"Friday the 13th"

By John Hughes


Steve stood in stunned silence as he watched the cat give a final twitch. He didn’t see it dash across the road. He wasn’t paying much attention, for he had been thinking about the trip he was planning. It was going to be one fantastic Labor Day weekend. He knew that he still had a couple of weeks to get through before it arrived, but he couldn’t help but daydream about camping out next to the river.

“I’m sorry.” Steve whispered as he grabbed the black limp tail, dragging it to the curb. Taking out his handkerchief, he wiped his face, trying to force down the bitter burning sensation in the back of his throat, he had never killed anything before. Steve took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves as he got back behind the wheel. He looked at the clock on the dashboard; it read 7:13 am. He had exactly 17 minutes to be at work, and it would take him at least another 30 to get there.

His boss would have a cow if he was late. Jake, his boss, counseled him last week about being tardy, stating that he was showing a pattern. It seemed that every Friday he would come in anywhere from 15 to 30 minutes late, and had put him on a final warning, stating that the next time it would result in disciplinary actions.

He pulled into the parking garage with 5 minutes to spare; amazed that he had made it in time. He had borrowed on many yellow lights, and even ran a few red ones, thankful that there hadn’t been any cops around.

Steve grabbed his briefcase and dashed to the elevator, noticing that the doors were standing open, as if whoever was inside knew he was running late.

Out of breath from the short run, Steve punches the button on the panel that marked his floor. He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing, not only from the run, but because he hated this elevator. The ancient contraption’s maximum capacity was four people, yet to Steve that was pushing its limits.

“Thanks for holding the elevator for me; you probably just saved my life.” Steve told the woman who had been staring at him.

“Was something chasing you?” She whispered.

“Not exactly,” Steve grinned. “My boss would probably fire me if I was late again.” He glances at his watch, realizing he had two minutes left to get clocked in before he was officially late.

He shifted his gaze to look at her. She was attractive, wearing a low-cut black dress and stockings. He had noticed them right away; she had been adjusting her garter as he had dashed inside. Her glistening black hair was shoulder length, styled where it covered one side of her face, leaving her with a mysterious, exotic look. Her cherry red lipstick, contrasted with the paleness of her skin. With all the black she was wearing, the red glistened brilliantly in the elevators dim light.

The elevator lurched to a stop, jarring Steve and the woman. The lights went out plunging them into darkness.

“Shit!” Steve exclaimed.

“I think you spoke too soon about me saving your life.” The woman spoke in a hoarse whisper.

He could almost see her teasingly licking her lips as she had whispered that one sentence.

“Sorry about the language, I just hate this elevator, it’s always breaking down.”

“Well, you know it’s Friday the 13th, so you have to expect some bad luck today.” Again, she whispered, as if afraid a louder noise would send them plunging back to the parking garage.

Steve was trying to control his panic, every creak and groan of the elevator echoed in the shaft making him feel like they were dangling over a yawning abyss.

Groping in the dark, trying to find the emergency button and telephone, Steve stops his search, as a strange scent wafted in front of his face. It was unpleasant, and strangely familiar, like he had smelled it recently.

“What the hell?” Steve exclaims, as he pulls his hand back from where he thought the control panel would have been.

“Excuse me?” the woman whispered.

“Something just sliced my hand! I think I’m bleeding.” Steve had taken his handkerchief out and was pressing it to the back of his hand. It was burning something fierce. To make matters worse, his handkerchief was still damp from earlier that morning, the salty sweat causing even more discomfort as it mingled with his blood, causing the wound to sting.

The smell was even stronger now, he realized he could identify it, and that terrified him. The cat that he had run over this morning smelled like that. He must have gotten some of it’s urine on his hand. He soon realized that the musk was coming from the woman; he could hear her moving around, as if she was stalking him.

Steve, sensing movement, backed into the corner of the elevator, just as something slammed into the spot where he had been. He could hear her breathing, right in front of him. It was more of a hiss of air, escaping from her lungs. He was slammed against the wall, feeling his feet leave the floor.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you to watch out for black cats crossing your path?” Her voice had grown huskier, full of menace. “Especially on Friday the 13th.”

Steve’s screams echoed up and down the shaft, startling the two people waiting on the elevator in the parking garage.

Having arrived just as the elevator doors closed, John cursed his luck at missing it. His co-worker Tina walked up just as the screaming started.

“John, did you see how many people were in there?” Tina asked after calling building security.

“I’m not sure; I know there was at least one man in there. Tell them they might get some medics too, he sounds like he’s tearing the elevator apart.”

They could hear banging noises and hysterical screams coming from the closed doors. John could sympathize with the person or people in there, for he was claustrophobic, and probably would be doing the same or worse if he was trapped in there. Now he was glad he would be late for work, otherwise he would have been trapped inside as well.

“We have help on the way!” Tina screamed into the crack of the doors.

The screaming stopped after that. John and Tina looked at one another in amazement, at first thinking they had both suddenly gone deaf.

“Hurry up boys!” a gruff voice came from the stairwell entrance. The building manager was a burly sort of guy. He was followed by a couple of the maintenance workers and some medics.

“Hurry up and get this thing open, there are people trapped inside.” The manager barked at the others. “I thought you said they were screaming in there?”

“They were, but right before you came, they stopped, and everything got quiet.” Tina explained.

“That’s the way to fix things fast!” The manager said with pride as the elevator started moving back towards the parking garage.

“Sir, we haven’t started working on it yet.” One of the workmen advised as he walked around the corner, just as the elevator stopped on their level.

Quick as lighting, something black and shinny streaked out the doors as they were just starting to open.

“Poor thing must have been scared to death, trapped in there with all the noise.” Tina exclaims noticing the cat darting behind the wheel of one of the parked cars nearby. Tina could see its bright green eyes glowing like fire as it looked back at her.

Turning back to scold whoever had been in the elevator frightening the cat that way, Tina screams and faints, as the doors finally come to a complete rest, revealing a scene out of a nightmare.

The entire elevator was coated in bright crimson, congealing and cooling into a dull brown. The man in the elevator looked as if he had swallowed a bomb, for his chest and stomach were gone, splattered around the chamber. His intestines were still oozing from what was left of his body, a lung sliding down the back wall. Bits of him were even dripping from the ceiling, making a dull thud on the soaked carpet.

The cat, watching everything from the safety under the car, purred. Turning to leave the underground parking garage, the cat was intent on finding another victim for Friday the 13th.

"My name is Randy Nash..."

By J.P. Hughes

My name is Randy Nash. I don’t know much about the place I’m currently in. My creator, John, got me stuck here, and has yet to figure a way for me to get out. Everything is very bright where he has me at the moment, so bright in fact, that I can’t see a thing. Well, that’s not quite true, in fact I can see John sitting there, staring at me, which he does a lot.

I like to stare back at him, and sometimes I make faces at him to aggravate him. He knows it upsets me when he just stares at me, especially when he doesn’t comb his hair, or get dressed, always wearing that baggy T-shirt and sweat pants. He’s not a bad looking guy, he thinks of himself as plain. He’s about 5’ 10”, about 190 lbs. Definitely out of shape and in much need of exercise, which his doctor keeps telling him at each appointment. He comes into the room and plops down in his chair right after waking in the mornings. Sometimes I swear he doesn’t brush his teeth either, yes I have a good sense of smell, and he definitely needs some mouthwash, what with him chain smoking while he stares at me.

He likes to mumble to himself as well. He says I remind him of his brother. Well, I should, he made me look like that. He created me just to put me through all sorts of trials, just like his brother has done to him in the past. At least he didn’t make me an alcoholic, like his real brother. See, John doesn’t drink, and he doesn’t like other people who do in excess either. He wont even go out to a party if he knows there will be drinking there. Alcoholism runs in his family, so he avoids it completely if given a choice.

He just sits at home, taking care of his disabled mother. She is a stroke survivor, along with various other medical conditions. He doesn’t go out at all. If he’s not at work, he’s at home either watching a movie, or sitting here staring at me. He’s probably seen most every film ever made. He has about 3000 movies on DVD or VHS. I think he started writing to prevent his imagination from exploding. His mother actually got him into the idea of writing. She told him he needed a creative outlet to his anxiety since he stopped taking his medication. He worked for 911 Emergency for seven years, and was on nerve pills when he left there. The stories that are floating around in his head are quite terrifying. He’s been off of them for a little over a year now. I guess that’s one of the reasons he gets those strange looks in his eyes.

He works a full time job, a less stressful one, in the floral industry. The only stress he gets now is during the Holiday’s when he has to supervise 500 temporary workers taking flower orders worldwide. He debated about even taking this class at this time, with Easter, Administrative Assistant Week, and Mothers Day being the same time frame as this session, but he figured if he could do this during his busiest time of the year, he can make time to take other courses and actually finish his novel.

He has 4 dogs, all mixed breeds that he has rescued from either the pound, or off the street. He considers them his children, his daughters. They each get their own plate of food at Thanksgiving, and presents at Christmas. He actually talks to them and treats them as if they were humans. This I know for a fact, since they are always drawing his attention from me, which sometimes I am very grateful. It gives me a reprieve from the havoc he is creating in my life.

There isn’t much to look at here on this blank screen, and he has yet to move. He’s still just sitting there staring at me, while I ramble on nervously. See, I’m a nervous person. I can’t help it. John keeps getting me into some sort of trouble. I mostly just get scraped up from some accident, or so he say’s they were accidents. I’m not sure I believe him anymore. He has a lot of frustrations to release, and what better way to do it harmlessly, or so he thinks, on me. He doesn’t realize that I have developed feelings, and those accident’s actually hurt. Not only are my feelings hurt, but my body and soul is as well. I mean, I can’t count how many times I have tripped over air, and have fallen down stairs. Air isn’t that thick. I think John tried to make my head thick so I couldn’t see the truth of the matter.

Oh, now I’ve done it. He has an even stranger look on his face. I think he realizes that I have been telling all of you all about him. He’s a private person. To look at him, you would never know any of these things I have told you, and yet you could see it in his everyday actions. The way he treats others, even his brother. Oh sure, there have been knock-down-drag-out-fights, but they have always gotten over them later on. Even though John is like an elephant, he never forgets anything, especially when he’s been hurt, either emotionally or physically.

This look he’s giving me is really starting to unnerve me. I’ve seen it before. He sent me to this old house he told me about. I never really believed his stores about the place. I mean, those things just don’t happen in the real world, and yet when I arrived there, I heard this hissing noise when I got on the porch. It was coming from behind me, near my car. I slowly turned around, I mean it was dusk, there wasn’t much light, and the place just gave me the creeps. I kept thinking of those stories John told me, and yet my rational mind was rejecting them, my subconscious kept bringing them back to the front of my mind. Anyway, this hissing is coming from near my car. I crept slowly towards the sound, and almost laughed in relief when I saw the flat tire. It looked as if someone had slashed it good. I must have run over something large and sharp in the driveway.

I turned, and walked back towards the house. That was the last of my memories till I awoke screaming in the cellar. I……can’t…..I mean…..I can’t relive that at present. I’m already scared enough from the looks John is giving me. All I will say, is that thing living there almost had me for dessert.

Ok, now I’ve really gone and done it. Not only scared by John with these strange looks, but I’ve now scared myself. I think I will try and look for a place to hide. John’s starting to blink, and the last time he did that, he had my sister Rita fall asleep in this bed that had a shapeshifter mimicking her pillow. It wasn’t a pretty sight. But that’s another story……

“For Better or Worse”

By J.P. Hughes

“Rick, are you coming to bed or not?” Janet asked from the darkened doorway to the living room.

“I will after the news.” His voice had no emotion to it.

“What’s this sudden interest in the news?” Janet suspected what his answer would be, but wanted him to confirm her thoughts. He had been acting strange for the past couple of weeks, ever since the murders had started. He never liked watching the news before, claiming it was too violent and depressing, but lately he insisted on watching every broadcast.

“They are going to show one of the crime scenes tonight.” Rick’s voice was less robotic. It was shaky, full of excitement. “They still have no clues about this guy.”

Janet was glad his back was to her where she couldn’t see his eyes, afraid they might validate the fear that suddenly overcame her.

“Rick, you’re starting to scare me with all this interest in these killings.” Her voice was full of emotion as she continued. “You’ve become a complete stranger to me and the kids. I had hoped that by sending them to my mothers for the weekend we could get this obsession under control. I’ve seen the basement...”

She knew she had said the wrong thing when he quickly turned away from the television and stared at her. He had given explicit instructions that the basement was off limits to everyone, claiming he was doing a special project for work down there. At first she had understood. His job was causing him a lot of stress recently. There had been numerous layoffs since the new company took over and she thought this was the underlying was the root of the problem.

She had ventured down into his basement office to try and get a grip on how he had been acting, only to discover an entire wall covered with various newspaper clippings, not only of the recent murders in their town, but some from bigger cities, both recent and in the past.

Tears blurred her vision when she saw the shocked and uncertain look he gave her as he hurried passed her to be devoured by the cold darkness of the basement, which had recently claimed his soul.

She slowly climbed the stairs thinking the fear of the truth was preventing her from accusing him of the things that were racing through her mind. She knew it was just a coincidence that he had been out each night of the murders, but the way he was acting since they started would make anyone think that he was involved. She knew that whatever was actually going on they could work it out. She took her wedding vows very seriously and even if he was involved in these crimes, she prayed she had the strength to live up to her end of the promise.

Brushing the last of the tears away, she drew a bath, in hopes it will help calm her down and allow her to collect her thoughts to help him through whatever crisis he was going through.
Fully submerged in the lavender scented water, the dull pling-plop from the faucet resounded through her brain, clouding out all thoughts of Rick, allowing her to let go of some of the conflict that raged inside her.

Opening her eyes, she was startled by red and blue lights swirling around in the tiny bathroom adjacent to their bedroom. She quickly grabbed at her robe as she slipped getting out of the tub. She wasn’t making enough noise to rival a herd of elephants running through the jungle like she thought, but unknown to her; it was enough to quiet the creek of someone on the stairs outside her room.

Janet called out to her husband as she ran out the front door into a throng of neighbors already gathered in front of her house. The police cruisers parked across the street revealed a scene out of some old disco movie. She half expected the crowd around her to break into dance, or John Travolta to step out of the ambulance that just pulled to a stop in the middle of the street.

“What’s going on?”

“They found Nick & Nora dead. They’re saying it was the work of the Strangler.”

Janet didn’t know who had answered her question. The world seemed to spin out of control as she turned back to look at her house. In the pulsing light and shadow from the police cars, she could see someone in the darkened doorway, fading in and out with the pulsing lights.

“Are you alright?”

Janet was startled by the plain cloths officer. She hadn’t heard him come up beside her. Her thoughts were racing about Rick’s strange behavior lately and his sudden mood swings. As she looked into the officers eyes, all she could think about was her promises on their wedding day, for better or worse, till death takes them.

Yet, how could she live with a man who might be the Strangler, who butchered people for the sick and twisted enjoyment of it. If he was the killer and suspected that she or the kids knew what was going on, the final part of their wedding vow could be closer than she would like.

“Ma’am, are you alright?”

She blurted out all her doubts and fears to this unsuspecting officer. At first she thought he was placating her, but the more she talked, his expression changed to one of true concern, that the person responsible for all these deaths could be right in her house as they were talking, knowing that she could be telling his secrets to the police.

Several of her neighbors had gathered around as she told the officer all she knew. They tried to calm her down as the officer called for back up.

The neighbors restrained her as she tried to make a break for the house as the officers entered with their guns drawn. Sobbing, Janet knew that the way her husband had been acting that even if he was completely innocent that her marriage was over. She had violated his trust, not only by going into the basement, but by telling the police that he might be the Strangler.

Seconds, then minutes passed, which seemed like hours to Janet, who was still crying on the lawn, when gunfire reverberated through the night, stunning the crowd into an eerie silence.
Police officers slowly exited from her once loving home with solemn expressions, each one looking away from her as their eyes met. The officer she had spoken with approached her, carrying a torn manila envelope.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but your husband is dead. We got the Strangler…” He trailed off to compose himself. “We got the guy after he had killed your husband. He must have been hiding out in your basement since he had killed the Charles family. Your husband had this clutched in his hand; I thought you would like to see it.”

Shakily, she took out the contents. Inside were a CD and a letter from Double Day publisher. The page was streaked with crimson, but she could make out the first few paragraphs in the dim flashing lights.

Dear Mr. Leonard. Please accept this advance check for your story The Strangler of Woodbridge. Your request to change the dedication to “for my loving wife Janet” will be made immediately. We look forward to having a lasting relationship with you.

“We found your husband on the stairs coming up from the basement. The Strangler must have snuck up behind him when he was bringing you this. There’s evidence that the Strangler had went to the second floor, but retreated back to the basement in a hurry.”

She suddenly realized that if it wasn’t for the commotion outside, she would have been his next victim. Her heart was bursting with both joy and remorse. Her husband was innocent and truly loved her, yet the remorse would haunt her forever, knowing that he died thinking that she thought he was the Strangler.