Story a Day

After the barbecue, everyone sat around on the back deck drinking Mexican beers and Lynchburg lemonades. Those who smoked pot or cigarettes lit up, and the glowing cherries winked in and out in the gathering gloom. A Queen LP was on the turntable inside, the speakers pointed outward at the circle of friends. Freddy Mercury sang his heart out about lover boys and bicycles.

The large deck where they all sat was made of wood, slightly rotting and dilapidated but sturdy. Beyond the deck was Michael’s spacious yard, which in the gathering darkness was becoming less and less visible. Beyond that were the woods. Earlier in the evening, when they had served dinner, food had been laid out in Pyrex cake pans and dinner plates on the patchy lawn; there on the lawn the remnants now sat: a pound or so of cold, oily asada, still fragrant with the aromas of cumin and chili. Two marinated drumsticks, fruit juice redistributing itself within their cooked flesh, sitting in a baking dish next to a scattering of split and wrinkled hot dogs. Piles of drying lime slices, shredded cheese, pico de gallo, napkins, grilled peppers, forks, grilled mushrooms, and yellow pineapple and corn on the cob with carmelized brown spots and red flecks of spice clinging to their yellow skin.

Full, the group of friends reclined on the deck, making easy conversation.

“I feel like a cat is going to come and eat all this,” someone said, laughing lazily.

“Yeah, or a raccoon.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.”

But a woman named Amanda, too comfortable and drunk to make conversation, watched the barbecue spread while they talked. Soon something did come out of the shadows, crawling low to the ground. But it was no raccoon, and it wasn’t a cat. It was the right size for a cat, but it had no fur.

The thing ventured into the light of a nearby tiki torch, and Amanda gasped. It looked like a big, brown insect. It was like a beetle, but with almost intelligent eyes. Those eyes were even more disturbing than its size. The thing grabbed the whole pound of asada in its mandibles and started masticating with a sick, wet sound.

Amanda made a horrified, strangled gasping noise. Hearing her, the thing looked at the crowd of people and actually started. It was clearly seeing them for the first time. It looked left and right for a second, apparently thinking, and then darted quickly into the darkness, bringing along its mouthful of steak. Read the rest of this entry »

Every time Jennifer went on a weekend business trip, Dan did the same things. He wore underpants or a robe, and often nothing at all. He watched TV and ate take-out crap and drank too much. He passed out on the couch and stopped shaving. This weekend was no exception.

Naked on the couch and suddenly awakened, Dan sat up. It was four in the morning. A half-eaten pizza—slathered with cold, perspiring extra cheese—and a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s sat on the coffee table. The TV played an infomercial for some fat-busting, vibrating strap. His eyes were bloodshot and dehydrated from booze. Sore in a dozen places, he stood up and absently scratched the side of his balls. He smacked his lips. He padded into the kitchen, loaded a tumbler with ice cubes from the grinding fridge-front contraption, and filled the glass with water. He stood stark naked in the kitchen, drinking the water and scolding himself.

I’m getting too old for this.

In the living room, the male announcer extolled the virtues of the his fat jiggler. Act now and you’ll get a free mustache plucker! Ladies, can you afford not to?

Disgusted, Dan went back into the living room and switched off the advertisement. He had started watching Thinner at midnight but hadn’t even stayed awake for the gypsy curse. Now it was almost five AM. Time for bed.

As gloomy slience replaced the TV’s chatter, Dan realized he heard a strange noise coming from the den. Like paper crinkling. Or something crunching.

“What the hell,” he muttered. “Fine.” Might as well take a look. He limped down the hallway, scratching his balls again. That crunching sound got louder.

He eased open the door. Everything looked normal and still. Books lined the shelves. The old Mac tower stood cool and silent next to the black dead rectangle of the monitor.

Crunchcrunchcrunch. There it was again, louder. Now he realized it was definitley not paper crinkling: this was a crunching. Read the rest of this entry »