Joseph C. Gioconda along with Grace Elizabeth, Amy Yun Yu, Isabel RincĂłn, Petar Vrbich, and others delves into the dark, brutal world of death and mystery in his grim latest, a collection of short stories.
The authors tap into the characters' minds, bringing out their deepest emotions of shock, insecurities, fear, and rage. Longing, uncertainty, and disquiet all play a role. "Bedroom" is an unsettling story of a young boy's encounters with dead souls. Heartbreaking and devastating, "Lured," narrates the tale of an unfortunate young family. With its diverse range of stories, including many chillers and a few dark human dramas, this page-turner will equally please the readers of dark fiction and horror aficionados.
Joseph C. Gioconda along with Grace Elizabeth, Amy Yun Yu, Isabel RincĂłn, Petar Vrbich, and others delves into the dark, brutal world of death and mystery in his grim latest, a collection of short stories.
The authors tap into the characters' minds, bringing out their deepest emotions of shock, insecurities, fear, and rage. Longing, uncertainty, and disquiet all play a role. "Bedroom" is an unsettling story of a young boy's encounters with dead souls. Heartbreaking and devastating, "Lured," narrates the tale of an unfortunate young family. With its diverse range of stories, including many chillers and a few dark human dramas, this page-turner will equally please the readers of dark fiction and horror aficionados.
I died that Monday. Well, not exactly. It turns out we canât die. We just switch into a different, parallel timeline and continue living, although that alternative universe might be a little different. Itâs called quantum immortality.
Let me try to explain.
It was a humid summer morning, July 15, 2013, to be exact. I had recently bought a fire red 2002 convertible Thunderbird, so I was excited to drive it with the canvas top down and the music up, even though it was only 8:15 a.m. I kept my old beat-up Jeep and would put the convertible in the garage during the rough winters in the Midwest.
It had rained and been crappy all weekend, so I had used the Jeep, but the temperature this morning had already hit eighty degrees. It was going to be a nice hot day, even if I had to spend most of it indoors at my office. I backed the convertible out of the garage and down my driveway.
I was on my way to work, where I was an engineer of sorts. I tediously fixed the machines that made medicinal tablets at a medium-size pharmaceutical company called Concourse Pharmaceuticals, located about twelve miles from my home.  While others might find it boring, I loved my job; it was fun, stable with great benefits, and the pay wasnât too bad. I also worked with some awesome people like my boss Harry and my friend Jack. Jack was a single guy and a riot. As a married man, I loved hearing the stories of his weekend exploits.
My wife Nancy was not thrilled with my latest car purchase or my job. Weâd been having some tough times in our marriage. Most couples fight about money. Others argue about sex or the kids. We argued about politics.
Nancy was a feminist flamethrower who had graduated from Berkeley and went to work at several non-profits after college. She believed the public interest mattered most. I, on the other hand, had been raised as a conservative Republican, just like my brother Glenn and sister Maggie. Thanksgiving dinners would always involve a big family fight, as Maggie and my wife would rail against each other about feminist politics. Glenn and I would laugh and watch them go at it; it was great fun, even if our collective blood pressure would go up during the arguments. I never thought when I married her that Nancy and my family and I would be going at each otherâs throats about politics so much, but there we were. At least until that Monday.
I turned the round knob on the radio to blast a new song that I liked. I approached the intersection and got ready to take a left-hand turn. This was a notoriously dangerous spot on any given day, and there had been many accidents there. I took this same route daily: sun, rain, or snow. I had always thought it was hard to see if the intersection was clear from the right. The left turn was particularly hazardous, and trucks often barreled through it. I had a few close calls with them over the years.
That Monday, I was running a little late as I toyed with the radio. I had an important meeting at nine with Harry that weâd been planning for carefully over several weeks, and a stupid delay getting showered and dressed at the last minute put all that in jeopardy.
Consequently, I approached the intersection distracted and in a hurry. I rolled through the stop sign a little too far and quickly glanced to the right. I believed that I saw nothing was approaching, so I made the left turn as usual. As I crossed the intersection, I glanced right once more, and this time, I saw an eighteen-wheeler heading straight for me at what could only have been seventy miles per hour. We saw each other. I saw the look in the truck driverâs eyes because we really were that close for an instant. He grimaced and braked hard. But he knew what was happening next. A deadly collision was inevitable. There was no way on this earth that it could have been avoided at that speed. We both braced for the fatal impact.
The rest of the drive to my office was too fuzzy to remember. I distinctly remember that the song I was listening to wasnât playing any longer, even though I knew it had just started.
Another odd thing was that I was no longer in my convertible. I was sitting in my Jeep. But I had no recollection of going back home and switching cars. Could I have gotten a concussion from an accident and ended up driving home, getting my Jeep, and going to work?  Maybe, but I had no recollection of doing that, and where was my convertible?
When I pulled up to work, I was sweating. Not just from the heat and humidity but from stress. And something else was oddâmy assigned parking spot at work, which had my favorite number painted in yellow on the ground (#49), was gone. There were no numbered spots at all.
And how could they paint the parking lot over the weekend and cover up all the numbers? There didnât seem to be paint over the numbers on the ground; it was like the numbers were never there. I reminded myself to ask the staff when I could have my lucky spot number re-painted. Â
I walked inside my office atrium to sign in and show my identification card. The sign said âTechbiotics.â I didnât recognize the receptionist. I pulled out my wallet to show my card to her, and it said âTechbioticsâ on it. Impossible. Just then, Jack walked out of the doorway. Â
âHey, man, did you drive the convertible to work today?â
âUm, yeah,â I stammered. âWell, no. I thought I did. I drove the Jeep. Iâm a little confused. Jack, whatâs with the company name?â
âWhat about it?â
âWell, what happened to Concourse?â
âWhat?â he asked, bemused. âWhat the hell is Concourse?â
âUh, just where we worked for the last two years, moron,â I said.
Jack laughed, âAre you day drinking? Donât tell Sandy or Mike; youâll get canned.â
âSandy? Mike?â I asked, becoming even more confused. âWho are they?â
âSandy, the CEO? Mike, your boss?â Jack was starting to look at me strangely. âCome on; you clearly need some stronger coffee than usual.â
âI canât,â I said. âI donât have time. I have a meeting at 9 with Harry.â
âWhoâs Harry?â
âUm, my boss?â I said.
âYou mean Mike?â
âWait, Harry got canned? Thatâs not possible; he e-mailed me just this weekend to confirm. LookâŚâ  I pulled out my iPhone and scrolled through my e-mails. âWait, I must have deleted it. Look, I donât know whatâs going on, but maybe I do need some coffee before this meeting, pronto.â
We quickly walked over to the Starbucks coffee shop next door. I ordered my usual double espresso.
âHitting the caffeine hard today, my man? Good move,â Jack commented. âWhatâs going on with you? Are you ok?â
âDude, I get super strong coffee every morning; what are you talking about?â Â
Jack just shrugged. âI thought you only drank decaf.â
The remainder of my morning was relatively uneventful, except that all my stationery and computers now said âTechbioticsâ instead of âConcourse.â I couldnât figure out for the life of me how they could have possibly changed out all the materials over the weekend. My new boss âMikeâ never showed up to the meeting, and neither did Harry. Harryâs office was totally empty, his name tag missing from the desk and door. They must have fired him in a hurry because it was a clutter of files and folders on Friday. Even his Ficus tree was gone.
My mind kept wandering back to the non-accident that morning. Could I have hit my head somehow and gotten a concussion or amnesia or something? I intended to see a doctor if I continued to feel this weird. Something was seriously wrong. I felt fundamentally different.
When I walked in the front door to my house that afternoon, everything was just⌠off. First, Nancy was dressed in a sexy outfit. She came over and kissed me full on the lips.
âHowâs my hubby doing today? Why didnât you take the convertible to work? Itâs still in the garage with the car cover on it. God, I love that thing. Iâm jealous on days like today.â
But my wife hated that car. Yet, she didnât sound like she was being her usual sarcastic self about it.
âNo, I thought I did, but I guess I took the Jeep. I had to find a new parking spot at work. Whatâs going on?â
âNothing, I was just watching that awful Obama on the news.â
âWhat?â I laughed, âObama? Like your favorite guy?â
She looked at me, âFavorite? God, he is so awful.â
I was baffled and figured she must be joking.
âNancy, I had something really strange happen today. Remember how my company was called Concourse?â I asked her.
âUm, no. When was that? Youâve worked at Techbiotics for years now. You hate it, remember?â
âNo, I donât. I love Concourse. What the hell are you talking about?â
Nancy gazed at me quizzically. âLook!âÂ
She handed me a framed photograph of me and my co-workers skydiving at a company retreat. Sure enough, we were holding a banner that said âTechbiotics Rocks!â
âYou always told me that you hated it, but I supported you staying there.â
I sat down abruptly. âNancy,â I said, âI am really confused. I have a very strange story to tell you.â
She sat down, looking concerned and nervous. âDid you get fired?â
âNo,â I said. I proceeded to tell her about the near truck accident and my missing memories and confusing day.Â
She was concerned and put her hand on my arm. âSweety, thatâs awful; Iâm just glad you are ok.â
âBut Iâm not ok,â I said. âEverything is wrong.â
âThat happens sometimes, especially with heat stroke; maybe youâre just dehydrated,â she said, abruptly changing the subject. âBy the way, are you inviting your brother Glenn to the summer house in August?â
âYeah, I was going to,â I said.
âGreat, we always have such a great time,â she said.
âAre you being sarcastic?â
âNo, why?â she asked.
âNever mind,â I said. âIâll probably invite Maggie too, as long as you donât get into another big argument with her like last Thanksgiving.â
âMaggie?â Nancy asked, confused.
âUm, my sister?â I laughed.
âYour sister?â Nancy stared at me.
âYes, my sister Maggie,â I emphasized.
Nancy became silent for a moment.Â
âHoney, you know your sister died when you were twelve.â
Fleeting Chills by Joseph C. Gioconda is a spellbinding anthology of creepy, twisted, and often surprise-ending tales which will leave you wondering if you should re-examine relationships with the people you know, the places you visit, and the thoughts that you think.Â
Gioconda has put together an anthology of tales that range from murderous plots to contorted ghost stories with a touch of reality leaving you to question if each one is a true story, or close to one. Difficult to talk about any of the tales independently, for fear of spoiling the endings, each tale begins with a somewhat realistic or slightly conventional beginning. Many of the tales are constructed in a contemporary perspective, which lends to its plausibility. There is Jack who believes he died and has come back to find an altered life, a bone collector who acquires an original find, and a suicidal psychopath who is just âfollowing doctorâs ordersâ. Also included are tales of twisted families; leaving loved ones sleeping alone in morgues, stories of spirits who come calling, and anecdotes of harrowing relationships that just donât work.Â
I give this anthology four out of five stars for its ability to keep me absorbed in the irrational and often bizarre stories. Each tale is quite unique and seems to be written in such a way that the twisted endings are a true surprise. The first four or five stories are the most twisted which led to a slight amount of disappointment in some of the other tales, as the madness and absurdity was of a lesser extent than the beginning of the anthology. As a reader who enjoys the bizarre, I was looking for the intensity to increase rather than decrease. Regardless of order, this is a must read for those who love a twisted plot, some irrational characters, and completely insane endings to tales that seem realistic and quite commonplace. Being an anthology was a plus as each story could be read in a short amount of time without having to have any break in plotlines.