Four Corners Dark: Horror Stories Read Online Free Page A

with his hand out.
    Stewey didn’t recognize Frank and had a perplexed look on his face. It was a look Stewey often had so it was difficult to tell when he was really perplexed.
    “Do I know you mister?” Stewey asked.
    “Stewey are you wacky? It’s me Frank. I’m a friend of Al’s,” Frank said.
    “Oh yeah,” Stewey said hesitantly. “I think I remember you. My head’s not so good these days.”
    “You and me both,” Frank said.
    Clenching a cigarette between his teeth, Frank pulled out a roll of cash and Stewey’s eyes lit up.
    “I need a piece, can you help me out?” Frank asked.
    Stewey glanced around and then pulled out a black revolver. He handed the gun to Frank. “Watch out, it’s loaded,” Stewey said.
    “How much?” Frank asked.
    “Three saw bucks.”
    Frank slapped thirty dollars into Stewey’s hand.
    “See you around Stewey,” Frank said. He now had a plan.

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    D ecember 1st, 1944. Frank sat alone at the counter of Petey’s Diner. The clock on the wall read 9:34 a.m. He threw his napkin on his half eaten food and paid his tab.
    “Come back and see us,” said his waitress.
    “Sure,” Frank lied, then tipped his hat and left.
    He walked down the street towards the Village Bank & Trust and hoped like hell it still existed. A newspaper flew across the street blown by the wind. Morning commuters were busy rushing through the city streets. Frank buttoned his gray overcoat against the cold and ducked into a doorway to light a cigarette. He stepped back onto the sidewalk and let out a puff of smoke. The bank building was one block ahead. He was relieved seeing the bank, but still nervous. What if Victor doesn’t recognize him? What if the cash is gone? Never there in the first place? All was possible on this new path.
    He stubbed out his cigarette and walked through the revolving door into the marble lobby and spotted a familiar face at a small, mahogany desk.
    “Miss Talbot, you look well,” Frank said.
    A woman with grey hair tucked neatly in a bun glanced up at Frank with a stunned look on her face.
    “Mr. Reynolds,” she responded. Her voice was weak.
    The relief washed over Frank. She knew him here and that was a good thing.
    “Is Charles available?” Frank inquired.
    The look on her face alarmed Frank.
    “Mr. Reynolds, Mr. Victor is dead,” she answered.
    “What happened?” Frank asked.
    She spoke hesitantly. “We were robbed. Mr. Victor was shot during a robbery.”
    The tone of her voice indicated surprise that he didn’t know this had happened. He sat down in the chair next to her with his mind reeling.
    Suddenly tires screeched outside the bank and four policemen burst into the lobby with their guns drawn.
    Miss Talbot shouted, “Over here. He’s here.”
    Frank whirled around the desk and grabbed her. He pulled the gun out of his coat pocket and aimed the pistol at her head.
    “What the hell is going on?” he asked.
    The policeman advanced with their guns trained on Frank. He backed into the bank offices with his left arm wrapped around Miss Talbot’s throat.
    “Back off you’re making a mistake,” Frank shouted at the policeman.
    He pulled the woman into Charles Victor’s empty office and spun to face her.
    “Why did you call them?”
    “Because you killed Mr. Victor,” she said pointing at a leather chair with a half dozen holes shot through it.
    “Why would I kill Charles?” Frank stammered.
    Miss Talbot was shaking violently now. “Because you said he should have your money. He didn’t know what you were taking about. You only had a small sum in this bank.”
    “When was the robbery?” Frank asked.
    “Three months ago. September 1st,” she answered.
    That was the date of his last jump. He had been a gambler and worse over the years but had never killed anyone. Glass shattered and tear gas canisters rolled onto the floor. He left Miss Talbot coughing in the office and ran to the back of the building.
    Years before, Charles Victor