Original short stories and excerpts from Deej's novellas, and children's books

ALL STORIES WRITTEN BY DAVID BARKER, COPYRIGHT 2026 DAVID BARKER/DJ BARKER ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
​OVER 100 ORIGINAL STORIES, AVAILABLE FOR PUBLISHING & SCREENPLAYS

​ALWAYS LATE


"He's ALWAYS late!" His father said. "This isn't right!"
His mom put her arm around her husband. "I know Richard. But you know he's always late."
"But today, of all days, How could he?" His father squirmed a little, in the pew. "Everyone is waiting. And he'll delay the reception now! Everything is supposed to start on time!"
"He'll be here, Richard." His mom tried to comfort her husband, though there were tears in her eyes. How COULD he do this, of all days?

"Look. His fiancée is crying. This is not right. Everyone looks upset." Richard put his face in his hands and started sobbing.
The church was filled with people. The minister was at his pulpit, looking a bit uneasy and anxious. His friends, neighbors, and family, all waiting for it to begin. His fiancée was starting to cry hysterically. Her father and mother tried desperately to comfort her, though it was of no use. Where was he?

Not really knowing what to say, the minister spoke in a soft and soothing tone. "Please everyone. Take a deep breath. I know this is unusual, but let's all relax. Everyone who knows him, knows he's been late all his life." The minister smiled. "This is no different." All the people in church were looking around. Confused. Bewildered. Turning and glancing at the big double doors, checking every few minutes to see if he's arrived yet. The church was filled with flowers, and the organist having finished the two songs that were requested, started playing them over again. His fiancée was having a meltdown, and everyone was getting more and more uncomfortable. The minister spoke. "I remember him being late all the time. I don't think there was ever a time he wasn't late for Sunday school. One of his old teachers, sitting in the pew, remarked to the person next to her, "He always had trouble getting from class to class!" His old boss mumbled, "He was a great worker, but he was always late, punching the clock."

People looked around.

Then the double doors swung open, and he came walking in, wearing a tailored black suit, with a white carnation in the button hole. He said nothing, and approached the pulpit, quietly climbed into his casket, straightened out, folded his hands, and closed his eyes. His fiancée wept. They were to be married in June.


"I always told him... You'll be late for your own funeral!" His best friend said




​DUCK AND COVER

My family had just gotten here. Moved to a typical 1960s-style home in a manicured development where all the houses looked the same. I was turning nine and was curious what this school would be like and the kids I would meet. I wondered how much different they would be from me. There were big posters in the hallways, outside of the classrooms. Evil huns, with dark faces and deep red eyes glowing under their grey helmets. "KNOW THE ENEMY" was printed on one. "DUCK AND COVER" was on another. As kids in fourth grade, they unfortunately believed everything they were told. We pulled the shades down and hid under our desks, guaranteed protection from the mushroom clouds and any fallout. They believed our fourth grade teacher too!

Every day, we had drills, sat in the hallway lined against the wall. We watched films about "the enemy" during history. We saw films with actual tests in the desert, people observing the explosions from a distance. Safe, as long as they wore their goggles. They believed that too! In the eyes of America, the threat was real, but children need not worry as long as we "ducked" and "covered"! We were even taught a song about it. A cartoon turtle sang "Duck and Cover," and we sang along. We were taught to report any suspicious behavior our neighbor's moms and dads exhibited. God knows (and in God we trusted), a commie could be living next door!

A general from the Pentagon even came to our class and gave a speech about the dangers of communism and what to look for. He told us not to be afraid, but to be prepared. Our teacher, Mr. Ramstein fought in the Korean War. He talked about the Communists all the time. He was shot in the arm and had nerve damage. Mr. Ramstein would write on the blackboard, and drop the chalk a lot because he had no feeling in that hand. We thought it was funny. We were children. But we stifled our laughs because Mr. Ramstein scared us. He never smiled, though as children, we never questioned what he may have experienced at the Korean Peninsula. I was quiet around him, and I liked the kids in my class. We weren't so different, after all. 

One day, the Silvermans who lived across the street from us, were taken away. The Army trucks pulled up on their lawn, crashing through their white picket fence and over their prize rose bushes, busting down the door. One neighbor said they were questioned by Bobby Kennedy himself, but I didn't know who that was. The other neighbors said the Silvermans must have moved away afterwards (or gone back to Russia), because they were never seen again.
We watched James Bond in "From Russia with Love," and it made the kids feel safe, knowing there were secret agents out there saving the world for them. We continued to play tag and stick ball in the streets until it got dark, when the parents would call the kids in for the night. Except for the Soviet scare, it was a normal life for kids in America.  We sang along with Johnny Rivers' "Secret Agent Man,"  sat on the edge of the couch, watching Napolean Solo, and laughed at Max Smart and Agent 99.

It was fun growing up here until I was twelve, when my parents told me that they had gathered enough data about the Earth, and that our mission was over. So we loaded up our spaceship with the specimens we had collected, (and The Silvermans), and returned home to our planet, past the third star in Centaurus. It was great to return home, though I'll miss "Lost in Space." Of all human television, that was my favorite! Mom even said I kinda look like Billy Mumy in my spacesuit!


​EXCERPT FROM THE NOVELLA, "DRACULA'S MOTHER"
CHAPTER VI.
At 10:17 PM on Aug. 19, 1895, while standing at the bar of the Acme Saloon, John Wesley Harding was shot in the back of the head by an El Paso policeman. Harding had previously beaten the policeman's son half to death. Then Officer John Selman shot him again. And again. Twice in the back.
The undertakers came and dragged Harding's body away, placed him in a pine box and nailed the lid shut. 
The next day they buried the coffin on Boot Hill next to "Shotgun" John Collins, unbeknownst to them that Harding was a vampire and had filled the coffin with bags of flour.


THE TRINKET (From the compilation, "DEE'S CURIO SHOP')
1.
Charlote was a wonderful woman. A caring, giving person. A kind and gracious person. A great wife, mother, and daughter. Charlotte kept the house clean and tidy, and she was an amazing cook. She always had a smile on her face, masking her misery. For Charlotte was abused. When her husband drank too much (which was pretty much every night) he'd put her down. "You're ugly, out of shape, and disgusting. Who would want to sleep with that?" he'd tell her, pointing at her figure, laughing and ridiculing. He loved insulting her aging face and sagging breasts, though he would indulge himself whenever his needs were aroused. It was always quick (thank God) and sometimes painful. Charlotte never derived any pleasure from his animalistic thrusts for how long now, she couldn't remember. Was it EVER good? She didn't think so. Not even that first night in his Buick, behind their high school stadium, when he got her pregnant. In his angry, drunken stupor, he would bring that up, calling her names like "pig" and "slut." But through the years, she became numb and distant to his insults.

Her kids were rude and disrespectful, too. They learned from their father. Her daughter would talk back, scream, and holler at her mother. Her son (the bastard) would simply ignore her. When he did speak, his tone was mean and nasty. Charlotte's mother was the same. Condescending, insulting, and angry. She said, "What are you stupid?" a lot, and Charlotte always wondered why her mother was like that considering Charlotte's dad was a sweetheart. She missed him terribly. The love they shared was the only peace that Charlotte ever had. Those were the only hugs she ever got.

2.
Charlotte frequented a Curio Shop on South Street. Delores, the heavy set shopkeeper, always welcomed Charlotte with kindness and a smile, whether she bought anything or not, and Charlotte appreciated that. Charlotte loved the way Delores dressed and the small talk they shared. Charlotte was at peace in that shop. Even if for only a short time, she was happy. Yesterday at the shop, Charlotte was drawn to a glass case, with a few tchotchkes displayed on the middle shelf, but she wasn't interested in those. Charlotte had a sense of something behind those tchotchkes. Delorles stepped around, away from her counter. "I was wondering when you would find it" she said, unlocking the case and showing her the trinket. "This is very special," she continued. "For special people!" Delores smiled.

​She handed it to Charlotte. It was a dazzling purple amethyst in a rose gold florentine cradle. Charlotte closed her hand around the trinket. She liked how it felt. "Is it warm?" the shopkeeper asked. It WAS warm in Charlotte's hand, and it seemed to glow through her fingers as she held it. "That doesn't happen for everyone," Delores said. "It's been waiting for YOU, Charlotte!"

Charlotte thought that that was an odd thing to say, though she's heard of different crystals being used for different things, (healing and meditation and such), and it was a warm, comfortable feeling holding this beautiful, glowing trinket, so Charlotte said,  "I'll take it!" "I knew you would!" Delores answered as she rang it up! "It was nice knowing you, Charlotte," she added. 

3.
With the kids off to school, and the "asshole" already gone to work, (he had been especially mean the night before), Charlotte sat at her breakfast nook, sipping her coffee with cream, no sugar. The trinket in her apron pocket started to feel warm against her skin. She took it out. It glowed. She got up and went to the front door of her South Philly row home. She opened the door and looked up and down the small, alley-like street she lived on. All the homes had the same brick fronts, bay windows, and concrete stoops. Only the mailboxes were different. She stepped through the doorway to get the mail, and...

4.
She was standing on a rolling hill filled with wildflowers. Wild daiseys and bluebells, tall stalks of reeds. Trees lined one side of the meadow. Strangely enough, she wasn't panicked. A soft summer breeze blew through her hair. The trinket glowed brightly. She turned towards a beautiful blue lake with a small dock and a small row boat tied to the dock. Back behind her and up the hill was a charming cottage, landscaped with flower beds and hedges. Tall pines shown from behind the roof. Smoke came out of the chimney. She heard a noise, like someone was chopping wood. She walked up the hill.

5.
As she approached the cottage, a family of bunnies scurried across the porch. A mama and three babies. There were two rocking chairs on the porch and lace curtains on the windows. The chopping sound was louder as she rounded the side of the cottage, past the vegetable garden. There, in the backyard, a man was chopping firewood. His wavy hair was mostly dark, flecked with hints of gray, and he had a full beard, trimmed at the neck. Charlotte was immediately taken with his good looks. He was shirtless, tan and built like a Hollywood action star. He smiled at her with his sky blue eyes, making Charlotte blush. He put down the axe and said,

"What took you so long?"