pate grazes the ceiling.

The monster bellies up to the bar. "A beer please." The bear asks politely.

"Wh...wh...wh...wh..." The pony-tailed bartender gives his best Porky Pig imitation.

"A beer...please." The grizzly repeats his request.

"What?" The bartender finally spits out. "You're kidding right? I mean take a look around...we don't serve your kind here."

"Excuse me." A low guttural growl escapes the bear. "What do you mean you don't serve my kind...a... a bear...a grizzly...or...or...is it because I'm black."

"Aw shit, here we go, guess who's using the race card." A disembodied voice drifts from a darken booth in the corner.

"Looky here." The bartender speaks calmly. "We don't care about the color of your fur. We don't care that you're a bear... we don't serve animals... point blank, man, we don't serve animals."

The agile grizzly performs a perfect military about-face and with two long strides exits the saloon.

Seconds later the men's room door flies open. "What did I miss?" The polar bear asks before returning to his stool and gulping down a half-filled bottle of Bud.

-end-

poem

2009-05-02T21:16:00.001-07:00

What’s Up Doc?
By Alexander Salas

What’s up Doc?
Bugs stabbed me in the eye with a carrot
What you talking about Willis?
Gary kicked me in the shin
What the deuce?
Stewie berated me in a polished British accent
Why do I listen?
Why do I care?
Where’s the beef?
Who killed J R?
I told my boss ‘I’ll be back’
I came
I shot
They’re dead
Why do I listen?
Why do I care?

-end-

fiction

2009-04-28T09:09:00.000-07:00

My story at Macabre Cadaver issue # 1

2009-04-18T09:01:00.000-07:00

http://www.macabrecadaver.com/08-2008/id-1/nature-just-nature.html

fiction

2009-04-14T10:07:00.000-07:00

Canned Peaches
By Alexander Salas

The darkness beckoned. Robbie shivered at the top of the staircase. His grandmother's house always frightened him, especially at night. And especially the basement. No matter how hard he focused, Robbie could not see a thing. Even the kitchen light refused to enter the abyss. Its hundred-watt bulb stopped shining abruptly on the third step down.

"What you waiting on, Robbie?" Robbie's heart nearly jumped out of his throat. "What's wrong with you, boy?" His grandmother asked.

"N-n-nothing...grandma."

"You act like you seen a ghost. Why you shaking? You getting sick?" She kissed Robbie's forehead. "You don't feel hot. Hm. Have you fetched my canned peaches? I want to start baking early in the morning, so please bring them up from the cellar. About four jars. Yeah, that should do. Remember as soon as you hit the floor, about three feet to the left, just reach up and pull the chain. Your grandpa never did put in that light switch I asked him to do 'bout million times, God rest his soul."

Grandma left. Robbie heard the television come to life. Pat Sajak asked a contestant to spin the Wheel.

Robbie's heart cascaded back to its natural resting place. Its beats gradually returned to normal. There's nothing down there. Don't be afraid. "There's nothing down there. Don't be afraid," he whispered the words out loud for reassurance.

Robbie deliberately lifted his left foot and placed it on the first step. One. Next his right foot jumped to the second step. Two. He froze for what seemed like days. Cramps grasped his muscles. He began swaying side to side. Keep going. Using every ounce of his strength, his left foot rose and found the third step. Three...

...Four. He stretched his hand forward. The blackness swallowed his arm to the elbow. Robbie looked down. The night also devoured his right leg from the knee down. Don't stop. Keep going. Five. More than half his body disappeared. Don't be scared. Come on, keep going. Six...

...Seven. His heart raced. Eight. Pitch-black. Nine. Something scuttled across the basement floor. A mouse? A Rat? Never mind. Keep going. Just keep going. Ten...Eleven...Twelve...

...Thirteen. Cement. Robbie's right foot refused to leave the twelfth wooden step. He felt he wasn't officially down in the basement as long as he was attached to the stairs. You can't get me. Time passed. His tendons stiffened. He had to move. His right foot joined his left on the cool cellar floor.

"I'm just here to get grandma's canned peaches. That's all. I'll be out of here soon. Just getting the peaches." A sea of black gobbled up his voice. He squinted and saw nothing.

Robbie turned inching both feet counterclockwise. He stretched both arms out. "Yewwww" Spider webs snared his hands causing him to yank his limbs back. He wiped his hands furiously on his jeans. His body shuddered with a case of the Hebejebees.

After a few minutes, Robbie's trembling ended. Arms out, he shuffled forward. He ducked when a spider web strand grazed his forehead. His fingers touched the metal bead-chain. He laughed. He jerked the chain downward. Daylight...

...Clowns. Six in all. They surrounded him wearing white jumpsuits with multicolor buttons, crazy afros and big clown shoes. Their painted red smiles reached from one ear to the other. Ivory gloves covered their hands. Each clown held a knife and fork...

...Robbie pulled the chain. Darkness. "I...I...I'm just here to get the peaches. You're not real. I'm down here alone. You're not real. I'm down here alone." Silence.

The stillness of the dark terrified Robbie. Grandma always had the volume up high on her TV because she was hard of hearing. Her old house always moaned and croaked, but Robbie heard nothing. All his senses were useless. He tugged the chain.

The clowns' mouths were wide open, displaying rows and rows of yellow-white razor-sharp fangs. A white hand snatched him away from the chain. Another stifled his cry.

***

"Like I said, I fell asleep in front of the TV. The evening news was just finishing." Grandma repeated her story to the detective. "Last I seen him, he was going down to the basement to bring up some of my canned peaches. He left the light on down there. I checked the basement. I checked his bedroom. I don't understand where Robbie could've gone."

-end-

fiction

2009-04-07T08:09:00.000-07:00

Last Escalator Ride
By Alexander Salas

The ascending escalator crawled, testing Jason's patience. An inconspicuous orchestra played Zeppelin's 'Stairway to Heaven'. "Hah, so much for a stairway to heaven."

Jason rode alone. He squinted, trying to see the top of the moving staircase. "I can't see anything...This is taking too long." He thought about climbing the rising steps. "Fuck it. Just enjoy the ride to paradise, Jason."

It got hot. Jason began to sweat. He unbuttoned his shirt. His fingers contacted wetness. Jason looked down and saw red fingertips. A cherry blotch slowly spread across his shirt from the left breast pocket.

Memories exploded... The bank robbery...the alarm...shooting the manager...hostages...SWAT...gunfire...a sharp pain... "Got shot by the cops. That's how I died."

"Damn, it's getting hotter." Jason tilted his head up. An endless mirror reflected his ascent as a decent. "Hah, I feel sorry for you buddy." He pointed at his mirrored image.

Jason felt he were riding a sauna. Perspiration streamed from every pore.

The hidden musical ensemble began a new tune. Jason immediately recognized the song. "AC/DC...Highway to..." He screamed. "I'm not in the mirror."

-end-

fiction

2009-03-19T08:19:00.000-07:00

The First Time Is Always The Most Memorable
By Alexander Salas

Well now what?
What do you mean now what? It's over with.
Yeah... I guess you're right.
Of course I'm right, we're finished.
What about the cops?
Fuck them! This is Lorain, Ohio, small town hicks. They ain't no 'NYPD Blue'.
So I'm good to go, right?
What did I tell you? If you would have listened to me since you were a kid, maybe you wouldn't be such a pussy.
I really should have. Maybe I would have been more of a man.
You damn right you would have. Too late now, no sense of worrying about it, besides you're becoming a man awful quick.
Well I should jump in the shower and wash off the blood.
Yeah you go do that. After you clean yourself up, remember to take these garbage bags to the city dump. And please, please don't be a shit for brains and leave them out front with your normal trash.
I know, I know.
One more thing, don't go to the dump till about three or four in the morning, okay? Less chance of someone seeing you.
Sure, sure.
You got someone else picked out yet?
Yeah...yeah, Tanya Worthington.
You mean that fine little high school bitch from across the street?
Yep, that's the one.
Can't wait to chop her up to pieces. Good choice.
Thanks. Ah...I...I don't mean to be prying, but how come you are not covered in blood?
What are you stupid? Of course, I'm covered in blood. I'm you.

-end-

Twisted Tongue & Macabre Cadaver

2009-03-02T09:45:00.000-08:00

Stories of mine on-line

http://www.lulu.com/content/5948171

http://www.macabrecadaver.com/PDF/MC-OE-Issue-1-Aug-2008.pdf

fiction

2009-02-27T20:39:00.000-08:00

A Dream, A Button, A Room & A Box
By Alexander Salas

Some strange unheard noise woke up Jesse. A sound that is indescribable and only detected by one who is in a deep sleep. Millions of people around the world are awakened by this unexplainable phenomenon.

Jesse gazed at the illuminated red digital display. 3:33 AM. He stretched and reached blindly in the dark for his small flashlight that he always kept near the floor with his slippers. The beam of light was enough for Jesse to see and not disturb Jenny. Fully alert, he rose out of bed and decided to go downstairs and watch television.

A small green penlight shone on the ceiling. This stopped Jesse in mid-stride. His eyes followed the emerald glow to the white carpet of the bedroom. A button. In the seven years of living in this house he'd never noticed a green button.

Standing over the green button Jesse turned and thought of waking Jenny up. He determined to let her get some much deserving rest, as their new baby would be screaming for the bottle in about twenty-five minutes. Little Joey's screech was loud enough to get up the whole neighborhood. Besides the newborn, Jenny had to deal with five other rug rats.

Six kids in seven years of marriage. Though he loved his family, he'd secretly wished they only had two. It was so damn expensive.

"What's this button for?" Jesse whispered. With his right index finger, he pressed it.

The dresser drawer creaked open revealing another room. A bulb came on and lit up the ten by ten space. The room was empty except for a box as big as a microwave.

Jesse entered the room with a nervous gait. He stood over the box. A salty taste passed over Jesse's lips as sweat dripped from his forehead. He pulled the lid of the box and smiled.

Softly Jesse spoke. "This is what we need. This is what will make our lives better. This is..."

The crackling baby speaker blasted Joey's cries. "Aaaaahhhh !" Jesse yelled himself awake. "A dream. A stupid dream."

"You alright?" Jenny asked.

"Huh? Yeah...yeah just a dream." Jesse replied.

"I'll go feed Joey. You go back to sleep Jesse. Okay." Jenny got up and left the bedroom, not waiting for an answer.

Drenched in perspiration, Jesse sat up in bed and switched the bedside lamp on. There it was, just like the dream. A green button.

He quickly walked over and pushed the button with his left foot. The bureau slowly swung open. The box was there in the middle of the newly found room.

"It's real!" Jesse ran over and ripped the cover off the box. He greedily dipped both of his hands and pulled out a bunch of individually wrapped condoms.

-end-

fiction

2009-02-22T05:28:00.000-08:00

The Hungry Squirrel
By Alexander Salas

Landry and the squirrel froze. They stared at each as if locked in a children's game of who would blink first. The squirrel, standing on its hind legs, lost when it dropped to all fours. The animal appeared to be waiting for the starting gun.

Landry employed the Army's low crawl to inch closer to the squirrel. He held out a handful of peanuts in his right hand, forcing him to use his right elbow to move forward. Landry's hand was about a foot away from the squirrel. He remained motionless.

Hours seemed to have ticked off before the squirrel made two reluctant skips towards the nuts. The squirrel stood and began sniffing the air for danger. Human-like it picked up a peanut with its two front paws. Shoving the morsel into its mouth, the squirrel ate rapidly. It repeated this process till all the nuts disappeared.

The squirrel timidly sniffed Landry's hand searching for more food. Ending its search, the squirrel raised its head slowly, baring its minuscule teeth. The squirrel latched onto the tip of Landry's index finger with its mouth.

Landry leapt up as if electricity raced through the ground. "Fucking squirrel...fucking squirrel..." Flailing his right hand only made the squirrel clamp down harder. Despite his banshee-like screams, Landry heard the crunching of bones. The squirrel fell to the grass, landing on all fours before scrambling away.

A teary eyed Landry grabbed his right hand with his left. Deliberately bringing his right hand up for a look, he nearly passed out at the sight of red lava erupting from the top of his index finger. "Ffffffuuuckkkkkkkk!"

****

Landry glared out the window eyeballing the squirrel in his backyard. His finger wrapped in a blood soak washcloth throbbed. He washed down some aspirin with a couple of long gulps of whiskey. The unafraid squirrel returned Landry's gaze as if challenging Landry to a death match.

From every direction, several squirrels converged on the brave squirrel. They gathered around Landry's finger-eating squirrel like it had a story to tell. The new squirrels clutched their bellies in laughter.

Landry thanked God he was left handed. Reaching for his .45 he ran out the backdoor. The other squirrels scurried. The finger-eater stood its ground.

Landry stopped ten feet from the squirrel. He pointed the gun. He tried to steady his left hand which shook like a jackhammer. Breathe...breathe...relax Landry relax...count from ten, that's it, count from ten... "Ten." Landry counted quietly. "Nine...eight...seven...six..."

The other squirrels had snuck up behind Landry and were poised for an attack. They'd started their count the same time Landry did. However, they were counting from nine.

-end-

Twisted Tongue issue # 12

2009-02-18T16:00:00.000-08:00

My story 'Morbid Christmas Tale' appears in Twisted Tongue # 12

http://www.lulu.com/content/5948171

fiction

2009-02-18T10:30:00.000-08:00

I Remember When
By Alexander Salas

The air conditioner hummed a steady drone. Inside Joshua's head the monotonous buzz tortured his mind. He wanted to scream. Joshua realized it was his own hesitation to speak that left the room deafly silent and magnified the irritating noise. He stared at Dr. Hutchinson deeply, as if looking inside the doctor for answers.

"I...I remember when," Joshua started, "I pushed Lucy off the balcony. I remember her cry of terror as she plummeted down to the unforgiving pavement below. I remember hearing her bones crunch on impact."

Dr. Hutchinson nervously adjusted his bow tie.

"I remember when," Joshua continued, "we first got married. And how beautiful she looked in her wedding dress. I remember when Josh Jr. was born and me and Lucy thought we were the perfect family. I remember when..."

"Ahem, ah, excuse me Joshua." Dr. Hutchinson interrupted a bit apprehensive. "You do understand that I am obliged by law to report any crimes such as murder. I mean morally..."

"No doctor you don't understand!" Joshua jumped up on his feet. He took a couple of deep breaths and sat back down. In a more calmer fashion he said. "What you don't understand is that tomorrow I am marrying Lucy."

-end-

fiction

2009-02-12T18:14:00.000-08:00

Marriage, Dreams, Uma & Death
by Alexander Salas

"Wow, you look beautiful as always. Uma...Oh, Uma." My cock strikes midnight. My tongue dangles. My heart explodes.

I sit in bed. Uma smiles lustfully wearing only six-inch stilettos. I must be dreaming...God if I am, please, please, please don't wake me.

Uma performs a perfect stripper walk. Her mound inches from my face. I inhale her wetness deeply. I crave a taste. My tongue slithers closer and...

"Sonny... Sonny wake up... wake up asshole."

Shit my wife. "What...what...what do you want Karen?" I ask.

"I don't want nothing from you."

"Why...why did you wake me up?"

"Cause you're keeping me awake with your 'oh Uma' and your 'I love you Uma'... what the hell is the matter with you? You really think someone like Uma Thurman wants somebody like you?"

Yeah, yeah laugh all you want you stupid ugly... "Just shut up and leave me alone, okay?"

"You don't have to worry about me leaving you alone. You good for nothing... Ah... forget it."

Good, go back to sleep... I hope you die there... I need to get back to my dream... Sleep damn it sleep.

"Uma"... Uma wears the yellow jumpsuit from 'Kill Bill', Samurai sword and all... "Oooh...wow...Uma..."

"What the..." A mind-numbing pain rushes through my body. "Why?" I grab the blade with both hands. "Why Uma? Uma...Uma..."

"Hello Jimmy... yeah, it's Karen...it's done... yeah, Sonny is dead...I'm sure...just like you told me...yes, while he slept...a butcher knife... can you come and get me...I love you Jimmy..."

-end-

fiction

2009-02-10T08:30:00.000-08:00

The Shark In The Pool
By Alexander Salas

Lenny stretches as if reaching for the morning sun. Daybreak's cool crisp air blows into his boxers cooling his sweaty balls. Before hitting the pool, Lenny inhales the gentle breeze initializing the refreshing stage of a brand new day. The rejuvenating water waits.

Looking forward to the plunge, Lenny prances to the end of the diving board like Gene Kelly. Hands together above his head forming a steeple, "This is heaven. Look out belo..."

A fin freezes him so fast his nuts shrivel like two prunes. She knows. Lenny looks back to the house. How...I was so careful. Gwen's newlyweds promise screams inside his head. "Remember Lenny, I will always love you, no matter what. But if you cheat on me, I'll kill you without a thought."

Like a first-timer on a balance beam, Lenny backs off the diving board. "Gwen...Gwen..."

"I'm in the kitchen."

"Gwen...Gwen...what the hell is going on...huh...Gwen..."

Gwen sets down her cup of coffee. "What...what do you mean what's going on?"

"The shark Gwen...the fucking shark...you trying to kill me..."

Gwen's face curls in confusion. "A shark? What shark? What are you talking about?"

"In the pool...there's a fucking shark in the pool!"

Gwen rises slowly and glances out the kitchen window. She sees the fin moving back and forth the length of the pool as if the shark is swimming laps. "What the..."

"What...you saying you don't know nothing about it?"

"What...how would I...a shark...what me...how does...a shark..." Gwen stares at the pool.

"Damn. So much for starting my day with a swim. You know how much I like to swim in the morning...Damn."

"Yeah...yeah...I know." Gwen sits down. Shaking her head she continues. "Look, I don't know what's going on...I'll...I'll just call 911...I guess..."

Lenny shrugs. "Fuck it. I'm going to see if I can get a tee time." Lenny heads upstairs to change.

"Remember, I moved your clubs from the garage to the basement." Gwen yells.

Back in the kitchen, Lenny heads for the basement door.

"I called 911." Gwen tells him.

"What'd they say?"

"Well, it took me about five minutes to convince them we had a shark in our pool. And they said they were going to call the Fish and Wildlife or something like that."

Lenny starts down the dark cellar stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, he reaches for the small chain and pulls. The hundred-watt light gives Lenny a split-second to see the five hundred pound, fully mane lion.

-end-

fiction

2009-02-09T08:22:00.000-08:00

Breaking Point
By Alexander Salas

Ninety-six hours can be a long time without a meal.

The rancid smell of raw meat filled the air like a perfume of death. Boiling temperatures added to the nasty, gut-wrenching odor that made consumption out of the question. But four days without food gave them the illusion that the provision was an appetizing and succulent Filet Mignon.

They all stared. They all craved. They all wondered how they could do this to a man who fed them daily. Never ever once missing a single day, but hunger was now erasing the rotten aroma with every tick of the clock.

Finally someone stepped forward. Red, yes Red of course would be first and the rest would follow. Red the fearless leader, the cock-of-the-walk, the oldest, the wisest, the biggest.

Red circled the man, whose fatal fall twisted his neck to an awkward position. Red was now face to face with John's soulless eyes. The rooster pecked at the farmer's cheek. A few seconds later, 29 hens joined the crazed feast.

-end-

Twisted Tongue issue #12

2009-02-02T17:06:00.000-08:00

My story 'Morbid Christmas Tale' appears in the magazine Twisted Tongue #12

http://www.lulu.com/content/5948171

fiction

2009-02-01T11:10:00.000-08:00

A Strange Trigger Sets Off A Strange Mind
By Alexander Salas

Roger Zywocki eyes burned holes into Assistant District Attorney (ADA) John Abel, who sat sandwiched between a couple of FBI agents.

“Mr. Zywocki, help us understand why you murdered nine people.”

Two families were slaughtered before Wellington, Ohio’s finest called the Feds.

“It was simple,” Roger answered. “My list had the Aarons first, the Abbeys second; Mr. and Mrs. Abbot, then you, of course.”

A Bureau’s profiler figured out Zywocki’s list. The White Pages. Abel followed Abbot in the phone book. Federal Agents surrounded Roger in John’s house.

“But why?”

“Since kindergarten, everything was alphabetical. I wanted to be first.”

-end-

poem

2009-01-31T21:19:00.001-08:00

Al The Albino By Alexander Salas

Al the albino
rides a white rhino
Writes a poem
from his home
alone with a scone
a bottle of scotch
held in his crotch
Al the albino
drinks like a wino