Bad Blood Fears

Nothing enflamed me more with fear and loathing, nothing fueled my phobia of the elderly, than having to spend time in the same room with Aunty Rosalie. One look at her wrinkled skin send shivers of disgust through me, from head to to toe.  I had seen Shar Pei's that looked smooth next to her.

Her lips were thin and taut, a bloodless color and in a permanent scowl.  Her eyelids drooped so that only a narrow edge of a black iris peered out.  Her nose was flattened and you could see mucus dribbling down her philtrum, a yellow green almost reaching her pale lips.

Her thinning hair was gray, her skull dotted with balding patches.  Sometimes she wore a wig, but apparently that vanity escaped her today.

"Well, Marcus," she began, in a creepy croak that made my ears shrivel,  "So you've got another girl, do you?"

So that's what this was about?  Another Aunty grilling about his girlfriend of the week?  Except...this one was more serious.  How could she know that?

"Her name is what?  Katty something?" she sneered, mucus bubbling into her mouth, her long ear hairs twitching.

"Katra, Aunty Rosalie.  Katra Harma."

She almost started to rise, her inexplicably black eyebrows arching skyward.  "Ah hah!" she shouted.  "So what I have been told is true!  And it is also true that she is...." and here her voice dropped into an ominous whisper....."ESTONIAN!!!"

"What?  Uh...yeah.  So what?" Aunty Rosalie was a bigoted old fart, but why would an Estonian throw her close to collapse?

"You cannot marry this woman!"

"Aunty, she's just somebody I'm dating.  We're a long ways from anything...."

She interrupted with a shout, "You cannot be making babies with this woman!"

"Huh?  Who said anything about making babies?" I wanted to drop it but my curiosity was piqued.  "Regardless, what's wrong with Katra and babies?  I don't get that!"

She rose out of her chair to her full height of 4 foot 9.  "Because," pausing for dramatic effect, "she has BAD BLOOD!"

"Bad blood/"

Aunty Rosalie collapsed back into her chair.  "Yes.  Bad blood.  Lots of negatives.  Especially B negative.  They're very bad personalities, and it's harder to find blood donors if they're hurt.  You think I want a grandchild with an ugly personality, and then for the unwanted thing to die when they're beat up because there's not enough of their blood type?"

"That's ridiculous!  You don't even know Katra's blood type."

"It's in her genes.  Even if she doesn't have it, she could pass it on.  No more of this woman!  you leave her now or...".  She scrunched her face, turning it inot layers of wrinkles upon wrinkles with only a small tip of her nose sticking out.  "...or I will cut you off!  No inheritance from Aunty Rosalie!"

And there it was.  Why I put up with her despite my intense phobia of her.  She had me by the money balls.

So what do I choose?  My lovely Katra, or Aunty's millions?  Beautiful, sexy bad blood, or swallow my phobia and keep in Aunty's good graces?

Oh, well.

Estonia is too cold, anyways.


================

This story is the result of  the writing topics at our last Writer's Guild meeting.  The two choices were Bad Blood or Phobias.  So i figured, what the heck?  Let's see if I can't combine the two.

History of the Trap: December Stars Part 6

6

It was certainly odd.  Here it was just a couple of days before New Year's, late on a Sunday night, and the temperature outside felt no lower than the mid fifties.  You would think you would at least see snow and ice on the trees and fields that lay just beyond the Trap, but we saw none of that.  It looked just about the same all the time.  We never saw changes in weather, no animals or people, nothing.  As far as I knew not a wind blew, or was there a leaf or blade of grass out of place.  But I had not spent a lot of time staring at it either.

I walked out onto the grounds behind the high school, just to get some walking in and be by myself for a little while.  People had made it clear that they were not interested in my conspiracy theories, and I was beginning to feel a bit like Sue Boschman must have felt like, with her government conspiracies as to explain the Trap.  I felt isolated and morose.

There were few people out at that time, but I came across Larry Wiseman, lying out on the grass, staring up at the sky.

"What are you doing. Larry? You feel okay"" I asked, looking down at him.

"I'm fine, I think," answered Larry.  The super intelligent freshman looked up at the sky quizzically, not even taking the time to glance at me.  "It is rather confusing, though."

I sat down next to him.  "What is?'

"Look at the stars," he replied.

"I'm not really an astronomer.  What am I supposed to be seeing?"

"Look at the Constellations.  Do you see the Big and Little Dippers?"

He pointed them out, and yeah, I could sort of see them.  "Yeah, I think so."

"They're always there. They are what you call circumpolar constellations, and they never really go beneath the horizon.  Do you see that one over there?  That is one called Hercules.  See the stars that form an odd shaped rectangle and then the stars extending out to arms and legs?"

I sort of saw what he was talking about, but mostly I had to take his word for it.  "Sure," I replied.

"And do you see that quadrangle over there?  That is Libra," said Larry, his hand flashing across the star line.  That one I had no clue, and thought it was best just to agree.  I had no doubt that he was an expert at this.

"Do you know what's special about those constellations?"

"Umm...they got something to do with the Greeks?"  As soon as I said it, I realized that just made me sound stupid.

"Well they are not circumpolar.  They only appear in our horizon at certain times of the year.  Like in the spring."

It slowly dawned on me what he was getting at.  "Oh.  But, uhhh, this isn't spring."

Larry looked at me for the first time.  "No, it isn't, is it?  And the constellations I would expect to see, like Taurus and Orion, well, I can't find anywhere."

That startled me, even as woefully ignorant as I was about night skies.  "That's incredible!  What does it mean?"

Larry thought for a moment.  Then he sat up and said, "It's almost as if time no longer means anything.  Like it's no longer a constant.  Look at how fast our crops grow.  Anyone with agricultural experience will tell you that the gestation time is off the charts, and not even scientifically credible.  As for the people here, I mean, it's almost the opposite.  Guys virtually never have to shave.  And to the best of my knowledge, girls never have periods.  And I know this hasn't been Sodom and Gomorra here, but there hasn't been a pregnancy since the Trap fell, at least that I'm aware of.  The weather is constant, the dusk and dawn have stayed relatively the same, the exterior of the Trap, what we can see, almost is as frozen as a painting."

Larry paused for a moment, and then got up completely.  He was no taller than me, so he could start right at me, his sharp nose tempered by his thick glasses.  "What is going on, Lance?"

I just shrugged and shook my head.  That certainly was the question.

What was going on?

Writing Contest Winner! We Sold My Daddy's Stuff Today by Monse Burkett

I  am very proud to present to you another of our winners in our recent Okefenokee Heritage Center Writer's Guild Writing Contest!

The following poem is by Monse Burkett, a Pierce County resident and school system employee. and our third place Adult Poetry winner!  Congratulations!

Monse Burkett


We Sold My Daddy's Stuff Today
by Monse Burkett


I sat numb as they carried each piece away.

There goes the big Craftsman tool box.
The one he used at the mill.
The man who bought that,
sure is happy, as he drags it up the hill.

We sold my Daddy's stuff today

There goes the 4-wheeler,
the one that pulled the hayride during Halloween.
Lord!  How Daddy and that 4-wheeler
made those grandkids scream.

We sold my Daddy's stuff today

We sold his hunting clothes, thermal underwear,
gloves, boots and hats.
I hope the person that bought them,
can stand as tall as the man who wore all that

We sold my Daddy's stuff today

Everything he had worked for his whole life
they carried off his lifejackets, skis, poles
and even his fishing knife.

We sold my Daddy's stuff today

I sat numb as they carried each piece away........and
cried.

Writing Contest Winner! The Scribe by Jackson Bowman

I  am very proud to present to you another of our winners in our recent Okefenokee Heritage Center Writer's Guild Writing Contest!

The following story is by Jackson Bowman, a Ware County student, and our first place Secondary Story winner!  Out of all contestants in all divisions, her story received the highest score!  Congratulations!

Jackson Bowman


The Scribe
by Jackson Bowman

       A feeble flame flickered in the dark room, biting back shadows that wavered near the edge of the light.  A small, clay bottle sat on a desk, a stained hand dipping a crooked quill again and again into the ink until well past midnight.

      The Scribe hunched over, his tired eyes squinting in the dim light, examining the day's work.  It kept him up for hours past what he appreciated, and made his hands ache.  But complaining wouldn't change anything; no one paid much attention to him.  Etching out the last word in a scrawl that he hoped wasn't too lazy, he lay down his quill.  This book was finished and he could move on to the next.

      "But not tonight," he thought, stretching his arms over his head and massaging his hands.  Finally he snuffed the lantern and made his way outside.  The Scribe's eyes soon adjusted to the dark as he walked down the trail to his shack.  The sky was clear and a bright, full moon cast light across the grass and trees on either side of him.  His eyes scanned the blanket of shimmering stars above, each one of them twinkling and glittering, making The Scribe smile.

      He came to the end of the scrubby forest and stepped into a clearing.  In the center stood his home; a small, wooden shack.  He tumbled inside, hardly kicking off his shoes before he was snoring softly with a thin blanket beneath his head.

***

       This was an average night in the life of The Scribe.  Day after day, night after night, he turned out pages of calligraphy.  Book after book after book.

      Sometimes he scribbled complaints in the margins of the volumes he scribed.  Bits of his life hidden among the pages of history.  No one ever said anything about these additions, and he suspected the other scribes did something similar.

      Eventually the Scribe married and had children.  They were his joy and would greet him at the end of long nights - assuming they were still awake.  A lifetime passed, spent mostly at his desk, as both he and it grew more unsteady.

***

      Wrinkled and balding, the now elderly figure sat at his desk.  He sighed, setting his quill down.  The most recent tome was finished, and he should start on the next.  "But not tonight," he thought, snuffing out the old lamp and feeling his way towards the door.  The moon shone above him as bright as ever, and he stared at the shimmering stars patterned across the sky.  They danced in his blurred vision until his weary gaze dropped.  With his coat wrapped around him and his lungs working hard to breathe the winter air, he shambled home.

      Warm in bed, his heart slowing with every beat, he submitted to a well-earned rest.

***

      The next day a new hand picked up the quill at the old desk.

      A fresh sheet of parchment in front of him, The Scribe's eldest son began to write.

Ripping Good Yarns: Friday Fall TV 2014

No grid this year...they are too difficult to translate, and I don't have a good format to work from.

Here is the best of Fridays:

It's a Grimm return to television, for Season 4 of this series on NBC at 9 PM.  I watch this series, although not as compulsively as some others.  I sometimes let episodes accumulate and then binge it. It's gotten better as it's progressed - the recent addition of Trubel (pronounced Trouble) has helped.  And I am a big Adalind fan.  Yes, I know she's bad.  But I cannot even begin to count the number of bad boys that are fan favorites.  So there.

Constantine is on Fridays on NBC at 10.  It's a new show based on a comic book that was once the centerpiece of the mature reader Vertigo line from DC.  I have an episode on DVR but I have yet to see it.  I have read scores of the comic books, but I am deeply skeptical of TV's ability to translate this.  We shall see.

Aloha!  It's Hawaii Five-O (Season 5 - not counting it's original run in the 70s) on CBS at 9!  Ok, I don't really watch this show, but I want all the Rippers out there to know that my son, Greg,  helps as a Colorist for this show.  Footage is received in a fairly flat palate, and he helps brighten it up, and make it look more like the Hawaii that we fantasize about.  Cludoy gray skies that day of taping?  No problem!  He makes it bright and blue for you!  I think the Hawaii Tourist Board owes him big time!

ABC features Season 4 of Last Man Standing, one of those series where Tim Allen plays....Tim Allen.  At 8:30 CBS has the new comedy Cristela.  It is about, according to Entertainment Weekly, a legal intern balancing work and family in Texas.  I am assuming that hilarity ensues.  Any Ripper reports will be greatly appreciated.

CBS also has Season 5 of Blue Blood.  Tom Selleck is in ti, but I don't think he is a P.I.  At least I think he's still in it.  That may have changed.

Aaand...that's it for Fridays.  Everything else is reality shows and reruns.  No review for Saturday at all, because there are NO scripted shows that night.  The number of primetime scripted shows is ever dwindling.  Oh, well.  At least there's cable and streaming.

Next up:  The best of the Holiday movies!

History of the Trap: December Stars Part 5

5

It is hard to look back, some ten years later, and realize what a spoiled, selfish child I was.  Here I was, one of the few students in the trap with a parent (there were a few teachers that had some of their children in the Trap as well, but they were very few), and I had decided to stop talking to him.

I could not listen to reason.  I was angry that he declared Robert Pelley not guilty.  He said he was obligated to rule on the evidence presented.  I could not convince him of the conspiracy that was overwhelmingly clear to me.  So therefore, I shut him out.  My own father.  I just stopped talking to him.

I told you, Dr. Duncan, I had regrets and misgivings of what I did in the Trap.  I was no saint, which I am sure is what most people believe anyways, now that we are out of the Trap.  My turning my back on my father, especially later when he needed me so much, is the thing that haunts me the most.  As you will read later, the consequences were devastating.  If I only knew....

A few days later, as if to confirm the verdict, poor David Garvey was found dead.  He had slit his wrists and found dead in a boy's shower.  There was a note confessing his crime.  I DID IT.  I'M SORRY, it said, in big block letters, as opposed to the flowery cursive found in his notebook.  This put it to bed for many.  Not for me.  It just increased the darkness of the conspiracy.

Robert Pelley did not come after me.  Maybe I heard him wrong at the end of the trail.  Maybe it wasn't 'You're next".  Maybe he just changed his mind.  The only thing that was clear was that he was spending more time with Mark Granite.  He had become a closer associate of their army of jocks.

The big pre-Christmas event was a graduation for the seniors.  It was supposed to have been months ago, way back in June, but with the events of the Trap, it just got pushed off.  It seemed odd to have a graduation without one's family and friends to share it with.  But my father finally decided it was an important rite of passage that should be held anyways.

The band tried to play cheery music at it, and the TV station recorded the whole thing.  I begged off so I could concentrate on The Sands of Loren Christmas special (featuring the surprise guest return of David Deneau as Detective Haskins...Artie was right - no body meant they could come back).  Despite the upbeat attempts, the event came off as somewhat depressing.  My father gave an inspirational speech (or so I've been told - I kind of tuned him out).  Franny Cranfield was entertaining as the Valedictorian speaker.  Bob Short spoke, but he was more somber than I expected.  Leave it to Bob to nail the real mood of the place.

Christmas was also a little somber as well.  The choir had a concert that focused on cheery secular music as opposed to more religious songs.  Deck the Halls, Jingle Bell Rock, Rudolph and Santa's Stuck in the Chimney were some of the selections.  There was a Christmas Ball (a dance with a fancy name), and even a massive Secret Santa activity for those who cared to participate.  It was hard to come up with gifts in the Trap, but there were a lot of home made crafts and some food treats made in cooperation with the kitchen and home ec staffs. 

I pulled the name Jerry Mack, which was amazing, because most people drew names of people they did not know.  I am not a craft-y person, nor am I cook, so my cheesy out was to write a small part for Jerry in The Sands of Loren Christmas Special.  He played a hobo who finds Detective Haskins washed ashore on the Huron River, and calls in emergency services.  He had all of three lines, but he was delighted beyond all belief.  I was just grateful that shy Jerry was able to mutter the lines I gave him.

I received an unexpected present from Lindsay Starn, the sophomore student council representative who had attended the last council meeting.  She had somehow been able to obtain all the copies of my scripts for The Sands of Loren, and bound them neatly together in a special notebook, and presented it to me as if it were a real book.  She even kissed me on the cheek.  After Lisa, I had little interest in anyone else, but I did appreciate Lindsay's kindness.

I'm trying to be quick, Doctor Duncan.  I really am.  But there is so much to tell.  And I don't want to leave out things that may be important to understand what I have to tell later.  But before I leave 1974 and move on to the New Year, there is one more thing I have to tell you about.

It has to do with the stars.

Parlor Weekend and Other Monday Musings

For the first time ever, Benjamin went into E. L. Craven's Haunted Funeral Parlor.  A couple of years ago he had gotten into line to go in with his Nana, but backed out at the last minute.  So this year, a little more than a month shy of 14, he finally went in with me and a friend of his named Daniel.  We all survived.

There was a high level of theatrics involved, especially for an area like ours.  I am a plot person, and there was a sign with a great deal of introductory writing explaining the setup and how the Haunted Funeral Parlor came about.  But once inside, I kind of lost all that, and realized it was mostly about people dressed up as zombies or something similar coming up on you when you didn't realize they were there.  Probably the most interesting part was a maze when you got outside of the parlor.  The boys initially made wrong turns, and I had a small sense of worry that we might be trapped in it quite awhile.  But luckily they were able to get out after a few dead ends.

It is always surprising to me, given how small the town is, how often I can go out among a lot of locals, and not really recognize anybody.  The crowd of people waiting to get in were completely unfamiliar to me.  To be totally honest, some of them looked almost as rough as the zombies we were going to go see.

===============

We had a party in our own parlor on Friday night, about eight people over for a dinner party.  That was unusual for us, but it went very well and we enjoyed it.  Alison fixed her homemade lasagna, and one of the guests brought a delicious cake,  It was centered around people from our church, which I am happy to report is growing, including with Blackshear folk.  I really think that the growing future of Christianity lies within the progressive churches, and I am glad to see even in this area, our progressive church grow.

================

Sports was something this weekend.  Michigan got clobbered by Michigan State.  I had high hopes for Brady Hoke, but I still blame the Athletic Director more than the coach.  Why anyone thought a pizza chain CEO's skill set translated into a college athletic director's job is beyond me.

Sunday was a tough sports day for our house divided at Straitland. I'm glad the Lions won, but I can't help but feel for Alison, as the Falcons (my second favorite team) looked very effective in the first half, but just crumbled in the second half. And although I'm glad Detroit made that super last second field goal, I'm still trying to figure out how they managed to win the game by getting a second shot based on a penalty that they themselves incurred.

===================

I have been home since Thursday, taking advantage of my fat extra three vacation days a year.  I will be starting back on Tuesday.  It is a staycation, as our vacation budget was exhausted by California and by having to replace our refrigerator.  I have taken it as an opportunity to catch up on my writing.  I really want to finish my two novel-length projects, History of The Trap and Crowley Stories, and than focus on promotion and short stories.  That's the theory at any rate.

I have heard that some people have trouble with retirement, that they get bored and want to go back to work.  This staycation has demonstrated to me that I won't have any problem with that at all.  I love to write and read too much to ever be bored.  And there's charity work, community theater, and even selling antiques and comics if I felt inclined,  If it wasn't for that whole pesky money issue, I would retire today.

Until next time,

T. M. Strait

Writing Contest Winner! The Long Dark by J. B. Milligan

I  am very proud to present to you another of our winners in our recent Okefenokee Heritage Center Writer's Guild Writing Contest!

The following story is by J. B. Milligan, a Wayne County student, and our second place Secondary Story winner!  

J. B. Milligan



The Long Dark
by J. B. Milligan

      The woods never bothered Drew.  Nor had the talk of monsters under his bed, or the bogeyman in his closet.  None of the cliched children's lore of spooks and specters had ever made Drew even bat an eye in his days of youth, with one exception; the dark.  Even though he was long into adolescence, nyctophobia had long troubled him.  Why?  Drew had no idea.  Maybe it was the fear of not knowing exactly what may or may not be waiting for him on the other side, staring him down before the morning sun.  Or maybe Drew was a scared boy prone to over-exaggeration.  One night, though, he decided that he was sick of all the fear and irrationality.  He walked out his front door, and into the darkness that plagued him.  At first he walked cautiously across his front yard.  He heightened his pace after a while, until he was at a slight jog down the street that led to the driveway of his home.

      Eventually, he came to a stop.  He looked to his left and saw a dirt road leading to a dead end with trees blocking a small grassy area.  That's strange, thought Drew.  The roads in his neighborhood had been paved for years.  Drew began to have second thoughts about this.  It was midnight.  Something told Drew that his parents wouldn't approve of him roaming around.  No, I can't stop now, he thought.  I need to end this.  Drew took a left and jogged down the road.

      He came to the end of the desolate dirt road and was about to turn around when something caught his eye,  It was a light, hidden behind the trees.  A small light, but by all means an incandescent one.  Drew squeezed past the row of trees and stared in the light's direction.  It was a fire.  He made his way toward it, hesitantly.  As he got closer, he froze.  It was a tank, far in the distance.  The hulking piece of military equipment looked as though an enemy had met it, leaving it roasting in its own fuel and fire.  Then Drew looked up at the tree just above the tank. No, that couldn't be right - the branches were burning and aligned in such a way that they read, "War".  More than a little unnerved, Drew ran towards where he had entered, only that the trees and the road which had led him to this place were gone, replaced solely with darkness.  He turned to his left.  A large mass of currency lay in the palm of an unseen giant's hand, filthy and worn.  The stars in the night sky above spelled out, "Greed".  His heart pounding, Drew took a last look to his right, where the smoke from the fire had seemingly spelled out "Darkness." Drew had conquered his fear, and as the black clouds and smoke of darkness circled and swallowed him, the darkness had conquered him.

Crowley Story: Slammer Time

"What is it, Davis?  Why did you do it right now?" asked an exhausted Sheriff Alan Steel.  He had been up almost constantly since the Strickland murder, and ol' Deputy Davis Gorland had to go and pull the trigger on the rare time he went home to catch an hour or two of shuteye.

"Sorry, Sheriff," said the corpulent Deputy.  "The DNA results had just come in and I didn't want to wake you.  We thought we might better take him before he got wind of it, and decided to flee back to Connecticut or the Bahamas or wherever."

Alan Steel expelled a deep sigh.  "It's three damn o'clock in the morning.  When the hell did you bring him in here?"  They were at the Dixon County Sheriff's Office, a tiny building on the Round.  It only had two holding cells.  Most of the prisoners, when charged, were sent to Ware County, where the two counties had a joint prison facility.

"We brought him in at 1:23 AM, sir. We got him at his house.  I think we woke him up, so he didn't know about the tests yet."

"I'll bet not.  Did you wake up the whole neighborhood while you were at it?"

Lucy Mayer, the dispatch officer, came over.  "Sir, I think Deputy Dawg here woke up 'bout half of Crowley."

The Sheriff rubbed his eyes as if trying to wash away this whole scenario.  "I see it got you out of bed, Lucy.  This surely ain't your shift."

Lucy shrugged.  "No, Sheriff, it ain't.  But I heard what was coming down and I didn't want to miss it."

The Sheriff looked around and noticed that almost the whole force was there.  "Good lord, am I the last one in the loop?"

Deputy Gorland looked sheepish.  "Sheriff, you had just gone home.  You'd been here for three days almost non-stop.  You told us to wait for the DNA results.  When they came in, and it was almost midnight when they did, we decided it's what you would have wanted."

He had only gotten the call from Davis about a half hour ago.  Well, whatever; it was all set in motion now.

"Okay, fine.  I'm going back to talk to him now.  The rest of you stay out here."

Deputy Gorland did not like the idea of Sheriff Steel going in by himself.  "Sheriff, I don't know if that's a good idea.  He could be dangerous.  Let me go in with you."

"We are talking about who I think we're talking about, right?  Yeah, I think I'll take my chances.  He's more likely to talk to just me than having a whole herding team of officers back there.  Besides, you can monitor us on the closed circuit."

-----------------------------------------------------

They moved the prisoner from the holding cell to their one small interrogation room.  Sheriff Alan Steel sat waiting for him, the only furniture being a small table and two chairs.  The prisoner was chained at the wrists and ankles.  "Take that crap off of him.  He ain't going nowhere."

Officer Horatio Hernandez, the only Hispanic on the force, and one of Alan's best and most reliable, hesitated.  "But, Sheriff, that's not safe protocol.  You'll be at risk..."

"It's okay, Horatio.  I know this guy.  Things will be fine."

Officer Hernandez nodded and unshackled the prisoner.  Horatio was not tall, and might have been the only officer the same height as the prisoner (Lucy would have been shorter). 

Then it was just Sheriff Alan Steel and the prisoner, sitting at opposite ends of the small table.

The prisoner spoke.  "Thank you, Sheriff.  I appreciate you removing my restraints."

The Sheriff leaned back and glared at the prisoner's face.  "Yeah, I'm hoping that wasn't one of the stupidest things I've ever done, but sometimes you just gotta roll the dice."  He stopped and gauged his thoughts.  "What the hell happened, Gariton?  How did you get yourself into this mess?"

Gariton grimaced, his sad brown eyes reflecting a great depth of melancholy.  "It is a rather interesting predicament, isn't it, Sheriff Steel?  I certainly never thought I'd be wearing an orange jumpsuit.  I really don't think the color suits me."

"Well, you might have to get used to it, if we can't figure this out."  He leaned across the table towards Gariton Hollander.  "Did you kill Rondy Strickland?"

Gariton looked back just as closely.  "No, sir.  I did not.  But I want to help you find out who did it."

"That's mighty sweet of you, Gariton. But first, I kinda need to figure out why your DNA is all over the murder weapon."

"What is the murder weapon?"

That angered Alan.  He got out of his chair and almost started around to Gariton's side.  "Is that the route we're going to take?  Really?"

"Look, you can believe me or not.  I really don't know.  I heard it was a gunshot to the head, so I imagine it was some kind of gun.  But I don't know specifics beyond that."

"It was .22 mag Kel-Tech PMR-30, and your fingerprints and DNA were all over it."

"Fascinating.  But I don't own a gun, and couldn't tell you one gun from another.  Were there any other fingerprints or DNA evidence on it?"

"That's not something I want to share with you.  You're the one I'm questioning.  You're the one that's under scrutiny."

"I'm just curious.  Christine had a gun.  I'm not sure what it is, though."

The Sheriff looked down at the reports he had brought in with him.  Gariton was right.  There was other DNA on the gun.  Rondy's was on it, which was kind of strange, but maybe there was a struggle earlier.  But there was also Christie's.  "You think it's Christie's gun?  Are you implying that she is the killer?"

"No!" exclaimed Gariton, startled.  "It's just the only gun I've ever handled in my life.  I found it in one of her drawers, and I packed it up with some of her other stuff four days ago.  She had called wanting me to bring her some of her stuff.  She was moving in with Rondy."

"How did that make you feel?  Christie moving out?"

"Pissed off.  Upset.  She was difficult, and apparently not very faithful, but I did love her." Gariton looked up at the Sheriff and realized the impression he was making.  "That doesn't mean I wanted to kill Rondy.  Yes, I was upset, but I wouldn't kill anybody.  I...just wouldn't."

"Huh.  Is that right?  You know, that's not what they're saying at the Oasis.  You got into a fight six nights ago, remember?  People heard you threaten Rondy, you know.  People heard you say you were going to kill him."

"Close.  I said 'You are killing me, you know that?'  Anyways, I'm pretty sure that's what I said."

"Okay, now I know you're lying to me.  Too many other people heard something else."

"I can't help what other people think they heard."

"They heard 'I'm going to kill you, you know that?' Even your friend Janet Roper thinks so."  Gariton looked defeated.  "Any rate, this gun.  You say you handled it four nights ago?  What did you do with it after that?"

"I put in a duffel bag filled with her some of her clothes and toiletries.  I even stuck some of her porn DVDs in there."

"Interesting mix there, Gariton.  And what did you do with the duffel bag?"

"I took it over to Rondy's.  I didn't want to see her, so I just left it on the front porch."

"That was smart!  You just left a duffel bag containing a gun on the front porch?"

Gariton slumped over the table, laying his down in his folded arms.  "It's been a rough week.  I....wasn't thinking clearly."

"I'll say.  You ain't been staying at that big house you and Christie got with Daddy Delco's money, have you?"  Daddy Delco was Christie's father, the rich furniture retailer who had his hand in several highly profitable businesses.  "Man, that fancy house...and now it's all alone and empty.  Because you're not staying there either, are you, Gariton?"

No.  It's....too difficult.  There's too many memories connected to her and it overwhelms me."

"So where have you been, Gariton?"

"The office, mostly.  There's a cot in my office, and what with trying to catch up so much bookkeeping what with Houston, Jr. having left and Houston, Sr. recovering from his heart attack."

"You there mostly by yourself?"

"Well, Janet Roper has worked until 9 or so a couple of nights, but yes, mostly alone."

The Sheriff thought he might have to get into Gariton's relationship with Janet Roper, but right now he had other fish to fry.  "Were you up there the night of the murder?"

"Yes."

"You hear anything?"

"No."

"So there you were, right next to the scene of the murder, right in the building next door to you, walls thin enough to hear things, I would think,  Yet you saw and heard nothing.  Instead you were right there, motivated, seething at Rondy and what he had done to you, with no real alibi and a murder weapon found with your DNA and fingerprints on it!"

"Am I under arrest?  Do I need a lawyer?"

"You mean besides the one you just killed?"  Gariton looked angry.  "Sorry.  That was over the top.  No, right now I am questioning you as a person of interest.  But I have to admit, you are getting more interesting by the minute."

"Am I free to go?"

"Well, yes and no. If we stop talking now, I don't think I have any choice but to charge you with murder. If we keep talking, who knows?  Maybe you'll help me see the light."  The Sheriff sat back down across from Gariton again.  "Now, do you have anything else to say before I arrest you?  Anything to add before we call in your lawyer?"

Gariton thought for a minute, and then his own light came on.  Whether he could get the Sheriff to see it, was another matter.  "Yes.  Yes, I think I do.  Do you know what Rondy and Christie have been up to the last few weeks?  I mean, besides the whole infidelity thing?"

Sheriff Steel had to admit to himself.  He was intrigued.  "Oh, really?  Do tell!"

And Gariton began to tell.

History of the Trap: December Stars Part 4

4

The prosecution rested.  The case against Robert Pelley seemed overwhelming.  His confrontation at the dance, his prior brutish behavior towards Lisa, his verbal threats, the circumstantial evidence of having changed his shirt and his being unable to account for the shirt he wore the night of the murder, and the fact that he was missing during the time of the murder.

But then started Mr. Branch's presentation of the defense.  And I saw what seemed to me to be a sure thing being battered away.

First he attacked the physical evidence.  Nothing Mr. Bruchow's investigation team turned up tied Robert Pelley, or anyone else for that matter, to the crime scene.  Well, except for me.  My footprints were in her blood, and my fingerprints were on her clothing. 

He brought up Ricky Rosalie, one of Robert Pelley's buddies, who claimed that Robert had lent him his shirt that night.  And then the shirt in question was introduced into evidence.  Was it really Robert's shirt?  How many blue work shirts were there in the trap?  Probably not much the size to fit Robert and Ricky's frames, with both of them 6'3'or more.  The fact was there was nothing to tie that shirt to Robert other than Ricky's word.  And what value was that?  Not much to me.  I hoped my Dad and the other judges were as skeptical as I was.

Then there was a small parade of witnesses who tried to indicate that Lisa might be interested in Robert.  I was seething at such nonsense.  Did no one else but me see the look of fear in her eyes when Robert propositioned her at the dance?  The parade of witnesses included some of Morgan's girlfriends, like Amy James and Karen Gellenraad, but not Morgan herself. 

There was a short recess at that point, and I stepped out with the rest of the spectators.  Some would be rotated out to allow others to observe.  Morgan had not come to the trial, but she was outside talking to her boyfriend, Mark Granite, in a heated conversation.  I could not make out what they were saying, but she seemed very resistant to whatever it was.  That was quite unusual, because I had never seen her anything but lovey-dovey to Mark.  When the recess was over, she did not come in, but instead shrugged Mark's arm off shoulder and huffed off.

The next tact by Mr. Branch was even more fantastical, at least to my mind.  It was suggested that Robert was not the only one with a crush on Lisa.  He brought up witnesses that suggested other boys were also interested in her; the implication is that any one of those rejected suitors could be the murderer.  This was ridiculous.  Granted, Lisa and I had not been close in the weeks before her murder, but I still observed her enough to know there was no other guy interested in her.  Okay, yes, I admit.  I was following her a bit more than I should, but that did give enough insight to realize that most of what was being said was poppycock.

One of the guys, who were brought up as being interested in Lisa, was sworn in by the court, as what Mr. Branch called a 'hostile witness'.  I didn't really recognize who he was (we still had over 900 in the trap - it was hard to keep track of everybody).  He was sworn in and gave his name as David Garvey.  He was a sophomore whom I couldn't place at all.  He stammered out that he had really liked Lisa, but did not have the nerve to approach.  Mr. Branch introduced into evidence a notebook that had sketches of Lisa (at least that's what Mr. Branch said  - from my seat in the courtroom  I could make out nothing that suggested Lisa to me) and where he had written her name over and over again, and little hearts that had 'David + Lisa' written in them.

I don't know.  If this guy was doing this, it must have been from pretty afar.  And, of course, Mr. Branch was just showing us what he wanted to from the notebook.  The boy seemed more love struck than dangerous or angry.  That was the most damning things Mr. Branch found?  It seemed more smokescreen than fire.

Then Mr. Branch called up Mark Granite.  The crowd in attendance grew loud, everyone speculating what this meant.  My father gaveled us back to order.  Mark Granite gave his patented wink and smile to the audience.  When he looked at Robert Pelley, though, his smile went away.  But I saw something.  A certain look exchanged between the two, a slight nod, just ever so slight, too quick to be really picked up by others, but I saw it.  As sure as the world, I saw it.

Mark's presence on the stand made Morgan's absence more noticeable to me.  She was always by his side, especially at crucial times and public events.  Could he be about to say something that she did not agree with?  I did not know Morgan well at this point in time, but it did seem odd to me.

Mr. Branch established that Mark felt that he and Robert were friends, albeit not particularly close friends.  He knew that Robert was a bit of bully sometimes, but that he did have a good heart, and had come to rely on him a great deal on the football team.  This is why the great Mark Granite was on the stand?  As a character witness?

Mark admitted initial confusion as to the date of the murder.  He begged forgiveness as he was fresh off the big game, and not really concentrating on other things.  He said he wasn't highly familiar with who Lisa was, although later he did recall that Robert had mentioned her a time or two, and that in retrospect he might have also recalled her a time or two on the periphery of Morgan's friends.  He made a joke about how Morgan had so many friends; they were terribly hard to keep up with.   The crowd laughed.  Hey, it was Mark Granite!  And he was making a joke!  For the record, though, I did not laugh.

It became clear as to why all this date confusion was important.  Because Mark Granite was giving Robert Pelley an alibi, and the date confusion was to help explain why Mark had not come forward sooner.  He had called an impromptu after dance party with some of the football guys.  The party was in the boy's locker room, and it was just him and a few other fellows.  He confessed there was some moonshine involved (thank you, David Izzner, black marketeer extraordinaire, apparently still thriving despite all the scrutiny and confiscations), a part of the reason events might be a little fuzzy to him.  But he could verify that Robert Pelley was definitely there,   From 3 in the morning until 10 AM.  Yes, 10 AM.  So, if Mark was telling the truth, than Robert could not be the killer.

But Mark was lying.  Even the verifying witnesses that came after.  It was all a lie.  At least I felt that way.  Nothing they said fit together right.  Nothing passed the smell test to me.  And yet, to deny it, required a belief in a fairly big conspiracy.  And who would believe ill of Mark Granite, state Track champ, the most successful athlete in the school, with the prettiest, most popular girlfriend?

I didn't know why Mark Granite was lying.  But he was, for whatever reason, putting his reputation on the line to protect that scumball, Robert Pelley.  It woke me up.  I realized for the first time that there may be darker forces afoot than David Izzner and his Black Marketeers, darker than the random bullies and thugs that had been a part of our school life both before and during the Trap,  Forces that could take Lisa away from us, and then cover up the crime.

I could only pray that my Dad saw things the same way.  Surely he could see through this conspiratorial scam. 

I did not get a chance to talk to him.  He went straight back to deliberate with Miss Schram and Jan Houser.

A few hours later, we were called back.  My Dad solemnly announced that there was not enough evidence to convict Robert Pelley, and that therefore, he was found not guilty.

There was a cheer from the audience.  Most had been held swayed by Mr. Branch's defense, and the conveniently late restoration of memory by Mark Granite.

But I was not swayed.  I sat and I started to cry.  I could not help myself.  Robert Pelley was getting hugs and congratulations from many.  He was taller than most, and as he was being hugged, I saw him look at me coldly, and he mouthed two words.

"You're next."

Ripping Good Yarns: Thursday Fall TV 2014

No grid this year...they are too difficult to translate, and I don't have a good format to work from.

Here is the best of Thursday:

Scandal (Season 4) on ABC at 9 is one of my favorite science fiction programs.  That is not intended as a slam.  It is a wild, entertaining ride, and one of the best shows that Alison and I like to watch together.  But the politics and incidents are so far-fetched that it is best for me to imagine them happening in an alternate universe where things like that could happen.  As a political aficionado, I cringe as some of their implausible scenarios.   As a fan of great, melodramatic Ripping Good Yarns, I am also vastly entertained.  It's Olivia Pope's world, and we're just peeking in.  The most implausible part of the show?  That there is such a thing as a moderate Republican! 

How to Get Away With Murder at 10 on ABC tops an evening of Shonda Rhimes created programming, something ABC is extremely grateful for.  We have seen two episodes so far, and Alison is 100% on board.  I am a little more hesitant, as like with Scandal, I have to get over the more exaggerated aspects of it.  She uses her classroom as free labor to assist her with her cases?  She gets them to do quasi-legal questionable things?  Okay, I'll probably learn to accommodate it.  In time.

Gracepoint on Fox at 9 is a great little shoe that I am enjoying immensely.  Yes, it is pretty much a straight retelling of the BBC series Broadchurch.  It even has David Tennant (Who?) reprising the same role.  But the original has been difficult for me to find and stream, and I find this a great way to catch the story.  The ratings for this are dismal, but i don't care.  I like it anyways.

ABC begins its entertaining evening of Shonda Rhimes with Season 11 of Grey's Anatomy.  I don't watch medical programs (as a general rule), so I have not seen this, but it does have many devoted followers.  I do wish, if they are going to devote a night to great TV creators, there would also be a Joss Whedon night somewhere.  That would be awesome.

I inadvertently left CBS off my Wednesday summary in my first draft.  Leaving it off this time is not a mistake, as the night is taken over by NFL football, which does not fall into the purview of Ripping Good Yarns (also I exclude reality shows and news programming).  After football is over CBS will have Season 2 of The Millers, the premiere of the comedy The McCarthy's (not about the 50's Joe McCarthy era, but a about a New England family handling the outing of their gay son), Season 3 of Elementary, and Season 12, the very FINAL season of Two and a Half Men (party in Aisle Winning!).  Okay, looking this over, I really didn't leave CBS off this time.  I just extended it from Fall to mid-season.

Fox has Season 10 of Bones at 8.  It features Angel and Zooey Deschanel's sister.  

NBC has two new comedies, Bad Judge at 9 and A to Z at 9:30.  I don't know what to say about these two other than they are getting killed in the ratings.  10 PM has Season 6 of Parenthood, which is promoted as its final season.  Alison loves this program.

The CW has Season 6 of The Vampire Diaries (if you can sink your teeth into that) and Season 2 of Reign.  I watch Reign, although I am increasingly unsure why.  I think I keep expecting it to break out into Game of Thrones, Jr.

That includes Thursday's Fall wrap up.  Only Friday to go!

Writing Contest winner! I was Running, Running as Fast as I Possibly Could by Breanna Parks

I  am very proud to present to you another of our winners in our recent Okefenokee Heritage Center Writer's Guild Writing Contest!

The following story is by Breanna Parks, a Ware County student, and our third place Secondary Story winner!  

Breanna Parks


I Was Running, Running as Fast as I Possibly Could
by Breanna Parks

        I was running, running as fast as I possibly could.  Someone was chasing me and I didn't know why. The person behind me was close, so close that I could hear him breathing.  I was too scared to look back because it might slow me down and I didn't want to see what his face looked like.  Surprisingly he wasn't getting tired and neither was I.  I kept running and running until I found a tower to climb.  I made it to the top floor but I tripped and fell out the window and hit the ground real hard.  I got ready to take my last breath but I didn't die.  How was I still alive?

      The man grabbed me and took me to the back of the tower.  When he took his mask off I was surprised to see that it was a 17 year old boy named Austin that happened to be in my French class,  He gave me a note that said, "Meet me at 95023 Cumberland Drive at 5:00 pm on the dot and come alone."  Then he just ran away without saying anything.  I was so scared and confused!

      When I arrived at the cafe I found Austin with a few other teenagers.  They didn't hesitate to tell me that I had 9 lives but now I had 8 left.  They said it's because my birth mom was a scientist and belonged to a group that was experimenting with giving humans cat-like abilities, and that all of their birth moms were part of the group.  I was so confused so I asked, "Why is all this happening now?" They told me that the chemicals in our bodies are activated when you turn 16, in which my case is today.

      When I got home I asked my Mom if she knew anything about my adopted mother being involved in any experiments.  She said no.  We celebrated my birthday and I headed up stairs to bed.  Today had been a strange birthday for sure!

      Right before I went to bed I got a call from Austin.  He told me to be careful because our enemies are in town and they were there to capture us and experiment on us.  He said to tell no one of our secret and that there is no safe place!  Before he hung up he said, "You will learn to rely on your new cat-like abilities."  What did that mean?  Can I now climb a tree with no problems?  Would I have cat-like claws and excellent night visions?  This must be why I could run so fast earlier today and didn't die when I fell out the window.  Today had been a long day.  Not only was I exhausted but I was scared and confused.  All I can do right now is sleep.  I have 8 lives to figure this out, so sweet dreams!

Ripping Good Yarns: Wednesday Fall TV 2014

No grid this year...they are too difficult to translate, and I don't have a good format to work from.

Here is the best of Wednesday:

American Horror Show: Freak Show is the fourth season of the American Horror Show anthology, on FX at 10  PM.  Alison watched last season,  thought she could handle this one, but baled out the first episode after not being able to handle the clown.  I'm sticking with it,even though I have watched very few shows or movies or documentaries in my life centered around so-called freaks.  I'm not repulsed - just not that interested in it.  But I can involved in any story if the characters are good, and this season holds a lot of promise.

Arrow, on CW at 8 PM, gets my award for most improved and improving show on broadcast TV.  They are building a rich universe for Arrow and his cohorts.  The plotting is well done, the characters growing more interesting each episode, and the fight scenes have an actual air of excitement about them.  I don't particularly care for the flashbacks to Ollie of five years earlier but the rest of the show is very good.

black-ish has the sweet spot on ABC right after Modern Family at 9:30.  We have watched only the first episode, so the verdict is not entirely in at our household,  The family is intriguing and there are funny moments.  I have missed having socially relevant comedies on TV (such as the golden age with All In the Family and similar shows).  I do hope the theme goes beyond the father trying to instill what he believes is black culture into his children.  Roots are important, but I'm hoping the humor will be focused on a wider variety of topic.  We have a couple more episodes on our cluttered DVR and hope to see more of this soon.

Also on ABC is season 6 of The Middle at 8.  I hear good things about this show, but somehow we never got started on it.  Another one we've missed is The Goldbergs at 8:30, starting its sophomore season.  One we have not missed is Modern Family at 9, and is premiere family viewing at our house.  Modern Family started season 6.  Rounding out the night at 10 is Nashville, with season 3 of some mighty fine pickin' and a-grinnin'....and plenty of soapy prime-time action and romance.

CBS has two crime dramas.  At 9 Criminal Minds starts season 10 by adding to the cast the Ghost Whisperer.  A brand new drama starts at 10, Stalker, and it already has an enthusiastic fan base among some of our most devoted Rippers.  It comes from Kevin Williamson, the creator behind Scream, The Vampire Diaries and The Following.

Fox has Red Band Society at 9, about sick children at a pediatric ward.  I have heard some friends excited about this show.  If you want to see it, hurry up.  The ratings have not been good so far.

Speaking of needing to catch something fast, you might want to catch The Mysteries of Laura at 8 on NBC while you still can.  It is an other premiere show that is lagging badly in the ratings.  It is followed at 9 by Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, beginning season 16!   You have to give props to Mariska Hargitay for her commitment and durability as the lead character.  There are few actors in television who have been the same character as long as she has been.  Then at 10 is season 2 of Chicago P.D.  Okay, I can't pretend to know anything about this show.  It must have some merit in order to be brought back after its freshman season - survival rate for new shows is pretty low.

In addition to Arrow, the CW has The 100 at 9, starting its second season.  Benjamin and I watch this show.  It's been more surprising and twisty than I anticipated, a really good variation on the science fiction/dystopian theme.  I'm looking forward to it starting back up.

That concludes Wednesday's wrap up.  Two more nights to go!