Healing through story

Category: storytelling (Page 3 of 26)

shortfiction24 – a teacher’s ghost on campus

Three teens making a scary film on their high school campus come face to face with the ghost of a deceased teacher.

Enjoy the story.

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A Teacher’s Ghost on Campus

Bob Gillen

Lyndie waved to the security guard at the entrance to her high school campus and drove her Toyota sedan up the driveway to the parking lot. Even with the low beams on, she could barely see through the swirling pre-dawn fog. Tessa sat next to her, Eric in the back seat.

Eric said, “I can’t believe the principal gave us permission to be on campus this early.”

Tessa said, “I convinced her our film could represent the school in a film festival.”

She peered out the window. “I don’t see any other cars. Good. We’ve got time.”

The weather had cooperated as forecasted. A cold, clammy, thick fog. 

“This is perfect for our scary movie. We need to hustle before anyone else gets here.”

Eric said, “No one here at this hour except Mrs. Raines’ ghost.”

“Don’t say that,” Lyndie said. “I’ve got goose bumps already.”

“Let’s get the first shot done,” Tessa said. “Park somewhere where we can see only fog from the back of the car.”

Lyndie parked. Eric pulled down the back of the rear seat before getting out. 

“Okay, Tessa. Set yourself facing the trunk lid.”

Tessa crawled into the back seat, aimed her video camera at the closed trunk. She hit Record, waited a few seconds, and called “Action” to the others.

Eric opened the trunk from the outside, the camera picking up the sudden light, the fog swirling behind him. He and Lyndie pulled their backpacks out of the trunk and closed the lid.

“Got the shot,” Tessa said. “Now for the campus.”

They put their backpacks back in the trunk and walked onto campus through the fog. Dead silence. They could not see more than a few yards ahead. All three shivered in the damp fog.

Tessa stopped to capture a wide shot of the fog-bound campus. Lyndie peered into the fog. She heard a low moan.

“What was that?”

Eric said, “Probably wind in the trees.”

“There’s no wind,” Lyndie said.

She spun around, searching for the source of the moan.

Ahead, near the English classrooms, something moved. A flash of white. Almost imperceptible in the fog. Something ragged, frilly. 

“Look!”

Eric looked. “What the hell is that?”

Tessa looked up from her camera. “What are you two talking about?”

“Aim the camera up there,” Eric said. “Near Room 15.”

Tessa looked. “What am I supposed to see?”

Lyndie said, “It’s gone.”

“What’s gone?”

“A ghost.”

“Oh, Mrs. Raines, huh?” Tessa waved. “Hi Mrs. Raines. Good to see you this morning.”

“Stop!” Lyndie shuddered. “I want to wait in the car.”

Tessa said, “Come on. Let’s stick together. We have more shots to get before school starts.”

Lyndie followed Tessa, spinning constantly to spot any ghost.

Crash!

The three spun in unison to see a trash can overturned, trash spilled out onto the sidewalk.

“Just a tipped trash can,” Tessa said.

“Tipped by who?” Lyndie said, wrapping her arms around herself.

Eric walked over to the can. There was no wind. The can looked sturdy enough. “I don’t think this tipped by itself.”

“Enough,” Tessa said. “Let’s get the shots while we have fog.”

They edged up nearer to the photography classroom.

“Isn’t this where Mrs. Raines died?”

“That’s the story. Four years ago. They say she came in early to make copies of her exams. The revolving door to the darkroom stuck after she went in, looking for her files.”

“Yeah,” Eric said, “They said she panicked and had a heart attack. They didn’t find her till it was too late.”

Eric yanked on the classroom door. Locked.

Tessa said, “Let’s get shots of you two walking out of the fog towards me. Walk slowly. Remember, you’re scared.”

“Like now!” Lyndie said.

The two walked about fifty feet away from Tessa, far enough that she could not see them.

“When I call, start walking.” 

Tessa set the camera. “Now.”

Nothing.

“Okay!”

Swirling fog. Nothing else.

“Come on, guys. We need to get this done.”

Silence.

A low moaning.

Tessa looked into the fog. She could just barely make out a figure. White. Swirling, like the fog. Moving as though part of it. But not.

Tessa turned all around. Looked again. Nothing.

The door to the photography classroom swung open.

She jumped.

“Hey.” Eric and Lyndie stepped out.

Tessa yelled. “You scared me. How did you get in there?”

“The hall door was unlocked. We walked through.”

“Were you…?” She started to point to the fog, hesitated. “Never mind.”

Lyndie said, “How about a shot of us stepping out from the room into the fog?”

“Okay,” Tessa said. “I’ll wait here.”

She checked the camera settings again, and called out. “Ready.”

Eric and Lyndie edged out of the room, peering around at the fog, looking behind themselves.

They slipped off into the fog.

Tessa followed them with the camera.

Another moan. Louder this time. It came from the classroom.

Tessa jumped. The other two spun around.

“What?”

“It came from the room.” Eric edged closer to the door. Tessa filmed him as he did.

Eric peeked into the classroom. Nothing. 

Then – he spied the darkroom revolving door… spinning! 

He flew out the door.

“Holy…!”

“What?”

“The door is turning!”

Another moan. This time to their right.

They turned to see a figure in white. Closer, this time. White veil covering the head and face. Gauzy strips, torn and fluttering as the figure moved.

The three teens froze.

Tessa whipped up the camera and aimed at the figure.

It withdrew back into the fog. Disappeared.

“Oh God!”

“The ghost is real. It must be Mrs. Raines.”

“I want to see inside the darkroom,” Tessa said.

The three crept in, Lyndie with her hands over her eyes.

They moved to the revolving door. It was still.

Tessa said, “I’m going in.”

“No!”

“We just saw the ghost outside. The room should be empty.”

Tessa pushed the revolving door. She aimed the camera, pushed further in. She stepped into total darkness.

She fumbled for the light switch on the wall. Turned it on. A red glow filled the room.

Tessa screamed. 

She was face-to-face with a bone-white skeleton.

Tessa fell back into a file cabinet, knocking it askew. She slipped to the floor.

Eric pushed his way in. “You okay?”

“How did this skeleton get here?” Tessa asked. “This is weird.”

Lyndie came in. “It’s part of the art class.”

Eric said, “Look!”

He pointed to the file cabinet. There was an envelope stuck between the cabinet back and the wall.

He dragged the cabinet further, reached in. Grabbed the envelope.

“Take it outside,” Tessa said. “Too dark in here.”

They backed out of the darkroom and moved outside.

Tessa said, “We should drag the skeleton outside and shoot it in the fog.”

Eric held up the envelope. The outside bore the name Mark in a neat handwriting. “Didn’t someone say Mark was her son? I remember them talking about how her son did not attend her funeral. They said the two were estranged.”

Lyndie shrugged.

“Should I open the envelope?”

“Yes,” Tessa said. “Let me get a shot of it.”

Eric pulled a note out of the unsealed envelope. He scanned the contents.

“What does it say?”

“It’s an apology. Signed by Mrs. Raines. Not clear what she’s apologizing for.”

“We need to get this to her son.”

Another moan, almost a howl, pierced the swirling fog. Tessa raised the camera, looking for the source of the sound.

“There!” Lyndie cried. Tessa whirled around to capture the shot. The white figure swirled out of the fog. The shape lingered as Tessa got the shot.

Eric held up the envelope. “We found your note, Mrs. Raines. We’ll be sure it gets to your son.”

The figure remained in view. Another moan. 

Tessa held the camera on the figure. 

More moans, the sounds decaying into silence. The figure began blending into the fog. In a moment it was gone.

Eric said, “Mrs. Raines was stuck here till someone found the note. Now she’s free to move on.”

A breeze rippled through the campus, breaking off scraps of fog.

“We’re going to lose the fog,” Tessa said. “Can we get a few more shots?”

“We’ve got some good stuff,” Eric said. “Mrs. Raines made herself visible for us. Maybe we should get a shot of the darkroom and the file cabinet.”

“Yeah,” Tessa said. “Put the note back in its place for a minute so I can get a shot of where we found it.”

“She led us to the note, didn’t she?” Eric said. 

Lyndie shivered. “This is all creepy.”

“It’ll make for a good film,” Tessa said. 

“Thanks, Mrs. Raines,” Eric said. 

A low moan drifted out of the fog.

***

shortfiction24 – a scar to keep a memory alive

A pissed off young man terrorizes a school bus full of children when he shoots the driver and threatens all the children on board. Enjoy the story.

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A Scar to Keep a Memory Alive

Bob Gillen

“Did you see that second goal last night! It was awesome! No one could have blocked it.” Lincoln Marrs twisted in his bus seat to talk to his friend. Two weeks into the new school year and morning energy still abounded.

The school bus stopped outside twelve-year old Sam Skor’s house. The last stop on the daily route. 

Sam got up from sitting on his front steps, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and ambled towards the bus. As Sam stepped on, the driver closed the door, said, “Let’s move it, buddy. We’re running late today.”

Sam pulled a small caliber revolver from the pocket of his hoodie and shot the driver. He slumped forward over the steering wheel. The bus rolled a hundred feet down the road, slammed into a pickup truck parked at the curb.

The truck’s owner came roaring out of his house. “What the hell is wrong with you? Look what you did to my truck.”

Sam fired a shot through the door of the bus. The man raised both hands, backed up to his front door. Sam pulled the door closed.

Inside the bus the younger students began crying, moaning, screaming. Someone cried, “Sam shot Lou.” Kids slumped down in their seats to avoid being shot. 

Sam fired a shot into the roof.

“Shut up!” he yelled. “All you little kids, get off the bus.”

No one moved.

Sam screamed. “Get off the bus.”

The younger kids moved to the front of the bus. “The door is closed,” one kid called out. Sam pointed to an older girl. “Open the door and get them out of here.”

The girl ran forward and began ushering the little kids out of the bus. The smell of urine filled the bus as some of the kids peed themselves in fear. A woman, grandmother age, ran forward and herded the younger kids into her house and out of sight. Several other residents crept forward and helped the woman with the kids.

The older students still on the bus busied themselves texting 911 or their parents.

A woman stuck her head inside the bus door. “I’m a nurse. Can I look after the driver?”

Sam fired a shot through the bus windshield. The woman backed away.

Sirens screamed as first responders arrived on the scene. In moments the bus was surrounded by police officers, guns drawn, all hesitant to approach because of the students present.

Sam waved his gun at the older students. “Put your phones away!”

In the back of the bus a few students slouched down in their seats, trying to be invisible.

A soft voice said, “Sam.”

Sam whirled on Lincoln. “Shut up.”

Lincoln said, “Sit down. You’re an easy target for the police.”

Sam looked around, sat down.

He said, “I should shoot every one of you. You threw me off the soccer team.”

Lincoln said, “Can I tell you why?”

Sam fired a shot at Lincoln. The bullet grazed his right arm. Lincoln clutched his arm as blood began to seep through his shirt sleeve.

Outside, the police moved closer to the bus. Sam saw them, yelled “Back off!” and fired another shot out the windshield.

A girl pulled a wad of tissues out of her backpack and passed them to Lincoln. He pressed them against his arm.

Lincoln gritted his teeth, spoke again. “Sam, you’re always angry. You fight with everyone over the rules and the scoring.”

“I know more about soccer than any of you. I know more than the referees and the coaches.”

Lincoln said, “We know you do. But you always pick a fight.”

“You’re all so stupid.”

Two police officers inched their heads in the door. Sam waved the gun in their direction. They ducked down under the bus chassis.

Lincoln said, “Sam, give up before they kill you.”

Sam put the gun up against his chin. “They won’t take me.”

He pulled the trigger.

Click.

Nothing.

Click. Click.

“Sam, you’re out of ammunition. That gun only holds six bullets.”

Sam dropped the gun on the seat. “I’m screwed.” He slumped back, fear and desperation crossing his face.

Lincoln reached across the aisle, shoved the gun to the floor. He waved to the officers. “He’s out of ammunition.”

Officers rushed in, guns aimed at Sam. They spun him around, slammed him against the seat. They handcuffed him, led him away. Other officers hustled the remaining students off the bus.

EMTs attended to the driver, who was still alive. The nurse stepped up to Lincoln, examined his arm. “Looks like only a scratch. You’ll be okay.”

“I can’t stand the sight of blood,” Lincoln said. He tried to stand, crumbled to the floor.

Lincoln woke up to the sound of wailing sirens. His own ambulance ride. The nurse held his hand. “Hi. My name is Mary. We’re going to the ER. The police called your mom. She’ll meet us there.”

“She’ll be so upset…What about the other kids?”

They’re all safe…uninjured.”

“Sam?”

“He’s in police custody.”

“Will he be okay?”

Mary shrugged. “He’s a minor…but he could be facing attempted murder charges.”

Lincoln shook his head. “He’s a good kid. Always pissed off, though. He fucked up…oops, sorry about the language.”

“No worries. I’ve heard worse.”

Lincoln looked at the compress on his arm. “It hurts.”

“Yeah, it will for a while. They’ll give you a pain killer in the ER.”

“Will I need stitches?”

Mary nodded. “Probably.”

“Oh. I never had stitches before. I might pass out…again.”

“You were lucky. The bullet could have done a lot of damage.”

Lincoln shrugged. “I guess I’ll have a scar…a scar that won’t let me forget today.

***

shortfiction24 – Marina’s first oner

Steadicam operator Marina Cabrera steps in to replace Tyler, a male operator, for a tracking shot on a film set. He is furious over being replaced, but Marina aces the shot.

The photo shows real-life Steadicam operator Jessica Lopez, whom I interviewed for my filmmaker site ten years ago.

Enjoy the story. Comments welcome. And if you would like to suggest a story prompt that I might use, please drop a comment.

Marina’s First Oner

Bob Gillen

Marina Cabrera propped her Steadicam rig up against a storage shed wall on the outdoor set for a television show based in post Civil War Colorado. 

Confident her rig was secure, Marina moved to the Craft Services area, grabbed a turkey sandwich and a Coke, and looked for someplace to sit. Rodney the sound mixer waved her over as he and his assistant Terrell finished their lunches.

“Join us, girl,” Rodney said. Marina sat and dug into her sandwich.

“How was your morning?” Rodney asked.

“Good. I got more b-roll than the editors could ever use.”

“Be careful with that,” Rodney said, waving a finger in her direction. “You don’t want to piss off the editors, or they’ll never put any of your footage in the show.”

“Not to worry. I got shots of the schoolhouse, the steam locomotive, the town streets. All good stuff.”

As Marina wolfed down her lunch, the director called forTyler, the principle Steadicam operator, to strap on his rig for the rehearsal of the next scene. A tracking scene.

Rodney said to Marina, “You get a chance to do any tracking shots since I saw you last?”

Marina shook her head. “My dream is still the Dunkirk beach scene from Atonement. A five and a half minute tracking shot. A thousand extras. Incredible orchestration and rehearsal.” 

She waved her thumb toward Tyler. “I could dance around him with my eyes closed and still get a better shot. I hear about how some of these guys couldn’t do a decent tracking shot. Like their brains couldn’t tell their body how to move around.”

Rodney smiled. 

They watched from their table as the director began rehearsal for the one-shot. A production assistant, his hand against Tyler’s back, guided him through the shot. 

The director called “Background.” Several extras crisscrossed the street. A horse and rider rode by behind the camera. The director called “Action.” As the horse passed behind Tyler and the PA, it let loose an enormous stream of piss followed by a pile of horse apples. The PA stepped on a horse apple, slipped and stumbled, but stayed upright. Tyler also stumbled, fell on his butt in the middle of the horse droppings. He cursed a blue streak as he rolled off the mess and stood up. His rig was not damaged but he himself was covered in horse droppings and pee.

The director yelled “Cut.” She told Tyler to leave the set and get cleaned up. She waved Marina over.

“Take over the shot for Tyler. And hurry. We need to rehearse before we lose the light.”

Marina strapped herself into her rig as Rodney gave her a thumbs up.

The tracking shot would follow a couple as they exited a town building, walked down the street to the train station, where the man would board the train. 

While the director filled in Marina on the shot, crew moved in to remove the horse droppings and shovel dirt over the pee.

Tyler approached the director. “This is my shot. You can’t give it to a girl. She won’t have the stamina for the whole shot.”

Marina said, “Oh. Because I’m a woman, I can’t carry a rig, I can’t be that good?”

“You’re out of here,” the director told Tyler. “You smell like shit. Clean up. There’s plenty of work tomorrow.”

Tyler stormed off. 

Now stationed at his sound cart, Rodney bit down on a finger to keep from laughing out loud.

The director walked Marina and the PA through the tracking shot. 

The director said to Marina, “I’m going for the pain of separation in this shot. Keep the two actors in frame.”

Marina nodded. “Got it.”

As the director called “Background,” then “Action,” Marina followed the two actors as they exited the building. She was able to whip pan to the townspeople for a brief moment. She then kept the two in frame as they walked to the station. 

The director yelled, Cut.” She pointed to a horse tied to a hitching rail.” Someone quiet that horse.”

The horse was chewing loudly on a wooden hitching rail. Rodney got up, approached the horse. He stroked its nose gently, whispered to it. The horse calmed down.

“Thanks, Rodney,” the director called out. “Okay, from the beginning.”

Marina and the PA positioned themselves in front of the town building. “And action.”

They moved through the shot, following the couple down the street and up to the rail station.

Once at the station Marina whip panned to the steam locomotive, then back to the two actors. The PA guided her onto the passenger car, followed the male actor as he took a seat by the window, waving at his tearful woman companion on the platform. 

The train began to move out of the station. Marina kept the woman in frame until the director called, “Cut.”

From the video village, the collection of camera monitors, the director called out. “That’s a wrap. Good work, Marina.” Several of the crew applauded Marina’s work.

The director moved on to setting up the next shot.

Marina crossed to the audio cart as Rodney moved it to the next scene. “My first oner!”

“Be proud, girl.”

Marina unstrapped her rig as a huge smile broke across her face. “Wait till you see that shot, Tyler!”

***

shortfiction24 – not again

Molly struggles to deal with the sudden appearance of her unwanted clone.

This story began as a writing prompt about a scary story. I hope you enjoy it. And on the blog site you can sign up for my new newsletter, which I will begin sending shortly.

Thanks for reading.

Not Again

Bob Gillen

Molly heard her mother’s car pull into the driveway. She closed her math book and ran to the front door. The two hours she spent between the end of school and the time her mom came  home from work were always quiet, lonely.

She met her mother at the front door.

“Hi Mom!” She gave her a hug.

“Hey sweetie.” She set down her purse and her keys. “How was fifth grade today?”

“Too much homework. A real drag.”

“Well, go finish it up and we’ll watch a movie after dinner, okay?”

“What’s for dinner?”

“Cobb salad. I got the Ranch dressing you like.”

“Yes!”

Molly dashed back to her room. Thoughts of homework clouded her head. Why do I have to do this? It’s such a waste.

She heard the front door open and close. Huh? Mom’s already home.

A twinge of fear darkened her spirit. She heard footsteps approach her room.

A perfect clone of Molly appeared in the doorway to her room. Dressed in the same clothes. Hair in an identical ponytail.

“Hi, Molly.”

Oh no. Not again.

“It’s been a while,” Molly 2 said. “I missed you.”

“Go away. I did not miss you.”

“That’s harsh,” Molly 2 said. 

“I hate you. Why pick on me?”

“You’re such a sweet girl. I like messing you up.”

With that, Molly 2 headed for the kitchen.

“Hi, mom. Did I say, I hate Cobb salad? And especially that Ranch dressing.”

Molly 2 unscrewed the cap on the dressing bottle, sniffed the contents. “Whew. Smells like panther piss.”

Molly’s mom turned, stared at Molly 2. “That’s crude. I thought you loved this meal.”

“Hell, no,” Molly 2 said. 

Molly entered the kitchen. “Don’t listen to her, mom. She’s not me.”

Molly’s mom looked from one girl to the other. “Not again.”

Molly said, “She back. I don’t know how to get rid of her.”

“Why get rid of me?” Molly 2 said. “Double the fun.”

Molly’s mom shook her head. “Not our idea of fun.”

“Oh, and did I say, I failed my Science quiz today?”

“Not true, mom. I passed with a B+.”

Molly 2 grabbed a bite of the salad from the counter. “Actually, not bad.”

Molly’s mom said, “How do we drive her away? Last time she disappeared by herself.”

“You can’t get rid of me,” Molly 2 said. “I am a perfect clone of you, Molly, down to the hairs on your head.”

Molly 2 shook her hair out in Molly’s direction. “A perfect clone. But I’m your dark side. I reveal all the negative in your heart. Your dark side is always there. In the background, but always there. Like how much you hate homework.”

“So I have to think positive thoughts to get rid of you.”

“Not so simple.”

Molly 2 ran into Molly’s room, came back out with pages of her math homework. She crumbled the pages, tossed them in the air. 

“No!”

“Who needs homework?”

“I just spent two hours on that work.” Molly picked up the pages, tried to smooth them out on the counter.

Molly 2 dumped Ranch dressing on the pages.

Molly’s mom screamed. “Get out of here!”

“Can’t do that.”

Molly slid to the floor in tears.

Molly’s mom tried to wrestle Molly 2 out of the kitchen, but she eluded her. She moved into the living room, turned on the TV at full volume. Molly put her hands over her ears, began to cry.

“See. Fun, right?”

Molly’s mom unplugged the TV. Silence, if only for a moment.

Molly 2 moved around the living room, shifting all the furniture, tossing pillows into the air.

Molly 2 put her hand on Molly’s mom’s chest. “You really should have gotten that reconstructive surgery. You look pretty flat with this padding.”

Her mom pulled back, collapsed onto the couch in tears.

Anger flashed in Molly. She pulled herself up from the kitchen floor. Ran into the living room.

“My dark side won’t win today.” She stepped up to Molly 2.

“I love you,” she said to her clone. She ran her hand through Molly 2’s hair. 

Molly 2 shook her off. 

Molly hugged Molly 2.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Molly 2 said. She tried to push away from the hug, but Molly held her tight.

“I may have a dark side, but I will only show kindness today. ”

Molly 2 shuddered, then disappeared in a wisp of swirling air.

“That did it,” Molly said. 

Her mom wiped away her tears, hugged Molly. “Good thinking.”

“How about you finish the salad while I try to re-write my homework.”

“Keep those thoughts positive.”

“Deal.”

***

shortfiction24 – the girls on the beach

Neal brags to Danny about his recent three-way. Danny is unimpressed.

Enjoy the short story. Comments and Likes welcome.

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The Girls on the Beach

Bob Gillen   

“Real burger lovers don’t eat cut sandwiches.” Danny mumbled the aside as his friend Neal sliced his cheeseburger in half.

“It’s easier to eat this way,” Neal countered.

“Just sayin’.” Danny dug his fork into the over-medium eggs on his plate. Pushed hash browns into the yolks.

Three in the afternoon. Halfway between the city and the beach. The beginning of summer. The two sat in a rear booth in the almost-empty diner.

“More coffee?” The server poured without waiting for an answer.

Danny asked, “What time are we meeting the other guys?”

“They said they’d meet us around five. Jon has the keys…and the beer.”

Neal flipped the selection cards on the small jukebox player at the end of the table. “Got any change?”

Danny reached into his pocket, slid a couple of quarters across the table.

Neal made his choices. First up, The Beach Boys, “Girls on the Beach.”

Neal scanned the room.

He leaned in. “This song reminds me…did I ever tell you…”

Danny shook his head. “What?”

“Unbelievable.” Neal lowered his voice. “Last summer. I was at the shore with my parents. They rented a bungalow right on the beach. One day they drove into the city to go shopping.”

Over a forkful of potatoes Danny saw Neal grinning. “I was sitting on the beach. Alone. Bored. These two girls came down the beach. Gorgeous. The kind who would never look at me.”

Neal hesitated. “I never told anyone about this. I figured no one would believe me.”

“Uh huh.” Danny saw Neal’s grin grow wider. 

“They stopped and asked me where I was staying. I pointed to our bungalow. They walked me to the house and we had a three-way. Twice. Twice!”

Danny fingered the piece of toast in his hand “Who were they?” he managed to ask.

“No idea.” Neal chomped on his burger. “They never told me their names. I never saw them again…I sat out on the beach for days but they never came back.”

Danny reached for his coffee. “That’s cool.”

“That’s it? Cool? It was so far beyond cool. It was the best thing ever happened to me.”

Danny managed a nod.

“Is cool all you can say?” Neal asked.

The jukebox pumped out the Stones, “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction.”

Danny leaned in so far his chin was over his plate. In an intense whisper he said, “Yeah, it’s cool. Cool for you. Know what’s cool for me? Nothing.” 

Danny shoved his plate aside. “Nothing like that ever happens to me.”

***

shortfiction24 – shot dead in the ER

Riley Rowan did not expect to die in her own ER. The spirits were ready to escort her to the afterlife. Riley had other thoughts.

I hope you enjoy the short story. Comments and Likes are always welcome. And for all you short-film makers out there, my stories are available for rights.

Shot Dead in the ER

Bob Gillen

Riley Rowan’s spirit hovered over her body. Her bloody, lifeless body. The scene in the ER was chaotic. A gunshot victim had succumbed to his injuries, despite the efforts of Riley and the rest of the trauma team. As Riley had been covering the body with a sheet, a security guard escorted an already distraught brother of the victim into the ER bay. Riley had turned to the brother, said “I’m sorry,” when the brother whipped out a handgun  from the waistband of his pants. He shot Riley three times in the chest before the security guard wrestled him to the floor, kicked away the gun and handcuffed him. 

The trauma team rushed to Riley’s side. The trauma doctor found her unresponsive, no pulse. The overhead florescent lights gleamed against the pool of blood spreading across the floor. The doctor called the time of death. 

As the trauma team stood in shock, some in tears, a spirit appeared at Riley’s side. “Hello, Riley. I’m here to escort you to the afterlife.”

“Who’re you?” Riley’s spirit asked.

“I am Jonny Angel. Your escort.”

“Jonny Angel? Seriously?”

Jonny’s spirit took a step back.

Riley ignored Jonny Angel, watched as a degree of routine settled on the ER. 

“Riley, it’s time to move on.”

“No, no. I’m not ready. They need me here.”

“Riley, you’re dead. You can’t do anything for them now.”

“Don’t spirits hang near loved ones? Talk in their ears?”

“Doesn’t happen as often as you think.”

“I gave eighteen years of my life to this ER. I train new RNs. I have to stay.”

“Riley, I repeat. You’re dead.”

“Says you. I can still help here.”

Jonny Angel swirled around Riley.

“Look,” Riley said. “This is my life. Saving people. I don’t want any part of the afterlife.”

“You don’t have a choice. You’re already on your way.”

“Nope. I’m not the kind to sit around all day listening to harp music. I need to be doing something.”

“First of all, there’s no ‘time’ in the afterlife. No one sits around all day, as you say. They simply are.”

“Boring.”

“It’s pure joy…forever.”

Riley’s spirit shook its head sharply. She pointed down to the ER. “This is pure joy. Saving lives.”

“And you did it well. But it’s time…”

“Not yet.” Riley swirled off to the hospital’s operating room. A man lay on a gurney in pre-op, his left leg black with gangrene. She moved close to him, whispering in his ear. “It’ll be okay. No worries.” The man did not react.

She swirled off again, this time to the ICU. An elderly man lay alone in a cubicle, tethered to multiple IVs and lines. Riley hovered next to him. The man opened his eyes. Sensed Riley’s presence. He took a breath. Closed his eyes. Died. Alarms went off and staff rushed to his side. His spirit was already apart from his body. Hovering. Then gone.

“See, Mr. Angel. I can help patients with their illnesses. I can make a difference.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Riley.”

“I’m not going with you.”

“You don’t get to choose.” Jonny said, “Come with me.”

The two spirits moved to the oncology unit. Jonny lead them into a room. A twelve year old girl lay in the bed, her bald head covered with a scarf, tethered to multiple IV lines and monitors. The gir’s mother sat next to the bed, holding the girl’s hand.

“Her name is Meghan. She will pass any moment now.”

Riley saw another spirit appear next to Meghan. Jonny said to the spirit, “I got this one.” The spirit disappeared.

Monitor alarms beeped as Meghan passed. Her mom rushed away tears, got up and stroked Meghan’s cheek. An RN rushed in but it was too late. Meghan’s spirit appeared to Jonny and Riley. 

“Hi, I’m Meghan.”

“Hello, Meghan. I’m Jonny. I will assist you as you pass to the next life.”

“Who’re you?” Meghan asked Riley.

“She’s transitioning too, but somewhat reluctantly.”

“I just died down in the ER. I’m trying to convince Jonny I’m not ready to go.”

Jonny said, “Riley was an ER nurse for quite a while. She was shot by a distraught relative of a gunshot victim.”

“Oh, wow. Right here in the hospital?”

Riley nodded.

“Did you like your job?”

“I loved it. I lived for the thrill of saving lives.”

“You were lucky.”

“Yeah, I was.”

“I was twelve. I never got to reach any of my goals and dreams.”

“What was your dream?”

“To  a marine biologist.”

“That sounds exciting.”

“Who knows? I never got there. And look at my mom. She never got to see me graduate with a degree. Never got to see me work. She didn’t even see me get to grow proper boobs!”

Riley smiled. “I did okay in that regard…And yeah, I was lucky with my life.”

Jonny said, “It’s time.”

Riley said, “Can I see the ER one more time?”

Jonny shook his head. “Afraid not.”

Riley said, “Jonny, I guess you got me. Meghan, see you on the other side.”

The three spirits disappeared.

***

shortfiction24 – a boy and his knife

The boy finds a fishing knife and uses it, treasures it all summer. Easy come, easy go?

This story was also inspired by a writing prompt: “What does a character carry in his pocket?” I hope you enjoy it.

Comments and Likes always welcome.

A Boy and His Knife

Bob Gillen

The twelve year old boy welcomed his first day of summer vacation. He would start his first job ever the next day. His mom had arranged for the job to keep him occupied. 

But today was freedom. His friends were all busy with family activities. The boy rode his bike to a sandy field near his house.  He skidded the bike around in the soft earth. He pedaled fast, then braked hard. In one skid he spotted something glinting in the dirt. He retrieved a silver pocket knife. Someone had lost it. 

It’s mine now

The boy tapped the knife against his bike frame to shake out loose sand. He opened it. Measured the blade against his open hand. A four-finger blade. 

The boy wiped the knife on his shirt, tucked it into his right front pocket and continued riding his bike.

The next day he showed up early for his new job. Delivery boy for the local meat market, Pat’s Meats. Pat was ready for him.

“Good morning. Before I open the store, I need you to get the sack of sawdust from the back and spread it around all the floors. There’s a rake in the back. Spread the sawdust evenly.”

“Why do you do that?”

“To soak up any blood or scraps that hit the floor. When I’m cutting.”

The boy dragged the sack out to the customer area. He pulled out his pocket knife to cut open the sack. Pat saw what he was doing. 

“That knife looks too dull for that.” He handed the boy a pair of scissors. 

Later that day, after closing, the boy swept up the sawdust into a garbage can, spread fresh sawdust. While he did that , Pat used a steel brush to scrape the top of his cutting block. The block’s surface was hollowed from months of scraping. 

“Good job today,” Pat said. “See you tomorrow.”

The boy’s second day was quiet with only a few deliveries. He watched Pat cut meat, hone his knives continually on a honing rod. The trimmed fat and scraps went into a barrel for pick up by a rendering company. 

At  the end of the day Pat used a whetstone to sharpen his knives for the following day. Pat stroked his knives across the surface of the whetstone while the boy followed every move.

“Could I sharpen my knife too?” the boy asked Pat.

“Let me see it,” Pat replied. He examined the knife. “All aluminum. A fisherman’s knife. It won’t rust.”

“I found it.”

“Lucky find. It’s a good knife.”

The boy smiled.

“Go in the back and wash it with soap and water, then I can sharpen it for you.”

Pat put the boy’s blade to his whetstone, then showed the boy how to do it himself. “Be careful with it now. It’s very sharp. Good for gutting fish.”

After a week of deliveries and in-store tasks, the boy was ready for a day off. He took his sixteen-foot skiff out in the bay to fish. Bottom fishing for fluke and flounder. He caught a half dozen fish the first day. He carefully sliced and gutted the fish on his boat, dropped the innards overboard for other fish to feed on. He wiped the knife carefully, tucked it in his pocket. At home his mom fried up the fish for their dinner.

The summer passed quickly. The boy worked five days each week, fished the other two.

Every day he patted his pocket dozens of times, feeling for his treasured pocket knife. Every Saturday, after closing, he sharpened the knife on Pat’s whetstone.

As Labor Day approached, the boy took a day off from fishing and wandered the neighborhood on his bike. A feeder road to the highway near his house sloped down to the local streets. The boy left his bike at the bottom of the slope, climbed up halfway to the top. He took out his knife, began tossing it into the ground to see if he could stick it in the dirt. He traced a target in the grass with his fingers, tossed the knife over and over. He speared the target most throws. 

This is cool, he thought. 

The boy stepped back a few paces, closed his eyes, tossed the knife at the target. He opened his eyes.

The knife was gone.

The boy searched the target area. Nothing. He ran his fingers through the grass and weeds. Still nothing. His search ranged up and down the slope. He found nothing. 

For hours the boy searched for the knife. It must have bounced away from the target. He gave up his search when it was time to go home for dinner.

The boy showed up for his last work day at the meat market. He repeatedly felt his empty pocket for the knife.

“You’re very quiet today,” Pat said. “You okay?”

“I lost my knife yesterday.”

“How?”

“I was tossing it at a target in the ground. I looked away. It just disappeared.”

“First of all, not a good idea. That will dull the blade.”

The boy said nothing.

“You found it, right?”

“Yes.”

“I could say, ‘Easy come, easy go,’ but that won’t help you feel better.”

The boy cast his eyes down.

“You lost your knife. That’s a tough break. But look at it this way. You had a good summer with it. You learned to care for it. You fished with it…And you did a good job working here. No knife, but good memories.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

For weeks after school started, the boy reached for his pocket, only to find it empty every time. All through that school year he could still see the knife settled in his hand, feeling the heft of it. Longing for it.

***

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