Wandering Ends A Flash Fiction Collection

In the Fog

Rain cascaded down the windows as thunder rattled the pictures hung neatly throughout the room. Bolts of lightning created elongated shadows across the walls. Sam stared silently across the room, a quizzical expression was locked on his face. His thoughts raced as he considered his next move.

After two hours, he still sat with his arm around her lifeless and strangled body. The bruises, dark purple nearing black, stood out against her waxen skin. Sam, pleased with his accomplishments thus far, was cognizant of the fact he had a finite amount of time. The baby in the bedroom was wailing now. For a moment he considered holding a pillow over the infants face, but settled for dragging his mothers body to the fire escape.

Someone politely rapped on the door to the apartment. An elderly voice spoke with concern as Sam peered out of the peephole, "Is everything okay? I see you looking out at me. Do you need me to call the police?" Sam opened the door just a crack. The old woman gawked at Sam, suspicion and hesitation filled her eyes. He flung the door open, latching on to the woman's hair. A chunk of her brittle hair tore from her scalp, almost allowing her to escape. Sam clutched the woman's hair, a raw piece of scalp dangled from it. He thrust his other hand towards her arm. Sam yanked her through the door, snapping her arm in the process.

Sam stared at the woman, his eyes gleamed with blood-lust; her eyes teemed with terror and her body quivered in Sam's grasp. He flung her to the floor. As she crashed down, the bone in her arm ruptured through her flesh. Blood pooled beneath her. An anonymous voice hollered from the apartment below. Sam knew his finite time had grown even shorter. He snapped a leg off of an end table and bludgeoned the old lady to death.

The baby was still crying in the bedroom; screaming was more of an apt description at this point. Sam lugged the old woman's body to the fire escape, joining the baby's mother. The rain had gone from a downpour to a fine mist; fog enveloped the street below. Lightning still lit the sky, intermittently in the distance, as Sam towed both bodies down the fire escape. Hollow clangs rang through the night air as the women's heads smacked each step.

As Sam neared street level, the fog thickened allowing him some cover while he made his way to his truck. Hearing a crunch behind him, Sam turned but could see nothing besides the trail of blood snaking its way behind him.

He reached the back of his truck and thrust both the bodies into the back. A pile of other bodies made for a soundless landing. Sam closed the tailgate as a silhouette appeared in the fog. The shadow spoke, "Hello? Is everything okay? Are you injured?" Sam stepped back onto the sidewalk; he approached the stranger. A glint of streetlight flashed off of the figures chest, just enough that Sam could make out the badge. "What's all of this blood from? What exactly are you doing out here? Actually, would you mind putting your hands on top of your head while I try to sort this out?" Sam lunged at the officer. They struggled briefly. A bang cut into the air and a flash caused the fog to glow orange for just a second. The officer trudged forward a few steps, gasping for air before he fell to the ground. Sam laid the new body on top of the others.

Without anymore interruptions, Sam climbed into the cab of his truck. It roared to life as he turned the key. He clicked the lights on and edged onto the street. He blew through flashing stoplights as he headed toward the highway.

The lonesome highway was a straight-away ride for miles down the road. Sam had made this trip a multitude of times. He slowed as he approached his road. He made the sharp right onto the disconsolate dirt road. A couple of miles further he reached his driveway. His dog, Misfit, was barking excitedly as he pulled in. The dog knew dinner was about to be served.

Sam tugged the fresh bodies from his truck to his garage. A large table sat in the middle, adorned with splashes of dried, mahogany colored blood. Wind chimes made of bone dangled from the ceiling. At the back of the garage sat a large, commercial-sized, walk-in freezer. There is where most of the bodies from tonight would rest, except for one. The one special body would be bound for the antique, wood-burning stove.

Misfit waited anxiously by the table while Sam carved out the best cuts of meat for him. Misfit liked his raw so Sam tossed the chunks into his food bowl. The officer was meaty, his rump was tender; Sam was going to have a roast.

Sam fired up the stove, perfecting the temperature. He strolled over to his hydroponic garden and plucked a few potatoes and carrots to go with his meal. He grabbed his cast iron pot, tossing the rump and veggies in together. He set it in the stove to roast.

Misfit, very full now, lumbered over to Sam to show his appreciation. Blood still dribbled from the dog's chin so Sam cleaned him up a bit as he patted Misfits head. As Sam and his dog sat together, Sam reminisced about his extraordinary night. Seven bodies in a single evening and Sam was proud. His freezer would be stocked full for a while.

Sam patiently waited for his meal to cook while taking the time to organize the new haul in his freezer. Once done, Sam strolled over to his sink to clean up. He studied himself in the mirror before he washed up; blood painted his face and clothes. Sam beamed with pride, satisfied with the night besides one regret that surfaced in his mind. He should have brought the baby. His mother, God rest her soul, always said he needed a family.