{"id":973,"date":"2023-08-18T00:03:00","date_gmt":"2023-08-18T07:03:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/sandyjuker.com\/?page_id=973"},"modified":"2023-12-18T17:19:28","modified_gmt":"2023-12-19T01:19:28","slug":"creepy-tale-last-memory","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/sandyjuker.com\/?page_id=973","title":{"rendered":"Creepy Tale – Last Memory"},"content":{"rendered":"\n[et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ module_id=”short-stories” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” background_color=”#000000″ custom_margin=”-74px||-71px||false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” width=”100%” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.19.5″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.20.4″ text_font=”Trade Winds|700|||||||” text_text_color=”#8300E9″ text_font_size=”32px” text_line_height=”1.8em” header_font=”Trade Winds|700|||||||” header_text_color=”#8300E9″ header_font_size=”52px” header_5_font=”Trade Winds||||||||” custom_margin=”||-16px||false|false” custom_padding=”||||false|false” animation_style=”slide” animation_direction=”right” animation_intensity_slide=”0%” animation_starting_opacity=”100%” header_text_shadow_style=”preset5″ locked=”off” global_colors_info=”{}”]

A Creepy Little Tale<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/h5>[\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.20.4″ text_font=”Trade Winds|700|||||||” text_text_color=”#FFFFFF” text_font_size=”35px” text_line_height=”1.8em” header_font=”Trade Winds|700|||||||” header_text_color=”#000000″ header_font_size=”11px” header_2_text_color=”#FFFFFF” header_5_font=”Trade Winds||||||||” header_5_text_color=”#FFFFFF” custom_margin=”||||false|false” custom_padding=”||||false|false” animation_style=”slide” animation_direction=”right” animation_intensity_slide=”0%” animation_starting_opacity=”100%” locked=”off” global_colors_info=”{}”]
Suspense-filled, weird, or off beat story for those who seek the unexpected.<\/em><\/strong><\/h5>\n

<\/p>[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section][et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ fullwidth=”on” custom_padding_last_edited=”on|tablet” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” background_color=”#FFFFFF” max_height=”1000px” custom_margin=”0px||||false|false” custom_margin_tablet=”0px||||false|false” custom_margin_phone=”0px||||false|false” custom_margin_last_edited=”on|phone” custom_padding=”0px||1900px||false|false” custom_padding_tablet=”0px||1900px||false|false” custom_padding_phone=”||1735px||false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_fullwidth_header title=”Last Memory” text_orientation=”center” title_tablet=”Last Memory” title_phone=”Last Memory” title_last_edited=”on|tablet” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” title_font=”Beth Ellen|700|||||||” title_text_color=”#474747″ title_font_size=”46px” content_font=”Arima||||||||” content_text_align=”justify” content_text_color=”#000000″ content_font_size=”18px” background_color=”#FFFFFF” min_height=”120px” height=”100px” custom_margin_tablet=”” custom_margin_phone=”||31px||false|false” custom_margin_last_edited=”on|phone” custom_padding=”0px||||false|false” title_font_tablet=”Beth Ellen|700|||||||” title_font_phone=”Beth Ellen|700|||||||” title_font_last_edited=”on|phone” title_text_shadow_style=”preset4″ title_text_shadow_color=”#DFB758″ global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_fullwidth_header][et_pb_fullwidth_header text_orientation=”center” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” title_font=”Aclonica||||||||” title_text_color=”#ed3e0f” title_font_size=”64px” content_font=”Anek Latin||||||||” content_text_align=”justify” content_text_color=”#000000″ content_font_size=”18px” background_color=”#FFFFFF” min_height=”120px” height=”100px” custom_margin=”-42px||0px||false|false” custom_padding=”0px||0px||false|false” global_colors_info=”{}”]

My name is Donny. Until I was twelve, I lived with my seventeen-year-old brother, Brandon. My Mom lived there too, but I don\u2019t think she liked us much. This is my last memory.<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/p>\n

Brandon was at basketball practice, but I knocked anyway. With a quick glance down the stairwell, I slipped into his room and crossed to the closet and his bin of comic books. I wasn\u2019t looking for editions of Superman or Captain America. The secret stash of magazines hidden underneath was the magnet.<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/p>\n

Squatting beneath his hanging clothes, I shuffled through the top batch of colorful super heroes. Sizzling with anticipation and a little bit afraid of getting caught, I stopped to wipe my clammy hands on the carpeted floor. My right hand swiped across a lump under the plush fibers.<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/i><\/p>\n

Whoa! I bet that\u2019s the candy stash Brandon brags about<\/i>. Hoping to see Snickers and Reese\u2019s Peanut Butter Cups, I lifted the carpet from the tack strip in the corner of the closet.<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/p>\n

A final tug exposed the hidden treasure. What the heck! <\/i>I crab walked backwards, letting the rug snap back in place.<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/p>\n

A pistol, big enough for Dirty Harry, was right there in my brother\u2019s closet. My gaze shifted from the hiding place to the bedroom door and back again. Do I tell Mom? No! I\u2019m too old to tattle.<\/i><\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/p>\n

Sucking quick shallow breaths, I crept back to the closet and lifted the carpet. A door slammed downstairs. My nerves twinged, and I lurched, planting my left palm on the strip of carpet tacks. \u201cOuch!\u201d My heart pounded like an angry prisoner in my chest. I grabbed the gun, scrambled to the door, and peered down the hall.<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/p>\n

After a frantic dash into my room, I pressed my back to the door. My knees buckled, and I slid to the floor, closed my eyes and listened to the wheeze of my own labored breath and rain drumming on the window.<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u201cDonny? Are you upstairs?\u201d My mother\u2019s voice and creaking footsteps triggered nerves in my neck that traveled down my arms to the fingers gripping the gun. Oh, my God! Why did I take it?<\/i> <\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/p>\n

Mom\u2019s footsteps were getting closer. I jumped up, searching every corner of the room. Where do I put it?<\/i> The open backpack on my bed became a quick and easy hiding place.<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/p>\n

I plopped on my bed just as Mom tapped on the door and entered my room. I coughed, hoping to disguise my gasping breath.<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong? You look like you just ran a race.\u201d She stood with one hand on the doorknob, her head pivoting in a suspicious search.<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u201cI was doing sit-ups.\u201d A couple of toe touches to demonstrate, bounced the bed. The backpack slid off the end, hitting the floor with a resounding thud.<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/p>\n

I lunged to retrieve it, but Mom had already snatched it up. \u201cWhat do you keep in this thing?\u201d She held it at arm\u2019s length as if it were contaminated.<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u201cBooks, of course. It is a book bag, ya know?\u201d I clasped my arms across my waist, trying to look like I didn\u2019t care that she had it.<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/p>\n

She walked to my desk and set the bag down with a clunk. \u201cSounds more like rocks than books.\u201d She flipped the top open and stood there frozen, her mouth hanging open.<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/p>\n

I scrambled off the bed. \u201cIt\u2019s not mine! I found it.\u201d I grabbed at the backpack, but she pushed me away.<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/p>\n

Her face contorted and her voice held a sternness I\u2019d never heard before. \u201cYou, sit down.\u201d She pointed at my bed.<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/p>\n

With one hand, she lifted the gun by the grip. With the other, she stroked the steel barrel, caressing it as if\u2026 as if it were a kitten or an elaborate piece of fine china. She lowered herself into the desk chair and spoke in a barely audible voice. \u201cI used to have a gun just like this, but somebody hid it from me.\u201d Her eyes closed, and she pressed the muzzle to her temple.<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/p>\n

Thunder boomed, and I turned to the rain-streaked window. Gloom, like a black cloud, invaded the room. I should\u2019ve just taken the magazines.<\/i><\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/p>\n

No one will tell me what happened after that. I don\u2019t even have dreams about it.<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/p>\n

You\u2019ll have to excuse me now. It\u2019s time for my lunch. Oh good. The orderly brought the red Jell-O. And he disguised my favorite magazine inside a Superman comic book.<\/o:p><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/o:p><\/i><\/p>\n

I should ask him to sneak in a gun.<\/o:p><\/i><\/p>\n

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“HIDDEN” a suspense novel.<\/p>\n

Available now on Amazon.<\/p>\n

Sign up for two FREE chapters.<\/p>[\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” text_font=”|800|||||||” text_font_size=”32px” text_line_height=”1.9em” header_font=”|700|||||||” header_font_size=”24px” header_2_font=”|700|||||||” header_2_font_size=”31px” header_2_line_height=”1.3em” header_3_font=”Carter One|700|||||||” header_3_font_size=”24px” background_enable_color=”off” text_orientation=”center” width=”38%” module_alignment=”center” custom_margin=”-25px||0px||false|false” custom_padding=”6px||0px||false|false” border_radii=”on|10px|10px|10px|10px” border_width_all=”3px” border_color_all=”#ff5757″ border_style_all=”none” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”]