"Just Passing Through" - June 26, 2025
A mysterious visitor passing through a small town has a secret but doesn't realize the town also has its own secrets...
Every Thursday, Silver Gecko Publishing highlights one of my stories, either a work of short fiction, a novel, or an audiobook. This week’s selection is the short story “Just Passing Through,” from the anthology 13 MORE TURNS, available on Kindle, on audiobook, and in paperback.
As has been the case with some of my previous stories, I don’t want to say too much lest I spoil the story. And even in my Notes at the end of 13 MORE TURNS, where this is collected, I didn’t even say much…
One of my influences as a writer is Stephen King, and I can think of at least a couple of his stories that follow a similar trajectory as this one. It also has a flavor of The Twilight Zone revival from the 1980s. It’s a pretty standard gotcha story. I’m not proud of milking the “gotcha” moment, but I do think it’s a fun little short story nonetheless.
King often featured stories about a stranger coming to town. That’s the crux of his book NEEDFUL THINGS, but he also wrote a clever through not terribly entertaining story “You Know They Got a Hell of a Band,” featuring similar elements.
Now that I think of it, I’m not sure if this sparks a reminder of THE TWILIGHT ZONE revival from the mid-80s. It could have been from the ALFRED HITCHCOCK PRESENTS revival around the same time, or even from Showtime’s mostly-dreadful-but-sometimes-excellent revival of THE OUTER LIMITS from the 90s.
I remember a story featuring the Devil visiting a small town, only he wore a white suit rather than the standard black or red attire. This was the tone I was aiming for with this story.
Fortunately for you all, “Just Passing Through” is less than 1500 words, so I present it here uncut. Enjoy another week of a complete story from my archives.
-Kevin Carr
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Illustration by emiliani08grullon (@emiliani08grullon) from Pixabay
Just Passing Through by Kevin Carr
Routine, Hunter thought as he strolled leisurely down the shoulder of State Route 83. This town reeks of routine. What better place to start?
He had been walking for days and was famished. Weeks had passed since the last routine town had fallen victim to his hunger, and after such a long wait, his craving for another was almost unbearable. Just seeing the buildings through the gray mist of the mountains, framed within a section of Douglas fir trees, caused his stomach to call out to him.
These towns were always his prey. They were all but invisible from the road and on the map. Routine was their motto, and boredom was the result. But unlike the bloodthirsty populace of the city, the bored did not long for excitement. Any interruption in the routine caused them to cringe.
Consequently, if any interruption in the routine could be covered up or glossed over, the town would do it for their own sanity. They would do their best to hide the terrible tragedies. And as the towns turned their sight – and guilt – inward, they were less likely to see Hunter bare his teeth more and more.
All the better to eat you with, my dear, Hunter thought with a toothy grin spreading across his human mask.
Soon, he passed a large, green sign announcing, “YOU ARE NOW ENTERING VALLEY GROVE, POPULATION 1209. WE TAKE IT AT A LEISURELY PACE.”
If he’d had a bib, he would have put it on.
• • •
Hunter entered a small diner just inside the town limits and ordered a cup of coffee.
Just a matter of time, he thought.
He sipped his coffee.
Forty-seven seconds later, a voice spoke over his shoulder:
“Welcome to Valley Grove, friend.”
Hunter looked up to see an elderly gentleman in a sheriff’s uniform. The gentleman had a friendly face that had been chiseled from an incessant life of routine. His shave was close, and his hair was well-kept. He was a product of many a morning of repetition.
“I am pleased with your hospitality,” Hunter said. “I’m just passing through.”
“Good to hear,” the man said. “My name is Sheriff Campbell. I couldn’t help noticing that you are new in town.”
“As I said, just passing through.”
The sheriff nodded and lowered himself into a stool next to Hunter.
“I hope that is the case, friend.” A trace of rigidness hid beneath the friendly smile. “We don’t get many new faces here. People like it that way. And if a new face does come into town, just passing through, as you say, we like to make sure that our travelers continue to pass on through.”
The sheriff smiled. Hunter had seen this all before. Sometimes it was as subtle as Sheriff Campbell’s, but other times, it was blunt and demanding. The friendly warning was given. There was no room at the inn.
“I understand,” Hunter said.
“I want to be sure that you do. People in Valley Grove have a schedule to keep. Anything to throw them off is unappreciated. I hope that you like our little town, and I expect that you leave only footprints.”
The sheriff then nodded and stood. He set a five dollar bill on the counter and spoke to the waitress: “Midge, this should take care of our friend’s breakfast, plus tip. He shouldn’t have to wait around for much else.”
Then the sheriff left.
Hunter smiled. Whenever he received a speech like that, he knew the feast would be plentiful.
• • •
After the sheriff had left, Hunter had slipped an extra dollar under the cash on the counter and left with the coffee still warm in his stomach. He exited the diner and headed into the town, ignoring the sheriff’s demanding, yet friendly, warning. The temptation was just too great. The fear would be so powerful!
About a block down the road, Hunter saw a young woman in a bathrobe fetching the mail from a mailbox on her porch. Even from the distance, Hunter could feel her innocence. She would provide delicious terror!
Hunter waited for thirty seconds after she left the porch and returned to her home. Then, he boldly strolled up the front steps and walked deliberately inside.
The woman, who had been standing by the coffee table and flipping through a grocery circular, spun around and gasped, her eyes wide as quarters.
“Who are you?” she wheezed.
Ahhhhh, Hunter sighed. The fear was brewing!
“Who are you?” she repeated, dropping mail and backing away.
Hunter decided not to speak. In the past, he had learned that silence was the best synergist to fear. Speaking broke the emotional buzz. He approached the woman and flashed as insane a grin as he could muster.
She screamed and darted into the hallway. Hunter followed to find her all-too-obvious hiding place. The woman had hidden in the bathroom. Hunter reached for the doorknob, and found it locked.
No problem, he thought, using his boiling strength to yank the door completely off its hinges with an eruption of wood splinters and fragments. Sitting in the bathtub, curled up in the shower curtain, the woman wailed.
“Yes,” Hunter hissed. “Fear me!” He breathed deeply, feeling the delicious emotions dripping from his prey. “Fear me! Feed me!”
It was as if they were connected by a thread of fear – a stream of nourishment like an umbilical cord greedily devoured by Hunter.
The woman screamed again and stood up in the tub. She dashed towards her assailant in an attempt to run free, but Hunter was faster. He struck her with a fierce backhand, sending her sprawling back into the tub, her face striking the faucet.
Hunter took a step closer, drinking in the fruits of the woman’s terror.
The woman looked up. A large flap of skin that had been loosened by the faucet hung from her cheek. But, strangely, no blood coated her flesh. Hunter noticed this and stopped his advance.
The huddled figure in the tub let out a breathy, “Ahhhhhhhh,”
Hunter looked into the woman’s eyes. They were no longer laced with horror.
The delicious river of terror had stopped flowing!
The abrupt end of his food flow shocked him and sent him toppling to the floor. He was cut off, as if the umbilicus had been severed. But, even as Hunter marveled at his loss of nourishment, he felt the stream start up again. But this time, it was traveling in the opposite direction – from Hunter to the woman!
Hunter looked up to the woman in the tub. She smiled, her lips spreading outward and curling up towards her ears in a freakish display. The bloodless flap of flesh still hung from her face.
Then, she began to change!
Her jaw widened, housing rows of ever-sharpening teeth. The once blue eyes blackened and grew to pools of oil. The flesh of her face folded and warped, pulling back the lips from her terrible maw. Now, his fear was jetting from his soul, draining him of his life.
He had to escape!
Hunter ran when he saw the thing leap.
After crashing through the house, he threw open the front door. There stood Sheriff Campbell, backed up by a sea of people.
“My warning always provides the best incentive to stay,” the sheriff said.
“What?” Hunter gasped, feeling tiny tendrils of fear stretch from him and start feeding the crowd, each one pulling and sucking like starved piglets at the teat.
“We can sense your kind when you come near,” Campbell said.
Then it all became too clear to Hunter. Fear from his kind is richer, more plentiful. These cannibalistic monsters knew that nothing was harder to resist than a town of routine where the inhabitants would display the most terror when attacked? They see their own kind coming, and they lure them in. Then, they can feed in peace.
Hunter shivered in the warm sun.
The sheriff licked his expanding lips.
Hunter had only begun to scream when the fangs sank into his tender flesh.
THE END
Thanks for another fun short.