The Scribbler

"Don't get too comfortable, Dave," Karl said evenly. "With ideas like yours, they'll fire you soon enough." 
Dave endured such comments from 'Star Employee' Karl Manning, daily; that would end, today. 
Focusing intensely, Dave doodled a stick figure in his favorite notepad. 
Underneath, he wrote 'Karl', and in a crude way, the figure did resemble his abusive co-worker. 
Sweat trickling down his brow, he drew an exploding heart in 'Karl's' chest, as the real Karl clutched at his chest, flopped to the floor, and died. 
Dave smiled, closing his notepad. 
Another rung in the corporate ladder had been scaled.

House-Sitting

House-sitting had always been a way for Jack to make extra money, and he'd never regretted that.
Until tonight.
The house was legendary in the neighborhood for its checkered past; some said it was haunted.
Jack was starting to believe it.
He'd been here a few hours, and there'd been plenty of bumps and creaks; those he could handle.
The bawling of an infant coming from upstairs; that's what'd unnerved him.
The phantom wail stopped after a few minutes, which should have relieved him.
And it would've, if it hadn't been replaced by the sound of a rocking chair.