20 MONTEREY COUNTY WEEKLY DECEMBER 25-31, 2025 www.montereycountynow.com the half-open bedroom door and I’m about to pull the trigger when the door opens wide and there stands my wayward son. “Jeez, Mom. You gotta stop watching all those true crime shows!” Dialed Dialect By Clark Coleman Mrs. Claus slammed the plastic toy barbecue, no bigger than a coffee mug, down on the desk in front of her husband. “What in tarnation is this?” She held her carbon copy of Santa’s list. “This is to be delivered to Doris in Oxnard, California.” Santa picked up the toy grill and regarded it with light curiosity as he turned it in his hand. Mrs. Claus shook her head. “Luckily the warehouse elf caught it. Doris wanted a doll, a Barbie.” Santa pounded his fist on the desk. “Drat. I forgot to change the factory AI settings to American from Australian.” In the Dark By Shel Erlich She must have said it to him a thousand times. “Jerry, you’re way too serious. You’d better lighten up, or the stress is gonna kill you before you turn 40.” “You’re right, Ma,” he’d been saying in response for at least the last ten years, shifting his eyeballs skyward when she wasn’t looking. Lighten up? Had his mother conveniently forgotten about his 6-yearold’s accidental death, the subsequent divorce, his failure to get that promotion at work? No matter. She wouldn’t have to tell him any more, he mused to himself, as he placed another flower on her fresh grave. Winter Light By Colleen Flanigan She pulled up the blinds, letting bright gray light fall in. It lacked warmth. It held water and bite, the crisp chill of morning. As the dogs ran into the garden, she watched a yellow songbird alight on the dormant plum tree, pecking at spider mites. A darkeyed junco hopped around the container box of cyclamens finding breakfast. A black phoebe flycatcher was patiently eyeing the fish pond from a wood stake. Their feathered activity was sunshine on her ruffled heart. Barefoot, she stepped into the garden to begin her day, working intimately, immersed in the season’s changing winter light. Spill Your Guts By Shawn Boyle “Truth serum is light beer,” sputtered Texas Nasty sitting two bar stools away. I wasn’t certain if he was talking to me or his reflection in the mirror across the bar. With heavy tearful eyes, he recalled his championship wrestling alligators while starting up a business manufacturing billiard cues. He trembled at the thought of letting the Square-Dancing Queen get away. Distant memories. Regret. Pain. Hurt. The smorgasbord of what makes us human was on full display. Many stories later, he slammed his last beer, got up, and whispered softly my way, “I should have never gotten on that spaceship.” Back in Action By Gregory Hodge The canvas felt nice and cool. It felt rough and cozy. I could smell the sweat and the blood that had stained it from however many other matches had been held on it. My head still rang from the hit, my jaw was numb, and I knew that tomorrow the pain would kick in hard. I opened my eyes; the lights that shone above were blinding, like another hit to keep me down. As the ringing passed, I could hear the chants of the crowd, I could hear the screams of my coach. It was time to get up and fight. All For Love By Kylie Kassiday I loved him and he loved me and that was the first thing we knew about each other. Sure, there was a lot more to know. Strengths, weaknesses, desires, aversions, talents, quirks, fascinations, fears, triumphs, failures and all the nuances that you discover by living together. It was a lot. Yet, still, there was mystery. Now he was standing waiting by the back door. “Why do you have to go out every night?” I wondered. He looked at me but didn’t say a word. Cats are like that. I opened the door and turned on the porch light. Fooled By Clark Coleman 1899, Barrow, Northern Alaska. Brock is playing poker and checking his pasteboards when the saloon doors fly open. Augustus Pete storms in fuming. “My brother is in jail because of you.” “’Twas a fair trial,” Brock said glancing back at his hand. Augustus raised his pistol. “You best be out of town before sundown. If you’re here at last light, you’ll end up in a pine box.” Brock nodded. “OK.” One of the men in the game spoke up. “I can’t believe you agreed to that scoundrel’s demand.” Brock laughed. “The fool. Sun won’t set for another month and a half.” Sabina By Alex Beardsley Her smile is ubiquitous with the abstract concept of time as my thoughts are inherently dependent on every curve of her lips. Truth be told, when I saw her tucked away in that corner of the bodega my perception of humanity changed forever. One glance was enough to challenge my courage. I stood by the end of the block, summer sunlight blinding my eyes. An internal struggle began ensuing; one which my perseverance needed to overcome. Knees shaking, mind racing I walked back into the bodega. Bravery be damned I mustered a hello, her response: “What took you so long?” A Boyhood Dream Takes a Detour By Warren Anderson My childhood dream, to win the World Series for the New York Yankees, took a sudden detour the day I tried out for my first Little League team. I was 10 years old. My mom and my little sister dropped me off at the tryouts, hoping for the best. An hour later, I’m shuffling my feet, head down, the bright light in my eyes dimmed. Mom knew right away and said nothing. But my little sister, in front of all my friends, yelled out, “DID YOU GET CUT?” The Cooperstown Hall of Fame will just have to wait. The Usherette, 1939 By Laurie Bauer Soft apricot-colored light shines on her blond hair as she leans against the back wall of the movie theater. Her head is bent, hand on cheek, deep in thought. Her rent is late, and so is her period. And her boyfriend shipped out last week. Next to her, red velvet curtains are tied back at the bottom of a green-carpeted staircase, beckoning to a better life above. In the darkened theater, scattered viewers sit transfixed by the light and shadow, unaware of the drama unfolding right beside them, under the apricot light. Power Out By Andrea Ibarra The power went out in my grandma’s house, so my brother and I went to the kitchen cabinet to get some flashlights. “I feel like I’m in a horror movie,” my brother says, flicking his flashlight on and off again. “Don’t say that, you know, people died in this house.” “Oh, right, the old couple.” “Yeah, so don’t even say anything.” Then we hear a click, the TV being turned on. “Okay, please tell me that was you?” I say to him. “N-no.” We both flash the flashlights towards the living room. The TV was never on, but the clicking continued. Next Move By Joseph Rice The clock’s incessant ticking is a hammer on Henry’s concentration. He studies the chessboard, calculating, his composure fraying. Henry hates time pressure, and he hates to lose. His adversary’s exposed King tempts an attack. Forty seconds left. Ah ha! He finds the crushing Knight move—sub101-Word Short Story Contest Will we survive now that the chicken army wants us? Silence was swirling around the house as if giving it a hug. At home, a hole appears to me like a fart. Clueless as a goldfish. “Bitch, I don’t know what your eyes like best.” No Context
RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy MjAzNjQ1NQ==