Lucky Punch

Hey everybody, here to inform you that I've decided to give away my latest novella. Why you might ask, well... I guess because I feel like it. Even though I could just place it free on the Nook store or Amazon I decided to just go the direct route and offer it as a free to read, free to download PDF right here on my blog.  In order to read it, just highlight the link (located at the top right of this blog, under the heading "Lucky Punch") then open it in another window. Easy as that! From there you can read the whole thing or download it for later, whatever works best for you.

Now, if anybody is interested in reading it but would like it in another format please feel free to to get in touch and we can work something out via Email. I would be more then happy to convert and send it to you any way you like. Also feel free to spread the word or link to it in any way you see fit, and if you have a blog that you would like me to put on a links list I'll be glad to do that as well.

Thanks for your time everybody,

Jay Nystrom

Siren's Abyss

This is an experiment for me (and quite honestly a bit out of my comfort zone), in that this story is narrated by yours truly. I hope you enjoy this bit of Halloween inspired fun, and as always feel free to let me know what you think. So without any further interruption I present: Jay Nystrom's Siren's Abyss

Candles to Curtains

By Jay Nystrom

The clack of typewriter keys echoed in the small wooden shack that Alexander called home, sweat dripped from his brow, past his eyes and nose finally resting in the four days growth of hair that grew upon his face. The soft glow of several candles illuminated the cramped quarters, the room was a bedlam of half finished manuscripts, stacks of reference books, and piles of refuse and rubbish. Alexander had not slept in nearly a full five days but the fury of his conviction could not be stopped, this idea for a novel had swirled and coalesced in his brain for a full year and now it yearned, no… it begged to be unleashed onto paper and out into the world from the ether.
A half eaten bowl of soup sat adjacent to a warming glass of bourbon, the food and drink was consumed only as a way to keep his body from failing, he took little pleasure from it. Alexander was in the zone now, a stack of paper was piled high on the desk containing the words that would be his bestselling debut, it was a much stronger story then the previous four he had discarded into the corners and trash can. It wasn’t that they were all that bad but this, this was the one, he was sure of it.
His fingers stopped their frantic scrambling at a small noise outside, he glanced through the single window with it’s torn, dry, and old curtains hanging limp on the windless night. An owl had perched itself in the tree outside, the bird stared with it’s large yellow and unblinking eyes, then it slowly turned it’s head the nearly one hundred and eighty degrees to face forward again. Alexander felt unnerved by the sight but all at once excited by the sense of the macabre and he started at the typewriter with renewed fervor.
With a flourish chapter twenty four was complete, he took a small break to scoop a few spoonfuls of the cold soup into his mouth, he washed it down with the remaining bourbon in his glass. He got up to refill, his feet creaked on the ill built wooden floor with every step, he paused…to him it sounded like something else had also creaked the slats. He shook the thought away and grabbed the bottle on the mantle, he took a swallow right from the bottle then crossed the floor back to his chair. He thought briefly about other things, he often did when the loneliness got the better of him. His mind raced with thoughts of what ifs and maybes, this self exile was the best for him as far as actually finishing his novel but it was still depressing at times.
Alexander closed his eyes and thought of a pretty little redhead he knew from town, she was just the last in a long line of women he was too scared to approach. That was really the story of his life, a string of close calls and scares but nothing of any real substance to speak of. He wouldn’t change a thing about it though, it was the miles that made then man. He took another drink, loaded another sheet of blank paper and began to type again. He worked without stopping for another two hours before he jumped at the sight of something moving in the shadowed corner of his domicile.
He flinched again as something scratched at the wall, he swept out of his chair casting the bottle of alcohol to the ground breaking it into a million shards of penetrating glass. His heart was beating wildly now, the scratching increased in rhythm and intensity. He had heard the mice and rats in the walls before but this seemed to be something bigger, he pictured inch long claws trying to burrow into his skin. He cursed his over active imagination and rushed to the kitchen.
Alexander drew a long bladed hunting knife from the drawer and crept over to the source of the sound, he thrust the knife into the rotting wood with force. He wiggled the blade free but found no blood or gore stuck to it’s tarnished finish. He sat back down in the chair, his head swam with drink and lack of sleep, he knew he must be hallucinating. It wouldn’t be the first time he had had a breakdown, his last episode is what prompted his move out into the wilds in the first place.
A low drone woke Alexander hours later, he must have dozed off without realizing it. He stood up from the chair to stretch his tightened muscles loose, the floor groaned with his weight and he swung his arm wildly in fright. A nearly melted candle fell from the desk, it’s small flame licked and caressed a stack of papers on the floor. The dampness of the air prevented the paper from catching immediately, had Alexander paid any heed he could have stopped them from catching at all. But as it was he was screaming and swinging his knife with fear, the cold, cutting fear that only the unknown could produce in the pit of your stomach. His feet were cut and stuck with the glass of the bourbon bottle, as he moved across the floor he left bloody footprints in his wake.
The paper caught fire at last, the flames leapt with seeming sentience from the paper to a heap of unwashed linens. From the linens to the alcohol soaked floorboards, from the floorboards to the miscellaneous books that laid in uneven towers. From the books to the coarse wool of the bed sheet, and from the sheet to the curtains. So stood in flames o’ plenty, a madman with sharpened blade and frantic mind…consumed by imaginary ghosts born of insomnia and drowned with fire.

END  

Scarecrow Grins in Moonlight

By Jay Nystrom

Travis perked his ears at the distant scratching sound, he listened closely…the tiny electric motor that controlled the sliding panes of glass whirred. A small chime rang out over the speaker system but he couldn’t hear any footsteps, he grunted as he placed his hand on one of the lower shelves and lifted himself up from the kneeled position he had taken on the floor. The scratching could be heard again, this time a whoosh and howl of the wind accompanied it, Travis laughed at himself, a small huff of derision that chided himself at his edginess. The sliding doors were stuck open again, they did it often at this little grocery store that was his second home.
He watched as the wind from outside blew the crisp maroon and golden leaves further into the store, he wiggled the door until the motor engaged and the doors slid gently together. Travis scooped the leaves into the waste bin and cursed his luck of having drawn the late shift tonight, he knew the rest of his crew would be halfway to wasted by now and here he was being frightened by the wind. He hoped that the party would still be going by the time he locked up, he so desperately wanted to show Teresa that he was a funny and sweet guy in a setting other then work. Travis took a deep breath and let it out with depressed huff, not that she would even notice him, not that she would even care.
As he rounded the corner back to the aisle he shook his head at the mess he still had to fix before he could leave, he struggled to get back onto the floor again. After a few minutes of turning soup labels forward he heard the doors open again, this time the noticeable clack of high heels could be heard on the tile. A woman in a blue dress turned into the aisle, he could see her from the corner of his eye. He readied a charming smile, a pretty woman was about the only time he bothered to provide anything close to good customer service. He turned his head with a snap only to find that nobody was there, she must have headed to another section of the store in the time it took him to muster the effort to help.
He heard the heels again but a little more towards the door this time, he waited for the familiar beep of the register scanning but found it silent. Just as Travis turned his attention back to the shelf the lights shut off, the entire store was pitch black. He cursed the night janitor who must have forgot there was still employees here, with the wide glow of his cell phone Travis made his way to the switch located in the back hallway. The light shone on the knob, it was still in the on position, he turned it off then back on and the lights flashed to life. After another half hour of tedious, pointless work he called it a night and rushed to his car. The drive wasn’t more then ten minutes to the little farm where his coworkers and friends would hopefully still be partying, he pulled up to the edge of the property and continued on foot.
The moon hung big and bright in the sky, as he walked Travis began to remember snippets of a dream. He found it odd that he would take this long to remember a dream from the night before but somehow it bothered him that he couldn’t form the scene in his mind. The cobwebs of his head swirled around confusing him further, he remembered something about Teresa being there, although to be fair he dreamed of her often. Then he remembered something about a scarecrow, then he felt a whispered breath on his neck. He turned violently but nobody was there, it must have been nerves from strange events earlier that had him on edge.
Travis neared the spot where his friends would be, it was a clearing in the middle of an orchard where nothing would grow. It was a near perfect circle of blackened ground that was rumored to be the site of a witches coven from long ago, it was now just used by teens to drink and paw at each other in the night. He stepped into the circle and his mind was flooded with memories, it wasn’t a dream from the night before that had bothered him so much. No… it was the nightmare of remembering what had happened, in the middle of the circle was a lone scarecrow that had long worn out his clothes and spilled his straw. Now it was just an empty sack with a torn hat upon it’s head, at the foot of the scarecrow were the bodies of his friends.
He started to cry at finding them again, the nightmare relived and remembered. It was like it was fresh again, he looked around the circle and saw the wraiths and apparitions of the people he knew weeping at the sight. He was always the last one to show up, he was last on the night when this happened the first time. It didn’t spare him the blade of the madman who had lurked in the shadows, the man who dug himself from a prison and rampaged across three states taking sixteen lives before being stopped.
Travis watched as the bodies on the ground faded away, he looked at the deflated face of the scarecrow and thought that it had a sinister grin beneath the moonlit brim of his frayed hat. His friends stepped towards the center and he found his feet following suit, the night would be replayed again next year, now he remembered that it always was. The spirits weakened and were blown away by the wind as they neared the decrepit scarecrow, Travis looked to the woods to see the woman in the blue dress standing at the edge of the circle. But the figure gained shape with his memory, it wasn’t a woman though, no… it was the man who had taken his life, a bloodied maniac in a cocktail dress he had taken from a girl four towns over.
Travis almost screamed when he bumped into the scarecrow, a small tuft of hay scratched his cheek with a dry rustle. Then he felt himself being pulled away, he cried but no tears came… he was always last to leave…without ceremony and without company.

END

Uncut

By Jay Nystrom

Bahia, Brasil 1998

I stumbled slightly, the wounds screaming at me to stop moving… I would not. The night air was cool but I could feel the heat of the gunshots in my leg and shoulder, the older blood that had coated my right hand and forearm had dried, plastering my shirt to my arm like paper mache. That greedy bastard had taken my emeralds and the considerable amount of cash in my pockets, he would pay with his life. My body had protested every step but in less then an hour I had made it into town, the thing about amateur thieves is that they liked to talk; braggarts and idiots the fucking lot of them.
The loud music and cheering emitted from the little bar told me I had found the place, I looked through an open window and saw Thiago dancing like a fucking moron. My former partner and friend celebrating my death just a touch prematurely, I entered the bar but barely got a second glance. I fumbled for my pistol and leveled it with an unsure left hand, I was close enough that it hardly mattered. He turned as I squeezed the trigger, the bullet caught him high in the chest and he painted the table behind him with his blood.
I knelt to the best of my ability and took the folded white packet of jewels from his pants, I made it into the street before my body betrayed my rage. I hit the ground hard, the dust danced and swirled with each labored breath I had left. I managed to move the biggest emerald to my face and with squinted eye I held it towards a light. It sparkled and shone with the delicious light of a good rock, my world went green… then faded to black.

End

Untitled (Watercolor with sharpie)

Who is Unit 33?

By Jay Nystrom

Unit 22 walked down the sidewalk briskly, the night was cold and the wind had picked up speed. She glanced at her Omni-watch, the LED gauges on the readout confirmed her feelings: 44°F, NW 18MPH, 8.34PM. She drew her coat closer to her body, her mind raced at such lightning speeds that no single thought was able to form, she feared the consequences of her work. Unit 22 had spent the last eight years of her life with one singular goal in mind and now, in less then four hours, she would come to regret every minute of her work.
She took a few deep measured breaths and recalled the events of the day, it all started when her supervisor announced the news. “You’re all wondering why I’ve gathered you here today, well some amazing news has come down from above. Thanks to the tireless work of Unit 22 we are able to push up Transition Day to midnight tonight!” The room erupted in whoops and thunderous applause, those Units near 22 slapped her back and shook her hand. At that moment she felt a great pride in her work, she had helped advance the human race to this new level of complete integration. It was what happened next that had shook her to her core.
Unit 22 had escaped the festivities and into the restroom, when she heard the whoosh of the electric door she lifted her legs closer to her chest. She didn’t know why she did it but she was glad she did, one of the people who had come in checked under the stalls to make sure the room was clear. An electronic click signaled that the door had been locked, she could hear two voices talking, one male and one female. The male started talking first, “So this is it, the big day. I’m assured that all of your government contacts are fully aware of the transition plan correct?” It wasn’t a voice she recognized but the female sounded like Unit 601, “They are one hundred percent behind the plan, everything is in place. Starting at midnight all information, books, music, all vids and pics will be uploaded into the W.I.N.S (Wireless Information Network System) and it will be slowly edited and formatted to the specifications of The Council.” The two voices continued on but Unit 22 knew she had all the information she needed, they were going to destroy everything. The entire catalogue of human history was going to be changed or erased by the whims of some council. She sent a coded message on her Omni-watch and tried to steady her breathing.
The two people soon parted ways and after a few minutes Unit 22 crept out of her stall and headed for the exit. She was stopped by some scared Units, “Did you hear 22? A Unit has gone rogue, there were explosions at one of the W.I.N.S. facilities!” 22 asked which Unit, the answer caused her pupils to expand against her will, the answer was 33. She ran out the door and hurried home.
Unit 22 checked her Omni-watch again, only a few minutes had passed but each step was more dangerous then the last, they would realize what was happening soon enough. Just as the thought crossed her mind she heard the squeal of tires, she glanced over her shoulder and saw two Omni-cycles turn the corner. The cycles were a single giant wheel with the driver seated inside, they were designed to be agile and fast, the vehicle of choice for the government’s quick response teams. Unit 22 took off in a sprint, her shoes slipped off and bounced in the street but she kept going faster.
The two Agents increased their speed, the tires leaving heated smoke in their wake. They caught up to her in just a few seconds, she was tackled to the ground and her blows were deflected by the padded armor of the Agents. A few punches found her face and torso stopping any resistance from her, the Agents leaned her against the wall, “I’m Agent 724, we have reason to believe you have ties to the suspected dissident Unit 33. Who is Unit 33?” 22 steeled her jaw even as the tears fell from her eyes, when it became obvious she wasn’t going to talk a baton cracked against her skull. She fell to the cement with her head swimming, Agent 724 grabbed her hair and held her upright. The other Agent took out a black box, a silver needle slid out, the box was shoved into her temple.
Unit 22 cried as her memories danced before her as holograms, the image of her husband popped up and the two Agents agreed it was the suspect they were looking for. They let 22 drop to the ground with a sickly thud, blood leaked from her eyes mixing with the flowing tears. The two Agents laughed and joked as they went back to their Omni-cycles, Agent 724 reached to his sidearm and found it missing. The Agents turned in time to see Unit 22 propping herself against the wall with the gun aimed, two shots fired and 724 fell bleeding profusely. Four more shots rang out in the night and the other Agent fell, he convulsed for a few seconds then was still.
22 slid back down to the ground, a nearly perfectly arced smear of blood was left on the wall. Her breathing slowed as her heart began to run out of blood to pump, another explosion shook the ground. A monstrous fireball lit the night sky, Unit 22 closed her eyes and her heart stopped beating… she died with a smile on her blood stained face.

End

The Devil and Sydney Crowson; Or the High Price of Living Well

By Jay Nystrom           

            The arid dust swirled and settled with each labored footfall, in the distance a shimmering veil promised nothing more then heat and asphalt. The sun hung large in the summer sky seemingly taking up the entire realm of heaven, its rays relentless in their efforts to ignite the world. Sydney Crowson covered his face with his arm and glanced up to see buzzards circling lazily on thermals, ever patiently waiting for some poor creature to succumb to the desert. Sydney unscrewed the top of his canteen and tipped it back, not even a single drop fell to his tongue, he shook his head and remembered that it had only been a few minutes since he last tried to drink. His mind felt clouded and it was hard to focus on anything, his thoughts drifted back and forth between the past and the present.

            He remembered fondly the cheering fans, the packed stadiums building excitement until he stepped on the stage to an eruption of emotions. It was a feeling that couldn’t be matched anywhere else in life, thousands of people willing to pay big money to cram into tiny plastic seats just to listen to the wail of your guitar and the sound of your voice. Sydney stumbled on a rut in the ground snapping his focus back to his present troubles, he cursed the ground and called out obscenities so vulgar that sailors would cover their ears in shock. Sydney’s heart jumped in his chest as a coyote crossed the road in front of him, it seemed to come from out of nowhere, it stopped and looked in his direction. The coyote followed the road towards the sun, it was then that Sydney noticed that the sun was lower in the sky and he hoped it would set soon although the cold of night would prove just as challenging as the heat of day.

            The bottom edge of the sun touched the horizon, in the distance a small wave formed at the visible end of the road. Sydney squinted hard at the wave as it grew bigger and bigger, a tidal wave of fire was bearing down on him. He turned to run, as hopeless as that was, what little energy he had left was mustered to move his bone weary legs. His muscles burned in protest to the physical exertion but he couldn’t stop now, he was running for his life. The wave caught him easily, he was slammed to the ground by the weight and his skin began to scald. The skin went quickly but with much pain and soon his writhing muscles melted away but in some unholy happenstance he was still alive to feel it. The fire made short work of his bones and then the world went black.

            Sydney awoke with a start, a cold sweat covered his body and his heart did its best impression of Houdini trying to escape the confines of his chest. The sun was high above him so not a single shadow could be found as shelter from the heat. He stood wearily and with great effort, the nightmare started to fade from his mind and he was glad to forget it. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his arm and it was quickly replaced with more, with heavy heart and heavier feet he began to walk.

                The arid dust swirled and settled with each labored footfall, in the distance a shimmering veil promised nothing more then heat and asphalt. The sun hung large in the summer sky seemingly taking up the entire realm of heaven, its rays relentless in their efforts to ignite the world. Sydney Crowson covered his face with his arm and glanced up to see buzzards circling lazily on thermals, ever patiently waiting for some poor creature to succumb to the desert. Sydney unscrewed the top of his canteen and tipped it back, not even a single drop fell to his tongue, he shook his head and remembered that it had only been a few minutes since he last tried to drink. His mind felt clouded and it was hard to focus on anything, his thoughts drifted back and forth between the past and the present.

            He remembered warm-heartedly the chaos of the backstage after shows, dozens of girls in various states of undress flooding the dressing room shared with the members of his band. There was never a shortage of alcohol or cocaine when they traveled, every single hedonistic desire was filled on a near daily basis and the lifestyle was just as addictive as any form of booze or drugs. But out of everything Sydney most enjoyed the groupies, young women so very eager to surrender their bodies to you and he gladly indulged them. He of course had heard stories of such things while growing up but it was something completely different when it was experienced first hand, the days on the tour bus spent in drug and alcohol induced comas and the nights filled with rocking and sex.

            Sydney tripped on a divot in the asphalt falling to one knee on the rough ground scraping his knee. He looked down at the skin that had torn open and had to pick small pebbles from his flesh while the blood seeped from the wound, it was deep and in the desert it was most likely a death sentence. He tore a strip of his shirt off and wrapped it tight around his leg above the wound, his hands shakily tying the makeshift tourniquet was made a harder task by the blood that covered his hands. After he was satisfied with the effort he trotted onwards towards the horizon, the blood loss caused his head to feel light.

            After what felt like miles Sydney looked back despite promises made to himself to never do such a thing, a long trail of blood was left in the road, an impossible amount from one man he thought to himself. The coyote darted from behind a cactus and began lapping the blood from the pavement only pausing once to look at Sydney standing in the road. Sydney averted his eyes from such a ghastly scene only to find that the road ahead of him was filled with dozens of buzzards waiting impatiently. Their ugly wrinkled faces stared straight at him expectantly and he knew there was no way he could outrun them, Sydney took the strap of the canteen and wrapped it securely around his hand. He took a few futile swings at the birds but they simply hopped back from his reach, it was then that his gashed knee gave out and he fell to the ground. The buzzards slowly moved in for the kill, they didn’t need to rush because they all knew that this was an easy kill. The birds pecked savagely at the wound, Sydney screamed in horror as the buzzards moved up to his stomach. Entrails spilled to the street but not once did he lose consciousness as the pink faces flooded his vision, it would be the last thing he would see but not the last thing he would feel. Then the world went black.

            Sydney woke up slowly and knew that when he opened his eyes they would be met with the blazing sun and an inhospitable desert. He laid in the road and could feel the asphalt burning at his exposed skin, he drifted in and out of sleep but no dreams or nightmares found him. After awhile he sat up cross legged in the road, the sun hung high casting no shadows once again. It had taken this long for Sydney to realize what was going on, this endless cycle of his death. His mind drifted back to that fateful August night when the whiskey and coke fueled bender destroyed his mind and after four days on a hospital bed in a medically induced coma it destroyed his body as well. It was all so clear to him now, when he opened his eyes the desert began to lose the browns and tans that colored it. The pigments washed slowly away like a painting in reverse, they revealed the deep reds and fiery landscape of his true surroundings.

            A deep chuckle echoed in his skull, the coyote wandered towards him without speed. The creature started to grow larger as it drew closer, the red of it’s fur turning to a scaly hide. The face flattened and ears were replaced by the curled horns of a ram, the skin fell in clumps as it stood on it’s hind legs.

            The full vision was soon revealed as the Devil himself stood before Sydney. The naked muscled body heaved with deep breaths, the behooved feet clopped on the ground, and between the horns sat a mighty burning crown. “Sydney Crowson, son of Charles Crowson and Margaret Smith, welcome to the final resting spot of your immortal soul. When you first came to me at your darkest hour you knew what fate would befall you, a deal with the Devil in exchange for fame. In the end it wasn’t worth it, I see it in your heart you regret your actions. I’ll let you in on a little secret my son, it’s never worth it, never has a deal been in favor of man. At least you enjoyed your life Sydney for there is no God and no Heaven, all just things I’ve created for the fun of it. You can’t imagine the joy I feel when those holier then thou assholes find their fate in my kingdom of death. Fare thee well Mr. Crowson, enjoy your stay.”

            The bellowing laughter continued as the Devil shrank down and once again the coyote walked away, in it’s wake the colors of the desert sprang back to life and the sun took its place high in the sky. Sydney Crowson’s vision wavered and the world went black. He woke with a start and struggled to his feet, his body protesting his every move. The buzzards circled high in the sky and with little choice left Sydney began to walk.

            The arid dust swirled and settled with each labored footfall, in the distance a shimmering veil promised nothing more then heat and asphalt.

The Timepiece

         

By Jay Nystrom

            Marine Sergeant Clive Rothwell walked through the doors of the small used bookstore, the two tarnished silver bells affixed above the doors chimed as he entered. The smell of old and rotted paper wafted to his nose, he took a deep breath and relished the familiar smell. For him nothing struck that loving chord like the air found in libraries or bookstores, it was like stepping back in time and knowing that the great writers and philosophers both ancient and new had worked in such environments. He had walked through the doors thousands of times, and just like the very first time nearly fourteen years before he was greeted by the same aging Doctor. Over the years the Doctor had gone from a distinguished and proud man to a silver haired shell, his pale blue eyes glassy, father time himself seemed to have stood upon his stooped shoulders. The Doctor feebly shook hands with Clive and waved him to the sitting area, his old liver spotted hands shook at the effort of pouring two cups of tea but he would never accept any offered help.

            Clive added sugar to his cup and stirred the aromatic liquid with a tiny spoon, he took a sip and enjoyed the smooth and sweet drink as it traveled down his throat. “I’ve finally finished it you know,” said the Doctor, his voice tinged with sadness, “after nearly all of my adult life spent here I’ve finished it. It all seems quite anticlimactic to be honest, the rush of discovery has long since lost it’s luster and sheen. I remember the beginning, I don’t remember much at all anymore but I remember the beginning.” The Doctor rose slowly from his chair, his old skin sagged on his skeletal frame. He moved to a shelf filled with books, knickknacks, and curios, he removed a golden pocket watch from it’s place.

            He laid it on the table next to Clive, he pressed a button on the side and the watch sprang open. The second hand ticked softly, counting the minutes precisely. “This is the watch that my Great-Great Grandfather carried with him as he crossed the Atlantic after leaving his home in Belfast to come to America. After all these years it still keeps time just as well as any of those fancy satellite connected smart phone can, hell maybe even better so.” The Doctor opened the back panel to reveal the inner workings of the timepiece, the gears spun and whirled in a beautiful blur of motion and expert craftsmanship. “Each gear was hand cut and placed by an expert artisan who trained for decades perfecting his craft,” continued the Doctor, “these are not just a way to tell the time Sergeant Rothwell, these are priceless works of art.”

            “I’ve never seen you so sentimental before Doctor, in all the years I’ve visited you here in this quaint bookstore I’ve never once heard you talk about yourself. Why now?” The Doctor chuckled softly as he closed the pocket watch with great care, “Like I said Sergeant, I’ve finally finished the project. It will truly be the greatest thing I’ll never be known for, the curse of working on secret government projects I guess. I don’t regret it for one single second but I gave my entire adult life in this pursuit, my marriage crumbled shortly after I took on this project twenty eight years ago. I didn’t get to see my son grow up, I haven’t seen him in nearly twelve years and even then it was just meeting a stranger who happened to carry my DNA. But that’s the thing about life, you only get one shot, you don’t get to do it over.” Clive agreed but this only elicited another chuckle from the Doctor.

            “Oh Sergeant, that truly is grand, I know you come and check in on me for your department. I hand you a file marked ’Top Secret’ and you go along your way, sometimes with a book or two in hand. However, you do your job like a good little soldier, never peek at the files, never bother to ask what it is I do here. Well today that all changes, I’ll hand you your precious little folder but you get the pleasure of being the first and quite possibly the only person to see the fruit of my labors.” The Doctor got up and beckoned Clive over to the door at the back of the little room. “That’s above my pay grade Doctor,” said Clive, “I have no authorization to lay eyes upon your project. I could report you for even suggesting it, hell I should report you but after all these years I’ll let one slide.”

            The Doctor seemed to ignore the warning from Clive, he just beamed a huge smile, it looked as if his face had forgotten how to do it. The Doctor inserted a key into the lock and turned it, he walked into the back room without looking back towards the Sergeant. The door was left swaying as the Doctor disappeared into the room, beyond the threshold of the frame Clive could glimpse shining machinery that turned and ticked with tiny bursts of steam emanating from tubes and gauges. Clive thought twice about following but decided that maybe just this once he would let his curiosity get the better of him, he lived his entire life listening to the orders of others. First his father, then after his death his step father, football coach, and finally the string of commanding officers of his military career. Clive stepped through the door.

            His eyes widened at the sight, gleaming brass turned and twisted in knots. The machine was nearly twelve feet high and spanned the entire width of the sixteen foot room, Lord knows how deep it went. The entire thing shook with pressure and sputtered like an engine, the tubes wiggled back and forth. Clive’s eyes traveled the tubing, he traced what seemed to be the logical course but got lost in the labyrinth of piping. The Doctor was near a control panel of some sort, he was pulling levers and tapping on the glass of various needled gauges. He turned to Clive and was still grinning ear to ear. “Welcome, United States Marine Corp Sergeant Clive Rothwell, today you witness history all the while I rewrite it.” The Doctor walked over to a bookshelf, he grabbed a book from the shelf. It looked old and worn, it’s pages yellowed, the cover faded beyond recognition, and a well worn crease on it’s spine. He stepped onto a small raised dais, “Sergeant, if you would be so kind as to push that green button to your right.”

            Clive walked over to the button, his hand hovered over it for a moment, “One question Doctor,” The Doctor nodded his head, “what book is that?” The Doctor’s smile grew even wider, his eyes sparkled with a fire that the world hadn’t seen in decades. “H.G. Wells, The Time Machine, a personal favorite.” Clive pushed the button and a light from below the dais illuminated the Doctor, the machine quaked mightily causing steam to burst forth from several pipes. The Doctor closed his eyes as the light brightened, then without warning a blinding flash emitted from the machine. Clive covered his face for protection, after realizing the machine had fallen silent he turned back and opened his eyes. The Doctor was gone.

Epilogue

            The tide ebbed and flowed gently turning the unconscious half naked man on the sands. A lifeguard sprinted down the beach, his footprints filled with water nearly as quickly as they formed. He slid down to his knees and turned the young man to his back, the man looked no older then fifteen, just a boy. The lifeguard gently lifted the chin with two fingers and forced a breath into the boy’s lungs and compressed his chest firmly with his palms. The boy coughed and spewed water, the lifeguard turned him to his side. The boy looked up with surprise, “What year is it?” The lifeguard looked puzzled, “What year sir?” The lifeguard shook his head, “It’s 1939 son, December to be exact.”

            The boy sat up, he flashed a huge grin, his pale blue eyes sparkled.

End

The Dead Drop

By Jay Nystrom

    Matthew South sat down on the dirty, stained park bench. It had, in it’s many years served as a bed, a meeting place for lovers, a rest stop, and in the beginning a tribute to a person whose name had long ago been scratched from the brass memorial plaque affixed to the back. Today it served as a dead drop, a small watertight compartment had been carved into one of the wooden planks that served as a seat. Matthew discreetly slipped a small tube that contained a micro SD card into the hidden cubby, he sat for another ten minutes at that bench before he left for home. Along the way he would walk by a foreclosed house that now was succumbing to the vines and weeds in the yard that surrounded it. He quickly glanced to see if anybody was around, satisfied that he hadn’t been followed he placed the tiny red flag on the mailbox in the upward position.
    Once home Matthew sat at the edge of his bed, he looked around the cramped space. He lived in a studio apartment that was barely big enough for his few possessions, he could literally piss from his kitchen counter into his toilet. The depressing place was made tolerable by the fact that as soon as he earned a degree he could find a high paying job and leave this shithole far behind him. He lay back on his bed and closed his eyes, he hoped that when next he walked by the derelict house the flag would be down. If it was he would walk to the corner market after dark and crack open a loose brick in the alleyway behind it. Inside the hole would be a wad of non-sequential small bills and maybe another card, a big payday for the simple task of placing memory cards into a park bench.
    How he had stumbled into such a money making endeavor was pure happenstance and luck. At his lowest point, jobless and drowning in student loan debt, he was contacted by one of the men who worked in the student cafeteria. He was offered the simple job and he accepted immediately, easiest money he had ever made. He kept a job at a grocer just to help pay bills but without the money on the side he would have starved long ago.
    The next morning Matthew walked by the house and sure enough the flag was down, he walked the three blocks to the corner store and retrieved his payment. He went inside and bought a basket full of ramen noodles, an eighteen pack of the cheapest beer, and a pack of Light 100’s. As he left the market he nearly ran right into a woman turning the corner, she apologized for the incident but Matthew’s eyes had muted his hearing. In front of him stood the most gorgeous girl he had ever seen, and that can be said without exaggeration. She was tall and lean, her hair was a natural brunette cut in that pixie style that Matthew loved so much. Her face had barely any makeup on it, just a little eye shadow tastefully placed around big brown eyes, and tangerine lipstick, but it was absolutely flawless.
    Matthew stumbled through an apology and started to walk away, she grabbed his arm and stopped him. “You nearly run me over and don’t even offer to take me to dinner in apology?” Her voiced dripped like honey, thick and smooth from her lips, a slight accent elongating the ’A’ sounds. He somehow managed to muster enough courage to agree and exchange numbers with her, after she walked away he looked at the scrap of a paper, above the numbers was the name Chloe.
    The night of their date Matthew showered and put on his best clothes, a pair of high end jeans and a black button up shirt. He waited outside the café where they had agreed to meet, when he saw her walking up the street his heart filled his throat. She was wearing a simple blue sundress, her sway caused the bottom hem to swish hypnotically, he barely noticed that she had drawn close. He was about to offer his hand when she stepped in and with her hands gently on his shoulders she kissed his cheek, he got lightheaded but regained focus quickly.
    They spent the evening talking and laughing, he did his best to play the smooth talker, the suave gentleman. After their cups had nothing but drops left she offered to walk home with him, he didn’t know if it meant what he hoped it meant but any time spent in her presence was time well spent. The walked slowly back towards his apartment, there was no rush and the two of them enjoyed the cool breeze on the warm autumn night. Halfway home she looped her arm in the crook of his elbow and placed her head on his shoulder, the sweet floral notes of her perfume swam in his head.
    At the entrance to his building he stopped, his hands started to sweat and his heart pounded in his ears. Should he kiss her? Invite her up? What signals had she thrown his way? He was no good at this sort of thing, he had had a few girlfriends here and there but nothing like her, nothing like this. She interrupted his frantic inner monologue by grabbing his hand, she stepped ahead of him leading him up the stairs to his place. The night was intense and passionate, he had never felt like this before, instant love he thought.
    The dawn came through the open blinds, they hadn’t slept all night. Her naked leg was tossed over his lower body, she was tracing imaginary things on his bare chest. Chloe asked him what he did for a living and he told her about his job, not his real job but the crappy cashier job he had at the grocery store. She kissed neck, then his chest, then up to his lips. She asked what he wanted to be, what he was going to school for, how he could afford his bills and tuition. He told her about his side job, the little thing he did for extra cash, he didn’t know why but he couldn’t help but let her know.
    After a few more hours spent blissfully in her presence she started to dress, her lacy black panties and bra went on first, then the dress she left her house in. “Will I ever see you again Chloe?” he asked nervously, afraid to break the spell the perfect night had cast. She climbed on top of him and whispered “Yes” into his ear, then she put on her heels and left.
    The rest of the day was spent as usual except for the afterglow of an exceptional evening, he picked up another SD card from the brick wall and placed it in the park bench. He went by the broken down house and placed the little red flag back up and headed home. In the evening he went home, at the door he fumbled and patted himself looking for his keys. He looked up and saw a woman with long blonde hair walking down the sidewalk towards him, for a second he was confused, she looked  eerily familiar, as she got closer he noticed her rhythmic strides. She took off her glasses to reveal big beautiful brown eyes, three sharp cracks shattered the calm night air.
    Matthew fell to the ground, his mind unable to comprehend what was happening, the concrete quickly became soaked and sticky with his blood. He choked and the red spittle splashed from his mouth to the ground, soon he stopped moving all together. He died never knowing why, and he left nothing behind but a strawberry stain on the sidewalk.
End

Dirty Shallow Graves

By Jay Nystrom

Part I:
Long time Coming

    Raymond put the ear pieces of the stethoscope into his ears, he put the other end against the safe next to the dial. He closed his eyes and slowly turned the dial until he heard the first click, he began to twist the dial in the reverse direction. Then he heard the second click, as he started the other way he was interrupted by another click. Then another click, and another, click, click, click, click, click. The rhythm increased, click, click, click, click. Raymond wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, the clicking was now almost a steady sound in his brain threatening to consume his very mind. Raymond woke with a start, the dark room confused him at first. A steady thumping caused him to become frightened until he realized it was just his heart trying to escape the confines of his chest. He absent mindedly touched a long scar running from behind his left ear jaggedly down his jaw line and ending just before it reached his tracheae. It had been nearly three years since the injury occurred, he got it from the grounded to a point end of a cheap plastic toothbrush while he was eating in the prison cafeteria.
    He was lucky that his stretch was a short one, the prosecutor wasn’t able to pin theft charges on him. The rest of his group wasn’t so lucky, while he was trying to crack the safe in the upstairs room the other four men were down below raiding the rest of the rich man’s house. Raymond could see the flashing lights of the cop cars as they came down the street running silent, he packed up and climbed down from a large upstairs deck that jutted from the house. He was able to toss his tools into a fast running stream that ran at the edge of the property, the police caught him a little ways down the street and while his tight lips kept him from being connected to the burglary the cocaine in his pocket was enough to put him away. For some reason ditching the tools crossed his mind but the drugs didn’t, call it a slip in clear thinking, it wouldn’t be his last.
    Raymond took a quick shower and chugged down a half pot of black coffee and some plain wheat toast as he headed out to work. Very few companies would hire a convicted felon but he found some under the table work for a pick and pull junkyard. Raymond was underneath a green and rust colored ’77 Nova when a large pair of boots crunched the gravel near his upper body, they stopped near the front of the car and a face dipped down to look at his. Raymond hiccupped at the sight of his little brother’s beaming face, he slipped out from under the car.
   
“Ray Ray, it’s been too damn long big bro.” His brother hugged him tightly and kissed him affectionately on the cheek. He stepped back and gently slapped Raymond on the cheek, “Tim told me I might be able to find you in this sleepy little burg, didn’t think this was quite your scene my man.”
   
    Raymond gained a little distance from his brother, it had been six years since they had last seen each other and for Raymond if he had never seen him again it would be much too soon. His fists clenched ready for any action, his brother’s face started to lose it’s stupid grin. Soon the seriousness of the moment took hold of the both of them, Raymond turned away without a single word  and started across the car filled yard. His brother ran from behind and turned him with a strong hand.
“What’s your problem? After all these years we don’t see each other you treat me like shit Ray? That’s the way this is gonna be huh, you really want to do it this way then that’s how we’ll do it.”

    The knee caught Raymond right in the groin, he fell to one knee as his brother threw a looping right hook that caught Raymond on the temple. His vision blurred and he could feel his consciousness slipping away, he crawled and grabbed the pant leg of his brother who took a slow step back and let him fall face first to the ground. Raymond felt spit rain down from above and a kick of dust caked his hair, his brother walked away muttering to himself. 

Part II:
First Time, Last Time

    It had been two weeks since Raymond’s brother had beat the hell out of him, the bruises to his body were beginning to fade but the anger had only boiled over. After a few hours on the internet he was able to track down all four of the other thieves he had worked with. Two had been killed while in prison, it made his job easier sure but also robbed him of a little justice. The third moved across the country and was now happily married and according to his latest status update was “Clean, sober, and at peace with God.” The research was really unnecessary, Raymond knew that the reason he was targeted in the cafeteria was because his brother wanted to make sure that he kept his mouth shut. After all that his brother had done he still thought it was okay to hunt him down just to assault him in the junkyard where he worked. It was the first time in years they had seen each other, next time would be the last time.

Part III:
Dirty Shallow Graves

    Raymond’s brother was sitting in a lawn chair smoking a joint and sipping on cheap beers. Empty cans surrounded the chair like tiny aluminum alarms, an impromptu perimeter. Raymond swung his fist as hard as he could and his brother caught the full force of the blow in his neck, this produced a gurgling sound from his throat. The blow didn’t stop his brother like Raymond had hoped, he didn’t care for knives or guns but thought that he should have bent his own rules. His brother wrestled Raymond to the ground and began to wail away with a fury of fists and Raymond clawed at his face in defense. The two struggled for the upper hand with Raymond landing sharp elbows and his brother fracturing an orbital bone in Raymond’s face, that eye would never be the same again. An elbow found a nose and blood spurted uncontrollably from it, Raymond took the opportunity to roll on top and a few hammering fists ended the fight quickly.
    Raymond found an old shovel in a tool shed behind his brother’s broken down single wide trailer. He found a place a good distance away and started to dig. The shovel chipped away at the hard, arid ground. The summer had been harsh on this stretch of Earth. Fireflies began to fill the evening air twinkling like stars surrounding a black hole. A black hole built for one. Afterwards Raymond just walked away, leaving the last hanging thread left of his old life dead in the ground.

End

5-1

By Jay Nystrom

       The air hung thick and still as waves of heat rose shimmering from the asphalt. The steady shuffling of feet across the parking lot promised that despite the oppressive summer sun a large crowd was guaranteed at the track. Most of the people who passed through the turnstile were here for a fun day of horseracing at the local track, however five of them were here for a different reason. Five people who had nothing more in common then a debt owed, that and the shared anonymity of a nickname derived from birds. Despite his considerable and well toned girth the man called Hummingbird was quick with his feet and his wits. Hummingbird made his way across the lot and nervously shifted his eyes beneath the brim of his fedora, he wiped away the powder from his palms with a handkerchief. He would probably be late for the first race but his timing guaranteed a mostly empty lot.  He was here to collect for a job he had performed for his boss, he never understood the need to launder money through the racetrack but it was of little concern to him. Soon enough he would be a made man and that was all that mattered to him.
    At the very same time Goose was already seated in a lower row of bleachers with a great view of the finish line, not that it mattered much because he already knew the outcome. Never the less it was great to be back, he often came with his late father when he was just a child. As he took an offered smoke from the cigarette vendor he saw Nightingale walk to her seat a few rows down. She was wearing a wide brimmed hat with a large flower gaudily glued to the side, he had only seen her one other time but he was instantly smitten by her astounding grace and beauty. ‘Maybe’ he thought to himself, ‘after this is all said and done I’ll ask her to dinner. We already have something in common so I’ll have a conversation starter. Yes, I think I’ll do it, why not? What do I have to lose?”
    Nightingale glanced from behind her glasses towards the man she knew as Goose, he was staring at her just like he had the night they passed each other in the back room of the pool hall where she worked. She guessed that he too was here to bet on a certain horse that was a sure thing. She sat down and tried her best to deal with the unbearable heat for the next few races so she could get her money and leave. She hoped he wouldn’t try to engage her.
    The last two men had come together and were just now on the betting floor, Raven and Heron pretended to study the tote board intently despite the fixed nature of the second race. The two men were nearly identical in size and shape, both were on the smaller side with almost no fat on their bodies. The two were known around town as tough customers who ran numbers in the ghetto, a fair pair but not known to take shit from anyone. Heron was amusing himself by reading the colorful names of the competing horses: War Machine, Good or Glue (that one elicited a chuckle), Superluminal, Try as He Might, Divine Intervention, and the one he was really looking for, Sterling Stanley. He took his spot in line and prepared to lay down his large bet, the cashier repeated the horses name and odds to make sure all was correct, “Sterling Stanley at five-to-one.” Heron nodded confirmation and in a few minutes and a few people back Raven would repeat the bet. Both would come out with a whole lot of money in their pockets and smiles across their faces.
    While the first race was pretty exciting for the five connected people the second race held little surprise as Sterling Stanley made an amazing come from behind victory in the home stretch to steal the win from Good or Glue. The five people nonchalantly made an early exit despite the remaining races and went to collect their substantial winnings from the cashier. A few other people where in line to collect winnings from the early races, but one by one the big winners were led to a different area altogether with heightened security. Only six people were led to this area, all but one knew they would be making this much money. The first man entered into a room by himself, through the briefly open door Nightingale could see a cashier flanked by two armed guards with another door beyond. The five exchanged a quick glance, maybe all of them had the same thought, maybe all were about to give in to the greed. The door opened and the man walked away with a small bag full of money, Hummingbird decided to make the move.
    He rushed into the room past Nightingale gently pushing her aside, the guards put their hands to their guns. Hummingbird began to speak quickly, “Sorry babe I just gotta get my money real quick, there’s a train I gotta catch.” The guards began to relax a bit at the explanation, the guard behind the door opened the safe room too early and Hummingbird charged to block him from closing it. Feeling that an opportunity was about to pass Heron and Raven rushed the confused guards as Goose closed the door behind him. The guards were barely able to draw their guns before they both were tackled to the ground, a few punches from Raven subdued the first guard while Heron used the butt of the pistol to take out the other. The five looked to each other in wide eyed lust, despite the lack of not knowing each other they knew that a heist was just started. Hummingbird beckoned the others to the safe room using the frightened cashier’s chair to prop open the door. The cashier was shoved to the floor by Goose and Heron with the gun pushed against the nape of his neck, the others sprang to action. The room was filled with stacks of cash and Hummingbird filled bags as fast as he could. The money was split evenly between the impromptu crew and a silent moment was exchanged. The cashier was knocked unconscious and thrown into the cash room with the two guards, the five people began to hide the money on themselves. Heron and Raven simultaneously said, “Kansas City” and having the only two guns in the room leveled them and opened fire, the other three people had no time to react and fell to the floor in heaps of blood and cash.
    Heron and Raven quickly grabbed as much cash as they could, the shots would alert more guards. They peeked out the door and saw it was clear, they ran out towards the parking lot. Through the turnstiles they passed several policemen who were hurrying the other direction, they paid little heed to the two men leaving the area. A few other officers blanketed the lot but the duo snuck deftly around cars, any road blocks would be easy to crash through in their heavy beast of a car. They found their vehicle and slithered in, Heron stuck the key in the ignition and turned the car over.
    The explosion rocked the entire race grounds and in the parking lot a rainstorm of blood fell to the ground as burning bills gently fluttered down. The sun began to set in the distance and the sky glowed in beautiful shades of purple in pink.

End