13 Strange Short Tales

By Charles Wells

13 short sci-fi/horror stories with twisted endings similar to the old Twilight Zone styled entertainment. These are easy reading, fun and enjoyable shorts that end in "wow" and "whoa" moments for the readers. "Some of the best in its class"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charles Wells
• Release date: Jul 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311430984

Charles Wells

I was asked why I'm a writer and responded with the following. I didn't choose writing, it chose me. I've spent the better part of my life (and I'm 60 years old) writing, but I still hesitate to call myself an Author. I've written and published seven books, six are fiction, and still I don't feel like a writer because I don't fit my mental image of one. I don't feel compelled to be the next Mark Twain or Tom Clancy. I don't want to get filthy rich from my writing and I don't care for the glory of being recognized while walking down the street. All I want to do is entertain people and hold that wisp of power and control knowing I can make you laugh, or make you cry. I can take you to heaven or send you straight to hell, all with a few words placed appropriately. I can do in one paragraph what God needs seven days to accomplish. Best of all, I can make you think great thoughts or I can help you dream in a reality that I create. A reality you can enjoin or not with the flip of a book cover or press of a digital reader button. All of this isn't writing, it's insanity and escape for the sake of entertainment.http://www.charleswells.usBefore turning to fiction writing, Wells spent most of his career as a newspaper reporter and journalist in middle Georgia. He covered everything from high school sports to front page news stories. During the last fourteen years of his career he worked as Managing Editor for “The Robins Review” a military town’s 25,000 weekly edition publication. The city’s mixed population of civilian and military called for a unique brand of writing skills that Wells found comfortable supplying. The highlight of his career was in 1988 when a sharply written article was picked up by the national wire services and republished around the world. The topic was the advance of technology in the Air Force’s electronic warfare division and aptly titled “Stone Age to Star Wars.” Copies of the article made it to the desk of then President Ronald Regan who had initially emblazoned the term into the minds of the world.The article also caught the attention of an NBC News Producer as well as ABC’s nightline’s Associate Producer, Terry Irving. The sad news through it all was that just as Wells’ writing career was taking off, his personal world was “going south and silent.” Plagued since childhood by an ongoing progressive hearing loss, Charles Wells lost all usable hearing and went completely deaf. When the handicap peaked, Wells found it impossible to function for the newspaper any longer and resigned at age 38. He fell back on his original “day job” returning to work as an electronics technician at the same military base where he once “entertained the troops.” When his hearing problems also unraveled his efforts there, he threw in the towel, took a disability from service and dropped out of sight for three long years.During that time he switched his writing presentations from the “pomp and ceremony” of print to the more open and space filling approach of the www. The writing needs of that medium grew to an insatiable level as more and more quality articles and information was needed to fill the millions of web pages springing up online. Best of all, those markets offered Wells a “deaf friendly” environment in which to work. He began his new career using old skills after refocusing his talents and adjusting them to the new technology and class of readers it presented. By swapping pen and paper for a keyboard and mouse, he positioned himself on the cusped of the informational highway. Still, he needed to crack the shell and get inside the medium which meant calling on his reputation as an old print writer and trying to capture the younger audiences of the internet.Normally bashful about self promotion, Wells shamelessly flaunted his accomplishments from the newspapers and soon gained the attention of higher ups in the news organizations that were testing the waters to see if there really was an audience online. All those “loud noises” made during his print career opened the doors for Wells and landed him a “digital online” job with CNN News of Atlanta. His “computer based” job description became one of the first “telecommuter” jobs in the world and for the next year he worked from home full time.CNN’s bold move to the internet was followed by a joint venture between computer software giant Microsoft and television’s NBC network. The two companies formed what is today MSNBC and then took CNN’s internet/TV interactive format and ran it deeper into the digital realms of society. Both networks quickly discovered the power behind having instant viewer response taken from “online news chat rooms.” MSNBC realized it faster and quickly moved the concept deeper passing CNN’s online presence during the second year of operations. After that, MSNBC became the envy of every news operation on earth especially to those wanting to work for them on the computer. Wells, still with CNN when MSNBC went flying past, watched and waited, trying to gauge the right moment to attempt a jump over to MSNBC. That moment came when MSNBC hired ABC’s Terry Irving and put him in charge of the “Don Imus in the Morning” simulcast show on the network. Irving’s first order of the day was to start an online interactive chat room and the man he wanted to operate it was Charles Wells. He had quietly spent a lot of time online in the CNN chats and had watched how well Charles had interacted and inspired comments from the users, comments that quite often made it to the bottom of any given news show’s TV’s screen as well.Wells enjoyed the interactivity and fun dealing with regular people online and relaying their questions and responses over to the on air television people. Best of all, his handicap wasn’t an issue or a problem. It never interfered with his work because one didn’t need to hear the words spoken. His computer scrolled them across his screen flawlessly. Still, Wells was a writer at heart and the tug to write fiction adventure stories was still strong but dormant.During the year he stayed at CNN he was constantly asking for web space in which he could write short journalistic features, a concept that today is referred to as “Blogging.” Wells idea was simply too far ahead of the times and his idea fell on deaf yet hearing ears at CNN. When he persisted and then demanded the space, his manager made it clear that CNN was not interested and to not mention it again. They felt that online readers would never sit still long enough to read a thousand words of personal opinions and commentary.Frustrated at the lack of insight shown by his employer, Wells resigned and almost gave up entirely on his attempt to join the web. He was on the verge of unplugging the computer when Terry Irving heard about his departure from CNN and dropped him an email asking if he was interested in opening a new chat room for radio personality Don Imus. Wells agreed to do so on the condition that he would get a small spot on the MSNBC website to write his daily commentary feature. Irving loved the idea and six weeks later, Imus in The Morning on MSNBC took to the air on the same day that “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly” by Charles Wells hit the MSNBC web pages. It lasted over eight years and Wells never missed a deadline.The highlight, if one cares to look at it that way, of his career at MSNBC happened on that fateful morning of September 11, 2001. Wells was in charge of the morning Imus chat and assisting another host working in the news room chats. Between the two, there were over 150 visitors in the two chat rooms when the first aircraft hit the World Trade Center. His steady and cool handling of site visitors as they flooded in for the latest information, established his reputation as being one of the internet’s top hosts controllers after he juggled a staggering 2400 chatters solo for almost an hour until help could arrive. He then stayed on duty for a solid twelve hours straight.Even with such public exposure under his belt, Wells did not feel quite ready for prime book publishing especially since he was switching from factual reporting to fiction mystery as his genre of choice. After MSNBC ended the chat room days and let Wells and a dozen others go, he stayed below the radar for several years until 2009 when his first fiction novel hit the markets under the name “Sand Hill Estates the Murders.” That book, one of the first classes of digital only books offered online, trudged along quietly with modest sales but drew few raves or reviews outside the mystery community. In 2010 he took the characters and plots and reworked them, then expanded into today’s “Whispering Pines.” From one book grew a six and counting series of fast paced suspense thrillers geared for all age groups. Book seven has a tentative release date of January 2012.On several occasions during interviews, Wells was asked if he had plans yet to eventually wrap and end the series. “I haven’t told all the stories yet so no. At this time I’ve still got one story in progress and two more in mind waiting.”

Book preview

13 Strange Short Tales

Copyright @ Charles E. Wells

Published at Smashwords

For Wellston Publishing Dublin, Georgia 31021

www.wellstonpublishing.com

This book is a work of fiction. References made to real places are intentional but names, characters, incidents and immediate locations are from the author's imagination.

Table of Content

Yankee Dime

Margie Makes the News

Choose Wisely

Oh Hell

Permuda Grass

Launch Sequence

Preamble to Genesis

Dead Dog Down Under

Little White Lies

Emergency Brakes

The Bishop House

Innocent Until Dead

About the Author

Yankee Dime

By Charles Wells

Ann Chowldins looked at her husband across the table and smiled nervously. They were in one of Boston's finest restaurants with dozens of patrons waiting in line near the entrance. Bobby Joe returned his wife's smile and then let his eyes roam about the room.

You know something, Ann? I got a feeling the food in this place cost more than the burger joint across town. Heck, the tip alone will probably be ten bucks.

Ann snapped one finger over her lips and shushed. Not so loud, Bobby. Somebody will hear that southern drawl and last time it happened we were stuck talking to people while we tried to eat. I honestly don't know why folks in Boston find your southern accent so interesting.

It got your attention when I met you here a few years back, didn't it? Besides, what's the problem? The Civil war is over. Old General Robert E. called it quits down at Appomattox Court House about 140 something years ago. These Yankees know they whupped us.

Bobby, keep your voice down please?

Why honey? It's like you said. These folks just love to hear a southern accent. How do you think old Jimmy Carter got elected back in 1976? It wasn't his stand on the issues, it was his southern drawl.

Ann interjected, It was those sexy southern Belle's his campaign staff sent up north to pass out Yankee dimes.

Bobby smiled, Well gosh, sweetheart. No man on earth can resist the alluring temptations of a southern woman, especially one giving away free Yankee dimes.

Then why did you marry a refined lady from Boston? Why did you have to wander 1200 miles north from Georgia to find a wife? Was it because your first cousin had already married your brother?

Bobby shook his head and grinned from ear to ear. No... my brother had already married my sister... that left me pure out of luck and besides, my poor old grand pappy is still rolling around in his grave for my gettin' hitched up to a Yankee woman.

A waiter approached the table, looked at Bobby and asked, May I take your order now, sir?

Bobby nodded, Yes sir, you surely can. The lady here would like a hamburger steak with red eye gravy... I'd like some fried chicken, mashed 'taters, and some of that same gravy on top of them smashed taters... and put some fried okra on the plate too, will ya'll do that for me?

Ann blushed, looked down at her plate and coughed loudly. Bobby glanced over, smiled, and then looked back up at the waiter. His expression was slightly less than a work of art. Shock, perhaps, or fright, suspicion; maybe even God help me.

Bobby, seeing Ann's I'm going to kill you look, cleared his throat. Uh... my wife would like the Prime shrimp entrée and I'll take the beef tips in gravy, please.

The waiter nodded curtly. Would you care to see the wine list, please?

Bobby nodded. Yeah...gimme' the moonshine list and let me...

Ann interjected, No, thank you. We'll have water and maybe coffee later.

The waiter nodded, bowed slightly, and walked away. Bobby whispered, Aw, come on, Ann? Let me have my fun... you are such a spoil sport...you know?

Ann shrugged and said, Well I'm tired of you embarrassing me in nice places like this, Bobby Joe. I've sat through you ordering grits. I've wallowed through your escapades with treating the waitress like the place was a truck stop. Lord knows I've put up with you terrorizing people with your fake rebel attitudes and accent.

Fake accent? You're the one who talks funny, my dear...not me. I sound just like half the folks who come from Georgia and...

And you are not Gomer Pyle, Bobby, so stop trying to sound like him... or at least let me hear you sing a southern gospel like Gomer use to do on TV.

Gomer Pyle is an actor, Sweetheart. He's about as southern as a New York Cab driver I bet. I'm a natural, original and boy can I sing. Want to hear me do Country Roads or what about A Boy named Sue?

Ann shook her head in disgust. William? You are a Science Professor at Boston University. I do wish you'd act like it in public. You are a world renown expert in Physics, not Gomer Pyle; not Jeff Foxworthy. You are not Minnie Pearl's long lost brother... you are Professor William Chowldens PHD so if you want to mock someone, how about mocking Albert Einstein?

Bobby laughed. Einstein? Now you're talking about somebody who got hitched to a family member. Did you know that Einstein's second wife was also his cousin? Did you know that, sweetheart?

Ann rolled her eyes upward and was about to speak again when a man from the table to their right leaned over and said, Excuse me, please. My wife and I overheard you using the expression, Yankee Dime. I'm afraid our curiosity got the best of us. What is a Yankee dime?

Ann wanted to crawl under the table. Bobby smiled. A Yankee dime? Well, sir, a Yankee dime is something like this here...

Bobby stood, leaned toward Ann and planted a rich, juicy kiss on her lips. Ann shirked, Bobby, stop that, please?

He sat back down, looked back at the man and his red-faced wife and said, Now that, sir, is a Yankee dime.

An hour later, Bobby and Ann were on the expressway heading home. Ann hadn't spoken a word since the Yankee dime demonstration at the restaurant.

Aw come on, Ann? I was just having some fun. Did you see the expression on that couple's faces? I thought his wife was going to blow a girdle or something.

Ann looked out her window then snapped back and glared at Bobby. I was the one who almost blew that girdle, Bobby. That was the most embarrassing thing you've ever done to me and it will be the last, I promise.

She was steaming and Bobby knew he had gone one-step... one bridge... one foot in the mouth too far. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Taking his eyes off the road and holding them on his steaming wife, he said carefully, sincerely, Okay...honey. I'm sorry. I'll try to...

That's when a blinding brick wall hit him in the face and the world started tumbling in a kaleidoscope of colors, sights, metal crunching confusion. Then there was total silence and blank nothing.

It was the last thing Bobby remembered until he woke up in a strange room with a giant whitish light glaring in his face. He was lying on a table with a half dozen people fussing about. He tried to raise his head but a sharp hand forced him back down and a voice from behind the light said, Lay still, Mr. Chowldins.

What? What's happened? Where's Ann?

I'm Dr. Carmichaels. You've been in an automobile accident.

Accident? Car accident? When? How? Where? Nothing... blank. He shook his head and a drop of blood trickled down his face and fell to the sheets of the hospital gurney. (Wow...I am really banged up here.) Ann? Is she okay Doctor? Is Ann hurt?"

The strain was too much and he passed out.

When he regained consciousness, he was standing on a hillside overlooking a valley with a brownish river snaking off into the infinite distance. The sun was shining and a crystal blue sky topped off the world as far as he could see. He could feel the warmth of a spring breeze on his body and then he recognized the scene before him. He was home... back in Georgia... and the river was the Oconee.

Bobby looked around and asked aloud, How did I get here? What's going on?

A voice from behind responded, You need to follow me, please, Mr. Chowldins.

Bobby spun around surprised that someone had heard. A middle-aged man stood looking at him but not smiling. It was the waiter from the restaurant.

What? What are you doing here?

The waiter shrugged and said, You asked to come, Mr. Chowldins, you gave the password, remember?

What are you talking about, mister?

At the restaurant, you gave the password to that gentleman and we responded.

You mean YANKEE DIME is a password? To where? To what? What in all blue blazes is going on here? Who are you, Mister?

The figure bowed, much like he did at the restaurant. I am Nyem Viskor, the gate keeper of the dimension windows. You used the password in my presence and thus we reacted. You will soon be transported from that dimension to another.

Bobby was totally confused. What? Dimensions? Windows? I got Windows XP on my computer at the office if that's what you mean, but what are we talking about here...uh... Mister Viskor? Is that what you said your name was?

That's correct, but now I dare say, that, judging from your confusion, we've made an error? Are you not a dimension traveler? You did not request transfer to another dimension?

Bobby looked around at the familiar valley and nearby woods... (My daddy taught me how to squirrel hunt in those trees) He looked up at the bright blue skies overhead..., then back to the waiter. I don't know what kind of mistake this is, but it's a mistake I promise you. What has a Yankee Dime got to do with it? I just don't get it.

Viskor shrugged helplessly and said, I'm sorry, Professor. When you gave the password in the restaurant I assumed you were a traveler... so I ended your stay in dimension 56434 with an automobile accident. We're now prepared to forward you on to a sector of your choice. Do you understand Mr. Chowldins?

Bobby stepped back and said, You've what? Wait a second... are you saying I'm dead? Are you the Angel at the gates of heaven? I mean... I ain't been in a church in ten years... since I got married... but I'm a Christian... I'm a believer and all... in God... and, uh... and God's son, Jesus. I know that he died for me on the...

Visker interrupted. Excuse me, professor. I'm sorry to interrupt but you've got this all wrong. God and Saint Peter, and the heaven you speak of, are in Sector zero One... the first sector of the universe. He's the creator and no one is allowed to visit there... you can only apply for entrance to sector Zero One on completion of your life... but your life has not ended...only your stay in sector 56434.

Do what? I'm missing something here worse than a coon dog barking up a tree full of bobcats. What are you talking about? God is real... ain't he? And I'm dead... but I ain't dead... right? So if I died in a car wreck then I gotta' go to heaven or go to heahhhhhhh...uh... I'll not go to heaven... right?

Hell? Is that what you're trying to say, Professor? Well, punishment for how one mismanages their life is issued in the last sector, which is 999999 to the 99th power sector. D.S. Lucifer is the gatekeeper to that sector.

You mean the devil? And uh... hell?

Visker shook his head. He doesn't like anyone using his first name, Professor. His full name is Devil Satan Lucifer and one can't visit hell. They have to wait until an application for entrance to sector Zero One is denied. At that time one is automatically transferred to the Lucifer's Nth Sector.

Well, Mister Visker, I don't care to visit with Mister Lucifer...and besides, if Ann and I were killed in a car crash, why don't I just wait for her to catch up with us here. Then we can decide about where to go together...okay?

Visker shook his head. Your wife was not killed in the crash, Professor. She's in the hospital, alive.

Bobby scratched his head and thought a moment. Well, you said I gave the password... and this might be a mistake on your part. Why don't you send me back to her and we'll pretend this never happened...okay?

Visker thought for a moment. I'm not so sure, Professor. You see, it's a matter of knowledge. You've learned so much already that I'm not sure we can send you back without risking exposure to our dimension travel operations. I'm sorry and I hope you understand. We can't risk having an untrained person wandering about the universe at will.

Bobby raised both hands in the air and shouted, God? Can I go back? Please? Please send me back... I love my wife and I don't want to leave her... please, Lord... have mercy on my soul?

Visker shook his head. Your soul is not in danger, here, Professor and God can't hear you at the moment. You have to send messages through the proper channels and from your old dimension; messages can be sent and received through mental telepathy channels of meditation. I believe it's commonly called, prayers or giving alms to God... Buddha... Allah... or whatever term one cares to use. The messages all go to the same place over in sector Zero One and God acts on them as he sees fit.

Bobby lowered his arms slowly and looked at the waiter before him for a long minute. Mr. Visker? I'm asking you to help me out here. You said my leaving Ann was an accident and all... please send me back. I'll keep quiet about your place here... and your, uh... uh... place here...

Dimension, Professor... Dimension Sectors Travel Office... and I am the gatekeeper. If you'll wait here, I'll check with the council chairman and see what can be done.

The waiter was gone in the blink of an eye. Bobby stood quietly, shocked, stunned, and suddenly very in love with Ann. He wanted to go home. (Tap your heels together, three times, and repeat after me. There's no place like home... there's no place like home... me and Toto too? There's no place like home...")

It didn't work. Bobby was still alone on the hill side overlooking the Oconee river valley. God? Please? Take me home?

The world faded away slowly and when he next opened his eyes, he was in a hospital bed. The same Doctor from before was tugging at his eyelids and peering into his pupils with a light.

Well, Professor. I see we're awake now. I almost lost you a couple of times... in fact; I did loose you for about five minutes. You're a very lucky man...very lucky.

Bobby moved his head and a sharp pain thundered up and down his spine. God almighty... that hurts. Where's Ann? Is she okay?

A familiar and very beautiful face appeared next to the bed. Hi, Ann said softly...lovingly. It was the most beautiful voice Bobby had ever heard in his life.

Ann? Are you okay?

With tears in her eyes, Ann smiled, leaned over the bed closer, and said, I'm fine, my love... now give me a big Yankee dime and then get some rest.

There were five people in the same hospital room, six counting Ann, and none of them could understand why Bobby almost jumped out of his skin and shouted,

DON'T EVER SAY THAT WORD AGAIN AS LONG AS YOU LIVE.....

End:

Margie Makes the News

By Charles Wells

This is Jill Markel for WCCT News in Atlanta. We are on the scene of a school bus accident that took place a short time ago on the I-285 loop. The video you are watching came from a witness’ cell phone camera and although blurry, you can watch this dramatic rescue made by a young, beautiful, woman from the metro Atlanta area. We don't have her name as yet... (Off screen figure hands a slip of paper to the newscaster) Excuse me; uh...we now have that name for you. WCCT Live Action News sources tell us the hero's name is Margie Dawson. She is an employee of the Greater South Banking Systems of Atlanta. It's the friendly bank where the customer comes first and auto loans are always better than the best rates you can find.

(Phone rings..., rings..., and rings...)

Margie has just rescued fifteen children from a burning school bus. As you just saw on your screen, it was a daring and death defying effort. The school bus was struck by a cow...

(Phone rings...and rings...and rings...)

...after swerving to avoid a drunken high rise apartment building...

(Phone rings...and rings...and rings...)

We have here with us now, the brave hero of the day, Margie Dawson. Margie? Tell us why you were so unafraid to risk you life to save these children?

(Phone rings..., rings..., and rings...)

Well, Jill? I'm not really a hero and... Would somebody please answer that phone? It's waking me up...it's waking me up...wake up...wake up...wake up.

Margie sat straight up in bed and gawked around at the small world