Friday Flash Fics Goes Under the Sea for Friday the Thirteenth. (On Sunday the Fifteenth! Blame Jeff Baker!)


Under The Sea

By Jeff Baker


“Shhhh…” Diaz said, finger to his lips, voice echoing in the damp, seaside cave. “I think this is it.”

“You’re sure?” Nehemiah asked. “Took us enough to get here. Let’s get what we came for and leave before the tide comes in.”

“Treasure better be worth it,” I said.

“It will be,” Diaz said. “Better than the lost gold of the Incas. Did you ever hear of the Library of Alexandria?”

“Yeah, but the Gulf of Tunis is nowhere near Alexandria.” The Gulf of Tunis was what would be lapping at our ankles if we stayed in the cave much longer.

“This is better than the Library of Alexandria,” Diaz said. “The Lost Library of the University at Dom-Daniel.”

“The what?” I said.

“The fabled college of sorcery in a cavern under the sea, just off the Tunisian coast,” Diaz said. “Started by wizards in the days of the Carthaginian Empire, and blessed by Astarte herself. Probably the legends of the Alexandrian Library started here.”

“Here?” Nehemiah said. “This cave?”

“It’s the doorway,” Diaz said. “Knowledge handed down in my family for over a thousand years. Along with this.”

He held up a circle of metal with a jagged, pointed edge at one side.

“Is that one of those things that slices vegetables and newspaper pages?” Nehemiah asked.

“No!” Diaz snapped. “It’s a key. The key, to the Library. My ancestor was a Necromancer. He studied at Dom-Daniel.”

“And it only cost him his soul. He’s still paying back the loans.” Nehemiah snarked.

“Very funny.” Diaz said. “My ancestor worked in the Library. I guess you’d say he was a proctor. He was one of the last and when the school shut down he kept the key.”

“So?” I said.

“They may have left things behind. Magical artifacts. Books….” Diaz said.

“Talking dragons…” Nehemiah said. Diaz ignored him.

“All I do is hold the key up to the wall,” he said walking along the wall, “…and maybe…yes!”

A small section of the cave wall was glowing a bright green. So was the key Diaz was holding.

“Here goes,” he said.

The key silently slipped into the green section of wall. A large doorway-sized part of the wall swung open like, well, like a door. We could see a blue glow on the other side. We ducked in and the door shut behind us.

The room had smooth stone walls. It was lit by the blue light and none of us could see where it came from. There were old, wooden bookshelves on one side of the wall. Empty shelves. The room wasn’t that big. Maybe nine or ten feet high and about twenty feet long in all directions. There was no other door. Most importantly, it was dry.

“This must be an outer chamber, or an office,” Diaz said. “They must have left something.”

“Over here,” I said. “Look.”

There was what looked like a large stalagmite sticking up out of the ground; a podium made of rock. The three of us searched it and found a cubbyhole on one side. In it was a large, leather bound book.

“Not the Necronomicon?” I asked.

“That’s made up.” Diaz said, laying the book on the flat top of the makeshift podium. “This is real.”

We couldn’t read the symbols on the pages and the printing inside was in various languages, much written in deep red ink.

“I found something,” Diaz said, reading through the book. “It confirms my theory. This is an antechamber to the main library. You don’t use a door to get in.” he looked up at us. “You use a spell.”

He took a deep breath and grabbed the book firmly with one hand, and grabbed my shoulder with the other.

“Guys, hang onto each other and grab the book.” We did. He took another deep breath and read from the page.

“Platypus, Grey Goose and Spaniel

All are going to Dom-Daniel.”

There was a burst of sparks and the room filled with foul-smelling black smoke. When it cleared, I was staring at a goose and a dog standing by the podium. I stared and turned around to survey myself.

I was a platypus.

“Well,” honked the goose in an approximation of Diaz’ voice. “Let’s try the next spell.”

The spaniel whimpered and rolled its eyes.




AUTHOR’S NOTE: I’d just done a column on T. H. White’s novel “The Sword in the Stone” where Merlyn mentions Dom-Daniel. The legend dates back a few hundred years, so I decided to have some fun! —-jsb. 

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Come Wander With Me, for Friday Flash Fics for Sept. 6, 2019 by Jeff Baker (Way late!)


Internet down for a few days, so I’m late again. (I should have a Tag for that!)

Wandering Through

By Jeff Baker

I must have been about three years old that Fall when we went into the woods. I’d asked my Dad where Mother was and he said something about her “coming along later.” Then he started pointing out the leaves and places he said a deer might have been through.

The light was slanting through the trees turning the foliage purple and orange. I kept turning around as we walked. It was a wonderland.

“There,” my Dad said. He pointed at a tree a few yards ahead of us. Two trees, one at an angle making a big doorway, the trees darkness contrasting with the triangle of light between them.

I stared. Even at that young age I could tell that the light and the scene beyond the triangle was different than the light where we were; it looked like it was daylight, not the near dusk of the forest.

My dad grabbed me by the arm and shouldered the duffle bag he had hastily packed. I saw him take a deep breath. We stepped through the triangle of light. It was daylight on the outside and the forest was gone. Just a green hill with blue sky and a city with tall, cylindrical buildings in the distance.

I looked up; my dad was grinning. “This is it. We’re safe.”

I wondered what he meant. I glanced back and saw the opening we’d come through. The light was different; it wasn’t showing the forest anymore. We walked down the hill, towards a new lie, something my three-year-old mind didn’t understand then.

As I write this, I am seventeen years old. That’s the Age of Ascension here. We’ve had a good life in this world, but I want to find out what happened to our old one. My Dad told me that the portal shifts between various worlds and only opens every few years. He didn’t want me to try the portal again, but he’s been gone about a year. I have his old duffel bag; all packed. The portal is lit, most of the time it’s just dark. Most people here don’t give it a second glance. They’re satisfied to be here. Not me. I can see the forest through the portal. It’s beckoning.

Here I go.




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Copycat Case for Friday Flash Fics, by Jeff Baker, August 30, 2019


                                           The Copycat Case

By Jeff Baker


AUTHOR’S NOTE: I’m probably stretching it getting this story out of the picture, but trust me, I know what I’m doing.

            Chapter One: Happiness Is A Worn Gun

“A copycat? What kind of copycat?”

“Just watch the video, you’ll see.”

The security video from the bank was grainy and black and white. Customers lined up in the early afternoon. Then a figure in a suit with a flower in his lapel, wearing dark glasses strode in the doorway.

“Attention, everybody!” he said. “Police. We have reason to believe this bank is in danger of being robbed. The Department has the building surrounded.” He flashed a badge and pulled a large Magnum from a shoulder holster. “Don’t panic. Just follow my instructions and we can apprehend these miscreants.”

“Miscreants?” I said staring at the screen.

“Keep watching.”

“Security, guard the back door,” the man in the suit said “They may come in through there. If they do, you and the men from the Department will have them covered. I’ll just need you to temporarily hide any deposits, withdrawals, what have you to avoid any danger when those people come in here.” He quickly loaded a bag full of cash, checks and deposit bags into another bag, all the while waving his Magnum. “When they find out it looks like you’ve already been robbed, that will confuse them.” He looked up at the security camera and saluted. “Don’t worry. I’ve done this before.”

The man stepped into the doorway, tripped, flipped over, his gun firing and shooting out a lightbulb. He then dashed outside.

The Chief Inspector shut off the video and sighed. “The security guard said he was afraid to follow the thief for fear the guy would trip again and accidentally shoot him.”

“This sounds familiar,” I said.

“It should. Do you remember a TV series called Wood Mallett?”

“Vaguely,” I said. “Wasn’t that the comedy about the out of control, crazy cop who still solved cases?”

“Only lasted six episodes. They ended it with Woodrow Mallett going undercover in a mental hospital in part one. There was no part two. Now, some nut is copying the character’s methods and getting away with it!”

Chapter Two: Arsenal And Old Lace

The night was dark and the downtown was quiet. The blue-white glow on top of the ATM lit a small area of the dark, asphalt parking lot. The beaten up 1970s hardtop pulled up alongside it. The man in the suit and dark glasses stepped out and quickly hooked one end of a chain to the ATM, then hooked the other end to the bumper of his car. He then popped the trunk and pulled out a bazooka.

The man shouldered the bazooka and grinned into the ATM’s security camera.

“Not gonna swallow this credit card are you?”

He fired. The base of the machine exploded and the man quickly drove off, dragging the rest of the ATM with him. His laughing was recorded by the camera at the nearby gas station.

We arrived on the scene about twenty minutes later. I stared. Without even examining it I was able to tell the other officers what make the bazooka was.

“It was used in an episode of Wood Mallett, the one where he pretends to go crazy.”

“He’s doing a pretty good job of it, if you ask me,” Officer Garcia said shaking his head.

“Yeah,” I said. “He is doing a pretty good job of it…I have an idea.”

Chapter Three: Minimum PI

Four patrol cars pulled into the parking lot of the amusement park. We surrounded a large, plastic clown face with an open mouth, labeled TRASH.

“You’re surrounded!” I said. “Leave the clown with your hands up!”

“How did you know I was in there?” he asked after we had him frisked and handcuffed. We’d caught him asleep; he was wearing an honest-to-God nightshirt with one of those funny caps.

“It’s where Wood Mallett hid in the episode you were using. You copied his methods too well; we got the DVD and found out your next move.”

“Hey, wait!” he yelled. “You can’t haul me to jail just like that!”

“Don’t worry,” I said, smiling. “We’ve done this before.”




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“If Two Trains Leave The Station…” Friday Flash Fics (Way Late!) For August 23, 2019 by Jeff Baker


        If Two Trains Leave The Station At Ten-Fifteen, When Do We Eat?

By Jeff Baker


“Okay, over here…” the graduate assistant said.

“Hey! I can see the stadium from here!”

“Yeah, and there’s the…”


“If I could have your attention,” the graduate assistant said. “Good. Now, this is the Science and Technology Center. It was built in nineteen…”


“Yes, Nineteen. Nineteen Eighty-Five,” the graduate assistant said, getting more and more frustrated. “There are sixty-eight classrooms, most with laboratory facilities and the state’s only up-to-date…”

“Hey, is this corridor like the one at MTV where you can see the sunrise through the hall?”


“As I was saying, the state’s only up-to-date…”

“Hey! I heard Devaughn James played here!”


The graduate assistant sighed; they weren’t paying him enough.




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Two Stories Read by Angel Martinez


Angel Martinez reads a weekly story (or part of one) on her blog on Fridays. She’s read one of mine before, and this past Friday she read two! Sure as my name is Jeff Baker, this is a thriller:

Posted in Angel Martinez, Christmas, Demeter's Bar, Fantasy, Fiction, Friday Flash Fics, Horror, Jack Finney, Science Fiction, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Who has Seen The Wind? Friday Flash Fics for August 16, 2019 by Jeff Baker (posted way late!)


Neither I Nor You

By Jeff Baker


“Close the door! Hurry!” Mick said.

“Wait! Alex isn’t here!” I said.

“Screw Alex! He’ll have to…”

“Hold up! I’m here!” Alex said, almost running into the steel door.

We ducked into the building, crammed into the small hallway and I glanced back at the street with the blueish tinge of light and papers whipping around in the air as Mick slammed the door and slipped the bolts in place.

“We should be okay,” he said. “This building’s stood for about a hundred years.” Nonetheless, we could hear the roar of wind picking up outside.

“Let’s get upstairs before the power cuts out,” Alex said.

“We have a generator, thankfully.” Mick said, heading up the stairs.

Alex and I followed up to the third floor. The building was reinforced; nonetheless I was glad there weren’t a lot of upper floors.

When we finally reached the room, I felt a little better. The walls were thick and so was the glass on the window. There was a steel plate that could be lowered over the window and I could barely hear the wind through the stone walls. The room wasn’t that big but Mick had a couch, a monitor screen and a fridge. Anyway, the lights were still on, so I figured we’d be okay.

“I hate these things when they come in late summer,” Mick said.

“I hate them, period,” I said, sitting on the couch next to Alex. “I just hope it’s over soon.”

“I checked on the WeathaView about an hour ago, this one sprang out of nowhere.” Mick said. “That’s when I called you guys.”

“What’s it say now?” Alex said, pointing at the blank screen.

“Nothing,” Mick said. “It went out a few minutes ago.”

“Must be a big one,” I said, glancing out the window at the bluish glow. We’d all seen the videos of the icewinds ripping the paint off of a car or doing worse to an animal or a person.

“It ought to die down after a bit,” Mick said, pulling a beer out of the fridge. “Until then we have food, water, working toilets…”

“But what if it doesn’t die down?” Alex’s eyes were wild. “What if we’re stuck here and the food runs out and the power kicks off and our air supply with it?”

Mick and I exchanged glances; Alex was on the verge of hysterics.

“And what if we just ran outside and kept running and let that wind get us, like that lady up in Portland last month? Or what if…if…”

Alex broke down sobbing. I moved over to his side of the couch and put my arms around him. Mick sat on the arm of the couch and did the same thing. And we held him through the evening as the wind roared outside.


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Gee, It’s a Wonderful Game; Friday Flash Fics for August 9, 2019 by Jeff Baker


Gee, It’s a Wonderful Game

By Jeff Baker


I held the old baseball in my hand and gawked.

“Babe Ruth?” I said awed. “Babe Ruth? Lou Gehrig? John Maguire? They signed this?”

“Well, those are their names,” Marc said. “I wrote ‘em when I was in grade school.”

“Oh,” I said. “Hey, who’s John Maguire?”

“Guy I went to school with. The ball is old, though,” Marc said. “It belonged to my Great-Grandfather. It’s at least a hundred years old. Probably older. He had it when he was a kid and he was born in 1895.”

“And somebody broke the window and tried to steal it?” I said, thumbing at the cracked glass in the old door.

“No,” Marc said. “I think the ball did it. I think the thing’s haunted.”

“Sure. Of course,” Nobody ever called me up to help them move or paint. It was always demon-possessed something-or-other. “I know my rep. I’m a walking magnet for the walking dead. When did this start acting up?”

“About six months ago,” Marc said. “I brought it here from Mom’s house and I thought I’d lost it in my apartment. I had it sitting on top of my bookcase…”

“On top of the old ball cap from school,” I said. He’d looked damn good in the uniform too, I thought.

“Yeah,” Marc said. “Then one morning I looked up and it wasn’t there. I thought it had fallen on the floor, but I checked under everything. When I got home from work the next afternoon, it was lying on the couch. That’s halfway around the room.” He shook his head. “That was the first time. It started showing up in places I hadn’t put it. I thought it was someone breaking in so I had my landlord change the locks.”

“And that didn’t help?” I said.

“Nope,” Marc said. He sighed. “The kicker, Billy, was when I was at home one night and I heard a THUMP THUMP THUMP! I’d put the ball in a drawer and it was bouncing away in there. I got up, opened the drawer and the thing sailed out, bounced off the ceiling and landed on the table. In a half-eaten bowl of soup I hadn’t put up.”

“Have you called an Exorcist? Or maybe ESPN?” I asked.

“No, I figured I’d call you first.” Marc said.

I sighed again. I should get a webpage: Billy Gonzalez, Ghosts Handled While U Wait. I shook my head.

“Okay, okay. You said you got this ball from your Grandfather?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Marc said. “In a box full of stuff after he died a few years ago. My Aunt still lives out there in California and she sent it to me.”

That was when the ball started to bounce on the table where I’d set it. It rolled off the table and over to the door with the broken window. I had a thought.

“Where was your Great Grandfather when he got this ball?” I asked.

“New York City,” Marc said. “He moved out west in ’59 I think. My granddad had a job out there and went with him.”

“Yeah, and you wound up going to college in Kansas and that’s where you met me. Did any of your family ever mention anything spooky about this baseball?”


“Okay,” I said. “Let me try something.” I walked over to the baseball on the floor and cleared my throat. “California,” I said.

The ball reacted. It bounced on the floor a couple of times and then jumped through the shattered window, landing on the ground.

“West,” I said. “It’s heading west. Or trying to. Whichever team your Great-Grandfather liked, the ball seems to still be, well, loyal. Maybe that’s why they took it out to California in the first place.”

“So, I mail it out to California?” Marc said.

“Probably be safer to ship it by rail or something ground-based,” I said. “The way that thing acts.”

“Yeah,” Marc said. “And there’s probably no way to get a haunted, window-breaking ball insured in the mail.”



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