Flash Fiction Friday! With a Ghostly SFF

Image by MATJAZ SLANIC via canva.com

The Promise 

The ship’s captain was gone. It was Captain Marrow now. Macy was no longer head of the kitchen staff. With her hand on the zoom finder, she watched her creation, Matadon, scrape along the edge of the rock. Its hydrogen center could ignite in an instant. The infrared screen showed the five-kilometer valley filling with layers of methane; the ship docked too close. Planet Xo53’s spectral rings of turquoise and cobalt wrapped an impenetrable field that had barricaded the ship. But she’d been promised a passage through. She’d seen Earth. It was the dream’s message. 

Matadon had to survive long enough to retrieve the quartz inside the cave and return to the ship before the first star set. The quartz guaranteed a lift out of here. It was a race against the methane seeping across the surface, a race they might not win.

A luminescent orb passed Matadon and returned to the ship. Her ship. Queen of the castle. The luciferin orbs were a precaution, proving there was still oxygen inside the cave. She caught her reflection, the slip of a human, breathing recycled air since her team’s journey began a decade ago. Unable to sleep, the hours and days had blurred. Eleven crew members were gone.

 The dreams had started before that, and ever since traveling through this system, she’d been able to dream awake. It wasn’t only dreams that came to her and kept her company. Ideas materialized: maps, blueprints for creating the reconnaissance orbs, and Matadon, what she named the fuel wrapped in silica. Just like cooking, the silica fibers she’d ripped from the barren galley, implicitly following the instructions, soldered with cobalt and nickel, an amorphous shape took form. Standing over twelve feet tall, once animated, Matadon could take commands. Hydrogen shifted through its sinuous reeds, erecting the branch of a neck she’d circled in lenses so that nothing snuck up on her. Having Matadon around kept her from giving up.

Her curiosity and the awake dreams held her hypnotized, punching code, traveling the direction presented, which was here. The promise. Having run out of supplies days ago, an echo drifting by had boarded and tried to kill her. She and Matadon captured the distortion into a magnetic cylinder before it settled into the carbon walls. Without a protective seal to cover the ship, the unseen world often passed through and tried to stick around. Or take crew members one by one.

Matadon stopped. Captain Marrow pushed up to the screen. “What’s happening down there?” All she could see were crystallized rocks. She dialed closer. Matadon lifted an appendage, a positive sign confirming quartz inside the fissure. Another dream that had proven accurate. Enough to jump-start the ship and return home, she hoped.

Light streaked across the screen. Matadon smashed against the rock and disappeared into the fissure. She slammed her hand on the console, eyes tracking back and forth. Now, she had to go down there. Storming out of the control room, she marched down the narrow passage and into the antechamber, a dozen bio-orbs circling, and stepped into the circle. The suit rose and sealed around her body. She picked up the Torc, a spike with a two-meter hook at one end, and strode to the platform, an orb at each shoulder, descended to the first level, and passed through the light frequency that would camouflage her from the spooks, a frequency that should last as long as it took to bring Matadon back.

The elevator grated to a stop, and Captain Marrow departed. She crossed the metal platform, scattering the phantasms proliferating weightlessness, capped the headgear, and extended the bridge. Ninety meters below, cobalt waves circled. She crossed the bridge, legs apart, distancing the rivets careful not to create friction, and met the rock’s edge. Crouching over, she peered inside. No sign of Matadon. Not even a blip on her palm tracker. She turned to the orbs. “You’re with me.” She still had to gather enough quartz to take her home.

 As she entered the cave, a magnetic field tugged at her suit, dragging her inside. Her eyes, obscured by the gray shield, traced the walls glistening with quartz. “Matadon!” she called before turning to a ripple of her reflection. Hand out, she moved forward, the ripples enveloping her fingers and arm, and she stepped through, orbs at her side. She called out again for Matadon. An image of reedy grass flickered ahead. Then she heard water and turned to a rushing creek, budding cherry trees, magnolias, and oaks in the distance. There was a familiar school. She’d seen this all before, in a dream. It was her life on Earth. So far removed from her memories, it had become a dream.

 Her crew members had said they knew the way home, but she knew another way. She saw the promise. Stuck in the galley without a voice, her future and future’s future stripped away, the ship drifted. 

 Captain Marrow staggered forward. “Matadon!” She stopped. Matadon’s sheath was at her boots. She lifted the cobalt-infused silica and gazed at the cave opening. Was this the promise? Only the mirage of Earth? She wasn’t a specter in a make-believe world. She was human, flesh and blood. Dreams weren’t real.

 But she needed the quartz. Wrenching around toward the cave's wall, she recalled the ghost ship, the spirits, the thoughts seeping into hers and Matadon’s. She dropped the sheath and raced for the opening, carelessly rubbing the rivets together, and the valley ignited beneath her feet, below the ship, and everywhere all at once. She entered the ship. Untethered the spacesuit and returned to her position behind the controls.

 She’d forgotten the quartz! Before there was time to settle over her advancing loneliness, a familiar revenant sat beside her, then another in the seat to the rear. Each seat filled with all eleven crew members circling the cockpit, including Captain Warton.

 “Marrow,” he said, slipping over her transparent body. “Get to your position. We’re going home.”

Science Fiction Short Stories!

Alien Dimensions Anthology #19 

Where you can read my story "The Coltalians"  

Alien Dimensions is a science fiction short stories anthology series featuring amazing authors from around the world.

Previous issues have featured stories about extraterrestrials, clones, robots and androids, invasion and colonization, cyberpunk and space opera, first contact, genetic manipulation, starship exploration, time travel and more.

From seriousness to humorous, high octane to slow burn, from back-story heavy to present tense dialogue-driven adventures, Alien Dimensions explores the far future.

APPLE BOOKS

Kobo

Barnes and Noble

Amazon

Avaible in Print and ePup!  The Coltalians:  A fissure separated the two sides of the valley, the Huns on one side, the Gruns on the other. The Narwalian tusked, Metred is on a mission when he’s captured and meets the Golden Lore who shows him the females from EarthVectorII. The Coltalians are preparing to send the humans back using their bodies as transport for the Wallercattle.  In this issue: Tin Worm by Gustavo Bondoni Sparkle by Robert M. Walton Surfing the Hercules Rift by Keith A. Raymond From Earth to Eternity by Derek Spohn The Coltalians by Karen L. Hallam Too Many MoMos by Chris Dean The Alien Starship by Sergio Palumbo Givens by David Castlewitz Phase Shift by Neil A. Hogan

The Office . . . my 1k Short Story from "Rooms with a Chill"

The Office

Guinevere fastened the top button of her dress shirt. Straightened out her skirt, rising a little too high after sitting, and preceded to Mr. Wilson’s office. 

“Yes, Mr. Wilson?”

“Did you stack these manila envelopes on my desk?”

“No, and I haven’t seen anyone come into your office,” she said, before passing the large skyscraper window. One hundred and five flights up, it made her nervous. Guinevere leaned over Mr. Wilson’s desk and searched the envelopes for an address or a clue.

“They’re unmarked,” he said.

“Oh? Have you opened one?”

“Are you kidding, unmarked envelopes sent to a newswire? I better call in Homeland Security. Can you get these out of here?”

She paused. “Sure.”

“Maybe you should use gloves?” he said.

Guinevere lifted the empty waste basket and scraped the envelops off the desk using her clipboard.

“There, I’ll get these looked at. Maybe the mailroom knows something.”

Mr. Wilson took a phone call and nodded. She slipped away holding the wastebasket, filled with the twenty or so unmarked manila envelopes and proceeded to the elevator. Her curiosity grew while waiting for the elevator.

She pulled one out and sniffed it. Traced her fingers along the seal, about to rip it open.

“Going Down?” Gregory, the elevator operator asked.

“Ah, yes,” She stepped inside.

“Mailroom?”

She nodded.

Strange, the wastebasket felt heavier. There was an unpleasant odor.  It wouldn’t have come from Gregory, dressed top-notch, a very proud and dapper man.

The elevator doors opened.

“Thanks, Gregory.”

The waste bin slipped from her hands. What?

The mailroom wasn’t much farther down the corridor but she couldn’t pick up the bin. Taking another look inside, she saw that the envelopes had grown and each now the size of a shoebox. Were they even envelopes to start with?

What if she held some type of expanding bomb? She better hurry. Bending over, she pushed, but it still wouldn’t budge.

“Tommy, “ she called, spotting a mail clerk. “Can you help me get this to the mailroom?”

“Sure.” He ran over. “What’s that smell?”

The odor grew stronger, a humid odor, somewhat like goats on a grassy pasture, earthy.

“Just help push, will you?” she ordered.

“This came in the mail? Shouldn’t we call security?”

Guinevere stood up and adjusted her skirt. “Guess we should.”

“I see you’re struggling.” It was Mr. Hampton, mail-hall security. “Whatcha have there in that waste bin?”

“These came in the mail today. But not like this. They’re expanding,” she said.

Mr. Hampton’s hands fell from his hips. “You need to get back—both of you.” He radioed security for back up. “Way–back, Ms. Martin.” 

She did as she was told. Tommy stood in front of her.

“That smell? Is it coming from those?” Mr. Hampton asked.

They both nodded.

And right then, one by one, envelopes began jumping out of the waste bin.

“WHAT-The!” called Mr. Hampton. He pulled his gun.

Two security guards flew from the stairwell and were next to Mr. Hampton, guns drawn.

Pop. Pop. Pop. Envelope landed on the shiny tiles. Pop. Pop. Pop. They moved through the corridor, lining up like ants, and preceded up the stairwell.

Mr. Hampton, Tommy, Guinevere, and two security guards, watched without moving.

“Shouldn’t we stop the envelopes?” Guinevere asked.

Mr. Hampton shook his head out of a stupor. “Yeah, we should.”

But he didn’t move.

The twenty envelopes were fast. They hopped up the steps.

“Are those some type of drone robots?” one guard asked.

“Whose office were they delivered to?”

“Mr. Wilson’s.”

“That’s probably where they’re going. Make haste!” They all gathered in an elevator and pushed the 105^th floor.

Mr. Hampton picked up his radio. “We believe there may be a threat to Mr. Wilson of TechStation. Can Brewster get over there?”

The envelopes had a head start and were ahead of their convoy. But when the group came out of the elevator, they saw them traipsing down the hallway, legs sprouting from the manila envelopes, white and black and brown furry legs like cats?

“Someone sent cats to Mr. Wilson’s office?” she whispered.

The group chased the envelopes and turned the corner to Mr. Wilson’s. The legs had grown larger. Heads had sprouted up, but they weren’t cat’s heads.

Guinevere screamed. A sight she’d never seen before.

Reptilian?

Mr. Wilson hearing the noise, stood outside his office, taking notice of the tidal wave approaching him, he slammed the door shut.

Twenty hybrid cat-reptiles crashed into the door.

Guinevere held the crew back. They ducked behind furniture while personnel screamed and hid behind each other, some took to their offices and locked the doors.

“Now what?” Guinevere asked the Mr. Hampton.

The cat-reptilian hybrids turned to Guinevere after they finished sniffing and licking Mr. Wilson’s office door.

The security guards held their guns. The menacing hybrids came toward them. Tongues dripping, hungry eyes growing larger, they too, grew larger, moving forward, step-by-step, until Mr. Wilson’s door flew open.

Standing in place of Mr. Wilson was a large cat creature with yellow reptilian eyes, and as Guinevere focused wings sprouted from his back. “It ate Mr. Wilson!” she shrieked.

The cat hybrids shifted back toward the winged creature. Lifting his wings, they raced toward him and jumped into his arms. Where they quickly disappeared under an apparent cloak.

“Ms. Martin, please take all calls for the week.”  The winged creature said, and turned, walking toward the large glass window; the wind blowing papers into tempests throughout the room.  He arched over the ledge and jumped.

Mr. Hampton, the guards, and Guinevere ran to the window.

He was gone.

Each looked at the other without words, unbelieving what they’d witnessed. Shredded envelopes were strewn throughout the office. Guinevere picked one up and peered over Mr. Wilson’s desk.  

Crumbs, maybe seeds, her eyes followed the trail that led to an open drawer, the locked drawer. Open, she pulled it out fully.  A reflection of light beamed up at her. She reached in for the photo.

“Whatcha got there?” Mr. Hampton asked, behind her, mumbling about what had happened.

Inside the picture frame, a large photo of a radiant cat-lizard, the most beautiful creature Guinevere had ever seen. Hidden away in a locked drawer.

Staring at the photo she whispered, “Suppose he went to see her?”

 ... a collection of ten supernatural stories in the vein of Twilight Zone. 

"Rooms with a Chill" by K.L. Hallam 

Ghost Stories: The Cellar...a short story.

While I'm between manuscripts or if a project is with beta readers I try and stay fluid by writing short stories. 

The Cellar is the first in a collection I'm currently revising. All the tales take place in a room or "space" of some sort. And while I wait for news I hope to announce very soon, I'll entertain myself writing 1k shorts. My novel needs more head space. I have ten of these to revise: The department store, an alley, the computer, etc., trying to create something a little shifted.  

                                     The Cellar

“Momma. What’s that sound?”

“Must be the skis in the cellar. . . . .again." Uneasy, Mrs. Halloman stood up from the couch, leaving her ten-year-old daughter to watch TV. Reassured her that it was nothing, once again, then moved to find out for sure.

She went to the basement door. Held the handle, and waited. She turned the knob. Darkness was before her. She switched the light on and proceeded down the steps.

“What is it, momma?” Kaitlin stood at the top.

“I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll see if the skis fell and make sure they didn’t fall on the rabbits.

“Can I come?”

“Just wait here, and switch the light on if it goes out.”

“Okaaay.”

Kaitlin’s breath was heavy behind her. The humidity had brought on her daughter’s asthma. She labored for each breath. Mrs. Halloman continued and walked the fifteen steps to the bottom.

The light went out. “Kaitlin!”

“Got it!”

They were back on.

Ever since the Halloman family moved into Essex 105, the blackouts were frequent. Not unheard of in the windy mountains of Western Pennsylvania, but on some days, even if it wasn’t windy the lights went out. And no amount of fuse flipping brought them back. On two occasions while the neighbor’s lights went out during a storm, the lights at 105 Essex would be on. And vise versa. As if 105 Essex had its own energy supply.

At the bottom, Mrs. Halloman walked around the hidden corner and could hear the rabbits munching. Not sure why she kept them in the basement instead of the art shack out back. It was warmer there. The rabbits looked up at her with their usual nervous twitches, one finishing a carrot and not the least bit disturbed about anything unnatural.

BANG!

She jumped. “Kaitlin, are you all right?”

“Yes, momma. Are Pinkie and Peppy, OK?” Looking around for the piece of furniture or athletic accessory that had fallen, and satisfied all was fine she reached into the pen and picked up Pinkie, the white rabbit with brown patches.

“Can I see the bunnies?” Kaitlin called down. “Please?”

“Sure, come on, just watch your step.”

Kaitlin was next to her before she turned and put Pinkie back in his corral.

“I’ve got, Pinkie.” She hugged, his neck stretching away from her, a leg far separated from the others.

“Not too long. Your asthma’s already kicking up.”

Kaitlin nodded. “And Peppy, I don’t want you to get jealous.” She replaced Pinkie in favor of Peppy.

Mrs. Halloman moved away from the pen, and over to where the recent sound of falling objects came. 
Not only did their new house enjoy its own light display it seemed to try its hand at redecorating. Favoring the basement for its antics. As suspected, the line-up of skis had fallen on top of the hockey equipment set aside for the season. Her husband and son were out for the evening enjoying a ballgame. With the unexpected storm coming, they could be home soon. She almost wished they were.

Something caught her eye. Movement?

But it was nothing, only her imagination.

She lifted the skis; glad to have moved the rabbits days ago. From where she stood she couldn’t see the rabbits or Kaitlin. She finished and moved toward the tiny dark window at the farthest wall of the cellar. It was open. She shook her head. “Must have been a raccoon,” she whispered, turning the knob until the window squeaked shut. “There.”

She went back to Kaitlin.

I wonder if raccoons would hurt the rabbits? She made a mental note to take the bunnies out of the basement tomorrow morning.

Kaitlin?

Where were the rabbits?

“Kaitlin, you can’t take the rabbits upstairs,” she called, walking up the steps. “Not now, please. I didn’t put Edgar away. Can you get the leash . . .” As she reached the second to the top step. 

SLAM.

The basement door shut.

 “Kaitlin, the door!” She twisted and turned the knob. It was locked. “Kaitlin!”

The lights in the basement flickered. “Not again,” she groaned.

 “Kaitlin! Open this door right now!”  She knocked, knocking harder and harder.

No answer.

Mrs. Halloman raced down the steps and over to the back exit when she noticed the small window open. Again?

 Her first thought: a raccoon is in the basement. “Ridiculous, a raccoon could not swivel the window open — in ten minutes at that.” Her heart raced. She tried to swallow, but her throat closed, dry. She coughed, almost choking.

She reached basement exit. Lifted the metal bar up and over and unlocked the bolt, but she could not push the door open. She banged. Who could hear her outside with only the woods for miles? And Kaitlin? Wasn’t answering her calls. Not unusual if she went to her bedroom with the rabbits. Sweat rose over her lip. The air siphoned away. There was no exit from the back door. She turned and ran up the staircase entrance.

The blender was on. Or was it the juicer? “Kaitlin!” she yelled.

She pounded on the door until her knuckles cracked and splintered in red. She knocked until her hand numbed. She kept knocking. 
And she stopped; slid her back down the cellar door, exasperated, and listened to each and every electrical appliance grind and whirl. 
The basement lights popped. Darkness folded into every crease and crevice. Grinding motors grew deafening. 

 “Kaitlin . . . ,” she whispered. Her watch read 9:00. Her husband would be home soon. Kaitlin was playing in her bedroom with the rabbits, two flights up, and being a very bad girl. No excuse for this, even if Kaitlin wasn’t feeling well. “Kaitlin,” she whispered, knocking, a last time. Her head fell against the door. The whirling and grinding continued.

Suddenly the house became silent. Halted.

Mrs. Halloman looked at her watch: 9:30.

Something rattled at the foot of the steps under the newspapers. She made her way toward the sound feeling along the wall. The rabbits must be here. The crackling papers became louder. “Kaitlin?”

The lights went on.

A willowy shadow wavered before her.

She screamed and turned, running up the steps.

The door flew open. 
“What are you doing down there?”

“Harold!” They half-embraced. “Shut the door”

SLAM.

“Where’s Kaitlin?”

“She isn’t with you?”

“In her room!” Mrs. Halloman ran up the second level. “Kaitlin?”

“Hi mom.” It was Jack.

“Where’s Kate?”

“Dunno?”

“You didn’t see her?”

She raced from room to room calling her daughter’s name. Kaitlin’s room was empty. The lights off. She hadn’t been there at all. Perspiration rose, encasing her in heat. A sickening malaise gripped her throat. Confused, she couldn’t breath. Harold looked under the furniture saying, “She’s only hiding somewhere.”

Mrs. Halloman passed the large bay window facing the woods and caught a glimpse of pink. She ran outside. “Kaitlin!” 

Ran down the deck side. Her daughter was walking into the woods and didn’t take notice of her calls. “Kaitlin!” she kept calling until she was beside her. 
She put a hand on her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

Kaitlin turned around, covered in mud and twigs. “What’s going on?” she asked her daughter. looking into her distant eyes. 

“He told me to set the rabbits free. . . In the woods.”

She pulled her daughter close to her heart and began to cry. “Is that where they are now? In the woods?”

Kaitlin nodded, hidden under her embrace.

Mrs. Halloman let out a breath and looked for her husband standing on the deck. She could see the cellar’s back door. The lights were on. 
And a dark silhouette stood there as if it waited. Waited for its next request to be fulfilled.