Jigsaw - A Short Story

Some of you might already know that I am a writer. If you don’t, well now you do. While I have had a number of articles, editorials, and shorts published in various formats and genres over the years, my first full-length novel is due to be released this spring in hardback, paperback and e-book formats, which will hopefully be followed by many, many more as I attempt to embark upon my journey as a full-time author.

The book is entitled Hade’s Gambit, Book I of the Krypteia Conspiracy and was co-written by myself and two of my closest friends. There is a page on Facebook about it and it is listed on the Mbedzi Publishing website. We have author videos and a blog about it, too. I will not link any of that here, but it is easily searchable if you are so inclined and you can always send me a PM, too.

*** Admin, if the above paragraph is not acceptable, feel free to delete it. I think I’m within guidelines and boundaries, but if I’m wrong, please edit that. Thanks.

Anyway, while I hope to be able to write many novels in the years to come, I do also enjoy writing short stories, too. For those of you that were once members of the old truck-nut place, you might remember me as The Poison Pen and some of the off-the-wall satirical pieces I did. Of course, you might think I was a complete butthead, too, and that’s OK. I’m a big boy.

But those days are past and today, I have delved full-bore into writing and publishing mainstream novels that are/should/hopefully knock your socks off. And like any good new-author marketing plan, there’s something to be said about making yourself and your work accessible.

So I present to you, one of my short stories. It’s a horror/thriller piece, based off an idea I once worked for the now defunct online publishing hous, IPublish. Perhaps someday I will work up an anthology of shorts, but for today, I’ll lay it out there and hopefully you will find it interesting, eerie, possibly disturbing, but enjoyable. My/our writing has been compared to “Stephen King meets Dan Brown”. Here, now, is the Stephen King side of me.

Enjoy.

 

Jigsaw​

A solitary candle was the only light in the room, creating shadowed demons that danced about the walls as the teenage boy set his treasure down upon the old card table. Pushing often-taped black-rimmed glasses back along the bridge of his nose, he sat down heavily on the battered wooden barstool that he had retrieved from his mother’s kitchen. Looking at the lid of the box, he managed a crooked smile and the chuckle that came from him was anything but humorous.

It was time to begin.

***​

His given name was William Robert, but everyone usually called him Billy Bob. Of course, that was only when they were being nice, which wasn't very often. In truth, it was one of the easier nicknames to take, though he still despised it. Most of the other taunts - four-eyes, needle-nose, zit-face, and others that were worse - were much more difficult for his battered psyche to handle.

It could be argued, however, that William Robert had only himself to blame, for William Robert transcended the standard look of the typical high school nerd. He personified the stereotype with his bulging pocket protector, thick taped glasses, and a complexion marred with a serious case of acne. He then took it to another level altogether by adding purple high-topped canvas sneakers; tan pants - usually polyester - that rarely made it past mid-calf; and white short-sleeved button-down shirts that always had ink-stains around the pocket area.

Yes, William Robert Davis was a nerd among nerds.

And William Robert Davis had finally been pushed too far.

***​

Mary Anne Phillips was the epitome of high-school beauty and snobbishness. She was the head cheerleader, the homecoming queen, the prom queen, and the teacher's pet all rolled into one beautiful package of scintillating curves, flowing blonde hair, and a model's face. She was perfect and she knew it. And if someone had the audacity not to recognize it, she had no problem setting that person straight.

Yes, Mary Anne Phillips ruled her school with an iron hand.

And Mary Anne Phillips hated anything and anyone that didn't meet up to her standards.

***​

William Robert sat quietly for the longest while, just staring at the box sitting before him. It was a nondescript cardboard box with no markings save a tiny black sticker in the corner bearing spidery handwriting:

Jigsaw Puzzle​

A Mystic Marvin Original​

$19.99​

Mystic Marvin's Magic Emporium. William Robert loved the place. He went there regularly and enjoyed the dark and incense-filled atmosphere of the little store, as it brought a peace to him that he rarely found elsewhere. The emporium was a small quaint little shop off of a downtown side street and over the past year, William Robert had struck up an odd friendship with the owner, a wrinkled little man who simply referred to himself as Mystic Marvin. The name had never mattered to William - only that Marvin seemed to always have an ear for him when he needed someone to talk to.

Today was no exception. When William Robert had shown up at the little magic shop after school, his clothing stained and smelling, Marvin had seemed to know immediately what was wrong. He had known William's thoughts, known his agony, and known his fury. Most importantly, he had known the hoped-for vengeance that was consuming the young man. And without a word, he had simply gone into the back room and returned with the box.

“This one is on the house,” Marvin had told him with a sly smile.

Now the box lay before William Robert, ready to be opened. His mind, the mind of a genius but hopelessly trapped in a terrible teen existence, mulled over the events of the school day and his fury grew. Why did they hate him so? Why did they torment him mercilessly? If he had taken the time to consider it, he would have known the answer lay in his appearance coupled with the inherent shallowness of high school students. But like all those others of his type, it never seemed to register that all he had to do was change it. But it didn’t register and William Robert could only dwell on today’s debacle, the worst he had ever endured.

With a sigh mixed with rage and longing, he thought back to the incident in the cafeteria - the untied shoelace, the stumble, the inadvertent bump. Oh yes, one cannot forget the bump. And why oh why, did he have to bump into Mary Anne Phillips?

He remembered the look of utter contempt and pure hatred in her eyes as she slowly turned around and watched as he picked himself up from the floor, cafeteria food smeared all over his shirt where he had landed on his tray. He had mumbled an awkward apology, but that was lost in the laughter of the other students, all directed at him and his predicament. Everybody was laughing at him, just as they always did. Everybody but one. No, Mary Anne Phillips wasn't laughing. She was snarling.

What happened next had happened quickly, beginning with the slap across his face, apparently because he had come into contact with her…

Had he really done that? Even by accident, had it really happened? There was that feeling again, a strange combination of loneliness, of longing, of unadulterated lust. Fighting it down, he ignored the physical affects it had on him and concentrated on the rage and embarrassment that had all but consumed him when it had all happened.

Yes, he had touched Mary Anne's ###. Actually, he had pretty much grabbed it with both hands as he fell forward. And Mary Anne had slapped him for it. She had slapped him hard.

But it hadn't ended there.

Fueled on by the shouts and laughter of her classmates, Mary Anne had released her full fury on poor William Robert. Before he could apologize again, she had launched a kick that caught him directly between the legs, crushing his groin under the pointed toe of her high-heeled shoe while she screamed at him, called him a pervert, a deviant, and worse. The pain and agony blasting through is body from the kick to his manhood had been unbelievable and he had collapsed to his knees in front of her, only to throw up the remains of his breakfast.

But if that hadn't been bad enough for him, Mary Anne had proceeded to deliver him to the bowels of hell itself. As he knelt, overwhelmed with nausea, pain, and embarrassment, Mary Anne had stepped behind him and with her foot, pushed him forward so that he went sprawling into his mess of cafeteria food and stomach contents that had been splattered all over the floor in front of him.

And the laughter had continued, quickly cranked up to a deafening level. Everybody had laughed at him - his classmates, the teachers, everybody. Even the fat old witch behind the lunch counter had laughed at him. All because he had tripped; because he had had a little accident. If that wasn’t bad enough, the aftermath was even worse. Mr. Wells, the physical education teacher had dragged him through the school, parading him in front of everyone and then shoved him fully-clothed into an ice-cold shower. Ms. Yanelson, the school counselor had berated him in a screeching voice loud enough to be heard by everyone and told him that his behavior was reprehensible. Finally, Principal Tanner had suspended him for 'groping a female student and grossly irresponsible conduct' and had hinted that the school would back Mary Anne if she decided to file sexual assault charges.

Yes, that was how Jefferson High School worked and it was a bitter pill for young William Robert to swallow. A little priss like Mary Anne Phillips, who would probably amount to nothing more than a bored house-wife whose excitement in life would peak at how many affairs she could pull off under her future husband's nose, would receive no punishment. Yet William Robert and those like him, those kids who had the mental abilities to grow up and run countries, own Wall Street, build bombs or worse, would always be made to look like the fool and would always, without fail, take the blame. No wonder the world was such a screwed up place.

But now he was alone in the solitude of his room and surprisingly, William Robert was able to smile as he thought of Principal Tanner's parting words to him before escorting him to the front door of the school. “Seek help,” Tanner said.

Well, help is what William Robert had sought and help is what Mystic Marvin had given him and that was why he was here.

With another chuckle that was somewhere between a croak and a giggle, William Robert opened the box in front of him.

***​

Mary Anne Phillips quickly slipped out of her clothes and picked up her towel, heading for the showers. Cheerleading practice was over and the girl had a million and one things to do before her boyfriend, Todd, picked her up for their date tonight. She ignored the other girls coming into the locker-room and turned on the water, letting the hot water splash over her body.

Several miles away, William Robert fished the first small, jagged puzzle piece from the box and set it on the table. It was a dark piece and as he looked closer at the fragment of the picture, he thought he could see some sort of insect in it, though he couldn't yet tell what it was. Smiling, he reached into the box and pulled out another piece, snapping it into place next to the first piece. It was a perfect fit. Reaching in again, he withdrew a third piece. It, too, fit perfectly, and the picture began to take shape.

***​

Mary Anne screamed, a long drawn out wail of terror. When the other girls came rushing into the shower, most of them still fully clothed, they only saw the head cheerleader frantically scraping at her body, ripping open furrows of flesh all over her body as her long fingernails punished her skin. Blood flowed as hands desperately reached to stop her, her screams of terror and agony mingling with the other girl's screams of shock and disbelief.

***​

William Robert smiled as the picture slowly took shape before him as he snapped piece after piece unerringly into place. He could now see a tiled floor and wall, as well as a shower nozzle that was shooting jets of hot water on the person underneath it. It was the person that riveted his attention. He had only completed the legs and lower torso of the individual in the picture, but it was enough to satisfy him - two firm legs and a shapely belly covered with crawling and biting insects. He could see centipedes, ants, spiders, even ####roaches, all of them apparently feeding on a smorgasbord of bare flesh.

***​

Mary Anne Phillip's scream turned into a gurgle as the insects flowed into her mouth. She could feel them crawling down her throat, biting and stripping away tender flesh as they went, eating her from the inside, while a host of other swarmed over her body on the outside. She felt her flesh being devoured by the insects, felt them enter her ears and her eyes as they worked their way into her brain. Her strength failed as she sank to the shower-room floor in a puddle of blood and water. She was vaguely aware of her friends and classmates standing around her now in numb silence, but that awareness quickly faded. Moments later, Mary Anne Phillips was dead, her torn body pitching forward at the feet of her shocked classmates.

Drug-use would be the initial assessment. The police chief, the coroner, even her former friends all figured it had to be drugs in some form or another, most likely some bad acid. Mary Anne Phillips had probably gotten into something nasty that fried her mind and in that drug-induced psychosis, she had torn herself to pieces with her own hands.

“#### shame what these high school kids are doing these days,” the coroner was heard to say. “Someday, they'll learn.”

***​

William Robert reached out as if in a daze and ran a finger lightly along the face in the jigsaw puzzle's completed picture. His fingers came away wet with blood, but he never noticed as his gaze was riveted on the picture the puzzle had revealed to him. The scene before him was unmistakable; Mary Anne Phillips, or what was left of her, lying on a tiled shower room floor in a pool of blood and water, her mouth open in a silent scream. She was naked in the picture but he couldn't see anything that mattered. The good parts were all covered.

Or eaten.

William Robert shook his head in amazement, pushed back his stool and stood up. He allowed himself a stretch, before turning and heading to the door. He still had twenty dollars in his pocket. Maybe Mystic Marvin could set him up with another puzzle. After all, there were still 472 other students at Jefferson High.

 

Personally, I love writing. I've been doing it in some fashion since I busted out the 'Ballad of Old Jeff Crud' for a high school writing assignment and my English teacher told me to make writing a part of my career path.

I got some great advice from a Sci Fi author, Orson Scott Card, a bunch of years ago when I was contemplating what it would take or be like to write a novel. He said "when you write, write for yourself first. If you write for yourself and enjoy what you write, you will never fail."

I've kept that close to my heart ever since and I like to think that at 45, my writing abilities have matured to the point where not only do I like what I write, but others will hopefully like it, too, and I can turn it into a career.

That's where I am today.

As far as how to improve your writing skills while trucking, there are a lot of ways to do it without having to take courses. One way is to find writing circles and clubs online -- there are a lot...even Yahoo has one that I think Mustangg is involved in. Get to writing and don't be afraid to put it out in there in front of people. Definitely have a thick skin, too, because there will always be people that think your writing is pathetic. Look at Dan Brown. He's a multi millionaire best selling author and he's been absolutely obliterated by some critics.

Getting published takes a lot of work and a lot of perserverence. But it's not as hard today as it was a decade ago, with the availability of self-publishing through Barnes and Noble, Amazon, and other online entities. But the best advice overall is have fun doing it. If you do, you'll never fail and no one can ever take it away from you.

 

Thanks, Marc. It's going fast now. We busted out the jacket copy this weekend, along with the acknowledgment page. Spring can't get here fast enough. Can't wait for the Back to the Future moment when we open up that box of books.