A. L. Kaplan

Category: Short Story

  • SHOWDOWN AT SMITH ROCK

    Sweat dripped down my back as I studied Smith Rock canyon. I’d tracked Blackjack McDougal all day. The trail had been just a little too easy to follow for it not to be a trap, one especially designed for me. Blackjack was a cheating, lying SOB, but not stupid. He had to know I would come after him. Two weeks as sheriff and the town already questioned my right to the job. After all, it was my ex that robbed the bank and blew up the cavalry commander.

    “What do you think, Tin?” I asked my four-legged partner. “Do we wait for X-troop cavalry or take him ourselves?”

    Tin’s tail flopped, creating clouds of parched dirt. His whimper echoed my thoughts. There was no way we could do this alone. My shoulders drooped and I turned away, almost stepping on a rattler. Tin growled and we retreated to a safe distance.

    “I got an idea, Tin.”

    It didn’t take long to make the necessary preparations. The sound of hundreds of rattlesnakes echoed around the canyon followed by Blackjack’s screams. Swaying brush marked Blackjack’s trail as he charged out of the trees and smacked into a wooden fence overgrown with weeds. A full flip landed him at my feet. I grinned and pointed my laser riffle at his chest.

    “Problems, Blackjack?”

    “Rattlers, hundreds!” Blackjack’s eyes were stretched wider than I thought possible. “For old time’s sake, save me!”

    The rattling reached a defining pitch as Tin leaped over the fence and stood over Blackjack, steel teeth bared. Blackjack’s face was whiter than a daisy. I struggled not to laugh.

    “Nah, that’s just Tin, my new electronic deputy dog. I reprogramed his bark synthesizer. Always said your rattlesnake phobia would be your downfall. Just be glad I found you instead of those X-troop cavalry robots.”

  • THE POTION OF POWER

    Colorful glass bottles filled the shelves in the small shop, some tall, others not. A few seemed to glow but that could have been from creative lighting. The containers had only one thing in common. None were labeled. Yet the old woman who ran the shop reached behind several to grab this one for Bob.

    It was a long shot, but Bob was desperate. No job, nearly homeless, and the most fantastic woman he had ever met probably didn’t remember talking to him last week. Why would she? He was useless. That small blue bottle was his only hope. If it worked, Vanessa was sure to notice him.

    “The ointment must be used sparingly,” said the woman, as she took his last few bills and handed him the bottle. “Too much and there will be dire consequences.”

    Bob laughed. “Will I grow fangs or something?”

    A toothless grin spread across the old woman’s face, but there was no humor in it. “Remember, you must still find the root of your problem and prune it out. Otherwise it will only fester.”

    He left clutching the blue glass.

    “Bang!”

    Bob’s bottle of salvation slipped and smashed open. His heart raced. People screamed and ran. But Bob acted instinctively. In seconds he pinned the gunman and saved dozens. It wasn’t until the man was hauled off that he noticed Vanessa watching him from across the street. His heart raced as he walked toward her.

    #

    Weeks later, after the reporters stopped asking questions, after endless job offers, Bob stood by the shop with Vanessa and stared at the concrete where the ointment had spilled. A pair of blue eyes gazed back. Jagged glass fangs stuck up from a long crack in the pavement beneath them. Vanessa leaned over the low fence that surrounded the damaged pavement then smiled at him.

    “I didn’t need the ointment at all,” he said. “All I really needed was confidence.”

  • RED ROVER, RED ROVER

    “Damn fracking,” mumbled McAllister. He stared at the red water in the little creek. “First they cause an earthquake, then they pollute the groundwater. Now something’s using my farm as a fast food highway.”

    After the quake last year he’d been thrilled to have a new creek bubble up across his farm. Not anymore. The weird noises grew louder every night. Livestock vanished with increasing frequency.

    Sweat dripped down McAllister’s back, but not from the sun. Last night he saw something slither up this creek bed, leaving a trail of feathers. A dozen of his best layers, gone. The unearthly prints around the hen house were the only clue something wasn’t right.

    The bushes rustled. High pitched chirping echoed around him. He tightened his grip on the shotgun and kept moving. The air felt charged, pricking his skin. His heartbeat quickened. Maybe it wasn’t the fracking after all. Maybe it was something else.

    Wind and darkness swirled around him. He leaned into the tempest and continued forward. The storm vanished as quickly as it arrived, leaving McAllister in a still and barren landscape with a red stream. He blinked in the bright light and scorching heat. Large and small leathery wings filled the sky. Their screeching and chirps made his hair stand on end, but the golden eyes that studied him nearly made his heart stop.

    “Mmm, a human,” said the dragon. “I wonder if it tastes like chicken.”

    “Looks old and tough. Not enough meat for the children. Throw it back in the portal and try a different opening.”

    The dragon flicked a claw at McAllister knocking him back into the whirlwind. A moment later he landed on his farm next to the now dried creek bed.

  • DRASTIC MEASURES

    The old grandfather clock began to chime and Mr. Pritchard’s mouth stretched into smirk. Three-thirty in the afternoon. Normally he’d be napping now, but ever since Becky Vogel moved in with her noisy little Pomeranian, Yappers, he hadn’t had a decent rest. Neither had Casper. That annoyance was about to end.

    “Time to see if our plan is going to work, Casper,” he said, rubbing his hands together. The Samoyed yawned and flopped his tail. “I’m tired too, buddy. Keep your paws crossed that the brat takes the bait.”

    He hobbled over to the window and pulled back the drape just as Becky started to race down the street. Yappers perched in the bicycle basket, raising his usual ruckus. Mr. Pritchard cringed. Even Casper whimpered and buried is head under a pillow.

    The bicycle screeched to a halt by the table he’d set up down the block. They stared for a full minute, then Yappers leaped from the basket and started chowing down on the mound of liver kibble. A moment later Becky grabbed cookies in each hand and gobbled so fast she started coughing.

    “Good thing I left you a bottle of water, you greedy little imp.”

    He pressed his face against the glass and laughed as the pair remounted and road away.

    “Glad the kid can read the sign,” he said. “Free treats for kids and dogs. If you’re quiet between the hours of three-thirty and four-thirty, there will be more tomorrow.”

  • TYPOS

    “Look at this mess, George. The grammar’s all wrong. You’ve spelled ‘there’ four different ways on the same page. Your punctuation is all over the place. The only job you’ll ever get with this kind of work is trash pick-up.”

    Those words stung when Mrs. Davies said them back in high school. They still did, but I turned them around. A dozen books, three on the best seller list, and two movies. Quite a bit better than a janitor. At least she got one thing right. I needed to get my act together. Right after graduation I poured my soul onto page. Now I had money to burn on Armani suits. And a special little gift for Mrs. Davies. I’d rub this cheap, error-filled sign right in her face.

    “Well if it isn’t George P. Urim,” said Mrs. Davies as I walked into her classroom. “I was hoping you’d visit one day.”

    “Uh, hi, Mrs. Davies,” I said. The smile plastered across her face was more disconcerting than the fact that she remembered my name after all this time. “I brought you something.”

    Her eyebrows shot up as she took the package and removed the extravagant wrapping. As soon as she read the sign she started chuckling. “I see you aren’t the only one with grammar issues. ‘The early worm get’s the bird,’ indeed. At least you made errors work to your advantage.”

    She motioned to her bookshelf. On it sat all twelve of my novels and ticket stubs from both movies.

  • LESSON LEARNED

    “You’re nothing but a thief, a leach living off people’s dreams,” someone yelled.

    Jay froze, hand inches from banging on Mr. Smith’s front door. He’d been thinking those same words as he slogged down the snow-covered driveway. So excited that a publisher wanted his novel, Jay didn’t think twice before shelling out thousands of dollars for editing, cover design, and postage. He even paid for most of the printing. All he had to show for his work and money was the box of overpriced books he bought from the publisher. The novel wasn’t even available on-line.

    A second voice squeaked like a rat caught in a trap. “I’ll pay you your royalties. Just let me get my checkbook.”

    It seemed Jay wasn’t the only one taken in by Smith Publishing. He peered in through the narrow window next to the door, but all he saw was a pair of shadows on the wall. One of them waved what looked like a weapon, just like the gun weighing down Jay’s pocket. The other held its hands in the air.

    “It’s too late, Smith.”

    “Please. I’ll give you anything.”

    Three shots rang out. The smaller shadow slumped to the ground. Flakes of snow slipped inside Jay’s jacket collar, but he didn’t notice. He wouldn’t be getting any money back after all. Nor did he get to confront Smith himself. At least he had a new novel idea. This time he’d be careful and check the Writers Beware and Predators and Editors websites first.

  • BEYOND

    Tanya gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, struggling against the air that seemed to press down on her. Sweat streamed down her back. The erratic thump, thump of her heart drowned out the honking horns behind her. Drivers gestured and screamed for her to move aside. She was holding up the daily commute, one that she hadn’t partaken of since coming to this place with him, asleep, in the dead of night.

    There was nothing out there for her, he’d said. No hope, no love, no people. Only he would have her. Confidence slowly eroded, just like the banks of the island. Her world shrunk until all that was left was his will.

    This wasn’t the first time she’d hovered at the edge of this bridge, staring as it disappeared into the distance. Each time, fear had held her back, the panic of that big empty expanse of water with only a thin layer of concrete and steel for safety. Fear of how she could survive alone, without him.

    Nausea gripped her as she struggled to decide. She’d suffered his poisonous words for years, even the occasional slap, but last night left more than her self-confidence beaten. If it was just her, she’d suffer through, but this wasn’t a life to bring another into.

    Movement caught her eye. He was coming, charging down the road, mustache twisted up into small horns. Even at this distance she could see the fury in his expression.

    Hands shaking, she slammed the accelerator. The car rocketed into the unknown. Free at last.

  • TO DIE AND NOT TO DIE

    “Ever since the day I walked into that specialty shop, a dark fury has twisted in my gut, weaving threads of poison through my body. I’ve been gnawed to a papery shell. Stomach, lungs, liver, kidneys, heart; all have fallen to this festering termite. Now I’m a puzzle with missing pieces.”

    I pause and glare as a nurse checks the machines I’m wired to. Her patronizing smile waves over me, but there’s no eye contact. They’re all like that, waiting for me to die already. It’s been months since I fell ill. My gaze returns to my ghostly guest as soon as she departs.

    “See what I’ve become? A rag doll with no substance. Death rings, but runs when I answer its call like an auto-dialer. I’m tired of waiting, tired of all the well-wishers who hover with painted grins. Their pity is more torment than the evil inside me.

    The ghostly figure tilts its head. “What are you saying, Barry?”

    “I want to live.”

    “You could give in to it.”

    “And become a shade? Never.”

    “There’s a price for what you ask.”

    “There always is. I’ll pay it.”

    Laughter rings out as a glowing hand touches my forehead. Heat rushes through my body. When my eyes clear I’m back in the shop. A young man reaches for a package. I move without hesitation and smack his hand away.

    “That’s concentrated Carolina Reaper juice, you idiot! It’s stronger than a habanera pepper. It’ll destroy you.”

  • MIND GAMES

    Heat beat down on the Kyra’s helmet and sweat ran down her back. She and Hawk had been trekking through the woods all day. “I’m taking this ridiculous thing off, Hawk.”

    “You can’t,” he said. “They’ll turn your mind to mush this close to the radio telescope.”

    She’d been so skeptical of Hawk’s wild theories of alpha wave mind control, but when she looked through his special binoculars, the supposedly abandoned facility lit up like a rainbow.

    “Are you sure this thing will protect us?”

    Hawk tightened his chin strap, then tapped the pyramidal shaped helmet he wore. “Absolutely. There’s a reason the ancient Egyptians chose this form.  Microwaves will bounce right off it. Vanity is a poor price to pay for having your mind controlled.”

    “Whatever,” she said.

    It took another hour to reach the structure. In the center of the dish danced a small figure dressed in green. A gold buckle decorated his hat and a small shamrock bounced as he moved. Sparks of color shot from his wand, making the ground ripple with a golden glow. He stopped and glared with narrowed eyes.

    “Yer foun’ me. Can’t git in yisser minds. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, an’ violet al’ bounce aff yisser clever ‘ats. Ye as magically delicious as de last ‘umans ter visit?”

    A cold wind made Kyra shiver. She and Hawk stepped away from the strange man with the red hair and pointy ears.

    The man licked his lips, then laughed so hard he collapsed. “Ah, de luk on yisser faces. Priceless. Yer don’t nu anythin’ aboyt wee people, chucker yer?”

  • SHORE 4: DEAD SHORE

    “That’s the last time you clip your fingernails over my bunk,” said Flynn. His lip twisted into a sneer. “No more clip, clip. No more flying toenails.”

    That little habit had rankled Flynn’s patience for months. He holstered his flintlock and nodded, satisfied that Avery would never disturb him again. No one could survive a shot under the eye, not even Avery.

    Dealing with that man on board had been bad enough. Getting marooned together was more than either of them could handle. He plopped down under the lone palm tree on the uncharted island and leaned back, relishing the sound of lapping water. He’d worry about rescue later.

    “The least you could have done was close my eyes,” growled Avery. “I’m still seeing spots.”

    Flynn leaped to his feet. “How…You were dead….” he sputtered.

    “I fired. My cheek stung. Then I felt the sun burning my eyes.” Avery glared at him. “You can’t even kill a man right.”

    ***

    Do you think they will behave now?” said Catherine. Her golden-bronze tail flicked back and forth. “That’s the third time we have healed those men.”

    Tom sighed as he watched Avery and Flynn argue on the view screen. “I believe it will take more than nanites to fix these humans. They are nothing like the young man we hosted last year.”

    “What a shame. I thought for sure they could get along eventually,” said Catherine. “Very well, end the experiment and sent the results to headquarters on planet Mau.”