Mostly Dark by Miranda Kate (motivational novels .TXT) 📖

  Mostly Dark   A Collection of Small Pieces

 

By Miranda Kate

 

 

Copyright 2018 © Miranda Kate

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, or in any manner whatsoever without first gaining the permission of Miranda Kate.

The stories in this book are works of fiction. All names, characters places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental - and a little disturbing.

Cover image designed by Miranda Kate

Inside illustration by Miranda Kate

 

First Printing: 2016

Dedication

 

This book is dedicated to me - to prove to myself that I can do it.

 

And also to you, to prove that you can too.

Note from the Author

 

Mostly Dark, A Collection of Small Pieces, is a compilation of Flash Fiction tales I have written over the last five years. A few of them have been published in online ezines or journals, but the majority of them have been written for weekly online Flash Fiction contests I have taken part in.

The title reflects the genre of the tales herein: most of them are dark or disturbing in some way, but some are less so, and a handful are even heartwarming. Thus, I have categorised them like the phases of the moon: waxing and waning, with the darkness of the new moon at either end, and the brightness of the full moon in the middle.

Many people ask me why I write what I do, but all I can say is that I write what comes, whether inspired by a tune, an image or an idea. It rushes out of my head onto the page and dictates how it will be written. As most writers know, we don’t get a lot of say in it; we can only tweak it once it has arrived.

Contents

FULL DARK

Matilda

Dousing the Fire

Stalker

Drunken Sailors

Echo of a Whistle

Being Prepared

Encased

Daffodils

WAXING

Feminine Power

Eastern Promises

Traceless

The Deal

High

FULL MOON

Hidden Desire

Kindred

Soul Search

Zelus

Surrender

WANING

The Voices

No good for you

Rehab

House of Horror

Find the Girl

FULL DARK

Love Me

Doing What You Have To

Prickly Fingers

Scissors vs. Knife

Last Supper

Limits

In the Dark, They Sing

 

Author’s Thanks

About the Author

Leaving a review

 

    Full Dark

 

Matilda

 

I had been at it for ages and managed the difficult bits, but my back was aching. I needed to take a break. I put what I’d done into bags – careful to avoid any drips on the kitchen floor –and shoved them into the cold room. I made sure the door clicked shut afterwards. I wanted to keep them fresh.

I took my time washing my hands and getting all the blood off. I didn’t want anyone seeing any bits of flesh under my nails – because they would notice. They were like that in the day room. I put on the kettle and waited for it to boil.

Looking at what was left on the kitchen counter it wouldn’t take much longer, but I needed a proper sit down, so I decided to take my cuppa into the day room.

Taking hot liquid in there could be risky depending who was about, but it turned out there was only Samson staring out of the window, and Adele in her chair by the telly rocking back and forth. It was safe.

I took a seat in the front row and looked at the black and white movie they had on while I blew my hot tea.

As I took a tentative sip I heard a scream from the direction of the kitchen. I couldn’t help smiling, I loved that sound. Then I heard footsteps running towards the day room. It was Nurse Clemens.

She came to a sharp halt at the door when she saw me. I smiled at her. She came in, taking calm, meaningful steps toward me until she stood in front of me. She barked “Hands!” as I knew she would when I’d cleaned up. I put my tea down to show them to her, but my smile was a dead giveaway.

Two orderlies arrived at the door, their shocked state indicating they’d come from the kitchen. Nurse Clemens gave them a brisk nod and they started towards me, grabbing me out of my chair and manhandling me out of the room.

Then she changed her mind and cried, “Wait!” but the sirens were blaring, and they couldn’t hear her. She grabbed the shoulder of one of them to make them stop, and stood in front of me again to force eye contact.

“Tell me Matilda, who is it? Who is it you’ve just killed?”

There was another scream, this time from the corridor to the bedrooms. I giggled, I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t need to answer they’d know in a minute.

The orderlies resumed their wrangling as I tried to stifle more laughter.

Dousing the Fire

 

John was soaked to the skin and all he could hear in his head were the lyrics ‘make it rain’. It had rained heavily in his life; he’d been blessed with so much. But despite the present torrential downpour in the real world, the drought in his personal life had just begun and he was getting ready to enter the desert.

He could feel himself burning already with all the emotions. But there was one he could put a stop to; one he could clear up, and he looked forward to it.

Under the light of a passing car John’s grin lit up.

As he arrived at the apartment block, John checked his pocket again to make sure he still had it.

The night lights surrounding the building reflected the rain and gave it a sinister feel, one he hadn’t experienced on previous visits. But then he hadn’t had this plan in mind then. He smiled at the prospect.

He pressed all the security buzzers to the apartments, except the one he intended to call on. He knew someone would open the door without questioning it. Seconds later he was taking the stairs two at a time, the adrenaline giving his legs more strength than they usually had, and in moments he was at the front door.

John stood there breathing, letting his heart rate reduce as he thought about his next move. He brought the key out of his pocket, but knew the occupant better than that; he turned the handle and found the door unlocked.

It was dark inside and he stood in the lounge listening. It wasn’t long before their moans reached him. He knew they’d be busy; they’d been busy for years longer than their lies had declared.

He took the knife out of his pocket and enjoyed the weight of it in his gloved hand. It was one from her favourite set; a Christmas gift he’d spoiled her with years ago, a time when giving knives to your wife was a perfectly normal thing to do and no doubts would creep into your head that one day they would be used against you.

He rubbed at the freshly healed wound on his ribcage. He tried to stem the pain it sparked, but that was internal now, and twisted up inside wanting to scream its betrayal. He would quell it in a moment.

John stepped towards the bedroom door, the thick carpet soaking up the sound. Mark had always insisted on having the best of everything, never caring about the cost. Maybe that was why he’d been able to do this so easily to his friend, with no remorse – as the sounds coming through the door demonstrated.

He stopped to listen again, and like coals to the fire his rage swelled at the sound, enabling him to believe his plan was rational.

He turned the doorknob fraction by fraction, using their moans to cover each movement. Then he opened the door a crack at a time, their writhing bodies coming into view, silhouetted by the light from the window. They hadn’t even had the decency to close the curtains.

His movements became fluid as he rushed to the bedside and thrust the knife into the back of whoever was on top. It took a couple of seconds for the body underneath to register what was happening, long enough for John to pull the knife out and douse their screams in a flood of blood brought from a swift stroke to the neck.

As soon as he was done he dropped the knife, knowing the rest of the set was already here. She’d moved them in along with the rest of her things after their fight the week before.

He left as quietly as he had entered, shutting all the doors, leaving it as he found it – well, almost. Then using the stairs again before letting the rain wash him clean of any residue.

Only once he was on the plane the following day, did John allow himself a thought about it and acknowledge the tremble in his hands. But he would work that out in time, something he had plenty of now.

Stalker

 

Johnson shifted his position slightly and found the window he was looking for. He fiddled with the focus on the binoculars and someone came into view. It wasn’t her. He sighed. Was she home? He thought she was; he’d seen the limo turn up and a group of glitter clad individuals rush into the house. He assumed she was among them. Maybe he was wrong.

He scanned the top floor windows. Lights were coming on and people were running about. Couples were pairing off and he wanted to know who she would be with.

Movement in another window caught his attention and there she was, head thrown back laughing at the guy in front of her. He looked like a typical New Romance geek; silver shoulder pads making him look like something out of a badly made sci-fi movie; hair lacquered into an elaborate quiff. The guy was lighting a cigarette, if he wasn’t careful his hair would catch light. Johnson smiled. He’d like to see that.

They were drunk, swaying all over the place, and he was waiting to see if they were going to get