Liar

By Dana E. Donovan

Free short fiction from a book of short stories by Dana E. Donovan.
Lies come in all sizes, little white ones, medium but harmless ones, and great big lies that cause heartache and pain to those around for no good reason. Robert Tisdale is a pathological liar who employs all of these lies on a near-daily basis, if for no other reason than because he’s good at it. But when he tries to tell people about the thing hiding under his bed, no one believes him. And why should they? After all, he’s a liar.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dana E. Donovan
• Release date: May 21, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224293711

Dana E. Donovan

Dana E. Donovan grew up in New England where folklore and superstitions can mold a town’s history as much as its people. Such is the phenomenon Donovan exploits in all his books, perpetuating the enigma of small town life and the belief in all that dies is not dead.

Book preview

Liar

Dana E. Donovan

Smashwords Edition

The first time I heard it was on a Friday night. I was in bed, somewhere between sleep and that period just before. I didn’t think too much of it initially and attributed my sense of unease over it to the stressful events that had unfolded earlier that day.

See, I’m an engineer at NASA, and I work at JPL, you know, the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, California. We had just launched a top-secret rocket carrying a spy satellite and I….

No, wait. That’s not fair because it’s not true. If I’m going to tell this story, I’ve got to be straight up with you from the beginning.

The truth is, I don’t work at JPL and I don’t work for NASA. And since I’m being so honest (for a change), I might as well tell you that I’m not even an engineer. I’m a bartender at the Blue Dolphin on Barefoot Beach in New Castle. Hell, I’ve never even been to California, or west of the Mississippi for that matter. I guess if you get down to it, that’s my problem. I’m a pathological liar. I always have been. My shrink says it’s because I lack confidence. I make up stories to promote an image of self-importance. He says I hide behind these facades to compensate for emotional inequities. Do you believe that crap? Because I don’t. The truth is, I lie because I like it. Pure and simple.

Take last month for instance when I told Troy, a co-worker of mine down at the Dolphin, that his wife came in looking for him. She hadn’t, of course. I told him I thought she’d been crying. Looked like it, I said, donning a serious expression that I hoped conveyed grave concern. I expected he’d probe me for more details, maybe ask the usual what, where, when, why, and how questions first before freaking out altogether, at which time I’d have come clean, pointed out what a chump he was falling for it, and then we’d all have a good laugh over it.

But no. Turns out Troy’s wife had been worrying sick over her mother the past few weeks, what with her cancer and all spreading to her last working lung and kidney. But hey, how was I to know? It’s not as though Troy keeps me up on every little thing in his life. Anyway, he left work at the height of happy hour, and guess what? I clean