When You Wish and other stories of horror

By Marc Colten

Can children make deals with the devil? Would Thanksgiving be as much fun if the dead came back to life? Is your dog looking at you ... funny? Eleven stories of the weird and the horrifying.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marc Colten
• Release date: Jul 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476280356

Marc Colten

Marc Colten was born in 1950 in Coney Island, Brooklyn, New York. His was influenced by the Cold War and the divisiveness of the Viet-Nam war. His literary influences were the novels of George Orwell and John LeCarre and the short stories of Saki and John Collier.

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When You Wish

and Other Stories of Horror

by Marc Colten

Copyright 2012

Cover Art: Genesis, Marc Colten 1990

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Stories

When You Wish

The Dotted Line

Happy Holidays

The Shortest Horror Story I've Ever Written

Emily's Day

In The Doghouse

Dust Softly Gathering

If Only

Warfield Day

Please Allow Me To Introduce Myself

Ghost of a Chance

When You Wish

The woman turned sideways as she exited the bus, giving Carson a breathtaking view of her breasts. Before he could stop himself he started to think Oh, man, I wish ... but managed to snap that door shut. So many times he saw a woman, or a car, or some other object of desire and started to wish, but he only had one. Years ago his grandmother had told him that God would grant him one wish, but it had to be a good wish or punishment would follow. People who wished for a roomful of gold would find themself crushed in a shower of gold coins. People who wished for women they should have would suffer accordingly. She didn’t go into too many details with a ten year old but he got the idea.

Since that time he made sure never to wish. He never wished on a star. He pretended to wish when he blew out his birthday candles. So many things the world had to offer, but who could be sure that a wish was a good one or a bad one? Certainly there was no harm in wishing that a woman would desire him as he desired her, but what if he desired a bad woman? What if he loved a woman who loved someone else? Wouldn’t that be a violation? Wouldn’t that be a bad wish? Who knew what consequences that could bring down upon him?

He had never asked anything more of life than it was willing to give him. He applied for a job but, no matter how much he wanted it, he never wished for it. Even if he thought of wishing for it so he could do a good job and help people, wasn’t there the slightest chance that he was cheating a more qualified candidate out of his rightful position? Wouldn’t that bring down on him the punishment he had feared for the last twenty years?

He only took what he had earned. He only accepted what was rightfully his. But there was so much more out there. So many things, so many pleasures. What could be the harm? Couldn’t he use his wish for one thing that would finally bring him some happiness? He didn’t want to steal anything. He didn’t want to rob anyone. He just wanted one moment of happiness.

At his stop he jumped to his feet to flee the bus and its temptations. He had tried and tried to do only what was right but it was so hard. It hurt so bad. All the time there was this pain that wouldn’t go away. If he couldn’t have the wish, then couldn’t he just get rid of the constant pain? As he reached the exit he suddenly thought Oh, God, I just wish I were dead.

His family’s suit against the bus company was dismissed when the autopsy proved he had been dead even before he tumbled to the sidewalk.

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The Dotted Line

He wasn’t sure when it turned sour. When they were first dating she’d just naturally ask What is this? when either of them changed the cable channel. It didn’t bother him then. It was like a game and, strangely enough, he usually knew. Classic movie or B minus thriller, he more often than not came up with the right answer.

Somewhere along the line (he wasn’t sure when) it had started to annoy him. Maybe it was all the extra channels, or the newer movies he didn’t have time to see. Some time in their relationship he had started to answer I don’t know more often. Then his tone became testy, and he started to give the same answer whether he recognized the movie or not. Her charming habit had turned into a torment and he was sure she knew it. Her voice started to take on a mocking tone. At first it had been curiosity, then a challenge and, in the end, she was just doing it to annoy him.

Now she was dead.

He hadn’t intended to kill her. Oh, there had been times, more than once, when he whiled away the time thinking about taking her on a picnic and burying her in the woods somewhere. Not that he ever intended to do it, because he knew that the rational alternative was simply to break up. Yet they never broke up, despite the fact that he knew that there were days she wanted to as much as he did. They just stayed together rather than face being alone and starting new with someone else. They didn’t even cheat on each other. The just stayed together and rubbed salt into each others wounds.

If there had only been something on TV. They had 137 channels and he just kept clicking the remote. Infomercials, game shows, reality shows, westerns and science fiction shows went by but he didn’t stop. They could have watched any of them, or turned off the TV and read a book or gone for a walk. Yet, he kept turning channels and as each show popped up on the screen, she asked What is this? and he said I don’t know. Their voices became strained and finally, instead of answering, he turned and struck her with the remote. The first blow didn’t hurt her too bad, but it was more than enough to destroy the relationship. If he could have stopped he would have but, even as she tried to speak, he hit her again and again. Finally she went down and, driven by an impulse that he would have never expected or understood, he scooped up a table lamp and continued to strike at her as she lay on the carpet. During all of this there wasn’t a thought in his head. Just the sound of her voice asking that same grating question that she had stopped asking at the first blow.

He sat on the couch, preparing himself for death. There didn’t seem to be any alternative. He’d be arrested, tried and sentenced to prison. Not death row, because it was obvious that it hadn’t been premeditated, but a living death of beatings and rapes with only his next parole hearing to look forward to. He didn’t have a gun but she kept a stock of sleeping pills (just in case) and there had to be enough to do the job. He’d slip into a peaceful sleep and, with luck, there was no afterlife. Just oblivion.

He was just testing his knees to see if they would support him for the walk into the bathroom to find the pills when the phone rang. His entire body tensed as he waited for the machine to pick up. If it was a telemarketer, then there would be no message. If it was her mother or one of her friends that would only help him take the pills. If it was one of his friends inviting him to go out somewhere, he’d go kill the bastard before coming back and committing suicide. Lousy sonofabitch couldn’t call earlier? One hour and none of this would have happened.

The phone stopped ringing and he could hear the voice of the caller. It wasn’t like the usual sound coming out of the machine. It was clearer and stronger.

Mr. Rubin, the man said, I know this is a bad time. Frankly, it’s the worst possible time, but I think I can help.

He looked at the phone, wondering what the hell the man was talking about. His credit was sound. He owed very little money to anyone. He had a good job. If his girlfriend’s body wasn’t lying at his feet he wouldn’t have a care in the world.

So, the voice continued, "if