The Start of Something

This is not a good time to start anything.

The night wanes deep.  The power has gone out.  The Kindle is drained, and the cell phone is at 4%.  Best to leave that for emergencies.

Nevertheless, my uninvited guest refuses to leave.  Insomnia has taken up residence, and I cannot shake it. It clutches me tighter than the blanket I have wrapped around me.

It is 45 outside.  And without a functioning heating system, the house is rapidly racing to match that.

I should have made sure that the flashlights had working batteries.  They stay on long enough for me to find a candle and some matches.  I set it on the dining room table and light it.

There is enough luminescence for me to see the paper and pencil I have set before me.

The dog looks up at me, shivering.  I put him on my lap underneath the blanket.  Thay way, we can warm each other. Dalton, my precious Chiweenie heater.

The paper, white and college-ruled, is looking up at me.  Fill me up.  Make me dance. It dares me.  It mocks me.

This is not a good time to start something.  Or maybe it was.  What else was there to do?  I can't sleep.  I can't do much of anything else.

Dalton is already asleep.  I envy how easy it is for him to slip into the dreamscape.

I clutch the pencil.  I shake my cobwebs.  Where to start?

After much brain strain, I birth my opening sentence.

Last night was a mistake.

There it is.  The start of something.  

I heard a woosh and a click.  The room was flooded with light.  The power was back on.

I stare down at what I had written.  What was I thinking?

I wrinkle the page into a ball and let it sear in the candle's flame.

Dalton clambers to the floor, no longer in need of my body heat and blanket.

That was not the time to start something.  As much as I was haunted, as much as I could not sleep, exorcism would not help.

A siren sounded, getting closer, flashing lights in the driveway.  Then silence. Then a knock at the door.

It might not be the time to start something. But it looked like something was going to finish.

I pray that someone will take good care of Dalton.

Banana Republic Halloween

 

Listen to the music!

Nothing better than be-bopping into work headphoning the Estron's latest hit, Sound Crash, the most popular song in the country as Halloween 2023 approached.  Wearing a ruffled green skirt, Harley Quinn t-shirt, anklet sox, and pink shoes, she knew she was the bomb, the height of Dixon County fashion.

She nodded to the manager, older than her by three years, but thirty years older in behavior. "You're late," the manager complained.

"Am I," she said in a sarcastic tone.  "Did I miss anything?"

The Dixie Land Mills, a shopping district built from Dixon County swampland, was not living up to it's potential, to put it mildly.  Banana Republic was especially down.  The odds of any customers showing until school let out were pretty small.

"Not the point!" the manager exclaimed.  "Get over to lingerie and straighten it out.  Last night, some customer rummaged through it and left a big pile of misplaced bras and panties. And take your headphones off.  You're at work now!"

"Wow!  You are super pissy today, Arlene.  Didn't get any action last night?"

"I'm not talking about that with you.  Get to work."

She snapped a quick salute.  "Yes, Massah boss." Debbie immediately had second thoughts about using that phrase.  Oh, well.  What's the big whoop?  Arlene wasn't black.

"Headphones off, Debbie."

What a crank.  "Tell you what.  I'll keep them on until a customer comes in.  Then I will be the Glommer Queen, following them, upselling them, whatever it takes,"

Arlene sighed.  Not a battle worth having.  She waved to the lingerie, and Debbie got started.

A man passed by the front of the store.  He had a huge automatic rifle strapped on, it's barrel higher than his head.  Not an unusual sight.  Georgia was proudly open carry.  And nobody knew when Antifa or BLM would show up, and our Proud Boys would have to show them who was large and in charge.

Debbie had not really seen the lefty radicals, except a black guy a month ago carrying a rifle, but Security quickly scooped him out of the store.  She didn't know what happened after that.

Oh, great.  Here he comes.  Speaking of radicals, into the store came her old-ex, panting, out of breath, dressed like the hopeless nerd he was, khaki pants and button-down lumber shirt.  What she saw in him was beyond her. Despite the ending of their hook-up, they were still friends.  There was some connection that defied logic.

"What you doing here, Belmont?" she asked.

He said, between gasps.  "That guy with the assault rifle, did you see where he went?

"What?  How would I know?  Do I look like a stalker gawker to you?"

"This is serious, Debs.  I think I might be in real trouble."

"Oh, God, Bels!  What the Biden did you do now?"  Biden was the new curse word.  She didn't know why.  She just went with what's in vogue.

"I spray painted the side of Crowley City Hall."

"What?  What stupid thing did you write?"

"AOC '24."

"Who?"

"She's a politician, a Congresswoman from New York.  They don't like her.  They just arrested her on trumped-up charges to get her out of the way."

"You spray painted a criminal's name onto City Hall?"

"An accused criminal, but that's not all.  I spray painted the Pledge of Allegiance under her name."

"Well, that ain't so bad.  A lot of people like the Pledgers."

"Not when you leave out the phrase 'under God'.

"You weeble-headed moron!  Did anyone see you do this?"

"Yes.  Dotty Mathers was coming out of City Hall and saw me as I was finishing."

Debbie knew little of politics.  But she knew about local politician Dotty Mathers. She was in one part of the Congress and was gonna run in '24 for the other part.  She wasn't sure what it was called, but it had fewer people in it - maybe two each state? "Oh, Lord.  Your pooch is Bidened for sure!"

"I been running ever since, and I don't know what to do.  You're my closest friend, so I came here.  But I think they're trying to track me, like that guy with a gun."

Debbie didn't know if she was honored or insulted by him, considering her his best friend.  "Maybe you should go visit your Aunt in Pittsburgh."

"Maybe you're right.  I don't know.  Crazies rule the Earth now. You may have a point, though.  It may be easier to hide there for a while.  Man, things got really screwed up! He stole that election, don't you know.  Him and his Supreme Court buddies!"

Debbie put her hands over her ears.  "Oh, please, Louise!  Don't bore me with another history lesson!"

"History is important.  Those who don't learn from it are destined to repeat it."

"Cute.  Everyone knows the other guy was trying to steal it, with phone tappies and all kinds of things.  That's why the other guy, and the black President, and that other lady who tied to beat him the first time are all in jail."

"Do you like your cousin Rose?"

"You bet!  She is my number one A-lister!"

"How did you feel when her marriage to Lisa was voided?"

"That was some nasty piece of Biden.  I hated that."

"Who do you think did that?"

"I don't know.  Some county clerk?  A preacher?  I really don't know."

"The Supreme Court!  The President put two more on the Supreme Court, creating an 8 to 1 majority, and they've been stripping us of our rights ever since!"

"Whoah!  That is way above my pay grade! Tell you what!  You get way too uptight over this crap.  You need to chillax and listen to some music."  She tried to hand him her headphones. "Have you heard the latest from Estron?"

They were interrupted by a huge whistle blast,  The coppers!  Debbie pushed Belmont under a table of panties.

Two armed police officers approached Arlene.  "Did you call us, Ma'am?"

"Yes, I did, officer," said Arlene.  There's one of them Antifa people here, hiding under the panties."

Debbie whispered to Belmont, "Run!"

Belmont darted out, but he didn't get very far.

"Sir, you are under arrest for violation of the Dissidents Act."

They hauled him away.  They were no reading of his rights.  Under the Dissidents Act, he was not entitled to any of those.

As he was dragged out, Belmont turned back to Debbie and said, "Remember history!"

Debbie was confused.  She didn't understand what had happened, but something itched at her that it was not quite right.  It certainly irritated her that Arlene narced on Belmont.  What a Biden!

In the back of her mind, a little thought burrowed in, that she might not ever see Belmont again. That made her kind of sad.

Oh well.  Back to separating bras and panties.  Time to listen to Estron again.  Time to think about her Halloween costume.  Which way to go?  Ivanka, Harley, or Proud Girl?

Tough call.

Happy Halloween.

 

Bite Into Halloween! Purlie Production's Dracula!

What better way to celebrate Halloween than by coming out to the Okefenokee Heritage Center with a scary and fun play, featuring the premier vampire of all time!

From the group's publicity:

The original, classic horror story! PLUS: Opening Halloween night! Anyone in costume is eligible to win a prize!!!

Almost Halloween!!! Time for the creatures of the night to get their fangs sharpened! Costume contest Halloween night! Shows Friday, Saturday and Sunday matinee.

This sounds like a whole lot of fun!  Everyone involved is working hard to bring you the best show and Halloween experience you can have this year!

Don't miss it!

They Come

They're coming.  And I can't stop them.

The security system doesn't matter.  They won't do anything to stop what's coming.  Even they are afraid of what's headed my way.

Having a gun won't help me.  What they possess can damage me far more than my rifle.

No persuasion will stop them.  No faith, no lawyer, no politician.  They can not be reasoned with.

If only we would have recognized what they were earlier, maybe we would have stood a chance.

Not now.

Now it is too late.

They're coming for me, and they can't be stopped.

An hour ago, I got the message from my friend, Warren.  He was the last one of my group that they had already come for.  He said they had decided to come for me next, and I had less than an hour to escape.

I made my wife and children leave, sending them to go to Aunt Suzi's.  I did not want them here when they came for me.  They were crying and clung to me.  My wife knew she would never see me again.  Eventually, bitterly, tearfully, she accepted reality and left with the children.

I wish I could get away, but I know better.  Once they target you, it's over.  There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.  Even if you manage to escape at first, they will come for those you love, and they will be at risk until they can have you.

They thirst for you.  They want to devour you.  They want to silence you forever.

I stand on the front porch.  Waiting.

Then I hear the sounds.  They're coming.  My heart is pounding.  Maybe I'll save everyone the trouble and have a heart attack before they come.

Then they are here.  An evil swarm, so thick I can barely see anything else.

Their pack leader stepped forward.  "Thomas M. Strait?"

Why pretend?  They already knew.  It was a rhetorical snarl, nothing more.  "Yes," I replied.

"Did you post yesterday an inciteful statement scandalously attacking our beloved Father?"  They moved closer, the odor like a sulfuric furnace.

"I said that I didn't believe special education should be abandoned, yes.  That's all I stated."

The pack leader's eyes were yellow and angry.  "You made it seem like the Father was the problem.  That he didn't care about the poor retarded children, and how humane it would be to phase them out of the stresses of associating with the healthy and vibrant.  You actually advocated that we should take away resources from our hard-working citizens, and give it in a foolish attempt to educate the uneducable."

"He's wrong.  The Father is wrong.  What he suggests is inhumane and cruel and immoral."

They gasped collectively.  One raised his weapon, ready to end my misery.

"Stop!"  he barked.  "Don't shoot this scum, this enemy of the people!!  Let our system decide.  We are a nation of laws, are we not?"

He came up to me, inches away from my face.  Yes, he was human.  That just makes it all that more frightening, that one human being could do this to another.  But maybe it's not so strange.  Hasn't that been the history, the shame, the intolerant horror of mankind?

"You have three days to publicly confess.  If you don't, you will face the Ultimate Punishment."  Death by hanging.  Yes, I know.  I also know that, whether I confess or not, they would end my life.  Shot and dumped.  I don't see why they think everyone doesn't already know this.

They put shackles on me and put me in their prison van.

Don't get all confident that you can avoid my errors and survive.

They came for me.

They're coming for you next.

Flash Fiction Friday: Broken

The first time I needed it, it was there for me.  It did what I needed it to.  I was lucky to have it, and it may have saved my life.  It certainly ended Bob's, though.  That's for sure.

Yes, it was stupid to come out here.  Bob convinced me that one more hike through the mountain trails would revive our relationship.  I knew that it was over, but I thought I would give him this one last thing.  Maybe it would make it clear to him we were no longer a match.

All it did was trigger his rage.  And with no one to hold him check, I was at grave risk.

Bob had laughed at me bringing the umbrella.  The forecast revealed only a tiny chance of light rain, and he had packed rain jackets that he thought would serve us better.  I don't know what made me bring it.  It was underneath the car seat, and I instinctively grabbed it.  When he challenged me on taking it, it just made me more stubborn to keep it.

When we got to the Mighty Oak, he wanted to stop and talk.  I made my feelings clear.  He was now a good friend to me, nothing more. 

Bob did not like this.  Bob did not want to accept this.  He pleaded and cried, got down on his hands and knees.  When he started to pathetically sing our song (Rihanna's Umbrella), I lost it.  I began to howl with laughter.

This was a mistake.  Bob was infuriated.  He came at me with a look of uncontrollable rage.  He hit me, right across the face.  It split my lip open, not much, but enough to taste the blood.  He grabbed me and started pulling at my clothes, at the same time while tugging down his own pants.  I still clutched the umbrella behind me back,  and as his insistent hug intensified, I swung it around, hitting him on the head full force.

He backed up a second, looking at me puzzled, blood seeping across his forehead.  "You bitch!" he screamed and came at me again.  I hit him again, and he went down.  As he started to pull himself up, I stabbed him with the pointy end.

Now it was my own rage that was out of control.  I struck him and stabbed him until the light went out from his eyes.

I ran.  I ran until I came to the stream.  I sat on a large rock. 

The rains came.  It was a deluge.  My umbrella no longer worked.  It was twisted and torn, bloody and broken.  It did not matter.  As heavy as the rain was, I did not feel it.


Then I heard it.  The singing and splashing.  The song coming from near the stream.  Someone was splashing in the stream, warbling Singing in the Rain.  It was Andy.  He must have followed me.

Sometimes when you break up, it's because you realize you're no longer a match.  Or you need to move to a different stage of your life that doesn't include them.  Sometimes you just want to be with someone else.  For me, that someone was Andy.

Andy continued to sing.  He took me in his arms, and we danced in the rain.  He kissed me gently, and for a moment, I forgot what had just gone on before.

Andy noticed my umbrella.  "What the hell happened to your umbrella?  It's all smashed up, and..." his eyes opened in surprise, " is that blood?"

I sighed.  I had trouble coming up with an explanation.  The only thing I could think of was a bear, but before I could say anything, he asked, "Was that Bob's car down there?"  He looked around.  "Where is Bob?"

Poor Andy.

Now him, I was going to miss.

The Whitehorse Curse

This is a story I did for Writer's Guild.  It was for the topic of Victorian horror story.  At the time I wrote it, it seemed like a fantasy.  Now...not so much.  WARNING: The writing is a bit more mature than what I usually have on my blog.

The Whitehorse Curse

By T. M. Strait

Whitehorse, Yukon Territory, February 1901

The blood-curdling scream was loud enough that it disturbed the gamblers in The Arctic’s casino, those playing the games of chance, rigged just enough to give encouragement to the hard-working roughnecks that frequented his establishment, just enough to keep them coming back for more, as they drank his watered-down booze, and visited his ladies of the night.  Despite his best efforts, sounds coming from his “Rooms for Ladies” still occasionally came through, but he prefers they be sounds of pleasure and ecstasy, something to fire up the base instincts of his patrons, when they had spent their fill on booze and gambling.  His goal was for every man who came into The Arctic to leave with empty pockets.  Where most of the men were still hoping to find gold in the dying gasps of the Yukon gold rush, Friedrich knew better.  He knew true gold lay in the hands of fools, and that he was expert at conning them out of it.

“No need to interrupt your fun, gentleman,” urged Friedrich, “Ernest and I will go and make sure everything is all right.” He motioned Ernest to follow.

Opening the door to the room where the scream had come from, Friedrich saw a sight that would curdle most men’s blood, but not Friedrich. No, not him.  Inside he saw a man, a tall thin man, almost skeletal, hunched over his best Inuit whore, slurping sounds coming from him as this vile creature, this vampire, sucked the blood out of the woman’s neck.

Damn!  The Far North had its benefits, but also its drawbacks, not the least of which was how the months long winter’s night drew out the vampires. “I thought we had an agreement,” said Friedrich coldly. “Hands off my best whores.  If you want that sort of thing, I can bring you some natives who aren’t fit for anything else.”

The vampire broke off his feeding and looked up at Friedrich, a deep-throated cackle coming from his lips.  “You are a fool, innkeeper.  You know nothing of what goes on here.”

The Inuit woman propped herself up.  “Friedrich, he’s right!  You don’t understand!  I love him!  His feeding on me was an act of love.”

“Love?” scoffed Friedrich. “What do you know of love?  You’re a whore!  You’re not supposed to love anybody!  You’re just supposed to screw them and take their money. And look at this monstrosity!  He’s nothing but a bottom feeder on the blood of humanity!’

The vampire laughed heartily.  “And what do you think you are, innkeeper? I suck blood and you suck money.  I leave my victims alive and ecstatic, tingling with renewed vitality.  You drain them of all hope and soul.  And when I find the right one, like Ahnah, I can bring them eternal life and youth.  You offer nothing in return.”

“If this was such a mutual love fest, why was there such a terrible scream?” asked Friedrich.

“That wasn’t me,” answered Ahnah, covering her exposed body with a bed sheet, “that was Chena. She came in on us and screamed before I could explain.”

“Where is she now?” asked Friedrich.

“S-she’s gone.  She’s not here.”  But Friedrich could tell by her tone and eyes that she was lying.  “Check the closet, Ernest.”

Ernest obediently opened the closet door, and there was Chena, a heavy-set cleaning girl whom Friedrich considered of inferior looks. She cowered in the closet, trying to hide behind some hung clothing.  Ernest pulled her out and held her harshly by the arm.

“Why not her?  I would have let you have her.  You could have drunk from her until the point of death for all I care,” said Friedrich.

“She is Hannah’s friend.  I would not do that to her,” replied the vampire.

“You wouldn’t?  Well, I would.  You both need a lesson taught here, of who’s really in charge.”  He tilted his head to Ernest.  “Kill her.”

The vampire roared and moved like lightning to stop Ernest.  Ernest just managed to get his pistol out when the vampire was almost on top of him.  But Friedrich was not standing still.  He had unsheathed a sharpened stake from his cane, and before the vampire could turn to stop him, he had plunged it through the vampire’s heart.  The vampire could only hiss at him, turn to his love, and say one last time, “Ahnah, my love!” and then disintegrated to dust.

“Are you all right, Ernest?” Friedrich asked.

Ernest felt his neck and nodded that he was okay.

Friedrich took the pistol and shot Chena, right through the head, causing her death instantaneously.

Ahnah screamed and rushed at Friedrich, her bed sheet falling, her naked body lunging towards him.  “NOOOOO!” she cried.

His wooden stick plunged deep into her, missing her heart by inches.  She looked at him with a withering hatred capable of melting a universe.  She reached out and touched Ernest and said one word, “Drink!”

She grabbed Friedrich’s arm, the one that held the wooden impaler, and for some reason Friedrich couldn’t free himself of her.  She spoke hauntingly, directly to his soul.  “You will pay.  You will pay unto generations.  Your first born’s first born will be an instrument of destruction, not just for your family, but for your entire country.  All your land will suffer.  Your name will be known forever as the bringer of destruction.  I curse you, Friedrich Trump, I curse you and your family for eternity.”

And then she died.  What an insane woman.  He was glad to be rid of her.

Ernest would remain his partner for only a short while longer.  He became increasingly irresponsible, intoxicated virtually all the time.

As for the Inuit woman’s silly curses, what did he care?  He was a self-centered con man, satisfied with taking from others and exploiting their weaknesses.  What did he care what his fist born’s first born did?  It wasn’t his problem.

That was a price for other generations to pay.

This was loosely based on Trump's Grandfather.  He really ran establishments like this, including one in Whitehorse, Yukon territories.  He did have a partner named Ernest, whom soon after the time of this story, Friedrich abandoned because of Ernest's drinking problem.  Shortly after I wrote this, the "grabbing" incident took place and I thought, well, this story is a fantasy and we'll never have to worry about the American people electing someone that scummy.  I was wrong.

The curse was stronger than I thought.

God help us all.

Uberween

What a party!  What a night!  But now it was time to make their way home.

They were a little tipsy, and they had no ride. The ones who had brought them had left and stranded them. Michael Myers, their friend who had costumed in a simple William Shatner mask, had decided to leave with Norman Bates, taking the car to go to a hotel on the coast, and meet with Norman's mother. Their other friend, Freddy Krueger, complained of nightmares, and left with Lizzie Borden for Elm Street.

There was nothing left to do but to contact Uber via their smart phone, and arrange for a pick up.

Twenty minutes later, their Uber ride arrived.

It was not what they were expecting.  A horse drawn wagon, with the back filled with hay bales.  The driver was a hunchbacked man, the hump raising dramatically up on the left shoulder, and his eyes were as large and round and as bugged out as any eyes they had ever seen. "Surely, you can't be serious!", he said to the driver.

"I am serious," the driver huffed.  "It's Halloween! We're booked up, and this is the best you're going to get.  Unless you want to wait here in the dark until the dawn sweeps away this ghoulish night."  Reluctantly, the man and woman got into the back of the wagon.  The driver looked back at them, looking grim, eyes bugging out even impossibly further,  "And stop calling me Shirley!"

They tried hard to settle in.  "Where to?" the driver asked.

"Didn't our text make that clear?", he asked.

"What text?"

"The one that called  you here."

"Oh, yes.  That one.  Pardon me, boy!  Was that the Okefenokee ChooChoo Germano Duplexes?"

"Yes, that's right.  Can you get us there?"

"Of course, master."

Master?  What a peculiar man!  They heard the crack of a huge whip, and the loudest horse whinny they had ever heard, and  with a start they were off.  They would have slid off had they not held on to the wooden side rails.

It was hard to get comfortable with the hay bales.  She smiled at him and said, "Would you like a roll in the hay?"

"What?  Now?  Are you crazy?"

She frowned.  "Sorry.  it was just a thought.  I had hoped you'd be a little bit more fun and adventurous."

"Well, I am.  I'm not just not an exhibitionist.  I won't do anything where he could see us."  He pointed up to the driver, and noticed that his hump was now on his right shoulder.  "Wait a minute!" he called out to him.  "Wasn't your hump on your left shoulder?"

The driver looked back, insulted.  "What hump?"

They drove on, and started to go down a dirt road, heavily wooded on both sides. "What is this?  How are we getting home?  I've never seen this road before!" he asked.

"It's a shortcut.  It'll take you right there."

This was too much for the man.  "I don't think..." and then was interrupted by terrible howling.  "Oh, my god! What is that?"

"Listen!," the driver urged, his ear cocked to the sound.  "Listen!  Can you hear them?  The children of the Knight!"

"Oh, no!," the woman shrieked.  "Vampires!"

The driver laughed, a strange gurgling sound.  "Vampires?  No, not vampires.  They are children of the Knight.  You know!  Bobby Knight, the basketball coach."

Tall young men in Indiana basketball uniforms went racing around the hay wagon, running in desperation. The man and woman heard something whooshing towards them, and ducked just as a metal chair went sailing past their heads.

A young girl in a red cloak came up to the front of the wagon and asked, "Excuse me, good sir.  Do you know the way to Granny Goodkind's house?"  The driver pointed a bony finger to the west, and she curtsied and skipped off, only to be followed seconds later by a huge black shadow.  The driver got out a primitive wooden horn and started playing Peter and the Wolf.

Then he changed his tune to the Jaws theme.  They heard a knocking on the side of the wagon.  "W-who is it?" the woman fearfully asked.

A soft, quiet voice answered.  "Candygram."

"I don't believe you!' she huffed.

There was a slight hesitation, and then the voice gently came back.  "Land shark."

It's nasty muzzle and teeth began to appear over the top of the wagon side, and the man instinctively tossed a hay bale at it, knocking it from the wagon.  They could hear it in the distance.  "Oy!  Sometimes it don't pay to get up!"

And the woods began to clear, and the woman noticed the home she was raised in.  Her mother was waving at her from the porch.  "It's Mama!," she shouted.  "But how can that be?  She's  been dead five years!"

The driver turned and answered. "It's where we're at, Mum.  The gasses from the nearby swamp create strange time warps, and you can find yourself lost in another time and place."

She started to move to get off the wagon.  "I must see her!"

He held her back. "Damn it, Janet!  Let's not do the time warp now!"

A few minutes later, the driver came to a stop.  "All right, you wild party goers.  This is your stop."

Brad looked out and saw an old, crumbly mansion.  "This isn't our duplex!  What's going on?  Take us home."

The driver shrugged, his hump now dead center.  "Sorry, mate.  This is where you get off tonight."  He swirled a lever and the trailer of the hay wagon lifted up, dumping it's contents, including Brad and Janet. The wagon took off so fast, it almost seemed to vanish.

They opened the creaky gate, went through the front yard, which was a cemetery filled with tombstones and strange, creepy vines.  They came up to a door with a large gremlin head for a door knocker.  "My!," Brad exclaimed.  "What large knockers!"

Janet gave him a swaggered look, and an uplifted eyebrow.  "Oh, no, you did-ant!  We are not even gonna go there.  You had your chance in the wagon!"

He brought the knocker down, and heard a large bellowing sound, as if Vikings were being called to raid a village.  The door creepered open.

There was a large, tall man, the tallest they had ever seen.  He had the palest, craggiest face they had ever seen.  He said, incredibly slowly, in deep dark tones, "Yooooooouuuuu rangggg?"

"Don't stand on ceremony, Lurch!," a voice from inside spoke.  "Bring our guests inside!"

He grumbled and stood aside to let them him.  The foyer and central room was like a madhouse.  Strange stuffed creatures were mounted on the wall.  A hand coming out of a box waved at them.  A bald man had a lit light bulb in his mouth.  There was a man of modest height, wearing a fancy dinner jacket, and he had a fine dark mustache, and a big stogie in his mouth.  "Welcome!"  he greeted them.  "So glad you could finally make it."

"You - you were expecting us?" stuttered Brad.

"Of course!"  He came up and shook their hands expansively.  "Why, it just wouldn't be Halloween without you!"

"P-please sir, "whispered Janet, barely able to get her voice out.  "We're grateful for the hospitality, but when can we go home?"

"Not until Wednesday..."

"WEDNESDAY!" they reverberated together.  That was four days from now!

"Not until Wednesday shows up!"  A young girl started to descend the staircase, looking very somber, dressed in a black Victorian dress.  "And there she is now!  Wednesday, my child!"

He turned back to them.  "And I am Gomez.  Over there is Fester."  Fester took out his bulb and waved, and then lit it up again.  "You've met, Lurch, of course."  Lurch nodded, grumbling.  "And Thing."  They looked at a box but saw nothing.  "Ah, sometimes, he's shy."

Gomez turned to a nearby door. "Enough introductions!  Time for the party!  Come into the parlor!"

He opened the door and it was a room even creepier than the last.  A woman, dressed in a black gown that clung to her and ran past her feet (did she even have feet?), was mounted to a stretching rack, one of many torture devices scattered through out the parlor.  "Morticia!  Get down off there!  It's time for our guest to have the fun!"

Morticia came down and glided towards them.  "Of course, Gomez dear!  I see Uncle Uber has brought us something new to play with!"

Brad and Janet looked at each other with horror.  "Let's get out of here!" screamed Brad, his hair standing straight up.

They turned to run, but Lurch held Janet, and a hand from the box reached out and held Brad firmly by the arm.

It was ooky.

It was spooky.

It was the Uber family.

Ba da da dum!

Snap! Snap!

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.

Ripping Good Yarns: Movies that Scared Me

The surprise twist isn't what did Alison and me in, although that was surprising enough.  The little boy, as he and his mother were struck in traffic, suddenly receiving messages from his dead grandmother.  We got out of the movie, and it was a  long time before we could pull ourselves together.


Unusual for me,  I know, but this is not a numbered , ordered list, nor is it even comprehensive.  It's just the first set of movies that came to mind when I thought of scary.

Oh, so many Stephen King classics to pick from!  But as far as movies go, this Brain DePalma classic takes the prize.  The grave scene at the end caused me to jump.  Not even readers of the book were expecting that.

Just a theme that scares the living crap out of me.  People go to sleep not knowing a pod is near them and wake up...something else.  Maybe this explains the Tea Party!  YOU'RE NEXT!

So muck Hitchcock to choose from!  But I have to pick The Birds.  Something ordinary turns extraordinary and vicious without any explanation.

The Mike Myers series of Halloween movies is interesting, but the outlier in the series, Halloween III: Season of the Witch, is a real gem.  Thematically more epic in scope, the haunting commercial and  unstoppable evil of the menace made this the best of the whole fleet of these type of movies from the eighties.  Two more days to Halloween, kids!  Do you have your mask from Silver Shamrock yet?

I saw The Exorcist while in college.  My parents and sister came down for a visit and this is what we chose as our "family" movie.  They went back home, and I had to sleep in an empty dorm room.  I was up all night, staring at the window, fearing that something was going to come "through".

Benny and the Wets

Benny Sigelman walked along the beach.  His troubles trailed behind him.  Even here, with the mild weather, the soothing sound of waves, the quiet give of the pristine sand, he couldn't put his unease at rest. Maybe if he jogged, he could outrun them.

It didn't work.  They could keep up so well.  There was no way around their insidious persistence.  His heart thumped and quivered, and he abandoned his attempts to run.  There was a limit, even in good conditions, to how long a 300 pound man could run.

He came to a wooden pier, one that had somehow survived Hurricane Mathilda, or had been quickly rebuilt.  No, it looked too old to have been redone.  How had it survived? This whole area had been devastated   by Mathilda's category 4 landfall.

He  noticed that there was no beach to cross if he were to try to continue underneath the pier to walk to the other side.  Should he quit?  Surrender in typical Benny fashion?  No!  He would make it through!  He just had to go through a little water, as it crashed against the pier leggings.

I can do this, Benny thought.  So what if I get my Nikes a little wet? How deep could it be?  Certainly not past his knees.

So he pushed forward beneath the pier. The ocean water, blue and brackish, lapped up to his ankes.  Not too bad.

Then a wave came.  An unexpectedly large wave.

And all of Benny's troubles caught up with him.

Wall of Desire

I think of you
Spun from white gold
by weavers so fair

I dream of you
Azure blue so bold
to a gaze that we share

I picture you
In a swirling green dress
dancing a dreamspin

I desire you
and to flesh I would press
where the kewpie I win

I tire of you
in a fleeting thought
and fence you out

I must have you
it must be fought
I won't be a lout

It has been three days
since I shared with you
I can hold out no longer

Open back the ways
hold the hammer true
make the bricks no longer stronger

I forgive you
I liberate you
I free you

The wall comes tumbling down
I pull bricks away with a frown
But there is no joy in your eyes
There are no heaving sighs

You stare back at me
With vision that does not see
My fit of pique went on too long
There will never be another song

Your spirit has fled
Nothing left to wed
Nothing more to be said
Nothing but an empty bed

sigh

For the next one
I shall keep detention
To just a day

Ghosts in the Crowley Night

They waited until late in the night.  They waited until everyone had gone.  Everyone, that is, except for Lester Bateman, the late shift janitor.  Lester was a new member of Cokie's loose knit band of paranormal investigators.  They were the finest group of paranomalists in Dixon County.  Of course, as far as anybody knew, they were the only paranormal investigators in Dixon County.

Cokie Goodkind, Franny's older brother, had been obsessed with unusual phenomena for several years.  Ever since he was 14, when he heard Granny Goodkind creaking in her rocking chair, in the corner of his bedroom.  This was after Granny had been dead and gone for six months.  He looked up and peeked out from behind his covers, and he saw an apparition in the chair, a faint white outline.  Then he heard Granny say, "Get some sleep now, child.  School comes awful early."  After that, he was hooked.

Over the following years he had gathered together his team extraordinaire. They had pursued leads and possibilities, at least once a month for the last couple of years, many hinting at the supernatural, but none quite delivering the definitive proof he craved.  The ghost that appeared in the window of the second story of the Court House seemed the most promising of all, and now that they had enticed Lester Bateman into joining the group, they had the means to get in and set up a proper investigation.

Cokie was a bit on the tall side, solidly built but not fat.  His brown hair was cut short, almost in a crew cut. He almost always wore a hat, a black fedora that made him quite unique among his peers, some of whom, like the thuggish Bandy Harley, made great fun of him for. his uniqueness.  But now he was two years out of high school, and  taking EMT training at the local technical school in Waycross.  His only job was helping part time at Swain's IGA, but that was okay.  Between EMT training and his paranormal research, his days and nights were full.

Waiting outside the back door of the courthouse with him were three of his most faithful investigators.  Billy Heart was there, his first partner, who had been there at the very beginning.  An eccentric, hippie-styled man, Billy was in his late forties, with an athletic body and a gray beard.  He was an adept musician and entertainer, and lived off a family inheritance, although he had held a variety of colorful jobs over the years.  Cokie and Billy had met at a UFO seminar in Valdosta over four years ago.

There was also their youngest and newest member, David Roper, a freshman in high school, who had recently moved from another town.  He was small and wore thick glasses, a little chubby and quiet, but very interested in their expeditions.  He had seen a flyer posted on a street pole, HAVE YOU SEEN ANYTHING OUT OF THE ORDINARY?  SOMETHING YOU CAN'T EXPLAIN?  WHO YOU GONNA CALL?  CALL THE GHOST SQUAD TODAY! and had to give it a call.  David had an incredible imagination and said he was using the expeditions to help inspire a game he was making he called To Crown a King.

And the last there was the most attractive, at least to Cokie.  Tabby Steel, fresh out of high school that May, older sister of Racine Steel.  She said she had some sort of recent experience at her family farm.  She wouldn't go into details, but it led her to be with them the last few months.  On the tall side for a girl, but not quite Amazon height, though.  She had long dark hair, falling all the way to the crack of her behind.  She had an intelligent face that reflected her driving curiosity.  Her hands were worn and calloused from all the farm work she helped her family with.  She was trying to earn some money and hoped to start a degree in Science at South Georgia next fall.

Lester Bateman opened the back door.  "Hurry!" he whispered.  "Come on in quickly! I don't want anyone to see me do this!"  Lester was a big man, in his early thirties.  He had been won over by Billy Heart in a conversation they had last week at Dandee's Junkyard Saloon.  Even though he had never seen the ghost they were talking about, he was excited about the prospect of being involved in an authentic investigation.

The ghost was expected to be that of Laura Gurney, a young woman who had been murdered late one night in 1926 in what was now Judge Strickland's courtroom.  The blood had been splattered across several rows and Laura's body found draped over the witness stand.  The murderer was never found.  Laura's husband, attorney Freddy Gurney, was suspected, but nothing was ever proved.

The most terrifying sighting was in 1955, when she appeared to Grover Compton, on a night that Grover swore he had not been drinking.  He was sitting on a bench in the Round, when he saw at the window a floating apparition, clearly female, and streaked with red, as if Laura was still bleeding.

The most recent was just two weeks ago, by Billy Heart and Cokie as they scouted for their next investigation.  They sat in the parking area of the Round, and saw a brief flash in the window.  By the time Cokie got his camera out, it was gone.  It was then that they hatched their plot to recruit Lester.

But now they were inside, except for Billy, who stayed outside with his cell, ready to text Cokie if he saw anything in the window.  The rest of them set up equipment at the ends of the hall, including an EVP recorder, a ghost box, a full spectrum light, and a FullSpectrum GoPro Cam.  They had accumulated some serious equipment over the years.  For his Ghost Squad, this was a serious job.

They hid in the dark at opposite ends of the hall, Tabby and Cokie at one end, and Lester at the other end with David. They waited like that for an hour, being as quiet as possible.  At one time, Lester had to get up to go the bathroom.  Other than that, there was very little movement.  Tabby leaned into Cokie, as if she were about to drift off.  Cokie had fleeting thoughts that there might be something else in the world besides ghost hunting.

Then his ghost box, which he had set on mute, started making little waves.  Something may be coming.  They all heard a creaking sound, as if a door was being opened.  It could have been Judge Strickland's courtroom door, but they didn't have the right angle to verify.  Cokie quickly made sure that the FullSpectrum camera was on.

They saw it drift out of the courtroom, a shape, clearly a woman, dressed in flowing gown, a cloud of white, streaked horribly with red.  It approached the window.  Cokie's cell vibrated with Billy's message that IT IS HERE!  Tabby grabbed his hand.  David was shivering - Cokie was having regrets he brought someone so young.  A portion of Lester's pants turned a deeper blue.

The apparition looked longingly out the window.  And then it shrieked.  A blood curdling scream that raised the hair on the back of everyone's necks. Will texted OMG! DID YOU HEAR THAT?

Then it vanished in a flash.  All the readings were back to normal, as if nothing had happened.  Lester beat feet as fast as he could.  "My God!  Let's get out of here...Now!" he pleaded as he ran by.  Cokie, Tabby and David gathered up equipment as quickly as they could and raced to join Lester at the exit.

Lester needed to go home to change and recoup, but the rest of the group was headed to Billy's place.  There was a lot to discuss and examine.

What a night!

The courtroom door was indeed opened.  And at the Judge's desk were crouched a snickering Barry Caldwell (the Mayor's son) and Bandy Harley.  They were tormentors of Cokie, going back to elementary school, and even now that they were out of school, they just couldn't give up the...ghost.  They carefully packaged up their projector and sound equipment.

As they did so, the courtroom door creaked to a close, slowly and loudly.

All by itself.

Bathed In the Blood of A Lamb

The water sprays down my face.
Cascades down my back
I swear I have it on scalding hot
But I can barely feel it

It's sweeping the stuff off my body
My breasts are now clear
I cup them and squeeze them clean
No longer would he touch them again

The bottom of the tub is pooling
Not just with water but also a color
A rich and vibrant red is now swirling
Off of my legs and into the drain

I reach out for a towel and cannot find one
How could I not have one in the bathroom
I step out of the tub and my feet grip the tile floor
The tile is pink like I'm skating on flamingos

I stand dripping, naked, unmoving
The towel must be in the bedroom
and in the bedroom he lies
waiting for me to do something

It was relatively easy to clean myself
But to clean him up will take some effort
Sheets to throw away, carpet to clean
And what could I do with the body?

Maybe I did not think this through as well as I should have
But it was time - I had had enough, I had!
Victoria was not going to be beaten down by him again
Jason now lay dead on her bed

I unfroze and came into the room
The body swirled in sheets on the bed
Funny how vulnerable he looked, almost effeminate
His back was to me, but he looked way too thin

Could death do that to you that quickly
And his hair was too long
Since when was his hair as auburn as mine?
Something was not quite right

I started to go around the bed to see Jason's face
When I heard ragged breathing coming from an unlit corner
I turned and saw that Jason had breasts
Beautiful, firm, melon shaped breasts

Jason is...not Jason?
I killed a woman? How could that be?
I started to gasp in horror as I began to see
Saw the face and realized....it was me!

No!  It's not possible!  I'm right here!
How could I be lying in the bed dead?
Blood pouring from a dozen cuts.
And what was that sound I hear in the corner?

The breathing grew louder and it became clearer
The one in the corner was Jason
Ans he was holding an ax
And staring blankly at the body in the bed

I began to scream, as loud as I could
Jason did not blink or move
He just kept clutching at the ax
And staring at the body

I was still naked
I was still screaming
I tried to put my hand on my body in the bed
And it passed right through it

Somehow my plan had went awry
Somehow he must have known my plan
And it became I that was to die
It was I that would inherit the empty land

Another figure came in
Standing on the other side of the bed
A woman dressed in a short black party dress
A young woman who looked like Neil Gaiman's Death

"Come, Victoria Lamb," she said.  "It is time for you to go."
I pleaded, "But this was not what I had planned!
What went wrong that I should wind up the one dead?"
"Does it matter now?", Death answered, as she brushed back her jet black hair.

Did it matter?  I guess not.
Jason could live with it now, try to cope with what he's done.
I was no longer needed here.
It was time to go to a different here.

I took Death's extended hand.
I could touch her and it felt wonderful.
It was true.  I didn't need to stay here.
I could now go off to a glorious new there.

Farewell, Jason!
Farewell, my fleshy, bleeding body.
Victoria Lamb was ready to go.
Bathed in blood no more.

When Ever I Wake Up

The cupboards were bleeding again. Looking up from the steam of my Randall's Cup-a-Soup, I could see the red drips seeping through the closed cabinet drawer and pooling on the counter top. My heart pounding, I pushed my chair back from the kitchen table and made my way to the cabinet.

Flinging the cabinet open, I saw on top of the white plastic dishes a severed forearm, still bleeding at the elbow. From just outside I heard the shuffling steps and quiet moan. I knew I would soon have a visitor.

The room temperature dropped twenty degrees, and I felt a presence, one that brought tears to my eyes and bile to my throat. And then I saw him, only inches from me, reaching towards me, the ghostly pale figure, the stench of rot almost making me faint.

He reached past me, and grabbed the arm. "Oh," he said, through a loosely hung, only partly flesh clad jaw. "I wondered where I had left that!"

It was then that recognition began to penetrate my hardened soul. It was my brother Andrew. He had died when I was only twelve and he was ten. A failed attempt to cross a bridge with a train behind us. I made it. He didn't. And here he was. But not as a child, but as a fully grown adult. Well, at least the parts that had not rotted off.

"Is that Randall's Cup-A-Soup?," he asked, as he tried to re-attach his arm, using a nearby stapler. "Damn! I even miss that! That's pathetic, ain't that the truth?"

The truth was, this was not the first time I had seen Andrew. Sometimes I was in places where the wall between the real world and the spirit world was considerably weaker than other places. One thing did seem to be almost universally true. Almost everywhere I went, Andrew was dead.

I sat back down, weary, but no longer frightened. "How's it hanging, big bro? You look like crap, half worn out."

"Speak for yourself," I replied, staring at the vacant hole where Andrew's right eye should be. "Yes, after all this time, I still fight going to sleep. But eventually I have to surrender, don't I?"

"Crap. I wish I could sleep. Roaming the earth in a quasi-zombie state ain't all that it's cracked up to be, believe you me."

I sighed. Might as well get to the heart of it. "Well, you see, it's a little different for me. Every time I wake up, everything changes."

"Change?", Andrew asked, as he tried to stuff an intestine back in place. "What do you mean, change?"

"Whenever I wake up, everything is different. One time I have a family and I'm living in Seattle. The nest day that I wake up, I'm a single guy who's a clown in a rodeo. The next day I'm something deadly dull like an accountant."

"Please!," shuddered Andrew, part of an ear falling off. "You're giving me nightmares! So you wake up somebody different each day? Wow! Say, do you ever have a nice set of knockers?"

"No, I'm always me. It's like me, but in an alternate reality. One where choices made by me or others have led to different outcomes. Like you. You died in my original reality when you were ten. If that's true, how are you an adult here? Do ghosts age here?"

"Oh, H to the no! Last year I fell into the path of a commuter train at a subway station."

"Hmmm. You and trains...not a good match!"

"So how long has this been going on?"

"I don't know. Several years, I guess. I lost count at four hundred and ninety eight. It started at my fortieth birthday. I think someone might have put something in my drink."

"Geez, worst Mickey of all time! Well, I guess that's why you were a little surprised at seeing me. You really didn't know this version of me. And if this is your first night here, you may not have anticipated how things work here." Andrew turned and looked out the window almost wistfully. "You haven't seen Sarah yet, have you?"

"Sarah?" She was my wife, the love of my life before the great unmooring took place. I only rarely have seen her since. Often when I do see her, we hadn't married and she doesn't even know me. Sometimes, the heartbreak is more than I can stand. "Sarah's here? And she's connected to me?" Hope filled my spirit.

"Yeah, ya dope. You two were married for twenty years!"

"Were?"

"Oh, cripes! That's right, you don't know. She's...she's like me."

I couldn't take it anymore. I might soon see my dead wife, a rotting corpse. "Andrew, I..I...don't know if I could handle that."

"You might want to start wrapping your brain around it. Because..." And then I heard the steps and moans from outside, creeping closer, ever closer.




Someone was shaking me awake, violently. "Sir! Sir! Wake up! We're at Defcon Four and you're the only one who may be able to talk her out of it!" I rose from the couch I had been apparently sleeping on, blearily confused, looking at the woman standing above me. Where was I this time? Defcon Four? Somebody playing War Games?

She hustled me down the hallway. Historical paintings lined the hall, men wearing suits with firearms in their hands stood in front of a door I was being led to. A person emerged from the door and anxiously came over to me. "Mr. Secretary, please! She already has launched the codes! You only have five minutes to talk her down!"

Oh my God! Have I mentioned that I don't inherit the abilities of whatever alternative me has? There was one time I woke up as pilot and almost crashed a Jumbo Jet! And this was serious, more serious than not knowing how to a do a damn Balance Sheet. "You..you have get to someone else to do this! I...I don't feel like I can do this!"

You have to, Mr. Secretary! You're the only one who can save the world!"

He opened the doors, and there I saw the most frightening thing I have ever seen.




President Palin.


God help us all.