a flash story by David G Shrock

The building is alive, music pounding into the stone walls its beating heart, the vibrating steel its rumbling stomach, the buzzing neon sign its voice singing into the night. Doors open swallowing patrons feeding its hunger.

Searching for the music, Mike descends the steel staircase feeling like a feather floating on a current. Lights zip through the haze splashing the sea of dancers. Purple rods lining stone columns, black light, illuminate the waving neon bracelets and flowing white shirts breaking between the storming mass of dark clothing. Stepping onto the dance floor, Mike soaks in the music and begins bouncing to the beat.

Atop the stage, a banshee with blue hair screams into the microphone, her voice switching between demonic thunder and angelic cries. A crash of drums rolls into a new song, the banshee wails about pain and anger.

Goth girls move aside turning their gazes on Mike like predators sizing up their prey. Some of their eyes glow, special lenses catching the black light. Others snarl exposing sharp teeth. They wear costumes celebrating the creatures of the night. The goth girls, even some boys, swarm around Mike, their lulling dance pulling him deeper into the horde.

The pack opens up into a ring, a sinuous wall grooving to the music. Howls and laughter cry out. Electric guitars grind into a chant, the beat met by stomping feet and nodding heads. Fists pump into the air. The banshee screams.

Dispatching from the ring, a woman dances into the center, gyrating hips sending her into a grooving spin. She runs her fingers through her pink hair. Her palms run down her sides hugging herself.

Mike dances close, his steps complimenting hers. Her eyes blaze, a blue simmer in the black light flashing to deep crimson in the shadows. Arms wrapping around each other, hips meeting, they grind to the beat. He breathes in her sweat, tastes her licorice lips. His insides burn like fire. Peering into her intense gaze, he asks for her name, but his voice is lost to the music.

She smiles revealing her fangs. Closing in, her cheek grazes his. Her breath tickles his ear. “Candy,” she says. Squeezing against him, she licks his lips and closes in on his other ear. “Sweet as candy.” She licks his ear.

The sounds of the club fade, the howling voices growing distant. The music is a distant thunder. Mike dances, his cheek against hers, moving in a swirling wave to the music of their own feet tapping the wood floor. They dance into the shadow world.

The club takes a breath, a cool breeze.

Mike finds his arms empty. Glancing around, he finds the dance floor empty. The club is dark. Silence rings shattering thought. Peering down, he finds his shirt covered in blood. No pain. He tastes licorice lipstick on his lips.

Movement catches his eye.

Like moonlight reflecting off the rolling sea, shapes move about the dance floor becoming hazy forms. Apparitions dance in slow motion. As their features become more discernible, their movements increase in speed.

Mike hears the music, slow and quiet at first. Watching the others, noticing their vibrant faces, their sweat, he realizes he is the ghost gazing back at the world. Touching his throat, he finds torn flesh, cold and dry.

The music explodes into Mike’s thoughts, and he dances. The others barely notice him, if at all. This is Club Necropolis where the dead never dance alone.

a flash story by David G Shrock

Bobby’s older brother, Daniel, set the telescope on the driveway. Bobby watched him scan the sky looking over the first few stars awakening in the fading light. He knew the major constellations, but not much more. Hunched over, Daniel lifted the tube aiming at the southern sky.

Watching his brother, Bobby waited.

Daniel nudged the scope and turned a knob at the base of the eyepiece.

Looking at the sky, Bobby saw a bright gleam floating in deep azure. He asked Daniel about the star. Head bobbing, Daniel switched between peering down the length of the tube and into the eyepiece. He adjusted a knob. Rising up, he stepped back.

Slinking up to the instrument, Bobby followed directions. He stood as tall as the telescope and had to stand on his toes to peer into the tiny eyepiece. A shining blob caught his eye. It wiggled within the view as he wobbled on his feet.

“It’s Saturn,” said Daniel.

Bobby had seen photographs of Saturn in a magazine. The blob inside the telescope appeared nothing like the planet on the glossy pages. He gazed at something shaped more like a squished ball. Holding breath, keeping still, he gazed into the eyepiece. The slender oval drifted sideways. Then he saw it. The tips on either side of the round center were rings. Details emerged. Nearly lost in a blur, two specks of darkness marked the space between the rings on either side of the planet. Peering up, he looked at the bright gem in the sky.

“Saturn,” said Bobby.

Realizing destinations filled the sky, the world expanded before Bobby’s eyes.

He had to know more. Pouring over books at the library, he absorbed it all. But never too much at a time. After each section, each small bite, he thought it over. The numbers and other data became images in his mind, but everything seemed so big. The schoolyard became a scale model: a basketball at one end and a marble resting on a paper cup at the other. Walking from the basketball to a blue bead planet, he imagined the trip to Earth. Eight minutes for light, a few less for his feet. Looking back at the basketball, he saw the sun. Peering the other way, at the other end of the football field, he spotted the marble on the cup. He saw Saturn. His eyes opened and questions poured in. What kept everything together?

“It’s gravity,” said Daniel. Explaining the force holding feet to the ground, he claimed that the same force kept the planets in orbit. Bobby argued that a force is physical like pulling a wagon. “An invisible force,” said Daniel. It sounded like a magical story.

The force story had never sat well with Newton, according to a book. The mathematics worked out, but what caused the force? Spinning a bucket overhead, Bobby watched the water stay inside. The arm and bucket were real, a physical force. The book pointed out that Mercury did not play by the rules of the invisible force story. Predictions of positions lost accuracy over time. The problem simmered in his head for years while he scoured books and thought about other problems. He took small bites, imagined the meanings, asked questions. His skills improved as each answer revealed tougher questions. Sitting in the car while picturing planetary orbits, the answer leaped into his thoughts.

Daniel listened quietly.

Bobby explained how everything followed natural pathways within the fabric of space warped by massive objects. Newton’s mathematics relating gravity to a force was only an approximation. Gravity was not like twirling a bucket of water.

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read,” said Daniel.

Bobby questioned everything, taking small bites.

A book on Relativity, requiring small doses of reading and long hours of imagining, confirmed his suspicion. This different story and its mathematics predicted Mercury with high accuracy. He never shared this with Daniel. His brother had a new family on his mind. They talked about comet hunting and viewing planets. Problems twirled through Bobby’s head as he worked them out on my his own. Everyone has their own pace, their own hunger.

In a park after sunset, Bobby set up his new telescope. The heavy instrument whirred on its motors tracking the sky, revealing Saturn in clear detail. No longer a squished ball, the object in the eyepiece appeared much like the photographs in the magazine. Within the rings, Cassini’s Division carved a black line. Above the rings, two hazy stripes—cloud belts—crossed the planet. A young couple walked up and asked what he was looking at.

“It’s Saturn,” said Bobby.

Sometimes folks asked more questions, and he answered them. Knowledge was best served a bite at a time. The couple asked few question. Bobby didn’t explain gravity. He instructed on peering into the eyepiece. The couple marveled at the details, their small bite, and went on their way.

Peering into the eyepiece, watching Saturn float in the sky, Bobby recalled his first view, his first bite. He savored the delight.

a flash story by David G Shrock

Music pounds the brick walls working into the sidewalk. Shoes stomp to the beat. The door opens releasing the sound of screaming guitars along with a wave of warm air teasing the line of clubbers waiting in the cold night. Swallowing three people, the nightclub closes its doors, and the city sounds—cars and voices—slink back.

Bouncing and wiggling, Carla dances. She bumps against her best friend, Jennifer. They wiggle close together warming up for the party inside. Shaking her head, Carla says, “I still can’t believe you got passes!”

Bouncing up and down, the young women squeal drawing looks of disgust from others in line.

Jennifer steps back and laughs. “Didn’t I tell you?” Grasping her breasts, she squeezes pushing her cleavage higher in the lacy black push-up bra. “These are going to take me places!”

Crossing her arms, Carla glares at her friend. “What did you do this time?”

Jennifer pokes her tongue out.

“All I know,” says Carla, throwing her arms up, “every time those things come out, we get into trouble.”

The doorman calls out and the line moves forward. Doors open spraying the street with music, swallow a pair of patrons, and close again.

“Look at them,” says Jennifer. “It’s like a goth convention.”

Looking around, Carla notices all the dark clothing. Not everyone in line is goth, but dark is in vogue. She spots another pair of girls in regular club attire: loose tops showing plenty of skin. Realizing how cold the night is, she rubs her bare arms and imagines a warm sandy beach.

“Well,” says Carla, trying to ignore a scowling goth man. “This club is called, Necropolis.”

Jennifer bounces on her toes and claps her hands. “They say actual vampires come here!”

Waving a hand, she bats away childish fantasies. They are twenty-one now, too old to believe in such things. “Movie teeth and special contact lenses. It’s all for show.”

“Whatever,” says Jennifer. “I’ll let a hunky vampire sink his teeth into my neck.”

The doorman calls out. Grasping Jennifer’s hand, Carla bounces to the red velvet rope. She watches her friend hold up the passes and shake her breasts for the tall doorman. Rubbing his bald head, he studies the passes. He glances at the girls and back at the passes.

“Expired.” The doorman tears the passes and tosses them into a steel drum.

“What the?” Jennifer’s jaw unhinges. Recovering, she flashes a smile and leans over giving the doorman a perfect view. “Are you sure?”

“Expired.”

Carla tugs on her friend’s hand pulling her away. They stomp up the sidewalk and stop. Spinning around, they fold their arms and glare at two goth girls entering the club.

“Look at them.” Jennifer tugs at her skirt. “Look at us.”

“I know,” says Carla. “We look like sluts.”

“We could do goth.”

Reaching out, she pulls on Jennifer’s shoulder spinning her around. “No you can’t. Just look at your body.”

Jennifer’s face lights up. “I know. I’m too hot for drab.”

“Excuse me,” says a deep voice.

Spinning around, Carla finds a massive chest filling out a black buttoned shirt. Peering up, she takes in the gorgeous wavy hair framing the perfect smiling face. His dark eyes drink her in, and she feels her knees weaken.

“Looking for the club?” His voice sounds like angels singing.

“Yes,” says Carla. “But.” Her thoughts hit a wall as her eyes lock onto the man’s gaze. It feels like swimming in an ocean, the wave pushing her naked body to shore.

The man shakes his head. “You lovely ladies don’t want to go in there.”

“Oh, yes we do,” says Jennifer.

Carla throws an elbow into her friend’s side. She wants what Mister Dreamy wants.

“No,” says Mister Dreamy. “There’s another entrance around the corner. For elite members.” He winks, and Jennifer stumbles up against him.

Racing for attention, Carla lurches against the big chest. As the muscular arm wraps around her, she feels warmth building inside as she rides her ocean wave. Peering over, she spots her friend riding the same wave. She cannot compete against a body like that, but she is the better dancer. Feeling the beat rising from the sidewalk into her feet, she dances against Mister Dreamy, rocking her hips, the music flowing up into her arms. She spots Jennifer doing the same, but this is her wave. She presses close, wiggling against the hard chest. She spots her beach coming into view, a shore covered in lavender.

Peering up, Carla presses her chin against the chest. “And his guests?”

Mister Dreamy guides them around the corner, and they groove their way up the steps. An elderly man wearing a suit nods to them as he opens the door. Carla finds herself swept into darkness, her wave comes crashing down.

The door closes behind with a loud thud.