Shots Fired: A Collection of Oneshots

Dead Wrong

“How many times do I have to tell you? Ghosts aren’t real!” I spun and started walking backwards, laughing in the face of my best friend, Jack.

                “I’m telling the truth!” He said, throwing his hands in the air.

                “You’re just getting over excited because Halloween is getting close.” I said offhandedly. He glared, and I laughed. “You look like a donkey when you glare.” I informed him. He glared harder. I turned back around, falling into step with him.

                “You don’t understand, Cat. I see them in the alleys, in the streets,” he shivered, “it scares me.”

                I sighed loudly. “Whatever you say. But try to act eighteen okay?” I asked as we reached my house. “See you later.” I gave him a peck on the cheek and swung open my front door. Glancing back, I saw him walking away, dark head hanging low. I felt a pang of guilt, but pushed it away. He needs to stop acting so childish.

It was Halloween. I sat on my porch with a bowl of Snickers to give out, waiting for Jack to arrive. It was our tradition to sit and wait for little kids to ding the doorbell, all the while snacking on the Snickers. Why wasn’t he here yet? Trick-or-treating started in ten minutes! Give him time. So I waited.

                After ten minutes were up, I drove to his house to see what was going on. All the lights were out; that was when a strange feeling started to boil up in my stomach. I knocked on the door, but no one answered. Feeling panicked, I kicked down the door and ran inside. Everything was silent except for a steady drip, drip coming from the stairwell. I swallowed down uneasiness, slowly making my way to the stairs.

                The living and family rooms were untouched; as if everybody had just vanished in thin air. A newspaper sat on the coffee table, the ‘magazine’ section slightly pulled out. I tilted my head to read it; the headline was about stores making incredible amounts of money on Halloween costumes this year. But that wasn’t strange- they said that every year. I pulled my hand away from the newspaper, continuing down the hall to the stairs.

                They loomed darkly above me; I realized that the dripping sound was coming from here. Five steps from the bottom, a dark liquid dripped, creating a thin, eerie, stream. I tightened my fingers into a fist before walking up the steps. When I reached the dripping step, I reached out a hand to touch the dark liquid. It came away wet and red on my fingers. Blood. I bit back a scream, and hurried up the rest of the steps.

                I ran down to Jack’s room that I knew from many visits as a kid. A large pool of blood was seeping through the crack under the door. No, no, no…. I threw open the door and screamed.

                He lay across the bed, his arms thrown wide, one leg hanging off the side. I crept across the blood stained floor to his body, and saw that his hands had been chopped off of his wrists and lain across his eyes, covering the lower half of his face with blood.

                “Oh my God. Jack…” I whispered, and movement caught my eye. I turned slightly, facing his mirror that I had always teased him about. In its reflection I could see a wispy white shape and a glint of a knife. He had been right. He had always been right.

I was wrong. I was dead wrong.

** Prompt 12: Dead Wrong