I've some plans to cheat later this month. Not by not posting...well, you'll see. Family obligations, including taking two Star Wars fans to opening night of Rogue One will impede my writing somewhat. As will Episode VIII next year. Maybe they will grow out of Star Wars? :D

Today's story is... short. And full of S names. Because it was a thing I wanted to do, so I did. I've a few ideas for longer stories to spread out over a few days. Once I am in the swing of things and all. :) Until then, enjoy this story. There are pirates (mentioned), cursed treasure, and swearing. Whee.

The S Story

There wasn’t anything to be done.

As the phone continued to ring, Stacy and Shaw stared down at their landlord.

“He’s definitely dead,” she pointed out as she examined a drop of blood on the toe of her pink shoes.

Shaw nudged the body with his work boot and let out a sigh.

The phone quit ringing. Only to start up again a minute later. They exchanged a look.

“Answer it.”

“And get my fingerprints at a crime scene?”

“Someone’s going to come over if you don’t. Answer it, Stacy. Use a damned tissue or something.”

Stacy glared, but she pulled the sleeve of her sweater down and answered the phone.

“Yes. Yes. Oh, is that so? No, no. That won’t be required. Yes. Thank you so much.” She hung up and glared at Shaw. “Fucking telemarketers. Apparently, his computer is infected with a nasty virus.”

“Like his dick.”

“You would know.”

“Shut up. That was his son. We need to find it and get out.”

“Teach your mother to suck dick.” Stacy hit the button on the answering machine to turn it on. She left Shaw with the body and went to search the house.

This was not supposed to be how this went. The deal was, they confront him, get the item, leave. He wasn’t supposed to die. Not that it was a problem. Well, it was in that they had a corpse. The man himself being dead, not a problem. Because he was a useless piece of shit. Shaw wanted to kick him again, but worried about boot imprints or something.

Who knew what stuff on CSI was real and what wasn’t. Had they touched anything? Not much, he thought. Not enough to be a problem, at least out here. They came over once a month to pay rent. The perils of renting from a man with serious paranoia issues.

Shaw looked down at the dead man.

Maybe not so paranoid.

“Come on, Stacy, we need to go.”

“Jesus, hold up. I think I found it.”

“Thank God,” he muttered.

She came out holding a small iron box with a cheap lock. “Is this it?” When she shook it, something inside rattled.

“How should I know? We should go.” Had they been here too long? Being in the same room with a corpse was beginning to bother him.

“We should be sure first.” She set the box on the kitchen table, shoving aside a stack of catalogs.

Shaw shook his head. Something was wrong. Had he heard a siren? No. It was quiet outside. No one was home this time of day. That was why they’d come over this time to deliver the rent check. The clash of metal on metal made him jump and he turned to see Stacy removing the lock.

“I said not here.”

“And you’re not the boss. God, Shaw. You’re such a pancreas.”

Stacy would not insult herself by calling someone wussy a pussy. Well, he’d known she was a bitch when they’d become roommates. He had not known she’d kill someone. It wasn’t hard to see, in hindsight, but when he’d first moved in he’d only thought her a bitch.

“Holy shit!” Stacy stared into the box, eyes shining with avarice as she reached in and pulled out a couple of jewels. “They said he had some fancy shit, but look at this.”

He did. He stared at the gleaming reds, greens, and whites in her fingers. Not that he knew anything about gemstones, but they looked like they’d be worth a decent amount of money. Which would be good. Because he needed the money.

“Can we go now? I’m really getting uncomfortable here.”

“There could be more.”

“They said the one box. Come on, Stacy.”

“God, go if you want.”

Fuuuuuck. This was getting crazy. He should leave. The gems teased him. Dust in the air was thick in the shaft of light coming in from the kitchen window. The only open window. Had they closed it before?

“Shit.” Enough of this. He turned to leave and smacked into the chest of-


“Maybe later.”

“How? What? No, how? Shit.”

Their landlord’s son stood two inches from him.

“We can go now.”


“Is fine. I am not about to linger around this curse.”

It was then Shaw noticed the lack of corpse on the ground. His eyes went to the carpet and to- what had his name been? Why was this happening to him?

“Because you helped to kill me. It’s a long story, Shaw, but truly, we should go. Any moment now the curse will tighten around your bitch of a roommate and she might be able to wiggle out and drop it on you. I would hate that.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither did I a long time ago. And, I will explain it all over a scotch. A good scotch. It’s been a long time. What do you want to do, Shaw? You need to decide now.”

“I am so lost.”

What was his name?

“Now or never, sport.”

“They’re- cursed? Like in Pirates of the Caribbean?”

“Yes.” Scott. His name was Scott. “Except, and no offence to the men, I am way hotter than Orlando Bloom or Johnny Depp.”

“Well, maybe Orlando Bloom,” Shaw teased, but he did not resist as Scott pulled him from the rundown, dusty apartment Stacy no longer saw.

“What will happen to Stacy?”

“The curse. Remember what I looked like? That’ll be her. Until, and unless, she sorts it out and sets someone else up. Like I did.”

“You set us up?”

“Well, I figured one of you would fall. I was hoping it would not be you.”

“I don’t know how I feel about this.”

“Which is why, the drink.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Fault one.”

“Yea, well, you’re cursed.”


“You can buy me a cup of tea. For now.”

“Good enough. We’ll save the harder stuff for after we cross the state line.”

Shaw felt like he was coasting farther out to sea. At least the raft was handsome. More importantly, not dead. Which would mean no potential murder charges. Well, the day was looking up after all.