The Skeleton in the Closet
Many kids believe there’s a monster in their closet but I always knew it was a skeleton. Her name was Sandy. I discovered her one day while looking for my sneakers. She was hiding in a secret compartment but I heard her whisper to me. She told me she was my sister but became a skeleton when I was still a baby. I didn’t tell anyone about Sandy because she said our dad would be mad if I did. But we often played together while he was gone.
One evening my dad came home early. Maybe he wasn’t as drunk as usual because I didn’t hear his footsteps until he entered my bedroom. He yanked open the closet and stared at Sandy and me. “I wish you hadn’t found her,” he said, then slammed the door shut. The first three days I screamed and clawed at the door. I was terrified but Sandy was there to comfort me. “Being a skeleton isn’t that bad,” she said. “You’ll never feel hungry or thirsty again, not even cold. And we’ll have each other for all eternity.” I wish I was a skeleton already because right now I am still scared and cold and my stomach aches. But at least I know that Sandy will always be with me.
The Job
He sat in a corner of the club’s smoking room, a glass of Chateau Lafitte in one hand and a Cuban cigar in the other. “I know you’re broke,” he said before I could engage him in a more casual conversation. “An unfortunate situation that luckily has a solution.”
“If I knew of a solution I wouldn’t be in this mess,” I replied.
“The solution is me,” he said as he exhaled a ring of smoke. “I have a job that will pay ten grand.”
I should have walked away right then and there but I didn’t. “What kind of job?”
“Someone forgot their bag by the reception.”
I laughed. “Are you saying there will be a bunch of onehundred dollar bills in there?”
A faint smile crawled across his lips as he leaned closer. “No, nothing as blatant as this. I need you to take the bag and toss it in the dumpster down on 5th Ave.”
“5th? That’s a several blocks from here.”
He turned towards the stained glass window and nodded. “A little walk will do you some good. One more thing, don’t look at the contents.”
“Why?”
Another puff of smoke rose from his purplish lips. “It’ll be … better for you that way.” With this he put down his glass and stood up. “In the next five minutes the owner will return to look for the missing bag so if you want the job, better hurry.” Then he left.
I waited for another minute while mulling things over. What the heck, I finally thought, I might at least check if there really is an abandoned bag near the reception. I don’t need to do anything about it, just look. The bag was there. No one seemed to pay attention to it. So I took it and walked away. I glanced around, expecting someone to stop me. But no one did. I made it to 5th Street and held the bag over the dumpster in the alley. All I needed to do was drop it but instead I opened it and looked inside. There was a wallet with less than twenty dollars in it. In the wallet was also a picture of a young woman hugging a frail looking boy. They were both smiling. Then I found the epi-pen.
The next day I received a check for one hundred thousand dollars from a Joe Smith "for services rendered." I wanted to tear it into a million pieces, but I didn’t. Instead I deposited it.
Street Crossing
Sam was usually too busy to help others but that morning he decided he could spare a few minutes to help an old woman cross the street. Maybe there was something about her frail appearance that reminded him of his mother. She smiled at him as he held out his arm. “Thank you, young man. It's hard to keep up when my world keeps slowing down while the world around me keeps speeding up.” He nodded, wishing she’d just get going instead of sharing her life's philosophy. She hobbled down from the sidewalk, using his arm to steady herself. Time indeed seemed to slow to a crawl as they shuffled along and Sam started to regret his good deed. Suddenly the old woman's grip tightened and everything came to a halt. “I’m sorry deary,” she said, “but your time has come.” He looked down at his arm, trying to wring it free of her iron grip. Sam never saw the blue Buick that hit him.
Tiger, Tiger on the Wall
Frank always felt uncomfortable sitting under that thing. It was as if the tiger was constantly breathing down his neck. The worst was when his wife talked to the painting like it was some sort of pussy cat. She had brought it back from from some art tour Frank had dodged out of to go camping with his bud Rog. At least that’s what he had told her but of course they had gone to Vegas instead. The trip had ended as always, with both getting wasted and Frank losing at shitload of money. This time she had refused to bail him out. Imagine that, after spending all this freaking money on a piece of art she refused to help him. She said she had enough of his gambling problem and that it was her money after all blablabla. Luckily Rog had put him in touch with some guy he had met in Vegas, someone who could make problems go away. All Frank needed to do was text one word and his wife’s money would finally be his. He looked at his cell, a smirk creeping over his lips. Wouldn’t it be ironic if she stood right in front of him as he spelled her doom?
“Michelle, get me another cup of coffee,” Frank yelled. She stepped into the living room and sighed. “I wish you’d get your own coffee once in a wh…” Her eyes widened and the mug exploded as it hit the ground. What the hell, thought Frank, how can anyone be that freaking clumsy. Then the air behind him grew hot and sticky, making his neck hair crawl. He stared at his wife, cell phone frozen in his hand as he heard the snarl.
Old Acquaintances
“Hello, Jason.”
Even before I turn I know he found me again. I look at my reflection in the shop window, only it isn't my reflection anymore. It's him, my twin brother, Joe. My parents denied I ever had a twin but I know they lied. They smothered him in our crib because two kids was too much work. Joe told me so when I was twelve. Two months later my parents died in a fire. The cops thought it was an accident but I kept Joe’s secret because that's what brothers do.
After the fire I stayed with my aunt Gilda. I liked her all right but Joe didn't. When she caught me playing with matches in the kitchen Joe said that she was just pretending to be understanding but was going to frame me for my parent's death. So he smothered her to protect me, because, that's what brothers do.
Joe hung with me a few more years as I bounced from foster home to foster home, always having my back and me keeping his secrets. That was until I met Susan. He didn't like her but I did, a lot. So I finally I ditched him. But now he found me again.
“She's going to betray you,” he says.
I shudder because I don't want to believe him. I love her but I also know Joe 's always right. I miss my parents once in a while and I’ll probably miss Susan too. But I’ll keep Joe’s secret because, after all, that's what brothers do.
