Christmas Morning

"CHRISTMAS MORNING" - Rick McQuiston

Jeremy rolled over in bed and glanced at the clock on his nightstand. 5:55 stared back at him in red LED numbers. A tiny red dot was lit next to the a.m. designation.

Not even six o’clock yet, he thought sluggishly. Still too early to get up.

But the anticipation that he harbored for Christmas morning was severely tempered by the memory of what he had witnessed earlier that same night.

Or thought he had witnessed.

It was shortly after two-thirty a.m. when he woke up, as most children do, overwhelmed by the curiosity of what lay under the Christmas tree. With excitement that could only be fostered in a child on that most anticipated of nights, he gleefully crawled out of bed and tip-toed down the stairs to investigate whether or not jolly old Saint Nick had fulfilled his holiday duties.

The Christmas tree in red, green and blue illuminated the room. Jeremy’s father didn’t like leaving lights on at night, but made an exception on Christmas Eve. Making his way through the room Jeremy kept his eyes on his destination…the Christmas tree, or more accurately, the presents underneath it. He was fearful of breaking his parent’s rule about not looking at them before morning, but his curiosity got the better of him.

He paused briefly, taking in the beautiful sight of the room before locking his still groggy eyes on the Christmas tree which loomed directly in front of him in the far corner of the room. It stood there, silently guarding the brightly wrapped treasures beneath it, daring anyone to unwrap them before the morning. It was large, nearly eight feet tall, and was packed with such an assortment of ornaments and tinsel that nearly no green was visible on it at all.

Since Jeremy was an only child he knew that virtually all of the gifts were for him, a thought that increased his excitement ten-fold. It was one of the many perks of not having any brothers or sisters.

Jeremy’s heart raced in his chest as he approached the neatly stacked gifts under the tree. He immediately focused on two of the larger ones, wrapped in bright red and blue-stripped wrapping paper respectively, and slid closer to them for a better look as he reached for the larger one he noticed something out of the corner of his eye.

Something on the tree shifted.

Jeremy looked up from his gifts and watched for any more movement. After a few tense minutes he was satisfied he had imagined it and he continued examining his future prizes.

But a small part of his mind wouldn’t let go of the movement. It tried to rationalize it but failed to attach any plausible explanation.

A mouse in the tree? A loose branch? A faulty light strand?

Possibly, but unlikely.

Jeremy looked at the tree again. It was beautiful, fully lit with shimmering ornaments and dazzling tinsel, but there was something else as well. Something he couldn’t explain, but felt nonetheless.

The angel fastened to the top of the tree gazed solemnly across the room. Her flowing garb of gold and blue obscured most of her body, trailing down to mingle with the other decorations. She was the crowning glory of the tree, standing guard year after year from her lofty holiday perch.

Jeremy looked up at her, momentarily forgetting about the presents. He recognized the look in her tiny glass eyes. Even though they weren’t real they still conveyed the Christmas spirit. But they also seemed different somehow, more detached from Christmas and less concerned with holiday cheer.

Jeremy’s gaze fell upon the presents again. He huddled up close to them, periodically inspecting each and every one as he glanced back at the stairway.

And then he noticed it again.

There was movement in the tree. Only this time it was more pronounced, and in a different area, closer to the top.

Now he was getting nervous. He still wasn’t sure if he were imagining it or not, but the uneasy feeling that was settling over the room was unmistakable. He

scooted away from the presents and stood up, all the while never taking his eyes off the tree. Slowly turning around his only thought was getting back to the safety of his

bedroom. In the morning with the added security of his parents and daylight he could truly enjoy the holiday and tear into his presents.

He resisted the urge to look back as he scurried toward the stairs. He was afraid that he might see something he would regret seeing, possibly for the rest of his life. Within 30 seconds he was tucked safely under his covers trying desperately to fall back asleep.

Jeremy glanced at the clock on his nightstand.

6:17 a.m. Still too early to get up. Not that he really wanted to get out of bed. But the thought that eventually his parents would come into his room and make him wake up frightened him. They would no doubt be curious as to why their little boy wasn’t awake yet on Christmas morning. He would then be obligated to go downstairs with them and open his presents…the ones under the Christmas tree.

Jeremy looked over at the clock again, somehow hoping that time had moved backward.

6:24 a.m. Still too early…

“Good morning big guy,” Jeremy’s dad bellowed as he flipped on the light switch. “”Don’t you want to see what Santa brought this year?” He was gesturing towards the hallway. His mother was standing behind him, beaming from ear to ear, a red and green coffee mug in her hands. Jeremy smiled as best he could and slowly crawled out of bed. Part of him was excited, but another part was scared to death.

“Come on big guy,” his dad continued to urge, no doubt reliving his own childhood through his son. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. Santa was generous this year.”

Jeremy pulled his slippers on and rubbed his eyes. Maybe he just imagined it all; it was the middle of the night, and he hadn’t actually seen anything. Excitement began to overtake his thoughts as he stood up and yawned. His parents then ushered him out of his bedroom.

And downstairs, standing in the far corner of the living room, was the Christmas tree. The red, green and blue lights on it, supplemented by a hint of daylight streaming through the windows, filled the room with holiday cheer.

The tree outside a nearby window laid on its side, mostly covered by freshly fallen snow, its pine needles lying on the frozen ground beneath it. It had been discarded carelessly, tossed aside like yesterday’s trash.

The Christmas tree shuddered with anxious excitement when it heard the approaching footsteps in the hallway upstairs. It adjusted the angel at its top slightly, one of its many hunting tactics, and waited.

Jeremy looked over at the clock again, somehow hoping that time had moved backward.

6:24 a.m. Still too early…

“Good morning big guy,” Jeremy’s dad bellowed as he flipped on the light switch. “”Don’t you want to see what Santa brought this year?” He was gesturing towards the hallway. His mother was standing behind him, beaming from ear to ear, a red and green coffee mug in her hands. Jeremy smiled as best he could and slowly crawled out of bed. Part of him was excited, but another part was scared to death.

“Come on big guy,” his dad continued to urge, no doubt reliving his own childhood through his son. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. Santa was generous this year.”

Jeremy pulled his slippers on and rubbed his eyes. Maybe he just imagined it all; it was the middle of the night, and he hadn’t actually seen anything. Excitement began to overtake his thoughts as he stood up and yawned. His parents then ushered him out of his bedroom.

And downstairs, standing in the far corner of the living room, was the Christmas tree. The red, green and blue lights on it, supplemented by a hint of daylight streaming through the windows, filled the room with holiday cheer.

The tree outside a nearby window laid on its side, mostly covered by freshly fallen snow, its pine needles lying on the frozen ground beneath it. It had been discarded carelessly, tossed aside like yesterday’s trash.

The Christmas tree shuddered with anxious excitement when it heard the approaching footsteps in the hallway upstairs. It adjusted the angel at its top slightly, one of its many hunting tactics, and waited.


BIO: Rick is a forty-three year old father of two who loves anything horror-related. He's had over 250 publications so far. Rick has written two novels, five anthology books, one book of novellas, and edited an anthology of Michigan authors - they are all available on Lulu and Amazon. Rick is also a guest author each year at Memphis Junior High School, read at various libraries, doing many book/ art shows, and is currently working on his third novel.

The Patience Factor

"THE PATIENCE FACTOR" - Rick McQuiston

Everett Stones was a patient man. He wore the virtue like a coat, immersing himself in it, using it as a tool to deal with life’s unexpected and inevitable twists and turns. Whenever something would come his way, such as an illness or a car repair, he would simply deal with it in his own sweet time, allowing his patience to steer him through it.

Now he would be the first one to admit that his life was basically unscathed by any real tragedy. He’d never lost a loved one and his health for the most part remained stable despite a few maladies such as migraine headaches and minor backpain from time to time. But he always felt his patience was what would pull him through. His philosophy was to let time itself heal all wounds, whether they were physical or mental.

His successful book detailed many different forms of patience that he had developed over his life, each carefully tailored to specific situations that one might encounter.

Most psychiatrists and other professionals in the field dismissed him as a quack whose theories were only based on such practices as meditation or even religion. But the book sold well nonetheless. So well in fact that he could afford to retire early and live in relative comfort for the rest of his life.

If he actually believed in The Patience Factor, which was the title of his book, he himself sometimes doubted it. But such doubts would always be suppressed by referring to chapter nine:

Accessing diminishing beliefs in one’s beliefs.

His ego sometimes swelled beyond the boundaries of what most people would consider normal or even acceptable but he did not care. It deserved to roam as it wished, unhindered by other people’s perceptions. He, Everett Stones, had applied the patience factor to his life and ascended above all complications. He had conquered all of the difficulties that were slated to come his way and he had done it with his own methods. No amount of money or success could compare to finding a true path by one’s own means. The Patience Factor had worked for him and that was his true reward.

For the most part, he believed it had worked somewhat well for other people as well. He received numerous accolades regarding his work and he felt confident that he had helped many people. Perhaps not to the degree that he had himself but many people nonetheless.

So now here he was, Everett Stones, acclaimed author of The Patience Factor, sitting in his wheelchair covered with layers of wool blankets to keep Patience pneumonia at bay as the trees outside his library window swayed back and forth in the cold January air. They seemed to be beckoning him to his eternal rest. He knew fully that he didn’t have much time on Earth left. His one hundred and second birthday was only four days away and his body was slowly beginning to succumb to old age.

But it didn’t bother him, however. He was already a living example of his book. A shining advertisement for the effectiveness of his work. Very few people lived to be one-hundred and one and he had managed it due to his theories in the art of patience.

This fact had caused a surge in the popularity of his book. Fifty-seven years after it was first published it was still selling millions of copies and he had found himself to have become something of an icon.

The knowledge of this soothed his mind and relieved the aches and pains of age. He pulled the blankets up to his chin and gazed out at the grey scenery. His aged but still sharp mind jumped back to a young man he remembered from almost fifty years earlier. His name was Richard and he was a very emotional person prone to acting rashly. Everett recalled when he first met Richard; it was at a book signing. Richard had told him how he had lost the love of his life. How his beloved bride-to-be had cancelled the wedding a week before it was scheduled to take place. How he had utilized the methods in The Patience Factor and how his fiancé had committed suicide when she had not heard from him in weeks.

Tears welled in Everett’s eyes. Richard, stricken with unbearable grief, also had said that he had learned one thing from The Patience Factor… infinite patience, for better or for worse. Unfortunately in his case, it was for the worse.

The next day, Richard was dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.

Everett felt bad, even somewhat responsible, but he quickly got over it. Chapter four of The Patience Factor helped him immensely.

He felt a sharp pain in his chest that radiated into his left arm, increasing in severity rapidly. His head grew light and breathing became very difficult. It felt like his chest was locked in a vice with death’s bony hand turning the rod.

The realization that he was dying settled on him like a cold, wet blanket. He struggled to maintain his composure, to assure that he would be found in a dignified manner befitting an icon such as himself.

Then just as the remaining breaths left to him were dwindling to nothing, a vision manifested itself in the window. A weak smile formed on his face.

“An angel,” he croaked. “An angel has come for me.”

“Yes, I have come for you Everett,” it said softly. “Although I am no angel. Nor do I come from where angels do…suicides are damned.”

It was Richard! The young man who had lost his fiancé all those years ago.

The figure quickly grew in size, blotting out the January sky with its dark form.

“I have waited nearly fifty years for you,” it said in an eager tone. “I do not think I could have done it were it not for your book.”


BIO:  Rick is a forty-three year old father of two who loves anything horror-related. He's had nearly 250 publications so far, including ones in numerous anthologies, and a few contest placings as well. He's written five anthology books, one book of novellas, and edited an anthology of Michigan authors (“Michigan Madman”). They are all available on Lulu and Amazon. Rick is also a guest author each year at Memphis Junior High School, and recently started work on his second novel (“Where Things Might Walk”).


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A few minutes past the end of time

"A FEW MINUTES PAST THE END OF TIME" - Rick McQuiston

It was at a baseball game when it first happened. Terry Thorus, first baseman for the New York Yankees who was leading the league in home runs

and doubles, suddenly vanished into thin air. He had been about to receive a throw from the third baseman but instead, the ball just sailed into the opposing team’s dugout. 

For a few seconds all was quiet. Forty thousand people completely silent. I swore you could have heard a pin drop. Then pandemonium broke out. Screams mingled with disbelief as hundreds were injured in the ensuing scramble to the exits and several were even killed.

I however, sat calmly in my seat. I had had an excellent view of the playing field and had seen the entire occurrence. Mr. Thorus had been there one minute and simply gone the next. His uniform, his thick trademark mustache, his forty-eight homeruns…all gone. I found myself entertaining a rather tasteless thought…would he still get the MVP award?

People were bustling all around me. They cursed. They screamed. They cried. All of them trying to escape what their minds could not grasp. People do tend to do that, react to tragedy or unexplained phenomena in irrational ways.

The news that day was filled with Policemen, scientists and family members of the victim. Mr. Thorus’ wife, a very attractive blonde woman, held a vigil. I felt great relief that they had no children.

After two days, every corner of the civilized world was very well acquainted with the incident. Within another week, three more people had vanished. Art Brandish, an accomplished author of, appropriately enough, mystery novels, disappeared while giving a lecture at Stanford University. Jeremy Thak, a partner in a small law firm in Dallas, vanished in the midst of a meeting with his colleagues. And just to prove there was no gender discrimination, Beth Ann Houfferin ceased to exist while engaged in intimacies with her husband.

The papers screamed foul play. The scientists countered with varied complicated theories rooted in overlapping dimensions. Some blamed aliens. Some said it was a form of time travel. And the religious community reasoned it was God’s doing…judgment day.

I, however, did not know what to believe. Each theory had its plausible facts and yet all seemed based in beliefs instead of fact. Foul play seemed the easiest thing to believe had I not seen Mr. Thorus vanish myself. Surely no one could have caused it. Dimensional overlapping was far fetched at best and time travel seemed impossible. Aliens…I doubt it. Not that I don’t believe in them, I just think it highly unlikely that any would visit this tiny lump of rock that we live on.

And then there’s religion. Although I’m a God fearing individual, I still find it difficult to believe that he would pluck innocent people out of existence. What had these people done to deserve such a fate? And why did their demise need to be so abrupt and heartless?

And what if it was not God at all? What if it was Satan? But I firmly believe that God would not allow Lucifer such direct power and control over such matters. God simply loves man too much…or at least I hope so.

Which maroons me on an island of ignorance. I can’t help but wonder how many people are gone by now. There were the four we heard about but I’m reluctantly confident there are many, many more. People living alone. People without jobs. People without homes or relatives. People nobody would miss right away.

I have tried desperately to reach my parents in Albany…no answer. No answer for two days now. The police have found no trace of their whereabouts, which leads me to accept the inevitable…they are gone.

After that, people started to vanish quickly. Hundreds at a time, at least in the United States. In Europe, they disappeared by the thousands and in Australia more than two thirds of the entire population was there one minute and gone the next.

The whole world was gripped in intense fear. People stopped working which caused economic collapse. The President declared a state of national emergency and then promptly vanished. Riots, looting, murder, they reigned supreme. Most people stayed indoors, too afraid to venture out into the streets and eventually succumbed to starvation or disease.

By Christmas morning, most people were gone.

Major cities; New York, Los Angeles, Moscow, Mexico City sat like huge empty vacant lots. Phones, electricity, gas, all were down simply because there was no one left to run or monitor the systems.

I sit here in my small two-bedroom apartment, alone, cold and afraid. Afraid of what would undoubtedly claim me. But I am now far more afraid that it won’t claim me. To be left alone on a barren shell of a planet with nothing but memories to keep me company. That would be worse than whatever awaited me in the void of uncertainty that had taken all those before me.

I was startled when the television popped on. A church leader filled the screen and babbled on incoherently about the end of time. He said his time was near so he had to be brief. He said he had received a vision from an angel the previous night and that an angel had told him that mankind’s time on Earth was about to expire. God had decreed that man had failed to prove itself worthy of life. Satan had demanded his fair share so God was forced to remove people while others remained, thereby allowing Satan to enjoy the pain of losing loved ones. When the man had asked the simple question of why, the angel had told him that man had progressed impressively but still suffered at the hands of hatred and prejudice, of fear and arrogance, of greed and jealously. The man on the screen then began to weep. He was truly afraid but he regained his composure and managed to say one last thing before he vanished.

“Friends,” he uttered in a soft tone punctuated by weak smiles. “Those of us who are just and trusting in God will find solace in his lands.” And then he was gone and the screen went blank.

I decided to gather up what supplies I could and head out into the wasteland that was once Earth. I would walk and walk and walk until my time came. My faith in God had waned to the point of nonexistence but I still prayed that what the man on the television had said was true and that thought alone gave me enough strength to carry on.

The cold wind bites at my face and seeps in through my jacket. Many miles have passed without a living creature in sight. I fear I am the last occupant left on the…

BIO:  Rick has had well over 200 publications in over 120 different magazines so far, and is currently working on his second novel. He is a guest author at Memphis Junior High School each year and has written four anthology books and one book of novellas. He also edited and contributed to "Michigan Madmen"( an antholgy of Michigan authors).

The Demon Smiles

"THE DEMON SMILES" -  Rick McQuiston

“Why do we wanna go there?” Tommy asked while looking at the girls for support. Jesse and Kara, each a picture of self doubt and caution returned their concerned friend’s look.

Kenny spoke up. “Because we’re not supposed to.” His red hair matched the intensity in his eyes. “Haven’t you guys ever wanted to be bad…I mean really, really bad?” He caught sight of a beetle, a small brown thing crawling on his brand new Nike shoes. It left a tiny trail of dirt particles in its wake across the bright blue surface of the leather. He reached down and promptly ended its life between his fingers.

The girls looked at each other. They had been very close for nearly all of their twelve years and trusted one another completely. What one wanted to do the other wanted to do, what one thought the other thought.

“Fine, we’ll go but you boys go first,” they said in unison.

Tommy, who was still frightened from a horror movie he had watched on Sir Graves Ghastly the night before, reluctantly agreed. Peer pressure had a firm grip on him, as it did on most children, and it directed his actions despite his common sense.

“Good,” Kenny said. “Tommy, you and me will go first. Girls, you stay right behind us to watch our back. Once we get inside. There’s no telling what we’ll find.” He turned and began to stroll down the dirt path. The others hesitated for a moment and then followed behind him.

The imposing structure loomed ominously in the distance. Even from a quarter of a mile away its sheer size and history dominated the landscape.

“Is that it?” Tommy asked, not really wanting an answer.

“Of course,” Kenny retorted. “What else would it be?” He smiled to himself. “The old factory’s been empty for years, ever since they shut it down.”

“I don’t like it,” Kara said. She was nervously toying with her braids, a habit she’d been doing since she was a toddler. “It looks haunted.”

Kenny laughed. “I’ll bet there’s a whole bunch of vampires and werewolves in there too. Tommy, did you remember the silver bullets and wooden stakes?"

“Boys are so immature,” Jesse said to a nodding Kara. “Just like little babies.”

The four eventually made their way to the old abandoned building, pausing at what was left of the entrance way gates.

All the color in Tommy’s face drained out. “How we gonna get inside? The gates are locked.”

Jesse stepped in front of the boys and produced a large pin from her hair. “Leave it to a woman to get things done,” she mused. She inserted the pin into the padlock, which was mostly rust, and twisted it several times. The lock clicked open with little resistance. “Older brothers; you learn a lot from them.”

Kenny and Tommy looked at each other in disbelief. They nudged the gate open and gazed at their strange destination.

“You go first,” Kenny said nervously to Tommy. “I’ll cover your back.” His usual cool demeanor was obviously compromised by fear.

“I…I don’t think so,” Tommy replied. “Besides, you’re the one who wanted to come here so bad.” He gestured for his friend to enter.

Kenny shot him a hard stare and stomped through the gates. “Fine, follow me,” he commanded.

Thick weeds choked nearly every square inch of ground and hindered their steps. A light but steady wind was filtering in from the east as dark clouds blotted out any chance of sunshine or blue sky. Leaves from overhead flitted about every which way as the trees gently swayed back and forth in the wind as if in sorrow for their lost decorations.

The front door was heavily coated in rust and dirt but to the amazement of them all opened surprisingly easily considering the length of its neglect. It creaked open, filling the air with a terrible noise. Kenny peered inside for a moment and then entered slowly.

Inside, the darkness was as solid as a brick wall. It seemed to move with the breeze outside, almost as if it had a mind of its own. It allowed the investigators to enter but promised no sanctuary. Kenny produced a small, thin flashlight, which was so tiny it barely was able to slice into the darkness.

“Remind me again why we’re here,” Tommy asked through clenched teeth. He felt cold, too cold, considering the temperature outside. He would’ve guessed it was somewhere near sixty degrees or so and yet inside the building it couldn’t have been more than forty or forty-five. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, and sure enough, he was able to see his breath. He lit the candle he’d taken from his mother’s collection, hoping that she wouldn’t miss it.

“Come on you guys, keep up!” Kenny shouted from up around a corner. The girls looked at each other. They could see the beam of light from Kenny’s flashlight dancing around in the darkness up ahead but were becoming increasingly wary of continuing onward. How he had managed to move so far ahead of them they weren’t sure.

“What are you guys waiting for? What’s taking you so long? Come on!”

Tommy, Kara and Jesse continued to make their way through the gloomy and damp corridors, trying in vain to follow Kenny’s voice and regretting their decision to explore the old factory building. The darkness was still suffocating, refusing to reveal what lay within its embrace.

“We should’ve brought more flashlights,” Kara complained. “How we supposed to see anything?”

“Hey guys,” Kenny shouted. “There’s some light in some of the upstairs rooms. Must be open windows or something. Come on, I’m right in front of the staircase now.”

The cold, dank floor slammed into Tommy’s palms as he crashed to the ground.

“You all right?” the girls asked while trying to locate exactly where he was.

“Yeah I’m fine. Just tripped over something.” He felt so embarrassed. “You girls better watch your step.” They helped him to his feet and continued on their way.

Behind them, hidden by the darkness, lay a small body wearing new Nike tennis shoes. The bright blue leather had been scuffed when someone had stumbled over them. And up ahead of them by the stairs, also hidden by the darkness, the demon smiled.

BIO:
Rick has had well over 200 publications in over 120 different magazines so far, and is currently working on his second novel. He is a guest author at Memphis Junior High School each year, and has written four anthology books and one book of novellas. Rick also edited and contributed to "Michigan Madmen"( an antholgy of Michigan authors).