Story Jots # 6 – Peephole Under the Stairs

Honey, have you met our neighbour?
 
What? 

Our neighbour. The guy across from us in the adjoining apartment. Have you met him?
 
Ah…no, I don’t think so. Why? 

Oh, nothing. I was just thinking today about how strange it is that we’ve been in our new place for three months now, and the both of us have yet to lay a single eye on him. Don’t you think that’s a tad odd?
 
No, not really. Maybe this guy likes keeping to himself. He could work awkward hours or something.
  
Yeah, I guess. But you would think we would have seen him coming or going at some point. His door closing here or there. 

Baby, you are being weird. Who cares? Look, I am completely cool with not getting to know our neighbours. I hate those annoying stop and talks. Besides, shit’s tangly when people get too all up in your business. That’s the whole reason we moved. We hate people remember. 

All I am saying is that I find it odd. I haven’t seen him in the laundry room, I am there pretty much every day. Both of us check the communal mailboxes, no sign of him there either and his mailbox is right next to ours. Plus, it is not only his door, but I also never hear anything coming from his apartment. Nothing. It is always so quiet over there. And, I am not weird. There was no need to call me that. You are being mean. 

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Story Jots # 4 – Where is Danny Champagne?

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Go ahead, tell me one more time that you don’t know where he is, and I am pulling this trigger. I’m tired of games. You know, it’s actually convenient you wearing that mask. Now I won’t risk getting too much of your ugly face all over my new black marble floor. My wife hates when I do stuff like that. She’ll be pissed if she finds out I brought my work home. Only, this time she won’t be too hard on me. Because you my friend, were stupid enough to come here on your own free will. This is sort of like delivery for me. What the hell were thinking coming to my house anyway? To my private masquerade party? Then, have the nerve to drink my expensive booze and hit on my ladies. They are all on my clock you know? You got some balls, kids. I will give you that. OK, cut the bullshit. Where is Danny Champagne?

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Story Jots # 5 – Serial Number

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The body was easy to move from the place to the car to the boat. As it always is. Premeditation is kind of my thing. I have done this same routine maybe a hundred times. No, I believe it is a hundred and six times. Yeah, a hundred and six. You know, blondes are my favourite of all the women. Slightly more gullible. Usually more attractive. All of them walking by themselves late at night. Coming from their restaurant shifts, drunken bachelorette parties, or on their way to an ex-boyfriend. Then, I would present myself to these tired, these tipsy, and these texting specimens. Most nights, it is an unlit cigarette in poor lighting that works effortlessly. Cliché I know. Although, there were times I would fake a bleeding lip on this fragile face of mine. It was easy with these ladies the way I look. Always so helpful they are. But now I am bored. Unmotivated. No more of this killing racket. I am done. Finished. The girls just do not seem to fight back anymore anyway. Shall I leave a clue? Maybe allow one to getaway? Hmmm. Better yet! How about this one? Number 107. I mean, after all of that and you, my pretty blonde lady…are still breathing.

Story Jot # 3 – Dark Twins

Yeah, that’s right, you heard me. There are two of them. Identical, except one of girls has a wound over her left collarbone, she’s been shot and now on foot. If we find and contain her first, we’ll have a better chance of drawing out the stronger one. She won’t risk another fight, her sister’s too injured. OK, we’re almost there, I need eyes trained on the treetops and more on that corn field over there. That’s her last known position. Stay sharp and remember, we don’t have a huge window to pull this off people. If the two of them are together for more than fifteen minutes, the wounded sister will heal. If that happens…God help us!