Three Strings And A Lie - The Pilot Program 2020

Welcome to The Pilot Program 2020 once more for the short story of August. Every month I write a new short story which you can read, like, share, comment on. And in doing so, you cast your vote to choose what I will write as a short story series for the next year. Three Strings And A Lie is the 8th short story of this year. Hope you like it and don’t forget to check out previous entries in this series.

He died alone in a room in the basement of his mansion. No windows, one way out, and three people in the whole house. Quickly interrupted by a snarky voice. Yes, but you could argue that we are five. If you include the deceased. He turns whilst rubbing his beard. Yes, of course. And we will be a few more once the police arrive. But there were only the three of you and a dead body in a nasty smelling room by the time I got here… Lady or Miss… Now tell me, he starts walking up the stairs looking her in the eyes, how could Mister Deceased over there have died? With the same snarky tone she continues. Like how should I know? Isn’t it why you are here? He smiles as his hand leaves his beard. Indeed, he starts whistling as he goes up the stairs and into the hallway. Come on. What are you still doing there? Want to burn your nose hairs? Besides, he is not going to come back to life if you continue to stare at him. The three follow him into the hallway. Who found him? The snarky voice spoke once more… We three did. We smelled something horrid and came to the source. He starts scratching his beard once more. Where’s a place we can sit, ponder and mourn Mister Departed? A young man points him to the right. The living room is this way. He chuckles. Something rather funny? Some joke? The snarky voice asks once more. No. Pardon me.

Excuse my rashness, but do any of you know how the man died? They shake their heads. So, you found him simply lying there face down in that room. They all say yes calmly one after the other. Then might any of you know why he had no shirt on? They once more shake their heads. Lady… Miss… Beth. Where were you today? She turns red. I wasn’t at home, to put it bluntly. He chuckles. Anything funny? She asks. No. Please, continue. She takes a deep breath. I was on a date. He takes a closer look at her. Dressed like that? She rolls her eyes at him. Yes. Do we have a problem with trousers? They are comfortable. He takes a step back. No. Actually, I’d prefer it. Easier to commit the murder, wouldn’t you say? She scoffs. Yes, just as easy as him wearing slippers or him wearing those weird brown shoes. He turns curiously and looks closely at the slippers. What are you doing in those at this hour? Mister I-Don’t-Know. He scratches his head. Otto is my name. I just woke up. He starts playing with his beard again. Just now? What are you doing for a living? Otto takes a step back. Copywriting, and I don’t know. He nods and turns his attention towards the brown shoes. And you? He looks up at him. Andrew. I was… Working. Turning towards Beth and Otto as they shrug. What exactly are you working? He sighs. I can’t explain it properly. It’s a lot of things in one job. The title is meaningless, it’s there just for tax purposes. It’s an office job, simply put. Pepper scratches his head. Do you have a limp, Andrew? Confused by the questions he shakes his head, putting one leg over the other.

Now… That we have introduced ourselves and what we did today. The snarky voice once more interrupts him. But we didn’t. I still don’t know your name, mister… With a smile he takes a step back once more. My name is Pepper. I thought you’d know. Since Mister Deceased somehow, invited me here today with an open letter. Beth and Andrew stand up. What? We thought you were a detective with the police. He puts his hands out. Now, now. Calm down. There is a dead man in a suspiciously empty basement with no windows that sent me a letter knowing he would die today. How and why? Otto. He turns towards Pepper. We emptied the basement last week. We always wanted to do it, but never got around to it, so after two weeks of looking through stuff, we finally did it. But we couldn’t agree what to do with it, so we left it like that. He nods. Beth. She sits down. I don’t know what else you want me to tell you. We all have our reasons to hate him. Pepper looks up at Andrew. Mother died when we were little. Father couldn’t really cope with everything. So we were left to our own devices. Pepper once more turns towards Beth. He was a pathetic excuse of a man, simply pitiful. Pepper turns his gaze towards Otto. She’s right. Maybe… He raises his brow at what Otto was about to say. Maybe he finally found the courage to kill himself, interrupts again Beth. Well, isn’t that tragic? Pepper interjects. But, even so. How? There are no strangulation marks, no cuts, no blood, no anything to that former of a man, now corpse, to show that he has killed himself. So how could he have died face down and shirtless?

What was written in the letter you got? Pepper turns towards Beth and closes his eyes and says... On this day, I shall day as I came. breath in, breath out, with no one to blame. I want to forgive them as I’d like to forgive myself for my mistakes and weaknesses. I never wanted to create evil in this world, so take this letter and key to solve my murder. Take the money and hold whoever is responsible for my death accountable, I don’t want my mistakes to burden the world. She scoffs. What a dick. Andrew gets up once more with an angry expression, as Otto leans back on the wall. Pepper looks at them with pity and disgust. So. Three children, one’s daddy’s boy. One’s a parasite. And one’s simply immature. Yet surprisingly all good liars. And none the wiser to tell me who killed their pathetic father. One of you sent me this letter, since it was opened. All you three found him dead at the same time. Now that’s some marvelous coincidence. Since it seems that you two came home roughly at the same time as he woke up. I wonder for how many days he was left there to die in that empty room? Before the one that sent me this letter found the key to open the room. Beth tries to interject, but Pepper quickly shuts her down. One of you is the murderer and has a similar key to this one, since Otto seemed kind enough to provide it with the letter. Andrew and Beth turn towards Otto as they get up angrily from their seats. Now, now, show me your keys. They both refuse. It doesn’t matter, the police will be here in a minute or two, so either way, this is over. Reluctantly, both hand over their keys on Pepper’s handkerchief. Well, neither of you seem to have the key. Did you lose it? Or did you not have time to dispose of it because your sister came home early from her date? No need to answer, just let’s fix your walking problem. Take off your shoes. He takes them off, just as police sirens are heard outside the house. It was all their idea! They’re just as guilty as I am. Pepper quickly interjects. We all have an urge like that, we all have that worst thought ever. Yet the difference is that they did not act on it. You did. Otto found out too late to do anything but find the key, duplicate it and prove you’re guilty. And Beth couldn’t stand him, so she tried to avoid him as much as possible. So she couldn’t know of him or his situation, just as he finishes this sentence Beth starts crying. And that, was the day I met Pepper at my first crime scene…

Hope you enjoyed this murder mystery short story that is part of The Pilot Program 2020. If you want more, don’t forget that you choose what I write by liking, sharing, commenting and reading it over and over again. There might be one more short story for this year’s Pilot Program, but it also might not. So go back and read this year’s short story contenders for what might become the 2021 Short Story Series on Nobody The Blog. And if you want to help even more, you can always donate at: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

Killing Hitler - The Pilot Program 2020

Welcome to The Pilot Program 2020. And this month we have another short story for you, aptly named Killing Hitler. So, remember, if you like this short story then like it, comment, share it, and read it. That way, you can choose what I write as a short story series for the next year. With that said, hope you enjoy it.

I did it! I killed Hitler! I DID IT! That’s how it all started, yet before all that…

Time to change history and the world as we know it. Electricity is coursing through my body, as it turns into heat. The smell of my flesh burning is nauseating as I can barely stand on my feet. The pain of my flesh being torn apart into light is terrifying me. My body elongating and being dragged of the surface of the Earth, thrown into space as I lose my sight and become pure burning energy. I can’t breath. I can’t move. The only thing I feel is a pulse, all throughout my body going TADUM TADUM. After what felt like a few minutes everything seemed to have stopped. Then I started to move again. Faster and faster. It felt so easy to simply fall and fall. Yet all the freedom of falling, started to turn once more into a torturous ride. As the darkness and it all started to burn again. My senses started to come back to me. It is all pain. Every fiber of my being hurts. It is all excruciating, as I touch the ground once more…

I fall on my hands ready to throw up all over my boots. I quickly catch myself, cover my face with my hands, pull down my gas mask and throw myself on my back. I hold my breath for one moment, look around. The my left, dirt, dead or wounded men. To my right, men shooting one shot at a time with their rifles towards the enemy tranches. My legs are shaky as I try to get up. One man shouts in French, telling me to lay low. Once he notices that I am unarmed, asks me where my rifle is. Seeing that I don’t answer, he drags me next to a dead soldier and gives me the rifle of that dead man. Allons-y, Allons-y, he shouts at me pointing me towards the rest of the troops. Did you eat? Asks me the same man. I tell him no, since the whole journey left me on an empty stomach. He hands me a stale piece of bread and a piece of bitter dark chocolate. Telling me to eat, as he turns and goes to help some other soldiers. I quickly down them both, as an explosive hits close to the trench.

I have a few chances of doing this, but I don’t want to spend more time than necessary here, especially not years, I say to myself. A soldier next to me heard what I said and starts laughing. Yes, my friend. That’s what I told myself too when I first got drafted. That I don’t want to spend too much time here, especially not if I want to get home by Christmas, as they promised. I was 15 back then, he laughs nervously. Don’t worry I am sure, we are not going to catch Christmas here, this year, I tell him. Hell, I don’t want to even catch Halloween here, I say while laughing. Planes fly above us, explosions from all sides throws dirt on us, as we take cover. One single voice screams to attack. Finally, the boy says. As everyone around gets up on their feet with a smile starts climbing out, rifle raised in one hand, they start screaming and running towards the enemy line. Time to kill Hitler and change the world for the better. Time to live the fantasy we all had when we were asked what we’d do with a time machine…

Hope you liked this short story. If you did, don’t forget that you can choose which of the short stories from The Pilot Program 2020 can become the short story series of 2021 with your likes, shares, comments and views.

Don’t forget to also check out the rest of The Pilot Program 2020 short stories:

January: The Horrorscope, February: Tomorrow Never Comes, March: Hereditary Epidemic, April: Don’t Sleep, May: The Falling Tower: The Bloody Anthologies of London, June: Men Eaters

And if you’d like to donate, you can always do so to keep these short stories free at: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

Men Eaters - The Pilot Program 2020

Welcome to The Pilot Program 2020.

Men Eaters is part of The Pilot Program 2020 of Short Stories One-Shots, where you with your likes, shares, comments can choose which short story becomes the next year’s 52 week short story series.

“BANG!” Rang throughout the house as the shotgun recoiled in my hand with my brother being the last of my family members that I had to kill. It’s not fair! I shout as I kick his corpse. Why do I have to survive and live in this world? But you… Get… To… Fucking die and escape? I sigh and sit down with my head in my hands. My phone rings, I take it out of my pocket, a friend of my brother’s. Did you do it? He asked as soon as I picked up. Yeah. A moment of silence sets before he continues. You okay? I look at their dead bodies. Yeah. I just need to bag the bodies and take them to a crematorium. He laughs. Always burn the bodies, right? I sigh. Right, if they’d come for them instead of having me take them there. Anyways, I’m taking them to the one just over the hill, you’re coming right? Without hesitation he tells me he’ll be there. Well, glad to hear that. See you there in like two hours. Still have some cleaning to do.

I can’t believe this has been going on since 2010, I say as I start talking to myself in an empty house whilst moping the puss and blood off the floor. Why… Are you… So… Heavy? I mutter to myself as I try to drag my brother into the body bag. Well, fuck. Looks like we’ll have to cut you into piece. Seems like this is my last resort, I say as I rev up the chainsaw and start cutting off his limbs. Blood and puss starts flying everywhere, pieces of his bones too. Suddenly I realize what I’ve been doing and stop. Why the fuck did I mop if now I’m doing a bigger mess? I ask myself as I look at the splatter on the walls, sigh, and continue. Why did all three have to do this at once? Unbelievable! I start preparing the bags in the back of my car and bringing limbs and pieces of their bodies one at a time. A neighbor spots me and approaches me. Fuck, say under my breath as I see them get ever closer. He puts his hand on my shoulder and looks me in the eyes. Sorry for your loss, he says. I thank him and to my surprise he leaves without saying anything else. I look at my phone and see that it’s already been an hour and a half. I get in my car and drive off…

What did you do to their bodies? Why did you do this to them? Asks in a revolted tone the man at the crematorium. Listen, I say barely catching my breath, you take three people and carry them to your car by yourself. Why do you care? Just burn the damn things. He looks at me with distaste. They were human once. But they’re not anymore, now are they? I ask as he leaves. Yo, how are you? Just you and me? He asked. Yeah. He looks around. What about family? I start to laugh. Well, they’re dead. And those that aren’t dead, I don’t have their numbers. So it’s just me, and you, his old friend. He looks at me, puts a hand on my shoulder and says that it’s going to be okay. I look back at him smiling. Don’t worry, I don’t even feel guilty, we all fantasized about at least beating our siblings at once. Besides, since we’re not american, well, not me, but most of us kill with swords, axes, weird improvised weapons. Saw a guy the other day with an ax that had basically a shotgun welded to it. He starts laughing. Isn’t that just fucking impractical? I start laughing too. Probably, but it looked fucking cool. He gets serious. But who would have thought that we’d actually get to live with zombies. Actual men eating zombies. I start to rub my eyes. Yeah man. I know. But I swear it’s like nothing changed. You just have the right to kill the undead. You shoot their brains, or bash, slice, dice, cut them and then bring them to burn. Since burying them might just fucking bring them back to life… He looks at me once more. You did the right thing killing them so fast, if you didn’t, they might have become more dangerous. I interrupt him. Or, they would’ve died on their own. He interjects. That’s true, but then again, that’s just another risk we’ll never take. The man comes to tell us that their bodies will be put into the furnace. We both look up at the furnace as black smoke starts to rise, and we both sigh.

Hope you liked this other type of zombie story that’s part of The Pilot Program 2020. And if you did, remember to like it and share it. The more people read it, the bigger the chance that it will be turned into the short story of the year. And if you want to support what I do and these free short stories even more, you can always help by donating to: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

The Falling Tower: The Bloody Anthologies of London - The Pilot Program 2020

Welcome to The Pilot Program 2020 for the month of May.

If you don’t know how The Pilot Program Works, it’s quite simple. You read, like, comment and share the short story you like and thus casting your vote on which short story you want me to turn into a 52 long short story series for the next year. And this month we have a retelling of The Falling Tower from last year, but of course, better written and more interesting. Enjoy.

In a house in the parish of Saint Michael there’s a dead man, the sheriff, the coroner, the jury and I. ‘Twas Wednesday morning ‘ere after Lady Day, when I got caught in front of the house Walter of Moden, which he had leased from Geoffrey de Warde, by a man that introduced himself as John Cotton, saying he’s the sheriff. He had asked me if I knew who lived there. Without a thought I nodded. He then said to me to join him inside. There, he introduced me to Benet of Fulham, the coroner who helped ‘im investigate the matter at hand. He then asked me if I know where Walter be at. I told him that I couldn’t tell ‘im since I don’t know which he was referring to. And ‘cause all I knew, was everything that had happened that Sunday. The sheriff looked at me up and down, from close and from afar. He then turned to the coroner and told ‘im to tell me everything he knew. After telling me about how the man had died, what Benedict de Warde, Geoffrey the Brewer and Robert of Moden had said to ‘im. The sheriff told Benet to take out his bible and have me swear in front of the jury on God. And so I did…

“I swear to God, I’m ‘ere to do justice. ‘Cause I ‘member it clearly, the previous Sunday, ‘cause I, Walter de Ardene, an’ ma wife carried ‘im to the St. Michael’s lane, there we sat him down, stood all night with ‘im. These here folk need to know what Walter of Benington and his posse did. You all did not come ‘ere from three neighboring wards just fo’ a walk. ‘Twas them there at the alehouse of Gilbert of Morden, where they’d come to drink four gallons of beer. Him and seventeen other men. They’d come with stones, knives, swords and other weapons, wanting to kidnap poor Emma. That girl already lost ‘er father, Robert Pourte, not too long ago. Then Gilbert, a simple, honest stockfish-monger, took ‘er under his arm to protectect ‘er. Knowin’ that such worms would crawl out of these ‘ere earth to come and pray on the young lady. And right he was. These folk wanted to kidnap and rape ‘er, from what ma wife, Christina, told me after. Mabel, Gilbert’s wife, and Geoffrey, ‘is brewer, after they figured out what they wanted, they had asked ‘em to leave. But they told ‘em that’d remain to spend they money however they like, welcome or unwelcome, ‘tis a public space. Now, this is where the trouble started…

From what I understand. Then Mabel took Emma upstairs, then Walter of Benington and his friends started getting frustrated and angry from waitin’ to see if she came back down. Before long they started creating commotion, assaulting the people living in that ‘ere house and Robert and Geoffrey too. ‘Twas a mess, you can only imagine what eighteen of ‘em armed people can do to a place like that on a Sunday, where everyone just sitting in piece drinking after church. I mean. on the Lord’s day to do that there? Shame. Shame, I tell you. Somehow, they struck Robert on his head with stones in all that commotion. Here’s where we came in, ‘cause Robert fled into High Street raisin’ the hue, crying, screaming with Walter racin’ after ‘im with a knife and a stiletto in his hands, tryin’ to kill the poor bastard. Benedict de Warde and some other neighbors got there first, tryin’ to calm ‘em down, but you already know that this ain’t the end. Cause the men started fightin’ in mid street and Walter chased after Benedict tryin’ to kill ‘im too, the mad lad lost it at that point. So, you know, Benedict was bare handed… He had to find something to defend himself with. So he took some ballstave thing from a stranger in the street. And Walter threw himself at Benedict, tryin’ to stab ‘im and shouting. A crowd drew itself at ‘em windows and doors to see what was happening. ‘Twas then we got ‘ere, and just as we did, Benedict raised his hands and he laid one onto Walter so hard, that the bastard fell down to the ground at the entrance of the lane. Once the mad lad was down, ‘twas quite easy to get the rest of ‘em to calm down. Ma wife then came too, and until they left, she told me the whole story. And after they all had left, me and my wife carried Walter into the lane, by the fountain, where we stood on the pavement with ‘im ‘till morning. The next day after he laid by St. Michael’s lane, we took ‘im to Geoffrey’s house. ‘Twas there he died instantly. Now, here’s the thing, I don’t know how he died there, ‘cause I went out to wash my hands of blood and left with Christina by ma hand. And ‘twas the last day we saw both Benedict de Warde and Walter of Moden too. But, at least I can say that at least no one was raped, abducted or killed, I mean, besides Walter here. But then again, he started it.”

And all ‘twas ereyesterday, but they didn’t want to let me go, saying that I should’ve had come and told them ‘bout what had happened. I told ‘em that all I did was what anyone with a decent heart would do and help a wounded man. Luckily the sheriff believed in me, after I told them everything that had happened that Sunday. So then after, the jury had given the sentence and the sheriff told ‘em to arrest Benedict when they find him in their bailiwick. But from what I heard, the jurors, the day after, said that he had absconded, whatever that means. And they can’t find ‘im, ‘cause he had no goods or chattels, so ‘em people now tryin’ to find if someone is hidin’ ‘im. And all this happened in the past seven days. Can you imagine what happens ‘ere in London every single day? And ‘em say that we civilized now in the year of our lord 1325.

Hope you enjoy this free short story. Don’t forget, if you liked it, leave a like down below, comment, share it, and it might just turn into the short story of 2021.

If you enjoyed the short story, please consider donating: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

Don't Sleep - The Pilot Program 2020

Welcome to The Pilot Program 2020 for the month of April.

If you don’t know how The Pilot Program Works, it’s quite simple. You read, like, comment and share the short story you like and thus casting your vote on which short story you want me to turn into a 52 long short story series for the next year. And this month we have a twisted short story about what lies beyond sleep. Enjoy.

If I sleep now, I’ll lose everything I have. That was my first thought every morning I woke up in this world after surviving another night. I can’t remember the last time I was glad to fall asleep without any worry of what might wait for me on the other side. I can still feel the eyes of that creature on the back of my neck, ugh, maybe I need another cup of coffee. Three days, fourteen hours and roughly twenty two minutes, I need to do better. I have to figure out a way to prolong the waking hours without hurting myself. If the record from what I gathered was somewhere around eleven days of not sleeping, I should be able to at least push four days without any sleep. But with only sleeping for five hours, I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it. I don’t want to leave…

The warm coffee in my hands brings a nice soothing smell, as the thoughts that I will need to go back to work creep behind me. Looking around, I notice that the drugs are almost all gone. I’ll need to go and get some more, if I want to survive another week here. Pants, shirt, jacket, boots, wallet, phones and then house keys in my hand as I set foot outside the house I grew up in. The sun is blinding today, but the most irritating thing is the overwhelming noise everyone makes in the first hours of every single day. With people screaming as they don’t know where they are, who they are with. Hey, neighbor, says a voice from my right. I turn I see a new face I don’t recognize. Hey, new neighbor. He starts to laugh nervously. Listen, since you seem to be a bright young man, can you help me? Already knowing what he is going to ask I simply give up and nod.

Where do I work? He asked with a puzzled expression. What’s my name here? He asked with the same expression. Do you know me? He asked exasperated. The fucker left me nothing to go off. No ID, no journal, no nothing. Please. He says as others get into the street looking around, trying to find some information on who they are. Since they too, had the same fate, losing their fights and getting forced to now live here by some assholes that couldn’t handle it anymore. I don’t know, sorry. He rarely left home, so I didn’t interact with him. Hearing this the man goes into a panic and runs back towards his house. I can’t afford to make him my enemy, I can’t afford to waste any energy on anyone. I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to sleep. I want to live in this world, not another, I’ve seen much worse. So when I fall from exhaustion, from whichever parallel earth or dimension a new me comes to fight me and take my place, I’ll beat him, like I beat the one from last night.

Hope you enjoy this free short story. Don’t forget, if you liked it, leave a like down below, comment, share it, and it might just turn into the short story of 2021.

If you enjoyed the short story, please consider donating: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

Tomorrow Never Comes - The Pilot Program 2020

Welcome to this month’s Pilot Program contender for 2021. If this is your first time reading anything from The Pilot Program, it works something like this: Every year I publish a 52 week short story series on this blog. And since 2019, I publish almost every month a new short story pilot which could become the short story series for the next year. How? With your likes, comments, shares, and views. So, if you like it: share it, comment, like it, discuss it and it could become the next 52 week short story series. This is the second short story in The Pilot Program this year after January’s The Horrorscope. So, hope you enjoy it.

“Tomorrow you will die.” A fortune teller told me yesterday. And now I don’t know what to do anymore, I’ve called my family, all my friends that meant something to me, told the one I liked that I liked them and now what? She read my fortune thrice, and every single time somehow the same results appeared in front of us. The same dreaded cards, not one slight variation. What are even the odds? Maybe I should try today too… But what if I am killed on my way? Shit… Then what if I did a reading of my own? If I remember correctly mom left a deck of cards in the upstairs cupboard. I was right it seems… Let’s try this. How did it go? You ask a question, then shuffle them to transfer your energy into the cards. Okay, now… If I remember correctly you need to put the cards face down. So the first one is upright, the next one is horizontal over the first one, like a plus. Next one is above, then under, then to the left and to the right. Now the last four going upwards…. Now, to read them…

How did she do it? She took the second card off and turned the first one. Let’s see… The Devil, she said that this could mean like four things for me right now in the present. The six of swords. Shit! It’s repeating itself. So that means, experiencing the blues. So those are the present and what’s impacting me, the next one is my consciousness. The four of pentacles. Great. The unconscious is? Nine of swords, so depression, anguish, suffering. What’s behind me in the recent past? King of Pentacles. Everything is repeating once more, this too. So what lies ahead? Eight of cups. No! Why? Growing weary. Shit! Then that means that the lesson I should learn is… Ten of Wands, of course, to struggle. And that means that the world sees me as… Four of cups, obviously, self-absorbed. And the last two must be just like last time too… The Tower, a sudden change and destruction and the last one is Death. God damn it! And none of this tells me what exactly to look out for.

Did I hear something fall? In the kitchen? Everything seems fine. In the living room? No, everything is fine here too. Basement? What if someone broke in? What if that’s how I die? Why is it so dark in here? I hear the police siren. You know what? I’m not going down there. Let’s just lock the doors. That’s one… That’s a second… That’s a third. Now, that feels better. I’m all a sweat. Why? Why am I sweating? What’s wrong with me? Am I having a heart attack? No one will find me, I need to unlock the door, call an ambulance. There’s a knock on the door… Why is there a knock on the door? Who is it? I’m not expecting anyone. Are they here to kill me? I’m dead, aren’t I? Who’s there? Why aren’t they responding? Why do they keep knocking? I said… Who is there? What the fuck… What the fuck… I don’t want to die. I need to see who it is…

Consider donating: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO