Author: lewczyk

The stillness of the cool evening air and the soft whirring of the night insects did little to betray the terrible battle that ensued deep within the stony bowels of the mighty Labyrinth. In a dimly-lit chamber, a brawny Athenian youth was locked in mortal combat with the creature known as the Minotaur — the accursed son of Pasiphae, wife of Minos.

Themus, son of Labdacus, grandson of Poseidon drew forth his dagger from his belt as he and the Minotaur wrestled powerfully on the grimy floor, muscles stretching and sinews cracking. Both mighty opponents were bathed in sweat, and neither had the upper hand, until a powerful but awkward thrust of the dagger by Themus embedded the blade in the Minotaur’s left eye. The two drew apart — each quietly thankful for the brief respite from the fray.

Themus eyed his foe. Aside from the grossly disfigured head and the terrible, inhuman strength, the Minotaur was completely human in every respect. The gleam of intelligence that shown from its remaining eye made Themus pause, but the glimpse of the scattered bones along the chamber walls rekindled the fury in him, spurring him on with his sworn task: the destruction of this hell-spawned behemoth.

Due to the abnormal thickness of the monster‘s skull, the hurried knife thrust had not penetrated to the brain, but it had cost the creature the sight in one eye and a great deal of blood — though no signs of weakness were yet apparent. Themus attributed his lack of injuries to his quickness and to the oddly-defensive fighting style of the Minotaur.

He lunged toward the beast, attempting to bring it down and pound the dagger in the remaining inches needed to end this wretched creature’s life. The Minotaur easily sidestepped the lad and caught him from behind, its iron grip around his thick neck cutting off the blood to his brain. Themus’ mighty struggles became feebler as the world spun about him and blackness prevailed.

Sometime later, he stirred groggily to the realization that he was being dragged by his ankles down black, winding corridors through which the Minotaur’s rasping breath echoed ominously. Themus kept his own breathing even as he surveyed his surroundings through slitted eyes. He could dimly see the outline of the beast silhouetted against a slowly-increasing light far ahead — undoubtedly some chamber in which he would be devoured, Themus reasoned. He vowed not to give the creature a chance.

He was dragged past numerous intersecting corridors that darted off into deeper blackness. Gripping a corner as he was passing, Themus jerked his feet free and rolled to a standing position before the Minotaur was aware of what had occurred.

The Minotaur turned slowly, finally showing the effect of the loss of blood, but Themus was already upon it, bringing it down and pinning it to the cold floor. The monster looked up sadly, but did not struggle as Themus unhesitantly pounded the dagger the remaining inches, ending the beast’s wretched life. The world went dark once more.

Themus awoke confused amid a rush of memories as he tried to piece together the events of the last few hours. He looked at the still form next to him, noticing the dagger in the eye of the fine, regular, human features — peaceful in death — and was only dimly surprised when his own hand raised to his throbbing head encountered hairy, unfamiliar features.

He saw his battle with the Minotaur in a new light, only now realizing that the poor creature had been trying to prevent this terrible transformation.

He reached for his knife with intent to end his life but some force within him stayed his hand as his mind echoed with distant, hollow laughter. Cursing Zeus and resigning himself to his new fate, Themus began dragging the body in the opposite direction — away from the exit toward which the former Minotaur had been trying to take him.

His mouth salivated unconsciously as he brought home his meal.

No one dies this time — but not through lack of trying.

Side note: I used an online character recognition site to ‘read’ a scan of my old typewritten story and convert it to digital text. I had to make a boatload of edits to correct things so, at the end of the day, I’m not sure it saved me time over retyping the whole thing. Maybe…

More old stories here.

The man seated at the large walnut desk in the air-conditioned office glanced apprehensively at his wristwatch as he had done dozens of times within the last hour. It was five minutes to ten — time to begin. He called for his private secretary who came promptly into the office.

”Would you please get me a cup of coffee?” he asked, knowing that it would take her between three and a half and four minutes to return with the cup.

“Certainly,” she told him with a smile, and he watched her, as prim and neat as ever, as she closed the door behind her. He reached into his desk drawer and brought out an envelope which he set in the middle of the otherwise vacant blotter, rose from his padded chair, and stepped toward the large window overlooking Wall Street and the bustling people far below.

The previous day, his wife has brought up the subject of divorce along with the shocking news that she was having an affair. He knew most of the blame was his, for he had not been much of a husband in recent years, being too concerned with his job — which he had ironically come to despise with all his heart. This new situation with his wife was the proverbial last straw that caused him to decide to end his life today. At ten o’clock his wife was supposed to call about the divorce, but he planned on not being here at that time. The coffee was so that all would know the exact time of his death.

He opened the window wide and stepped out onto the ledge as the cold autumn wind tore at his hair and clothes. Thirty-five stories below him, tiny cars and specks of people inched their way along the narrow street. He pictured himself, sprawled on the pavement, a brighter speck amid the crowd.

He leaned forward, preparing to jump, when fear gripped him. The idea of suicide that had seemed so desirable a moment ago, now repulsed him. He realized that he still did love his wife — and that an apology and a reformed life might yet win her back. He also realized that he did not really dislike his job, and that the thought of living seemed much sweeter than the blackness of death.

But he was already off balance. He was on the very edge, pin-wheeling his arms in a losing battle to regain his balance and not plummet to the street, hundreds of feet below. Sweat rolled down his face and bile rose to his throat as he tipped that last centimeter.

Suddenly, a gust of icy wind caught him and seemed to set him back upon the ledge like a giant hand. His heart was pounding wildly as he pressed himself to the brick, his eyes closed in thankfulness.

He cautiously sidled toward the window, backed in, but did not feel safe until, with trembling hands, he closed the window tightly. He made his way shakily to his desk, absently fixing his hair and straightening his tie. As he fell back into his chair, his secretary, prim and neat as ever, came into the door carrying the cup of coffee that he had asked for — seeming ages ago.

She set it on his desk and, looking toward his suicide note, asked if he would like her to mail it.

“No,” he smiled, sliding the envelope into his jacket pocket.

”Your wife is on the line,” she informed him.

”Thank you, that will be all.” he said truthfully. He smiled as he reached for the telephone.

Sad, another tragic death. Remember: my ‘classic’ stories were written when I was young and silly. More old stories here.

The carnival was bustling with the noise of the early-evening throng. The oppressive heat seemed to make the whole scene appear unreal as if in a dream or an old painting about to wear through – revealing the blank wall underneath.

Every night it was the same. Except tonight the freak show was receiving unusual attention partially due to the excellent hawking of Bob Edwards, and partially due to some new attractions that had not yet been seen in this town.

Actually, the crowd-drawing attractions – the tattooed lady, the elephant boy, the bearded lady, a family of midgets (not actually related) – had been with the carnival for years, but were only seen along this seldom-used northern route during exceptionally hot summers such as this one.

Joshua, the elephant boy, hated crowds – especially this one. There were no familiar faces, and they didn’t seem to treat him with the awe and respect that he received along their traditional route. He studied the faces anyway, catching what names he could, and storing them away for when they would next travel this route.

Joshua had an extraordinary memory. He knew by heart the names and layouts of all the cities along the carnival’s summer and winter runs. He could recognize all the faces he had seen and put names to those whose names he had heard in previous years. He remembered events as far back in his childhood with the circus as could be verified, and could tell you what shows were the best draws in any given city. The manager of the carnival, T. Farmer, had been meaning to work up an act using Joshua’s fantastic memory, but had never gotten around to it.

For that, Joshua was glad. The less attention he got, the better. He was content to lead his simple life and think about the woman that he saw in his dreams and assumed to be his mother. In his dreams she would come to him, take him in her arms and say she was sorry for leaving him, and the two would live happily ever after.

She had probably left him for some good reason, Joshua thought, and all would be well when she found him again. His dangling nose between his far-set eyes would crinkle up in excitement when he thought of the new, normal life he would then lead. And this might even be the night because the occasional glimpses of the town had convinced him that he had been here before as an infant. So he kept searching for that very special face in the crowd.

As the evening wore on, the crowd began thinning and Joshua had nearly given up, when … there she was!

She seemed to have aged more than Joshua’s fifteen years, and was much smaller than he remembered, even smaller than he was now. Speechless, he had reached out his hand for his mother as she passed, but she shrank back with a look of recognition and horror in her eyes, and had hurried out of the tent.

Joshua was momentarily paralyzed as tears came to his eyes. It all came back to him in a rush – how she had discarded him, not caring if he lived or died, in an abandoned lot when the carnival was in town. And also how Mr. Big, the midget, had found him lying there half dead. Joshua shook his head to clear it of its stupor, and dashed out of the back of the tent. Mother!

Joshua searched frantically for her and caught a glimpse of her receding form hurrying between two tents toward the back of the lot. As he ran after her, he noticed he had a tent stake in his hand. He reached her and brought the stake crashing down upon her head.

They found Joshua an hour later rocking back and forth, cradling the bloody head of his mother’s body in his lap, and repeating almost apologetically over and over again with tears once again in his eyes: “Elephants never forget, Mom, elephants never forget…”