Sean Seebach

Shwoop-shwoop-shwoop went the shovels, until finally — a thud! The coffin! It bounced from corner to corner, back and forth. They stared at the gold-plated casket, mouths gaping until finally the lid forced itself open.

Being a restaurant manager isn’t easy, especially on the bad side of town where criminals will risk jail time for a few thousand dollars.

Carl was determined to finish the article pertaining to his beloved Acorns getting the nation’s top quarterback. Brenda could simply trod on over to the table, pick up the envelope, and see for herself. But no, Brenda was too lazy for that.

A few days after the delivery, Denise and her baby Bobby were released from the hospital. All of his vitals were normal including heart rate, reflex, and skin color. He did all the things a newborn did: he slept, he dirtied diapers, and he ate…a lot.

Willy pulled his cotton flannel close to his body as a cold wind spun red and yellow leaves around his tiny lot. He unfolded the note. A single word was written across it: Trick.

What Katie did see was the front of a motorcycle rumbling in the side view mirror. Above the chrome handle bars she saw a helmet. The face plate was tinted. Small white teeth were decaled across it, making it appear as if it were actually a mouth, smiling. It was the type of smile where you weren’t sure if it was meant to be taken as an insult or as flirtatious. Either way, Katie didn’t like it.

“I saw one earlier while I was driving to the filling station. I told a military officer, who was there to recruit local teenagers, that they had another one on their hands. He didn’t listen.”

I laid there for a while and rubbed my throbbing temples, trying to develop an image of my last location. The last place I was before I ended up here. In this room.

“Look. I’ll be frank. We’re just wasting each other’s time here. The studio is going to pass.”

The drumming cadence of Charlie’s Big Wheel resonated off rough concrete as he pedaled down the sidewalk towards Big City Arcade. Small clouds of dirt and dust blossomed behind the plastic tires.

He slowed his pace down to a power walk and heard a high pitched voice over Dave Grohl screaming about not wanting to be someone’s monkey wrench. The old lady was motioning a distressed hand towards him to come back.

The following story is true. It isn’t “based on actual events”, like how a found footage film will string you along, making you think what you’re watching is actually true. No. Not this. This really happened to me and several of my friends on a chilly fall night in 1995.