Tales from 2 A.M.

By John Schreiber

Nominated for the 2005 Minnesota Book Award: Best Short Story Collection

Two A.M.
A time when someone can’t sleep.
The darkest time of the night.
These are tales for such times, from such times.

These tales will not let you will sleep soundly. They will not let you lie on the comfortable mattress that is your life. They will make you dream with your eyes wide open.

These are tales of vampires and vengeance, of biological engineering and ghosts, of astronauts escaping the past and of young people fearing the future. Bitterness, betrayal, and murder lurk within these pages.

But all is not dark. The dawn will come. These are also stories of hope. Of second chances. Of redemption.

Look! It’s two o’clock in the morning.
Time to read.

"Schreiber has a wide range of imagination and the talent to put it into words. . . . His imagination invents word pictures that spark the mind to envision a screen larger than Hollywood is capable of."

– News-Enterprise, December 1, 2004

* * * *

What others are saying about Hillcrest Journal:
“Skillfully told . . . very realistic . . . recommend not only to teenage readers but also to parents who may have a slightly hazy recollection of adolescence.”
— West Concord Enterprise

What others are saying about Passing Through Paradise:

“Tough to put down. The themes are masterfully interwoven.”
— Byron Review

Helpful Link:

Schreiber has posted some of his published articles, essays, and poems along with book group discussion questions for Tales from 2 A.M. at John Schreiber´s Books

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 2, 2004
• ISBN: 9781462839056

John Schreiber

John Schreiber grew up in Saint Paul, Minnesota, reading science fiction and fantasy novels. At Hamline University he was awarded departmental honors for his study of science fiction, and he later wrote his master’s thesis on the modern epic fantasy. Today he lives in southern Minnesota, where, in addition to being an award-winning teacher and theater director, he has written three novels set in the Midwest (Hillcrest Journal, Passing Through Paradise, and Life on the Fly) and the short story collection, Tales from 2 A.M. He now returns to his literary roots with the epic fantasy Heartstone.

Book preview

 Copyright © 2004 by John Schreiber.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

25363

Contents

Introduction to a

Late Night Snack

Me and Josh and Gideon

Of Ghosts and Bluffs

to-ate

Justice

Monsters in Paradise

Three Blind Mice

Hallowed Be Thy Name

By Bread Alone

Maiden Rock

Unless a Seed Die

On the Banks of Babylon

Full Circle

I AM: The Jesus Incident

Afterword

Author’s Notes on the Stories

Introduction to a

Late Night Snack

What you hold in your hand is a collection of stories written in a variety of styles. A short story collection, by its very nature, will be diverse, like a large buffet from which you can choose a variety of dishes. Some of these dishes you may like more than others, sometimes because of the food itself, sometimes because of the way the food is prepared. As with food, we develop tastes for certain types and styles of stories.

I hope that through sampling this fare your tastes will widen, for each story has a unique flavor—a unique style—carefully chosen to augment the tale itself. At the end of the book I have a few notes on each story for those who like a little background on the recipes.

Some of these stories are realistic, others are more fantastic; yet even though all of these stories look at the dark side of our fragile human nature, remember that with every dark night comes a dawn. For that reason, I’ve included an additional bonus at the end, a short play that recounts, in an imaginative way, history’s darkest moment that led to humanity’s brightest morning.

May you sample these stories at whatever time of day or night you choose and sleep better.

Bon Appetit.

And pleasant dreams.

~

I wake with a start and look at the digital clock by the bed. Two a.m. My heart is pounding.

My wife wakes up too. What is it?

Strange dream.

Nothing bad, I hope.

Bad enough, I think, but I don’t say anything. She is already falling back asleep.

I turn over, hoping to sleep, but the story sticks in my memory . . .

Me and Josh and Gideon

Me and Josh knew something was weird about Mr. Robert. Well, I did anyway. Josh, he didn’t know any better ’cause he didn’t know anything in life but weird.

You see, Josh sometimes believed, or wanted to believe, that Mr. Robert was our father. I sure can’t blame Josh for that. Sometimes I almost wanted to believe it too.

But not quite.

I knew better because sometimes I dream about a real father—and a mother too. In my dream they take me on a picnic to a park with swings and the sun is shining and white swans swim on a blue lake. I also know better ’cause when I scrunch my brain real hard, I can remember when Mr. Robert brought Josh to the van.

And if we ever had a mirror around us, Josh probably would’ve figured out that him and me couldn’t be brothers. Josh’s black skin doesn’t exactly go with my white skin and blond hair. But, our guardian being who he was, what he was, we didn’t have any mirrors around us.

Me and Josh and him I can’t call a family, even though Mr. Robert always called us that. It never seemed right to me, no matter how much he said it was so.

Maybe if we had stayed in one place long enough to call it home, if we didn’t keep slipping away at night to another dingy place with musty carpets and water-stained furniture and squished cockroaches behind smelly ’frigerators, maybe if we didn’t keep leaving to prowl dark streets and search eerie parks and climb rusty fire escapes.

Maybe.

In a way, we needed him. Where could we go? Who would look after us? He did feed us, sometimes. And he didn’t beat us often, nor too hard. Though one time, after I snuck out in the evening by myself and came back after dark, he caught me and whipped me good with the frayed cord from a broken motel light.

I haven’t forgotten that. I don’t think I ever will.

But that wasn’t why I later did what I did. When he whipped me, I had disobeyed him and I knew I had it coming.

No, I betrayed him because I was getting older and I knew he didn’t need me to help him find his food. Pretty soon he’d be looking at me to feed him myself and I wanted none of that. I’d seen his way of eating too often. Not that it turned my stomach like it did that social worker’s when I told her, I just didn’t want to end my life that way, tossed away like a just-emptied can of soda.

And I also didn’t want Josh to know what I knew, ’cause once I was gone, Josh would take my place as sure as a new moon spells trouble.

But then Gideon came in to help us… .

During September, right before that first early snow, Mr. Robert drove into Minneapolis at night. Everything we did was at night. Me and Josh were used to it and it didn’t bother us. In fact, we liked parts of living at night, especially watching old TV shows until dawn.

Mr. Robert, as long as I can remember, drove a long, square green van. It was really rusted around the wheels, so much so that large metal flakes peeled off like dry autumn leaves. He kept his big black toolbox and our clothes bag and his sleeping crate in the back of the van. Sometimes we carried extra food, both his kind and ours.

That time, though, we didn’t.

He pulled off the freeway and onto a nearly deserted side street with tall brick buildings on each side. In the dark the streetlights shined like islands of light. The streets were lined with parked cars. Most cars even had hubcaps. That’s how I always knew when we were back in the Midwest for sure.

He drove several blocks to a small gas station and convenience store. That’s where he usually stopped when coming into a city. He pulled out his map and studied it closely, then he slicked back his black hair with his hands, wiped his mustache, and stepped out. He put some gas in the van, then went inside. I saw him talk to the gas station guy for a while. It looked like Mr. Robert got directions.

Meanwhile, I read the map. Like the other maps he had stuffed in the glove compartment, this one was ragged and cracked like old newspapers left too long in the sun. On the map’s back were all sorts of faded color pictures of people having fun, like fishing and picnicking and swimming. The weird thing was that the dads in the pictures had crew cuts and dark-rimmed glasses and the mothers wore flowered dresses and had bouncy hair like the women in late night TV shows.

He came back with a white paper bag. He got in and tossed the bag onto my lap. In the bag were two frosted donuts for me and Josh.

Make sure that map gets back, he snapped, glaring at me.

He backed up the van quick and, spinning the wheels a bit, headed back onto the freeway.

He glanced over at me as I carefully folded the map and put it in the glove compartment. So, you’re starting to read, he said.

I couldn’t tell if he was pleased or not. For some time while he slept I’d been reading comics and magazines I secretly dug out of dumpsters.

A little, I replied. I ate the donut quick. I hadn’t eaten all day. Our not eating was part of the deal.

He stared at me for a second and his black eyes glistened with white light from the neon streetlights passing by.

I shivered and was suddenly afraid.

I glanced back at Josh, sleeping between Mr. Robert’s wooden black toolbox and his long sleeping crate. I rolled up the white bag and tossed it back beside Josh.

I didn’t say anything. I just turned back to the freeway and the signs. I watched them, reading some as they flicked by, flicked by, then wondered if Mr. Robert noticed. It made me afraid again and my mouth got dry as cotton.

He finally turned off onto an exit ramp and drove to a big park by a lake. He stopped in the darkest part of a long parking lot. Across the lake rose a tall office building, its lights reflecting in the center of the lake like stars. But near us, along the shore, under the tall tree shadows, the park was dark. Even darker figures moved in the shadows, some by the lake, some by the trees, some walking along an asphalt bike path.

A police car drove slowly past, eyed our van, went on by. No policeman had ever noticed that our rear-view mirrors had no glass in them.

Mr. Robert woke Josh, got out, and opened the van door.

Come on, find me a good one, he said curtly.

Josh, rubbing his eyes with his fists, groaned and staggered out. I opened my door and took Josh’s little hand.

Josh looked around at the dark shadows and shivered. I’m scared.

I patted his hand. I’ll be with you all the time.

Josh looked up at me with solemn brown eyes. They glistened with tears and he bit his lip. He was usually weepy when he woke up. I’m hungry.

Before I could answer, Mr. Robert pushed the donut bag into Josh’s other hand.

Here, Mr. Robert snapped. It will hold you until we are finished. We all eat together. That’s the deal.

Digging into the bag, Josh ate the donut quickly, leaving a white sugar coating on his lips. I wiped his mouth with my sleeve.

I glanced over at the van. Mr. Robert leaned against it and looked nervously at the half-moon just rising over the lake’s far office building. He looked even whiter than usual. His hands trembled.

I need the food brought here, he said softly and earnestly. I cannot go near it before it’s tested.

He was hungry, real hungry. Sweat glistened on his forehead.

Okay, I said. I grabbed Josh’s hand. Let’s go.

Why didn’t we run then? Where could we go? He always brought us to strange places, dark places. Who did I have but Josh? Who would watch over Josh but me? Josh wasn’t much, but he was all I had, and I was all Josh had.

It didn’t take long for someone to come up to us.

Even in the dark, I could see his leering, watery eyes. He was tall and skinny, with fine, precise features and closely cropped blond hair. His hands looked smooth.

Looking for a little hug? the stranger asked.

He moved jerky and stiff, and he didn’t look right at us. He was drunk or high on something.

This guy certainly wouldn’t do. I had learned that much at least.

I pulled Josh away quick.

We ran up to two people exchanging money with a third. Seeing us, they chased us away.

We next saw a boy not much older than me. Wearing a thin sweater and baseball cap, he looked scared and cold.

Spotting us, he walked right up to us.

What you two doing here? he asked. He was a little taller than me.

Looking for food, I said.

So am I. We kept walking. I didn’t want to pull him into our snare. He followed us under a light.

His face was smudged with dirt. He wore his cap backwards, his red hair peeking out where the strap crossed his forehead.

Why are you following us? I asked.

Maybe you’ll get me some food, he said.

Get some yourself, I snapped.

I— he hesitated, his blue eyes looking away. I don’t want to do what it takes.

Neither do we, I said harshly. Go home.

I can’t, he said. I ran away. Couldn’t take my old man’s yellin’ and drinkin’.

Ours drinks too, Josh said and looked off to the shadows. I hurried him along. The taller boy followed.

Hey, we got somethin’ in common.

No, we don’t, I said. Go away.

Josh suddenly whined, I’m hungry! Where’s the van?

You guys got a van? Cool. My name’s Joey.

I didn’t want Joey with us but I couldn’t shake him.

We turned from the path and walked off into the shadows.

Joey followed like an eager puppy. Hey, let’s travel together. Who you got with you? Who’s drivin’ the van?

No one, I said.

Josh spoke up quick, angry at my lie. He does.

Who’s that?

I didn’t reply. Josh pulled away and ran across the dark grass with his little legs, straight toward the van. I’m hungry, he wailed.

I didn’t blame Josh. He didn’t know. He’d never seen what I’d seen. He only knew that if we found a friend, he could eat.

I ran after Josh.

Joey followed at my heels.

We came to the van. No one was around.

Hey, Joey said, running his hand over the green van. It’s a piece of junk, but it’s all in one piece. He laughed, Get it? Piece of junk? One piece? Cupping his fingers, he peered into the back window and whistled. Look at the size of that old crate. It’s as long as—

He never finished.

He fell to the pavement. In less than a second, Mr. Robert had appeared, whacking Joey on the back of the head with a wrench. Mr. Robert opened the van door, tossing Joey in like a rag doll.

Josh quickly climbed in after and settled down next to the toolbox.

Mr. Robert opened the door for me. Climb in, he ordered.

I looked at him, at the sweat beading on his forehead and on his chin. He hungered real bad.

I got in.

He was around and in the driver’s side before I’d even settled. He drove off quick, sending gravel flying over the blacktop.

After driving several blocks, he found a deserted street and pulled over in the darkest spot between streetlights. He crawled in the back and opened his toolbox.

Keep a vigilant watch on the street, he ordered. Josh crawled up beside me.

Mr. Robert’s hands were shaking now. I hadn’t seen him this hungry for a long time. Josh never had.

Josh peered back over the seat, curious, as Mr. Robert pulled out his testing instruments and set them up. I don’t know much about what he did. I never want to know. I just know that he knew lots about blood chemistry. He had to.

Josh looked away as Mr. Robert tied a tourniquet on Joey’s arm. Mr. Robert pulled out a needle. I let Josh bury his face in my side as I heard Mr. Robert draw a big, shuddering breath.

I don’t know if I can wait, he muttered, his voice quivering. He actually sounded scared.

You know what you told me about your friends, I said.

Yes, yes. I am one of the last of the old guard. Because I am smart enough. Disciplined enough.

Josh, ever so slightly, began to whimper. I’m scared, he cried.

You need not be, Mr. Robert replied, clinking some glass vials in the back. As long as you keep me fed, I will keep you safe.

I wondered if what he said was true. He’d always said that to me. Then he got Josh. Had there been someone before me?

Suddenly he swore violently, obscenely. It made me jump. I heard the van side door open and I turned just in time to see him fling Joey’s unconscious body out onto the dark, hard sidewalk. One foot draped over the curb.

A positive, he snarled.

He looked at me suddenly and I read his thoughts before he glanced away. His hands trembling, he methodically put his tools and needles and vials away.

Then he pulled a knife out of his box and handed it to me.

I knew what he wanted.

I cleaned my wrist with a wet-wipe from the glove compartment and, gripping the knife firmly, slit my wrist.

Josh looked up then and gasped, never having seen me do it before.

I guess he never realized how the scars on my wrist got there.

I was going to catch the blood in a test tube as I’d always done before, but Mr. Robert never gave me the chance.

He grabbed my wrist and sucked it.

He gripped my hand tight as soon as I tried to pull away. My wrist burned. He opened his mouth wider, as if to bite, but then pushed me away quick.

It helps a little, he gasped. But not enough. We all eat together or not at all.

Josh cried. I moaned. Mr. Robert gave me a dusty towel and I wrapped my wrist with it.

He pulled Josh into the back then crawled into the driver’s seat.

He drove us back to the park. This time he left us and entered the darkness to look over the people there while we waited in the van.

He returned within minutes, angrily stomping across the dark grass.

Nothing but fags and addicts, he snarled as he stepped up into the van.

We drove elsewhere. I didn’t know where, so intent was I on Josh whimpering in the back.

We came to a downtown area, lit up almost like daytime. I was surprised. He usually didn’t like well-lit areas.

He drove around a few different blocks, then he let us off. The first person we saw who wasn’t a wino or drug dealer was a young woman near a bus stop.

She was almost as tall as Mr. Robert but looked real young. She had long dark hair and a furry coat and tight shorts with dark net stockings. Her face was narrow and she wore too much makeup, but I thought she was pretty.

She came up to us.

Are you two lost?

No ma’am, I said, and turned away. It didn’t do any good. She followed me and Josh.

What’s wrong with the little boy?

Josh, I whispered, quit blubbering.

I’m hungry, he cried.

As we walked back toward the van, she followed.

I didn’t want her to meet Mr. Robert. I didn’t know what to do.

He found her before we even got close to the van. He must’ve been following us in those weird ways he sometimes used because suddenly, before we knew it, he was just there.

She stood still, eyeing him up and down as he stood there looking her over. He swept his mustache down over his top lip, then opened his coat and pulled out some money.

She pursed her lips, thinking, then nodded to him.

It didn’t make sense to me.

I won’t go into details. After she tested negative, he made short work of her.

It didn’t take long before he was filled like a leech. It also didn’t take him long to find a dark, musty hotel with a top floor room and a fire escape. He always preferred that.

Josh? He seemed to black out the whole thing once we got hamburgers and fries. We watched TV and ate while Mr. Robert carried the toolbox and his sleeping crate up the fire escape. Before eating, he never could’ve carried that stuff, but he always got real strong after feeding off somebody.

Her body? He laid it in the crate. Later, he drained the blood completely, storing her blood in glass bottles and putting them in the ’frigerator that came with the room. I’m not sure what he did with the leftovers.

I kinda liked the apartment he found, for it was bigger than usual. The bathroom was a separate room, just off the fire escape. He took the mirror down and hid it immediately. The main room, where Mr. Robert kept his toolbox and sleeping crate, also had a ’frigerator and hot plate. Off the main room, me and Josh had a bedroom to ourselves. That was nice. I gave Josh the window side of the bed. An old dark wood dresser stood by my side.

As morning came near, me and Josh climbed into bed. The mattress wasn’t too lumpy, but I could feel little prickles through the thin sheets. Mr. Robert closed the blinds for us, then he went in the other room and lay down in his crate. He always pulled the lid on top, like closing a door, I guess. The woman’s blood would keep him well-fed for at least a week, longer if he didn’t over-eat.

As I lay in the bed and heard the sounds of the city awakening—a lumbering dump truck, a TV blaring somewhere, a woman shouting for a taxi, I remembered how he had glared at me when he realized I was reading, and I knew that this life had to end.

One way or another. For me. For Josh.

But how? I fell asleep, remembering Joey, remembering the young woman, remembering Mr. Robert grabbing my wrist.

In the late afternoon I woke up. Josh was still sleeping. I knew I had at least an hour before Mr. Robert got up. Against all rules, I slipped out.

Within minutes, I had crept down the creaking steps, walked past the bald man at the front desk, and stood near the front door. Taking a deep breath, I pushed it open.

I was out. Cars streamed past. Down the street, a truck blared its horn. The sky was gray and the air was chilly, but I wasn’t going to return for my jacket.

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I walked down the sidewalk. I passed a dark bar where music and smoke filtered out. I passed a place marked XXX and plastered with faded pictures of partly naked women and big feather fans. I glanced through the open door at the dark room and heard some music, then kept going. I finally came to what I was after—a bookstore.

I pushed on the glass door. It chimed as it opened.

Racks of newspapers stood by the door. Just beyond them were shelves of paperbacks, one tall rack with mostly-naked women on the covers and another tall rack with tough-looking gunfighters.

I walked between the shelves to the counter. A fat man chewing a cigar came up to me.

Kid, what do you want?

I— I swallowed, suddenly nervous. I want a book.

We don’t have no kids books here.

I want a book about people who drink blood.

He squinted and pulled out his wet cigar. You mean vampires?

I guess so.

He turned and shuffled a short distance away and came back with a used paperback. On the cover was a huge bat. He put the book on the counter by the cash register.

This is a hard book to read, he said, going behind the counter. Are you sure you want it?

I looked at the picture of the bat. So that’s how he got away so quick. I sure do, I said.

$2.50.

$2.50? I pulled two crumpled dollar bills out of my pocket and put them

Reviews for Tales from 2 A.M.

[englishteacher-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is one of the best short story collections I've seen in years. These, in part, are old-fashioned short stories with solid characters, a clear conflict, and a satisfying resolution. On another level, these stories are almost all "prose poems" where each story has a style that adds matches the story. Truly, a collection for lovers of literature.

[ironwoodbooks · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This stylistic, eclectic collection promises something for everyone--some horror, some sci-fi, some realism, some morality tales. I wrote each story trying to capture a unique style that would add to the tale itself. You didn't think I'd rate it less than a 5, did you?? Let me know what you think.