Witty Bean

Trick or treat was almost over. Even the stragglers and the teenagers had done their rounds.  And we were late. SO LATE! I was worried . I had been looking forward to tonight for a long time. The colorful costumes, the shiny faces as kids went door to door.  I’d missed all that. Because we were late. As we walked on the dark, empty street towards the first house, I glanced at my sister. She looked furious. I laid a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. A few yards away, our parents followed, with the practiced ease of someone who’s done this a million times before. Ah Good. The first house. Climbing up the stairs, we pounded on the door.  I flung my head back and yelled. “Trick or Treat!” I saw movement behind the front windows. There was someone inside. But no one came to the door. We knocked and yelled again but the door stayed shut. My sister stomped her feet and cried out. Mom beckoned us from the bottom of the steps. No worries, we’ll try again a

The bunker door stayed open all morning and afternoon. They had a lot of stuff to carry in - food, clothing, medicines. And those were the basics. Their little community had expanded since last year which meant they had more help with the move. But it also meant more mouths to feed. All these thoughts ran through Kavi’s mind as she ran a finger down her checklist. As the leader of their community, she had a million little things to do. Oh, had someone remembered the Vitamin D lamps? They would not last the winter underground without some form of sunlight. And what about the movie reels? The books? Nothing in and Nothing out. That was their motto. Once locked inside, they had no way of coming out for 3 whole months. Not that they would want to. A million little things left to do. Sighing, she got up and walked to the door. Outside, the a weak sun shone, as more people walked towards the bunker, carrying odds and ends. After 7 glorious years of normalcy, they’d all gotten complacen

I crouched under the car and held my breath. Shit. Shit. Shit. Had they seen me?  I sniffed, testing the air for their odor, but couldn’t pick up anything above the aroma of rotting waste. My machete waited beside me, an old and trusted friend. Breathe slower, I warned myself. You cannot afford to get dehydrated again. Close to 5 minutes passed before I heard them. Soft, shuffling footsteps. I placed the machete carefully on the floor and peeked under the car. I spotted the first one a few rows away. And then a second. And a third!  I sat up and cursed. It seemed to be one man, one woman. And a child. Shit. SHIT! I hated killing kids.  But like my mom used to say, “If it is you vs. them, Always choose yourself!” I grabbed my weapon and waited. Didn’t matter anymore if I could smell them. They would find me soon enough. And they would come. Just like I expected, the footsteps got closer. I’d killed close to a 100, but it still got me every time. Something about ta

“Julie, hold my hand, please,” “Can you move faster? We’re almost there.” “I’m scared Julie. We’ve never traveled this far. And this late at night,”. The wind moved around them, whispering under the dense canopy of trees. There was no visible path, this deep inside the forest.  But Julie seemed to know exactly where to go.  “Come on Peter, we cannot be late!” A twig snapped somewhere to their left. Julie and Peter stopped. She strained her eyes, but spotted nothing. What was out there, this late at night? Peter tugged at her sleeve. His large eyes, shimmered in the paltry moonlight. “I’m scared, Julie. What was that noise?” Paler than before, Peter looked at the distant clearing, where he saw a murky shape moving about. He was about to protest again when Julie brushed past him.  “Julie! JULIE!”, he whispered urgently. “Stop! Don’t go there! I see something!” She turned around and looked at him sadly.  “We’re here,  Peter. It’s almost time.

The basement  was hewn out of old rock. Unlike the house upstairs, this room had existed for centuries. A haven for those who needed it. The walls still bore marks of old candle wax, and the floor was bare. Except for the wooden bed at the corner.  Rashmi debated whether to switch off her flashlight. Decided against it. But she kept the beam well away from the bed. Just like her mother had taught her.  The odor was much stronger here in the basement. A sharp coppery tang and old, sealed air. The back of her throat burned with as she fought to keep her breakfast down. Don’t think about it. Just put the lunch box down and go. She creeped to the foot of the bed, not daring to look in that direction. Lowered the lunch box into the waiting basket.  And then something rustled in the basement. She stood there for a long while, unsure if she’d heard something. Her brain screamed GO, but her feet stayed glued to the ground. Seconds turned into minutes, but she didn’t move. What