The Shady Side: Shortcut to Uneasy Street: The Uneasy Series, #2

By Shannon Rae Noble

Shannon Rae Noble crushes it again with her second volume of terrorific tales!

Within this revised Second Edition of The Shady Side: Shortcut to Uneasy Street, you will meet a new cast of  nasty characters: An innocent grade-school student who becomes a vengeful pint-size murderess when she encounters a carnivorous shadow; a Hawaiian god whose right-hand lady is an unassuming hula doll with a tempter of monstrous proportions; a horde of miniature semi-human meat-eaters that munches down all of the residents of Shady Lane in a bloodthirsty frenzy - and let's not forget Einstein 99, the wrathful crow who leads his local murder on a mission of justice to save his human friend. ​

The next time you drive by a jogger, see a crow hopping around on your lawn, or walk down a street that seems unusually peaceful - you just might feel uneasy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crow 99 Books
• Release date: Jan 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393862581

Shannon Rae Noble

Shannon Rae Noble has written over 200  pieces, published online and in print, including opinion and how-to pieces, local small business articles, poetry, and short stories. Her books include The Uneasy Series Volumes I and II: Blood and Bone: A Smattering of Unease and The Shady Side: Shortcut to Uneasy Street, and a limited printing of Story #7: Stuffed Animals, a Novella, which will be re-released in Second Edition paperback and e-book forms in early 2021. Noble lives in Central NY.

Book preview

Second Edition

Text Copyright © 2018

Shannon Rae Noble

Volume II of The Uneasy Series

The Shady Side:

Shortcut to Uneasy Street

First Edition Printing 2018

Second Edition Printing 2021

All rights reserved. No part of this publications may be reproduces, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Some of these stories have been previously published online.

Cover art by Taylor Alyson Hayes

Published by:

Crow 99 Books

PO Box 5532

Cortland, NY 13045

ISBN: 978-1-7321793-2-5

SHADY LANE

Tony toweled off quickly and pulled on a clean pair of shorts and a T-shirt. He brushed his teeth, tugged a comb through his short black hair, and stuffed his last-minute hygiene essentials into his duffle bag. He only had thirty minutes to get to the bus station, and he was hoofing it. He grabbed the duffle and slung it onto his shoulder.

He felt his pocket for his wallet, opened it to make sure he still had cash for his bus ticket. He checked for his lucky lighter, the Zippo that Dario had given him.

He picked his way over crushed beer cans and empty pizza boxes, not bothering to be quiet. His roommates were passed out cold, anyway.

The stifling heat of the summer morning struck Tony full in the face as he let the screen door slam behind him. By the time he’d walked two blocks, his shirt was clinging to his back and drops of sweat trickled down his legs.

Tony’s empty stomach began to roll and he nearly retched when the stink of exhaust rose from the street, combining with the intense heat and surrounding him like a dirty wall.

Should have taken a cab, he thought.

He wished he were already home.

He hitched the duffle bag higher on his shoulder. Arriving at the Main Street intersection, he decided he could still make the bus on time if his stopped into The Corner Café to grab a couple of doughnuts and some extra snacks. The food should be just enough to get him through the four-hour bus ride.

He emerged a few moments later with a half-dozen doughnuts, a bag of chips, several smoked beef jerky sticks, two sandwiches – ham and Swiss - and a couple of bottles of water.

He bit greedily into one of the doughnuts, its fresh sponginess melting in his mouth, and chased it with some of the water. The initial bite stopped his turning stomach with the promise of more sustenance. Unzipping his duffle, he stuffed in the paper bag with his sandwiches and other snacks and slung it back over his shoulder.

He checked the time on his cell phone.

Crap! He had to get moving.

He picked up the pace to make up the few minutes he had lost, finishing off the doughnut as he went.

The soles of his sneakers hit the cement sidewalk as he turned the corner onto Shady Lane, his arms pumping back and forth. He ignored the passing scenery to his left and right, focusing on the far end of Shady Lane, kitty-corner from where the bus station was located. As he hurried along, he replayed the telephone conversation he’d had with his mother that morning.

He’d awakened to his Lamb of God ringtone blasting from his cell phone. He checked the time: 5:04 a.m.

Hi Momma, what’s up? Is everything okay?

Antonio! Olivia Coronado’s voice sounded distressed, like she had been crying.

Tony sat up in bed. Momma? What is it? What’s wrong?

He heard her inhale deeply. Your father and brother were in a car accident when they were coming home from work this morning. I’m calling from the hospital.

Are they okay?

Your father is stable. His face is bruised up and very swollen. He has three broken ribs and his left knee is shattered. He is sleeping now.

What about Dario?

A pause, then a sob from the other end of the line. Your brother is in critical condition. He’s lost a lot of blood. The doctors aren’t sure that he will make it. We’re waiting. Her voice clogged. She cleared her throat. Can you come?

I’m on the next bus out, Momma.

What about school?

Doesn’t matter. I’m done, took my finals yesterday. Wouldn’t matter anyway, I would still come.

Tony didn’t have much use for his old man. He had been a heavy-fisted drunk when Tony was growing up; that is, when he’d been around.

But he needed to get home to his big brother.

Dario had lived a fast life. A troubled boy, he had been in and out of jail since he was old enough to be incarcerated, and had done the dance with alcohol and drugs. At twenty-five, he had nearly died from a heroin overdose. Dario had been lucky, though, and he was one of the few that had survived long enough to take hold of his tattered life and try to repair it – and himself.

Despite Dario’s personal issues, he had always taken care of Tony. When their old man pulled the belt off, ready to go at Tony, Dario shielded his little brother and took it for him. When Tony was bullied at school, Dario knocked the crap out of Tony’s tormentors.

When the old man disappeared for days at a time and their mom was gone at work or laid up in bed with depression and migraines, Dario played mom and dad, making sure that Tony was fed, clean, and that he went to school and did his homework.

Sitting on the front stoop one autumn day, passing time with Dario, the boom box blaring, watching traffic go by, Tony had said, Dario, how come you do so much stuff for me? How come you don’t pick on me like the other guys pick on their little brothers?

Dario had contemplated him with a serious expression in his liquid dark brown eyes. The jagged scar under his left eye that their father had given him one evening with a beer bottle glared out, white against his brown skin. His thick black hair, pulled into a sleek ponytail, gleamed with a blue-black tint beneath the bright afternoon sunshine.

He took a drag off the non-filtered Lucky Strike he was smoking, tapped the ash, and stared across the street at the bags of trash piled up on the porch of the Bransons’ house, which looked like it was about to cave in behind its chain-link fence. Flies buzzed around the pile of trash bags. A mangy dog rooted among them, looking for food.

Who else is gonna take care of you? he said. Mom and Dad don’t do shit. They never took care of me, they don’t take care of you. Around here, the parents don’t care, they live in their own little worlds. Drunk dads, moms on oxy, sleepin’ life away ‘cause their life is shit. The siblings around here are shit to one another, man. Everybody’s on meth. Families are supposed to look out for one another, but in this neighborhood, it’s everyone for himself. They give up.

He took a last drag from his cigarette and flicked the butt into the gutter. He looked at Tony again. You know those TV shows? The dramas and sitcoms, with all the brothers and sisters, mom and dad and the housekeeper? The families, they all stick together. They talk shit out. That happens some places. It’s real, but not here. Shit can grow flowers, though. Just because we’re born here, we don’t need to stay. There’s a better life for you. Don’t want to be like all these other assholes, livin’ and dyin’ in the trash heap. I don’t want to push you down. I want to push you out of here.

He turned his lighter over and over with his fingers. It was a stainless steel Zippo with a Celtic cross etched into both sides. The cross had once been painted black, but the paint had chipped and worn away. The lighter was scratched and dented from years of use and abuse. He suddenly held it out to Tony.

Here. That was my last cigarette. I quit. I’m done with everything. Take my lucky lighter, and don’t say I never gave you nothin’. I been a shitty role model. I don’t want to be like the old man.

But I don’t smoke.

You can use a lighter for stuff besides smokin’. You never know when you might need a good flame to light somethin’ up. He reached out and smacked Tony on the back of his head, hard enough to sting.

Ow! What you do that for?

Don’t tell nobody anything I just said. You’ll wreck my rep. Mouth shut, right?

STILL WALKING BRISKLY, Tony uncapped his water bottle and took a few large gulps. As he twisted the cap back on, he nearly fell when he tripped over something that made dry clicking sounds.

He looked down. At his feet lay a small pile of what looked like little white knobby, polished tree branches mixed with bits of red cotton fluff. He squatted to see better. A chill slid down his skin when he realized he was looking at a tiny rib cage and the skull of a small animal, surrounded by the rest of its skeleton. The red cotton fluff was bloody fur. The remains looked like those of a cat.

Tony straightened up and looked around, viewing Shady Lane with sudden clarity.

The neighborhood, with its green, well-manicured lawns, various garden décor and porch flowers in red, pink, blue, and white, was quiet. A slight breeze rustled the foliage of the trees that lined the sidewalks on either side of the street. There was an occasional vehicle parked here and there beside the curb, but no moving traffic – cars, bicyclists, or pedestrians, other than Tony, himself.

He stepped over the small pile of bones and moved forward, more slowly this time. He tried to convince himself that there was nothing creepy going on, here.

Maybe Shady Lane is just quiet this morning. People are slow getting up and around. Maybe that dead animal is just a cat that was mauled by a dog, he thought.

Tony’s thoughts trailed off and he stopped again when he saw the grisly scene that lay before him.

To his left, a dark green Subaru Forester sat in the driveway of a large white house. Beside the vehicle, a brighter green garden hose lay on the asphalt, water running steadily from the nozzle. The thick hose snaked up to the finger bones of the hand that still gripped the trigger handle. The hand was attached to the arm bone that protruded from the tattered sleeve of a dark blue T-shirt. Tony could see rib bones peeking through the torn fabric, across which a dark stain had spread. A human skull lolled on the asphalt