Gabe Redel's Blog: FRYING POTATOES BLOG - Posts Tagged "tn"

Author's Note: This short story is from a collection of short stories titled, "The Guy Who Gets Killed Series." Each story in the series is about the guy in the story who is about to die. Usually that guy is just a small character because he or she is going to die anyways. Not anymore! The series aims to give the guy who has to die his time in the spotlight. This suspense short story is the cover story of the series, appropriately titled:

"The Guy Who Gets Killed"
by Gabe Redel

Brent smashed into Aiden with his shoulder so that he could get through the door before the dogs snagged his leg and tore him to pieces. Stevie slammed the door.

Aiden had a worried look on his face. He rubbed his shoulder because he had banged it against the wall when Brent rammed into the back of him. Brent stood up and immediately yelled at Aiden for blocking the door on him.

“Why did you do that?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“Block the door so I couldn’t run in. Those dogs almost got me.”

“I didn’t mean to, I swear.” Aiden’s eyes were large and worried.

Brent just shook his head and muttered something unpleasant. He grabbed the door handle and tried opening it, but it was locked. The room had no windows either and the door was solid.

“So what are we going to do now?” Brent ask, trying to control his temper.

“How should I know? You’re the great leader of the group,” Aiden said.

“Shut up, Aiden. We wouldn’t be trapped in this room if you hadn’t let those dogs loose. What were you thinking!”

“Guys, stop yelling.” Stevie got between them to hold them off of each other. Brent listened to her, because she was his girlfriend. She put her hand on his chest and said, “he’s still out there. We are still his targets, and we will never escape if we keep acting like this.”

“Yeah, he searches for hate. He can feel it, so stop yelling at each other,” Carrie said.

“That isn’t true and I’ll never believe it.” Brent shook his head. “This isn’t some ghost that’s chasing us. It hasn’t come up from the grave like some spirit. It’s a guy in a costume. That’s all it is. No, that’s all he is! He invited us here to this freak-mansion so he could play his games, and now he’s tormenting us for his sick fun. That’s all. I say we beat him at his own game. I say we torture him back.”

“Some game, Brent. Eddie’s gone. He might be dead.” Carrie’s voice shook as she tried not to cry.

“Yeah, so maybe we should kill him.” Brent thought about it. Then he said, “But Eddie isn’t dead. Don’t you ever say that!” At this point, Brent was growling though his teeth he was so angry. He tightened his jaw and searched the bedroom for something to smash. The wall was next to him, so he kicked it. A few pieces of plaster broke loose and shattered on the hard wood floor.

“We can’t kill it if it’s already dead.” Aiden said, but Brent paid no attention to him. That made Aiden mad. This time he yelled at him, but Brent continued to turn away. With that, Aiden lost control. He ran up behind him and punched him hard in the back of the head. Brent’s head snapped forward, but that did little to impress the muscled-up man. Brent retaliated quickly by swinging around with a back fist that drove into the side of Aiden’s mouth. He was sent spinning away, blood spilling from his lips, but Brent had no intentions of leaving it at that. He took a long stride toward him, winded up his rear leg like he were about to kick a soccer ball, and took both of Aiden’s legs out from under him with one giant sweep. Aiden’s feet snapped out from under him. The back of his head bounced off the wood floor while the rest of him folded over his chest. Brent was about to put a few more blows into his face until one of the girls intervened.

“Brent, stop! You hurt him.” Carrie ran to Aiden’s aid.

Brent rolled his eyes. He did his best to ignore the fact that Carrie felt sorry for Aiden when it was Aiden who had attacked him first. It wasn’t his fault that Aiden was small and scrawny and couldn’t take a punch, or throw one for that matter. He laughed through his nose before he brought up the subject at hand once again. “He can be killed, because he is human. And if he feels hate, then he can take these and shove ’em were he can feel them the most.” He held up both middle fingers at the door that had locked them in.

Aiden staggered to his feet. A serious look of hatred was bent into his face.

“If he is only human, then how does he disappear like that?” Stevie asked. She did her best to say it as calm as she could so that she wouldn’t get the guys anymore riled up. “I see more than a guy in a costume, Brent. I see a spirit who is more powerful than all of us together.”

Brent spit from his lips and waved off her comment.

“It isn’t human,” she said again, still calm. “It can’t be. I felt it. It felt like it wanted to burn me up from the inside out. It felt like . . . I don’t know. It was evil. That’s all I can say.”

“I believe you, Stevie. I’ve never seen something that big disappear like that before,” Aiden said. He was still breathing heavily and his voice had grown hoarse.

“Whatever it is, I’m still going to try and kill it,” Brent pounded his fist into his hand. He had a far-off look in his eyes. “And nobody is changing my mind. It’s dead, and that’s final.” He looked around the room and saw a sturdy looking wooden rocking chair in the corner. For what he wanted to do with it, it would work perfectly. He picked it up with both hands and raised it over his head. Aiden nearly fell backwards because he thought Brent was going to smash him with it, but he didn’t. Instead, he took a running start and threw it at the wall as hard as he could. He grunted like a pig as the chair smashed through the brittle plaster.

Everybody’s eyes lit up at the gaping hole the chair had put in the wall. They were free, but they all first listened for dogs. None of them were there. Aiden peeked through the hole. He could see that it opened a pathway to a completely different part of the mansion. One they had never been in before. He stepped through and the others followed.

The hallway glowed with the fire of candles that hung on hooks. Their orange flames flickered off the red paint. Strange figures of tortured men lined the walls like trees in a forest. Some were gigantic statues that reached the ceiling while others were only figurines. The ceiling of the hallway was tall, more than fifteen feet. Some of the statues almost looked like they were made from real human body parts. Others were holding weapons and dressed in full armor. Aiden took hold of one of the smaller ones that was on a shelf. It was made of stone and it was heavy. He held it in his hand like a club. “Here, Brent,” he said. “You can kill it with this.”

Brent wondered why Aiden had suddenly changed his attitude toward him, so he questioned, “Why don’t you keep it? Do you want me dead or something?”

“What, no. If I wanted you dead, why would I hand you something to protect yourself?”

“You said that you believed Stevie. You believe that this thing isn’t human and that it sees hatred. You want me full of hate so it attacks me? Is that what you’re doing?”

“What?” Aiden asked, trying to sound innocent, but he wasn’t a very good actor. Everybody could tell by the sound of his voice that something wasn’t right.

“Don’t lie to me, bro.” Brent raised the stone figure in his hand in a threatening manner.

“Brent, no way, man.” He put his hands up and waved them to try and calm him down. “I want all of us to get out of this alive.” He wiped a patch of blood from his lip. “I don’t want anybody dead. I’m not a murderer.”

But Brent didn’t listen. He took steps in Aiden’s direction.

“Brent, stop!” Carrie yelled.

“Brent!” Stevie yelled, and that got him to stop.

“No, I’m not going to kill the little worm, but I’m definitely not going to trust him.” He set the statue down where it had been and turned to lead them through the hallway. Aiden followed along, but he was so nerve-wracked from the incident that his lungs were vibrating. He was shocked that Brent had caught on to him. The next time he tried to get Brent killed, he had better be more discrete about it.

Their trek continued. The smell of rotten wood permeated the air. The hallways only led to more hallways. Not one of them had ever been to this part of the mansion before, and because there were no windows, they didn’t know if they were in the basement or in the attic. The place was huge, and it seemed to them as if they were in a labyrinth that only led them deeper into captivity.

“Shhh, did you hear that?” Stevie asked.

They all stopped. Carrie turned her candle in Stevie’s direction. “What?”

“Shhh, that.”

Aiden took a deep breath. “It sounds like mumbling.”

The mumbling was soft, but it was definitely there. It almost sounded like a wizard was chanting incantations.

“Oh, no, man, what is that?” Aiden started to shake he was so scared.

“Where is it coming from?” Carrie whispered.

“Here.” Brent pointed to a giant painting that was hanging on the wall. The painting was of a tree and moon, and under the tree was five different colored flames. He grabbed the thick wood frame of the painting and tried removing it, but it wouldn’t budge. Then the mumbling grew louder, and that gave them a better understanding of where it was coming from.

“Look!” Carrie said, “on the ceiling!” She raised her candle up as high as it would go. “Something is moving around on the ceiling.”

“That isn’t something. A person is tied up there.” Brent gazed at the man hanging in a ball of ropes.

“It might be Eddie,” Stevie said.

With the sound of his name, Eddie began twisting and mumbling as hard as he could to get them to come get him. He was all wrapped up in ropes like a mummy and hanging from a large ring that was attached to the ceiling.

For most of the group, the hope that Eddie was still alive was welcomed, but Aiden didn’t feel the same. He had hoped that Eddie had died. It wasn’t that Aiden disliked Eddie in any way. It was because Aiden knew that someone had to die first. This spirit, this thing that was chasing them, he was certain that it would kill one of them. And he believed as the outcast of the group that the odds were highly in his favor to die first. That’s why he had been trying to get Brent killed. If Brent died, maybe he wouldn’t.

“Damn,” Aiden whispered to himself.

“What?” Carrie had heard him.

“Oh, uh, climb up the painting to get onto that statue. You could probably reach him from up there.” The statue that was next to them was a massive Scandinavian warrior dressed in metal and holding an axe that stood over twelve feet tall. It nearly reached the ceiling.

Brent nodded and took hold of one of the human figures carved into the wood of the frame.

“Eddie!” Stevie cried with joy. “Hold on. We’ll get you down.”

Brent stepped foot onto the large arm of the warrior and then climbed the rest of the way up from there. He sat on the statue’s shoulders and stretched out as far as he could to try and reach his friend that hung precariously from the ceiling. He could just barely reach far enough out to push him and make him swing. Once he had him swinging back and forth, he was able to grab the ropes and hold him in place. Then he slipped out his pocket knife and cut him free.

Within minutes, Eddie’s arms were untied. He removed the ropes from his face and saw Brent for the first time.

“Brent!” he said with great enthusiasm. “Bro, get me down, bro!”

“Pull yourself to me.”

He did, and Brent cut him out the rest of the way and eased him onto the statue. They climbed down together and fell to the ground. They rolled over the top of each other while they laughed and cheered and patted each other’s backs as they hugged. The girls jumped on top to join in. As they cheered, Aiden stood back and watched the statue that was standing over the top of them come to life. First, an arm began to move. Then the weapon that it was holding, the giant axe, lowered. Aiden could see that it was aimed to drop and cut all four of them in half.

“Hey!” He yelled for their attention, but then the axe stopped moving. He saw that it had gotten caught on a piece of armor on the statue’s leg. He saw that all he had to do was bump the statue to knock it loose and then the blade would drop and sever them in half, but first he wanted to get everybody out of the way except for Brent. So he ran up to them and began pulling them up one by one while pretending to take part in their celebration. He first got the two girls up. He made sure Stevie was the farthest away. Then he jumped on Eddie and pulled him up.

Nervously, he said, “Eddie, I missed you so much!” Aiden hugged him around the body and slung him wildly so that he would bump into the statue and knock the axe loose. It worked, and nobody suspected a thing because they were blinded by their own joy.

The axe was free and lowering slowly once again, but then it stopped. Aiden watched it wondering why it wasn’t killing the man that he hated with everything in his heart. He cursed to himself because he wanted Brent dead and the axe wasn’t going to do it, but then something in the statue clicked. The group froze. Brent was still lying on the floor. He was erect on his elbows and listening carefully. “What was that?” he asked.

“I don’t . . . ,” and that was all Aiden could say before the floor gave way. The two girls, Eddie, and Aiden jumped back in time, but Brent was swallowed up. And to make Aiden even happier, the axe then followed along with the floor. It dropped too, slicing down into the hole that Brent had fallen into. They heard him scream and then nothing.

Eddie was the first to jump toward the hole to try and save his friend. The girls were next, but Aiden stayed back so that he could revel in the moment. A sleek smile was spread tight across his lips and a hard stare was over his brow. He gloated to himself while having corrupt thoughts of victory flooding his mind.

The two girls were beside themselves in terror and sorrow.

“Eddie, do something!” Stevie cried over her crush.

“I can’t see anything. It’s too dark.”

“How far down is it?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie slid deeper into the hole. Aiden searched the room for some other boobie-trap to let loose, but there was nothing. Then he searched for another excuse to try and kill Eddie without making it seem like he did it on purpose. If Eddie died too, his chances of survival would surely increase, because in stories like these, one man and one woman were always destine to make it out alive. And Aiden desperately wanted that man and woman to be him and Stevie. He loved Stevie with every ounce of flesh in his body.

“Stevie,” he said, “come stand by me and let me hold you so you don’t get hurt.” She glanced back, but didn’t respond to Aiden’s call.

“Brent!” Carrie screamed into the hole. “Brent, say something. Eddie, where is he?”

“I don’t know. Give me that candle.” But then Eddie began to scream as he too was slowly getting dragged deeper into the hole.

“Eddie!” Carrie jumped on his legs to try to stop him.

Aiden sat back watching anxiously. It looked as if he wouldn’t have to try and kill Eddie after all, because Eddie was about to kill himself.

But Eddie’s screams soon turned into shouts of joy when he learned that the thing dragging him into the hole was Brent using him to climb out. Brent popped up and pulled Eddie to his feet. As soon as Aiden saw that Brent was still alive, he knew that he was in trouble.

“Man, I hate that guy,” he whispered just before a large blade slammed into his back. The front of the blade broke through his chest. He twitched and gagged on his own blood. Then his feet began to smoke like an acid had been spilled over them.

The group spun around and saw that the floor under Aiden’s feet was now glowing red-hot. Flames rose over his body, burning his flesh black. Other than his screams of agony, his last words were, “I knew it would be me.”

The group was terrified. They wanted to help him, but the spirit that had been chasing them through this horrible mansion, making their nightmares come to life, was hovering above the flames. They took off running as fast as they could.

Standing behind this machine
burns the highest points of my face.
The peach fuzz on my cheek bones
has left as smoke, much like the smoke
that rises from the over-worked pistons.

Heat, fury, fire spill around my teeth,
muttering shouts from balled fists.

Skeletons of dried robots hang on the wall,
once prizes, once diamonds, once the only love in life.

I have to protect my eyes
to keep the fire from damaging them further
than what the beating arms
of the machines have already done.

The last parts drop. Slowly, they roll over the ramp
and stick against the drill as if they were
the black oil that goops in the corners.

I’ve had breakdowns, many breakdowns.
My interest in the work has dropped
and all I yearn for is home, a hug
from something other than cut hands.
They tell me that once you’ve come to this place you don’t leave.
They make it sound like a horror story.

I feel the mutilation behind the metal guard.
I lower my head as every man, broken man, has done,
and I search in the dark of my mind
for the power switch to turn on a light.

What I’ve been waiting for
is on the other side of the wall where the dead robots hang.
A bedroom with open windows
welcomes the cool breeze.

by Gabe Redel

We all have a devil
in the pit of our stomach.
We feed him
and we feed him
until he gets really big
and grows long sharp teeth
and becomes super intelligent.

We keep him there
in the pit of our stomach
and we are happy to have him
prowling around with us.
When we get mad
we hang out with him.
We lean against his cage
and grit our teeth
and toy with the key to his lock.

He rubs his hands together
and licks his lips.
His red skin and the blood in his eyes
glisten like raw meat.

Then we let our minds wander
and dream about the day
that we could unleash him from his cage.
He would be red hot mad
and tear the ones who’ve crossed us
into itty-bitty pieces.

But we don’t. We stop ourselves
until the right day comes
at just the right time
and then that devil, long after
we have forgotten all about our anger,
reaches into our pocket
and slips out the key . . .

by Gabe Redel

This poem is about pride.
It isn’t about whether pride
is right or wrong.
It is simply about what pride is.

You may think that you already know
the answer.
You may think
this poem will be a waste of your time.
Don’t think that.
Keep reading.

Pride is having a deep satisfaction
in the things you’ve accomplished
or in the things you own.
Without those things,
you would feel less confident,
less happy, or less of a person
than what you feel with them.

Pride is believing you are great.

But what if you believe
the opposite?
What if your final thoughts
in the night are about
how you believe that
you are a loser, a failure, a nobody?

Isn’t that pride as well?
. . .

by Gabe Redel

My mini-tablet was where it had always been.
I pulled it off the dock
and slid my finger across its face.

Oil was sticking to the glass in clouds.
I was in bed, so I used my comforter to wipe it clean.

A little square among all the other little squares.
I tapped it and up came a game, bright colors
and action.

I watched the screen.
The little villagers raced around the buildings.
I thought about my next strategic move.

The sadness was far behind me.

by Gabe Redel

This city
cowers under sky-high stone walls.
Behind the stones
up by the clouds
are men
who curse
and spit bullets from their mouths.

The walls
do not protect the men
from the weaponized disease
the women bubble up from their hearts.

The bullets blow holes through bone.
Disease rots flesh from the inside out.
The city is dark.
The symbols of hardened minds,
violence, and fear
are painted on its face.

Two mice
eat cheese in the alley corner.
They offer the cheese to the cat.

by Gabe Redel

We sat with smokes in our lips.
A guitar leaned in the corner
by the TV, against the purple drapes
that blew in the storms.

We put ourselves on paper.
I went on in words.
My friend sketched shapes into pictures.

His dad would sit with us;
a book in his hand
and miles of philosophical thoughts to share.

We would talk about ideas
that continued to more ideas
that flooded into work.

Those days were the dream days.
We were young.
We had art.
We had time to waste.

by Gabe Redel

I’ve never been in debt
but my bank account has gone below the surface.
I’ve listened to my car grind at the joints
and I’ve been in the ditch more than once
without a second vehicle in my pocket.

My family believed that I left my home
because I wasn’t happy with them.
I had to explain that I wasn’t happy with myself.

The homes that I moved in to never felt like home
but the love in my heart made me a place to stay.
My eyes flooded rivers that oceans couldn’t contain.
My bed was welcome. My mind sank.

I put myself in blackness
after I had learned that blackness could find me
and never let go.

I’ve heard men say
that the beauty behind poetry is cruel
and I know women
who cry at the movement in songs.
I’ve been hurt by beauty all my life.
But beauty now is the promise of a day
when my beauty will never be threatened.

Sometimes I wish for songs to never end.
Sometimes I wish for songs to never end.

by Gabe Redel

Innocence
was a star
flickering over black coffee.
A puppy,
no threat at all.

Words,
they were not innocent.
Wisdom was the sword
and knowledge was the shield.

Angles of how the eye
views the world
were cocked upright and around and sideways in new directions.
In this was peace.

Some were stone, hard, cold, immovable grunts
with strong thoughts.
Fists were their fortitude.

Then that star traveled. In its
travels it pulled closer
and became a burning sun.

The puppy grew teeth
and howled.

Those old threats
saw the face of a warrior,
one they had never known,
and inched toward the door.

by Gabe Redel

The time to find the one
has already passed for most.
The one is always
the first one.

The one is always
the one
whom tramples the hardest
into your soft heart.
But you don’t care.
Losing her would be worse.

The one is always
the one
who is so great
that nobody else
could ever replace him or her
and just being next to him
makes you feel like you are constantly
bragging and showing off.

Attraction with the one
is so ravenous
just a touch is enough.

The one is always
the one who carries on talk
as if the words had already been written.

Love is not the only mix
that makes the one special.
It is also the ego.
It is the attraction;
the excitement;
the brainless motives;
the thoughtless humiliation;
the careless pain;
the blindness to how the one uses you;
the ignorance of how the one cuts you deeply
and doesn’t care and doesn’t see it
because the one is so messed up
that he or she could never treat you right.

But most special about the one
is the negligence of the abuse
that she causes you, and you take it
like it is your only life
and you could never live without the pain
and the suffering
that comes from her
because you are stuck to her
so tightly
that the only thing
that could ever pull you apart
is God.

by Gabe Redel