Shane Kroetsch

Dark and Introspective Fiction

Short Fiction

Unexpected Gifts

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I check my watch. She’s late. I was really hoping she wouldn’t be late.

Gaetan strides up beside me and flicks the butt of his cigarette into the dark. He blows smoke and watches me from the corner of his eye. “Relax. This will all be over soon.”

I chew on my lip and watch the crest of the hill. The cast iron park bench. The Victorian lamp post beside. A silhouette emerges from the shadows and Angelica stops under the bland electric light. Her coat is buttoned to her chin. Dark bangs cover her eyes. Her fiery red lips stand out like the ‘x’ on a treasure map.

My heartbeat hammers in my temples. “Okay. She’s here.”

“I see that.”

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

Gaetan frowns. “Of course. You need to trust me.”

“Right. Trust you.” My hand tightens around the handle of the cloth bag resting against my thigh. “Okay. Be right back.”

Gaetan steps away. “Remember to breathe.”

The click of my heels echo around me as I climb the path. Angelica is still as I approach, showing no recognition, until I stop next to her.

“Hello, Thomas.”

“Hello, Angelica. Thank you for meeting me.”

“It is confusing. Being told that we should not see each other. Then you ask me to meet you here, of all places.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just… I have something for you.” Her eyes follow as I hold the bag out. I swallow against the lump in my throat. “A gift. To say thank you.”

Her shoulders relax and she faces the darkness. One hand rises and pulls the top two buttons of her coat open. The lace fringe of her bra matches her lips. “You know how I prefer to be thanked, and how I show my gratitude in return.”

My intention to maintain eye contact fails. “I can’t. We can’t. You know that.” I stretch my arm. “Please.”

Angelica sighs and takes the bag. With the handles spread wide, she peers in, then for the first time to me. “What is this?”

“It’s, well, it’s a doll.”

She reaches in for the doll and lets the bag fall. When she squeezes the body, it crinkles. “It is made from?”

“Dried grass. I think.”

Angelica scowls. “Thomas, what have you—”

Her breath catches. What little colour her skin held evaporates. The whites of her eyes show, and she folds to the ground.

“Angelica?” I rush forward and take her free hand. The doll is clutched tight in the other. “Angelica, are you okay?” Her skin is cold, lips twisted in a permanent sneer.

I scramble away and run down the hill. Gaetan steps onto the path to join me. “So?”

“Gaetan, I think she’s dead. What did you do?”

“You asked me to take care of your situation. So, I did.”

I lace my hands over my head. “That… that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Perhaps next time you should clarify your expectations.” He leans out and looks along the path. “Besides, she is not dead. Only, incapacitated.”

“Next time? Wait… she’s okay?”

Gaetan puts his hands in his pockets. “We can discuss details another time, since you now find them of interest.” He walks the path toward the hill. “In the meantime, it would be best if we collect your girlfriend and leave.”

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Photo by MChe Lee on Unsplash

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Danger

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Danger. That’s what the sign says. Door must not be opened except at stations. It’s like seeing, Caution: Contents Hot, on a coffee cup. If you don’t know, you deserve what you get. If you do, maybe it’s a way of getting what you deserve.

The train car is half empty. Between travel restrictions and mandatory shifts below surface, Sunday mornings are slow. Fewer passengers. Less security. I stand and hold the metal bar on the back wall as the tracks begin to rise.  The creak of the near two-hundred-year-old wood floor is insignificant to the groans of the car as it strains around a bend.

The need for transportation saved these relics from being recycled. One of the many instances of our new reality after the solar storms. Steam returned to favour when our ability to harness electricity in a reliable fashion failed. Demolition is no longer a brute endeavour. Because trees no longer grow, the integrity of every precious reclaimed piece has to be maintained.

Two cars up, the siren sounds. Then the car ahead. The person closest in our car stands, and illuminated by the dim oil lamps, turns the crank. The wail continues on down the line. I shield my eyes, and we blast through to the surface. Even through the treated glass, the sunlight carries power. I feel it through the toes of my shoes.

I look along the rows of seats. Some of the other passengers have donned their goggles. All face away. Alone, but together. I prefer the former, especially now. The train lumbers on. I don’t have much time, so I step toward the door. Nobody turns to watch. I take another, grip the silver knob, then slowly unlatch the draw bolt.

The door snaps open and my skin is on fire. If not in a literal sense, then close enough to. I stare into the light until my vision is taken. My lungs fill with scalding air as I step through the door. My feet leave the wood floor and I am delivered to my fate.

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Photo by britt gaiser on Unsplash

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Lost and Found

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“Excuse me…”

I lowered and folded my newspaper onto my lap. I wasn’t looking to be interrupted, and I’m sure it showed, right up until I looked into those eyes.

I don’t read a lot of books, but it felt like I had been dropped smack dab in the middle of a dime store paperback. The sky was bluer than I remembered it being before, the birds sang beautiful melodies, and all that. When I say she could have been a model, it’s the truest words to ever leave my mouth. The only reason I could think of to look away would be to figure out where the photographer was hiding.

“Would you happen to know when the next train is due to arrive?”

It took a moment to shift my brain into gear. I stole a glance at my watch and stuttered before I was able to work my lips enough to speak the Queen’s English. “About half-past. I mean, ‘bout five or so minutes from now.”

She smiled and I knew I could die a happy man. “Thank you, that’s perfect.” She motioned a gloved hand to the empty seat beside me. “May I?”

I almost told her I’d give her my last twenty bucks if she would but smartened up at the last second. “Of course.”

I tucked the paper between my leg and the arm of the bench. She sat with her back straight and her purse on her lap. After looking both ways along the tracks, she looked at me from the corner of her eye. “Nice watch, by the way.”

“Oh, thanks.” I shook it on my wrist. “A friend gave it to me.”

“Must be some friend.”

I shrugged. “It was a unique situation.”

“Forgive me, I should have introduced myself.” She held out a hand, like a lady used to. “Rochelle.”

I was as awkward as ever, grabbed the tips of her fingers and bobbed them once or twice. I don’t know about her, but I did my best to pretend it never happened. “Gerald.”

Gerald? Jesus H Christ. Not sure why I slipped up and used my real name. Besides, nobody called me that but my mother.

“Where are you off to today, Gerald?”

“Oh, you know, the city.”

She leaned forward on one knee, raised an eyebrow and gave a mischievous smile. “Business, or pleasure?”

“Business.”

“And what is it you do? For business.”

I had to give my collar a tug so as to breathe right. “A little of this, a little of that. I find things, mostly.”

She rested her chin on her closed fist and bit at her bottom lip. “Intriguing.”

The sensation started in my feet and travelled up to my chest. At first, I thought it might be a heart attack. Turns out it was the south-bound train.

I turned to solid marble when she leaned in and put a hand on my knee. “I do wish we had more time to chat. Perhaps fortune will smile upon us and we will meet again one day.

I nodded but couldn’t manage much else. Lucky I didn’t drool, I guess. She stood and glided along the platform, disappeared around the ticket booth. The train ground to a halt in front of me. The smoke and racket hardly registered. I let out a breath and picked up the paper. When I lifted my wrist to check my watch, it wasn’t there. Pressure rose up in my temples, like a volcano about to blow. I set a hand on the pocket where I kept my wallet. It was flat. I had to shake my head. Taken by a pretty face. Again.

I reached inside my jacket. The ticket was still there, at least. It meant I could get to the job and get paid. After that I’d be in a good spot to take a few days off and go find Rochelle, if that was even her name, and see about getting my watch back.

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Photo by Anna Auza on Unsplash

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The Demon

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I turned the light on and pointed it toward the painting on the wall. At first, the image was dull and lifeless. Then the brush strokes swelled. They flowed and shrank, as the demon opened its eyes. It watched me in silence. What it hoped to see, I was never sure. When it was finished, it focused an unknown object across the room.

“My task is complete. Set me free.”

“No,” I said. “I quite enjoy our arrangement.”

Its lip curled, and its eyes grew dark as they turned back to me. “We had a deal.”

“A deal that is no more a thing than the words spoken to seal it. If our positions were reversed, I doubt you would think twice about doing the same.”

The demon bared needle-like teeth and eased its eyes shut. “When I escape this prison, know that the tasks I have been performing will be a kindness compared to your fate.” I shrugged. “We’ll deal with that when the time comes. Until then, I have something I need you to take care of.”

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Long Live the King

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It’s quiet. For some reason, that makes me sad. Normally I’d pay good money for the people around me to shut up for a few minutes. Talking about their offspring or last night at the pub. Reminiscing about glory days never to be seen again. It’s like if they don’t have attention paid to their insignificant little lives, they’d cease to exist all together. Like most things, now that I’ve got what I wanted, what I wanted has changed.

It’s quiet because nobody knows what to say. They don’t know what to say, because there isn’t anything to say. The newspapers have it covered. Tragedy. Terror. Assassination. They only use the word assassination when it’s someone important, but then, that’s exactly what this is. It could not, in fact, be more important.

Yesterday a man brought a gun into a place that he wasn’t meant to. He used the gun, as one would, to end a life. Why he chose to end that life, in the end, I’m afraid we’ll never know. The man is what you’d call, no longer available.

A human life is a miracle that should be cherished. As far as anyone knows, it’s an anomaly, not found anywhere else in the universe. Yet, we go out of our way to ignore that fact every day. We think ourselves more important than those around us. That disregard, for another human being with a different point of view is all it took. And now, our king is dead.

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Photo by JR Korpa on Unsplash

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Dream – Raven

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I remember the waves as they broke along the rocky shore. The sting of the spray and the taste of salt on the cool breeze. The sun just a muted orb nearing the horizon against a sky of grey slate. It was like watching a muted television, but at the same time being inside the picture.

I stood as naked as the day I was born, keeping my delicate bits covered with my hands. Apparently, I’m self-conscious, even in dreams. My toes dug in the sand and the grit worked itself deep in between.

A weight occupied the back of my mind. Like something needed to be said, but I wasn’t the one with the idea. It fought to break through as the waves in front of me slowed until they froze. Fine mist hung in the air, and sea foam strung the length of the shore like dreary cotton candy.

Movement above me caught my attention. A raven circled in a tight, lumbering arc. At what altitude it was impossible to say. It almost seemed I could reach out and hold it in my hand, but at the same time it grazed the stratosphere and would eclipse a jumbo jet.

The sensation in my skull became urgent, frantic even. I caught a glint in the raven’s eye. It focused on me as it made one final lap, then set a course toward the open sea. The pressure in my head eased, and then along with the raven, it disappeared.

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Photo by sajjad aslani on Unsplash

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