A Concrete Tomb

As requested by a follower.

I wrote a short story about my Hometown, Port Macquarie NSW Australia.

I thought I would write out of my comfort zone, completely out of my zone.

A thriller short-story.

Please leave feedback, it is a little bit long but it should only take a couple of minutes to read.

Thank you and enjoy ✌️😃


The orange glow beamed through the lounge room’s window and onto Ethan’s face. He became conscious, his mouth was dry and his vision was distorted. It cleared and he saw both his parents’ corpses piled on one another, lying in a pool of dried blood on the cream-coloured carpet.

‘What have I done?’ said Ethan.

The heat rose off the tarred road, the special Port Macquarie stench was so familiar to all who were unable to get out of town for summer and so familiar to the tourists that flock here for the 1999 summer break.

The insufferable stench from the wharf wafted in the summer breeze. Disgust gleamed from Ethan’s refined face as he observed the world surrounding him. He had dark beautiful eyes, a lanky body, and long dark-brown hair. He walked along the cobblestone path and deep in thought. From time to time it was just thoughts of hypothetical situations; running away from home, or retaliating against his parents. The high school dropout was not dressed his best. A long dark coat hung like a rag from the dumpster, black underclothes and skinny black jeans. However, in this part of town, near the Causeway Bridge, he stood out. As he plodded along, a black Mitsubishi Spyder 1995 model convertible pulled up next to him.

‘Ethan,’ the drunken man slurred.

Ethan stopped and looked to see his drunk Father in the passenger seat with an unfamiliar lady driving the car. The woman was beautiful, several years younger than his dad, wearing a tight red dress, breasts bulging out and bright red lipstick – she looked like Jessica Rabbit.

His Father was in a business suit, with a white shirt, unbuttoned the whole way down. A thick dark moustache, short black hair and tinted aviator sunglasses completed the look of an arrogant, and abusive Father.

‘Why are you wearing that cape on a hot day? Your not from The Matrix,’ he slurred.

‘Is that why you pulled over? To make fun of me?’ Ethan snapped back.

‘Don’t talk back you little shit. Lets go Silvia, before I’ll have to knock some more sense into him.’

‘Your time will come,’ Ethan said under his breath.

‘Okay honey,’ Silvia smirked at the young man, and then screeched off over the bridge.

Ethan continued to trudge along, following the Spyder’s path as he watched the out-going tide underneath the bridge. He thought how easy it would be to fall into the river with no one noticing he was gone. His old teachers, girlfriend or friends; they would not noticed but, it was only a thought. Cars rushed passed, each driver racing towards the place they need to be but Ethan wasn’t, he had somewhere to go but time didn’t concern him.

By the time the sun reach its highest point at the hottest part of the day, Ethan arrived on the corner of Gore Street and Bridgeway Road. Gore Street headed westwards away from the river. It never won the ‘street of the week’ title, it was full of broken families, broken windows and Centrelink payments.

The more the street stretched into the distance, the worse the houses deteriorated. Broken bicycles and tricycles laid amongst the unshaved lawns, and young children ran around squirting hoses at each other, with the apparent pregnant mother yelling at them from the front door.

The house Ethan had been heading to was the last house of the cul-de-sac, next to the barking mother. He made his way up the street; looking into the window of each house he crept past to see if there was any sign of life but nothing. It was a ghost town, with only laughing children in the distance.

Ethan felt like he was in an old western movie, the outlaw, his trench coat flapping with the dry breeze, walking down the line looking for the sheriff, and tumbleweed bouncing behind him. As he made his way closer the echoing laughs of the children grew louder, and so did the barking mother.

‘Stop wasting the water! Taylor! Brett! Don’t make me chase after you.’

The boys stopped and stared at Ethan as he made his way closer to them. They both studied him from head to toe, ‘Why you wearin’ that? It’s fuckin’ hot,’ said the boy holding the hose. ‘Taylor!’ the mother screeched, ‘That’s it, I warned you about swearing. I’m a grabbin’ the soap to wash that dirty mouth of yours!’ she rushed inside, Taylor dropped the hose and both the boys ran past Ethan down the street, laughing.

Ethan continued to the sheriff’s house ‘Next-Door is number 24’ he murmured. Just like the other houses, the front path ran to three cracked concrete steps, spotted green paint flaking off the wooden frame around the fly screen door; a lime-green plastic chair and an open pineapple tin can full of cigarette butts. The house was a creamy fibro house, two barred windows at the front lounge room and a bedroom – with a black tiled roof. All the houses on Gore Street were government funded and all had the same floor plan and boring colours.

The fly screen flung open and out came his drug dealer. He had a half-shaved head with a light brown mullet falling onto his shoulders. Wearing no shirt, his Southern Cross tattoo, on his right man boob, shone with the sun’s glimmer. His green and gold footy shorts sat mid-thigh, showing off his white boney legs that stood on his Australian Haviannas.

‘Why are you wearin’ that? He asked.

‘Does everyone have to ask me that? It’s getting pretty damn annoying,’ Ethan replied.

‘Alright, alright. I’ll give ya, ya stuff. do you have the coin?’  The drug-dealer continued the transaction.

‘Yeah I do Sunny,’ Ethan answered.

Sunny was his drug dealers name; no one knew his real name, not that it mattered. He invited Ethan into the dark realm of the unknown, he hadn’t been to his new house. Sunny used to live over near the TAFE, another government funded district, but his neighbours grew suspicious of all the different people visiting. It was only a matter of time before it happened to his new house.

They both sat on the lounge across from each other with the coffee table in-between them. The lounge room was covered in brown wallpaper, thick brown carpet and a cream ceiling with cracked paint in the corners. The sun gleamed through the iron bars, and the shadows stretched across the fire pit in the corner of the room.

‘How’s the family?’ Sunny asked.

‘Shit, I’d be better off without ‘em,’ Ethan replied.

‘What do ya mean?’

‘I mean, I want to get as far away as them as possible.’ Ethan answered, getting frustrated with the conversations topic.

‘Oh okay, why don’t you just move out then?’

‘I cant afford it. I’ll work it out.’ Ethan snapped.

‘Okay, okay. Cool your jets.’ Sunny said, ‘In the meantime I have this new stuff,’

‘What is it?’

‘I mixed it up myself, a mate tried it the other day and he loved it. It’s your usual, meth, but it’s mixed with LSD, what do ya rekon?’ Sunny asked.

Ethan thought about it for a moment, ‘I think I’ll pass, thanks anyway,’ he replied, ‘I’ll just get the meth on its own pleas–’

‘Man, that shit’s out-dated,’ Sunny interrupted. ‘This is revolutionary, it will change the whole game.’ He pulled out his briefcase from underneath the lounge.

‘I’ll charge you the same. See if you like it. How’s that sound?’ Sunny asked.

‘Same price?’

‘Yeah,’ he answered.

‘Okay, I’ll give it a crack’ Ethan accepted.

‘You wont regret it, you’ll love it,’ Sunny packed him a standard-sized bag, ‘let me know how it goes, you know, for future customers.’

‘Of course I will,’ he replied.


Ethan arrived home, after making the afternoon journey from the Centrelink District to Lighthouse Beach. It was now dark, and so was the house – no one was home. ‘Perfect’ he muttered. He unlocked the front door and entered, the house was soulless. A concrete tomb filled with materialistic items that had no importance or use for him.

The dark hallway ran straight to the fluorescent white kitchen and carpeted stairs. He didn’t bother turning the lights on, it was clear enough from the reflection of the street lights on the tiles and white painted walls. To his left was the lounge room: cream carpet, white leather lounges and an enormous television; his friends would love it, if he had any – and the dining room to the right. The layout reminded him of a affluent imitation of the Simpsons house.

Ethan made his way upstairs to his room, where he turned on his bedside lamp. Next to the lamp was a family portrait, Mother and Father, each with one hand on Ethan’s shoulders the parents were defaced and the glass was broken. The shame of him injecting needles into his vein was deep to his core. He always did it in the faintest light, which made him feel a bit more detached from reality. He took off his black leather belt, pulled out the pouch from the bottom bedside drawer and organised his gear.

All of sudden it was over, the needle fell from his hand the belt un-strapped. The rush ran through his whole body. Ethan lay back on his bed and began to think, same as he always did when he was under the needle. He never had the energy to act upon those thoughts, until now.

He stood up and walked over the dirty clothes, rushed down stairs into the kitchen and pulled out the biggest, sharpest knife they owned. There he waited. All the pain his parents had caused him, the non-existent love, constant purchasing of material goods to create this idea of happiness and a home. He knew this was the right thing to do.

Moments later, the garage door crept open.

‘It’s show-time,’ Ethan said like an actor getting ready to perform a Broadway show. He paced to the backdoor that connected to the garage, inside the house.

‘What a wonderful world,’ his mother sang to her self. He stood in the doorway and casted an unsettling stare.

‘Its not actually, mum.’ Ethan snarled.

‘What’s that honey? She asked, with her head in the back of the white 1997 Mercedes, pulling out the grocery bags.

‘It’s not a wonderful world; maybe in the late 60’s it was but not now. It’s full of lies, distrust and pain.’ Ethan answered.

She pulled her head out and looked at the disturbed teenager. He still wore his dark cloak; his face was as white as the tiled floor he stood on, and big black circles under each eye. She noticed the butcher knife in his right hand.

‘Ethan, what are you doing with that knife? She asked with a deep concerned voice.

‘I’m sick of all this lying,’ he replied, creeping closer towards her, swinging the knife in a casual way, ‘You. Dad. This whole damn life! It is one big lie! Dad has been sleeping around, beating the shit out me and you know this but refuse to admit the truth!’

‘Are you on something Ethan?’ The mother asked, stepping further away from him, closer towards the concrete garage wall.

‘It doesn’t matter if I am or not. I don’t have to answer to you anymore.’

Ethan rushed a hter and stabbed the knife into her stomach. His mother screeched with pain like a dying boar, blood poured out of the wound. Ethan pulled the knife out and stabbed her again, and again. He pulled the knife out and watched her body fall to the ground, her hands holding onto her wounds.

‘Why?’ the mother cried, spitting out blood, ‘Do you think this is the answer?

Ethan kneeled over and looked at her, and looked at the blooding pool around her,

‘Just shut up mum!’ He yelled stabbed her again in the stomach. Then the last one in her chest, right in the heart, ‘Trust me mum, this is the only answer.’ The eerie silence of death hovered around them.

Ethan stood over her, his face covered in blood, with a disturbing smirk. He left the knife inserted in her chest, he grabbed her ankles and dragged her out of the garage and into the lounge room. The trail of blood smeared along the tiles, and seeped into the thick white carpet. The creeping sound of the garage door echoed through the soulless house.

Ethan swore under his breath, he thought he had more time to clean up the mess in the garage, before his father came home. But it was too late. He tore the knife from her chest; it creaked and crunched as he twisted the knife out – the blood was still oozing onto the carpet. Ethan rushed to the garage, trying not to slip on the smeared blood, and stood at the doorway again. His father was still dressed in the same clothes, and he was observing the blood on the wall. His gaze followed the trail straight to Ethan standing in the doorway, holding the murder weapon in his right hand, and twirling the point of the blade on his left index finger.

‘What the fuck is this Ethan?’ He yelled, ‘Where the fuck is your mother?’

‘Where’s Mrs. Rabbit?’ he replied.

The father’s face crinkled with anger, his fists clenched and he charged at Ethan. The father slipped on the blood trail and fell straight on his back; Ethan leaped on top of him and stabbed the knife into the middle of his father’s stomach.

‘The lies end here,’ Ethan whispered into his ear.

He stabbed him numerous times in the chest until the eerie silence of death filled the garage again. Like his mother, he left the blade fixed into the chest while dragging the dead corpse into the lounge room, by the ankles. He pilled the corpses on one another and sat next to them, he leaned up against the white leather lounge, exhausted. Ethan’s vision grew misty; the drugs began to wear off. His eyes grew heavy, his panting slowed down. Darkness crawled over his line of sight.


The morning orange glow beamed through the lounge room’s window onto Ethan’s face. ‘What the fuck have I done?’ Ethan cried out. ‘Mum. Dad. I’m so sorry,’ he crawled over to the dead bodies and held onto them crying, repeating his apologies but he knew it wouldn’t bring them back.

He stood up and looked at his clothes. Red splatters all over his dark attire. From a distance it would blend in but it was clear on his beautiful face. Ethan began to panic.

‘Shit. Shit! What do I do?’ he questioned, panic flashing over any rational thought. Then he realised, the drugs. The drugs had caused him to act upon his suppressed desires.

Ethan looked at his red-spotted watch, it was 6:30 – his mother was meant to be leaving for work in thirty minutes he had to act fast. Knock-knock.

‘Hello, is anyone home?’ a voice asked.

‘Shit,’ he gasped.

Ethan snuck to the window to see who would be knocking at the door this early in the morning. It was the police. Ethan pulled back out of sight as quick as could. He was stumped. He didn’t know what to do, looking left and right for an answer, anything to save him. Knock-knock.

Hello? We had a noise complaint last night,’ the voice said. Ethan froze. Then he saw the second police officer looking in the window, he cast his gaze at the corpses on the floor and the knife inserted into the fathers chest like the Disney movie, The Sword in the Stone.

‘We have a homicide,’ the policeman said into his radio, ‘I repeat we have a homicide at 10 Pacific Drive.’

Ethan ran for the back door, trying not to slip on the blood trail. One of the police officers barged through the front door and chased after him. Ethan ran out the back door, making his way for the fence that backed onto an empty property. But he didn’t make it. The police officer spear tackled him to the ground and tasered him. The electricity jolted his body, removing any thought of resistance.

‘You are under arrest,’ the officer said while he put Ethan’s hands behind his back and handcuffed them. ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of homicide; You are not obliged to say or do anything unless you wish to do so, but whatever you say or do may be used in evidence. Do you understand? We will be taking you down to Port Macquarie police station for interviewing.’

Ethan nodded.


#DWTSmith #mystery


6 thoughts on “A Concrete Tomb

  1. Well, this was entertaining to read. It was well written and well plotted. What more can I ask for in a short story?

    Liked by 1 person

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