Anja

 A short story by Mary, M. Isaacs

   It was 3:15, Thursday afternoon.

   Franklin Pearce answered his ringing cell phone. The voice that greeted him was his wife’s, strained and agitated.

   “Frank, please come home! Something terrible…Anja’s having another of her attacks…get Dr. Hall, Frank, hurry!”

   “I’ll be right there.” Pearce ended the call and looked up an all-too-familiar contact, fuming at the few seconds’ delay. When Hall answered, his casual greeting only irritated Pearce, who was a bit brusque in consequence.

   “Hall, it’s happened again. Meet me at our home as fast as you can.” Slipping the phone into his pocket, he rushed out of his office.

   Matthew Hall frowned in consternation at the phone in his hand. Then, while pulling on his coat, he hastily called a taxi and scribbled a note to his wife. Within minutes, he was on his way the short distance to the Pearce apartment. He glanced at his watch; it was 3:30...

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Mary M. Isaacs

copyright 2025

(from a forthcoming book)

Corpus Christi

 

A short story by Mary M. Isaacs 

   It was another locked and deserted church. The young man walked up to the chain link fence and gripped the wire with his fingers. He looked up, gauging the height of the fence. Yes, he could probably climb over it fairly easily, but a heavy padlock on the double doors beyond showed how useless that effort would be. The dry leaves, dirt, and litter on the steps suggested that no one had attempted to get in for some time. There were faded shadows of graffiti, which had been scrubbed as clean as possible, but the doors and walls were forever scarred. 

   He wondered what it looked like inside. The windows had been broken and were now boarded up, but had the sanctity of the building been breached? Would the inside be destroyed too, vandalized like the outside? He hoped not but feared so. 

   He let go of the fence and dropped his arms. This was the third abandoned church he had seen that day—fourth, if you counted the burnt-out shell of a building he’d seen that morning. He couldn’t be certain that it had been a church, but there had been several clues… He felt sick at heart. 

   As he stood there, he had a vivid memory of going to church as a very young child...

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 Mary M. Isaacs 

- copyright, 2020 

"Corpus Christi" is a part of the collection of stories in The White Bird, featured on the sidebar