Strange as Fiction

By R Louise Nelson

Here is a collection of short stories written and edited by R. Louise Nelson for your enjoyment. From gremlins to wish granters to the unexplained, these stories prove that nothing is stranger than fiction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R Louise Nelson
• Release date: Jun 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005013936

R Louise Nelson

R. Louise Nelson is a graduate of Elizabethtown College, where she earned her Bachelor’s degree in Business Administration with a minor in Creative Writing. She’s loved literature ever since she learned to read and has enjoyed all kinds of books, from classic to suspense. She has written her own stories, poems, and essays throughout her school years, but that passion died for some time because she lacked confidence in her work. It wasn’t until God reached her that she decided to pick up the pen once more and do what she was made to do. As you can see, her passion lies in fiction and fantasy, so that’s what she’ll keep on doing. She currently lives in Middletown, PA with her mom and carries the hope of a brighter future.

Book preview

Strange As Fiction

Copyright © 2022 R. Louise Nelson

Published by R. Louise Nelson at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you want to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase the book, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer to purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting my hard work.

Table of Contents

Another Day, Another Dollar

Eat Your Peas!

Player 2

The Animator

Her Wish

Another Tale of the Three Billy Goats Gruff

Brother

The Antagonist Society

Three Wishes

Valentine’s Day

The Waiting Room

Author’s Note

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Another Day, Another Dollar

The door creaked open. Darkness greeted Sam as he stepped into the room. He groped for the light switch to his left and flipped it. The fluorescents revealed multiple rows of desks—all perfectly aligned with chairs stacked on each desktop. On the floor were piles of discarded gum wrappers, paper airplanes, erasers, and other items meant to serve as projectiles for unsuspecting students, boring teachers, or punks who went neener-neener too much.

Sam sighed. Another day, another dollar. He grabbed the broom from his cart and began to sweep. He shoveled pile after pile of garbage into a trash bin, filling it to the brim. When he was done, two garbage bags had been filled. The floor looked much better than it had before.

He was relieved he wouldn’t have to mop until the end of the week.

Sam checked under the desks before he moved on to the next room. The bottom sides were clean. Looks like Gummy and Boogerface were out sick today, he said to himself. The one called Gummy liked to leave wads of gum in creative, colorful patterns under their desk, while Boogerface left stalactites of hardened snot as a token of his appreciation. They made extra work for Sam and didn’t seem to care about the man who had to clean up after their disgusting habits. Sam hoped they didn’t come back until they were at least healthy so he didn’t have to see anything more disturbing than usual.

Satisfied, he left that classroom and walked toward the next one. This too was a mess. Bits of paper were scattered across the floor, and eraser stubs had been flicked carelessly to the ground after failing to fulfill their master’s wishes. Sam swept these up and checked the rest of the room, cleaning as he saw fit.

He went through this routine with each and every room as he did on all his shifts. It was a dull job with poor pay, but he liked the quiet. A school empty of children was strange—especially at night—but it didn’t bother Sam. He enjoyed the simplicity of the job and that no one was there to breathe down his neck as he worked. He could do things the way he wanted to and didn’t have to rush unless he felt like it. Plus, he had a fondness for the night.

Sam made his way to the second to last room. Once he finished, he would move on to the cafeteria and go home to watch a movie before getting some shuteye. He thought about this as a rattling sound echoed through the hallway. Sam paused and listened. He knew it wasn’t from the cart, because the noise continued even after he’d stopped moving. He listened carefully and determined it was coming from the gym.

Sam turned and pushed his cart in that direction. He took a broom, then left it outside and entered the double doors of the gym. They slammed behind him with finality. He paused to listen some more. The sound of something banging against metal seemed to come from the boy’s locker room. Sam went over to it and opened the door. It creaked as he slowly pushed it open. The doors in the school really needed to be oiled, but no one ever bothered to give him any. Sam thought it might be a ploy to keep students from ditching class unnoticed, although the school could have used a bit more money.

All was still among the lockers. The noise had ceased. Each locker was sealed tight, and no one was there. Smelly socks and sweaty shorts sagged in their steel cages; their foul stench wafted from the narrow grills of their cells. The room smelled of body odor and deodorant from years past and present that would linger until the day it was demolished. Other than that, the room was surprisingly clean. There were often muddy footprints for Sam to clean up, and it was common to find clothes in haphazard piles from after-school practices. Sam imagined those sweaty boys whipping each other’s buttocks with a towel and shooting jockstraps like rubber bands. It made him all the more glad he never had to set foot in this place during the day.

Sam didn’t feel the need to clean this room tonight, since it looked better than it ever had. He took another look around and listened for the ruckus, but all was silent. He must’ve imagined that noise. It was not unheard of to see or hear strange things all alone in the dead of night. He turned his back on the lockers and had one foot out the door when

(Rattle, Rattle! Clang, Clang!)

he heard the noise again. He spun around, the broom held out before him like a weapon.

Nothing.

Sam stalked past the first line of lockers and poked them with the bristles.

Nothing. No movement.

He checked the second.

Still nothing.

The third.

Again nothing.

He went to the fourth and final row and peered through the grills.

No dice.

Sam puffed through his lips, making a sound that was almost like a fart. He was wasting time he could be using to get his job done and go home sooner. It was ridiculous to think that anyone or anything could be here at this time of night. Sam gave up the search and made his way to the door. He stopped at a large metal can full of paper. Must be more doodles and notes, Sam thought. Better come back for that.

(Rattle, Rattle! Clang, Clang!)

The can shook. Paper flew to the floor in crumpled balls. Sam watched the can with caution. Another shudder sent more papers flying like confetti in the air. A green shape shot past him in a blur and bounced against a locker. Sam followed with his broom held in front of him. The sound

(Rattle, Rattle! Clang, Clang!)

grew louder but was in a different location. Sam poked his head around the corner of the second row. Two creatures—one dark green, another the color of blood—clung to the locker doors and banged them violently. Their tails writhed behind them and pointed like lances at an unknown enemy. The red one had two horns protruding from its forehead, while the green one had a single point jutting from its temples. Their cold, serpentine eyes stared at—no, through—Sam, who regarded them vacantly. The creatures giggled with high-pitched voices that sounded like nails on a chalkboard. They shook the locker doors with all their might.

Sam furrowed his brow and bared his teeth. Get out of here, you no-good vermin! He smacked them with his broom like they were flies. Big, ugly flies. The things squealed and clung to the lockers in desperation. Sam flipped the broom around and used the handle to jab at their backs and angled it so he could get to their bellies. They dropped to the floor and yelped in pain and frustration. The red and green monsters reared, then hissed and spat at the man. Sam kept beating them with the broom like the pests they were. Defeated, the things scurried out the door, their nails clicking on the tiles as they went.

Sam watched and waited until he couldn’t hear the garbled curses spewing from their mouths. He set the broom against the wall and leaned next to it. He stretched with his hands intertwined behind his head. The knuckles cracked, and so did his joints. He sighed.

Another day, another dollar.

And with that, he went on to the next room.

Eat Your Peas!

They lay on my plate, all mushy and wrinkled. Like little green boogers. Just looking at them makes me gag. My mom and dad and I are gathered around the table for another evening meal. I was hoping for pizza and tater tots, but much to my dismay, I am greeted by platters crammed with meatloaf and greens. I can bear the meatloaf if it’s smothered in enough gravy or ketchup, but the vegetables are too much. Nothing can make those taste good. They sit on my plate in a lump that makes me think of the slop they give people in prison.

Eat your peas, says Mom. They’re good for you.

That’s right, Dad chimes in, They’ll make you big and strong.

No! I shout as I shove the plate away from me. They’re icky! I’ll never eat them!

Dad says, Come now, sweetie. Just a few bites, and you’ll be a member of the Clean Plate Club like me and your mother.

NO! I shove my chair against the wall and jump to my feet. I want pizza. And ice cream! With lots of chocolate and whipped cream!

Mom sighs. There will be no ice cream for you if you don’t eat your peas. And you cannot leave the table until your plate is clean.

I won’t! I won’t!

She scolds me, her voice growing more and more stern. "Eat your peas. Now!"

But I refuse. And I do what any kid would do in my position: I puff out my cheeks and hold my breath. I know it will work, because I saw my friend’s little brother do it when we visited the toy shop down the street last week. He started off with the usual hissy fit, then when that didn’t work he planted his feet on the ground and sucked the air in his cheeks. His tiny body trembled as his face turned bright red. He started turning blue when his mom finally caved and waved the wind-up robot he was whining about in his face. Here, take it! she yelled. Take it!

Mom rolls her eyes and gives me a cold, blank stare.

My mouth twitches in a smirk. She won’t be like that for long. What will she do without me? Who will she cuddle and kiss and buy nice things for? She’ll fall apart without me — I know she will. I can see it now: her and Dad gathered by my grave. She’s in tears as he holds her close to him. She blows her nose with a honk into a frilly hanky and shakes as each sob hits her hard. Dad stands firm, putting on a brave face as salty streams trace the contours of his clenched jaw.

I feel my lungs constrict, and my face gets hot. My mind screams, Air! Air! but my stomach yells, Ice cream! Ice cream! I imagine the ice-cold sugar drizzling onto my tongue and down my throat chased by thick drops of hot fudge. Pure ecstasy.

My head feels light. I am floating, floating down a stream of sweets. I ride the chocolatey river on a raft of wafer. On either side of me are mountains of cakes and pastries topped high with frosting that stretch far as the eye can see. The sky is pink with clouds of cotton candy. The river churns faster and seems to end up ahead. I fall off the side and land in a pool of clotted cream. My raft is gone, so I climb onto a frosted donut shaped like an innertube to lick the sweetness from my clothes. Around me are confections of every color. Gumdrops! Nugets! Truffles! M&Ms! Sprinkles! They dot the sugary ground and float in the cream. They’re about the size of my head. I reach for a gummy worm that’s slithering in the pool, but it slips right out of my fingers.

I drift further into the oasis and soon reach land. More goodies await me there, from cupcakes to candied apples. It’s like a whole rainbow of deliciousness, and I can’t wait to get into it. Then everything starts to get lighter and lighter, until all I see is white.

I open my eyes sometime later to see Mom hovering over me with her hands on her hips. Dad peeks over her shoulder with a sorry look in his eyes. He has that ain’t I a stinker grin that Bugs Bunny likes to use. Mom raises an eyebrow at me. Her gaze pierces me like a needle I’d get at the doctor’s office.

Are you ready to eat your peas?

Player 2

I had a physics test the day Brad went berserk. Mr. Hertz told us about it a week ago, but I kind of forgot until last night. My friends invited me out a lot—we got pizza, went to parties, and did all kinds of fun stuff. I didn’t want to fail another test, especially with Mom and Dad getting on my case about partying too much, so I spent most of the night cramming. Now I feel like I’d pass a zombie test.

My eyelids started to droop as the teacher passed out our tests. I thought if I closed my eyes for one second, I might picture the correct answers. Or maybe the test would do itself. Thoughts of Lisa’s pool party surfaced in my mind. The sun’s rays caressed my skin and stroked my hair, making it glow. The laughter of teenagers and the sounds of their splashing drowned out nature’s melodies. A mop of thick red hair rose out of the chlorine-scented waters. Lisa shook her head and grinned, shouting, Come on in! The water’s fine! Her bright green eyes flashed. They were the kind that pierced through the soul of any high school boy.

I sighed and mounted the diving board. Lisa always got what she wanted with that single look. I had yet to find a man or woman who could resist those eyes. I gazed down at the glistening waters. It felt good to get some sun, but the cool liquid looked tantalizing in its own way. Once you got past the sudden shock, it was pretty refreshing. Other kids gathered around the pool to cheer me on, their hands raised and beckoning. I know if I didn’t do something, I’d be a wuss. I crouched, tensed my muscles, and sprang into the air, hugging my knees to my chest. I yelled Cannonball! as I made the plunge. Water roared through my ears. Everything went in slow motion. Legs swung back and forth. Arms seemed to wrestle through jelly. I looked around until I saw Lisa’s baby blue one-piece. I swam toward her and grabbed her toe before swimming to the surface.

Hey! She squealed. What was that for?

I grinned and stuck my tongue out at her. She splashed me in return, and I gagged as pool water filled my mouth. We laughed and squirted each other with our fists as the other party-goers got lost in their own shenanigans.

Hey, girls!

I whipped my head to see Brad standing at the edge of the pool with a beach ball under one arm. He was known as Brad the Babe in our school for a reason: his well-sculpted abs shined with sunscreen, and his skin had a delicious tan. He had strong arms that every girl in school wanted around them, and his voice was a melody best whispered in one’s ear. His golden curls were unkempt, but they made him look even dreamier. His most defining feature was his dark blue eyes. They were pools of sapphire that could only be found on the face of a prince.

You wanna play ball? He asked. Heck, yeah, I thought. This could be my chance.

It was summer break—a few weeks after he’d moved here years ago—when I caught Brad checking me out for the first time. I was sunning myself on a lawn chair in the front yard. My skin was always too pale and pasty, so I wanted to get some color. It was pretty boring just lying there, so I read a magazine. I saw something out of the corner of my eye, and I realized it was him. Standing on the sidewalk and staring right at me. O-M-G. He turned his head away so quick I thought he’d have cracked his neck. I swear I saw him blush too.

Like what you see? I asked in a mocking tone.

I-it’s not like that. He stared at his feet. He was so cute when he was flustered.

I said, You’re new around here, aren’t you? What’s your name?

Brad.

Brad, huh? Well, Brad, why don’t you come here and talk with me for a while? My mom’s inside making lemonade. She won’t mind giving you a glass. It’s the best in the neighborhood.

Okay.

We talked for hours that only felt like minutes. It wasn’t about anything super exciting, but he seemed to like listening to me. He smiled as I told him about the crazy things I did with my friends, he laughed at my jokes, and he became more talkative as he made himself comfortable in a chair my mom brought out for him. I asked him where he used to live and what he liked to do. Apparently he used to live in California. It makes sense—only perfect beings could come from a place like that. I asked him why he would come to this boring little suburb, and he said his parents found jobs here and that they wanted him to grow up in a family-friendly environment. It sounds pretty lame to me, but I didn’t say so.

Brad said he liked sports, especially baseball. He had a signed baseball from Randy Johnson and went to as many games as he could. But what he liked most was playing the game. Anything that involved running was what he wanted to do. I’m not big on sports myself, but I’ve always loved an energetic man.

Mom handed each of us a glass of ice-cold