GRIME AND SHADOWS
GRIME AND SHADOWS is an ongoing noir story inspired by #vssmystery and #vss365 word prompts on Twitter/X. Snippets tend to be short so that they can easily be shared on that platform. The story's Table of Contents is updated as soon as a new snippet is added, so that readers can jump directly to the snippet they wish to read.
Keep in mind that this is just a first draft; minor edits may happen between updates.
If you'd like to start reading THE REST IS SILENCE, a noir fiction web novel that is already complete, please click/touch here.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
- Snippet 1
- Snippet 2
- Snippet 3
- Snippet 4
PART 1
S1
I got home late. Rain was pounding the windows. It sounded like a heavy man in a hurry to get in. Mrs. Malone had neatly stacked two weeks of mail on the sideboard by the whiskey: a selection of bills and assorted trash. The bottle's lambent smile wormed its way up my brain, making warm promises to wet bones. The mail never stood a chance.
S2
Halfway through the second whiskey, the telephone started to wail. It pierced the rain like an augur foretelling new wounds. I glanced at the black bakelite monster and waited, hoping it would grow tired. It didn't. The glass went with me to the gossip bench in the hallway. The handset hadn't slimmed in my absence. I picked it up but said nothing.
S3
"Mrs. Gabe?" It wasn't really a question.
I recognized the thin male voice on the other side. My blood curdled for half a second. Not because of him. He was just an echo.
"No," I said. The answer had nothing to do with my name, either.
"We sent you a letter, Mrs. Gabe."
The neat stack of mail was out of sight, untouched on the sideboard, next to the decanter. I glanced at the whiskey left in my glass, wondered if taking a gulp would be heard through the line, and let it go.
"I don't care," my words finally came out, voice as flat as I could manage.
"Read the letter, Mrs. Gabe," the voice pressured. "Just... Read the letter first."
S4
Why? I wanted to ask, but didn't feel like begging for an answer that would never arrive. So I let the silence fester, listening to the pale newt on the other side breathe as he grew something akin to impatience, not a backbone tough enough to question or hurry me.
The rain was still pounding the windowpanes, demanding to get in. The whiskey left in my glass still smiled lambently next to the telephone. I thought of the only one who mattered and closed my eyes for a moment.
"We're sending a Mike," the voice finally said, breaking the silence like a rock through the window.
A hunter. They were sending a hunter. Again, no point in asking why.
"When?"
"In the morning. Eight o'clock?"
"Fine," I said, sounding like a warm body with no pulse. "Anything else?"
"Goodnight, Mrs. Gabe."
I stared at the black bakelite monster for a while after replacing the receiver. Then, I took the whiskey back with me to the living room sideboard, ransacked the neat stack of mail, found the letter 'they' had sent me, and went to bed. The whiskey never left my side.
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