The depth of short stories and micro-fiction 2

Beyond the Basement

Herbert's life wasn't an easy one. Every day, he'd wake up before the sun rose, get dressed in the worn jeans and faded t-shirt that seemed to be his janitor's uniform and trudge to the office building he cleaned. He'd push his cart full of brooms, mops, and disinfectant through the empty halls, sweeping up crumbs and dust bunnies, erasing the footprints of the people who worked there by day.

It wasn't a glamorous job, but it paid the bills. Barely. Herbert's mother had been in a nursing home for years, and the cost of her care was crippling. Herbert's father had passed away when he was a teenager, and he had no siblings to help share the burden. It was all on him.

One night, as he was emptying the trash in the basement, Herbert saw something that made his heart skip a beat. A figure, tall and imposing, standing in the shadows by the furnace. Herbert froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat.

The figure didn't seem to notice him at first. It was staring off into space, its eyes fixed on something only it could see. But as Herbert stood there, paralyzed with fear, the figure slowly turned its head. Their eyes met, and Herbert felt a chill run down his spine.

The figure wasn't solid. Herbert could see the wall behind it, the pipes and ductwork, the cobwebs clinging to the corners. It was a ghost, he realized, and that realization brought a strange sense of calm. Ghosts couldn't hurt him, could they?

"Who are you?" Herbert asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The ghost didn't respond. It just kept staring at him, its eyes piercing and unblinking. But as the moments ticked by, Herbert began to feel a strange connection to the ghost. He sensed a deep sadness, a longing that seemed to emanate from it like a palpable force.

"My name is Jack," the ghost said finally, its voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the air. "I used to be a bank robber."

Herbert's eyes widened. He had always been fascinated by stories of old-time bank robbers, the ones who wore masks and carried Tommy guns. He couldn't believe he was standing in front of one.

"What happened to you?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Jack's gaze drifted off into space again. "I died," he said simply. "I was hiding out in this building, waiting for the heat to die down. But the cops found me. They cornered me in this basement, and I refused to give up. They killed me, right where you're standing."

Herbert felt a shiver run down his spine. He could almost see it, the flash of gunfire, the sound of screams echoing off the walls.

But Jack's gaze snapped back to his, and Herbert saw something there, a glint of determination.

"I have a proposition for you," Jack said. "I know where there's a cache of unmarked cash hidden in this city. Enough to pay for your mother's care, and then some."

Herbert's eyes widened. How did Jack know about his mother?

"What do you want in return?" he asked, his voice laced with scepticism.

Jack's smile was a thin, cruel thing. "I want you to help me get revenge on the man who killed me," he said. "His name is Lieutenant James, and he's still alive, living in a cosy little house in the suburbs. I want you to make him pay for what he did to me."

Herbert hesitated. He wasn't sure he was comfortable with the idea of seeking revenge. But the thought of that cash, of being able to pay for his mother's care without worrying about how he was going to scrape together the money...it was a tempting proposition.

"Okay," he said finally. "I'll do it."

Jack's smile grew wider, and for a moment, Herbert thought he saw a flicker of life in those dead eyes. But it was just a trick of the light.

Over the next few weeks, Herbert and Jack worked together to plan their revenge. Jack told him where to find the cash, hidden in a small safe deposit box at a bank on the other side of town. In return, Herbert agrees to help Jack get his revenge on Lieutenant James.

It wasn't easy. Herbert had to do some digging to find out where James lived, and then he had to come up with a plan to get to him. But Jack was a patient teacher, guiding him through the process with a ghostly hand.

Finally, the day arrived. Herbert stood outside James's house, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't know what he was going to do, exactly. Jack had left that up to him.

But as he looked up at the house, he felt a surge of anger. James had killed Jack and had taken his life without hesitation. And now, he was living a comfortable life, free from consequences.

Herbert took a deep breath and walked up the path. He rang the doorbell, and when James answered, he handed him a package.

"What's this?" James asked, his brow furrowed.

"It's a gift," Herbert said, his voice cold. "From Jack."

James's eyes widened as he realized who Herbert was talking about. And then, his face went white as he opened the package to reveal a small, intricately carved wooden box.

Inside the box was a note, written in Jack's handwriting. "You'll never be free from me," it read.

Herbert turned and walked away, leaving James shaken and confused. He knew it wasn't the most satisfying revenge, but it was something. And as he walked back to his car, he felt a sense of closure, of finality.

When he got back to the office building, Jack was waiting for him. The ghost's eyes gleamed with a malevolent light as Herbert handed him the small safe deposit box.

"You did good," Jack said, his voice dripping with approval. "You're a natural."

Herbert didn't respond. He just watched as Jack opened the box, revealing a stack of crisp, unmarked bills. Enough to pay for his mother's care, and then some.

As he took the money from Jack's ghostly hand, Herbert felt a sense of gratitude. He had done something wrong, something he couldn't take back. But he had also ensured his mother's well-being, and that was all that mattered.

As he walked away from the office building, the money clutched tightly in his hand, Herbert couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. Jack's ghostly eyes seemed to be following him, even as he disappeared into the night.