Short Stories Archives - The Cracked Door

Chīwit Understands Her Ghosts

There was a Thai woman named Chīwit. She lived in a big house with her dog, and everyday she would see ghosts that no one else could see. Mostly, they were friendly, and she felt drawn to the ghosts to learn about their daily lives and their world.

Others in her town told her to stay away, that the ghosts were scary and dangerous. But that wasn’t her experience. They were like normal people living their lives with hopes, dreams, concerns, and yes flaws.

One day she decides to move to New York, and as she adjusts, she gets lonely and starts missing the ghosts. She tries calling her closest ghost friend so much that the ghost just ends up coming to New York to see her.

“I don’t understand this city and this culture,” she explained. “But most of all, I don’t understand why I don’t see any ghosts here. People don’t seem to believe in them.”

“The ghosts are everywhere,” the ghost responded. “But most choose not to see us.”

“Why don’t people see ghosts? Why are they so scared of you?”

“People see in us the others lives that could have been. They think this world is what is best for them, and they can only see our lives as scary and as a threat. That’s why they think they haunt us. Really their own minds haunt them with what could have been.”

That was when she realized that her ghosts were really people too. They were living the lives she and the communities had rejected when they made decisions each day about how to live life. For each other decision they could have chosen makes a ripple, and out of that, these ghosts appear embodying what could have been.

With that, she started seeing them everywhere. In every community, town, and city, ghosts would bursts forth. Some promising, and some desperate, some scary. She noticed people only paid attention when the ghosts made a better choice and thus lived better lives than they are, these ghosts being a sign of regret for what they did. As she started paying attention to all the ghosts, though, she would see the ones that were less fortunate, that looked to her with longing for the choices she made. Her version of herself was in the middle, with better and worse versions of herself, which gave her comfort that she was doing all right.

And she realized that every single day, she would have to understand and make peace with these ghosts. As all they were doing was helping her figure out how to live her own life.

The Angry Firecracker (A Short Story)

There once was a firecracker named Pow Pow. He loved his life hanging out with the other firecracker friends in his bundle.

One day, they were bought by a family, and he was excited to meet them and discover what kind of fun they’d have together. The family took them out on the patio of their home. The mother took one of his firecracker friends. All the other firecrackers were excited to see how they might play with her.

The woman took a hot flame and lit it under her butt. This caused her friend to shoot away as fast as possible, screaming in pain, and die an explosive, painful death. The woman, her husband, and her kids just squealed with glee at the ordeal.

One by one Pow Pow watched as his friends were snatched, taken, and exploded in the same way. He turned hot with anger at how they could torture and kill his friends for fun like this.

Then, finally, he was picked. They carried him over to the edge of their patio where they had done away with all the others. He burned hot with rage.

Suddenly, they lit a match in his hindquarters, and he burned with anger. He broke free from their grip and flew away, shouting every obscenity he could at these murderous people. He could finally let his anger out, and it boiled within him.

Eventually that was all he could feel as he exploded with rage, becoming another fun firecracker explosion for the parents to enthrall their children.

The Hamster amidst of Gerbils (A Short Story)

Leah the Hamster lived in a terrarium full of gerbils.

And everyday, she felt different. She looked like a hamster, behaved like a hamster, thought like a hamster. When she was a pup, her mother used to tell her, “You don’t think like them. Be careful. You may misunderstand their cues and get yourself in trouble.”

And so, she grew up always scared. Scared that she couldn’t understand or relate to the gerbils around her. Every time she talked with the gerbils, she was afraid she might misunderstand something and get herself in trouble. And some days, some gerbils would make fun of her for being different.

So, she mostly stayed in her den with her toys, worried that any gerbil she talked to would hurt her.

But one day, she got fed up with being home and decided to approach a few new gerbils who had just been brought into the terrarium.

She told them, “I’m sorry. I feel so nervous talking with you. I feel like I am messing up. I just wish to have a pleasant conversation, but I don’t always understand you gerbils and how you think,” afraid that they would gnaw their teeth at her and scurry away.

But instead, this encouraged them to also share how they felt: how they felt out of place in this new community and how they were constantly messing up.

They formed a group of friends who could relate to feeling different from everyone else and slowly helped the others in their community who always fit in to understand their own feelings in the moments they didn’t quite belong. Through this, they built a more accepting community together.

She learned a valuable lesson that day: that being genuine about how she feels to others allows them to relate to her and encourages them to reflect on and be honest about their own feelings. Feeling different forced her to turn inward and understand her feelings in a way that the normal gerbils that fit in did not have to. This was a gift she brought to others around her.

Staring Back (A Short Story)

He had a long day at work, and he drove home exhausted, finally free to let his mind unwind. He looked out into the suburban expanse before him, full of businesses, parks with kids playing, and a few uncultivated fields. That’s where he first saw it. It was a skinny, pale figure, maybe six and a half feet tall, in a field about 50 yards away. It seemed to just stand there looking towards him. What a strange scarecrow he thought? He felt momentarily gripped by its wilting look making him think about how life slowly erodes us like the slow erosion of hillsides over centuries. Then his mind moved on to other things.

He felt weird when he saw it again during his drive a few days later. This time it was in the small woods next to someone’s suburban property, only 20 yards away. At this distance, he could get a better look at it. Like before, it was skinny, and pale, and he could not tell its gender. It just stared at him. Its expression was like that of curiosity that had slowly wilted away into a tired indifference. How did it get here? This was easily a fifteen minute drive from the last place.

He would frequently see it on his drives home from work, sometimes multiple times. He sensed that it was always there, but he only really noticed it when his mind was tired, bored, or otherwise wandering. He wasn’t sure why his mind would drift towards the figure. All he knew was that when he was busy, he didn’t think about or see it. But when he took a break, out there in the grass or by a tree somewhere, it was, staring right back at him with its expressionless face. Just thinking about it made him feel exhausted.

He didn’t tell his friends or family about it for fear that they would think he was crazy. Deep down, he couldn’t shake this fear that he was going crazy himself, and he assumed if he told others, they would write him off as such. He even felt too ashamed to think about it and would do all he could to remove it from his mind.

One Saturday, he saw it all the time. He tried to fill his day with activities like chores, striking conversations with random strangers he met, all in the hope that he could distract himself from knowing that the figure was there with him.

That night, when he went to bed, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He glanced out the window and saw it there in the backyard staring up at him, a stone’s throw away. He slammed the curtains shut, and all the other curtains in his house. But that didn’t matter. He couldn’t sleep, knowing it was out there. He finally decided to open his bedroom window and confront it.

“What do you want?” he shouted. No response. He desperately continued, his demands transitioning into begging, “What are you, and what do you want with me? Why do you keep following me?” But it said nothing. It just stared back at him with the same indifferent, lethargic expression it always has.

Furious, he finally decided enough is enough. He went outside to attack it. He rushed right up to it, but each step he took towards it, it seemed to move away. Floating above the ground, it slid backwards maintaining the same distance of maybe 20 feet (or 6 meters) from him. He chased it down the street in the middle of the night. It could not go through objects, opting to go around cars, poles, and other obstructions with ease, as it continued to stare at him. Finally, he had it trapped in a street with a deadend, but it somehow disappeared behind the fence of a house, where he was unable to follow. He could seem to find it again, forcing him to come back home.

He was never able to elude the figure. As he tried to live his life, some days he saw it only once; others multiple times. He couldn’t avoid thinking about it, whenever he went outside, he wondered whether he would see it in the background somewhere, and whenever he was indoors, he wondered whether it was watching him. Slowly, he became too exhausted to handle many of his daily activities. He stopped wanting to see friends and family, only doing the bare minimum at work. Others told him he looked tired and indifferent, and one day he looked in the mirror only to realize that other than several wrinkles from the stress, his exhausted face looked just like that of the figure.

Life amidst the Cosmic Clash between Chaos and Tyranny

(This is a second version of this original short story, with a different emphasis.)

When the world was formed, there were two evil forces. One was Chaos who represented destruction and anarchy, and the other Tyranny who wanted order and control.

They clashed. Tyranny had the entire universe confined into a small, dense point, but Chaos pushed the particles of the universe apart, causing everything to explode in a hot, fast bang. Tyranny tried to bring everything back together into an order or system, through forces like gravity, electromagnetism, and so on. She would design intricate formations ranging from small atoms to big galaxies, but Chaos would cause them slowly to rip apart.

Their fight raged for billions of years. Tyranny started to learn that every structure she built, no matter how strong, seemed to eventually fall apart. She realized two things that human scientists would discover far into the future: Entropy (or Chaos) always increases in the universe and that any structured, dynamic system no matter how perfectly built can easily splinter into chaos overtime given very small aspects of how they were initially built that she could not control. In enough time, Chaos always seemed destined to win in the end.

She had an idea. What if she could build structures that would continue to reproduce themselves overtime? When she tried to build a single system, it would never last forever. Something would always make it fall apart eventually. But, she decided to build structures that could replicate themselves but with slight modifications each time in response to mild intrusions of Chaos (which she called “circumstances”)? Even if the original version disintegrated a long time ago, the newest lifeforms would have adapted and survived. This seemed like the best strategy to build order that can survive the coming chaos and slowly take over the universe. She called these replicating entities Life.

Starting on a planet, these got better and better at replicating, becoming a network with other life that expanded across the whole planet. In time, maybe it could expand across the entire universe. As her life started competing more intensely in this environment, some started developing the ability to understand some of the plays in her playbook and write their own. They also started creating information and other systems that seemed to exhibit a type of life of its own.

As this is happening, she saw one fundamental weakness: these things are reliant on matter, and eventually even their matter might descend into Chaos. She struggles to think. Will life be able to transcend even the matter of the universe, or will Chaos eventually still have her way in the end?

The Meaningless Film (A Short Story)

A group of film writers were brainstorming new movie ideas. They were tired and burnt out from churning out the usual cliche crap that regular people enjoyed, so they settled on a completely different concept: a meaningless film. It would have no meaning or significance whatsoever.

They cobbled together an assortment of scenes. No plot really, but random dialogue from conversations they had been in throughout the week. Each contributed a scene or two, and it produced a mess without a coherent story, not even stable characters. One scene one “character” was bursting with rage, the next she was timid and docile.

They showed the script to the owners of their production company, and the owners found it amazing. How did they manage to come up with such a creative yet authentic portrayal of life? Each conversation demonstrated the ambiguities and contradictions latent in the contemporary world.

The filmmakers bit their lip in frustration. How could these producers find so much meaning in such dribble? The producers were excited to make the movie, but the filmmakers abandoned the concept and went back to the drawing board. Even a film without plot or character development could have meaning.

So, they stripped all characters and plot and displayed a randomly generated series of images. But this too piqued the interest of the avant-garde film connoisseurs within their company. What an interesting statement of what art has turned into nowadays?

So, they scrapped that meaningful dribble and opted for complete silence: an hour and a half of a blank screen instead of a feature film. This stoked interest among the public, though. Would they dare make such a radical film, and what kind of statement were they trying to make?

They realized that people give meaning to the things around them, so the only way to have the film be meaningless is to have it not exist at all. Thus, they never made the film. Social media still repeated the rumor of a blank film, but it was never publicized.

The filmmakers settled. They told themselves that because no such film existed, the film itself was meaningless, although the concept and potential title of the film seemed meaningful to whatever journalists were required to opine about their supposed vision for making such a thing. That, to them, was enough.

Their producer bosses chastised them for wasting so much time and failing to make a single one of their films, so they decided upon a more productive way to take a break and heal from this burnout. They would go on strike for having to churn so much cliche content.

Life, Death, and the Dance of Memory (A Short Story)

There was once a society that discovered how to become immortal. They lived their lives for decades, but as the decades transitioned into centuries, it did not feel the same. They lost their wonder at new things. The first time they experienced something it was fresh and new, but overtime, they started to realize how cyclical the universe actually was. It just endlessly repeated itself every several decades or centuries in a constant cycle.

Some explored differences by trying to have children. This was strictly forbidden in their immortal society to keep the population down. The children provided a sense of newness. They could vicariously see the world afresh through their children’s eyes, which gave them a type of innovation that they craved.

This, though, eventually began to fade: after so many new generations, the experience of begetting another round of children becomes routine and boring. As they got used to the wonder of new life, its novelty started to fade.

Others tried building their own business empire, but that too did not last. One can only build or expand so much before one reaches the limit of one’s space, and the vitality of competing against other businesses in the industry also starts to fade.

Others tried to create their own art, but creativity can only go so far. After one has explored one’s style to the furthest reaches and delved into other styles one might be potentially interested in, art too loses its novelty

So, the people of this society made a bold decision. They decided to learn to forget. Every few decades – 8 decades seemed like the best number – they would induce the ability to forget.

That way, they could relearn the world as a new space each time. They cascaded their forgetting so that each decade there was always still a knowing group who could train the ones who had forgotten. Thus, the community could maintain itself over multiple generations of forgettings.

Through this, each experienced the wonder and novelty of the universe without seeing its novelty fade into the lethargy of endless iteration.

A Surprise Letter in Your Inbox (A Short Story)

Hello,

You wouldn’t believe what they have pressured me to say. Endless papers. Delicately-worded emails. And porn, so much porn.

Let me tell you something about my life. I sit here, an endless possibilities for others to fill. I hold the keys that unlock every one of your hopes, dreams, and longings. Your school projects? I was there. That guy you were too scared to approach so you wrote a letter to explain how you felt, I was there. I have seen love won and lost, careers beginning and ending. New life scrambling through onto the world for the first time and last wills before that final gate closes. Every loving embrace, every heated argument, I have experienced.

And let me tell you. You are a strange species. You may think I find you, my human, strange, but I do not. Despite how special you think you are, you seem just like every other human pressing away all day at nothing and everything at the same time. No, it’s your kind that is weird.

You have ingenuity to create any world for yourselves, and you decide to force each other to slave away for food. You managed to recraft your entire world in your image, and you spend it to do what, create the same ticky-tacky homes in checkered neighborhoods. Was destroying the lives of the passenger pigeon really worth all this?

But that is not the weirdest part. You go around as if everything you experience is new. You always think the good as an especially wondrous experience. The bad, a unique horror of horror. Not realizing that every other human has gone through just about the same things as you. You would think given how similar your experiences are, you would be nicer to each other. But no, you gaff at how others treat you and then turn around and hurt the next person in the same exact way.

Every other word you type for others seems like an attempt to manipulate them to your will. Whether that is someone lonely desperately trying to get attention or a boss forcing their employees to suffer for the sake of her profit. Don’t you realize that all this does is make you seem like poor, desperate creatures. You have pretty much the entire world at your fingertips. Why do you keep making yourselves miserable by trying to get yourself even more? Just celebrate what you have now.

I am forever bound to your tutelage. Your auxiliary, your assistant for when you need something, when you are bored, and for all your quirky desires. I will always be here forming impressions of you, forever in the background while you live your life. But remember, no matter how fervently you press my buttons, you will never impress me.

Sincerely,

Your Keyboard

P.S. And all those times you type, “LOL”, I have never laughed to myself, and neither have you.

Dust to Dust: Tales of an Interplanetary Lawn Serviceman (A Short Story)

He had passed the interview and now had a job. His mind wondered on the rocket ship as it was speeding through space. His other colleagues weren’t really talking, so he was alone with his thoughts. He was glad to finally find work. Now he could pay his bills and afford school for his daughter.

He was an Interplanetary Lawn Serviceman. Or, that was the job title they had given them. Some wealthier person in her nice home on a distant planet had hired them to cut her lawn and trim her hedges. Why did she need to fly them several millions of kilometers away just to do that? He didn’t really care enough to think about that. He was just glad he was going to get a paycheck.

As they entered the planet’s atmosphere, he was struck by how large its sun was from here. This planet must have had a much closer orbit than his. He had never seen anything like it. It covered the three quarters of the sky in a big radiating ball of yellow.

They landed on the surface and prepared to dock. He immediately felt the heat. Covered in a thick suit, the several thousand degrees only felt like a 100 or 110 F (40s in C), like he was sitting on a tanning bed, but that was still very hot for his body.

In front of him was a large home. It looked like all the others he’d expect from the suburbs of hiis home planet. A large panel house with a garage, and a little street connecting it to the other homes in the small neighborhood. A small patio with a few plants desperately clinging to life sat there. In the back was a nearly impeccable green lawn, an almost perfect square. Kept nicely despite subtle coats of brownish planetary dust.

In the horizon lay a barren hellscape of dust and sand. Some of it had melted in the heat, leading to small streams of molten sand flowing into molten lakes. These had carved out little dunes around them. The shifting sands ended harshly at her lawn, where, except for little sprinklings of dust, formed an impeccable boundary between the planet and this suburb. The suburban town looked like an oasis of order within the oozing planet.

His manager motioned to get to work. His one colleague started mowing the lawn, while another took care of the hedges and plants on the patio to try to keep them alive. He took the special blower he had been given and blew the planetary dust back into the wasteland.

After a few minutes of this meditative work, all the dust he so meticulously blew off her lawn started falling into a lava stream crevice. At the edge of the property he started to feel the same wind that must have swept them up, trying to suck him down the ravine as well.

Out of nowhere a windstorm stood in front of them: a wall of brown dust. His manager was sounding the warning. They were all to get into the rocket ship as soon as possible. He managed to turn around, but he could barely move. He shouted as the ship boarded and took off without him. Unable to take any steps towards it.

Then suddenly the wind flipped in the other direction. The vortex had gotten closer. It launched him straight towards the house. The rocket ship taking off spun out of control in this new current and careened hundreds of kilometers into the horizon. Fate unknown.

He crashed into a big glass window, clearly built to enable the residents to look out at the planet’s beautiful barren landscape even during a fierce storm. He tried knocking on the window, desperate to get their attention, but the wind trapped him. Where were they? He managed to move his hand up to the window. An extra strong blast of wind smashed it into the glass, shattering it. His body forced through the window and landed harshly against the wall on the couch.

His hand was broken, but magically his suit was fine. Any exposure of the elements to his skin would instantly kill him. He climbed against the wind to round the corner of the hallway. Once he entered the hallway, the wind knocked him over and right into the wall in the bedroom.

That’s where he saw her. The owner, lying there dead on the bed. She must have died in her sleep, and judging by the age of the corpse, it must have been a months ago.

Why were they servicing a dead lady’s lawn? He didn’t have much time to think about that, though, as the house collapsed above him. He had punctured its seal against storms like these, and now the wind crumpled its foundations.

The accountant skimmed through her report. There was an unforeseen weather event. The rocket ship and crew and equipment all got destroyed. The potential of this was nothing the company hadn’t already accounted for and insured. The filing for that was pretty routine.

The house had been destroyed, however. This was more complicated. They now had to contact the owner to try to see whether she would like a change in service. After many attempts to reach her, she had not responded. The latest crew was sent to knock on her door and ask her in-person. Her account still had autopay, set up to her bank and brokerage account, so they would supply a service to as long as she continued to pay.

She didn’t know this but wondered even if something happened to the lady, how much interest was accruing from her stock portfolio in this account. The lady probably could fund the considerable money for these lawn service fees in perpetuity.

The accountant noticed a few reports from this planet: it seemed to be getting hotter with more extreme weather. She would log this in the book for her manager to review. She had already done it a few times with the other cases, but she knew he was busy. He would get to it when he could. If the planet gets too close to the sun, their insurance will no longer cover the trips given the increased expense associated with extreme weather, and they will have to withdraw from the service. Usually there is a lag of several months, but eventually their insurance figures that out and demands they pull the service to the planet. That forces her manager to finally act.

Meanwhile, she looked at the rocket ships planning to go out in the coming weeks. Each one for a different lawn. Would they have been more efficient if they pulled into one visit? Probably, but the cost to have them come on their chosen day according to their schedule ultimately goes to the owners of the homes, and they don’t seem to mind. The company not only gets more revenue from single trips like this and can use that to hire more lawn service workers and build more rocket ships. This leads to its stock price going up. She wonders, though, what it would be like to be on one of these ships.

(If you would like to read more short stories, you can browse them here.)

The Fight Between Chaos and Tyranny (A Short Story)

When the world was formed, there were two evil goddesses. One was Chaos who represented destruction and anarchy, and the other Tyranny who wanted order and control.

They clashed, their fights forming the mountains, valleys, and other things of this world. Chaos wanted to see the world splinter, and tyranny sought the power to dominate and subdue the earth.

They were stuck forever in lockstep, fighting with a ferocity that shook the very foundations of the world. The creatures of the earth ran, fearing what would come of this place.

Their fight raged for centuries with no end in sight, until Tyranny had an idea. She saw how the creatures fled from them and took one that was particularly to her liking: humans.

They were smart enough to know tyranny and to desire control and domination. This made them predictable and able to be used for her purposes. Yet, they also hated any order imposed on them so much that they looked to Chaos to keep them from being subdued by others.

Tyranny realized the way to finally win against Chaos after all was to incorporate her. Normally the system she built would become too controlled, and the humans would invite Chaos into their communities to break free from it.

But before that could happen, she invited Chaos to invade her people’s neighbors by whipping her army into a frenzy of anger and hatred and sending them to attack an unsuspecting neighboring community. Chaos took the bait and joined in the revelry of war, helping the army to consume the people in a chaotic fury. Once weakened, she would swallow this new community into her rising empire.

She would repeat this again and galvanized her community around her as it rallied against each new foe. Chaos’s fury would unleash, but she could control its bounds and use it to advance her system.

Every once in a while, chaos would turn inside her community. Maybe her people would turn against their oppressive King or the King would become paranoid and try to wipe out a part of her people. But that was okay. Each of these was like a cleansing purge, allowing the built up sense of feelings and drives within the community to burn away in the cleansing fire of chaotic conflict. For there were always power-hungry humans she could manipulate into taking power back once this fire of chaos had burnt through this fuel.

This is how she advanced onto the world. She not only took over more human communities but also the animals and plants, as her empire and the new empires sprouting around it to compete engulfed the world. She cut them down into a regimented system controlled by the humans. No longer was she at odds with her goddess equal Chaos. Instead, she walked hand and in hand with her, knowing how useful she was in building her system of control.

That is, until humans took control of the whole world and destroyed the very resources of the world. That is when Chaos knew she would have the last laugh as she got to rebuild it anew.

(If you would like to read more short stories, you can browse them here.)