Archive for the ‘Short Story’ Category

The Pig

Posted: 30 August, 2010 in Blogging by GWT, Short Story
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Today, I met a pig.

A large pig, in fact. Maybe even a hog. He was large enough to be a hog at the least, though I don’t know if there’s a recognizable size where a pig ceases to be a hog.

But sure enough, as I stepped out my house this morning, a pig greeted me. A large pig who sat outside my door, staring as I stared back.

At first, I was taken aback. What was it doing there? Why a pig? Was this some sort of strange metaphor of sorts? Maybe it was a god in the form of a pig.

That was before the pig righted itself on two legs, sauntered inside my house, and took a seat on my couch.

“You don’t mind me sitting here, do ya son?
His voice rolled out in a strange, lazy southern drawl. Somehow I expected this, but at the same time a pig speaking is something that you never can prepare for.

So, of course I didn’t mind. In fact, I offered him a drink.

“Sure thing, good boy,” He replied. “A little thing of Jack and Coke, hold the coke. Do ya mind if I smoke?”

At the word smoke, he had already pulled out a comically large cigar and lighter. God only knows where he stored it, and I was quite content to not interrogate.  By the time I gave my approval, he had already lit the thing, spreading a haze of smoke as thick as london fog through the living room.

Navigating through this miasma to deliver the drink, the pig gave a cheery “Thank ya,” before motioning I sit down. Taking a long drag and expelling another cloud over his shoulder – do pigs have shoulders? – he gave me a long hard look, one a father would give to his son at his death bed or before a long speech.

“Listen here boy, this is about your destiny,”  Try to not laugh at the idea of a cigar smoking, whiskey drinking pig talking about destiny. “Things are coming, things that mean you ill will. You have to defend yourself, Charlie.”


“My name is Liam,” I said slowly, trying not to breathe in the smoke. “Are you, uh, looking for Charlie Perez?”


“He’s next door, Mister…uh…pig.”
“…I see. Carry on then, boy. This didn’t just happen.”
And with that, he picks up, gives a little bow, and makes his way to the door. Looking back to me as I fan the smoke around me, the pig chews on the back of his cigar one last time.

“…Thanks for the whiskey. If you hear monsters next door in the next week, just move along your day.”

One last gout of smoke and the pig is gone. I scratch my head in confusion.

“Maybe I should stop hanging out with people
who read eldritch lore.”


So I’ve got a concept I’ve wanted to work on for some time, but because of various things ranging from time to waning inspiration to a lack of talent in a certain field, it keeps getting halfway close to realization but then fall back in the pile of ideas.

Maybe someone reading this can make use of them or help me out. (more…)

"The Body… It's…"

Posted: 8 August, 2010 in Blogging by GWT, Short Story

Raining night, pavement…


“Hey. Hey man its…Man, you know who it is, you’ve got caller ID. I…oh my god man, I–”

“Whoa. You’re saying man too much. Something happen?”

“I…shit. Just shit…I did it. I really fucking did it.”

“Slow down. Did what?”

“She…she was talking too much man. Said those things and shit. So I…god, I–”

“I’m gonna say it again. Slow down. What are you talking about.”

“Its…I killed her man. I just turned around and killed her. Right in the head with a shovel. I just lost it.”

“You’re serious.”


“Jesus Christ…”

“No. No, I’m not done. I realized what I did, right? I mean, holy shit, there’s blood everywhere, you can’t help but notice. It’s hard not to notice, what with the blood and the shovel and the…well, I mean, I noticed and I freaked out and…”


“…So anyway. I moved the body.”

“Where’d you move it?”

“Thats not important, dude.”

“Yes it is. You put it somewhere stupid, you get caught.”

“I tell you and you call the cops. Sorry, I trust you and all, but I killed the bitch. Not exactly smart to go broadcasting where you put the evidence.”

“You sound like you’re sobering up.”

“Far fucking from it. And like I said, it doesn’t matter. Not at all.”

“Hey, uh…I’ve been meaning to ask and all, but why are you whispering.”

“I’m whispering because…fuck, because she might hear me. Fuck, I mean…”

“Hold on.”

“What? What did I say?”

“She might hear me. She’s in bed next to me, sleeping. I mean–”

“Oh. Oh, that’s fucking gross man. You need help. I’m–”

“No, its not like that. I’m getting to that. I mean, I told you–”

“Tell me faster, you’re not making any goddamn sense. You drunk? I bet you imagined the whole thing.”

“NO! I mean, I’m not crazy! I’m sure I’m not! That…she ain’t human man.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I…I got rid of the body, right? But I came back. And she was there. Perfect, like, 100%.”


“No blood. No scars. Nothing. Like she just came back whole. And…man, I thought I was insane. I was sure. But then I went to check and…”


“The body…its…”


“… Its still there man. The body is still fucking there!”

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The day started with an unusual comment:

“Why are you so fake?”

An unusual question with no right answer. A question so unusual that the young man couldn’t help but ponder why he was asked it.

Why are you so fake?
Why are you so fake?
Why are you a fake?
Why are you false?
Why are you artificial?

The more he thought about it, the less it made sense. How could he be fake? He was clearly real. He could be seen, be heard, be touched. He had a taste, a smell. It began to eat away at him as he went through his daily life: how could he prove he was real if he couldn’t prove he wasn’t fake? How could he be both at the same time?

It was at that point where reality for the young man crumbled to pieces. (more…)

I did not know what to expect when Del Morte told me of the room. Images of small offices refitted to accommodate basic sleep patterns came to mind. Perhaps even an empty bedroom.

A large scale hotel, in contrast, was far out of my mind. But it should go without saying that the man made it a point to surprise me with this new, unmentioned development.

“This is it,” He said plainly as he led me through its hallways. Judging by the state of the building, it was only a hotel in name only. Renovations had been done here or there, yes, but the overall state of the building was one that certainly would not pass a general inspection.

My room was little more than a side office, however. Even with all the large single and double man rooms, I found myself choosing a small office no more than a walk-in closet in size. Something about it called to me, but I wasn’t sure what. Perhaps it was the reminder of the cramped Clocktower dorms or the fact that I had a perfect view of the street. But either way it was my new home, at least for a little while.

But this was not just my home. Ignoring myself and Del Morte, there were other residents in this building.
There were also cats.