The Short Humour Site

Home : Writers' Showcase : Submission Guidelines : A Man of a Few More Words : Links

Writers' Showcase

by Michael S. Collins

In a dark subway station, you never know quite who you might meet. Sure, you might meet no one, though if it is getting late, and the last trains of the day are winding down, then that’s rarely likely. There’ll always be someone to share the platform with. Probably drunk, especially if its weekend, but any other day of the week might bring alcohol spewed friends clattering down the escalator and trying to ask for a light. But tonight it wasn’t anyone quite so harmless. Jerry slunk down the stairs, and watched the girl get on the train. He made a quick pace up to the subway car, but the doors had shut already. He knocked on the window, so she was watching him, then melted through the window into the compartment. She was dead before he could do anything, her heart had given out on her mid-scream. That’s the problem these days, people always died of heart issues on seeing the melting trick. It left no time for a suitable kill.

Jerry sighed internally and ate her. There was little time to devour once the person was actually dead. The meat went off. They never thought about that when they went and died, did they? Selfish prey. His phone went off, signalling a text. Jerry checked it and shivered a little.

“Get home now, before I have to track you down. Linda.”

Hell have no fury like a wife on the prowl. Jerry melted back through the walls and headed home. Trouble with the wife was a step below executed by the State in terms of things to look forward to. At least when you are to be executed by the State, there are things to look forward to.

Linda was furious. “You’ve been killing again, haven’t you?”


“Don’t you lie to me, I can always tell when you’ve been killing. You can smell it on your breath.”

Jerry tried to look sheepish.

“Just for once I wish you could come home from work without having the police round here to check your whereabouts. All this lying is doing my head in.”

“You knew what you were marrying into?”

“Yes, a bunch of serial killers. But bloody hell, you’re still my husband.”

“I know I am, but you’re my wife!”

“I gave up on the murdering long ago, like I promised.”

“I never promised I would!”

“You implied it. You’ve been using the melting trick too again. We’ll have those FBI agents on top of us again. God, why can’t you be more mature?”

“I’ll try not to kill folk in future, dear. I promise.”

“I’m still annoyed. Now I’ve got to clean the blood off your clothes before morning.”