Fallen and Other Stories

By James Lipson

What if Lucifer found salvation and the Grim Reaper befriends a dying woman? Imagine your child as Jack the Ripper reincarnated or have a drink with Andy Griffith and Mr. Rogers. Fallen and Other Stories will take you on a journey like no other, reacquainting you with well-known characters from a distinctive perspective, and introducing you to new ones that provoke a roller coaster ride of emotions.

Fallen and Other Stories explores tales of redemption and retribution entangled in abuse, illness, insanity and love. You will tour fantasy worlds with a few side trips into abject fear. James Lipson presents a wide range of stories, but all share a running theme of humanity. At its best it is reflected in the salvation of the sinful and at its worst it drives the kindest souls into despair and insanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Lipson
• Release date: Jun 12, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393862857

James Lipson

James Lipson's debut book, Fallen and Other Stories, was published in 2019. His writing is a combination of science and fantasy fiction, influenced by some of his favorite authors, such as Philip K. Dick, Ray Bradbury and Isaac Asimov. With a background in art, James has naturally turned to illustrating as he writes, bringing many of his short stories to life not only with descriptive detail, but also detailed visual imagery. You can find his illustrations and other art works at www.jameslipson.com and www.instagram.com/jameslipsonart.

Book preview

Stolen

My wife and I played Jeopardy almost daily before she passed seven and a half years ago. We watched it as Alex shed his nineteen-eighties mustache, as the answers moved from static place cards to TV consoles; watched as Ken Jennings made his now-infamous run. I miss playing with her now. I miss her smile, I miss her smell, I miss the way she ran through the house when she had to pee, the way she would use the BBQ tongs to reach the top shelf; there are so many things I miss. Now Jeopardy has lost its spark, Alex was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, the contestants are lonely, and what used to be a welcoming set now looks cheap and wanting.

I was answering a relatively easy question from Alex when I heard it. A quiet, almost subdued thump behind me. Just over my left shoulder I turned to see what could have made the noise, but I saw nothing. Farther on behind the couch and into the dining room, again I saw nothing. An empty house bathed in a flickering blue light that was designed to be inviting but was nothing of the sort. The kitchen light beyond the dining room showed me there was no one hiding in the shadows. Might be time to either stop drinking or continue on. At the next commercial it seemed like the decision had been made for me, as I stood at the bar refreshing the Jack and ice. 

The evening news a few nights later seemed to be devoted to the factory fire two towns over, when I heard the noise again. It wasn’t behind me any longer; it was off to my left between the hallway and the master bedroom.

Thump. Unlike the obvious creaking a house makes when settling, this noise was different. Like a footstep that was wrapped in damp towels, it sounded both heavy and muffled. From the couch, I couldn’t see behind the wall into the hallway leading to my bedroom. I painfully pushed myself up between the couch and the loveseat and into the hall.

Reflexively flicking the light on as I entered, I looked to the left towards the second bedroom and garage, and I saw what I expected to see. Nothing.

The door to my bedroom was halfway open, so without thinking about it, I turned the light on a half second before entering. Not sure I had done that since I was a boy.

The room was empty. Maybe it was the neighborhood kids making noise, although it sounded like it came from inside my house. You know what? I just don’t care. I mumbled out loud to no one.

Turning off the light as I left, I went back to the kitchen, placed a frozen dinner in the microwave, and continued on to the wet bar for another glass of ten-dollar bourbon. With drink in hand, I stared into the microwave waiting for the never-ending seven minutes of eternity to finish. Sorrowfully, I recalled hearing my wife making fun of the frozen dinners I ate when we first met forty-three years ago.

To me they tasted fine; of course this was before she introduced me to spices, flavors, seasonings, and real food. And boy, did she know how to cook, using the entire kitchen like a master composer. Uninvited, the timer went off, disrupting my silent reverie. I didn’t realize I had fallen to my knees, my face in my hands, huddled on the floor in an uncontrollable, sobbing mess.

With one hand on the counter I pulled myself up, took the dinner out of the microwave, and immediately threw it in the trash. I was ashamed. Ashamed that I couldn’t muster the temerity to make myself a simple meal after all the hours she had spent teaching me. Hours I wish I could relive, hours that have liquefied into a congealed mess of random moments that I no longer recognize.

I didn’t bother turning the TV off, who cares. I refreshed my now-empty glass and went straight to my room and my nighttime pill container.

Swallowing Ambien with whisky may not be the best idea, but I had already fallen too far to care. I grabbed a pillow from the bed and lay down on the floor for another night of interrupted sleep. I still didn’t have the strength to sleep in our bed; it was a time wrinkle that I would not disturb.

––––––––

The morning presented everything exactly as I had left it, TV on, front door unlocked, kitchen light on, and a Lean Cuisine cooked but not opened in the trash. Switching everything off as I wandered to the garage, I heard it again.

Instead of the singular heavy thump I had heard twice before, this one was a cacophony of noises. Not only the original thud, but a scraping sound, as if someone were dragging a pickaxe across a wet floor while an out-of-tune banjo screamed to be heard.  The sounds didn’t make sense; my house was carpeted, save the kitchen and two bathrooms.

Both bathrooms had twelve-by-twelve tiles; I installed them myself the summer my wife helped her mom when her dad died. Now the tiles were old and worn, and they looked tired, a vestige of a time no one remembers.

I tried to locate where the noise was coming from. Seemingly it started in front of me and finished behind. What is going on? I disjointedly thought in a post-drinking haze. It felt like someone had stuffed kerosene-soaked newspapers in my head.

For five, barely breathing minutes, I tried to hear it again, but all I heard was the arrhythmia of my defective heart. This was too much; I had to get out, go for a drive.

The keys on the shelf inside the laundry room waited patiently as I opened the door to the garage, and just as I clutched them, I saw something scurry under the car. Unable to drop to my knees as fast as I would have liked, I opened the garage door hoping for more light, perhaps a clear path to safety for whatever was hiding under my car.

Expecting to see a squirrel, a raccoon, an opossum, or a cat, I was mildly surprised to only find a few leaves and an oil stain. I must have looked like an old fool who finally lost his marbles, looking under his car for a rodent that never existed.

Still on my knees but hidden by the car, I saw a car pass slowly by, four people inside, two in the front and two in the back. They were all staring out the window, blankly watching me, completely emotionless.

I didn’t recognize any of their faces, all men, who looked to be in their early thirties. The backseat passenger, behind the driver, locked eyes with me, and I could have sworn I saw his face change. As if for a brief moment his face was beginning to melt. I blinked hard and saw he was no longer looking in my direction.

Dismayed and alarmed at what had just happened, I hit the button to close the garage, waited for it to shut completely, and went back inside, breathing hard and making sure the deadbolt was securely locked behind me. I immediately headed to the bar, pouring myself four fingers of Jack.

Unfortunately, by two that afternoon I was passed out on the couch, TV on (again). I awoke around ten thirty that night to another reminder of my solitude and my three-meter dive into alcoholism. Nothing was going to come of this evening; that was for sure. I shut the lights, turned off the TV, and double-checked each door and window on my way to bed.

Another night, another Ambien and Jack. No longer worried about brushing my teeth, I stared at the worn toothbrush that used to have a movie promotion on it, wondering when the last time was I used it. My

sleeping nest on the floor was just as I had left it, crumpled and dirty. Just as the caressing hand of the sleep aid shut my eyes for the night, I thought I heard musical whispering outside my door.

At seven thirty-six the next morning I was awakened by the sound of children screaming. Pushing off the floor, I staggered to the window and looked over my fence into the neighbor’s yard. Just some kids playing kickball or some such game; this could explain the unusual noises I’d been hearing of late. For some reason, though, I couldn’t quite remember the kids’ names who lived behind me. Even though they’ve lived there for over eight years and my wife and I had been pretty friendly with the parents, I had absolutely no idea what the kids’ names were.

From inside the bathroom something moved. What sounded like a recently legless man dragging himself across the tile, echoed loudly from the room. Who’s in there? I called out in a voice that sounded more apprehensive than determined. There was no answer.

Not wanting to waste the time to walk down the hall to retrieve my bat from the garage, I instead slid open the pocket door, flicked on the light, and looked inside. Empty. I know that time I definitely heard something. What is happening? I questioned myself over and over.

Six hours on the web and the only thing I discovered was that a LOT of people make fake YouTube videos purportedly showing ghosts, apparitions, phantasms, aliens, and any other phenomena you can imagine.

The loud knock at the door interrupted a video showing an elderly lady in a church window, which to me just looked like some lady staring out a window; there was nothing otherworldly about it.

Pushing away from the desk, I slowly made my way to the front door. The sun blasted in as if it had never seen the inside of my house, momentarily bleaching the world’s palette.

A low-resolution image of a person walking down my walkway appeared as I blinked rapidly, trying to adjust. The shape continued down the walkway to the sidewalk and turned right. HEY YOU! I shouted in a loud, aggravated tone. He kept walking.

My vision was back, and I could clearly see the guy picking up his pace down the street. I left the door opened slightly to make sure it wouldn’t lock behind me to go and confront the stranger. Three feet down the walk and checking to see where he was, I saw an empty sidewalk and street, parked cars, trashcans, a few pieces of discarded fast food wrappers, and the mail lady six houses down. Other than that, the street was deserted, as it should have been in the middle of the day, in the middle of the week.

Irritated and confused, I went back inside, locked the door behind me, and made my way to the bar, my best friend of late. A few Jacks later I was mindlessly flipping through the channels when it felt as if someone was watching me. Timidly peering to my right, I saw a face watching me through the living room window.

Instead of jumping out of view when I saw him, he just continued to stare. Me sitting on the couch, drink in hand, and him squatting in my front yard studying me. Trying to understand what was happening, I remained motionless, too shocked to move. 

A minute into this abhorrent contest I realized he wasn’t actually motionless, he was slowly standing as his eyes bore into mine. His massive frame rising as he now had to stoop to keep eye contact with me. Eventually filling the entire window, blocking the remains of a setting sun, he still stared.  

THAT’S IT! I snapped into focus and got mad. I rushed the front door and threw it wide, so I could see who was spying on me. The holly bush that runs past the width of the window where he was standing seemed untouched. The bush had to be constantly pruned or it would scratch the window as if Freddy Krueger were there himself.

How in the hell did this guy get between the bush and my house? We had had three straight days of heavy rain, so the soil under the bush was extremely damp, if not downright marshy. Yet, there was not a single footprint nor any indentations to indicate someone had been standing there. The surrounding ground was completely unperturbed, with small, circular puddles created from the clogged gutter.   

I know what I saw, and what I saw was a man with a rough beard, long, greasy disheveled hair, a sharp Roman nose, a pursed angry mouth with hateful eyes, and he was staring into my house.

Two and a half drinks later, Jeopardy was on and I forgot all about my recent specters. During the first commercial break, I made my way to the kitchen for dinner. I had plenty of time, the first break in the program was when Alex interviewed the contestants. I had just enough time to get dinner started.

Pasta and sauce from a jar is nothing to brag about. Despondently clinging to my wife’s memory, I marginally improved it with a few selected spices. Never as good as hers, but at least I gave it some effort. Nothing will be as good as her, I gravely thought to myself, quickly grabbing my plate so I didn’t fall down this excruciatingly all-too-familiar path.

I missed the first few questions after the break, but that’s okay, it’s fine, it’s okay, it’s okay, everything will be okay.

I took a long, deep breath; I couldn’t let the shadow of despondency sneak up on me again. I held my breath for a moment, watching the swirling patterns dance inside my eyelids. I let out my breath cautiously; this I repeated three times until I felt grounded again.

Halfway through my mediocre plate of pasta, I glanced up to the TV just as a commercial about some new drug I should talk to my doctor about was starting. The TV stopped. I don’t mean the TV died, I mean the TV stopped. It paused midway through the must have drug commercial. Static replaced the image, which can’t happen since I have cable.

This static wasn’t the type you used to see from old TVs. This moving pattern looked like small snakes intertwining around and on top of each other, like an ever-changing wall of wet, glistening undulation. My hand stopped midway between the plate and my mouth, convulsing so much the spaghetti dropped from the fork back to the plate, splattering my shirt and some of the couch.

Multiple voices were overlaid on top of one another as a voice came from the TV. A slow baritone and a sped-up contralto that fluttered about with no semblance of structure, were fighting each other for dominance while other, less forceful, murmurs jetted in and out of the cacophony as erratically as possible.  

The voice(s) only lasted for what I perceived to be a few seconds before cutting back to Jeopardy. The image and sound were so shocking, on top of the other building disturbances, I almost jumped to an absurd conclusion.

Logically, I convinced myself that two channels somehow crossed paths, combining a video and soundtrack from The Road of Sorrow. That was the ONLY explanation I wanted to hear.  

My half-empty and absurdly cold plate lost what little appetizing appeal it held not a half minute ago. Another dinner for the trash can to enjoy as much as I did, oh well. I made a return trip to the bar and lumbered to the couch. By this time, Wheel of Fortune was on, and I lost all interest in TV.

The ringing of the phone was rare, but there it was, forcing the world inside my diminishing sanctuary. I pushed off the couch and went back to the kitchen to retrieve the demanding phone. Caller ID displayed a name and number I didn’t recognize, and if I am not familiar with a name, I don’t answer the phone.

The kitchen window shade was still up, and the overhead light reflecting back at me blotted out the front yard. It looked as if nothing existed beyond the single-pane window. Filled with trepidation that I would see someone staring at me again, I knew things were changing, a part of me was starting to believe - something was there.

A week went by without any problems, no bumps in the night, no fast-moving objects, no eyes in the windows, and thankfully no voices from the TV. I was starting to dismiss