On Monday mornings, I send out a story via email: ultra-brief tales of 1,000 words or more, usually in genres including horror, science fiction, and the supernatural. Those stories collectively are called Once Upon A Time. I’ve also published several ebooks and compendium volumes of those stories so far.

I’d love to have you as a subscriber to the weekly free story. You can subscribe via email here. Unsubscribe any time, from the link in every issue.

Here's story 149, of 240 so far.

Cautionary Tale

It hadn’t been a fantastic year, but William was trying to count his blessings. He was alive, for one thing, and he more or less had his health too. Those were important.

His finances were also in excellent shape. No debt, a well-performing portfolio, a comfortable home and two investment properties all fully paid for, and a sizeable cash cushion spread across several bank accounts. He was confident he could weather any particular financial storm which might blow his way. It was difficult to imagine anything more comforting than that.

Granted, he wasn’t a popular man. William had no close friends, and he was distanced from his remaining family members too. He didn’t socialise with his work colleagues, and his comfortable home had only a single occupant: himself. Winter was in full swing now, and yes, he tended to stay later and later at the office in order to avoid going home to a place that was dark and silent. It was different in the summer, when there was at least daylight and the connection it brought to the outside world. The dark, though, was like a shroud that reminded him of his lack of company.

It was already after nine in the evening, and the streets were deserted, everyone having long since sought the warmth and comfort of indoors. William trudged up the grand stairway leading to his ornate front door, drew the keys from his pocket, and unlocked his home. For the briefest moment, a trick of the light and his own fatigue made it seem like the brass knocker on the door changed into a face of disapproval, but then it was gone. William went inside, still seeing his breath hanging in the air within his own hallway, and he closed the door quickly against the chill.

He went into his sitting room, still in his overcoat, and he sat down in his usual chair, the leather still new enough to protest at his presence. The chamber smelled more like a furniture warehouse than a home, the effect completed by the scented candle that William had taken out of the cupboard and set upon the table in deference to the time of year. It was some mix of citrus and spices, and had a rather cloying but not entirely unpleasant effect that reminded him distantly of how his childhood home had been each year after his mother had made the preparations for the festive period.

He drifted away into his own thoughts for an indeterminate time, remembering past decades, and thinking again about his own situation now. His mother was long dead, and he had last spoken to his brother more than a year ago. There was a card, of course, and he had forgotten to send one in return as usual. It would be Christmas tomorrow, and with it would come the week or so of socially-enforced sequestration he so passionately hated. He would welcome the coming of the new year, and the return to normalcy and the distractions of work.

William glanced up at the clock on the mantlepiece as it chimed, and he was shocked to see that it was somehow eleven o’clock already. Could two hours truly have passed? He hadn’t eaten, but he felt no desire to do so, even now. He briefly wondered if he might be ill, but the thought was interrupted by the most surprising thing: a violent gust of wind, enough to flutter the curtains and flap the collar of the overcoat he had yet to remove.

He became aware of a presence, and he looked around in confusion before finally raising his gaze to the high ceiling of the room. There, semi-transparent against the cornicing, floated two figures who were looking down upon him.

The first was a being who inspired immediate terror in him. A hooded cloak all in black, flowing and billowing in an unseen breeze, its sleeves ending in skeletal hands, one of whose index fingers was outstretched and pointing at him. The other hand held a scythe in its grip, the long and curved blade glittering cruelly in the dim light. It was far taller than any man, and in the shadowed void of its hood, William could sense uncounted cold aeons of the world. It was surely the vision of death itself, and hovering nearby, limp and powerless, William saw his own face.

His doppelgänger was younger than William himself, but there was no question as to the man’s identity. The face wore an expression of horror which William knew well. His mouth was dry and he felt like he was pinned to the chair, and then a voice came from the hooded figure above, clearly speaking to the younger version of himself.

“Behold what awaits if you do not change your ways! Look upon the face of loneliness and a life forsaken, and repent while there is yet time!”

The younger William floating near to the apparition grasped at the sleeve of its cloak. “Show me no more, spirit! I have seen my mistakes and where they may lead! I am witness to your cautionary tale! Allow me one more chance to avoid this torment, I beg of you!”

There was another blast of wind, and they were both gone, leaving William alone once again, still sitting in the armchair, neck craned to look at the now empty corner of the ceiling. He could move now, and he stood up quickly, looking around, and then upwards once more, but there was no longer anyone else there.

The clock ticked on the mantlepiece, and snow had begun to fall outside. He still had his overcoat on, and his stomach had belatedly started to rumble. He sighed.

“Well that’s just fucking great,” he said.

JINX

KESTREL face a new and terrifying enemy: an all-seeing mastermind who already knows exactly who they are, and many of their deepest secrets. Nothing stays hidden forever, and the line between privacy and liberty is razor-thin…

Book 3 in the KESTREL action-thriller series.

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