Five Unreal Tales

By Boris Guzo

A collection of five short stories.

Sometimes They Let You Go
Parasitic wasps have begun to target humans. A family flees the chaotic city to a farm house. But can they really be safe there?

Pit Stop
Glen is running from the police, and he ends up in an obscure gas station. Will his plan get a new ride work as he hopes?

Origin of Species
A 200 year old letter prompts a reporter to investigate the life of Isaac Feyer, a 19th century missionary. How does his story link with Darwin's theory?

Drive
Finding Dad's car years after he died, he develops a warm bond with the car. Maybe a bit too warm. Maybe a bit dark, some would say.

Wishful Finger
When Jeremy meets a mysterious hitchhiker on a cold night, it's his turn to ponder. Is it fate? Or something more fatal?

Over 20,000 words in total.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boris Guzo
• Release date: Aug 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476351995

Boris Guzo

Boris Guzo is a writer of short speculative fiction.

Book preview

Five Unreal Tales

a collection of short stories by Boris Guzo

Copyright 2012 Boris Guzo

Smashwords Edition

Original cover credits:

Sometimes They Let You Go — Trounce/Wikimedia Commons

Pit Stop — Lukelastic/Wikimedia Commons

Origin of Species — Dino Sassi

Drive — Bill Wrigley

Wishful Finger — Charles Landelle, L'Eau du Nil

Five Unreal Tales — Boris Guzo

All cover design by Boris Guzo

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Contents

Sometimes They Let You Go

Pit Stop

Origin of Species

Drive

Wishful Finger

SOMETIMES THEY LET YOU GO

Florence was preparing salad in the kitchen when she heard footsteps for a moment through the hall. Lola? she called out, but there was no response. Then she remembered that the little girl had been upstairs in her bedroom five minutes ago—Florence had seen her playing with the crayons.

Henry? she called this time, as she was slicing the tomatoes. Still no response. It must be Henry, she thought, and sighed softly. He had been trying to fix the old generator in the basement since yesterday, to no avail. It had turned him into a sullen, grumpy old man. I hope he either succeeds or gives up soon, she thought as she began to dice the onions.

Henry had always been somewhat reserved, but since last Tuesday he had spoken very little. Tuesday was when everything had gone silent—TVs, cell phones, the internet. The land lines were apparently still working, but it was impossible to make a long distance call. There were a couple of local radio stations—or more accurately, a couple of local DJs—still broadcasting once or twice a day, but they were as clueless as anyone in town about what the hell was going on out there.

Things had already begun to get ugly when they fled the city three weeks ago. Street fights every other hour, car crashes and wrecked vehicles left in the middle of streets, looting unattended businesses, it was a complete mess. It was hard to understand how everything could fall apart so quickly because of the wasps. The creatures had infested the cities all across the country. People rumored that smaller towns were relatively untouched.

Henry and Florence had decided to leave the city, and move back to the farm house in their old town. Had they been alone by themselves, they could have stayed—they were in their sixties and according to the reports, the wasps preferred younger targets. Even the rioters didn’t seem to bother old people. But they had Lola. She was only six, and they were the only family she had left.

Indeed they had managed to get safely to their farm house. Well, almost safely—their van had been hijacked at the highway exit, by a bunch of armed teenagers who had built a barricade with barrels. They had walked the ten miles to town from the exit, Henry and Florence taking turns to carry Lola, who had quickly got exhausted.

All the stuff they packed into the van were also gone. Still, we’re lucky, Florence thought as she mixed the salad with a spoon. Their old friends in the town had welcomed them, and helped them with food and supplies. They were doing okay until the ‘Big Silence’—that’s what Henry called the Tuesday when communications with the outside world stopped. Anytime now, the power grid will also black out, he had said. We need to be prepared.

What do we need the electricity for, anyway, Florence had asked nonchalantly.

For everything! We need it for light, for heating—we’re not gonna sit in the dark, wrapped in blankets like savages, are we? And if we don’t have TV, how will we know when they finally get it under control?

Florence tossed a handful of olives into the salad bowl, smiling as she recalled Henry’s outburst. Let’s first deal with today, she thought. She picked up the bowl, and was walking towards the table when she heard Lola.

Grandma! she called.

Honey? Florence replied. Her voice wasn’t coming from upstairs, it was coming from the front, through the hallway. She walked out of the kitchen with the salad, and she saw Lola standing barely inside the house, with both doors open—the wire-mesh screen and the oak door. Lola, she said with a mild temper. We don’t leave the doors open for more than second, don’t you know?

Lola stood still at the doorway. Grandma, she said with a grimace.

Something was wrong. Maybe she saw a snake, Florence thought, and hurried to close the doors herself. Something’s wrong. She shut the wire screen quickly, and than the oak door after pushing Lola softly to move further inside. What happened honey?

I’m sorry, Lola said, her eyes all gloomy. I think I got stung.

Then it hit Florence. Lola wasn’t wearing her protection suit. Oh god no. The salad bowl dropped from her hands and shattered in the entrance, olives rolled around. Oh god please no. Were you outside without your suit?

The little girl nodded once. I just wanted to pick up some flowers real quick.

She reached and picked up Lola in her arms. Where is it? she asked, but she already saw the sting before Lola said anything. There was a red circle the size of a dime on her forearm, just below the elbow, with a purple spot in the center.

I’m sorry, Lola said again.

"Was it a wasp?