If Walls Could Talk: A Terrifying Short Story Collection

By Mark S. R. Peterson

An epidemic in the Minnesota northwoods breeds an unspeakable horror. A golfer’s nasty slice uncovers the mysteries surrounding a childhood terror. A mother, fed up with an abusive, controlling marriage, gives her child the one gift she’s been asking for—and frees herself in the process.

From the barren Mars landscape to the northwoods of America. Seven terrifying tales. One collection.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark S. R. Peterson
• Release date: Sep 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310412271

Mark S. R. Peterson

Born in small-town northwestern Minnesota, Mark S. R. Peterson knew he had a love of writing as far back as 2nd grade.His genre interests are as expansive as his musical tastes–from classics like Mozart and Beethoven to heavy metal like Poison and Metallica. He writes thrillers, horror, science fiction, and fantasy, and even dabbles into nonfiction and inspirational.He is a graduate of Bemidji State University, majoring in criminal justice and psychology. He wrote his first book between homework and achieving his 2nd Dan black belt in Tae Kwon Do. He has over 15 years of law enforcement experience and currently lives, according to a Washington Post article, in the “ugliest county” in the United States.BEHOLDER’S EYE is his first published thriller novel, the first in his Central Division Series. KILLZONE is the first in his Shadowkill trilogy.

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If Walls Could Talk

A Short Story Collection

By Mark S. R. Peterson

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 © Mark S. R. Peterson

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Reach's Roaches

Night People

Mischief Is My Middle Name

The 13th Hole

I Zone

The Things They Collected

Martian Union

Afterword: Views From The Outhouse

About The Author

Reach’s Roaches

I don’t believe there was ever a time in Kyle Reach’s younger life that he wasn’t in the upper echelon of the weight percentile for his age group. This was great out on the football field, but in the classroom he had to sit in the back, in a special desk made just for him. Instead of aluminum and plastic, his was made of solid oak with a crisscross of steel bracing.

Using the wooden monstrosity wasn’t much of a problem in elementary school when each student pretty much had the same teacher. It was when he got into high school—this was in seventh grade, for our school was too small to be broken out into a middle school section—that his desk became troublesome. For the first year, a pair of janitors came in and hauled it from one classroom to the next—they especially hated third and fourth period, as this was when we had classes on the second floor. In eighth grade, however, Kyle grew so big that he was able to carry it himself.

Rumor had it that his desk was the same one used by his dad and grandpa, who were also a wee bit on the heavy side. They also fatally succumbed to a weird bone disease when they were in their mid-twenties.

This was also where Kyle and I met: in the back, with he in his special desk and I in my regular one—despite my own heaviness, I wasn’t privileged enough for one of the oak wonders.

Kyle’s family owned Reach’s Roaches. They raised cockroaches whereas other farmers raised pigs, cows, and chickens. In the third grade, our class took a field trip out to their farm. They had two long units, similar to those chicken or turkey farmers would use. Inside each were millions of cockroaches, housed in rows upon rows of cages with special fluorescent lighting along the top.

Believe it or not, there is more than one type of cockroach, Margaret Reach—Kyle’s Mom—said to the class. Typically, you can tell which species by their size. We currently have two types: American and German. The German ones are about half the size of the American ones. Soon, we will be adding Oriental cockroaches.

What’s back there? I asked Kyle, pointing at a third housing unit situated behind the Reach’s house.

Oh, I’m not allowed back there, he said. Mom and grandma keep it padlocked all the time. Even the windows are boarded up. They said I can only see what’s in there when I’m older.

What, are there a bunch of giant cockroaches in there?

He grinned, then shrugged. Don’t know. Could be, I suppose. They go in there everyday with pails of feed. They keep telling me it’s an experimental cockroach thing.

I looked around at the steel-sided building we were in. His mom was demonstrating how to feed the cockroaches.

How well are the windows boarded up? I asked.

Which windows?

The ones on the other building, silly?

Margaret had her back to us, and the other workers were too busy to notice us as we snuck out a side door and went around to the back of the house. Sure enough, there were sheets of plywood covering the windows. But there had to be a way of peeking in. I stood on my tiptoes, but I was a few inches short.

Boost me up, I whispered.

Kyle cupped his hands. I stepped on them and lifted myself up. Any normal boy would’ve probably been unable to hold my weight, but of course Kyle wasn’t far from normal.

What are you doing, Kyle? a voice behind us asked.

This was how I met his grandma, Edith: Kyle, obviously startled, quickly turned and I accidentally fell back into the tall grass, my long dress catching on an exposed nail and ripping it up along the side. Edith may have been slightly smaller than Kyle, but she moved with swift efficiency. She held the two ends of the fabric together, as to not bare any more skin than was necessary.

Are you okay? she asked.

Yes. Thanks. Sorry, I was just-

Let’s get you inside, dear.

She led me through the back door of the house. She told Kyle to stay in the kitchen, then told me to follow her into the bedroom. She opened the closet and started digging through clothes set way along the edges.

I’m sorry, Mrs. Reach, for trying to peek in your barn, I said. I was just curious. Kyle said there were some experimental cockroaches or something in there, but had never seen them.

Please, dear, call me Edith instead of Mrs. Reach, she said. She held up two