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.

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Here's story 199, of 240 so far.

Inconsideration

Two o’clock in the morning yesterday, and now almost three in the morning today. It was ridiculous. Beyond the pale.

Ignorant little bastards, Barron thought.

He lay there in his bed, being careful not to wake his wife, for another fifteen minutes until he could feel his pulse pounding in his ears. It almost seemed loud enough to wake her on its own, and he was sure he could feel the mattress faintly reverberating with the thump of his heart. He was far too angry to go back to sleep, so he quietly got up and went downstairs.

The clock in the living room said 02:51, which was an appalling time to be up and about, and Barron stood there in his robe, paralysed by indecision. Tea? Television? A book? But the decision was made for him a moment later.

The boom from the sky was muted, and sounded like it was some distance away, but the faint fizzling sound afterwards was unmistakeable. More fireworks, despite it being nowhere near any of the proper times of year for it, and despite it being against the law to set the things off after 11 PM. And sure enough, after another couple of seconds he heard the click of claws on the wooden floor of the front hallway.

The family dog was getting on a bit now; almost eight years old, but still energetic and as daft as a brush. There was none of the usual enthusiasm and playfulness in her right now, though. Only fear, with shoulders low and eyes wide, and even in the near-darkness Barron could see that her body was shaking.

“Poor girl,” he said, going to the animal even as she came towards him, kneeling down beside her and throwing one arm over her soft back, pulling her against his chest so that his own ribcage vibrated with the same shudders that shook her own. He felt the anger surge over him again, and he knew that part of it was guilt.

He had done almost everything right when the dog was a pup. Motorcycle engines, emergency vehicle sirens, blenders and lawnmowers and vacuum cleaners and pressure washers. Barron had let her hear the sounds while she was young so she wouldn’t be afraid, but of course he’d forgotten about fireworks. Now, whenever she heard them, she would shake and drool and pace, and it took hours for her to settle. It wasn’t fair.

It would be kids, of course. Teenagers, most likely, given the lateness of the hour, out doing whatever the hell they liked without a moment’s thought for other people — or other species, for that matter. Barron blamed the parents, but also the kids themselves, because they were old enough to know better. What they needed was some discipline in their lives, and to be taught respect for your fellow citizens. A bit of tough love.

That’s what Barron himself had got, and it had done him a world of good. He’d been on his way to going off the rails as an adolescent, but the army had fixed him up good and proper. Twenty-four years of service later, he’d been honourably discharged upon request, and busied himself with building a life for himself as a far better man than he’d had any right to be before he signed up.

Another boom, and a crackling fizzle, and this time Barron could see a distant flash of neon green over the rooftops of the houses across the street, bouncing off the low clouds. It would be in the park a few streets over, no doubt, where early-morning joggers and dog-walkers had to dodge the broken beer bottles and discarded vape cartridges, and sometimes condoms or even syringes. Disgusting.

Just damned inconsideration, he thought, hearing it in his old commanding officer’s voice as he pulled the dog even tighter against his body.

He sighed, releasing the animal after a moment to go to the kitchen and open a high cupboard. There were herbal pills the vet had given him that were supposed to help, though frankly he doubted that they did. The dog followed him, her movements both too cautious and too quick at the same time. It hurt his heart to see an innocent and loving creature in the grip of such mindless terror. Dogs were the last thing in the world that could ever deserve it. He gave two of the pills to her, having to open her mouth and put them at the back of her tongue, then Barron bent over and kissed her on the head. As he did so, another firework detonated somewhere nearby — and suddenly he couldn’t bear it anymore.

It was the work of barely three minutes for Barron to disappear back upstairs and retrieve some suitable clothes, get dressed, and return once again to the living room. The dog was sitting there, still panting but perhaps shaking a little less, and as Barron patted her furry head, a look of understanding passed between them.

Without another word, he went out the back door, using the single key in his pocket to unlock the shed at the foot of the garden that served as his workshop. His wife never went in there, and so she knew nothing about the things that old soldiers retained from their previous lives, when the rules of day-to-day existence were very different, and so were the tools of survival. Barron had the small black duffel packed at all times, and with its strap slung across his body he slipped over the side fence like a shadow, and then he was gone.

The group of teenagers were easily visible in the darkness of the public park, illuminated by an ill-advised camp fire and the tiny bobbing lights of cigarettes. Their fireworks were piled not far away, adjacent to what served as the launch area, and Barron shook his head at the amateurishness and danger of it all. He was invisible, a part of the night, and he effortlessly assessed the layout and chose a route that would bring him to the very edge of the gathering without detection.

Barron reached into his bag, immediately finding the item he needed. He took another look at the young people, hearing their braying laughter and seeing their complete lack of care for anything beyond the flickering circle of light.

He’d seen enough, and he set off like a wraith, weaving his way through the night, closing the distance without ever being noticed. Society was a cooperative endeavour, and the foundation of it all was mutual respect. It was the most valuable lesson a person could learn, and Barron had the scars to prove it.

Tonight, while their delinquent parents slept, these kids would learn it the hard way.

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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