Flying Toasters: The DeadPixel Tales

By Robert Brumm

FLYING TOASTERS – THE DEADPIXEL TALES is a collection of engaging short stories that range from gritty to haunting. Thought-provoking to ridiculous. The authors of DeadPixel Publications craft tales that will appeal to all readers through solid storytelling, crossing genre lines, and focusing on brilliant characters and twisted plots.

In THE MAN UPSTAIRS, Hanna Elizabeth cooks up a ghost story flavored with dashes of wit, humor, and a generous spoonful of old fashioned revenge.

The Wild West is given a supernatural face in THE CAVE, as Brian L. Braden crafts a beautiful, subtly creepy tale steeped in mystery, courage, and death.

Robert Brumm takes on immortality in MY DEAD FRIEND NANCY, reminding us to be careful what we wish for.

In THE LIGHTGIVER, Thomas Cardin takes us into an intriguing world where a slave's escape from sinister overlords begins a descent into darkness that reveals his own inner light.

ALTITUDE SICKNESS by C.M. Saunders is a white-knuckle account of fate and revenge at 35,000 feet.

In PRISM, John Gregory Hancock introduces a reluctant fantasy hero who is forced into mystery and adventure.

And finally, in THE BALLAD OF AZRON BEZRON, Steven Wetherell shares a witty tale about a thief grudgingly sent on a hero’s quest.

One or more of the stories in this book contain language meant for adults. If you’re easily offended by curse words and are quick to write negatives reviews based solely on them, this might not be the book for you.

DeadPixel Publications is just a bunch of people with day jobs, writing for the pure love of the craft and hoping for a little success along the way. By joining forces we help promote each other and create a community of sharing and collaboration with one goal in mind: Helping the public find some kick ass books to read (if we do say so ourselves).

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Brumm
• Release date: Jan 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310505096

Book preview

The Man Upstairs

By Hanna Elizabeth

Hanna Elizabeth is a writer, philosopher, reader, and an artist. She was born among the Blue Grass and Horse Farms of Kentucky but spent the majority of her life in Ohio, until finding the place her heart calls home, in South Coastal Texas.

Always one to have her head in the clouds, Hanna enjoys daydreaming and pondering life's many mysteries. She loves nature and can often be found at the beach or meditating under the stars. She loves to travel and does so often with her family, including her Boxer Sierra, and her cat Sophie-kitty

In 2005 she completed her first novel, which she swears will never see the light of day. She's had numerous articles published in the Body, Mind and Soul section of LUX Magazine. VISIONS of WOOL is her first published work of fiction. But not her last.

One

John paced the attic, his feet never touching the floor. He eavesdropped on the couple arguing downstairs. This fight was a doozy. John was just waiting for the day when the neighbors called the police. So far, it hadn't happened. Although their fights never came to blows, he wouldn't be surprised if that woman ended up attacking Matthew. She was a vile creature who did nothing but squat in his house and mooch off him.

Matthew bought John's house seven years prior to this latest incident and it had been one bad relationship after another. Not just Matthew's love interests either. Oh, no. His friends took advantage of his kind soul as well. John knew he needed to help remove this wretched woman because the boy certainly wasn't having any luck, despite trying to dislodge her himself on numerous occasions. John wasn't sure what method to use. Yet.

He'd extracted more than a few leeches from Matthew, but Kirsten was different. She fancied herself a witch and invaded his space in the attic more than once with her altars and rituals. Not that he didn't believe in such things. He had been a 33rd Degree Freemason in his day and participated in more than a few rituals. Back when the Masons were more than just a sorority for drunken bastards. But the only thing this woman attracted was negative energy, and lurkers he then had to fight off. She wasn't making Matthew happy either and in fact, was hurting him with her careless disregard of life—both her own and his.

No. He'd have to do something to drive her out. Give her a not-so-friendly heave-ho. So he paced and planned and plotted her imminent departure. Meanwhile the fighting downstairs died down and the sounds of crying and pleading filled the air.

Trying to get rid of another one, are we? A voice echoed around him in the tight space of the attic. John spun around and came face-to-heel with his best friend in the afterlife, Charlie. Even after all of these years, Charlie had a terrible time manifesting in the right place. He'd often materialize like he did now, with the roof bisecting his body. John reached up and pulled his friend's ankle until he was all the way inside. Charlie sat cross-legged, bobbing like a helium balloon along the ceiling, despite the fact that he could easily manifest again if he chose.

"I'm telling you, this one is a real piece of work. She treats that boy like manure, and then makes him feel guilty for standing up to her, John resumed his pacing. If only I could figure out a way to scare her away. None of my usual tricks work on this one."

Sounds like you're going to have to step up your game.

But how? This woman doesn't scare easy. She conjured some mighty terrible things since she’s been here and just goes right on like nothing happened. Hell, I had to get rid of a succubus last week!

Maybe she didn't realize anything had happened. Charlie suggested, resting his thick hands across his Buddha-belly.

Oh, no. She's aware. She just seems to think they're all as friendly as a litter of kittens.

Sounds like she's a few bricks shy of a wall.

Oh aye. She is.

So, what are you going to do?

Irritated, John stopped pacing and leveled his best, don't-piss-me-off stare at his friend, Would you quit bobbing like that. You're making me sick.

You can't get sick.

Just stop it, would you?

I was just trying to help. Charlie shrugged, floating across the ceiling to the wall, where pretty baubles were displayed on a shelf with incense and candles. He picked up a crystal ball and tossed it high into the air where it hit the ceiling and crashed to the carpeted floor with a muffled thump.

John took no note of his friend's antics. Ha! You'd love it if I failed. It would mean staying here on this plane of existence with you forever!

Now John, you know that's not true. I want you to succeed, but you gotta admit we have a lot of fun.

Ha! Fun? Name one thing that's fun about being bound to earth when you're dead.

Charlie put this hand up and started ticking items off one at a time, One: scaring people; Two: traveling anywhere we want in a blink of an eye; Three: floating; Four: flying without wings.

Squeezing the bridge of his nose, John's face grew red, Stop. Just stop. Those things were fun for a while, but after sixty-five years those 'perks' starts to lose their luster.

You know what your problem is, John? You never relax.

Relax? John boomed, I'm dead, you fool! I can't get much more relaxed than that!

A smile lit up Charlie's face an instant before his hearty laughter filled the small space. John wanted nothing more than to keep sulking, but realizing the ridiculousness of their argument he couldn't help joining in. Soon, he was doubled over holding his ribs and cackling like the old fool he was.

Charlie wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. When he managed to control himself, he said, Now that, my friend, is how to relax!

Two

Matthew learned to tune out most of what Kirsten said when her pitch became like a litter of squealing pigs, but she played dirty. All too often he found himself going head-to-head with her over some petty thing.

Today, however, was different. He had money go missing from his wallet and he was pretty sure she'd taken it, since no one else had been around. When he confronted her, she'd given a whole new meaning to going ballistic. He told her to get out and she threw an empty pill bottle at his head that he managed to dodge at the last second. Still, she sat rooted to her spot on the couch screaming like a banshee and cursing him up one side and down the other. He didn't really think she was aware of what she was saying half the time, but her words still cut like a knife.

When her temper-tantrum abated, the waterworks started. He rolled his eyes. Big crocodile tears streamed down her face, making her dark mascara and thick eyeliner smear and run until she looked like an abused clown. He stood there detached, watching this scene play out. Wondering, not for the first time, how the hell to get rid of her. He'd done everything short of changing the locks on the doors and he couldn't do that because she rarely left the house.

She was worse than a hive of angry bees when disturbed, and he sensed just as deadly. It hadn't always been this way. They used to have fun. They used to go out and do couple stuff, but Kirsten had health problems and became dependent on pain pills. Things went south soon after her diagnosis. Still, it wasn't always hostile and derisive. Sometimes they still had fun together, but those times were few and far between. Their passion burned bright at first, but now barely an ember remained. As much as he had wished for companionship, now he just wished for solitude.

A loud thump emanated from upstairs, distracting Kirsten from her meltdown and Matthew from his thoughts. In unison, they looked toward the ceiling where the noise had come from, listening and waiting for some other noise to reach their ears. When nothing was forthcoming, Matthew looked around for Kirsten's cats. Both were sneaky beasts who could easily have found their way upstairs. When he didn't see them in their usual haunts, he walked out of the living room into the hallway, and to the stairs that led to the attic. The door was closed. He opened it slightly to make sure neither cat had gotten stuck up there but nothing leaped out at him. He took this as a sign that they were asleep somewhere else and closed the door.

Turning around, he nearly ran into Kirsten. What the hell? He exclaimed, his hand immediately covering his heart. Kirsten took a step back, her eyes red, puffy, and ringed by black smudges. She burst into fit of laughter. It was a loud, cackling laugh that set his teeth on edge. Her blonde curls bounced along with her melodramatic display. Matthew's heart threatened to pound out of his chest. He didn't see anything amusing about the situation. He brushed past her and entered his office, hoping she wouldn't follow. Just in case, he shut the door behind him and engaged the lock with a soft click.

He stood by the door, taking deep breaths and soothing the lump that had formed in his chest where his heart thumped wildly. He listened as she walked past his door and into the bedroom where he figured she'd lay down and take a nap—her main purpose in life. They fought often, and he regretted putting more strain on her already precarious health. He didn't love her, but he didn't want to hurt her either. He often wondered why she would want to stay somewhere that made her feel worse, but stay she did. He went over to his desk and flopped down in his chair. Turning on his computer, he tried to lose himself in a world outside his own.

Three

Charlie was off searching for more immediate entertainment. Matthew had retreated to his office and the Harpy was taking a nap. He knew it wasn't very generous of him to think of her in such terms, but he hadn't lived in a generous time, and he didn't have a very generous spirit. Not for people who take advantage of others. To John's reasoning, it was the perfect time for him to come up with ways to torture her into leaving.

He figured he needed to up his game. Last time Matthew had gotten himself into a similar mess, John had basically made a pest of himself by moving things around and making noises. It worked. That one left scared half out of her mind. This one believed in spirits so her feathers never seemed to get ruffled. He hated to do it, but he didn't see another choice. He was going to have to make whatever he did look like it had been Matthew.

He warred with himself as he paced the attic. Throwing Matthew under the bus wasn't exactly the way he wanted it to go down, but did he really have a choice? Was using Matthew in this way, any different than the way Kirsten used Matthew? Was he hurting him by trying to save him from the same mistakes he'd made in his youth? After all, he reasoned, Matthew isn't a child. He may be young in comparison to my advanced years, but then again, who isn't?

Shaking his head to clear it, he admitted to himself that although he would be using Matthew, he was doing it for the boy's own good. If left unchecked, Kirsten would suck the life right out of him, leaving a tattered and withered soul in place of the vibrant spirit John knew Matthew possessed. Emotional Vampires are nothing to mess around with. He told the empty room, I should know, I was married to one for twenty-five miserable years.

With that settled, John allowed himself to rise up and out of the house. He needed to influence a few people so he'd have freer reign over the house. Not that he couldn't be invisible, but it was much more fun to fully materialize.

With a thought, he could be at his destination, but decided to take the long way. It was a beautiful sunny day, the kind he remembered from his childhood. Little puffy clouds painted the bright blue sky. Clouds he could fly through, if he wished. Birds flew alongside him, while others sung from the branches of trees far below, heralding his passing. Zipping through the air, he pretended to ride air currents. Since he was dead, the currents were pointless to his flight, but it felt good to pretend for a minute. He just wanted to clear the cobwebs from his mind and this little jaunt was just what he needed.

His first destination came into view and he dipped down out of the clouds, coming to a stop above the roof. It was six stories of red brick and mortar. He liked that the architecture reminded him of buildings from his generation. It was classic, without being ostentatious. It made him miss his life before death.

Sighing, he glided along, passing each window until he came to the office where Matthew's boss sat basking in the artificial light of his computer. The light from his window was obscured by a dark tint. The man was rail thin, lanky with tanned skin. Not the artificial tan that John saw so often from men nowadays, but the kind you get from being outside. Stress rose off the man in waves like heat off asphalt in the summer.

John slipped in through the window and went around the desk. Taking a look at the screen, John could see he was reading an email. He took a moment to read over the man's shoulder and then went back around the desk and took a seat in the chair opposite Matthew's boss.

It didn't surprise John that the man didn't see him, nor feel the whisper of cold air that always accompanied John's arrival. For the most part, the living were oblivious to everything around them. They didn't look deeply at anything, not even to the little miracles nature routinely made, let alone a dead man. It had been John's experience that people were so wrapped up in their own affairs that they rarely made room for anything else. They had too many distractions to notice any small variances in their reality. Perception was truly everything, John thought, as he began talking to Matthew's boss. It was a conversation the man would never hear.

When John was done, he sat back and waited for the man's mind to catch the stray thoughts John had introduced to him. He saw the moment the man realized what he thought was his brilliant plan, which would provide a solution to a problem he hadn't even realized he had. Before the man could think twice, he picked up the black receiver from its perch, punched a button for an outside line and dialed. John listened to one side of the conversation, as Matthew's boss insisted he work from home for the next couple of weeks. He told Matthew not to worry, that it was just due to restructuring in the office, physical changes and nothing more. He added that Matthew could expect a little surprise in his next pay check. John smiled at this last bit. Proud of his guile. John stood up readying to leave, but turned back once more. He complimented the man on his powerful mind, suggested he see a doctor for the dark spot on his forehead and then left the same way he had entered.

Four

Instead of taking the long route, John decided to expedite his travel. He thought about the Harpy and focused on the place where she worked. Within a blink he was standing in the waiting area of a dinky law office. The tacky pictures, worn furniture, and musty smell of mold all screamed Ambulance Chaser. John went over to a wall that held a plexiglass window and saw a mousy-looking girl sitting in the room behind a large desk that seemed to swallow her whole. A smarmy-looking fellow with slicked back, much-too-black-to-be-real hair came sidling up to the girl. Suggestively, he squeezed her shoulder and leaned over to whisper in her ear. John thought he saw her grimace but the look was there one minute and gone the next. John felt his dander rise up as he watched the exchange. The girl couldn't have been more than twenty. The man was old enough to be her father. The girl merely nodded and followed the man to a room down the hall. John glided through the door to the left of the receptionist area and followed them down the short hallway. He heard a soft click as the door closed in his face and another slightly louder click when the lock was engaged.

John stood in front of the closed door, his anger mounting, and his ears burning. He wondered what he could do to stop what he suspected to be more than just routine secretarial duties. Then it hit him. He was sure he could kill two birds with one stone. He strode through the door and sure enough, the mousy girl was on her knees in front of the man, her blouse buttons undone, her bra pulled down baring one firm breast. John didn't stop to watch. He went right to her, bent down beside her and with all of the force he could muster commanded, Bite him. The mousy girl's spine straightened and without hesitation, she did as she was told. John grimaced as the man yelled and the girl pulled back startled at what she'd just done.

Understandably, the man was livid. He spewed hateful words at the girl as he inspected himself for damage. The girl sat frozen staring at the blood slowly dripping onto the floor, muttering sorry over and over again. John realized she was in trouble before she did. Run he told her and watched as she pulled her bra back into place and fumbled the buttons. Run, he demanded again. Like a scared rabbit she leaped up and ran the short distance to the door. She tried to open it, but it was locked. She collapsed into it, but John was there to urge her on. Behind them, the man was returning to his senses, the obscenities slowing. John recognized the coming danger. She had to get the door unlocked before her boss could recover, but the girl was panicked. John watched her hand shake as she managed to flip the lock and open the door, while holding her gaping blouse closed against her chest with the other. The man realized a moment too late what she was doing and hurried to tuck himself back into his pants. A cry of pain emanated from his paled lips, changing into raw anger. You're fired, he bellowed as he doubled over again in pain.

That was music to John's ears as he followed the girl into the receptionist area. He knew the man would live, the bite hadn't been that bad, but maybe, just maybe, he would think twice before taking advantage of someone like that again. John watched as she packed up her things through tear-filled eyes. He suspected this wasn't the first time the girl had been abused and decided to give her a gift. He told her all the things he would have told his daughter had he ever had one – about self-worth, self-respect and how she deserved better. He could see his words flowing over her and he knew he was making a difference. John watched as her tears dried and her shoulders squared. He thought she walked a little taller when she finally rounded the receptionist area and walked out the front door, allowing it to bang in defiance behind her. For once, John knew he had truly helped someone and it felt good.

His work done, he followed