Acknowledged Victory

I am a hedge. My job is to mark a boundary and create privacy. I am small now, which is why this boy is able to see over me. I tell him he must not look over me, but he doesn’t understand twigwiggle. He stands watching the family on my other side. As a fast-growing hedge, soon he cannot see over me. My relief doesn’t last. Instead, he squirms through me to play with the girl next door. My best growths don’t stop him.

After two summers, he shoots up like a bamboo and he can see over me again! I reach up, but to no avail. He spends hours talking with a girl over my growths, mocking me.

More summers pass, and he stops growing. But I don’t, and soon I again block his sight. He just finds another gap in my growths, and he sits there with the neighbor, talking. No doubt mocking my failure.

But I continue to grow and thicken, and soon I am sure no one can see over me or crawl through me.The boy acknowledges my victory; he drives away with the girl, in a car that clanks with cans tied to it.

Four-Hour Window

"Refrigerator delivery," said the strong-looking young man. "Mr. Arthur?" Mr. Arthur, first name Arthur, looked from his front door to where his brand-new refrigerator stood. "Are you joking?" he said.

They established that the delivery man was not joking, that he did not remember arriving and delivering a refrigerator, and that the delivery man could not go away without completing his delivery.

Resigned, Arthur Arthur let the delivery man install the second new fridge and remove the first new fridge.

As the truck disappeared around the corner, the truck appeared around the opposite corner. It parked in front of his house. This time Arthur kept both fridges.

He refused to answer the door the next time, and the delivery man left the fridge in his yard. Next, Arthur lied about his identity. The delivery man, still without memory of prior deliveries, didn't believe him, and fridge number five replaced number four in Mr. Arthur's yard.

Fed up, Arthur left. Within five minutes, he got a phone call: Being absent when the delivery truck arrived within the scheduled four-hour window, they would reschedule the delivery and charge him a convenience fee.

When Arthur got home, he had no fridge at all.

The Bright Star of Maine Law

Two villains did their work in shadows long and deep. One, tall and fat, was hauling in nets from an ocean lapping against the rocky shore like a parched man. On that moonless night, the water was dark as their purpose. The darkness hid the other's ugly face, standing to one side. "You're sure this'll be worth it," Tall and Fat growled.

"Oh, yeah," said Ugly. "This'll be a good haul."

"Help me, yeah?"

"Nope," said Ugly. "You're the hauler." A cocking gun menaced the night. "I'm the danger."

"Fine," grumbled TF.

"It's okay," said a new voice, smooth as butter, "I'll help." Ugly shattered the night's calm with gunshots. Powder in the air, he shook a flashlight into life and revealed a heavy coat and hat slumped against a tree.

"Got 'im," said Ugly, turning to TF. In the flashlight's beam, the figure stood.

"Not so fast." The clothes fell, revealing a reddish-brown carapace, several antennae, and a shining sheriff's star.

"Lobstar!" shouted TF, dropping his net and raising his hands.

"I'm not going back!" cried Ugly. He raised his gun, but Lobstar caught it in his unyielding pincer.

"Nice try, boys, but I'm not fishing catch and release."

So I Shot Him

It was only afterward that I realized what I’d done. All the goading, the lies, the plots and schemes, led to this moment. Had he wanted this? Him, gasping out his last, pink breath through ruined lungs; me, standing over him with the murder weapon, barrel hot, fingerprints guaranteed. Did he hate me that much?

A distant siren sounded on the edge of my hearing, just as my eyes picked out the first lightening of the sky with coming dawn. And I ran. I ran all of two steps. I don’t know if he let out a death rattle or a rasping giggle, but it stopped me. He wanted this. Me on the run, with nothing, scared every second of my remaining, probably-short life.

He’d already won. Life as I knew it was over—friends, family, resources. Gone. I’d already lost. Did that mean I was going to let him shoot the moon?

No. Fucking. Way.

I put the gun down, sat on the floor, and listened to the sirens get louder while I watched the sun come up.

A Screaming Gentleman

One day, this short, balding man in a suit walks up to me and starts to scream. No warning, no reason, just a piercing wail right in my ear. And nothing I say or do gets him to stop. He barely pauses for breath. People start to look at us funny, so I leave the cafe. My lunch break was ending anyway. Well, he follows me to my building, and up to my floor. At this point, everyone’s looking, asking if we need help, shouting at us to shut up. I get my boss to call the cops, and I go outside to wait. He right beside me, screaming, the whole time.

Cops arrive and pull us apart, and he shuts right up. I can’t make out his statement while I’m giving mine, but he sounds reasonable. The cops tell us to stop and leave. Then, he’s screaming in my ear again. So the cops come back and haul him away

Next day, my voice mail is full of screaming. When I get home, it's there, too.

Two restraining orders and a call-block later, he’s reduced to sending letters, just “AaaaaAAAAaaAAaa.” I keep them. There’s something charming about his determination.

What Kind, Indeed?

He was pecking her face with light kisses after sex when he took her eyelid between his teeth, pulled gently, and let go. “Weird feeling,” she said. “Why would you do that?”

“I eat eyelids,” he said in his best creep voice. “One or two a month usually does me. But I feel a hunger coming on.”

“Yuck,” she laughed.

“The sensation as they rip away is incredible,” he said. “From my perspective, anyway.”

“Augh.” She brushed her hands over her eyes to dispel the images, but he wasn’t done.

“And that little flap of skin sliding down the throat, its taste lingering on the back of my tongue. Everyone tastes different, you know.”

“This is awful,” she said through her laughter.

“The only bad part is the tickle of the eyelash, but plucking them takes so long.”

“And now,” she giggled, “You say something that indicates you weren’t joking all along.”

“You see much,” he said. “Soon, you’ll see much more.” He leaned in close.

“Well done!” she said. “Very creepy.”

“Thanks,” he said in his normal voice. “So, I don’t have to go ahead and be a monster?”

“God, no. What kind of a twist would that be?”

Always Falling

I’m tired of falling. Why can’t I ever hit the ground? I mean, I’m plummeting toward it all the time. I’m just also whizzing sideways so fast that I miss! I’m constantly missing. It's like constant failure. After all this time, I want to hit. Just once. Is that too much to ask? One of the astronauts is coming out for repairs. Probably the heating, it has been getting colder lately.It’s hardly fair. They only have spend six months falling before they get to actually hit the ground.

If only the propulsion system would fail break, too. My orbit would decay and I’d streak down to Earth. I wouldn’t hit in one piece, but by God, I’d hit!

Maybe if I just… bump him. There. He’s drifting toward the propuls—oh. Oh, God. I forgot about that antenna. I don’t hear his radio now. I think his faceplate’s broken.

Everyone inside is freaking out. One jokes that maybe the station did it, maybe it’s haunted. Yes, I did it. Maybe I am haunted. And maybe I’ll torment each of you until you let me fall — and hit — and forget everything.

Oh, God, please let me fall and forget.