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 169, of 240 so far.

Takeback

Please be open, Steven thought, even though he’d never known the place to be closed.

It was late, and the weather was ominous, which felt fitting. He was in trouble, and as usual it was entirely of his own making. His temper again. One of these years he’d have to do something productive and proactive about it, instead of always having to scramble to deal with the consequences.

Steven was almost jogging, and he got quicker as he drew nearer to the side street that ran between a row of warehouses and the dilapidated community centre. The buildings were old, and in their own day they would have been grand and reassuring. Now they spoke of decline and uncertainty — but there were still two lights on up ahead. One was a Chinese restaurant that was closed at this hour, but still lit from within, and the other was Steven’s destination. His pulse increased a little further when he saw the Open sign hanging in the window.

The little bell jingled above the door when he entered, and he started to think that things might just turn out okay after all. The old man was behind the counter, just like always, and Steven didn’t even glance at the racks of newspapers, snacks, soft drinks, and basic groceries. Nor did he pay any attention to the booze behind the counter, or the plain, opaque flaps which concealed packets of cigarettes.

“Help you?” the old man asked, and for a moment Steven wondered if he hadn’t been recognised, but there was a glint in the old man’s eye which made him unsure. There was no-one else in the shop, and the only other sound was the rumble of the refrigerated display units. There wasn’t even a radio playing, and Steven belatedly realised that in all the times he’d come here, he’d never once seen the old man doing anything except tending to customers. No magazine, no mobile phone, no book, and no music.

“I fucked up,” Steven said abruptly, and the old man gave him a kindly sort of smile; the way a grandfather might respond to an indulged child.

“Oh?” the man said, and Steven just nodded.

“My girlfriend,” he replied. “A stupid fight. It wasn’t even really about anything. Just went too far.”

“You said things you shouldn’t have,” the old man said, in a matter-of-fact way, as if he already knew the answer. Steven nodded.

“I’d had a long day. A long month, really. Work. And she’s been pressuring me to go with her on a holiday abroad with her mother. But I personally can’t stand the woman. Then she — Sarah, I mean; my girlfriend — asked me if I was serious about the relationship. We’re living together!”

The old man nodded sagely. Steven glanced at his age-spotted left hand and didn’t see a wedding ring, but that didn’t really mean anything these days. Maybe the old guy was married but didn’t wear a ring for whatever reason. Or maybe he was divorced. Or maybe his wife had died; he was definitely old enough for it. Maybe he’d been married four times, for all he knew.

“So things got carried away, and now you want to patch it up,” the old man said. “Well we don’t have much in the way of flowers, but there’s chocolate over there, and there’s wine and so on, if you really can’t wait until the bigger shops open again in the morning.”

Steven looked furtively around, to make sure that no-one was else was present. He even looked out the grimy window, but he saw no-one out in the dark street either.

“Look, I lost my head a bit,” he said. “Chocolate isn’t going to do it. We were shouting at each other. I told her I should have gone with my first instinct when we met and slept with her best friend instead, like I wanted to.”

The old man laughed and shook his head. “I remember being young enough to say things like that,” he said, with a wistfulness that was as endearing as it was inappropriate. “Never a good idea. No good can come of it.”

“I know that,” Steven said, “which is why I’m here. I don’t have time to dance. I know who you are. Look, there’s no way forward from here, but I love her, and I’ll go on the damned holiday, but she stormed out and she won’t even answer her phone.”

The old man didn’t reply, instead waiting patiently for him to continue. Steven sighed, and put his hand on the counter.

“I need a takeback. Right now. Tonight.”

There was a long moment of silence as the old man contemplated the request, and then he nodded, beckoning Steven to follow him to the back room. Within, there were stacks of boxes, and behind them was a ratty armchair. He motioned for Steven to sit down.

“Anything I need to know about?” the old man asked. “Anaemia? Hepatitis? HIV?”

Steven shook his head, slipped off his jacket, and straightened his left arm with his palm facing upwards. The old man already had a syringe, and several plastic ampoules ready, all in sterile containers.

“And it’ll definitely work?” Steven asked, shifting nervously in the stained and uncomfortable chair.

“These arts never fail, especially when blood is involved,” the old man said, and his eyes glittered strangely in the dim light. He could have been sixty-five, or a hundred years old. Or a thousand.

“Hold still now,” he said, drawing closer. “When this is over, your domestic troubles will never have happened.”

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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