One Child at a Time

PHOTO PROMPT © Janet Webb

A boy of roughly nine entered the shop by himself and wandered aimlessly until a jar of pennies caught his eye.

“You’ve got a lot of coins,” the boy said.

“Indeed, I do,” the man behind the counter replied.

“How’d you get so many?” the boy asked.

“Well, you see,” said the man, “every time a kid asks about ‘em, I take him out back into the woods and sell him to the trolls for a penny. Then I come back here and toss it in the jar.”

The boy ran out the door and the man added another penny.

—

Nothing scary here, unless you count the made up trolls. Just a guy having some fun at the expense of a gullible child, who won’t be the last.

Written for Friday Fictioneers.

Click here to read stories from the other Fictioneers.

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She Lied To Me

Crystal lied to me. I know she did. I don’t know why I feel that way, but I do. I don’t actually have proof that she lied, but I know she did. It’s one of those things you just know. You can feel it through your entire body. Even the marrow in my bones knows she lied to me. It’s pretty sure anyway. At least eighty percent sure. That’s good enough when it comes to lying. That’s what my mother always used to say. That’s why I got a wooden spoon across my backside so often. God, I hated that spoon.

Thing is she was wrong more than she was right. At least in the beginning. By the time it ended, I knew she wouldn’t believe me anyway, so I lied out my ass. Each one was larger and more elaborate than the last. They were the kinds of stories that could only be lies, but if I was going to get hit anyway why not make it interesting, right?

That’s how it was with Crystal. She had to be lying. At least I think so. I’m at least sixty percent sure she was lying. There’s no other explanation, really. She had to be lying.
Her story just didn’t jibe with reality. That’s how you get caught. That’s what
my mother always said. Thing is, my stories jibed perfectly in the beginning.
How couldn’t they have? I was telling the truth.

Crystal had to be lying. She knew that guy and something was definitely weird with their dynamic. I’m at least forty percent sure she was lying. There’s no way that was the first time they’d ever met. They knew each other. They got what they deserved.

But what if she didn’t know him? What if she wasn’t lying? No. She was lying. I’m at least twenty percent sure, and twenty percent is good enough, right?

I probably should have given her the benefit of the doubt. I should give her a call. I want to. I want her back. I shouldn’t have snapped like that.

I can’t call her though. She wouldn’t answer. How could she? She’s at the bottom of a lake with that piece of shit who tried to take her from me. Besides, she lied to me. I’m at least eighty percent sure. I think.

—

Just a quick, barely edited story for you today. What say you, Minion?

Also, If you aren’t aware: the newest volume of 100 Tiny Tales of Terror, Rotten Little Things, just hit the digital shelves. You should pick up a copy. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

US: http://a.co/9SGoWlq

UK: http://amzn.eu/7UrzDNi

A spooky story

Disclaimer: Before you go any further, I must inform you that I cannot take credit for this story. This was told to me by my 5 year old daughter. She asked me if I would like to hear a spooky story. I, of course, said yes. The following is the actual story she told me. I felt it only appropriate to add some illustrations. Enjoy!

Super Short Stories – Haunted

Fear brought me here, to her grave.
She still lives in that old, drafty house.
I’ve come to ask her to leave me be.

Super Short Stories – Berries of Summer

She lies under the bush, plucking berries from its supple branches and popping them in her mouth one by one. She barely notices their effects until she goes to reach for another, but her arm refuses to move. She tries to look down at herself, but her neck won’t budge. She tries to scream, but only a dull croak passes her lips.