Three Very Short Stories Read online

Three Very Short Stories

  By A.S. Morrison

  Copyright 2014 A.S. Morrison

  Table of Contents

  The Truth in the Eyes

  Morphing Memories

  The Hall

  The Truth in the Eyes

  The door stands ajar. I barely make out the long table from where I sit. I can hear them inside, the people that took me. They talk as if I’m not here, as if they truly believe that their voices don’t carry through the open door. Or do they not care if I hear? They didn’t seem to mind me over hearing their conversation in the car on the way over. I was in the back, they were in the front. Odd bars kept us separated. What was said seemed so strange. Something about how I was lying in the street, but I don’t remember that. I remember being at home watching television when I heard a strange noise out back. I went out to investigate, but next thing I know I’m in the police car coming to this strange building with no windows and big thick doors.

  The voices in the room grow heated and soon a shouting match erupts. I hear my name, Richard Vondeerk, said every now and then, but it doesn’t sound good. There’s no telling what their saying, their voices overlap until I only hear noise. I wish now that I had been paying attention when I could still hear them.

  I think back to the last few days, wondering what I did to end up here. Nothing springs to mind and I’m comforted in knowing that there’s no reason for them to keep me. They probably just want my take on whatever was in my backyard, though I never got a look at whatever it was. Maybe it’s some sort of military device blown off course; that makes sense, if not that then a weather balloon, or perhaps a lost remote control flying device. As I search my brain for the answers I remember that the thing was loud and had at least one light on it. I’ll bet that if it happened in the middle of the day instead of at night then I probably would have gotten a better look at it.

  What I haven’t figured out is why I don’t remember much. Now that I think about it I realize that there might have been some sort of gas leak from it that has obstructed my thinking. Can gas do that? I’ll have to ask when someone comes out of that room.

  My life has been filled with boredom, so it’s nice to get out of the norm for a bit. It’ll be nice to tell the other guys on the squash court about this. I can imagine it now. I will start by telling them that I was taken “downtown”. There’s no way they will believe it. I’ll play it up as long as I can before finally telling them that it was all a misunderstanding. I can’t wait!

  The shouting stops, it gets too quiet to hear what they’re saying now, not that I care anymore. I’m very confident that I’ll make it home before too long. The minutes pass by slowly and I begin to wonder what’s taking so long. Finally someone comes out, not either of the officers who drove me here, or the one I met after I got here. He wears jeans and a t-shirt as if just being called in. He sits down next to me; an amazed expression crosses his face.

  “How are you feeling?” He asks quietly.

  “Good I guess. Have you figured out what landed in my yard?”

  “We think so.”

  “What was it?”

  He hesitates and puts his hand on my knee. “What is your name?”

  My name? I already told someone my name. “Richard Vondeerk.” I say.

  He nods. “An object crashed into your back yard, killing a person. Is it alright if we ask you to identify the body?”

  A body! A neighbor? A pilot? I agree and the man goes into the room to get the picture. When he comes back he keeps the photo face down.

  “You said you don’t remember anything about the crash?” He asks.

  “It was loud.”

  He tries to say something, but thinks better of it. We sit in silence for a while before he finally speaks. “Have you ever heard of memory sharing?”

  I shake my head.

  “It’s a theory that states that it is possible for a being to take the memories of another whether accidentally or by force.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  He holds up the photograph. I don’t recognize it at first, but when I see past the blood and mangled features I make out who it is. Me. My body tenses up, my mind freezes. All I can do is stare at the picture in disbelief.

  “This is Mr. Richard Vondeerk, and you are not him.”

  He puts the picture away and holds out a mirror. I grab it selfishly; I need to know if what he says is true. Instant nausea fills my body as I look into the reflection. Everything is so similar and yet so different. There is a yellowish tint to the face. The eyes are mesmerizing, new, expressive. And then I realize . . . these are not the eyes of a human.

  Morphing Memories

  Downward, through the tight spirals and melting labyrinths of my own mind. It’s a lonely excursion, as I am the only one capable of making it. Everything in there is as I make it, create it, and alter it to morph every memory as it should have been. The real world doesn’t change, but I don’t live there anymore. I only exist here, where I am master. Mishaps when I was fifteen turn into heroic challenges and epic battles, just how they should have been.

  Deep down there is a lake, a vast and ever growing body of memories that I can no longer reach or want to reach. Normally impassible, but I have the control, and conjure up a small boat to take me across. I see images below me in the depths, lost memories from my infancy, to the ones I can no longer alter due to their age. It is peaceful here, sad, but quiet and gentle. The waves lap up against my boat as a reminder to never forget what lies beneath.

  On the other side I disembark into a cavern of sharp yet round stones. My greatest achievement as the architect, creating what does not exist. This area remains empty until I can think of what to put in it. At least I thought it was empty, until I hear a deep moan from somewhere up ahead. There is no fear in my domain, but also no courage. I press forward at a normal pace knowing that something is hiding behind one of my round stones. I heard it again, this time accompanied by a cloud of smoke erupting from behind the largest stone. Shortly before I arrive a tiny dragon steps out. It is no larger than a puppy. Once it sees me, or perhaps when I see it, it begins to grow, not stopping until it takes up most of the cavern. I turn to run, finally feeling what I believe to be fear, though it’s been so long I can hardly remember. A roar, I run faster.

  I have no recollection of creating such a monster, but I must have, for only I can control what happens in my mind. I can feel the earth shaking tremors of its mighty feet. As I run I do not look where I am going and run straight into a stone. Pain. For the first time in so long I feel the terrible sensation.

  The cavern vanishes from my vision and only darkness remains. I push on, blinded by the sudden change. There is now gravel beneath my feet and I know I’m on the banks of my lake. There is no way to stop and I plunge into the cold memories. They pass through my mind so quickly that I don’t have time to even guess at what or when they are. A sudden jolt means the dragon has joined me. I can’t see, can no longer hear, but I do feel its claws wrap around and tear away.

  I’m awake, aching and bruised and breathing with great difficulty. There is a man standing over me, smiling broadly.

  “Welcome back, we thought we lost you.”

  I sit up, finding it difficult. My hand automatically reaches up to my face and I feel a long and scraggly beard that is foreign to me. My hands shake, my lip quivers, I no longer recognize myself.

  “Where am I?” I croak.

  “You’ve been out, that drug you took was very dangerous. You were the only person to survive at all.”

  “A drug?”

  “We started giving you a new treatment
this morning. It was specially designed to get you up, and it has.” The doctor says brightly.

  “What?”

  “You took the Minding C in 1970 . . . you’ve been in a coma for forty six years.”

  I look around in dismay, the colors are brighter, and the sounds are clearer, but I liked where I was. The doctor shakes his head; he can’t understand why I’m not happy.

  The Hall

  Silent. Still. A long dark hall stretches to infinity on my left. A door to my right. We sit. We? There’s another man here, he looks at the floor, concentrating. On what? On nothing. There is nothing to think up, nothing more to know, only the past. He looks at me, I look back. He looks away. Does he know where we are? I can’t ask; I do not want to know.

  The hall to my left is dark, yet strangely inviting. The door to my right is hard, uninviting. I think about going to the left. It’s only a thought. The man turns; he’s about to speak. He doesn’t. He looks at the door, and then the hall, finally at the floor.

  We are sitting. On what? I don’t care. The man shivers, relaxes, looks back down the hall, and then at me.

  “What do you think is down there?” There’s an echo

  I find my voice. “I don’t know.”

  “Shame.”

  There’s something stirring down that long corridor. Toward us. It doesn’t come. Eerie. Quaking. Footsteps. That’s what it is; something is walking toward us. I wonder what. I can’t think of it. I can hear it. I don’t know if he can, doesn’t seem that he does.

  It stops. Somewhere in the darkness past my field of vision, it waits. For what? No one knows. The man stands. He’s going to look. No, he just stands.

  “I’ll bet anything that I need to go down there.” He’s been here longer than I have. He can form complex thoughts. I struggle. “I will go . . . soon.” He says.

  “Yes.” It’s all I can say.

  He moves toward the endless corridor. I don’t stop him. There’s a noise. I look. The man stands several yards away, looking back. I nod, he disappears down the hall.

  I am alone. I have been sitting on a small bench by myself for an unknown and unintelligible amount of time. If there is time, even if there is not time I must continue to think as if there is – it is all I know. The man never returned, but I believe that I heard him call to me shortly after he vanished. There grew a need deep within me to go after him into the darkness. And since then I have inched ever closer to the left edge of my bench. There is another force that keeps me from following. It is just as powerful.

  Another has joined me. She is much older. She appears distraught, unable to grasp her surroundings. Is that how I looked? I want to tell her that everything will be alright, but I don’t know that. I really want to talk to her, say something. Anything. She looks at me. Now’s my chance, I can’t do it. Her eyes look down the dark hall, the door, and then to the floor. It’s systematic. The man did it, I did it, and now she does it. Why? There’s never an answer. Maybe that’s the answer in itself.

  I hear something. Not down the hall this time, but from the door. She doesn’t seem to notice. There must be a terrible beast hidden away, trying to get out. That appears to be the most sensible conclusion. The hall looks more pleasing every moment, but a curiosity lingers. I want to know what the noise is behind the door. I can’t place it. Scratching? Humming? Shouting? Perhaps all.

  I stand. It is time for me to choose. One step to the hall. No. Two steps toward the door. Yes. It’s frightful what lies beyond. The hall is much safer, I can tell. Two more steps, almost to the door. It’ll end for me, the hall calls with joy and splendor. One step. At the door. I turn. She still does not look up. My hand grasps the wood handle. Turn. Open.

  The most dazzling light hits upon my face. Warmth. Safety. There is a scream behind me. The thing down the hall. I look. The light shines on a dark and frightening image. I step forward, away from the beast. Instantly calm, no more fear. I am glad I have chosen the door.