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Shane Kroetsch

Dark and Introspective Fiction

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Short Fiction

Pashmina Vox

October 1, 2022 by Shane Leave a Comment

The man had lived alone for so long, that no one around him remembered why. He kept to himself, offering little more than a raised hand or pained smile to those he met. As neighbours moved in and moved out over the years, rumours sprouted. They stretched like vines, the flowering ends looking nothing like the stem, rooted in the truth, so far away.

By the time the Vox family moved in next door, the branches of the vine spread far and wide. Deborah across the street spoke of a love lost to a particularly aggressive form of cancer. Noah two doors down kept his voice low and looked side-eyed along the street as he shared stories of lights flickering late at night and strange noises from the basement.

Pashmina Vox, the youngest of the Vox children, paid no mind to the stories. Not only because she was seven years old, but because she had already learned that most things adults said didn’t make sense, if they weren’t outright lies to begin with. She had seen enough to understand. Dark eyes peeking out from drawn curtains. The man’s sadness for being out in the world. More importantly, the dark figure constantly perched on his left shoulder. Plump and round in contrast to the man’s thin frame. A wide, toothy sneer to the man’s downturned lips.

Another thing that Pashmina understood was the futility in trying to explain the figure to her mother or father. They would only tell her to go play, to use her imagination somewhere else. She did know someone who would believe her, though. Her great, great grandmother. Long dead before Pashmina was born, but still with her. And so it was, that on a quiet Saturday morning in the spring, that Pashmina snuck away from the cartoons her father left her to watch and went to knock on the man’s door. As always, her Gran stood with her, ready to have a stern conversation with the little demon perched on the man’s shoulder, and perhaps put all of the rumours about him to rest.

***

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

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Filed Under: Story Tagged With: Fiction, Flash Fiction, Short Fiction

The Horned God

April 11, 2022 by Shane Leave a Comment

A storm rages over the city of Geneva. Compact and angry, its intention is focused. Clouds filled with darkness let loose their electric fingers. They tear into the concrete and steel, searching for the array of particle accelerators beneath, like a predator slashing at the throat of its victim.

Deep below the noise and chaos, commotion and violence are mirrored in a place few will ever see. Wafting smoke pulses with red light as sirens scream from all corners. Those who can run do. Those who can’t, crawl or stumble away in a futile attempt to find safety.

A breach in the wall of the Large Hadron Collider unleashes a storm, not of elements, but of space and time—a tear in the fabric that keeps the universe contained. Smoke curls to reveal a portal to another place. Perhaps hell itself. Except, the other side is calm. A vibrant purple moon hangs high in the clear sky, casting dim light over an endless, barren desert. Starting as a spec on the horizon, a lone figure strides forward at a steady pace.

When the figure reaches the portal, it stoops low to allow antlers as wide as an oak tree to push through. A muscled form of a man follows, but its eyes are not human. When The Lord of the Wild Things stands, none can match its size, but none are left alive to witness its arrival.

The horned god heralds a changing of the guard, a long-awaited opportunity for the rightful stewards of the planet to stake their claim—the beasts and creatures, above and below, seen and unseen. But before that can happen, final reparations must be paid. A cleanse is in order.

Seething clouds overflow across the sky. Tight spirals of glittering snow charge to the ground, stark and pure against a canvas of darkness. When the first flakes stick, they do not melt. Instead, they spark and ignite, searing the land. Soon, there will only be fire, confirmation that hell has arrived after all. But what comes after, for those who manage to survive, will be so much worse.

***

Photo by Breno Machado on Unsplash

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Filed Under: Story Tagged With: Fiction, Flash Fiction, Short Fiction

The Job

January 5, 2022 by Shane Leave a Comment

“Can you touch your toes like that?”

On the elevated stage in front of Leon, a young woman, who looks too scrawny to support the size of her artificial chest, adjusts her G-string and saunters over to a group of college students waving dollar bills in the air.

Mick leans back in his chair with a bottle of beer in his hand. “That’s really the first thought to come to mind?”

Leon picks at his teeth and side-eyes the bar. A fat man hovers over it, his thick-rimmed spectacles spotted with precipitation and the shoulders of his long coat glossy under the dim yellow light.

“Tryin’ ta keep my mind on the job is all.”

Mick holds his beer up and watches the bottom as he swirls the dregs. “Yeah. The job.” He sets the bottle down.

“This the extortionist or the pedophile?”

“Extortionist.”

“Too bad.” Mick laces his fingers behind his head. “Got a little pent-up energy I was hoping to find an outlet for.”

Leon guides his eyes to the edge of the stage but doesn’t focus on anything in particular. “That’s called anger, Mick. And you’ve always had a healthy supply.”

Mick frowns but gives no other response.

At the bar, the fat man drops a few coins to pay for his drink, then heads toward the back of the room. He knocks on a black painted door hidden built into a black painted wall. When it opens, harsh light spills out, eclipsing the fat man as he moves across the threshold. The door eases shut behind him, but not tight.

Mick looks up when Leon stands and shrugs on his jacket. “You sure it’s not the pedo?”

Leon zips his jacket and pulls a thin pair of leather gloves from one pocket. “I’m sure, but if you want to pretend, I won’t get in the way. Let’s go.”

***

Photo by Eric Nopanen on Unsplash

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Filed Under: Story Tagged With: Fiction, Flash Fiction, Short Fiction

Stories from the Dark, Ep. 7 – A Passing of Seasons

December 22, 2021 by Shane Leave a Comment

Oh hi!

I hope your December has been treating you well so far. I know it’s a busy time, so let’s get to it.

For December’s Stories from the Dark, I’m crossing a line I haven’t crossed before. I killed Santa. Well, a Santa anyway. Have a watch below.

Before I go, I’ve got some exciting news to share. In honour of the giving season, all three books in the Storm Series are now only $0.99 on Amazon! Better yet, if you have a Kindle Unlimited membership, you can now read them for free! If you prefer real books in your hands, the limited edition paperbacks are on sale right now as well, head to pencilonpaper.ca to order and check out some of the other unique items we have available.

Surviving the Storm – Cover update!

But wait, there’s more! Keep your eyes peeled for new subscriber-only content coming to your inbox soon, including the next step in the Storm saga… If you aren’t a subscriber already, just scroll down to enter your email address.

Merry Christmas, everyone! I wish you all the best now and in the New Year. Thank you for being with me on my writing journey.

Until next time, stay well.

Shane

Filed Under: Audio Story, Story Tagged With: Audio Story, Christmas, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Short Fiction

Last Chance

December 7, 2021 by Shane Leave a Comment

Through the slats of the stacked-up pallets I’m squeezed in behind, I see the barrel of the .38 that left me to bleed out on the floor stick past the door frame. I hoped that it, and the waste of skin with his chubby little sausage finger pressed against the trigger, would’ve assumed a job well done and buggered off. But, just my luck, it looks like that little prick Eugene wants to make sure what’s left of my sorry life is at its end.

The pistol comes into full view. A pudgy face with a crazed grin, nearly splitting it in two, shows soon after. Didn’t think I could hate it more than I already do, but I was wrong. Before the door closes, cold wind and a few scattered snowflakes push into the room, along with the echo of a Christmas carol pouring from a loudspeaker down the street. Eugene walks slow across the open floor, eyes searching every corner, sometimes twice. I think I’m done for, but I’m deep enough in the shadows that he passes by without noticing me.

With a clear view of his back, I wish I had the strength to get up and kick him in his underused micro-penis, just like I used to do when we were kids. Course, I didn’t really mean it back then. It was something to do. Now, given the opportunity, I’d give it all I’ve got.

Who would have guessed that we’d be two of the only ones from our generation not to have dreams of moving to the big city? When you live in a place called Last Chance, typically, it’s a given. I still haven’t figured out my excuse, but Eugene’s family has been here for generations. They founded the place for all I know. Probably been running things behind the scenes the whole time. Politicians and cops. Money and drugs. This town’s their own personal puppet show. Too bad I stumbled into something without meaning to and threatened to cut the strings.

Eugene takes a few more tentative steps before circling back to the entrance. I try not to make sad little girl noises as I draw my hand away from the oozing wound in my side and reach out for my blade. As my fingers wrap around the handle, it occurs to me I’ve only got one shot at this, and I need to make it count.

***

Photo by Maxim Hopman on Unsplash

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Filed Under: Story Tagged With: Flash Fiction, Short Fiction

What if the Sun Stopped Shining

November 16, 2021 by Shane Leave a Comment

Lucinda blinks as the edge of a heavy shadow eclipses her. High above, a fast-moving cloud fills the late afternoon sky. She shifts closer to her husband and pulls the blanket at her feet up to her knees as the porch swing sways. “Do you ever think about the sun?”

Faron brings his attention to Lucinda’s hand on his bare chest. “What about it.”

“If it stopped shining. Just disappeared. Do you know what will happen?”

Faron squints. “Off the top of my head? It would be dark.”

Lucinda closes her eyes and bites her bottom lip. Faron waits for confirmation of his assumption. When it becomes clear his wife won’t continue without him showing more interest, he sighs and asks the expected question slow and without emotion. “How much worse?”

Lucinda leans into Faron’s shoulder and turns her eyes up to his. “Outside of the changes in gravity, all human life would end within the first two days. We’d all freeze to death. After two months, the oceans will freeze over. After the atmosphere collapses, the planet will be a radioactive wasteland careening through space forever, or at least until it hits something of similar or greater size and is destroyed.”

Faron forces a hint of a smile. “Fun.”

Lucinda frowns from one side of her mouth. “Yeah.” She studies Faron’s face a moment longer before finding it hard to maintain her focus. “It’s been on my mind lately. It seems the perfect metaphor for loss. When your light goes away, it takes what was holding your feet to the ground. You become cold. Lifeless. You wander without direction until one day it all ends for good.”

Faron rests his hand on the back of Lucinda’s head, smoothing her coal-black curls. “I’m not going anywhere. Not yet.”

Lucinda guides the tips of her fingers down the raised skin on the center of Faron’s chest, healed, but discoloured. “Not yet.”

Faron opens his mouth, but the response disappears before forming enough to be spoken. Instead, he kisses her forehead and turns away.

***

Photo by Jordon Conner on Unsplash

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Filed Under: Story Tagged With: Flash Fiction, Short Fiction

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