Tag Archives: grin

They Look Like Us

t was three in the morning and I walked down Smaug Avenue. A woman passed me. Attractive, a tight red dress that wrapped smoothly around her body, a shy smile on her lips. She looked on the ground while she passed me.

It was instinct. Pure instinct. I turned and looked. From behind even better than from the front. With a guilty smile I looked forward again.

I don’t know why I looked a second time. A second time my head turned and my upper body followed.

She just stood there. The dress was still tightly wrapped around her backside. Her body was still turned towards the front. But her head was turned to me. She grinned but her mouth and teeth were too large for her face.

That night I ran. I don’t think she followed me. And I don’t think she needed to. Continue reading

Far Too Happy

I loved her more than anything in the world and the wedding was rapidly approaching. Bianca wanted to organize everything with only her maid of honor and I was happy that I didn’t have to bother with any of the preparations.

We had been engaged for nearly two years and when we finally decided to finally get married Bianca was excited. We set the date and together we chose the location – a small but incredibly picturesque church set a few minutes drive into the forest near Bianca’s home village. Bianca had spent many of her childhood Sundays in that church dreaming about her wedding.

The church’s community had dried out and most of the Sunday services were now only visited by twenty or thirty people. The old priest stood at the altar and spoke so slowly that I felt an angry twitch in my fingers; I wanted to shake him; I wanted to scream at him to finish his sermon.

But Bianca seemed to love it. She stared at the priest with unmoving eyes and a wide smile while my eyes moved along the church’s high walls and ceilings.

From that day on, despite the nearly two hour ride, Bianca visited the church every week. Up until then she had not even been religious – but something about the priest fascinated her. Continue reading

The Price of Revenge

Trigger warning: Death, child death, body gore.

I saw the young woman at the bar. She wore a light blue dress and clutched her belly with one and the transparent glass with its brown content with her other hand. She raised the glass and gushed the liquid towards her throat. When the glass came down on the table her eyes were closed and the rest of her face a grimace.

“Ah,” she said.

I hadn’t visited desperation pub in a long time. Work had kept me busy and for one reason or the other I had begun to have friends. After my last experiences the idea of listening to more depressing or disturbing stories had lost a large part of its appeal.

I didn’t intend to go. It was just a long day at work and an empty night ahead of me. Without consciously deciding to do so I took a walk. Without conscious thought that walk ended in desperation pub.

Still, when pushed the heavy door and pulled the stale air with its smell of beer, sweat and wood polish into my throat I knew what to do. She stood at the bar and even before the glass touched her lips I knew that she had a story to tell. Continue reading

Just Accidents

The first time I saw him was in early January. I was on the sidewalk when his car turned around the corner. I heard the motor roaring, saw the car gaining speed, then noticed his grin. The woman in business attire didn’t stand a chance.

He didn’t drive away. He even pulled her body from under the car and tried to resuscitate her. It didn’t help. When the police came he cried.

That day I wasn’t sure whether I had really seen the grin; he looked genuinely concerned about the woman and he didn’t try to flee. He told the police that it was an accident; I told them that I thought he was accelerating when he came around the corner.

I never heard what came out of the case.

In late January I saw him a second time – or to be precise, I saw the grin a second time. It was on a woman behind the wheel of a black SUV.

Three children were on the pedestrian crossing. The oldest ran; his two siblings were too slow. I think I even heard the woman laughing.

The small boy was pulled with the car; the girl was thrown against a fire hydrant. I can never forget the face of the older brother, the one that got away, in the moment he touched his sister’s body.

The tires screeched; the woman jumped out of the car and fell on her knees. She just stared at the long, red marks between her car and the pedestrian crossing.

Since that day I work my way through three or four newspapers per day.

And every day there is at least one accident. Every day there is at least one driver with an unblemished record that, as the newspapers put it, “lost control of his car.” Sometimes they have better excuses – a leg cramp, a technical fault, a distracting dog in the car.

The third time was on the 3rd of March. I had noticed a pattern; an area particularly prone for “accidents.” The police had told me that I was crazy, that it was all just my mind – and I nearly believed them.

Then, near the large public library, I saw the grin again. The car was waiting at a red light. I saw his face, his serious expression, and looked away. A moment later I heard his engine howling. I only saw his face for a short moment.

There was no mistaking it. Different people, but without a doubt the same unnatural grin; the same widely stretched lips and closed teeth; the same unchanging expression and focused, glassy eyes.

I didn’t see the accident, but I heard it. His car sped through the red light and around the corner. Car horns; then a crash; then screams.

When I ran around the corner the only audible sound was a blaring car alarm.

The man fell sidewards out of the driver’s side door; got back on his feet and slowly walked to the front of his car. He didn’t try to help.

The woman’s body was cut in half; wedged between the two cars with her blood slowly trickling into a storm drain. She said something about love and family. She stopped talking long before the ambulance arrived.

At least one per day; only once it wasn’t a car – a motorcycle instead.

They all deny that it was on purpose.

I’m not crazy; I’m not the only one that saw it.

Two articles said that the drivers were smiling.

I barely sleep anymore. I lost my job and it might be good that way. Now I have time to research; to figure things out.

Besides the grin there is one more connection I made. I noticed it last week.

I saw the black car in the distance. It was too far away for me to see the driver, still I knew. I felt the grin.

I ran towards it to watch the events and it sped in my direction. It took me too long to realize that her eyes were on me. It might have been just her large face, but the grin seemed wider than the other times.

I ran in the other direction; then ducked behind a parked truck.

That moment the driver’s eyes turned to the young man across the street. I screamed at him to run; he reacted too late.

The crash threw the young man several meters backwards, right next to a storm drain.

The car crashed against a street light; the woman was thrown through her windshield.

The woman survived. The young man died.

I only saw the connection when the blood seeped out of his body. A thin stream ran from his body and towards the storm drain.

That moment I noticed the pattern. I remembered the arm of a woman in business attire bent over a storm drain; I remembered the long red line of a young boy’s blood on a manhole; and I remembered the trickle of thick, red liquid into a storm drain just below a severed body wedged between two cars.

The young man’s blood reached the grate bars. And in the dark below, just between the bars, I saw the body of a man.

He was thin; his whole body and face black. I wouldn’t have seen him – if not for the white teeth and the wide grin.

This is my story, originally I published it on Reddit.

“All you ever did meant nothing”

Kingston smiled, his thin lips glowing in a grayish-red tone. “I never planned it that way. I never planned to kill. But then it just became a habit, a sport, and that’s when I didn’t want to stop anymore.”

His body looked feeble. Kingston’s arms were thin, barely a hair was on his skin, and even his head seemed smaller than average and boring with the simple men’s haircut. But his body was contrasted by the intensity in Kingston’s eyes.

“It started with a one-night stand. I met her at a bar, and it was only the second time that I ever succeeded at actually bringing a girl home. It wasn’t even my plan; I wanted to get her number and call her the next day for a date. But she asked whether I wanted to come over for a coffee, and everything went smoothly from there. The moment I was in her apartment she pulled me into the bedroom, we ripped each other’s clothes off and had incredible sex.” Continue reading

Just a tickle

“We were just in bed, fooling around”, Holly was speaking fast and loud, her words high-pitched and fast. “It was just a normal night. We’ve been together for six years now, I just don’t understand!”

Holly’s black hair was messy, her makeup smudged. “Kayode came home just a few minutes after me. And he seemed completely normal. He was even in a good mood.”

“I was cooking dinner and he was somewhere else in the house, I think he was at his computer, maybe on Reddit or checking his email. He always did that at night, to unwind.” Holly paused. “But then he came into the kitchen and he gently bit my neck and started tickling me. I told him to stop, and he didn’t.” Continue reading