Fiction Friday - III

Hey!!

Better lat than never, right. I’m going to submit this to a contest. SOoo, I need some input. Criticize, spelling... tell me, what do you think?

It's a long one. Enjoy!!!

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The Reflection

Home... Again?

Penny sits in her new room, in her new home. She’s sitting on the bed hugging her knees. “This is the 5th family in 8 weeks. What’s wrong with me... why can’t any one love me??”. She asks in a whisper, hoping there would be an answer and yet praying that it wasn’t her.

Lisa sticks her head in and says, “It’s late Penny girl, why don’t you change in to your PJs and we’ll have some cookies and milk, ok?”

Penny wipes a tear from her eye without letting Lisa see, fakes a smile and says, “ok, yeah. That would be nice.”

Lisa closes the door and turns towards the kitchen. Before the door totally closes, Penny is screaming like she is on fire. The kind of panic scream girls seem to master at a very early age. Lisa doesn’t have time to open the door before Penny throws the door open so hard it loges the door knob in the wall.

“NO!!! YOU CAN’T MAKE ME STAY IN THAT ROOM!!! NOOOoooo!!!” Penny screams and rushes by Lisa. She hits Lisa with such force that she is knocked down to the floor. Penny heads down the hall and out the front door.

A few minutes later Lisa calls Doc B.

“I’m telling you Doc,” Lisa says exhausted, “it’s like everyone has said. At some point when she is alone, she just goes berserk. Like she sees a demon or something.”

“Lisa, you know you are my last hope at getting this poor girl placed in a permanent foster home?”.

“I know, Doc... I know. But she broke my arm and there is a hole in that wall. Whose gonna pay for that?!? ME!! Right? I know, it’s part of the job but I get to choose who. After fostering 20 plus kids when you see some, you can just tell. This one has no hope.”

“Lisa...”

“No, Doc. I’m sorry.” Lisa hangs up the phone. The police and EMTs arrive at the same time. The police have found Penny about a mile down the road, heading back to town.

“Is this her, ma’am?” the officer asks.

“Yes. Take her back to the home. She’s not welcome here.” Lisa turns her back to Penny and the officer and looks at the EMT. “It’s broken, isn’t it? That little bitch broke my arm.”
Yesterday

Dr. Brendakaski sat at her desk. Small, cramped and crowed as it was, this was her office. “Finally”, she thought. “My own office in a place where I can do some real good.” It was her first day on the job. Doc Brenda is a Doctor of Psychology. She had asked to work in this small town foster care home because she wanted to make a difference and to work with children.

Mac, one of the case workers in the office, walked in and handed her a file.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Penny. The first case that needs your attention. The courts want your approval before she can leave. Next month is her 16th birthday and she’s petitioned the court to move out on her own. The judge is apprehensive and wants your opinion.” Mac grinned. He knew this was not the kind of psychology she wanted to practice. “Welcome the foster care system, Doc.”

Doc scanned the file. Penny had been in foster care since she was 6. In fact it was her 6th birthday that celebrated her arrival. Along with the many issues most foster kids seem to have, Penny had brought other baggage.

The authorities speculated that, as her parents were cleaning up the house from her 6th birthday party, a man in a meth induced craze broke in and killed her them. He had slashed them, cutting their throats and mid sections until they had bled to death. None of their wounds were lethal on their own, but together, they would have bled to death. The coroner estimated it would have taken 10-15 minutes and would have been excruciatingly painful. The meth addict, the murder of Penny’s parents had never been found.

The next day, as the forensics team was collecting evidence, they stumbled upon Penny. Still asleep in her room. “how could she sleep through this.” One asked. They picked her up and covered her with a blanket so she would not have to see the blood everywhere. Little Penny, the six year old girl held on to the technician so tight she thought Penny was going to strangle her. Once out side, Penny was handed to a police officer. He played with her and gave her a donated stuffed bear. The troopers report noted how pretty her smile was and how inoscent she seemed. After about 30 minutes Child Services arrived and took Penny to the home.

No living relatives could be found. Penny’s parents had not written a will, so, Penny was introduced to the joys of a small town foster care system.

The courts, in their wisdom, had mandated weekly group counseling. She has been to these sessions every week for the last 10 years of her life. Penny would describe hearing the screams of her parents, “Please!!! Don’t hurt us!!! You can have anything.... everything...”. She described with chilling detail the sounds of their voices being mixing with a fluid, as the slashes to their chests and abdomens filled their air ways with blood; the horrific sound of her mother and father drowning in their own blood.

Penny could, with enough detail to make most people have cold chills, describe the sounds the man had made, laughing, talking to them, taunting them, as if them saying “please, don’t” one more time would make him stop. She even went as far as to describe the sadistic look of glee on his face.

Without exception, every councilor that had ever heard Penny’s description of these events recommend she continue counseling.

“Penny’s vivid description of the events surrounding her parents murders is imaginative.”
“She is still romanticizing the murders.”
“Her voice shows no signs of acceptance.”
One therapist even went as far as to write, “She seems to get joy from my reactions and the reactions of the others in the group.”

Doc read through Penny’s file. “Amazing,” she mumbled to her self. “Every counselor hears the story new and is shocked. This poor girl has to re-tell it every couple months, every time there is a new counselor. No wonder she doesn’t sound remorseful or shocked, she has relived it nearly every month of every year for the last ten years.” Doc slapped the file closed and went down the hall to the small conference room where Penny was sitting.

Penny was used to these visits. A new counselor, re-tell the story, watch the shock on their faces. She almost found humor in it. It was like she was reading or describing a graphic comic book to them.

Doc introduced herself and sat. Penny looked at her and started without being asked. “I remember my parents putting me to bed...”
“What..? No, wait.” Said Doc. I don’t need to hear your story. You don’t have to relive it again for me.”

Penny sat there with her mouth open, shocked. No one had ever stopped her; no one ever, didn’t need to hear every detail. “So, what do you want? Why am I here?”

“I want you to try one more home before thinking about heading out on your own. My house. That is, my mom’s house. See, what most people don know is I was raixed right here in this town, in foster care. Mom, Lisa, is great. I’ve talked to her, she has an opening and Mac can take you up there tomorrow. Will you try it?”. Said Doc.

Do I have a choice”, groaned Penny, as she got up and headed to her room to pack. Again.


Back Home

Doc made it to the home in record time and was there before Penny and the officer. It was about 11:30 pm. She had just finished washing her face and was heading for bed when the call came.

When the officer arrived with Penny, she looked like any teenager that had been caught doing something they weren’t suppose to. Sulking, avoiding eye contact, arms crossed, basically being a brat.

When Penny saw Doc, she stared, with her mouth open. Doc thought she was surprised that she had come to the home to meet her. Penny was surprised how old and pale Doc looked.

“Want me to say with you two for a while?” the officer asked.

“No”, said Doc. “I think we’ll be fine. We both could use a little girl time.”

The officer smile, nodded in acknowledgment and left. The unlikely ‘foster sisters’ headed for the kitchen. Doc grabbed some crackers, milk and cheese. She made a quick spread on paper plates and they snacked.

Doc took a bite and quickly pulled it out of her mouth. “This stuff is gross!” She gagged in reflex at the texture and aroma that is common from donated cheese.

Penny giggled but caught herself. She was afraid to laugh at an adult, especially the one in charge of the home. Doc started to snicker and penny let her guard down.... slightly. They talked about nothing and anything. The daisy Penny had drawn on her jeans in ink. The general disgusting flavor of the food the home served. The two laughed and ate crackers for about an hour.

Doc glanced at Penny, she was trying to ask a probing physiological question with out scaring the girl away. “When you first came in this evening, you looked like you had a question on your mind. What was it?”

Without thinking Penny answered, like she was talking to her best friend. “You look so different from earlier today. You look...” Penny’s voice trailed off.

Shit though Doc, she closing down, forming ranks. Fast damn-it, do something. Before she could stop herself she flung a piece of that nasty cheese at her and said, “If you don’t tell me, you’re gonna have to eat this cheese!” Surprised, Doc had used a voice and tone that she had not heard come from her mouth in years. She was teasing the girl, like her foster sisters used to tease at Lisa’s those many years ago.

“You look old!” Penny barked. She started to cry, embarrassed. Penny ran off down the hall in into her room, jumped onto her bed and buried herself in the covers. She laid there sobbing.

Doc walked into the room, sat on Penny’s bed and rubbed her back. “It’s ok sweetie. I’m not mad at you. I just don’t have my make up on. Make up hides many of the blemishes on my face. When it is off... I look older.”


Tomorrow

Time passed and Doc and Penny became more than friends. More like mentor and student. But Doc was frustrated that the ’you’re older’ comment that had caused Penny to break down didn’t go any where. No matter how much she probed, Penny wouldn’t reveal the truth about what bothered her so much.

Penny walked into Doc’s office one day and doc was freshening her lipstick. Penny froze.

Doc put the compact in her purse and closed the lipstick. When Doc looked up, she asked, “Penny, are you ok?”

Nothing.

“Penny!” Doc shouted.

Penny shook her head, regaining her composure, trying for all her soul to look as if nothing weird had just happened.

“I’m fine Doc. What were you just doing?” Penny asked timidly.

“Putting on lipstick. Would you like to try?” Doc asked, knowing that this may be the break she was looking for.

“Sure. But you put it on me, I... I can’t”

Doc stepped around the desk and told Penny to pucker. She applied the lipstick and had her kiss off the excess on a tissue. “Want to see?” Doc asked reaching into her purse and opening the compact. As she turned so Penny could see her face and lips in the mirror, Penny screamed. She turned to run form the office. Again, that fast in full panic mode.

“It’s the mirror, it’s her reflection!!” Doc screamed to her self. “Of course.”

Penny tripped over the chair and landed on the floor in a thump. She had cracked her head on the door to Doc’s office and was slightly dazed. Doc threw herself to the floor, shut the door and grabbed Penny up into her arms. Holding her tight she lightly stroked her hair.

As Penny came too, she flinched like she needed to run, for her life. The she grabbed onto Doc and cried. Cried like never before.

“You’re ok, penny girl. Everything is going to be ok” Doc whispered.

“No, you don’t understand.” Penny sobbed.

“Tell me, Penny, what don’t I understand? I want to understand you.”

Through her sobs and tears, Penny whispered. “That night... when they died, when he came? I saw him. I saw him slash my mothers throat so hard that she could not talk. I saw my father run to her and the man stab and slash my father. I saw his insides come out. All of it I saw in the reflection of the hall mirror.”

“It’s ok, he can’t hurt you now” doc said trying to comfort Penny.

“NO, you don’t understand. Every time I see a mirror, I can see him standing over them with blood dripping off of his knife and hands. Every time....” Penny trailed off into sobs again.

Doc thought, of course, you’re such a fool. The room Lisa would have given her had a full length mirror on the back of the door. I’ll bet we find the same conditions in all of her failed foster families.

Home

Doc’s revelation and Penny’s confession that night lead to healing. Penny never did repetition the courts to be on her own. Together, the two foster sisters worked through it. Penny’s still a little apprehensive of mirrors in long, dark halls, but now she can do her own make up and check her own outfit.

Penny has been back to Lisa’s house many times now and they talked about that day. They laugh and laugh that a 90 pound, 16 year old brat was able to break Lisa’s arm.

Penny’s in college now, studying business. When she come home she stays at Doc’s. After all, they are sisters.

Fiction Friday

My mom is from Savannah and my dad is from Pittsburgh. I remember being told as a kid that 4 grand fathers were at Gettysburg. 2 from the north and 2 from the south. One from each side was killed there (over 50,000 men died in that battle alone). The one remaining for the south was taken prisoner and spent the remainder of the war in upstate New York. When the war ended he walked home to Savannah. Since they could not trust anyone to tell the truth about owning a horse, they let all of the horses go too. When he got home, his horse had made the trip too.

This is in no way what happened, just my minds eye of things that could have happened.

Enjoy!!!!

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The diary of Mark Q. Pendleton - 3rd Day of July 1863rd year of our Lord.

I awoke today at first light my heart was heavy and visions were strong in my head. I usually write about my days adventures here at the completion of the day. Today, it seems, my nights adventures are so strong that I am impelled to write this morning.

More than a dream, this is what happened... where I was last night.

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Cool damp first morning air rushes through my nostrils and into my lungs. Birds are singing and a light breeze rustles the leaves. As I exit my tent others are stirring, fat back is being fried and fills the air with a fleeting glimpse of home. One mans leftovers from the night before find use in another mans belly this morning. Almost no one is talking.

Quickly, before any man is ready, we are called to task and form our ranks. We walk, resolute in our decision and head out onto the field. A fog remains, lines are blurred and the shout ‘ready’ is heard. We in the front line drop to our knees, we wait, frozen in anticipation. ‘Aim’, my heart pounds in my chest and I close one eye. Each man picks another that is straight in across from him. ‘FIRE!!’ Explosions rain and fire jumps from every direction.

Flight.
I feel as if I am falling. All of the explosions and fire from just moments ago are silent. There is nothing.

Darkness.
I can taste the darkness, feel it, hear it. There is no seeing.
There is nothing.

When will it end....

“Oh GOD, it hurts!!! Please, someone HELP ME!!!”
“Jesus, save me!! What have I done??!”
“Momma, PLEASE make it stop!!!”

The shrieks of men, calling on Jesus... calling for their mothers. This desperate,, screaming the last breaths of men first breaks my darkness.

My eyes slowly open as I labored to lift my head. The bright July sun was cooling; the warmth of it seemed to escape me. All I could lift was my head, I did not have the strength or will to sit up. I could see a field covered with men. As far as I could see. Yankees, Confederate Soldiers, some in uniform, some still in their farm overalls.

Cold. I could swear there was no sun. Death, was everywhere. This was a dead field, I was laying in a dead field. I screamed, “I’m not dead!!” as the words echoed in my head, I realized I was standing... next to a Confederate soldier that looked just like... it was me. I was dead.

The cold reality brought me back to my knees. I cried like a young boy into my hands. How much time passed I could not say. Once I regained myself and began to look around I could see the man laying before me... I had been shot in the shoulder. Ribs protruding, red soaked flesh of my insides lay exposed. My arm was missing. Torn out by the impact. I had been hit directly by cannon fire.

Laying next to me was a Yankee, part of his head was missing, he had been shot in the head.

I began lifting, raising into the air. I was flying, free. I could see everything.

The green field was covered by crashing waves of blue and gray. Every man bled crimson and the tide washed the field till neither white nor black or Yankee nor confederate or blue nor gray could be discerned.

I passed through the clouds and my view was slowly covered. My view of the field and all humanity went black.

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5th day of August 1863rd year of our Lord.
(I have added the following this day)

News has reached us today of Matthew’s death. A letter only.

“Dear Sir or Madame, we regret to inform you that your son Matthew B. Pendleton has died in battle. At Gettysburg Pennsylvania, on or about the 3rd of July 1863.

Your service and sacrifice to the Confederate cause has been appreciated.”

No signature, no name, nothing. I can still hear mother, shut in her room, crying.

As I reflect back on the images I saw that morning, I can see now it was Matthew. I knew he had died. But he was telling me something, to join or not to join the cause, I am not sure but join I have. I am sure mother did not hear me when I told her I have joined the militia and I leave tomorrow.

Fiction Friday - II

Two in a row doesn’t quite make a trend, now does it. But none the less, here is Friday Fiction part duex.

This is turning out to be harder than I thought it would be. Not that I can’t come up with the stories but having time to write. Good grief!!! I’ll bet I have 8-9 hours in this one. Reading and re-reading, adding thoughts. Enjoy!!!

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Psychosis


Kelly smiled hard in the mirror, frowned, opened her mouth wide then relaxed... “no wrinkles... yet” she thought. Looking towards the full length mirror, she flexed her hip looking over her shoulder in her best ‘I’m so sexy pose’, “not bad for 36”. She proceeded to apply about a hundred dollars worth of her favorite creams and cleaners, totally convinced that it works flawlessly.

Before she turned to leave the bathroom she glanced down at the sink. Left to right; washing cloth (clean), soap (wiped dry), faucet (spotless), tooth brush in holder... “Damn” she thought as she moved her toothbrush to be in the 3rd hole of the holder. “Good thing I check these every night, what if I woke up blind in the morning? I’d never find my toothbrush”. Smug with pride, she smiled to herself, that she had caught a misplaced item and scolding herself for being so careless.

Someone saying Kelly was OCD was like saying the noon July 4th sun is hot in Phoenix. Her pots and pan are always stacked in largest to smallest order, her dishes are stacked just so... Hell, Kelly has never misplaced her car keys. She always knows where everything is and everything is where it belongs.

She clicked the light off, “one, two, three and a half steps, turn right 90 degrees...” four more steps and she sat. Knowing with confidence her bed was there waiting for her. Of course, it was. Kelly could find anything her apartment, in the dark.

Kelly smiled with anticipation of sliding into the flannel sheets in her satin PJs, The momentary chill from the sheets as her body worked to warm them up. She laid her head on the pillow and was asleep almost instantly, dreaming.

Skipping through an unending field, full of beautifully colored butterflies and happy singing birds, happy little bees buzzing around and THUMP!!! A tree fell, it was now pitch black. “There are no trees here”, Kelly mumbled to her self still somewhat asleep.

Dazed and confused Kelly realized she was sitting upright in her bed... “That thump wasn’t in my dream!!!” Straining to hear anything... what was it? Is someone here? The only sound was her heart, pounding harder than she had ever known.

Kelly listed off all of the windows in her mind. Had she mad sure they were all closed? Was the front door closed? Of course the door was, she always unlocks it, opens it, looks out, closes it and re-locks it every time she walks by it.... she just knew the front door was locked. But the windows. It was mid October, she hadn’t had the windows open since that warm snap in the end of September. They were all closed, but were they locked???

Kelly got out of bed and walked out the bedroom and down the hall as she turned to enter the living room. CRASH!!! Pain shot up from her foot, so intense she saw a bolt of light. Screaming in agony she dropped to the floor and realized she had kicked a chair!! “WTF!!? Why is a dinning room chair in the living room?” She was sitting on the floor and as she held her foot she could feel the sticky warmth of her own blood in her hands. “Dam it!! I broke my toe nail” she thought. Her mind raced to towels, rags to clean the floor, how to get the blood out of her pajamas. She was so sure they were just ruined.

“ok, that’s enough!” Kelly got up and turned on every light she could reach.

Everything was where it was suppose to be except for one dinning room chair. It was sitting squarely in the entrance to the bedroom hallway.

Paper towels, tissues, gauze, scissors, antiseptic, bandages, all spread on the table before her. She sat in a kitchen chair with her foot pulled up on the seat. Looking around and basically hugging her leg, she began the tedious process of cleaning the blood from her foot and between her toes. The nail was split and still bleeding pretty good. She used the small suturing scissors to trim back the ripped and exposed nail. Blot, blot, press, PRESS... still bleeding. More trimming, more gauze. A singe of pain, made her jump and almost throw the little scissors across the room. She had cut across a nerve. She groaned at the pain, white hot in her toes. It was beginning to make her sweat. “I have to get this cleaned up”, she says almost in a panic.

Each press, blot, trim exorcise finished with her looking at the bloody rags and gauze and each time she dropped it to the floor. When she has finished, there was a pile of blood soaked gauze and rags on the floor. White cloth bearing evidence of a death by exsanguination averted.

Once the bleeding had stopped she got up and with out thinking or pausing, just went to bed. Leaving the mess, the light on and as she passed the chair, she moved it back to blocking the hall way. Just as she had done earlier that day.

Dreams returned to the tired and blood drained woman but they were not butterflies this time. These dreams were for lovers. Eyes meet across a simple street café. Hers sparkle with the excitement of a physical attraction. His, deep and blue, mysterious and lustful. Her cheeks flush at the knowledge and acknowledgement of each others thoughts. They walk toward each other loosing sight of reality and any one else in the café. Arms out stretched in anticipation of lustful embrace they approach each other. At that moment in her dream she closes her eyes and when they reopen, she’s kissing a light pole, or a phone pole. All of the other patrons of the café are laughing, pointing. Kelly runs, down the street, around a corner. Stops, panting, breathing nearly escapes her capacities. She sits at a near by café and orders a water. There is a guy there, he’s cute There eyes meet, she smiles. Forgetting completely the circumstances that brought her here.

Saturday morning. 9 am. Liz (Kelly’s mom) lets herself in. It is their morning. Ever since Paul had died 2 years ago Kelly’s mom had made it a point to see her daughter every week. Saturday worked best for them both.

Paul and Kelly had met almost 4 years ago. Then 2 years later, after a multi-hour-sheet-untucking-body-fluid-swaping romp, they slept. In the morning when she woke, he was cold. Dead.

The County Coroner had said it was a brain aneurism. Nothing that had happened days before caused it to happen that night and nothing done different (or not done), would have saved him. It was just simply his time.

Kelly blamed herself anyways. In an effort to control anything, everything in her life now, she had become the shell of a person that she is now. Completely consumed and compulsive about everything she could and could not control.

Liz gasped as she entered the kitchen. There was blood slung on the cabinets, on the ceiling, even dripping form the chair. Blood was everywhere. She screamed and ran to Kelly’s bedroom.

Almost jumping over the bed she landed on Kelly shaking her violently. Hoping, wishing to shake life back into her if she was...

Kelly was running from the ump-teenth café in eternal humiliation. Almost crying from the embarrassment of kissing yet another tree. But, this time someone grabbed her and shook her so violently she swore her head was smacking the tree. As her dream faded, she realized her head was hitting the headboard. And someone was screaming.

“KELLY, WAKE UP!!! GOD DAMN IT!!! WAKE UP!!!”

“Mom, what the hell are you doing? I’m awake already!! You’re lucky you didn’t scare me to death or bash my head in!!!”

“Oh God, don’t you scare me like that again!! There is sooo much blood in the kitchen!! What the hell happened?” Liz asked, exasperated. Holding back sobs, trying to be strong.

“I kicked a chair and split my toe nail last night, mom. It was nothing.” Kelly assured her. “Someone must have come in after I went to sleep and moved the chair, setting a trap for me. Remember how Paul used to do that to me? I’m surprised my toes still have feeling”

“Ok. Well. It’s after 9. Do you still want to go?” Liz was still grasping for breath. Still not convinced that someone had not been killed in the kitchen last night.

“Yeah, sure. Of course. Give me 5 minutes to get ready, m’k?” Kelly smiled. She had a way of smiling at her mom with a sparkle in her eye that just made everything ‘ok’.

Liz sat in disbelief... ‘must be nothing’ she thought. She kissed her daughter on the cheek and lovingly squeezed her chin. “Don’t scare me like that.” And she pushed her over in the bed. “now get moving, you!”

Liz went into the kitchen to clean the mess, mumbling to herself how she needs to let go and stop ‘mothering’ her daughter. ‘She’s fine.’ She reassured herself.

Bleach and water mixture, sponge. Liz set to the task of wiping down the cabinets, counter and table. She paused, looking at the mess on the floor. Liz grabbed the garbage can and set it in the kitchen. As she stooped to pick up the entire mess in one swoop she caught her breath. Almost a scream, she cupped her mouth and staggered back till the counter caught her and stood there. Her own blood was draining from her very soul. Liz looked down the hall...

In an instant she was in the bathroom. Door slung open, screaming “Kelly!!! OH MY GOD KELLY!!! What have you done??!!”

Kelly was just coming out of the bathroom and her mothers abrupt entry has startled her so bad she that she lost her balance and fell on the floor.

Liz grabed at Kelly’s feet.
“Mom!! My God, What are you doing? Haven’t you scared the shit out of me enough this morning?”

Liz exposed Kelly’s foot and slowly unwrapped the bandage...

Kelly was smiling. She said, “Pretty good work for a non medical girl, isn’t it mom?”

In one motion, Liz’s mouth dropped open and she spun around and threw up. Regaining some semblance of composure, she told Kelly to re-bandage her foot and quickly walked back to the kitchen. She grabbed her purse and cell phone and called Roger, her husband.

Glancing around the kitchen as the phone rang, cursing Roger to answer the phone, Liz saw the bottle of pills. The prescription she had gone with Kelly to fill last weekend.

“Hello?” Roger said. Not expecting a call from either of them until after some serious shopping had been completed. “You ok?”

“She’s not taking her pills, Roger. It’s every bit as bad as the Dr said it would be.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Roger, she cut of her toe off last night!! She said she kicked a chair and had to ‘trim off the broken nail’, Roger! She left all of the bone and cut off all of the flesh... What are we going to do?!!”. Liz was screaming now. Fighting the blood to remain in her head, willing herself not to pass out. What has become of her little girl...?

“We’re going to do exactly what the Dr’s said we should do.”

Roger hung up the phone and called the hospital. The Nurses met him at Kelly’s apartment and they took her to the top floor of the hospital.

Fiction Friday - I

DNR a writer... of fiction?? Nah, I just play one in my imagination. But I did stay at a Hol... never mind.

These stories (here & here) are fiction. I assume everyone knew that... They were fun to write.

Sometimes when I can’t sleep I imagine a short story. Almost like a movie flashing through my brain. The tough part has been putting the imagined images to words and then digital pen to digital paper.

BUT...

I’ve done it. Not the best thing you’ve read and not real long. Just short stories, a little humor, maybe some dark humor. And a little sarcasm mixed in for flavor. Happy endings, sad endings... a little of everything, after all, they’re my stories. I don’t want to teach anything, there won’t be a moral, just some entertainment.

So with out further delay...


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Rocks In Your Pockets





A few years ago I made a New Years resolution to reach out to someone. Someone misunderstood or shunned by the community. Not to change them but just to learn about their background, and hear their story. So many people have stories to tell if only someone would listen.

I made it a point to run into Louis B. Covington. I had heard several of my neighbors talk about him and laugh. “He’s a strange one” they’d say. “Always has rocks in his pockets”, many a cashier remarked of him pulling out change and having to pick the coins out of the rocks.

I made a point to run into him at the local grocery store and kinda chatted a little with him. Louis and I talked a couple times after that and found that we both loved nature and hiking in the woods. Odd, I thought, he never a commented about rocks.

We made plans to meet at a nearby state park one sunny afternoon. We were planning to walk around and see what there was to see. I was going to take some pictures, he said he just liked walking around in the forest and would be glad to have the company.

I shot about 400 pictures that afternoon and was quite pleased at the collection I had assembled. As we were leaving that afternoon I noticed his pockets were bulging. Laughing, I said “are those rocks in your pockets?”
He said, “yes” and produced a couple.
Trying to hide my surprising desire to laugh out loud and act interested, I said, “wow, what kind did you find?” You would have thought I gave him a kitten or something. His eyes sparkled and he started...
“... this one is sandstone. See the grain on the surface? And this one is siltstone. See how there are a multitude of layers. Both of these are sedimentary rocks often found on the surface here in Indiana where the bedrock breaks the surface....” blah blah blah.

It was almost 2 hours before we got in our cars and left. I think my ears were bleeding.

We met for coffee several times after that and just chatted. Almost always the topic would become rocks...

To say Lou loved rocks was an understatement. Rocks were like Lou’s children. Shinny rocks, flat rocks, rocks, any kind of rock. He told me that as a kid he would put small rocks in a plastic bag with some sand and ‘accidently’ leave them in his pants pockets hoping the washer and dryer agitation would polish them.

He said it all got serious when one day some of the older kids decided to throw rocks at him. He showed me the one, once... unpolished... with the blood stain still on it. He wore it around his neck. And yes, he showed me the scar on his fore head too. Right above his left eye. Said it was Richard Andrews and that some day he’d get even.

A few days ago, heading out to the grocery store, I passed through Lou’s neighborhood and saw a police car down the road he lived on. I turned and went by to investigate. I found there were actually two police cars there and an ambulance. I stopped and asked what had happened.
“Do you know the guy that lives here?” the cop asked.
“Yes, Louis. Louis Covington.” I answered.
“You need to come with me.” He says. And proceeds to lead me inside.

Lou lived in a turn of the century two story. It was well maintained and huge for just one man to live in. The rumor mill in the neighborhood said his mother had left him the house and enough of a trust fund that he didn’t have to work and was able to keep the house painted and landscaped professionally.

As we approached Lou’s house, something looked weird. The house was out of square. It almost looked like it was squatting. Nothing you could really put your finger on, it just looked... weird.

We entered through the side door, and went into the kitchen. It was nice enough. Old appliances but neat and tidy. The floor was a little creaky but hey, it was a 100+ year old house. The floors are allowed to creak.

We turned a corner and entered what should have been the dinning room. Some where in it’s past it had been changed to a library. Beautiful walnut paneling and walnut shelving greeted us as we entered.

Once I was full in the room I could see why the house was straining, what had given it that ‘weird’ look. And what had happened.

Shelving had been built in the dinning and living rooms, making a very large library or rather, in this case, ‘rock display room’. There were thousands of rocks. Everywhere. Anything from raisin size to basketballs. There was even a couple in the corners that were nearly 4 feet in diameter. “How the hell did he get those in here?” I wondered. Most of the rocks and shelving had fallen through the floor and were piled in the root cellar. The EMTs and firemen had uncovered a high back Queen Anne type chair at the bottom of the mess with a crushed body in it

“Is that Louis Coventry”, the cop asked, shocking me back into reality.
“Covington. Louis Covington. Yeah, that’s him.” I murmured. “Except...”
“What?!?” demanded the EMT.
“He’s missing a keep sake necklace. A rock on a chain.” As soon as the words left my mouth I knew... “Good gawd you are a dumb ass”, I said to myself. The EMT looked at the fireman and in unison they shook their heads.
The cop said, “You’re kidding, right?”
I tried to laugh and smile. I squeaked out a “yeah”.

They brought him out, covered his body and took him away. Dead at the scene, crushed by the rocks that he so loved.

The city condemned the house and scheduled it for demolition. Before it could be torn down some kids had stopped by one evening to throw rock at the windows. The police were called and they had to call the paramedics. All four of the future felons swore they heard screaming right after the glass broke. And evil laughter. A mans voice, screaming in terror and wickedly laughing at the same time. One of the kids was bleeding from the forehead; he had a nice cut above his left eye. They were all taken to the hospital and given sedatives. The one bleeding needed stitches. To this day Ricky swears a rock was thrown back at them and that it hit him in the forehead.

The house was demolished the next day.

Last week I was walking the dog in that area and as I waked by, the dog took a special interest in something in the grass. I stopped to look at it. It couldn’t be. I picked up a rock... with blood stains on it... attached to a chain. The same as the one Lou had shown me earlier in the year except this one had a new blood stain on it. My heart stopped and I stared at that rock, my mind racing through all that had happened:
.... Ricky said he was hit with a stone... Ricky is Richard Andrews, Jr... he was hit above the left eye...

My Halloween Party

Last years run in with little Johnny Clark form down the street was so much fun I decided to have a Halloween party this year. If you missed last years ‘fun’ you can go here and check it out.

My neighborhood Halloween party was nothing too fancy, just a bunch of folks that owed me a favor or have a mean streak and... Johnny’s parents.

Hahahah!!!

After last years fun they tried to sue me. Something about child endangerment... phft WTF!! My lawyer said they were lucky I didn’t shoot him. (fuck’n right, little bastard!!) Best part about the whole fiasco last year was when he took off running, he tripped off my porch and landed in the warm bag-o-crap he had placed on my door step. Had it all over his chest and arms. Fucker!!

Where was I... oh yeah, the Halloween party.

So, John and his wife Betty showed up in their costumes. Him a Pirate and her, a wench. (how original...) The rest of the gang was in grim reaper or fright night ghouls get ups. Nobody’s face was showing. Lots of long black robes and masked faces. A couple of us had black cheese cloth across our faces making us look like we had no face. Everyone was talking weird too, disguising our voices.

In the back, he had ‘volunteers’ sit in a chair, get blind folded and have their hands tied behind their backs. Then we would make them put their hands in cottage cheese telling them it was guts, macaroni noodles that had cooled and stuck together and told them it was brains... you know the typical gross stuff.

Guess who eventually wondered back into the gross out room....? Yeah, John and Betty Clark... BAWHAHA!!

“Hey look a couple” some one growls from the back of the room.
“Maybe they’ll do it together” someone else cackles.
“Yeah”, “Oooo yea”, “That’ll be great”, breaks form all corners of the room in shrieks and shriving voices that would curdle your blood.

With some reluctance and a little prodding, John and Betty take seats facing each other, get blind folded and their hands tied behind their backs. Heheh , as fast as you can blink, we ball gagged them and tied them to the chairs. O jeese, they freaked out!! Some of you have heard screams through a ball gag before, I know. I hadn’t, it’s actually quite entertaining!! HAHAHA Now before you go all PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Asshole neighbors) on me, they were candy ball gags. They would ‘eventually’ chew through them... eventually. BAWHahahah!!!

A couple of the bigger guys picked up the chairs and started carrying them around and out of the house. Down the street and into their back yard. See, while a dozen or so of us were ‘having the party’ another 4 or 5 were ‘decorating’ their back yard.

We put them down, facing each other with their knees touching and left them alone till they stopped screaming... then I said in a very scratchy voice, “sit still and I’ll cut you free”. Now, they hear the sound of a machete coming out of a metal sheath... They both winced. I screamed, like I was using all my strength to bring the blade down and chopped into a rotting pumpkin. ‘THUNK’ a really dull flat sound... At the same time they were sprayed in the face with pumpkin guts.

Oh GOD!! Betty passed out!!! John was... frozen, especially after Betty passed out and went silent on him. A few slaps on the face and she was screaming in hysterics. Before she woke up, I noticed John had... a wet spot on his pirate costume. Poor guy...

We untied them from the chairs and pulled their blind folds off and kinda shoved them around in a tight circle for a couple minutes making sure they were good and dizzy. One side parted and they were pushed out into a kiddy pool that was full of thick red jell’o and ballistic jell body parts. Arms, legs, heads, torsos with and with out heads. The back yards was covered in fog and pulsing strobe lights. Then a loud boom from a July 4th percussion bomb, the lights went out and silence. And we left. Both of them were still screaming like little girls. That was Wednesday evening. Nobody has seen them since that night.

There is a For Sale sign in their yard today...

BAWHAHahahahahahahaha!!!!!!

Trick, or Treat?

So, I’m sitting quietly in my house last night, minding my own business with my porch light off (in my day that meant "go away"), when, ding-dong. There’s someone at the door. "Rats, n frasin’ little twerp kids, don’t their parents tell them stay away from houses with the porch light off", I thought as I put down my laptop, paused the DVR and made my way to the door. "looks like a candle flickering… what the f-hell". As I open the door I realize it’s dog crap in a bag, on fire, on my front porch. "Ya little shits!! Well, at least they didn’t get me."

I stepped over the bag and head to the garage, got a shovel. Easy enough, pick up the flaming crap, drop it in the yard (glad it rained some in the last few days). The bag slowly goes out (wet poop doesn’t burn). Put the shovel away, then head back into the house. As I’m heading for my favorite easy chair, I hear a bump come from the other room. I guess it was more of a pat or pad, you know, like something soft lightly bumping into something hard. I reach around the corner and flip on the light and… nothing. "I swear I heard something". No sooner did I finish the thought when something brushes past me and the lights went out. I about jumped out of my skin, and for some silly reason I pushed the door shut, slam-thump… Now I’m freaking, doors don’t make two sounds when slammed, especially if they don’t shut. I fumbled my way to the light switch and OMG!!! One of those little shits is in my house!! Currently knocked out laying on my living room floor.

Oh, ha ha ha. (my best evil laugh) Here’s my chance, I can teach these kids and their liberal "my kids never do anything wrong" parents a lesson. Quick and quiet before he wakes up I loosely duct tape his mouth shut and his hands behind his back. Grab a ketchup bottle out of the kitchen and pour some on the floor and table sitting near by, grabbed a big knife and a meat cleaver from the kitchen, ran both through the ketchup, just as this little punk started to stir. "Good, your awake, I hate cutting kids into little pieces when they’re sleeping, I don’t get to hear any good screams. Come on, you’re next…" as I stood up with both knives in my hands. Heh

I have never seen such a small person have such big eyes. He jumped up, cleared the front door heading down the drive, screaming all the way. Still amazingly loud considering he still had the duct tape partially covering his mouth. Apparently mom had come looking for him, because as I shut the door (for real this time) I could hear a chorus of screaming coming from outside.

As I re-situated my self in my easy chair, I couldn’t help but laugh. I think I might have to pass out candy next year.