WEIRD TALES
By
Mark Lambert
SMASHWORDS EDITION
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Mark Lambert on Smashwords
Weird Tales
Copyright © 2011 by Mark Lambert
Thank you for downloading this eBook. I hope you have some fun and thoughts while reading it.
Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Adult Reading Material
*****
Please note that I use British English spelling throughout apart from where American spelling is necessary. You will see ou’s (e.g. colour) and ‘re’ (centre) as well as a few other differences from American spelling.
These short stories are the product of prompts given in writing groups, which is a useful tool to spark the imagination.
I hope you enjoy the stories as much as I enjoyed writing them.
*****
This is a collection of short stories and flash fiction.
The content ranges from humour to fantasy/sci-fi to drama to horror/mystery.
Dreamspeak
A priest conducts a confession in a new technological dictatorship and wonders what happened to traditional methods.
A man gets contacted by an old girlfriend on the social network. He reads her email and narrates his thoughts. Is getting contacted by old friends good or bad?
Archie's Plan
Two bank robbers meet up at a scheduled place and wait for their leader. Where is he, and what exactly was the plan?
Input Output
Fred’s wife wonders what he’s working on in the basement. He eventually shows her, promising it will change their lives.
Study of a Delusion
A doctor visits a patient who is convinced he’s a werewolf. He’s forced to stay the night. Is his patient really a werewolf?
Almighty Control
Who actually looks after the universe, and who is their boss?
Big Ole Tree
A lady reminisces about her childhood when her grandmother saved a mighty oak tree from being destroyed.
Burgulary
A woman arrives home from holiday to find her home has been burgled. What’s the most important thing that’s gone missing, and how can she replace it?
Internet Problems
Does any malevolent force lurk in the internet? What are the consequences of annoying it?
A New Little Rule
Space travellers return to Earth, looking forward to enjoying themselves after a year away. Will they be able to do that?
Marion's Lot
A beaten housewife tries to hold her life together, while a friend tries to help.
Judging Emma
A woman is involved in an accident. Who was it with? Who calls for a trial? How can she get an innocent verdict?
The Village
A man gets stranded in a small village. Who can help him? Why are the people a little strange?
Eco Revenge
An old lady contrives to frame her neighbour for rubbish recycle crime.
The body lay on the reclined chair in front of me; electrodes still attached to his forehead and chest. The intermittent beeps from the monitor now merged together in a low hum. I brushed my hand over his eyelids to close them and pushed his gaping mouth shut. What went through his mind? He never spoke. He’d generated no images. He’d only screamed.
I took one last look at the unfortunate man and pressed a red button to alert the Dumpers that we had a failure.
I needed coffee and a cigarette, so I made my way to the vending machine and out the back of the church. The two Dumpers nodded as they walked past me, on their way to the confessional area.
The hot coffee refreshed me somewhat and I sparked a match to light my cigarette.
“Having a sly break eh, Father?” Father Thomas surprised me.
“I see you’re needing one too,” I said as he brought a fat cigar up to his lips.
“How’d it go with the difficult one?” he said.
“We had a failure.”
“Hmmm. I thought that might happen,” he said. “The man just wasn’t up for confession.”
“Well, I don’t know. I’ve never seen one like that before. He never said a word, and no images. Just screamed, you know?”
Father Thomas glanced at me between huge puffs.
“Your first screamer eh?”
“No. Like I said, there were no images either. Never happened before.”
“Don’t take it personally Father, some just don’t want to confess.”
I sipped my coffee and thought about his words. Why would anyone want to confess to things that the church didn’t approve of? I really wasn’t sure anymore. I’d seen people lie there, electrodes attached to their head, a drug-induced sleep, and pictures of their dreams and thoughts transmitted to a large plasma screen. The pictures were vivid and sometimes bizarre; most spoke and some shouted aloud. Some screamed, but hardly any simply screamed and died like this one. I’d heard of that happening, but never experienced it until now.
“Must go,” said Father Thomas, “got an indoctrination to do. Young girl. She’s apparently having thoughts of independence and her parents are worried. See you later.”
He threw his cigar stub to the floor, stamped out the embers and left me alone.
I thought back to my first confession ten years previously. The woman had been nervous, as I was, but I had to coax her thoughts out. I was trained to do that then. She’d had thoughts about having an affair with a work colleague. Reading passages from the Book was my punishment for her and she probably went away quite happy, relieved and only a little embarrassed. Today, after the rule of the superiors three years ago, she would be strapped up to a machine, sent to sleep, and we would see her sins for ourselves. They have no choice. We make a decision on their fate, but I know the authorities are asking the programmers to automate the punishment process. I’d always argued that they should involve us before it went too far.
I sparked another cigarette. Maybe my faith was slipping, or my faith in the technology they now use. I longed for the old days of face to face encounters, or even the older days when their faces couldn’t be seen. I wondered how far their technology now reached.
Two men appeared from the building and stood either side of me. Men I’d never seen before.
“Hello Father,” said one.
I looked at each of them. Their white suits and red ties unnerved me.
“You can finish the cigarette, if you want to,” said one man.
“What’s up lads?” I asked. I felt sweat form on my forehead.
“You have been selected for confession,” said the first without emotion.
“You have worrying behaviour and thoughts,” said the other.
Before I could speak again, or even think about his last comment, each man had grabbed my wrists and my arms were bent upwards behind my back.
There was no point in arguing or struggling.
As they led me to the confessional area, I wondered what images I would give them, what words I would speak and what punishment they would deliver.
Or would I just scream and die?
END - Back to stories list
There are many evil things in this world which were not originally intended for bad use. Man somehow learned to control fire in an effort to keep warm, and then learned to use it to burn down houses of the enemy. Then there's Facebook.
Okay, I left a few things out there, like gunpowder, nuclear fusion and Pop Idol, but Facebook beats them all.
"Hi !!!!!!! Remember me!!!!!!!?"
This was her first contact via the insidious network. Overuse of exclamation marks, and yes I did remember her. We had one date when we were spotty fifteen year-olds. Stacey. I read her email with trepidation.
"I remember when we went to the movies to see Annie Hall!!!!!!!"
She's going to wear out her exclamation mark key in a minute, plus it was 'Manhattan' we went to see. She kept farting all the way through.
"I kept farting LOL!!!!"
Yes. I wondered if the 'LOL' stood for 'Long Out Loud', which they were. Although being a spotty fifteen year-old, with raging hormones and a desire to find out what your spotty date is made out of under those clothes, you had no option but to ignore the farting and go for it.
"God, you got your finger stuck in my bra strap!!!!!!!! :) ;) :>( :) :>(("
Erm, I did, but what do all those smiley things mean? Are some of them supposed to be tits?
"Then I puked up!!!!! I wasn't used to popcorn LOL."
Right on my lap. If there is anything to douse the ardour it's a girl puking right on the place you don't want it.
"Anyway, back to the present!! How did the operation on your thingy go? I used to work in the hospital and couldn't help but notice your name on the 'sensitive' operation list."
Gulp!!!! My turn to use those exclamation marks.
"My husband had that done..."
Thank god, she's married.
"and it was okay until he died last year."
What!
"He was crushed to death by a herd of cows who were frightened by a sudden noise."
Not you farting by any chance?
"Can we meet up?????"
No.
"Here's a current picture of me, in my bikini on holiday this year."
Erm...Ooh. Well...Gosh.
"My husband was boss of Bespoke Industries. His insurance left me three million! Can you believe that?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Use as many of those exclamation marks as you like!
How should I address her in my reply back? Stacey? Stace?
Hmm, does it matter?
END - Back to stories list
Tony walked along the road, his eyes darting from left to right looking for the trouble he expected. The bag he carried was heavy, but heavy in a nice way to him, because he knew the contents and he had no problem with the straps cutting into the soft flesh of his fingers. He realised he was walking too fast, against the instructions of Archie, so he slowed his pace but still kept aware of his surroundings. Switching the bag to his left hand, he approached the motel, and wondered if he was the first of the gang to arrive.
The motel was perfect for Archie’s plan, he thought. Unkempt grass out front, dull, grey net curtains behind the windows of the rooms and peeling paint on the doors.
“Hey Tony,” someone shouted from behind him. He turned. It was Joe, being stupid again. Tony held a finger up to his closed lips. Joe, across the street, stopped in his tracks and looked to the ground. He placed the bag he was carrying on the sidewalk.
“Idiot,” said Tony quietly as he approached the motel desk, “didn’t he listen to Archie?”
Tony pressed a button on the scratched wooden desk top, which produced a muffled buzz.
A man appeared from a side door, behind the desk. The creased shirt hanging outside his belt and two-day stubble on his chin complemented the atmosphere of the surroundings.
“Whaddaya want?” He turned the sound down on the small black and white television.
Tony smelt booze on his breath. Pleasing. He wouldn’t be fully aware. Archie really knew what he was doing.
“A room for one night. I’ll pay up-front.”
“Okay.” The man turned to the wall panel behind him and snatched one of the numerous keys. “Take number seven. It’s the last one that was cleaned out.”
Tony wondered what cleaned ‘out’ actually meant, but he wasn’t worried. Everything was going to plan so far.
He handed over cash and took his keys.
He made his way to room number seven, tentatively stepping on wooden floor-walks with splitting and rotting wood at the sides and finally found his door. The slightly rusting skeleton key was stiff to turn in the lock, but the door opened.
“They first put a man on the moon five years ago,” Tony muttered, “and they still have crap places like this.”
The door opened inwards, creaking, and a musty smell mixed with chemical air-freshener hit his nostrils. Tony stepped inside and shut the door behind him. The room was basic;
a small table to his left, a door to his right and one single bed with a crumpled brown blanket covering it. He decided that the he wouldn’t like his slicked-back hair saying hello to the thin, grey pillow that sat deflated at the top of the bed. He carefully laid the bag on the bed, sat next to it and patted it lovingly. Now all he had to do was wait for the others.
A short while later, after Tony had tentatively examined the bathroom, a rap-rap came at the door.
“Hey Tony, I’m here, let me in.”
Tony strode to the door, yanked it open and pulled Joe in
by his thin tie.
“Shuddup. You know the plan,” he said, staring into Joe’s grey eyes. He sometimes wondered whether a brain of any sort lurked behind them, or beneath the greasy, thinning mop that Joe called hair. “Put the bag on the bed.”
Joe did as told.
“Hey man,” he said, “we did it, we really pulled it off!”
“Yeah, yeah, calm down Joe. It’s not over yet. Archie needs to get here and we can split the proceeds. Until then, keep the excitement level down, huh?”
“Did you see the way I scared that teller shitless with this?” said Joe, twirling his handgun around a finger.
“I saw. It was very impressive. Now put that away. Let’s hope we don’t need it again.”
Joe went to the two bags on the bed and opened them up.
He reached in and pulled out small sacks and threw them to the floor.
“Best get counting,” he grinned. “Oh man, I loved the way you blew that guard away. One shot an’ all.”
“That’ll do. Let’s get on with this,” said Tony.
For the next thirty minutes, the two men examined and counted the proceeds of their work. Greenback after greenback, Washington, Lincoln and Jefferson grinned at them.
A perfect bank robbery, thought Tony. The perfect getaway, the perfect plan. Magnificent. So far.
“Sixty thousand,” said Joe.
“Archie should have about the same,” said Tony, “so all in all, probably thirty thousand each.” He ran a hand through his hair and stared at the money. “What’ll you do with yours?”
Joe thought for only a few moments.
“Big house, big Chevy, big Havana cigars, girls and more girls.”
“Big girls, I take it?” said Tony, grinning.
“Whatever, but I can use any of ‘em. How about you?”
“Invest and get out of this game, that’s what.”
“You’ll never get out man, never. It’s all up here,” said Joe, pointing a finger to his forehead.
“Not me, this is pay-off time.”
Joe frowned.
“Hey, where’s Archie anyway? He should be here by now. Think he’s been snatched?”
Tony was also concerned. Joe was right. Archie should have turned up by now.
“How long you known Archie anyways?” said Joe.
“Five years. Good planner. He’s got his head screwed on.”
“I only known him, what, this year. Trust him?” Joe raised his eyebrows.
Tony was taken by surprise at the statement and decided to protect his friend.
“Of course I trust him. We both trusted him on this job. Hey, what are you saying?”
Joe scratched his thin nose.
“He spent a lot of time grabbing those paper things.”
“The agreement was that we get hold of as much as possible, you know that,” said Tony.
“Yeah, but those paper things...why not concentrate on the cash?”
“Just the teller he dealt with,” said Tony, trying to focus on the image in his mind. “He would have got the cash and he’ll be here soon, I know.”
An hour passed and Tony felt edgy. He lit what was his fourth cigarette and tapped his feet on the floor. Joe paced around the room, occasionally stamping on roaches that crawled on the carpet.
“I’ve had enough of this,” said Tony. “I’ll check with the desk.”
“I’m coming with you,” said Joe.
“Just keep in the background, like we’re not together will you? The cops will be on the lookout for three men.”
“We’re two, but okay, I’ll get a drink or something.”
Tony approached the motel desk where the scruffy man sat, watching television.
“Hi,” he said. “I was expecting a friend to call. Has anyone checked in lately?”
“Oh yeah,” said the man as he reached to open a drawer. “Nobody checked in, but this was delivered for you just a few minutes ago.”
He handed an envelope to Tony.
The man turned the sound up on the television as the national news started.
Tony ripped the envelope open, keeping a wary eye on Joe who was idly reading leaflets from a table.
The news program music reached a crescendo and the newsreader spoke dramatically.
‘The biggest bank robbery in American History.’
The dramatic music became quieter.
‘Today in Santa Rosa, fifty million dollars worth of bonds were stolen from the First National Bank.’
Tony looked up to the screen and stared, mouth open. They hadn’t stolen that much! Bonds? Joe appeared next to him.
‘A security guard was killed and sixty thousand dollars were taken also, but the FBI say that the bonds, which are untraceable, constitute the biggest robbery ever seen. State police and the FBI are hunting three men. An FBI source says that they certainly knew what they were looking for.’
Tony looked down at the ripped envelope. He pulled out the paper within it and opened it up. He read it, in a daze.
‘Hi guys. By now you’ll both be about thirty grand richer. Sorry for me running off with a bit more than that, but I don’t like traceable cash. Thanks for the help.’
It was signed, ‘Archie’
Tony handed the letter to Joe and walked away.
“So...who was he, like really?” said Joe.
“Someone who really knew what he was doing,” said Tony as he heard the wailing of police sirens in the distance.
END - Back to stories list
Fred Taylor studied his wife’s body while she tipped the remnants of her coffee cup into the sink. He imagined his hands around her throat, squeezing.
“And another thing Fred, we need these cupboards painted. Do them white.”
She laid the cup down and looked around the kitchen. She ran a hand through her long blonde hair as she thought for a moment.
“No, make it a shade. Apple white will do. You can get that from the DIY store,” she said.
“Yes dear,” said Fred.
“You do know where the DIY store is don’t you?” she said, “you seem to avoid it a lot.”
“Apple white, yes fine, and Jane, I do know the store you mean...darling.”
“And make sure you use a decent brush. I don’t want hairs stuck in the paint all over the place.”
“Darling, don’t forget I’ve my own work to do,” he said.
Jane lent back against the sink and lightly drummed her well-manicured fingernails on the food top.
“And when is that going to be finished? God, I don’t even know what it is you’re doing with that thing in the basement. All those lights and switches and things.”
“It’ll change our lives darling, just you wait and see.”
“Fred, that ‘work’ isn’t paying bills, but you’d better be right. You got that PDH thing and you’re doing nothing with it, but sitting around the house while I’m off working.”
“It’s a PhD darling, and I can’t help being made redundant can I? Besides I don’t just sit around...”
“Oh look, I’m late,” she said, checking her watch, “Just make sure that you get the paint.”
She picked up her handbag and walked off towards the hallway. Fred watched her leave, looking at her perfectly formed rear, swinging to and fro in a tight skirt as her high heels clicked along the wooden floor. He wondered how such a beautiful woman could change into a nagging, slave-driving harridan.
“Oh, and another thing,” she called out before leaving, “get that grass cut. Front and back!” The door closed with not a slam, but a statement.
Fred made himself a cup of coffee and took it to the living room. He sat on the sofa and reached over to a drinks tray nearby. A small splash of the hard stuff in this won’t hurt, he thought. He’d get the paint later, or make some excuse and suffer another ear-bashing. And the grass could wait.
He gulped his coffee mixture down and fixed himself another; the basement and his own work beckoned. The basement was his own private domain and Jane hardly ventured down there. On the last occasion that she actually did, he’d baffled her with terms and phrases, while making sure that the machine was on full power, with lights flashing, beeping noises, and reams of paperwork containing scribbled formulae were scattered over his work tops. It was probably the only thing that kept her from leaving, apart from his redundancy cash. He knew she was bemused by the machine, but curious as to the final product and the possible ‘life change’ that Fred always referred to.
He opened the door and reached in to switch a light on. Stairs led downwards to his workplace, his area of salvation. The machine he’d painstakingly built over the last six months stood silent. As tall as a family fridge and twice as wide, he had used his experience with computers and biomechanics to put it together. Contacts from his old job in the Cryo-Genetic research department had helped him obtain parts and software. He’d mainly put the lights and beeps on the thing for effect to confuse his wife.
“Hello my beauty,” he said, “soon we’ll be there, soon I’ll have what I want.”
He flicked a switch and the machine slowly came to life. Lights flickered from the bottom upwards combined with a few beeps, until the whole contraption was eventually lit up like a circus, showering light onto the dull walls and beams of the basement.
Fred moved to a computer screen, sat down, picked up some papers and flicked through them.
“Yes, this is the one.”
He tapped away at the keyboard, his eyes flashing between the screen and the paperwork in avid concentration. After some minutes, he stopped to reach over to a thick tube secured to a workbench and linked by wires to the machine. He twisted the top of the tube to take off the lid. Mist escaped from a small fridge beside him as he opened its door. Fred reached in and took a vial containing liquid. Held up to the light, the liquid was clear, but yellowish in colour. He shook the vial and peered at it again.
“Good, good,” he said, as he took the top off the vial and carefully poured the contents into the tube. He flicked a switch and covered the tube which began to vibrate slightly and then faster, eventually becoming blurred to his eyes. Only a minute passed when the movement slowed and the tube was still again. Fred stared in anticipation. If his calculations had been correct, Jane’s urine would be separated from the toilet water and be fed through another tube into the closet to his right.
Her fault for not flushing, he thought.
Liquid appeared in a thin clear tube which ran from the thicker one, through racks and metal holdings, until it disappeared into the closet. Fred’s eyes followed its path with interest. He wondered how impressed his old employers would be with what he was now creating. The closet was still and quiet. He hadn’t looked inside for at least a month while he had slowly, but surely added things from the computer and machine. His creation inside needed to grow in peace, but today he had to look. If he was correct, the creation would be almost complete, the injections of urine and saliva from some days ago, making the transition faster.
Fred stood and moved tentatively towards the closet. The doors were old and wooden, needing a rub down and paint, plus some varnish, but they were only like that for Jane’s sight. He knew that she wouldn’t be interested in the closet and he’d been proved right.
He took a key from his pocket and slid it into the lock. The doors opened outwards and Fred stood in awe, his mouth open and eyes wide.
“Yes!” he said after staring for a few moments.
Inside, it was anything but a closet. The interior was clean and plastic, but with tubes and wires running from all edges inwards attached to his creation. In the middle of the ‘closet’ stood a woman. A magnificent body, her eyes shut. Her skin was thin and Fred could see the veins carrying new blood along her arms, legs and stomach.
The face was barely recognisable, but he could see it was forming fast, from the information he had entered so far. Something caught his eye and he looked down. One, two of her fingers twitched. She was almost ready. All this from a frozen embryo, stolen from his ex-laboratories. He closed the closet doors.
He rushed to the keyboard and clicked on an icon. The screen changed.
UPLOAD SUBSERVIENCE
He clicked. A red bar trailed slowly to the right across the blue screen.
UPLOAD COMPLETED
UPLOAD HUMOUR
He clicked again and another bar showed progress of the upload.
Fred looked to the wires leading from the computer to the closet and imagined the bits and bytes flowing, like the liquid, towards the closet.
UPLOAD COMPLETED
UPLOAD FITNESS MAINTENANCE
He clicked. A doorbell chime interrupted his concentration. Fred switched the monitor off, leaving the upload in progress and went upstairs, locking the basement door behind him.
He opened the front door to be greeted by a man in a black suit and bow tie.
“I wonder if you’d be interested in the teachings of Jesu...”
“No I wouldn’t!” shouted Fred, slamming the door. He rushed back to the basement, and switched on the monitor. As the screen slowly came to life, he pressed a button on the keyboard labelled ‘end program.’ The dull words UPLOAD FAILURE on the screen disappeared when he hit the key.
He clicked on an icon labelled ‘scan’. Very slowly, the screen built an image from the top down. Fred watched transfixed as the outline of a woman appeared, shown in a black background with simple white outline graphics.
He rubbed his hands together with glee and clicked another icon labelled ‘load features’.
His wife’s beautiful face appeared on the image and it also filled with her hair and body colour.
“Yes, you’re beautiful, my new Jane, but I’ll have all that with a better mind. A mind that suits me. A mind that won’t nag, a mind that will let me have what I want.”
Several more clicks uploaded features such as conversation, literature, science, housework, sexual desire. Fred clicked ‘housework’ and ‘sexual desire’ again just to make sure. The electrical impulses made their way out of the computer, along the wires, into the closet and finally into the brain of his new creation.
Finally, he clicked on the biggest button on the screen.
SUBMIT
Fred sat, a whisky-laden coffee in his hands. The creation was ready. Ready and willing to serve him in all that he desired. He heard Jane’s car pull onto the driveway. Another top up of the fiery stuff, he thought.
Jane’s heels clicked quickly along the hallway. She stood, looking down at Fred. He didn’t look up.
“The grass has not been cut Fred. I asked you to do it.”
“So?”
“And I bet you didn’t get the paint either did you?”
Fred looked to the bag that Jane was carrying.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Shoes.”
“Shoes...you’ve got twenty pairs of the goddam things upstairs and you hardly wear any of them.”
“Twenty-one now. But what about the paint!”
“I didn’t get it.”
“You...”
“And I didn’t do the garden.”
“You are useless, just useless, Fred. If I could change you for someone better...”
Fred stood up.
“On that note, my darling, I have finished my work downstairs.”
“What?”
“I’d like you to take a look. You know what I’ve been saying. It’ll change our lives forever.”
“You’d better not be kidding me Fred,” she said as she tottered on her high heels to the basement door, her figure being watched closely by Fred. Soon, I’ll have that body whenever I want it, without complaint!
They went down into the basement to Fred’s work area. The machine was still flicking its lights off and on and making the beeping sounds Jane so despaired of.
“So?” she said.
Fred opened a cupboard.
“Champagne! Let’s toast our new beginning and say goodbye to the past.”
He filled two glasses on his workbench and offered one to Jane.
“Drink up my dear, it all changes from here on in!”
“What is it Fred? What has all this work been for? This had better be worth it!”
“Of course my darling.”
They clinked glasses and Fred watched as Jane took a mouthful.
He stepped forward and pulled open the closet doors.
“Jane, meet...Jane!”
Jane stared as a naked woman stepped out of the closet. The glass fell from her hand, shattering on the floor.
“Now darling, this is Jane II, the upgraded model,” Fred said.
Jane looked at Fred, then at the woman and then to the door. She tried to say something, but her eyes rolled back in their sockets and she crumpled to the floor.
“Hmm, thirty seconds,” said Fred, looking at his watch, “thought the poison might take longer. Never-mind.”
He turned to his creation.
“Fred, you are my husband,” she said. “What can I do for you?”
Fred smiled.
The new Jane went to work as usual and Fred couldn’t be happier. She’d willingly pay to have a decorator, or a gardener and Fred was left to do as he pleased, with the obvious added bonus of a beautiful woman who didn’t refuse sex night after night, or even Saturday or Sunday afternoons.
Fred gradually destroyed the machine, taking it apart over a few months. He’d never need it again and he didn’t want it falling into the hands of his old employers. The parts could never be used again.
He was working on dismantling the machine when Jane came into the basement.
“Hello darling, want some of this cake?” she said taking a bite of a chunk.
“Err, no I’m busy,” said Fred.
He went back to work and looked up again at Jane, walking up the stairs in her tight fitting sports suit. He looked closer. Has her arse got bigger? He thought for a moment.
Cake? When did she ever eat cake like that?
Fred completed his work and returned upstairs. Jane was busy carrying large bags to the car.
“Jane, honey, what are you doing?”
“Just getting rid of my old clothes. I’ve put on a bit of weight and I’ll never get back into them. I thought the charity shop could use them. There’s some cake in the cupboard.”
Fred knew something was wrong. She was programmed and built to be perfect, but...
His mind searched and searched until he realised with horror.
The fitness maintenance program didn’t load properly!
He rushed down to the basement and stared at the space where most of his machine once stood.
“Jane, Jane!” he called, as he ran to the driveway, “don’t let them take the garbage bins!”
“Oh, sorry honey,” she said, “they took them earlier, but don’t worry, I’ve got a treat for you. There’s plenty of ice-cream in the fridge for both of us.”
END - Back to stories list
Paul Carpenter had driven along the motorway with sweaty palms, constantly wiping his hands on his expensive trousers. Thoughts went through his mind that he should crash and get it all over with, but he felt cowardly and besides, maybe he had a chance to get help. In the last week he had contacted Doctor Gerald Foster, one of the most respected Doctors in the field of Psychiatry. He was also one of the most expensive, but Paul could afford it. He had given no clue to the Doctor as to the nature of his problem and he was struggling to think how he could talk about it face to face, but this was his only chance after a year of hell.