EA Friday Feature Anthology - September 2015

  She shrugged.

  “I guess you don’t do social media much huh?” she said.

  Jesus smiled.

  “Not really,” he said.

  “Come in,” she said stepping back and letting him into her apartment.

  “Thanks,” he said as he stepped in.

  He reached down, and picked up her phone, handing it to her. Inexplicably, the screen was repaired.

  “Is there anything I can do for you Mary?” he asked.

  She smiled wryly.

  “Can you stop people trolling me on twitter?” she asked.

  Jesus smiled and kissed her forehead.

  “Is that all?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “Consider it done,” he said and suddenly the constantly beeping notifications stopped. Mary stared at him.

  “Why…? How…?” she stammered in disbelief.

  Jesus smiled.

  “Let him who is without sin, cast the first stone,” he said. “Or tweet as the case may be.”

  Mary bent her head, tears leaking in gratitude. Jesus stroked her hair.

  “Go forth Mary Magdalene, and do not sin again,” he said.

  ***

  For those about to rock, we salute you

  “You’re fired. Have your things packed and out of here by noon.”

  Sam breezed into the office, throwing the information at Missouri as he passed. She stood up and followed him into his office.

  “You said get it done, I got it done. What are you in such a tizzy about now?”

  “You told Dean that our child was sick! Have you no sense of boundaries? . I want you out of here now or I’ll turn our enforcer on you so help me,” he growled, looming over her like a volcano about to erupt.

  “Sam. I got the job done. You know he wouldn’t have come back for anything less,” she soothed, arms making calming gestures like there was a hope in hell that he could calm the fuck down.

  AFTER WHAT SHE DID. there were limits. I mean sure he lied to Dean; he did. Mostly to save him from worry or heartache; NOT TO GIVE HIM A FUCKING HEART ATTACK!

  “I need you to go, Miz,” he bit out pointing imperiously out the door.

  “You can’t fire me,” she fired back.

  “Why not?” Sam asked, momentarily perturbed before he remembered that he was the boss here. He was the rock star. People did whatever he fucking wanted. Not the other way around.

  “Because there is a clause in my contract that says so,” Missouri said.

  Sam stared at her flummoxed.

  “That’s not true. None of my employee contracts have such a clause.”

  “Mine does.”

  Sam drew himself to his full height and folded his arms, hazel eyes narrowed as he glared at her.

  “Let’s see it then,” he said.

  There was a flash of light and then Missouri was holding a paper. On first glance, the paper seemed to flame with an eerie otherworldly glow but then on second look it was just an ordinary parchment. Wait. Parchment? They didn’t use parchment to write employee contracts.

  “Sam Winchester, erstwhile boy King. The witches didn’t exactly bring you to other-Earth out of the goodness of their undead hearts. They needed you here so that you weren’t there to stop something from happening. I am your very own guardian witch and you can’t get rid of me,” she said her voice slightly lower and hoarser than Sam was used to.

  “What did you do with the real Missouri Moseley then?” he asked.

  It was the first thing that occurred to him. That Missouri existed after all; and if he could find her…maybe, she could help.

  Redheaded Missouri inclined her head to the side.

  “She’s a vegetable confined in a mental institution by her family for her own good,” she told him.

  “Oh relax,” she said when she saw him flinch. “She was there long before you came here. Some of the things she saw were a little too much for her poor psychic mind to take. This wasn’t your fault. It was a gap. Just like you and your brother filled a gap. Suck it up.”

  Sam was breathing hard.

  “You caused me a lot of trouble, Miz,” he said.

  She was nodding sympathetically.

  “I know. I know. Who knew Dean would take his child’s fake illness that hard? But, I’ll make it up to you. I have tickets. To AC/DC,” she said proffering them as if giving a two-year-old candy.

  Sam’s eyes cut to the tickets then back to her face.

  “I can buy my own concert tickets, thank you,” he said.

  Her smile widened and she beamed at him.

  “Not like these; these are exclusive back stage passes mate! And an invitation to the after party where Bon Scott will be taking requests. You know he didn’t die in this realm. Can you imagine how surreal it’ll be for your brother?”

  Sam just stared at her.

  “Give him the tickets. Don’t offer to go with him, don’t make him take you. Just give them to him as a gift and then back off and look like a lost puppy. I guarantee you; you’ll be humping like the wolves you partly are before the end of the evening.”

  Sam Winchester so wanted to believe her. But, he was experiencing for himself the seismic shift that happened when someone you thought you knew has been lying to you about who they are for the longest fucking time. He reached out though and grabbed the tickets. Then he slammed the door in Missouri’s face. He grabbed his phone and called Dean’s agency.

  “Winchester Security, how may I direct your call?” a female voice answered at once.

  “Macy, I need to speak to my husband please,” Sam said.

  As far as anyone in this realm knew, Sam and Dean shared the same last name because they were married. It was a surprisingly easy sell. Dean had been pretty perturbed by that shit but for Sam it was just another lie that was maybe based in more truth than all the other lies they were telling. Okay, he was telling.

  “Good morning, Mr. Winchester. I’ll connect you now.”

  Macy had been to lunch at their house more times than Sam could count. She had baby sat their kids on more than one occasion. Still, when she was at work it was always, Mr. Winchester for either of them. Sam listened to Dean’s office phone ring, wondering if he would agree to even speak to him.

  “Hello,” he said in Sam’s ear, intimate in the way only a voice on the phone could be. And what a voice Dean had. It was low and gravelly like honey pouring over grits. Sam loved it in a visceral way that could not be enunciated with mere words. He could feel himself stirring with arousal just listening to it. He didn’t think that he and Dean had ever gone this long without seeing each other. Not in this realm anyway.

  “Dean,” he said and what he was thinking must have been reflected in his voice because Dean gasped. There was silence on the line.

  “Can I see you tonight?” he asked, eyes closed, fingers crossed.

  ***

  Stories

  By

  Maureen Wakarindi

  ***

  Fear of Falling

  As wedding dresses went, this one was beautiful, a true work of art. It was strapless and of the palest blue, almost white. The bodice was fitted with hand stitched tiny pearls that made the gown shimmer and sparkle. The veil itself was an heirloom and made of lace. The gown had been made to compliment the veil and it all looked perfect. As per her specifications, a long train had been made for her walk down the aisle. All in all, the dress was perfect.

  This did not explain why she couldn’t bring herself to wear it.

  Once again, she turned her back on the dress and paced around the room. Once, twice and back again.

  She shouldn’t even be here, she thought.

  She was supposed to be asleep. Her wedding was five hours away. As it was, her helpers would be arriving within the hour to help her look radiant on her wedding day to the man of her dreams.

  There was no question about it. She loved David and he loved
her. Marrying him was a dream come true for her and a testament to their love story. Why was it, then, that she felt such panic? Such an overwhelming desire to run and never look back?

  The Runaway Bride did it, and the aptly named movie had had a happy ending after all, right?

  This could totally work. She’d dress in something more comfortable than pajamas and a robe and hit the road. Her suitcase was even packed, ready to go with her to her husband’s home. One less thing to do now. Of course, she would leave the dress as a sign of goodwill and some sort of peace offering. She could be gone in ten minutes and none would be the wiser.

  Stop it, you are better than this, she ordered herself.

  ‘’Linda, honey, are you up here?’’

  She’d been so preoccupied with her thoughts not to notice someone was climbing the steps, and then her father stepped into the doorway.

  “I thought I saw a light in here. What are you doing here, anyway? You should be asleep. Or are you too excited to sleep?” he asked.

  She made a halfhearted shrug and chuckled with nervous energy. She hoped he couldn’t read the thoughts running through her head.

  He stepped more fully into the room and could now see her clearly.

  “What is it? What’s wrong? ”

  There went hope. She should have known. Her father had always been very close to her and highly attuned to her emotions. He could usually tell by looking into her eyes exactly what she was feeling.

  “It’s probably nothing. I’m just being silly. You know how I get sometimes. ”

  He would reserve judgment on that. He knew his daughter very well. While she was prone to being over dramatic and creating problems where none existed, he could see from the shadows in her eyes and lines of strain on her face that whatever it was, it was serious.

  “Well, be as it may, since we’re both up, why don’t you just tell me what is on your mind? Let me decide if it is nothing or not. ”

  She paced around the room once again. Maybe it was time she shared some of her doubts with someone. She was glad it was her father; for she could be sure, he would listen and give her the best course of action.

  “I can’t stop thinking about the wedding. I’m terrified, papa.”

  “Now, child, tell me, what do you have to fret about?”

  “I just don’t know if I can go through with this anymore.”

  “Is that all? Honey, those are just wedding jitters. Every bride has them, I’m told. When you step in front of the altar tomorrow and look into he eyes of your beloved, YOU will be too busy thinking of starting your life together to worry about nerves and such. You’ll see.’’

  “That’s just it, papa. I don’t think I’ll be standing in front of that altar tomorrow. I’d planned to just run away before anyone woke up, but since you’re here, tell everyone I’m sorry and that I really tried.’’

  “What are you going on about now?”

  There was a thread of impatience in his voice now.

  “Tell you what. Why don’t we just sit down and you can tell me what’s troubling you.’’

  He sat down on the sofa and waited for her to sit beside him. If he knew his daughter at all, she would blurt out what was in her mind in five, four, three, two, one…

  “I just don’t think that I can sustain a marriage.”

  There was real distress in her voice.

  “What gave you that idea?”

  “Well, I read somewhere that men like quiet, biddable women who can cook, clean and be barefoot and pregnant most of the time. I can’t cook, I can barely clean and I am the furthest thing from biddable ever. As for barefoot and pregnant, certainly not for a few years. And have you read of the divorce statistics lately? They’re spiking through the roof. I mean, sure we say that we are in love, now, but will we still feel the same two days from now? Two weeks? Two years? What guarantee do I have that someday I won’t be just another statistic?”

  What was a man to do but laugh after hearing such a speech? He laughed until tears of hilarity were flowing down his face and he almost fell off the couch, while she looked on as if he had lost his head. When he could get his breath back, he shifted to look at her.

  “As a man, let me say that the person who wrote that book is a bloody fool. Men think that’s what we want, but if we got it, we would be bored stiff within a day. But—

  “Quiet. You always have to pick everything apart, don’t you? Get that from your mother, bless her. Now,” he continued calmly, “As your father, let me give you some advice. There are no guarantees in this life. If you find a good thing, you hold on to it as long as you can. Do you love him?”

  “Of course I do.”

  What a silly question.

  “Obviously he loves you, because he chose to spend the rest of his life with you, ‘flaws’ and all,” he said, with a twinkle in his eyes. “Who’s to say he’s not right now awake, pacing as you were, asking himself the same questions and doubting himself.”

  “Really?”

  That had never been a possibility in her mind, but the thought of it now made her feel more at ease.

  “If you weren’t nervous, then there would be a problem. This shows that you care and will continue to care.”

  He laid a hand over her arm.

  “Marriage is a risky undertaking, I will not lie. There will be days you love, days you fight and other days you will not want to see each other. But if you both put in the effort, I can promise you the love will come out on top. And that’s what counts, right?”

  He was right.

  She could see it now, and it did not frighten.

  She was ready.

  ****

  The Haunting of Mystic Woods

  The house sat on a clearing deep inside Mystic Woods. It was more of a cottage, really, with a slanted thatched roof, brick sturdy walls and crooked windows. Not a sound could be heard from inside or outside the house.

  He found it almost by accident. He had been lost in the woods for days. It was rumored that Mystic Woods was haunted and that no one who set foot in it ever got out. As a paranormal investigator, he’d come here with the intention of getting documented proof of the existence of ghosts. Apart from the personal satisfaction he would feel over that, it would look great for the blog- Bump In The Night.

  He had tried wandering around looking for a way out or another living soul, but had found nothing. He’d foraged for food and water, all the while hoping that he wouldn’t be some wild animal’s supper. He considered it a testament to his skill as a good researcher that he’d been able to avoid food poisoning and being eaten. It helped to know the names of plants and what they were for, as well as the habits of various wild animals.

  The closer he thought he came to civilization, the more he found himself walking around in circles. To his tired mind and dehydrated body, everything looked the same. He had just been about to lie down somewhere and let himself die when he saw it. The only thing he could think of was, salvation was finally here. He hobble-walked up to the door and knocked. The door swung quietly inwards. If he had been in a better frame of mind, such a thing may have given him pause, but at the moment he didn’t care. And why would anyone choose to live so far from civilization?

  He went in.

  The house was sparsely furnished. There were three wooden chairs and a table that looked crooked from where he was standing. A small area to his left was obviously the kitchen. There was a charcoal cooker, a few rudimentary utensils, and a tiny sink, more brown than white. The light from outside was muted by the curtain that fluttered at the only window. Who hang it there, he absently wondered, even as he moved to the sink for water.

  When he turned the tap on, at first nothing happened. He almost cried, thinking about how close he’d come to salvation only to be denied. Slowly, brownish water started to trickle down slowly, and he ducked his head beneath the tap and begun to drink. He didn’t care if the water was un
healthy; if he was to die, then he would die with his thirst sated.

  Afterwards, seated on the floor after drinking what felt like gallons of water, he suddenly realized how quiet it was. It was like he was the only person in the whole wide world at that moment. Did no one live here?

  And if anyone did, where were they?

  Upon closer inspection, he saw a door that seemed to have been carved into the wall. In fact, he would have missed it altogether if he hadn’t looked twice. Since he was here, he might as well explore. He opened the door.

  There was a room beyond it. The only thing there was a bed. On it was a note. It seemed to be beckoning to him, so that he found his feet moving almost before his mind gave the order. He sat down and looked at it. It was a handwritten note, hardly legible as if the writer had been in a hurry. He started to read.

  “If you’re reading this, that means I’m dead and no one will ever find me.”

  His eyes bugged out at that. A chill of foreboding raced down his spine. He knew he should stop, but he was too intrigued. He kept on reading.

  “I should probably start from the beginning. My name is Zoe and I’m a scientist. I first came to Mystic Woods to study why specific types of trees were going extinct. I came here with a group of scientists. Originally, we were twelve, but seven finished there work and left. The rest of us decided to build this cabin and finish our research here. It was a bit isolated, yes, but our company took good care of us. Every week, they would send us food and anything else we needed.”

  “The first winter I spent here was very cold. Temperatures were in the negative. You could hardly see more than an arm’s length in front of you due to the snow that hampered visibility. If you stood in one spot for too long, you were liable to get stuck. Very soon, the company could no longer bring us what we needed and we were left on our own. My colleagues started to succumb to hypothermia.”

  The first time it happened, it was almost by accident. Ten minutes earlier, I had watched as my best friend on this project took her last breath. I looked at her lying there and I decided that if I was going to die, I would put up one hell of a fight. I was so cold and hungry; I would have done anything to change that. I must have blacked out for a while because the next thing I knew, I was seated beside her body with my teeth gnawing on her outstretched arm.”