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    Tales From 3 AM
    Tales From 3 AM
    Tales From 3 AM
    Ebook114 pages1 hour

    Tales From 3 AM

    By J. Pagaduan

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Here you'll find a collection of short stories based on dreams, nightmares, and that indescribable nothing from which we all come and to which all things return. 3 AM is not only the time of dreamers and artists, but it's also the Witching Hour, and those things combine to form the stories found within. At turns fantastical and terrifying, these tales are quiet murmurs that wouldn't rest until they were written. 

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJ. Pagaduan
    Release dateApr 23, 2023
    ISBN9798223636922
    Tales From 3 AM
    Author

    J. Pagaduan

    J. Pagaduan (he/they) is a Filipino-American writer who weaves dreams and nightmares into stories. His influences range from Edgar Allen Poe to Junji Ito, and his works range in scope from series that span decades to flash fiction that somehow feels just as robust, to the occasional poem or essay. When not writing, he can be found cooking, knitting, caring for his little one, and doing his part to make the world a better place than he found it. 

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      Book preview

      Tales From 3 AM - J. Pagaduan

      The Locket

      Fiona followed the directions she had memorized. An older couple wanted her to fetch some valuables from their abandoned house, vacated suddenly when things went to hell, and didn’t think they could make it back. But they wanted the items and offered to pay either Fiona or someone like her to get their things.

      Electricity didn’t work the way it used to in parts like this town. It was unreliable, and the closer Fiona got to the house, the more the light on her motorcycle flickered, unsteady in the weighted darkness. Eventually, she came upon the address she had memorized and killed the bike. It’s rumbling halted, and she grabbed the leather saddlebags to take with her slung over one shoulder.

      The lock was somehow rusted, even though locks this new weren’t supposed to rust. Still, she managed to use their key to get the door open.

      The darkness was heavier in here, stifling, somehow both cold and stuffy. The floorboards creaked, the only light coming in from the too-bright streetlight shining in through the front windows. The back of the house was too dark to see.

      Fiona produced a flashlight with symbols scratched into the finish, hit it a few times, and it flickered to life. The symbols glowed a faint light orange as she looked around.

      A little girl stood at the head of the stairs as she looked around. Fiona waited to follow. As she looked around for the jewelry the couple wanted, the sounds of a child laughing drifted through the house, disjointed from reality. The dead areas were quiet, too quiet, as things that once lived no longer inhabited those areas. Still, Fiona brushed it aside and poked around.

      Eventually, she turned towards the stairs and started climbing. She examined the bedrooms, starting with the smallest. There were items that were leftthe  behind, children’s things older than she was. Fiona didn’t pay attention. She wasn’t here for those things.

      In the master bedroom, in the on-suite bathroom, stood the ghost girl. She was young, maybe 10, with stick-straight reddish-brown hair and soulful hazel-green eyes. It’s here, the ghost said, lips not moving, but pointing to the bathroom vanity.

      In one of the drawers Fiona found the jewelry she had been tasked with looking for. One of the items was a locket. She opened it to see the dead girl with the long reddish hair and weighted gaze.

      Are you taking those back to them?

      Fiona looked at her as she packed away the valuables. Yes.

      So I don’t have to guard them anymore?

      Fiona lifted the saddlebags back to her shoulder, prize firmly hidden in their depths. No.

      She looked around briefly. It wasn’t their fault. I hope they’re not upset.

      Fiona thought about the couple, how their only daughter had died in the first wave, about how they had to abandon all their things as they fled, how they could only scrape up enough money to pay her for her service for the locket. They’ve moved on.

      The ghost nodded once. Good.

      Fiona switched the flashlight to the other hand and held out her dominant one, lightly pointing at the specter. Your task is over. You may rest.

      The house exhaled a sigh of relief as Fiona spoke, and the ghost faded away. The darkness lifted somewhat, and she could make out vague furniture shapes behind the light of her flashlight as she walked back out to her motorcycle.

      Fiona secured her bags, straddled the motorcycle, and wouldn’t start. She sighed, tracing faint symbols painted on the gas tank, and turned the key again. The motorcycle roared to life, the headlight dimmer than usual, but there wouldn’t be anyone to worry about here.

      Fiona spared the empty house one last glance and pulled away. The house had guarded the items so that they could be retrieved, but now that the items were gone, it was just a house. There was nothing left to pick through now.

      Piri’s Nightmare

      Piri stood at the front of the room, accepting condolences she didn’t think were meant for her. Her mom was to one side, sobbing and unaware of the people trying to comfort her. There was no coffin to view as her dad had wanted to be cremated, so instead family and friends shuffled by to see the memorial she organized. Her mom’s grief had overshadowed everything else, leaving Piri to make the arrangements alone.

      The faces blurred together as Piri struggled to stay out of the past, but all she could think of was him. One of Piri’s aunts came to collect her and her mom once everyone had said their part for the meal afterward. Piri excused herself instead and left, not wanting any more to do with the whole affair. She was ready to let her brother handle it. He had always been the favorite, he could step up for once.

      ***

      The freezing water crushed Piri as she sank under the surface, siphoning the breath from her body as the liquid fought her efforts to escape. It surrounded her, offering none of the comfort she had seen others take in it, stealing her life instead. The silent behemoth held her under its surface with ease, not caring that she didn’t want to be there. Piri opened her mouth to scream and sucked in a mouthful of water. She began to drown.

      It had been Rex, the family dog, to pull her put, jumping in to save Piri from her fate. Her older brother, only seven top Piri’s three, watched slack jawed as she sank. Her mom came running out, screaming her name as the family dog dragged her 8 from the pool. Her mother, her protector, shoved Piri’s brother out of the way and batted at Rex to grab the girl, who was coughing and vomiting. She bundled her daughter up in her arms, kicking the dog away as she turned to the pool and threw Piri back in.

      ***

      Piri woke up with a gasp, whimpering and shaking as she woke up. It had happened so long ago that she remembered very few of the details; her brother had been trying to teach her to swim by pushing her into the pool. Her dad had the dog euthanized because he was more comfortable believing the family dog had tried to kill her. But the dream was just that and not an actual memory; it told her to be afraid. And she was. Those seconds spent under the water kept her in its icy grip, trapped as she had been as a child.

      The phone rang, startling her. She took a deep breath and forced herself to stand up and go into the kitchen to answer it. It’s just a dream. Nothing more. Hello? she said, trying to smooth out her voice as she picked up the receiver.

      Well, it’s about time you were home. The woman on the other end sighed. I worry when I don’t hear from you.

      Piri looked from the calendar to the clock. I’ve been busy.

      I see. That doesn’t mean you should ignore your mother like that. I just want to make sure you are okay, after all.

      I know.

      The silence lingered between them, a wealth of things unspoken.

      I was talking to some ladies, and they gave me the number of a grief counselor. I would like you to go see him. It would be good for you.

      Piri’s temple throbbed. Mom, I’m fine. 

      Just please write down the number. I know you don’t think you need to see someone, but it might help. Especially now that your father isn’t with us anymore. There was an impatient sigh at the other end. I want to make sure you are all right, Piri.

      I know.

      The oppressive silence was thick and choking. "Well, I have errands to run, and Aunt Denise was going to

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