Archives: Short Stories

Part 1

My cook is trying to poison me. Lately I’ve been getting sicker after consuming any meal prepared by him. He’s been cooking for my family for generations and I’m the last surviving member of that family. Why does he want me dead? His salary has gone up every year even though he’s cooked less every year due to the demise of one family member after another.

Today he’s made spaghetti. He sets the plate down in front of me and smiles.

I smile back and offer him the first bite.

“I’ll have my dinner later.” He replies politely.

“There’s enough for both of us.”

“That’s very kind of you but I’m not hungry.”

He leaves the dining room. I roll up some spaghetti in my fork and stare at it. I always roll up the exact same amount of spaghetti for each bite. I’ve gotten good at it. So why does this particular roll of spaghetti feel heavier than usual? Has the poison made it heavier? Should I take a bite?

Part 2

I ate the spaghetti last night. And I felt sick. I ate oatmeal this morning. And I felt sicker. My cook, who made the oatmeal, ate the same oatmeal with me, for I was insistent that he join me. But he seems fine. Absolutely healthy. Then why am I getting sicker by the meal? How are his movements so fluid and carefree while mine are lagging and sluggish? There’s only one answer. He has swallowed the antidote. He’s immune to the poison.

But where has he hidden the antidote? I’ve searched the whole house. But my cook knows my house better than me. I used to play hide and seek with him when I was a kid. He always found me, every single time, but I never found him once. There’s also the possibility that he finished all the antidote.

The point is that my cook has left me no choice but to resort to drastic measures. I’ve been a vegetarian my whole life but that’s about to change. If the antidote is inside him, I must eat him to cure myself. I enter his bedroom in the middle of the night. He’s asleep. I approach him with a knife and fork.

Part 3

The doorbell wakes me up. I push the newspaper off me and slowly get off the sofa. My entire body is aching.
I answer the bell and it’s the little girl from next door.

“Hi! Do you have any cookies?” She asks.

“Unfortunately no. My cook isn’t here.”

“He went on vacation, didn’t he?” She says. “He promised he’d bake some cookies for me before he left.”

“Did he? I can’t remember.”

“You never remember anything!” She frowns.

I go back inside after promising the girl I’ll give her a hundred cookies next week.

I think my cook mentioned something about taking a short vacation this week. But I can’t remember. And my stomach hurts more than ever, especially after my last meal. I don’t even remember what I ate.

I go into my cook’s bedroom. I check the closet and the wardrobe. None of his belongings are here. It doesn’t seem like he’s gone on vacation, it seems like he’s completely moved out. Where did he go?

Part 4

“What’s that you have there?” The little girl’s father asks.

“Our neighbor baked me some cookies!” The little girl puts the box on the dining table.

“What?” The father looks worried. “Why him?”

“Because his cook didn’t do it before going on vacation.” She replies.

The little girl picks up a cookie and takes a bite. She immediately spits it out and proceeds to vomit.

Final Part

“I told you we should’ve moved a long time ago. But you said having a strange neighbor is no reason to move!” Says the little girl’s mother.

“I thought he was just strange. I didn’t know he was capable of this.” Replies the little girl’s father.

The little girl’s parents are watching the news on TV. Reporters are talking about a man who murdered his cook and used the body parts to bake cookies which he then gave to the little girl. The man claims that he is innocent and has no memory of committing such heinous crimes.

Part 1

There’s a knock on my office door followed by my secretary’s voice, “Your tea is ready. Why is the door locked?”

The door is locked because my hands are covered in my brother’s blood.

I lost my temper when he confessed that he was sleeping with my wife. I may have hit him too hard.

“Hello?” My secretary asks. “Anyone there?”

“Give me a second.” I reply.

I put my fingers on my brother’s neck to feel his pulse.

Part 2

How do I get my brother’s dead body out of my office without anyone noticing? He weighs as much as a horse.
Mom always blamed me for his weight. She said I should’ve taken him with me to the gym. I blamed her because she wouldn’t stop feeding him.

With great effort I push my brother’s body to the corner. I open the door slightly, quickly take the tea from my secretary, and shut the door and lock it. I hope she doesn’t suspect anything, normally she comes in and sets the tea on the desk.

As I’m sipping my tea, I send a text to my wife: ‘I know about you and my brother.’

Part 3

My wife’s rushing to the office. I told her I want a divorce, which is bad news for her because we signed a prenup (my mom insisted on it) and I doubt she wants to go back to a middle-class lifestyle.

But what to do about my brother’s corpse… Should I throw it out the window and tell everyone he was depressed and committed suicide? Unfortunately, the corpse is too heavy. And he has visible head injuries that I caused with a paperweight, which may arouse suspicion of foul play.

I hear a loud banging on my office door.

“Can you please open the fucking door?” My wife shouts.

Hmm I think I’ll let her in after I finish my tea.

Part 4

“How could you do this?” My wife gasps when she sees her lover’s dead body.

“I should be asking you that.” I reply and open the window for some fresh air.

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with someone else. It just happened.”

“This also just happened.” I gesture towards my brother’s dead body.

“You’re a fucking psychopath.” She says.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

In the next several seconds I do the following: I grab my wife’s hand and open it, I put the murder weapon in her hand and shut her hand around it, then I pick her up and throw her out the window. She stops screaming when she hits the ground.

Final Part

My mom and I are sitting in the living room.

It’s been a month since the papers reported that my wife murdered my brother and then jumped out my office window. They were having an affair and when he ended things with her (because he felt guilty), she was so angry that she beat him to death with a paperweight and then committed suicide.

“I still can’t believe everything that happened.” I say regretfully. “You warned me about her. You said she would ruin our family. And she did. I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you.”

Mom doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. She gets up and goes to the kitchen. She comes back with two cups of tea.

“You’ve fooled everyone but me.” My mom says. “After you finish your tea, I don’t want to see you ever again.”

I take as long as possible to finish my tea. I’m going to miss my mom.

“This isn’t working anymore.” She sighs.

“Let’s not give up.”

She shakes her head, “We need some time apart so you can figure out your priorities.”

“This relationship is my most important priority.”

“I don’t think it is. Just pack your belongings and leave.”

“You won’t fit in my bag.”

What a life. Her parents are going to force her to marry some creep who is 15 years older than her. She wishes she could run away but her parents are rich and powerful, they’d easily hunt her down.

That’s not even the least of her problems. She has another creep to deal with as well. This other creep has been stalking her for the past two years. In fact, he’s following her right now. She’s walking home from college and he’s right behind her. She’s lost count of how many times she’s told him she’s not interested in him. He just won’t give up. She really wants to teach him a lesson.

Suddenly she stops and waves at him. He smiles and approaches her quickly. She tells him she wants to go to a hotel with him. He nods and agrees, he looks like he’s won a million dollars in the lottery.

That night they meet in a hotel room. When the lights are off, she uses a knife to slash her own throat. He’s so shocked that he faints.

He ends up getting blamed for her murder and her parents make sure he goes to jail, where he is slowly tortured to death.

There was no other way for her to escape.

“Mom please, I have an important assignment. I can’t be late!” Kabir yelled as he hurried towards the door.

“Wait! Finish your breakfast, you know we don’t leave food in our plates.” I ran after him with his plate in my hand.

He barely grabbed a bite and ran out the door.

“It’s Saturday today. Where is he off too so early?” Kabir’s dad asked in a sleepy voice as he came out of the bedroom.

“His exams are coming up. He has gone to Sameer’s place to finish some assignment.” I said while serving him breakfast.

“Well, can’t Sameer just come over and study here? It’s the weekend, I want to spend some time with my son. You know I don’t see him all week!” He complained.

“I know, guess you will just have to wait till sundown. Sameer recently got an internet connection, I doubt Kabir will give up on that! Do you even know this new WiFive thing apparently gives access to a lot of information?” I raised my brows in an attempt to sound smart.

“WiFive? Oh, you mean WiFi!” He laughed and nodded away. “Well, I wonder how they are able to afford that in such an economy. We are here barely making ends meet.”

“I was thinking the same thing. But I’m just happy that Kabir can now study on a computer.” I smiled and made my way into the kitchen.

Thereafter, we went on with our daily chores. At about 7 pm, Kabir’s dad went out to get groceries and forgot to turn the TV off, as usual!

I walked into the living room and grabbed the remote to turn it off.

About an hour later, my husband returned home. He shrieked as he saw me lying unconscious on the floor.

He ran towards me before the ongoing news hit his ears.

“…Kabir and Sameer, two 14-year-olds, were killed in a suicide bombing mission. They walked into the Government Bank carrying the bomb in their school bags and are responsible for killing 23 other people.”

I managed to regain my consciousness and found my husband sitting against the wall, limp and motionless.

The news continued…

“These terrorist organizations target young kids who are easy to brainwash. They find them on the internet and trick them into joining their chat rooms. These naïve minds are then manipulated to sacrifice their lives in the name of religion…”

My husband simply stood up, turned the TV off and went to bed.

I could tell he was in shock, still in denial. I was too. I couldn’t cry. Why should I? This wasn’t true.

I peacefully slept through the night because I knew this was a dream and everything will be alright when I wake up.

The next morning was like any other. I prepared the breakfast, Kabir’s favourite, while his father made a list of places he would visit with Kabir once he was back.

And then my son came home. But this time in a small box, dismembered and in pieces.

I have a date tonight. I met somebody amazing and she’s coming over for dinner.

Time to take a shower and get ready.

As I’m showering, I hear the sound of glass shattering. What the hell is going on? I quickly wash the soap off my body and put some clothes on. I also put on a pair of slippers.

I make my way to the living room and see a broken window. My ex girlfriend is sitting on the sofa.

We broke up a long time ago. She got really mad and threw my PlayStation out the window.

Every once in a while, she’ll do something crazy to try and get me back.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask her. “How did you even get up here?”

I live on the 17th floor.

“Is that any way to talk to me after so long?” She replies.

“You broke my bloody window!”

“You broke my heart!”

“Look… get out.” I say. “Or I’ll call the cops.”

“I have a better idea.” She pulls a gun out of her purse. “I want you to strip. It’s been so long.”

“What? Are you serious?”

“Do it.” She smiles.

She points the gun at me. I take off my shirt.

“Are you seeing anyone?” She asks.

“No.”

“Stop lying.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You sound like a liar.”

“I’m telling you the truth.”

“How many women have you been with since you dumped me?” She asks. “And don’t you fucking dare say zero.”

“Look… we’re not together anymore.” I reply calmly. “It didn’t work out. The chemistry wasn’t right. You know this. Please put the gun down.”

After several long seconds she puts the gun back in her purse. Then she starts crying. “I’m sorry! I just miss you. I just can’t help myself sometimes.”

“It’s okay. I understand.” I put on my shirt and sit beside her. “Come. Let’s check out the view.”

We walk over to the broken window and look at the stars.

I really can’t handle my ex’s craziness anymore. There have been so many incidents like this but this time she crossed the line by threatening me with a gun. Enough is enough.

We watch the stars for a few more moments. I survey her quietly. My ex and I did have our fair share of happy moments. But there was too much chaos. Too much stress. Too much yelling. I’m done with her.

“Do you think you could ever see us being together again?” She asks.

“Sure.” I smile. “Why not? Nothing is impossible.”

“Really?” She asks.

“Yeah. I mean, despite everything that’s happened, I do miss you.”

“Oh my god… I miss you too.” She hugs me. I hug her back.

And then I swiftly pick her up and throw her out the broken window.

She screams while falling all the way down. I’ll just claim she jumped. She has a great track record of craziness, so it won’t shock anyone.

I sweep the broken glass and clean up the mess. I try calling and texting my date, but she doesn’t respond. I want to suggest to her that we should meet somewhere else for our date.

I look out the broken window and see that the police and paramedics are already down there. Time to go down and explain what happened.

But once I’m down there I am informed that my ex wasn’t the only one to die.

My ex fell all the way down from the 17th floor and landed right on my date. A deadly collision. Both died instantly.

“There’s someone there!” My 10-year-old daughter points out the living room window.

“Impossible. Where are the footprints?” I reply.

It’s snowing tonight and if there were anyone out there then there would be footprints.

“But It wasn’t walking. It was floating.” She says.

I laugh. “Okay then. Let’s get you to bed so you’ll be safe.”

As we’re going upstairs she says, “It’s right in front of us!”

“Sure it is!” I grin.

After I put her to bed I go to my own room and go to sleep.

The next day my daughter complains about a headache.

“I feel awful.” She says.

I give her some medicine, which makes her feel better.

My daughter and I watch movies on Sundays and today is no different.

But at night her head starts pounding again.

“It feels like something is trying to break out of my skull!” She cries. “I think It’s inside me.”

“No, don’t say that… you’ll be alright. Just take more medicine.”

She takes more medicine. Even though her head still feels like it’s going to blast open, she manages to fall asleep.

The next morning at breakfast she’s all smiles and laughter. She’s feeling a lot better. After she finishes eating she leaves for school.

I watch her through the window. It’s snowing again. I made sure she wore an extra sweater under her jacket. Sometimes cold weather can trigger migraines.

But then I realize that she isn’t walking… she’s floating.

I stand on the edge of the bridge, ready to jump into a fast-moving river that flows off a tall cliff. Life is awful. I take one last look at the beautiful night sky.

But before I can jump, I see somebody else approach the edge of the bridge.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Same reason as you. You want to go first?” He replies. “I can turn around.”

“You’re here to jump too?” I ask.

“Obviously.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Why do you care?”

“Just curious. There’s no way you’ve messed up as bad as I have.”

He laughs, “That’s because you don’t know what I’ve done.”

“It’s not a competition but I’m pretty sure I’ve done worse.” I reply. “I stole money from a charity to pay my wife’s medical bills. I made sure she got the best treatment and the best surgeons. But she died anyway. I feel guilty about ripping off a charity. I’m lonely without my wife. That’s why I want to jump.”

“Well, here’s my story.” He nods. “Last year I had a big fight with my father. We were both yelling, we said some horrible things, and the stress was so much for him that he got a heart attack and died. A few months later my mother took her own life. The guilt of killing my parents is too much for me. I even lost my job. So here I am.”

Instead of jumping, the two of us start talking. An hour passes. Two hours pass.

Eventually we agree that had we met somebody with the exact same problems as ours, we would give them this piece of advice: Don’t give up. There’s always hope.

“I’m going to pay back every dime I stole from that charity.” I tell my new friend. “Actually, I’ll give back double. I don’t care if I never go on vacation again.”

I look at my old car parked on the side of the road near the bridge. It’s almost 2 am and the nearby clubs are about to close. I met my wife at one of these clubs a long time ago.

“What can I do to make it up?” He asks. “My parents are gone.”

“There are plenty of lonely old folks out there.” I reply. “Why not volunteer at a retirement home?”

“I should’ve been there for my mom. I didn’t make time for her.”

“It’s not your fault. Fights happen.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Plus, your mom would be proud to see you help the elderly.”

We watch the night sky for a little while longer before heading back to our cars. We exchange numbers and promise to keep in touch.

While we’re walking back to our cars, we hear another car racing down the road. Before we can react, that other car hits both of us.

Our spines shatter. Our legs get crushed. The other car was going way past the speed limit.

I can see my friend’s brains. His face is unrecognizable and there is so much blood in my left eye that I can’t see out of it. It feels like there is a massive hole in my stomach.

The other car crashes and explodes. What an idiot – probably a drunk driver that had too many drinks at one of the nearby clubs.

My friend is dead and I’m dying too. My last thought is that jumping off a bridge would’ve been a lot less painful.

It’s backbreaking work you see.

Each batch has to be individually processed. Manually checked. One by one.

It’s all out in the field and bitterly cold. So all you work with are flashlights, which are dim, and bloody flicker. Gives me a fucking headache every time. Then you have to hold the bloody thing between your teeth as you work.

And in that dim light, you also have to figure out what’s actually gold and what’s nothing but gold plated fake rubbish.

All that effort and most of the time you end up with coloured tin or enamel or fucking steel.

Crafty buggers, our supply chain.

So you shift and you poke and you prod. And when you find the genuine article, it’s plier time.

“Plink” – you add to the pile.

And on to the next one.

The trains have been coming north more frequently now. So there’s literally tonnes to shift through. Every fucking night.

And my fucking boss. You won’t see Herr Hoss with a pair of pliers in his hands, and a flashlight between his teeth, wading around the dark fields in the middle of the night.

No Sir. For him, it’s the cosy fire and the glass of schnapps.

‘Arbeit Macht Frei’ – the sign at the gate says. ‘Work will set you free.’ Well in Der Fuhrer’s army, you certainly work for free.

Part 1

Jonathan spits out his food the moment it touches his tongue.

“Why is your cooking getting worse every year?” Jonathan turns to the cook.

“Don’t blame him.” Scarlett gives the cook a reassuring smile. “It’s the quality of meat that’s slipping.”

“S-She’s right.” The cook stumbles. “It’s the humans that have grown careless! They eat anything nowadays.”

“Always the same excuse.” Jonathan glowers at his underling. “I don’t care how much plastic the humans stuff themselves with.”

“There is only one solution.” Scarlett says. “We must start a farm and raise our own humans.”

“Here you go with this farm idea again! Do you know how much it’ll cost?” Jonathan asks.

“You may leave us.” Scarlett addresses the cook.

The cook, looking mightily relieved, practically sprints out of the dining area.

“My dear husband.” Scarlett sighs. “Do you think you are the only vampire in the world who is displeased with the quality of meat? There is a demand for better food. And we must supply it, or watch as others take advantage of this golden opportunity.”

“I think running for office is a better idea.” Jonathan grins. “Imagine if more of our kind were elected. We’d be able to shape global policy, and prioritize the environment over rampant capitalism.”

“Or imagine the consequences of being exposed for what we are. We operate best in the shadows.”

“Well, I’m tired of hiding.” Jonathan pauses. “We should be in charge. We are on top of the food-chain. If we usher in an eco-revolution, then we won’t need a goddam farm in the shadows.”

Scarlett sighs. Instead of keeping it simple, her husband likes to go big. She recognizes that his ambition has taken him far in life. The same could be said about her. They’re both lawyers. But she knows which battles are winnable.

Part 2

As Scarlett tucks her vampire spawn into bed that night, he asks her about climate change.

“Why don’t humans taste good anymore?” Five-year-old Brad asks.

Scarlett sighs. As simply as she can, she explains how the burning of fossil fuels releases toxins into the air. Those toxins are then absorbed by the bloodstream of all living things.

“Can’t we just remove the toxins from their blood, so they taste better?” Brad asks.

Scarlett smiles. “If only it were that easy.”

After Brad falls asleep, she leaves his room.

Hmm, not a bad idea, to simply purify the humans’ blood, so they taste as good as they used to, maybe even better than they used to. Maybe purifying blood would be cheaper than running a farm, although both options would certainly be cheaper than financing her husband’s political campaign.

It seems like a longshot, but she’ll ask her cousin about it. Her cousin is a chemistry professor at a university down south.

If such a purification process is even possible, the humans must never get their hands on it. They’ll use it an excuse to further pollute the world.

Part 3

The experiment was a success. Scarlett’s cousin delivered above and beyond. Although there was an interesting side effect.

As promised, her cousin comes up with a chemical formula that cleans up the polluted insides of a human. But thorough testing was required, so they captured live humans.

Chemical G was then administered to each human prisoner.

“They grew a third arm?” Jonathan asks as they dine in the living room.

“Or legs.” Scarlett replies. “But the extra limbs were almost always smaller than the original limbs. And they taste a bit different too.”

“True, though you’ll never hear me complaining about extra meat! But this must’ve cost a fortune.”

“A sizeable investment was required, but I think it paid off. We won’t need a farm now, we can just sell Chemical G, though the secret formula will stay in the family.”

“Well, I have to admit this is delicious.” Jonathan finishes the last bit of pure human meat off his plate. “Just like the old days.”

“It’s yum!” Brad says, eating messily as usual. His mother grabs a tissue and wipes some blood off his face.

After they finish their meal, they watch some TV and go to bed.

Later that night Jonathan and Scarlett are woken up by Brad’s loud moaning. They rush into his bedroom.

“Brad, what’s wrong?” Jonathan asks.

Brad’s face and skin have nasty red bumps all over it, he’s writhing in pain.

Pretty soon Brad stops moving. He isn’t making any sounds either.

“We need to take him to a doctor.” Scarlett says.

Scarlett and Jonathan carry their boy to the car, and race to the nearest underground vampire hospital.

“It’s Chemical G.” Jonathan says.

“Maybe, but the testing was thorough. Vampires across all age groups sampled the purified human meat, and there were no side effects whatsoever.”

“Small comfort.” Jonathan says quietly.

When they reach the nearest underground vampire hospital, doctors take Brad to ER.

Eventually Brad is pronounced dead.


Epilogue – One Year Later

The demand for Chemical G is outstripping supply, even though there is a one in a million chance of a fatal reaction. Brad was one of the unlucky ones.

Scarlett and Jonathan are no longer together. Jonathan blames her for Brad’s death.

Scarlett and her cousin have a roaring business selling Chemical G and she no longer works for a blood sucking law firm.

These days she prefers to strictly suck the blood of purified humans.