BestsellerBound Short Story Anthology Volume 4 Read online

BestsellerBound Short Story Anthology

  Volume 4

  Copyright © 2012 BestsellerBound.com/Darcia Helle

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the authors. This book contains works of fiction. The characters and situations are products of each author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Rights to the individual works contained in this anthology are owned by the submitting authors and/or publishers and each has permitted the story’s use in this collection. Individual copyright information is listed with each work.

  Cover design by Jaleta Clegg

  Table of Contents:

  Dusting Wars by Jaleta Clegg

  Gaul is Divided by Sharon E. Cathcart

  In Tartarus by Gareth Lewis

  Michaela by Maria Savva

  Pinkberry Squirrels by Magnolia Belle

  The Ghost of the Dresser by Susan Helene Gottfried

  Westwood by James Sophi

  A Mile In My Shoes by Darcia Helle

  The Very Useful Milkweed by Jill Warren

  Hurting the One He Loved by Sydney S. Song

  Dusting Wars

  by Jaleta Clegg

  Copyright © 2012

  "General! The left flank is crumbling. What shall we do?"

  "Buck up, man. We still have the power to beat this thing. Send out the rhinoceros. Bugle call, right flank, close the gap." General DB waved his baton. His troops rallied to his cry.

  The rhinocerous charged, gray fluffy bits trailing in his wake. The assorted bunnies and animals followed, bellowing battle cries as they charged toward the fanged mouth of the monster menacing their home.

  The monster growled, a roar so loud and terrifying that General DB shivered a whole fluff of cat hair loose. The rhinocerous thundered forward, a huge concoction of couch fibers, hairballs, pet fur, and dust. The monster's mouth swept closer, the roar constant. The sound drowned the screams as the front line troops disappeared into its maw.

  General DB's aide froze, eyes wide in terror. The beast decimated the army, sucking whole squads into the bristle lined mouth. "We are going to die."

  The troops scrambled backwards in full retreat. The monster slid its mouth closer, metal neck clattering on the floor.

  "General, what are we going to do? The thing has our backs to the wall."

  "Literally." General DB thumped his baton against the baseboard where the infant dust creatures gestated. "We must save our young. This vile creature must be stopped."

  "How, sir?" His aide quivered, shedding bits of fluff and bread crumbs.

  "We must sever its power umbilical. It is time to summon the Ferrous Feral One." General DB snapped his baton against the metal grate set into the flooring.

  "But, General, he is evil incarnate. They say that he's mad, sir." The aide leaned close. "He even ate his own young."

  "Be that as it may, without him, we have no hope. Our entire colony will be devoured by that creature." General DB hammered on the heating grate. "Oy, you, Ferrous One. We need your help."

  "What's in it for me?" The gravelly metallic voice rattled through the duct.

  "FIrst rights to any coins or metal bits that fall through Couch Clouds."

  "Your entire hoard, as well?" A fragment of dusty hair poked through the grill to study General DB.

  "If you do not help us, our hoard will be swept away into the belly of the beast, along with our entire colony. We need your assistance, Ferrous One."

  "You banished me, claimed I was too contentious for your fuzzy clan."

  "Look at yourself, man. Metal bits poking out everywhere. You tore three of us to shreds just rolling past."

  The Ferrous One pulled himself from the grate. Staples framed a gaping mouth, twisted into a wide grin. "I like the sharp bits. I used to live beneath a Desk."

  "Yes, I know. Hurry, man, or there will be nothing left to save." General DB moved to prod the Ferrous One, but hesitated at the spiky mass of metal paperclips, staples, and thumbtacks protruding from its back.

  The mouth of the monster slashed through the dust troops, sucking them wholesale into its belly.

  "I shall return. And you shall honor your promise." The Ferrous One dribbled tacks beneath the General as a threat.

  "Your courage and bravery shall live forever in our legends." General DB saluted the dangerous dust ball.

  The Ferrous One charged towards the bristled maw, trailing staples in his wake. The mouth sucked him in. The monster swept its neck closer to the general and his aide.

  "He failed, sir. What now? Do we die, sir?"

  General DB squeezed back against the baseboard, spreading his fluff to protect the young.

  "It was a pleasure to serve with you, sir."

  The mouth swept closer, scratching over the floorboards. The constant roar increased in volume. General DB closed his eyes, pulling cat hair over the googly bits.

  The monster screeched. The mouth paused as the belly whined. The mouth stopped, retreating. Sparks flew between the bristles. The high-pitched squeal cut off. The monster lay dormant in the sudden silence.

  "What the devil?" The mouth clattered against the floor as something shook the metal neck. "Horace! The vacuum clogged again. You said you fixed it." Giant shoes clomped into the distance.

  General DB let out his breath in a long sigh. His fluffy middle sagged away from the wall.

  "Are we dead, sir?"

  "No, I think we survived, thanks to the sacrifice of the Ferrous One. May his bravery serve to inspire our warriors for generations to come. Let's see who's left." General DB rolled forward.

  The bristled mouth of the monster stirred. General DB froze, cat hair dripping from his underside. The monster coughed, a wheezing gasp that spat out the jagged shape of the Ferrous One.

  "You've grown," General DB observed as the feral dust creature approached.

  "Lots of materials to implement in the belly of the beast." The Ferrous One smoothed his staple smile. "I want payment, General. I lost more than a few of my paperclips in defeating the beast."

  "Of course, certainly. Right away." General DB nudged his aide.

  "Just drop it through the grate." The Ferrous One paused at the lip of the heating duct. "I have a long memory and I don't forgive easily."

  General DB nodded. "We shall not forget, sir."

  The heating duct rattled at the passage of the Ferrous One.

  "Sir? Where shall I put these?" The aide dropped a dozen bent paperclips to the floor. "Nasty metal bits, all pokey and hard."

  "Just drop them down the grate, man. And be grateful that's all he's asked for in payment."

  Paperclips rattled as they slid through the vent into the underworld.

  ###

  About the Author:

  Jaleta Clegg is always wondering, What if...? Last time she cleaned under her couch, she started wondering how large dust bunnies grow. Hers were more like dust rhinos. This story was born in that moment. She also likes to dream about space travel, aliens, pirates, and all sorts of other strange stuff; and then write stories about her dreams. You can find more information at https://www.jaletac.com

  Gaul is Divided

  Originally publihed in Around The World in 80 Pages.

  by Sharon E. Cathcart

  This story was born from a single phrase that occurred to me in 2006 (“Today, she aches without reason”). I made a note of the phrase, thinking I might use it one day. That phrase resulted in a so-called f
lash ficlet. I expanded on the original to create this tale.

  I hear them speak as I pass. I pretend not to notice.

  "Today," they whisper, "she aches without reason."

  As though I had not known his love. As though I am a Stoic.

  I would never have guessed that I would come to love him. And yet, I had.

  ~~

  Sold in marriage by my father to assure peace in Gaul! Was there no end to my humiliation? I prepared to loathe my filthy barbarian husband, sight unseen.

  “Drusilla,” my father warned, “You have no choice. You will go.”

  “I will not,” I shouted. “I would rather be dead.”

  I yanked the jewels from my neck and tugged them from my blonde hair. I threw them at my father’s feet.

  “I don’t want your wealth if it means being sold into slavery.”

  “You will be no slave, Drusilla. You will be queen. I have already given him your dowry; you will go.”

  I should have known. A princess of Gaul has no choice in marriage; choices are for peasants. How many times had my mother, God rest her soul, told me that very thing? I was old for a bride, nearly nineteen summers, and I think they despaired of finding a husband willing to take my sharp and educated tongue.

  I had cast my eye on one of the courtiers, Alaric. He was fair, handsome and intelligent. I believe to this day that he returned my regard, but Father disapproved. Before too long, Alaric was gone from court; I learned subsequently that he had married another woman. I was heartbroken and angry. Perhaps I would never marry; there were days when I devoutly hoped for that -- to no avail.

  My father would choose the most advantageous match for me for political reasons, and I would go humbly and gratefully. At least, that was what they expected.

  I plotted to run away, to escape. Yet, my father foresaw this and I was guarded every ridiculous mile of the journey to Hunland. I didn’t care about the landscape around me. I didn’t care about anything.

  A group of Hunsman met us a few miles from the village, at which time I learned that I would not be queen as my father had promised, but one of many wives. The men smelled horrible and their Latin was vulgar at best. How could my father have done this to me?

  “Lady Drusilla,” one of them said to me. “You are quiet. I was led to believe that you were seldom silent. Your father told me you were a great conversationalist.”

  I turned to look at him; his clothes were clean and made of fine fabric. Unlike many others in the party, his teeth were good. That surprised me. So did his perfect Latin, so unlike that of the other Huns. I would later learn that he was educated at the court in Rome.

  “I am silent because I am preparing myself for a fate worse than my own death, Hun.” My tone could only be described as haughty.

  The Hunsman raised his hand and the entire party stopped, horses pawing the ground.

  “Is it so dire as all that, Drusilla?”

  I nodded.

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I am to marry a filthy barbarian.”

  The Hun took off his helmet.

  “I am sorry that I do not please you, Lady Drusilla.”

  ~~

  No one could have prepared me for the wonder before my eyes that day. His dark hair hung in ringlets to the middle of his back. His eyes were a changeable blue-green. I had never seen so handsome a man, even in the court of Gaul.

  He was intelligent and well-spoken. He was a brilliant horseman; to watch him ride always reminded me of home, for we Gauls are noted for our horses. He was fastidious in his person. He was devout in his faith.

  He was a gentle and generous lover. While I was one of several wives, I never felt slighted. I came to love him so deeply that Alaric was all but forgotten.

  Ache without reason? Not I. Even as his seed grows in my belly, on the day after he took yet another wife ... today, they are burying Attila.

  ###

  About the Author:

  Books by internationally published author Sharon E. Cathcart provide discerning readers of essays, fiction and non-fiction with a powerful, truthful literary experience.

  Learn more about Sharon and her latest work by visiting her web page at https://sharonecathcart.weebly.com

  In Tartarus

  by Gareth Lewis

  Copyright © 2012

  Nobody escaped from Tartarus. An artificial satellite, it orbited just beyond the event horizon of a black hole, and contained state-of-the-art technology from the dozen systems whose most unwanted criminals it contained.

  Some inmates took a while to accept the impossibility of escape.

  One of them sat calmly opposite Marlowe as he scanned the reader in his hand. After a calculated interval, he looked up. "Archimedes Finch, I'm Doctor Marlowe."

  Finch offered a thin smile, and a slight nod. Not that his lack of hostility offered hope of compliance. He'd been here three cycles with little change in attitude, even after four periods of solitary confinement. After each period a new correctional therapist was assigned, and Marlowe saw only the real hardcases, whether polite or no. The last couple of periods had been a mistake in Marlowe's opinion, only serving to reinforce Finch's resistance.

  Marlowe glanced at the reader. Not strictly necessary, as he could have the information projected onto his retinas by the nanites swarming the prison. The invisibly minuscule machines served as the main means of controlling both the facility and the inmates, suppressing any unauthorized behaviour they may attempt.

  With some inmates, having the information projected into his eyes provided an edge, but he preferred the prop, and doubted Finch would care.

  "You're a thief," said Marlowe.

  "A harsh way of putting it," said Finch, his eyes showing he'd knowingly taken the bait.

  "You steal things, don't you?"

  Finch stared in mock indignation. "Slander, I think I'd like to see a lawyer. I've never been convicted of any such thing."

  "Yet you're renowned as the sixth greatest living thief."

  "Sixth? I thought I, or the scoundrel using my name, was fourth."

  "It seems incarceration can damage a thief's reputation."

  "So who’s taken my namesake’s position in the rankings?"

  "Raul Moshkov."

  "The camel-snatcher?" Finch said with indignation. It appeared genuine, but considering how controlled he'd been so far, Marlowe remained unconvinced. "He's hardly even a thief, just a snatch and run type. Where's the skill in that."

  "In never being caught, one would presume."

  This drew a faint smirk. "That was just mean.”

  “He did steal a moon. I’d imagine that would have put him past your impostor’s ranking.”

  “He did not steal a moon,” said Finch. “No one owned it. It had no security. He simply took it without being seen. Okay, the actual moving of something that size is impressive, but everything else is timing. Take it when the planet’s between it and the sun so it’s out of the light, plot a course to avoid it being seen from nearby systems. You could type a few variables into your reader and get a course plotted. That’s not theft. It’s unauthorized landscaping.”

  Marlowe watched the performance without expression.

  “I assume The Widow also rose?" said Finch.

  Marlowe nodded.

  Finch seemed less offended at this. "And the higher ranks remain unchanged?"

  "Yes. Cautier is still the one to beat.”

  Finch sighed. “Trauman should never have been displaced by that hack. He stole a planet’s name. How can you top that? Releasing a memetic virus to make everyone forget it within a second of learning it, then ransoming the antidote. That’s the real stuff.”

  “It was a few years ago, and Trauman hasn’t done much since. So now Cautier’s theft of three months produce from a mining planetoid from a highly secure area is considered the pinnacle. And really, how could you hope to top that?"

  "If it were easy, everyone
would be doing it. As would I, were I a thief. And if I were, I’d have waited until the ore had been processed."

  "If not a thief, what are you?"

  "An artist," said Finch.

  "In what medium?"

  "Performance, mainly."

  “Anything like stealing a moon?”

  “Touche.”

  "So was your punching out the brother of the President of the Artalic colony one of your performances?" said Marlowe.

  "No, that was my counterargument to his criticism of my work."

  "Do you feel it was worth it?"

  "Well, obviously, if I'd known who his brother was, and that I'd end up here rather than spending a few rotations in a regular prison, I'd have acted differently. I probably wouldn't have stopped at one punch, for a start."

  "That absence of remorse won't help you get out of here any sooner." Marlowe ignored the faint rumbling as he spoke, keeping his face calm. Finch's eyes darted around before flicking back to meet his calm gaze. The noise would be nanites building the new wing on the far side of Tartarus, but the prisoners didn't need to know that. Better to let their imaginations fill in the blanks.

  “Would it help if I lied?” said Finch.

  “Not unless you do it well enough to fool our sensors. If you could, I imagine you’d already have done so. You could at least have avoided time in solitary.”

  “Why would I want to avoid it? Have you met my fellow inmates?”

  “I have had occasion to speak with some of them.”

  “Would you want to spend much time with any of them?”

  “Many are becoming well-adjusted members of society,” said Marlowe.

  “I notice you don’t answer the question. And is well-adjusted a euphemism for lobotomized?”

  "You don’t believe your fellow inmates could teach you anything?"

  "What could I possibly learn from them? The only thing I apparently need to learn is how to avoid getting caught, and I’m unlikely to find anyone qualified here."

  “I was thinking more in terms of adjusting your behaviour to improve your chances of getting out.”

  “If I have to change who I am, then is it me who’d get out? Or do you just view prisoners as the raw material you process into productive citizens.” Finch’s eyes revealed little Marlowe could read.