drama, horror, thriller

Let Me Out!! flash fiction-thriller

KELLY

“Let me out!” I scream. “Let me out! Somebody! Please!” My screams fade out. I can only yell so much, because I can only breathe so much. The air is thick…no, thin. Is it thin? God, I don’t know. “Please!” I yell. Tears run down my face. I try to wipe them away, but I can’t. They just trickle down my cheek, past my ear to the wetness below my head that I hope is an accumulation of my tears, not an accumulation of my blood. My hands are at my sides, and this box I am in barely lets me raise my chest in and out let alone move my arms any higher than the thickness of my body. I wear it like a snug snow suit. No room to move. No room to breathe. And the air…the lack of air. “Please, please, please, please,” I repeat in a low voice to no one.

Wherever I am, I am in motion. I can’t tell which direction, but I feel a very slight sway like I may be on a boat. If I am on a boat, it must be in the lower cabin, because it’s not just dark in here, it’s black.

I touch the wood that surrounds me, hoping for a clue, praying for an opening that will set me free.

I was…I was putting groceries into the trunk of my car. It was raining, actually it was a downpour, but I had to get home to Ryan.

The air is thin, not thick.

Everyone was inside the store, waiting for the rain to stop, but I didn’t wait. The babysitter was going to leave, so I had to get home to Ryan.

Not thin…the air, it’s barely there.

Ryan,” I whisper. The box is too tight for me to hit upward, but I can move my arms to their sides. A little. I hit the walls on each side of me as hard as I can. “Let me out!” Hitting the walls is doing nothing. There’s not enough room to gain momentum.

I didn’t realize it until now, but I am famished. I feel like I haven’t eaten for days. Maybe I haven’t. I was… I was at the grocery store. It was Tuesday night. I shop on Tuesdays. I woke up here maybe an hour ago. Or was it two? Maybe just ten minutes.

Why is there so little air? Am I buried? I know I’m not buried, I swear I am moving. I breathe in through my nose, praying I don’t smell dirt. I smell urine and feces instead. I can’t tell if it’s mine or if someone else had been in this box before me. I go from being hungry to turning my head just in time to vomit. It’s warm as it slithers down my neck. The smell and feel of it make me hurl again. It’s a vicious cycle until my mind comes to terms that I am going to lay in my feces and vomit and I cannot allow myself to give into the repulsiveness of it.

I’m going to die. People don’t put people into boxes unless they are going to kill them. Or send them off to be sex slaves. Or… “No.” I hit the walls again. “No. no.no. no NO!!” The black market. They are going to slice me apart and sell me piece by piece. That’s why they’re shipping me somewhere. They are selling me like an animal.

As scared as I am, I can’t… I just can’t. I need to stay in control. Ryan will be alone. He’ll end up in the foster system. I need out. I have to get to my boy. “Please! Please!” I sob, “Somebody, please! Help me! Let me out!” I scream, not even words anymore, just terrified screams that originate from every inch of my body.

Then, between my cries, I hear a long, low horn. Am I on a…barge? I quiet to listen. My body weight shifts to the left. I am. I am on a barge. They are shipping me for body parts. Oh my God. God! I scrape at the wood walls trying to get out until I can’t feel my fingertips anymore. I have to get out!

LISA

The sun’s reflections bounce off each ripple in the river, making it hard for Lisa to pull her gaze from it. Not that she wants to. She reaches into her insulated lunch box and pulls out a sandwich.

Everyone else in the office went to some restaurant in the city, but Lisa takes this time to be alone and relax. Boats seem to calm her. And every day at this time, she is guaranteed to see at least one boat, the 12:00 barge that rounds the river’s corner and passes her as if to give a friendly hello. Every day she watches it while her mind wanders and the breeze twists in her hair.

The horn of the barge blows, warning other boaters that it is turning into their area. She pulls her focus from the river and places it onto the barge. She needs this boat more than ever today. Her mind is constantly on her best friend Kelly who went missing Tuesday after work. The local authorities found her car at the grocery store a few blocks from her home. Her purse was on the ground, her keys a few inches from it. They ruled out robbery and linked it to the series of missing women and men that had been taking place in their city for months. One person goes missing every day. This past Tuesday, it was Kelly. They have yet to recover any of the missing people, dead or alive.

Lisa watches it pass and forces herself to take in the strength of the structure, the beauty of the deep red metals, and the hypnotic waves pushing up and down the sides of the barge. And for just those few moments, her mind is off Kelly, and Lisa is at peace.

KELLY

“Let me out!!!!”
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Written by Sheryl Marasi
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drama

The Memory – flash fiction-drama

Dad had always played by the rules. “Don’t cheat.” “Don’t steal.” “Say please.” “Don’t fight.” “Always ask before using someone else’s things.” And so on. So his suggestion early that morning took me by surprise.

“Do you want to go for a ride in it?” He smiled as he looked down at the seven-year-old-me. The stranded boat sat silently on the sandy beach.

My heart leaped—a couple times, actually. I stared up at him with my only answer being the giant smile on my face that matched how large my eyes were at the moment.

“Help me pull it to the water, big guy!”

It was dirty inside. We could tell it had been sitting on the beach for a while. A daddy long leg scurried across my hand before we made it to the water, but I didn’t mind. It was the thick black kind of spider that I couldn’t stand. The water pushed up to the shore repeatedly.  There were mainly little rushes of water, but sometimes a bigger rush of water rolled up with a lasting swish sound as it completed its summersault. Eventually my giant smile gave way to excited chit-chat and probably one too many questions. Looking back I either drove my dad nuts that morning or made him fall deeper in love with me.

There was only one oar in the boat, but that was enough for Dad. “Climb in Jimmy, and stay seated, okay?”

“What happens if I stand up, Daddy?”–One of my hundred questions during the 30 minute boat ride. Dad pushed us deeper into the water and then jumped in himself. “Will we tip if I stand? How come you could stand when you got in?” And the questions went on until there was silence as we both enjoyed the rocking of the boat, the sounds of birds, the freshness of the air along with its gentle morning chill, the faintest smell of fish in the water below us, and everything else the free boat ride had to offer us. It was beautiful—the weather and the time we spent together.

Today if I could, I would find the man who had left the boat on the beach and thank him. Because of him, my dad put aside his rules for the only time in my life so that he and I could have a memory that lasted forever. That was my favorite memory of us and it will be the memory I share later today at his service before we lay him to rest for eternity.

I love you, Dad. I will miss you forever.
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Written by Sheryl Marasi
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thriller

The Seeing – flash fiction-thriller

Mom used to see a psychic when I was young. Dad thought she was nuts. To tell the truth, so did I, yet here I am, twenty-three years later, knocking on her door. I’m covered in day-old sweat. Scratches cover most areas of my skin that are showing; bruises continue to form on most of the areas of my body that are not showing. The lump on my forehead, I’m confident, will be noticed by her. She will ask, and I will avoid giving her the answer. I am here to ask her questions, not the other way around. I never considered, though, that she may know the answer as soon as she sees me. If she is truly psychic, she will know…everything. I should leave, but before I can turn to walk away, she is at the door.

“Danny,” she says with a smile. She is a short woman, no taller than five feet. Thin, and dressed in layers of decorated cloth from head to ankle. On her head, strands of gray hairs are pushing their way out from under the drapes. The piercing in her nose does not surprise me. I should have known Mom would only go to a true Gypsy. “Your mother spoke quite well of you, dear. Come in, have a seat.”

As I entered her small home, she gestured ahead to a small table with a crystal ball placed perfectly in the middle. I took my seat, peering into the ball hoping to catch a glimpse.

“Let me look at you, dear.” She grabs my hand and my heart begins to race. Is she going to know? Can she read my mind? What exactly do psychics know? “Oh yes, you look just like her. I’m so sorry she’s gone.”

“Thank you,” I respond without making eye contact. I should just leave right now.

“Cards, crystal ball, or palm reading? Which do you prefer, Dear?”

My hands are covered in sweat. Definitely not a palm reading. “Cards, I guess.”

“Great choice,” her eye gets lost in her wrinkles as she winks at me. She reaches behind the chair she is sitting in and pulls out a black cloth, which she opens to reveal Tarot cards. After a slight shuffle, I cut the deck and then she deals. She turns the cards over slowly as if not to give away any secrets before she is ready. She then explains to me that the cards are merely a tool she uses to pull messages from the spirits that come to her in visions.

Card one. “You are in danger.”

Card two. “Someone is seeking justice against you.”

She stops before turning card three. She places the cards on the table, along with both of her hands and slowly looks up at me. Oh God, she knows. “Why are you here, dear?” she asks.

“I…I’m in trouble,” I say.

She nods her head. “And?”

I look at her mouth and then her ear as I speak, “and I’m hoping you may see a way that I can get out of it.” My gaze finally finds safety and rests on the cards. I know the minute I show her my eyes, my soul, she will know.

There is silence. Silence, and I feel her unwavering gaze peering at my soul that refuses to peer back. I start to back my chair up in an effort to leave.

“Stay,” she says firmly. “I will look.” She hovers her hands over the clear ball and begins to hum. Her hum falls silent. “Who is Brian? Is that your brother?”

I sit quietly. I want to answer. I was asked a question and the correct thing to do is answer, but I don’t. If I do, she will know.

“Yes, I see him. Your brother did this to you,” she says as her eyes take in my scratches and bumps. My eyes divert back to the ground. “Why would your…” I look up at her as she looks back to the globe. I want to push it off the table. I lift my hand to slide it off but see her head slowly rising up. The stare that was once on the globe is now peering down at me as she stands up from her chair. I am now looking directly into her eyes, if only out of pure fear of what is going to come out of her mouth next. “How could you?” she growls in a deep whisper.

I jump up from my chair and stumble towards the door that slams shut before I get to it. There is no one at the door that could have shut it. Only me and the gypsy are in the room. I turn to look back at her to see her eyes have turned gray. Her head is tilted back so she can look down her nose at me even though I am two feet taller. Her eyes tell me she knows everything, has seen everything. “Your mother was a wonderful woman. I watched you kill her,” she continued to growl. I turn back to the door and try to get out, but the nob won’t turn. “I will set you free…to your death. Take your fortune with you,” she says while holding out a piece of paper. “Take it!” she demands.

I grab the paper and am then able to open the door. I run from the house to the street that is unusually vacant for a weekend at noon. I run a few houses down before looking back at hers. She is nowhere to be seen. I continue to walk down the middle of the street while opening the paper she handed me. There are two words: Look up. I look up and see nothing, but I do hear a noise to my left. As I start to look left, I see a car in my peripheral vision coming fast at me. There is no pain. Only blackness and then nothing.

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Written by Sheryl Marasi (pen name)

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