The Walls of Jerry Coe: Mysterious Photograph #4

 My fourth entry into Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine's Mysterious Photograph contest. Yes, it won nothing.

The Walls of Jerry Coe

He came a-tumbling down. It took three, but they did it. Smashed, left bleeding, gasping, the alley walls closing in. A forehead cut dripped down into his eyes. Jerry Coe was paying for his sins in the cruelest way possible.

What sins? Introversion? Dressing differently? Pushing back at Tommy Tuba, making the big bully look weak at practice? Breaking into his locker, spray-painting two words – TOMMY TUTU?  

Jerry realized the alley shortcut was a mistake. Yes, he'd get him home quicker, but he didn't factor in how isolated he would be. And that Tommy Tuba would bring friends who'd make easy work of Jerry.

Jerry tried to scream, but no sound came out, frightened into silence. Looking at the right alley wall, he saw his trumpet. They had thrown it there, miraculously undamaged. He stretched to reach it. No good. Too much pain.

 He wouldn't give in. Jerry Coe tooted to the sound of a different trumpet. Two tumbling rolls, and Jerry grabbed his horn. He put it to his lips. If Jerry couldn't speak, how could he play? He closed his eyes, concentrated, mustering as much breath as he could.

And he played. A beautiful reveille. A clarion call echoed down the walls and into the nearby street.

Someone heard it. Help was coming.

But not for Tommy Tuba and his bully buddies. This was not over. Jerry Coe wouldn't let this go unavenged.

Soon, the walls would tumble in on Tommy Tuba.

 

One More Lick: Mysterious Photograph #3

 

Once upon a time, I knew everything there was to know. But now, that time is gone. At my age, I’ve forgotten more than I remember.

I look down at my beautiful stamp collection. One stamp for every country. Switzerland, where I pushed a man off the Matterhorn. Gambia, where I injected a man with strychnine. France with poisoned wine. Strangulation in the USA. 

Every country in the world. But somehow, I had missed Uruguay. I couldn’t stand being incomplete. I had to correct my lapse. Even at 86.

I booked a cruise to Montevideo. As the cruise was leaving port, I knew I had to act fast. Failing to kill in the city itself, I acted before we entered international waters. I pushed an old woman over the railings, but my mind was not what it was. I left a witness, and the police slowly traced it back to me.

Now I sit at my desk, holding the precious Uruguayan stamp in my tweezers, ready to place it in my collection. I hear loud knocking. I move the stamp towards my tongue. I hear the door breaking down.

I need time.

Time for just one more lick.

Like most of my entries, this one neither won nor received an honorable mention.  Nevertheless, I persevere!