…that which is featured:
Haunted Smoke
a short story by Micheal Wilson
“Trapped in a dark, empty shopping mall, a young mother strives to protect her son from the environmental hazards outside and entities that they bring…”
Alessia and her son had gone to a nearby thrift shop that Saturday evening. As the boy looked at the variety of previously-unwanted toys and board games near the back of the shop, and his mother browsed the discounted dishware, they smelled smoke and noticed the sunlight turning red. The two joined the shopkeeper in peering outside as the sun’s scarlet hue further deepened. Mother and child then returned to perusing the merchandise, though she felt very strongly that they should go home soon. Shortly after, they heard the shop owner begin to yell at someone. The boy turned around to view the scene with eyes shaded, while the red, smoke-obfuscated sun shone dimly through the all-glass storefront. Suddenly, he heard a loud gunshot. Panicked, the boy rushed down a nearby aisle. His mother caught him and the two swiftly returned to the back of the shop.
The two hid behind a small, dusty bookshelf, while the sunlight further dimmed and the shoddy fluorescent lights crackled and flashed wildly. The arguing towards the front only got louder, but came to an abrupt end. Alessia and the boy could only hear the ensuing “What the…? Holy–! NO! GAH!” followed by another gunshot and shattering, falling glass. The visceral cacophony was closed with gurgling and splattering.
Five or ten minutes had passed, the mother peeked very cautiously. It was very nearly dark. She saw the shop owner dead and, well, everywhere. The all-glass storefront had been obliterated and the shop was filling up with smoke. There was not much other damage to the shop itself, but the poor old man who owned the place had his throat cut and been sloppily disemboweled, blood and viscera strewn haphazardly across the floor and pooling behind the till. It was as if his assailants were rabid animals.
Catatonic, the mother had to get her son out without him seeing the grisly scene; how she felt didn’t matter. Shaking slightly, Alessia turned to her son with a feigned smile.
“I want you to keep your eyes on mommy, okay baby? Don’t look around, just look at me.” She picked up the child, one hand on the back of his head, and carefully dashed out of the store. She was able to see just barely through the smoke which overran the shop, and managed to avoid slipping on the ponds and puddles of crimson which beset the place. Alessia then had to contend with the heavy smoke once outdoors. Still holding the child, their eyes began to burn and they coughed incessantly as she struggled to find the car in the thick wall of brownish-black smoke.
By some miracle, the two reached the car. Once in, Alessia sped the two away towards a nearby shopping center. Able to see slightly, the boy witnessed the ethereal silhouettes of three or more figures approaching the store. As the group turned slowly to see the hastening vehicle, the boy was startled and sunk back into his seat, continuing his coughing fit and frantically reaching for his inhaler. Due to the extremely low visibility, Alessia preferred to go somewhere close by, and was thankful that she didn’t need to go far.
This “small mercy” was dispensed with when they arrived at the Queen’s Market Mall – often shortened to “Queensmarket” – as the place was dark, save for the space between the inner and outer doors and for the attached department store. By now, the sun had almost completely set, and the atmosphere more oppressive as the smoke became heavier and more noxious. The mother quickly grabbed the boy from the car, and hastened into the building. Slung over his mother’s shoulder, the boy again saw a few strange figures in the distance. He held his eyes shut and tried to bury his face into his mother’s neck in a futile effort to hide.
Once past the first set of the two walls of doors, Alessia set the boy down.
“Are you okay?” The boy, wide eyed, shook his head.
“What’s wrong?!” said the exasperated, exhausted woman. The boy slowly pointed, ramrod-straight, towards the outside. She looked and saw, with little clarity, a figure sprinting across their field of view in the furthest reaches of the parking lot. Calmly, Alessia reassured her son that it was only another person, and that the smoke “plays tricks on people”.
…of Verse & Vision
…that which is or may be learned or known
…these conversations we have about the process
Bruce McCulloch shares his journey through the realms of comedy, music, and personal growth, emphasizing the importance of authenticity, mental well-being, and the connections we forge with others.
You're reading Lowkey Hellish — essays on folklore, horror, philosophy, and the strange places where ancient fears meet modern anxieties.
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