Collection of Short Stories -
Supernatural Fiction
Written
By Edward J. Longo - ISBN: #0-9713623-9-4
Written over a period
of many years during my research phase, I thought my
personal collection of stories might serve as light
entertainment for those seeking relief from the throes of
daily life. Although Henry Thoreau might not have
appreciated them perhaps the famous Pink Panther
detective, Inspector Clueso, would have marveled at their
innovative humor . . Edward J. Longo
(Note: These Short Stories
are only available directly through this publisher)
Individual Short
Stories
. 1 - An
Eerie Heirloom:
December had always been a
seasonably warm month in Arles, France. Yet, on
this particular Friday at the end of the month,
1988, the lobby of the Arles Hotel was noticeably
cooler, somewhat drafty. Just as any other
morning of the week the lobby was active, mostly
with persons leaving in time to get to work.
Moreover, through all the commotion, there were
potential guests backed up in line so close they
were reading each other's newspapers. Noted for
its monthly rates and special discounts, there
were always tourists making inquiries at the
registration desk.
Routinely, Mr. Manet, the manager at the front
desk struck the bell with his palm.
. . . "Clear out room number 853," he
said, handing over the black, rustic box to the
bellhop. Well-groomed and narrow-faced, the
manager appeared in his fifties, had thick, black
eyebrows and wore a red rose in his lapel,
accentuating his reddish complexion.
. . . "You know the procedure, Roger,"
he continued, tapping his fingers on the black
metal box, "When you return the box I'll
destroy this ticket," he added, placing the
green ticket in the pocket of his blue,
pinstriped suit. . . .
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. 2 - SilverdustFor
Fuel:
The summer of 1985
was one of the hottest seasons Florida's
Northerly coast had experienced in years. During
this time the hurricanes had been coming in off
the Gulf Coast, making it an unusually dry period
for this suburban area. The heavy-set, oval-faced,
bearded cyclist gunned his Harley-Davidson
motorcycle just before reaching the freestanding
building bordering Lakeshore, Florida. When he
approached a flashing sign: Brandon's Bar &
Billiard Parlor, he eased off and allowed the
bike to coast until it reached the timber
hitching post.
. . . As the biker arrived he raced the engine
until the familiar "raapp-brmmm-raaap"
of the aged 1975 motorcycle became pronounced,
then he cut the engine. After dismounting, he
dropped the kickstand and paused while removing
his helmet.
. . . "Don't go anywhere, Julie," Poor
Paul said, patting the leather seat. Not only did
he call his motorcycle by a girl's name - he even
advertised the word, "JULIE" on both
his, rather her, license plates. . . .
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. 3 - The
Insemination of Ognol:
Edward was a pure blooded
American, a writer and limousine driver fifteen
years advanced of Ana's thirty-five years of age.
With his six-foot stature, elegant looks and keen
sense of humor as well as an ingenuous charm, Ana
found him irresistible. He had a prominent chin
and pronounced Irish nose, which gave him
character -- in spite of the bald spot on his
head -- a thing that caused him to become
defensive, at times.
. . . His strength was in the ease,
unpretentiousness and spontaneity with which he
handled people -- traits developed in dealing
with the elite clients of the limousine business.
His finesse was what kept high-end clients
continuously requesting his services.
. . . "Caviar . . . Can we try it?" He
asked as he removed a dark-colored jar from the
refrigerator."
. . . "Sure. It's black caviar, though.
Maybe you too much don't like it. My sister
brought it from Egypt when she went to vacation."
. . .
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. 4 - You
Can't Do Wrong and Get By
By 8:30 AM, the sunlight
barely appearing through the clouds, and with the
flurries still swirling, the slim, blond-haired
boy hastened down the two flights of stairs.
Dressed in stained overalls and a dirty,
sheepskin jacket worn over a soiled T-shirt,
Daniel skipped around to the passenger's side of
the 1964 Ford Beach Wagon parked in the yard.
With the motor running, and his six-shooter in
hand at his side, he smiled a radiant smile and
climbed in next to his father.
. . . "Lookit the frost on these windows,
daddy . . ." Daniel giggled, as he slid the
tip of his ivory-handled six-shooter against the
glass, "layers of ice. They look just like
frozen snowflakes, don't they?"
. . . Responding with a mere grin, the fifty-nine
year old man sitting behind the wheel, in spite
of his virile looks, had an insane aura about him.
Daniel's father, Albert, was a narrow-faced six-footer
with brown hair, brown eyes and gray-painted
temples including a mustache, who could pass for
a Eugene O'Neil look-alike. . . . . . .
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Edward J. Longo
is a Board Certified Clinical Hypnotherapist,
Mental Health Practitioner, and is highly active
as an expert Certified Psychotherapist.
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