New Title 1

by Florschutz, Max

“Yep,” Nick said, grinning. “I’ve got good news and bad. The good is that Nikki is coming over to watch a movie here tomorrow, and bringing a few of her friends.”

  He nodded. “Okay. And the bad?”

  “She’s bringing that teacup poodle. We’ve got to dog-proof the apartment.”

  “Oh.” He looked down at the remaining chocolate chip, watching as it was sucked under the stove. “Should we wall off Trill then?”

  “Nah,” Nick said. “He’ll just hide like usual. We do have to pick a movie, though.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Jose said. “She got any cute friends?”

  “Sure. Can you be a wingman?”

  “You bet.” He took one last look at the space under the stove as the conversation shifted.

  So much for finding out, he thought as he looked at the clean tile. I wish I could somehow, though.

  * * *

  “Welcome!” Nick’s cry of hello was buried under echoing cries of “Hi!” as Nikki and her friends poured into the apartment. The next few minutes were a whirl of activity as introductions were made, first between a few of Nikki’s friends and Nick, and then between the entire group and Jose. He shook a few hands, gave the group a few smiles and then stepped back as Nikki unveiled her “surprise.”

  Which was, of course, the Teacup Poodle she started doting over the moment she pulled it out of her purse. Nick had to look at it and agree that yes, it was the cutest thing ever, before she would even look at anyone else. Eventually she put the small, dark, yappy dog on the carpet, urging it to “go play” before asking what movie the group was planning on watching. Nick began to power up the TV.

  Time to go get snacks, Jose thought, excusing himself to the kitchen. The chips and drinks they’d bought earlier were sitting on the table, just like they’d left them, and he walked across the tile to pick them up. If all goes as planned Nick will have an awesome night, and I can have some fun and relax before that chemistry final next week. Yuck. A shudder ran through him as he contemplated the oncoming test.

  Oh well, he thought as he picked up the refreshments. At least I’ve been holding my own so—Wait a minute. There was a chocolate chip sitting on the floor, square at the center of the clean tiles near the base of the stove.

  That’s odd, he thought as he stared down at it. When did I feed Trill? He shrugged and began gathering the rest of the snacks.

  Oh well, he thought as he began to turn. Trill will get it eventually, and then it won’t be a problem—He stopped. There, in the doorway to the living room, was Nikki’s poodle, its nose lifted into the air.

  Okay, chocolate is bad for dogs, he thought as the pup took a step forward. Chip bags crinkled as he set them down. All I need to do is grab her dog or the chocolate—

  The poodle bolted, and he spun as it raced past his feet. Crap! he thought as it ran towards the chip. Maybe if I can get the chip out of its mouth before. The poodle was almost at the chip now, but he was only seconds away. If he could just—

  Trill’s tendril erupted out from beneath the stove and wrapped itself around the poodle’s neck, the dog letting out a sharp, strangled yip that cut off as the tendril went tight. Jose barely had time to gasp in shock before the poodle was sucked back underneath the stove, its tiny claws scraping against the tile. A second later there was another sharp yip followed by a crunch, and then the kitchen was silent.

  “Foodles?” Nikki’s voice echoed through the kitchen, and Jose turned to see Nick’s girlfriend standing there with an alarmed look on her face. “Foodles?” she called again as her friends and Nick began to pile up behind her. “Where’s my dog?”

  “Uh …” He glanced back at the front of the stove, which looked completely ordinary once more. Even the chocolate piece was gone, the trap no longer baited.

  “Uh …” He locked eyes with Nick. “So, good news and bad news,” he said, trying to ignore the stunned look Nick was giving him. “The good news is that the NSAU will probably want to talk to us now.”

  “And the bad news?” Nick asked, a growing look of horror spreading across his face. He didn’t look away from Jose, even when Nikki rounded on him and demanded to know what had happened to “Foodles.”

  Jose grimaced. “Well …” he said, trying to smile. “Now we know what Trill really eats.”

  The Graveyard

  This one is, like the last, a bit different. Not because of the topic or the tone, no, though that might be accurate. Nor is it the abnormally short length, though that does have something to do with it.

  No, The Graveyard is different because it’s the earliest story in this entire collection. And I do mean early: It predates even the conception of any of the rest of these stories by several years. In fact, it even predates my first book.

  Surprising? Well, not once you know the history behind it. The Graveyard was something I wrote for one of my English classes in my final year of college, which dates it from around 2010.

  But that’s not why it’s in this collection. After all, there are plenty of other short stories from around that time I could dig up, edit, rewrite, and include in a collection like this, and I didn’t include them. Perhaps another time, but for now, I didn’t here, so why this one?

  Simple. This story was the first time Jacob Rocke—the main character of what would become One Drink—came into being.

  At the time, I hadn’t even named him. In fact, he doesn’t even offer his name over the course of the story, even in the rewrite. He was simply a gruff, slightly cynical, film noir-styled detective who dealt with things that weren’t quite “ordinary.” At the time I wrote him, I had no idea that he was going to be the character that took me from writing for fun to writing for an audience.

  But he did, and now those same readers who enjoyed his “first” appearance in One Drink are at last going to see Jacob Rocke’s real first appearance, the one that started it all. They’re going to get to read the short little story that started everything, the one that I recalled so fondly I decided to go back and write a full-length novella about who this character was and what he did, and what the world he lived in was like.

  Without this story, none of the other Unusuals stories in this collection would exist. In fact, I don’t even know if this collection would exist.

  This, readers, is not the best story in the collection. Not at all. But it is, however, the short, simple classwork assignment that gave rise to all the rest.

  I vacation in a graveyard. Most people think that sounds strange, but then I’m a strange guy. You can’t do what I do and stay normal. That’s just how it is. Some come to dislike anything associated with their job, and that’s understandable enough. But for me, my vacation graveyard is one of the few places I can really relax.

  It’s not a bad place either. Most graveyards carry kind of an eerie feeling, usually because there are too many restless, dead, spirits wandering around. Especially in big cities. You get all these bodies being constantly crammed into the ground as closely as possible, dead from car wrecks and stabbings and whatever else makes for a restless spirit. I mean, I once got stuck in a conversation with a ghost who was hanging around because she was afraid no one would feed her dog. Anyway, you get a bunch of people thrown like that together and bingo. Unpleasant graveyard.

  Not this one.

  I’d have to say the local vibe is also part of the reason I come here. Compared to most other places, Hawaii is pretty laid back, and that seems to apply to pretty much any place on the island. It even applies to the graveyard’s caretaker, if you can believe that. He sees me about once a year, always smiles, and welcomes me back with a friendly, firm handshake. Never says a word about the lawn chair. Didn’t even blink twice the time I brought a hammock. Honestly? I don’t think it even bothers him that I’m never in front of the same grave. He just understands that I’m there for some reason and leaves it at that. And to be frank, I’m glad he’s never asked. The explanation is a little … Well, it’s complicated.

  Maybe he’s figured
it out. Maybe not. Not having to worry about it is another one of the reasons I like the place.

  After he says hello, I’ll wander out into the graveyard and listen for a little bit. There’s no restless clamoring or sobs here. No sudden chills—or even worse, the sense of dread that comes from one of the major undead. Instead there’s laughter. Warm voices. A feeling of contentment. Joy. Satisfaction.

  I’ll pause by some of the newer graves to see how things are getting on. It’s always a little sad to see who’s moved on since my last visit, but it’s a kind of joyful sadness, you know? I usually pause and say a few words to Leilani. She typically hangs around her grave to make sure her grandkids haven’t forgotten to put leis on it. I don’t know what she’d do if they forgot, but as far as I know, it hasn’t happened yet. Either way, she’s always happy to tell me all about them—and last I spoke with her, the oncoming great-grandchild—but you can tell she hasn’t been hanging around here all the time, because she doesn’t look nearly as old as the picture carved on her tombstone. She was quite the looker too, when she was young. Her husband is in for a big surprise when he finally meets up with her again. Not that he’ll mind, I think.

  Anyway, I’ll take my chair or hammock or whatever I’ve brought to relax in out past Leilani—she’s fun, but she’ll talk your ear off and I’m there to relax—to find somewhere nice and quiet with a lot of sun. I’ll dab a bit of sunscreen on and then I’ll just sit there for a while soaking up the sunlight and listening to the friendly sounds of the place.

  It doesn’t always work out the way I think it will. A few years ago I was relaxing by a kid’s grave; one of the newer ones around the graveyard. It was kind of cute; she was playing in the sand with some toy trucks and cars her family had left for her, and while I may not talk about it much, I was a kid once myself, so I can appreciate that kind of enjoyment. Either way, before long I fell asleep … Only to be woken a few minutes later by this kid poking me in the leg and asking me to tell her a story. I spent the rest of the day trying to come up with funny stories, and I’m not very good at that.

  Still, it’s nice to be able to spend a few days relaxing with no worries about work catching up with me. That’s one of the reasons I go to Hawaii in the first place. See, while sunlight can leave a lasting impression on me if I don’t prep for it, I can handle it a lot better than most of the clientele I work with. Your average vampire stays out of Hawaii for a good reason, and the undead don’t really have much reason to come here either. So when I’m not on the job, Hawaii’s a great place to take a break without the constant worry that someone is going to sneak up behind me and try a little neck nuzzling. At least during the day. I can never be too sure at night.

  So yeah, look, I’m not trying to make you feel bad or anything, but this is one of the nicest graveyards I’ve ever had the pleasure of relaxing in, and you’re kind of ruining it with the whole “Woe is me, I’m dead vibe” you’ve got going on. You’re in Hawaii … Well, sort of. So just relax, stop worrying about your job or that drink you left in the fridge or whatever it is and just kind of roll with it. It’ll only get better from here.

  Trust me.

  A Miner Haunting

  Now that we’ve seen the genesis of Jacob Rocke, it’s time to look at where he is now.

  Yes, this is a Jacob Rocke story, because I can’t leave my favorite workaholic spook alone for long, especially when so many fans enjoy reading about him. Besides, I think it makes a nice comparison. If you’re reading these in order you’re getting the best possible comparison I’ll offer (since The Graveyard was edited) from where I was to where I am now. Same character, same universe, but lots of real world time and several million words’ worth of experience between then and now.

  Now, a little bit about this story: It’s a side story to an existing work of mine, Dead Silver, so if you haven’t read that, let it be known that you’re getting some spoilers for the first third of the book with this one. If that really bothers you, feel free to skip past this one until you’ve picked up a copy of Dead Silver so that nothing gets spoiled. As is, however, A Miner Haunting is entirely a side story. It doesn’t spoil any of the later mysteries of Dead Silver, stays contained within its own little sphere, and my Alpha Readers who had not read Dead Silver noted that they didn’t feel they’d missed anything that made the story less enjoyable.

  Now, if you’ve already read Dead Silver, you’ll probably figure out when this is taking place pretty quick. If your memory is really sharp, you might even realize what the story is going to be about, since Rocke does mention what you’re about to read to Hawke in passing. As it was, it was always a line that promised at another little adventure that the audience wasn’t privy to.

  Now, you are. Enjoy.

  Oh, and no apologies for the title.

  Note: The following story takes place during the events of Dead Silver.

  Pain. Heat. Exhaustion. They all bled together; a senseless, seamless mass that seemed to permeate my very being. If I had a being. I wasn’t even sure anymore. Everything around me seemed to be in a haze, my flesh burning and hurting as my entire body cried out for a relief I couldn’t give it.

  I was burning up, my flesh cracked and weak, my body no longer responding to my commands. The world was a fog, slipping in and out of my awareness, sometimes a maelstrom of disorientation and pain, sometimes a merciful, empty black tinged only by the faintest sense of awareness. Maybe the latter one was me being awake, or conscious. Maybe it wasn’t. I couldn’t tell anymore.

  I was hearing things, smelling things. Seeing things? I couldn’t be sure. The nebulous of pain that was my head had spread to the rest of my body. I knew I had been beaten, but how long ago and by whom, I couldn’t say. Time was meaningless in the darkness. Sound seemed to come and go. The only sense left to me was my pain, and the burning, starving heat.

  Colors moved, splashes of purple and mauve that swept across my eyes in the dark. There was something else to it as well, a faint sensation that at first I couldn’t place. Then it worked its way through the foggy morass of my brain, and I knew what it was.

  Sound. Noise. I was hearing something.

  It was faint, impossibly faint, and I knew that something had to be wrong. I couldn’t even remember where I was, but I knew that sounds were supposed to be crisp and clear, not drawn out and distorted like a bad movie.

  Gradually my awareness was coming back, but with it a sense of more pain and even more endless, burning heat. Wherever I was, whatever was going on, I was in bad shape. Multi-colored splotches were moving past my eyes, and I realized through my haze that my eyelids were shut. The splotches were hints of color. I tried to open my eyes, but they didn’t respond. I tried to speak, but only felt a strange rumbling sound in my ears that I realized was a groan.

  Everything was hazy, even my thoughts, like my brain was a radio and my body was only just receiving the signal. And the more of it I picked up, one way or the other, the worse I felt. I wanted to vomit, but my guts were clenched up in knot so tight I wasn’t sure I could have swallowed, let alone sent something back up. Every part of me felt parched and cracked, like the heat that was burning within me was cracking through to the outside.

  But voices and light meant people. Who I couldn’t tell—my mind and my senses were moving far too slow for me to make out anything past random noise. Maybe they were there to help—but maybe they weren’t. I couldn’t honestly remember how I’d gotten where I was or even what was going on; the last memory I could dredge up had something to do with me … getting into a car?

  I tried to open my eyes again as more sounds echoed around me, but my body wasn’t responding. I could feel something cool pressing against my face, followed by more noise, and as my head shifted I realized that I was sitting on something. There was a rough sensation pressing up against my arms and legs, as well as my midsection. Had I been restrained?

  I wanted to open my eyes, but it was a battle I wasn’t winning. Pain and heat were pressin
g down on me as I became more aware, fighting against my attempts to respond in any form or fashion.

  I couldn’t give up. My thoughts weren’t cohesive, and my body hurt, everything I was aware of forcing itself through that haze of pain, but I couldn’t just give up. I had to see who was handling me, who was tugging at my hands and feet. Am I being moved? I couldn’t tell. My sense of direction was spinning, tumbling around me. Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t.

  I have to see. The lone thought pushed through my mind, riding on a fresh wave of pain that made everything I was already sensing hazier still. I heard another groan come out of my throat, but this time I felt a new sensation come with it, a dry, cracked feeling, like sand had been poured into my mouth and just left there.

  Desert. You were in the desert. I remembered that much. Which meant that for all I knew, maybe I had left it.

  I tried to speak again, graduating from a groan to a mumble that at least to my ears held a semblance of human sound.

  I was moving again. I could feel hands wrapping themselves around my arms and legs, lifting me from wherever I had been sitting and lying me out on hot, burning ground. Pain shot through me, needles boring their way across my body as I felt rough gravel dig into the side of my face.

  Who!? I was shouting at myself, the words causing pain with each distant echo across my mind. I wanted to know who was handling me, who was moving me. A glimpse, a hint, anything. Voices were still too alien to my mind, the pain too harsh for me to make anything out.

  Worse, they were starting to slip away. Or rather, I was, what little I could sense of the world starting to fade as whatever injuries I’d been subjected to took their toll on my consciousness. I could feel things closing in, my senses shutting down as my mind surrendered. Returning to a blissful darkness I couldn’t be sure I’d come back from, lying in the dirt surrounded by someone who might have done whatever I was feeling to me in the first place.