Steven D. Jackson's Blog, page 6

Smoke and Mirrors

++ Transcript / Witness: “A”, age 14 / File: “J”, age 14 (Missing) ++
++ Interviewer: Dr Riley (DrR) ++
++ Outcome: [Classified] ++
++ Recommendation: Delete++
[names redacted, substitute “A” and “J” throughout]
DrR: It’s ok, A, just take me through what you remember. You said you were with J when you went into that house, and you know the police are looking for him, so all I want to know is what you remember before you came out.
[A does not answer]
DrR: It’s alright, A. You’re not in any trouble....

It's A Guy Thing

I haven’t been to a bonfire since I was twelve years old. For the last eighteen years I’ve avoided them, stayed late at work on Bonfire Night, squeezed my eyes tight at the sounds of fireworks. All because of what happened that night all those years ago; I still hear the screaming of my friends, see the jerking movement of shadowy figures between flickers of dancing firelight. We had no idea how specific the rules were, we figured it was just a bit of fun. Stuff a few old clothes with straw,...

The Dance of the Jester

Two hours is all I have to write this, according to the cheap plastic clock ticking away in the silence of this concrete room. I’ve been staring at it for the last fifteen minutes, just trying to get it all straight in my head. I suppose in a sense I have all the time in the world. Twenty five years, anyway. Might as well be forever. Time doesn’t really move the same way in prison. But I want to get this out today, so I know I’ve said it all and someone somewhere has read it. I need to know t...

Death Do Us Part

Mark paused, a cushion in one hand and an empty coke can in the other. He studied the artful disarray of his lounge briefly before placing the can under the cushion, just poking out. He considered the arrangement, satisfying himself that it looked the part. The negligent mess of the lonely man barely capable of looking after himself. Glorious squalor, the Elysium of the free and single. He checked his phone; five minutes had gone by. A critical glance around the room confirmed that he’d manag...

The Quiet Ones

For once I’m glad Amy took her laptop to the campsite. Well, not glad obviously. It’s hard to be glad of anything when I know my life can now be measured in minutes, but thanks to her need to be connected to everything all the time I can tell our story in the time I have left.

I’m currently lying on my back in a hotel room which I am struggling to accept will be my tomb. The bed is comfortable, the lights are bright, the TV on the wall is huge. It all seems so friendly and welcoming. My heart...

Political Puppet

“He’s on in five minutes Jason. It’s only around the corner. He’s holding it in the little square outside Wrap-It-Up. You know? The burrito place? We could be there and back in ten –““It’s not that I don’t know where it is Josie. I’ve eaten there every day since they opened.”“Well then what’s the problem?”Jason sighed, finally looking away from his screen. It was only him and Josie left in the office, the rest of their co-workers had gone to see Lombard’s speech. Like the fools they were. He...

A Warning To Thinkers

I am writing this because I have no choice. I'd like to say it is a warning to others, but I have far more selfish reasons. Even if I did warn you, I doubt you would heed it, as I did not heed the warning left for me. I must not waste time, as time is wasting me, in a way that defies the medical science I once believed I knew. My joints ache as I write, and soon I know I will be unable to continue. Yet this must be told and so I write on.I am a doctor here at Rosewood Lodge, and I am twenty-s...

Fifteen Pews

The chemical smell of polish, acrid but strangely sweet, filled the church around me as I worked. Old, gnarled fingers that had cleaned and rubbed the same brass every day for over twenty years struggled to maintain the grip and strength they had once brought to the task, but I’m not a man to let age get in my way. I pressed on grimly, critically holding the gleaming crucifix to test its shine in the dim lamplight.Outside, thunder rumbled distantly somewhere out over the fields and farmland s...

Replacement Therapy

The newsreader was visibly shaken. Jacob found himself staring at the white knuckles of her right hand, waiting for the pen she held to snap clean in two. The woman did not seem to be aware of it, stolidly reading from her teleprompter with a look of grim determination. But beneath her set and resolute face, half hidden beneath the pile of papers littering the desk, that right hand trembled violently. ‘Once again, twenty six year old waitress Clarabelle Barnett has been found dead in her home...

Six Historical Mysteries Explained (With Zombies)

[ I know it's not a story, but I was working on this article for another publication and it turns out it isn't quite their thing. Since it was fun to write, and hopefully amusing to other people, I thought it'd be a waste not to post it here. ]
Sometimes history has huge, suspiciously zombie-shaped gaps in it. There are explanations for historical mysteries far more exciting, and considerably more zombilicious, than the big "dunno" we're supposed to accept from the text books. For example:&nbs...