Shadows in the Dark

HUNTER

  ENGLAND

  Shadows

  in the

  Dark

  A Collection of Stories

  This book is for everyone that has encouraged me to do my best my whole life. It’s for my mother who, no matter what, always told me what I did was great. It’s for my brother who always encouraged me to never give up. It’s for my Mema who always did her best in making me the happiest I could. It’s for all of my friends who were always there for me. This book is an ode to everyone in my life that made an impact on me.

  Thank you.

  Contents

  Introduction 4

  Coffee?6

  Set the World on Fire 13

 

  Special 39

  Introduction

  For a gigantic part of my life, writing was my whole world. Though I hardly finished anything I started, the amount of things I’ve written is ridiculous. When I was a kid, all I could think about was publishing my own book. I would tell myself about how cool it would be to see my name on a book in a bookstore.

  But, sadly, I grew out of writing. I lost interest in it. These stories of mine hid away somewhere, never to be read. Thus “Shadows in the Dark” was born.

  The whole purpose of this book is to give my writing and my stories life again. These three tales I wrote when I was younger deserve to have a purpose. Because, out of everything I’ve done, I’ve never been more proud of anything than I am with these stories.

  The mere fact that I sat down and wrote these myself with my own time makes me so happy. I can gladly tell my friends and family that these stories are mine.

  For a little background on when these were written, here you are. “Coffee?” was written during my sophomore year of high school, while “Set the World on Fire” and “Special” were written during my 8th grade year.

  Considering I’m now seventeen years old in my junior year of high school, clearly these stories were a thing of the past for me. But when I stumbled upon them one day, I couldn’t help but reminisce in my good old days.

  Now, once you read these, you will notice that they are fairly dark, one of which being quite dark. That’s why I chose these stories. They define my style of storytelling perfectly. I like to keep things dark and interesting as the story progresses. And you can see that pretty clearly as soon as you start.

  Thank you for taking the time to acknowledge my writing. I couldn’t appreciate it more.

  …..

 

  Coffee?

  The coffee pot started to make the sound it always does when the delicious liquid it makes start to flow down into the cup underneath it. The steam it produced floated up into the air and vanished as if it had never existed in the first place. I could hear the clock ticking behind me. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. I counted the seconds as they turned into minutes, letting time tick on by. I would not allow myself to question what I am doing. The ticking and the tocking were my distraction.

  The alarm clock in my husband’s room had started to go off. I heard him groan as he pressed the snooze button, but went right back to sleep. My son’s room was quiet as it always was. He woke whenever I decided it was necessary.

  Both of them. Filthy, degrading, ungrateful men that live off of me. I am a woman. Not a life support. I have thought of this for a long time. If I were to chose one of them to rid, which shall it be? For I can not take both of them. No, no, no. That would make it obvious, in which I would get caught and have a worse life than I do now. No, it must be one.

  I had it all planned out. I would brew both cups, then put “the stuff” in one of the two. Next, I set them out on the table and inform the both of them that I have made it for them. After that, it is up to them. They decide, and I do not have to.

  After this all takes its course, one of them shall die. When that happens, I shall hide the body for a while. Enough time for “the stuff” in the blood to go away. After that, I drop the body off where someone can find it. The police come and inform me that they have passed away. I pretend to care, then go on my way. Nothing can go wrong.

  I finally heard my excuse of a husband get out of bed, his annoying groan echoing through the halls. The springs of the bed creaked as he hauled himself off of them and went into the restroom to shower. Within a few seconds after, the sond of the shower faucet spewing water could be heard. Half of me wanted him to pick the bad cup.

  Hours before this, I had gotten out of bed to make sure I had planned everything thoroughly. I had gotten dressed, made sure I had “the stuff”, made sure the coffee pot was ready to brew, and waited.

  Without realizing, I had finished the second cup of coffee. I turned the pot off and slipped the packet of “the stuff” out from my pocket. With the slightest of ease, I opened up the packet and poured it into one of the cups, watching as the powder dissolved into the hot drink.

  I looked back at the clock and saw that it was seven. Looking back at the cups, I picked them up and walked out of the kitchen, setting them down as I did so. As I walked down the hall to my son’s room, I heard the shower stop running and my husband coughing. It was getting closer.

  Opening the door to the room, my son’s in-and-out breaths could be heard. I turned on his light, letting the light fill the room. He slowly opened his eyes and groaned as he looked at me.

  “Time for school,” I said. He looked up at me standing at the door and groaned once more, going back to sleep. “Come on. You don’t want to be late.”

  “Shut up and give me a minute!” he yelled back. I walked out from the doorway and scoffed. Half of me wanted him to pick the bad cup.

  I walked out from the doorway and knocked on the bathroom door.

  “What is it?” my husband said.

  “Are you almost done in there?” I asked, eager for the time to come. He didn’t answer, but I didn’t care. I only turned back towards the kitchen and saw the two cups sitting there on the table, mocking me as they knew I was eager for the time to come. By this time, I had already forgotten which cup was which.

  At this time, I had nothing better to do than to wait. I walked over into the living room and sat down on the couch, staring at the blank TV screen that sat in front of me. In it, I saw my reflection.

  I got a good look at myself. A woman in her mid 40’s. Unhappy. Angry. Eager. In the years of my life, I had changed from a happy and independent woman to this. Still independent. But most definitely not happy. But today would change that.

  I saw the smallest of smirks form from my mouth as the thought of that drilled even harder into my head. Today is the day that all changes.

  Whichever one that dies, it will cause the other to wallow in sorrow. And with that, it will cause them to see how much they really need me. Thus, making them treat me better.

  The smirk on my mouth grew more.

  Within a few minutes of sitting on the couch, my son had decided to finally walk out of his room and into the kitchen. I watched as his reflection on the TV revealed everything. He walked around in the kitchen, trying to figure out what he wanted to do. Get food or something to drink? And with one quick glance, he noticed the coffee on the kitchen table.

  “I made you and your father some coffee,” I said suddenly. His reflection looked at me, then back at the cups of coffee. As he stepped over to grab a cup, I looked away and stood up. I did not want to see which cup he had grabbed.

  I heard him take a sip of the drink, and I smirked once more.

  It had begun.

  I walked down the hallway and knocked on the bathroom door again.

  “Damn it, woman! What?”

  “Are you almost done in there?” I heard him sigh in frustration.

  “I’ll be
done when I’m done!”

  “Yes or no.”

  “What did I just-”

  “YES OR NO?” I said with some anger and annoyance. There was a silence from within the bathroom as if I had caught him by surprise.

  “Yes,” he said after a few seconds. I said thank you and walked into my bedroom. I still did not want to see which cup my son had grabbed.

  As I stepped into the room, the first thing I saw was the pictures on the shelf. They were pictures from our wedding. They were just a bunch of lies.

  The first one was when we were at the chapel, standing in front of it as we smiled for the picture. That was a time when the smiles were real. But they weren’t real for long.

  It was during the honeymoon (the third picture after the wedding) that he had beaten me. He made me swear that I wouldn’t say anything. I had to hide the bruises for a while. That was when the smiles had become lies.

  Before the honeymoon, we had a romantic drive towards our cabin (the second picture). At that moment, I thought he was the one. He seemed like a nice and normal man that loved me. But soon after that, I learned I was wrong right from the start.

  Up until our marriage, he had just been pretending. Pretending to love me just so I would marry him. Once that happened, we lived on a pile of lies. I had married a mad man without realizing.

  And that can drive you mad, too.

  My husband walked out from the bathroom and into the kitchen.

  “Mom made us coffee,” I heard my son say. Without a word of response, “the love of my life” had picked up the remaining cup and walked out of the door with it. No goodbye or anything. Just the way I wanted it.

  Since both cups had been taken, I was allowed to walk back into the kitchen. Which is exactly what I did.

  My son was leaning on the kitchen counter, drinking his cup.

  “Does it taste okay?” I asked. Just like his father, he did not respond with words. He only shrugged his shoulders with annoyance. I stood there and waited until he finished and set the cup in the sink with a loud clank.

  “Are we going to go?” he asked with frustration, wanting to get to school. The sudden realization that this could be the last time I see him hit me. Well… the last time I see him alive.

  “Of course, dear!” I said. He looked at me confused as if I had never done such a thing before. And he’d be right. But like I said.

  This could be the last time I see him.

  I grabbed my keys off of the key rack above the sink and walked right past him and out the door. He followed and shut the door behind me.

  The time between me walking out the door and the two of us getting in the car was silent. Just as I had expected it to be. When he had put his seatbelt on as I started the car, I decided to have a little fun with him.

  “So what are you going to do at school today?” I asked, purposely trying to annoy him.

  “Why the hell do you care?” he replied.

  “I’m your mother. Of course I care,” I said as I backed out of the driveway.

  “Well it’s none of your business.” He pulled out his phone and put his earphones in. Not even seconds after, his music could be heard from where I was sitting. My fun had ended there.

  The car ride continued to be silent after that. And, to be honest, I wanted it like that. It was very clear that my son didn’t want to talk to me, so I let it happen. If this were the last time I see him, I would want him to get what he wants.

  After sitting in the car for a while in silence, I got the urge to get my phone and check to see if my husband were the one that had chosen the bad cup. With one flick of my thumb, I flipped open the phone and dialed his number.

  “Hello?” he answered.

  “Hello, dear,” I said. “How do you feel?”

  “What?” he asked confused.

  “How do you feel?”

  “What kind of damn question is that? I’m at work, woman! I’m fine! Now leave me alone!” And with that, he hung up the phone. For a second I took it that he was lying. That he had told me he felt fine though he wasn’t. But then I looked over at my son, who had started to cough, and saw that he had started to lose color in his skin.

  Without thinking, I avoided the turnpike that would normally direct me to his school and kept going straight. My son looked too queasy to even notice.

  “So,” I started, “you never did tell me how the coffee tasted.”