A Flash of Fear: Six Very Short Stories Read online



  A FLASH OF FEAR:

  SIX VERY SHORT STORIES

  by Barry Ergang

  Copyright 2010 Barry Ergang

  CREDITS

  “Ambition”: Mysterical-E (www.mystericale.com/)

  “Final Judgement” and “Moaning Lisa”: Nefarious (ttp://groups.yahoo.com/group/nefarious55/)

  “The Merchant of Vanish,” “Mother’s Day Present,” and “No Such Thing”: Flashshot (https://www.gwthomas.org/flashshotindex.htm)

  AMBITION

  The night air smelled of distant rain. At shortly before eleven, Tindall parked his car near the southern entrance to the city park. He switched off the headlights and ignition, climbed out, and locked the doors with a remote device on his keyring.

  Cool wind ruffled his hair and the trees in the park. He pulled up the collar of his overcoat, then put his hand around the gun in the coat’s right-hand pocket. He crossed the sidewalk to the low stone wall that separated the park from the street and went down concrete steps to a walkway bordered by trees whose crests shuddered in the wind. Streetlamps spaced at intervals cast wavering shadows of branches on the walkway. A teenaged couple on a bench broke off kissing to glance at him. They resumed as he went past. Huddled against the trunk of a maple tree, alongside a shopping cart, someone stirred to adjust the blanket that covered him, then lay still. Tindall strode toward a narrow stone bridge that arched over the creek gurgling beneath it. Acorn husks crunched under his shoes.

  Halfway across the bridge he stopped and waited. Two men stepped from behind a stand of oaks at the far side. Both wore overcoats, both were hatless. The man in the lead, wearing the darker overcoat, was solid but not fat. The man behind was a head taller and slimmer. He wore gloves.

  “Odd time and place for a meeting, Craddock,” Tindall said.

  The man in the darker overcoat said: “Maybe you’d like it better if I came to your office.”

  “Point taken. But what’s this all about?”

  “It’s all about I gotta talk to you.”

  Tindall looked at the tall, slender man.

  “This is Mr. Plum,” Craddock said.

  Mr. Plum nodded. He did not take his eyes off Tindall’s face.

  “It’s okay to talk in front of Mr. Plum.”

  “Talk about what?” Tindall said.

  “What I’m hearin’ on TV and readin’ in the papers.”

  “Which is?”

  “Which is that a certain D.A. who’s up for re-election swears he’s gonna prosecute a certain crime boss.”

  Tindall’s right hand clenched around the gun in his pocket; his left waved away Craddock‘s statement. “That’s nonsense. I’d never come after you.”

  “Damn right you won’t, if you want to keep your job and keep livin’.”

  “Then why are we even having this conversation?”

  “Because I don’t like this crap I’m readin’. Go after Brand and his outfit. Brand’s gettin’ too ambitious for his own good. That‘s the deal. You keep me out of it. I made you happen and I can make you go away.”

  Craddock stood less than half a foot from Tindall. Tindall took a step back and said: “I know that. I’ve got my staff investigating Brand.”

  “Yeah?” Craddock leaned forward, his face close to Tindall’s. “Then how come my name keeps gettin’ into the papers? I don‘t like it.”

  Wind rattled the trees; shadows of branches danced in the pooled light of streetlamps.

  Craddock said: “The papers say there’s an ‘unnamed source’ in your office who says I’m under investigation.”

  Tindall looked at Mr. Plum. Mr. Plum’s long thin face held no expression. His hands were in the pockets of his overcoat.

  “That’d be Rickert,” Tindall said. “I’ll handle him.”

  “Rickert?”

  “An assistant in my office who is overly ambitious.”

  “What’s his story?”

  “What I just said. He has political intentions.”

  “Meaning he wants your job.”

  “Yes.”

  Craddock jabbed Tindall’s chest with a forefinger. “Do what it takes to keep your go-getter under control or I will. We clear?”

  “We’re clear.”

  “Control Rickert. Take out Brand and his outfit. I made you happen and I can make you go away.”

  “I’m not out to jeopardize our arrangement. I’ll—”

  Wind muted the chuff from the silenced gun. Tindall was flung backward against the bridge’s stone parapet. Blood bloomed against the fabric of his overcoat in the center of his chest.

  Craddock spun to face Mr. Plum. “What the hell—?”

  “He’s carrying a gun,” Mr. Plum said.

  “What’re you, outta your mind?”

  Mr. Plum unscrewed the silencer from the gun’s barrel and dropped it into a pocket. He stepped forward to Tindall’s body. He pulled Tindall’s arm until Tindall’s right hand came out of the pocket of his overcoat. Mr. Plum reached into the pocket and retrieved a .32 automatic he held out on his gloved palm.

  Craddock said: “Christ, it’s just a belly gun.”

  “Even so.”

  “You goddamn idiot, I didn’t want you to burn him. I needed him.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Mr. Plum said.

  The .32 cracked twice. Craddock sagged to the concrete surface of the bridge. His hands clutched his mid-section. He tried to speak; blood gargled over his lips. His eyes glared a question.

  “Mr. Brand and Rickert have ambitions of their own,” Mr. Plum said.

  Sightless now, Craddock’s eyes stared at the night. Mr. Plum knelt and put his gun into Craddock’s hand. He slipped the .32 into Tindall’s slack right hand and watched it fall to the concrete beneath.

  Mr. Plum stripped off his gloves, slid them into his overcoat pockets, and walked into windy darkness that smelled of distant rain.

  FINAL JUDGMENT

  "Your Honor, we've unequivocally proven that Mr. Case was in Samantha Sullivan's bed at the time of the murder. He couldn't have committed it."

  The judge nodded coldly. Drawing a revolver from beneath his robe, he aimed and fired. Case slumped dead in his chair.

  "Samantha Sullivan is my wife's maiden name. Case dismissed."

  THE MERCHANT OF VANISH

  “I’m the sole provider of this service,” the elderly man said.

  “You know about me how?” Briscoe asked.

  “Word’s out. To support your gambling habit, you borrowed money you can’t repay from a loan shark. Sign this contract and I’ll give you the power to elude your pursuers.”

  “Prove it.”

  The elderly man showed him how to dematerialize. With a triumphant grin, Briscoe signed.

  The loan shark’s bone-breaker caught up to him that night. Briscoe vanished before his astonished eyes, then felt intensifying heat and smelled brimstone. The elderly man materialized alongside him.

  “What is this?” Briscoe demanded. “Where are we?”

  “You obviously misunderstood. I said I’m the S-O-U-L provider….”

  MOANING LISA

  “Lovers, like pets, are replaceable. My last one killed himself when I left him.” Lisa sipped her tea. “This almond cake is delicious.”

  “Thanks,” said her hostess, adding, “My brother killed himself.”

  “A little bitter, but delicious.—Oh! I’m so sorry.”

  “You’re looking ill.”

  “It’s rather stuffy in your parlor.”

  Her hostess returned a cyanide smile.

  MOTHER’S DAY PRESENT

  “C
an you gift-wrap that?” he asked.

  The teen-aged clerk gaped at him. “This?” She swallowed. “Not really. We’re mainly a hardware store. Try the drugstore down the street. They sell wrapping paper.”

  “Good idea. I can buy a card there, too.”

  “Kind of an unusual present, isn’t it?”

  He smiled. “It’s for Mother’s Day. Mother’s an unusual woman. Unique, really.”

  “She must be.” The clerk rang up the sale. “That’ll be four-seventy-seven with the tax.”

  She handed him the bag into which she’d put his receipt and the box of rat poison, and Norman Bates headed to the drugstore.

  NO SUCH THING

  “Shh…” Seated on the edge of her bed, he held his four-year-old daughter, gently smoothing her hair. “Shh…There’s no such thing as monsters.”

  “There are, Daddy!” she sobbed. “Mommy told Aunt Maria there’s a monster in the house.”

  “No.“ He laid her back on the pillow, cooed soothing words, and held her hand until she slept.

  His wife stood at the kitchen sink washing the dinner dishes.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you?” The flat of his palm slashed her cheek. “Where do you get off telling her about monsters?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “There’s…no…such…thing…as…monsters!”

  His fists underscored each word.

  ####

  About the Author

  Former Managing Editor of Futures Mystery Anthology Magazine and First Senior Editor at Mysterical-E, Barry Ergang’s fiction, poetry and non-fiction have appeared in numerous publications, print and electronic. He was the recipient of a Derringer Award from the Short Mystery Fiction Society for the best short mystery story of 2006 in the Flash Fiction category. His website address is https://writetrack.yolasite.com/

  “Slow and Quiet, Drift Away”

  The Play of Light and Shadow

  Stuffed Shirt

  PUN-ishing Tales: The Stuff That Groans Are Made On