The short stories below are from a writer's group that met at the Battery Park Book Exchange & Champagne Bar in downtown Asheville. We wrote based on prompts or whatever came into our brains at the moment and shared. It was fun and surprisingly creative. I put some of mine below.
Day Care from Hell
"Adolf," I shouted. "Stop trying to put a curse of Mansing on Bobby!"
He looked up, his eyes slowly leading the way until they met mine. I could tell they held a special harbinger of hate for me for having ruined his playtime.
"And stop with the stinkeye," I added. I turned and muttered, "Sheesh."
My eyes caught rapid movement from across the room. "Jimmy!" He froze without looking back. "So help me God, I will turn you into a cricket and feed you to Alexus."
He was building a small funeral pyre in the wastebasket and trying to light it with a flash of aerosolized furniture polish in tandem with a BIC lighter. I stepped briskly and grabbed both from his hands. Only 9 years old but his face wore the affront of an old man.
The ad said it was a challenging environment ... a home for kids bad to the bone. There was Chuckie with his frozen carnal glare, whether he was picking over his peas, plotting the end of your life as you knew it, or simply reading Angela Mayou. And there was Jimmy Bates, a young-fresh faced teen now but only a few years back, a psychopath who could be most readily found by following a trail of blood from the basement to the yard. His parents felt horrible about giving up on him until they discovered matching headstones in the garage behind blood-soaked plywood.
Adolf, such a sweet boy. Not sure why he's here other than a few confused moments of dabbling in sorcery and demon worship. I pray he finds a nice succubus and settles down.
I awoke from my moment to see Alice enter the room with Johnny in a painful headlock as she dragged him from one table to another searching for something. She sized up a heavy frosted ashtray, weighed it in her hands with a satisfying look, and raised it high as she prepared to smash it down on Johnny's skull. Though he couldn't see what she found, he knew it would be bad. He winced in anticipation.
"Alice!!!" I thundered and she froze with her hand held high, still weighing her options. "Drop it," I added softly but sternly.
Johnny looked relieved as she slowly put it on the table and reluctantly let go but not without a shove so hard he stumbled before racing from the room.
She shouted. "Look what that asswipe did to me!" Her hands spread to show a milk and cereal splattered skirt. "He threw a tennis ball in my cereal!"
True, it looked like a shaped charge of cherrios and 2% went right up her front. I stifled a smirk.
She pointed her finger smartly at me and snarled, "Tonight, he walks to the light," then huffed away.
I wasn't even on the job three days went Attila went all Henry the VIII on Billy the Kid's gerbil colony. What a friggin mess that was. I used to doubt the 'no pets' rule but then there was that incident where one gerbil went where no gerbil went before and that settled it.
You would think this motley assemblage of the world's coldest souls would be a complete downward spiral but some have found redemption and taken a new path. I remember stories of Molly dropping her fixation on all things axes and hatchets and took up cooking. I think she straightend out, though there was that one cook who went missing at La Traviata. Hopefully, he was the layabout his parents said and not the daily special others whispered of. Oh well, two steps forward, one whack back.
"Goddamit, Al - no machine guns allowed!"
Nearly 6:00, dinnertime. Thank God they would be more distracted by torturing their food than each other. Maybe I could finally get some peace. A glass of wine would be nice. But then I would have to pay Capone over there $10 to keep quiet. Bastard. I fished for some bills in my pocket.
Your Paradigm Shift is Calling
There is no assurance the things that start out easy stay that way. I suppose you could say that parable applies to Filmore Crenchet who, upon tending a neglected rose bed, had a most disturbing discovery. Mrs. Sanchez, who lives three houses down the street but noses into everyone’s on her block, heard him scream – a scream of the likes she had never heard.
Upon calling 911, Officer Bentley showed up – late again according to her – and dawdled inside his cruiser until she came out of the house in her natty bathrobe. He rolled his eyes. Her reaction told him she had seen that.
He was getting out of the cruiser when he heard a scream from up the block. He saw a small crowd in Filmore’s front yard. A moment later, someone ran from the backyard across the street, narrowly missing a car. The terror was unmistakable. Officer Bentley didn’t wait for Mrs. Sanchez. He ran up the street. He heard Mrs. Sanchez panting and muttering behind him.
Officer Bentley ran to the backyard where he saw others standing around Filmore, who was on his knees staring at a small hole. A few gathered closely around Filmore moved away as Officer Bentley shouted in his most authoritative voice, “Back away folks, this is a crime scene now.” He said it even before he laid eyes on the subject matter, so he couldn’t have understood the curious stares in return.
Mr. Gillibrand looked insulted. “Harumph,” he said as he moved back.
Officer Bentley stood over the small hole but he did not fathom what he was looking at. There was no body. Indeed, there was nothing. It was hole but rather than a hole with a bottom, it opened up to a clear vista below. And what moved beyond that portal was both shocking and mesmerizing.
Officer Bentley leaned down for a closer look. “Holy mother of God,” he whispered. He found himself on his knees, almost head to head with Filmore.
Filmore gave him a quick look and sheepishly commented, “I was just going to plant these roses.” A pause later. “Honest,” as if he had broken some metaphysical law and was now in trouble on both sides of the paradigm.
Officer Bentley leaned in closer for a better look. He brushed away some dirt for a better view. An immense creature passed nearby. It resembled a flying dinosaur but tethered to its belly were a long narrow strip of pendulous teats and hanging from them were hairy tendrils that draped a hundred feet long below it. They swung rhythmically with the whoosh of its wings. Beyond that, enormous lavender colored creatures floated in slow motion; they were shaped like a hippopotamus but covered with thousands of stubbly black quills.
“Dear God,” whispered Bentley. “What on earth”
Someone piped up, “Obviously not.”
Another shouted, “It’s the Devils’ work! Cover it up! Cover it back up!”
Officer Bentley shot a look behind him but didn’t see who said it. “We’re not covering it up!” He stared into it. “I don’t know what but we’re not covering it up.”
Just then, an eye appeared on the other side of the portal and stared back.
“Auggh!” Officer Bentley and Filmore leaped backwards, fell on their butts, and crawled away. The others reacted the same and the crowd pulsed back several feet. Moments later, the eye disappeared and a few intrepid inched closer.
Ms. Sanchez moved to the front of the crowd and looked down. She muttered something in Spanish. Officer Bentley knew there was a mention of God – Dios – but that was it. She made a sign of the cross and stepped back but her eyes never wavered from the sight.
Filmore stood up. “We gotta call the Feds.”
Officer Bentley looked at him with a tinge of umbrage at his perceived incompetence.
Filmore added, “No, I mean like Homeland Security or something.” A pause later, “They need to know.”
Someone from the back snarked, “Ain’t no Al Qaeda coming from that place!” A few others chortled.
Tommy Asperg stepped forward. He was only 12 but everybody knew he was a bright kid. “We should contact them.”
Officer Bentley looked over and rolled his eyes but his face turned to shock when he saw Tommy toss a cell phone into the portal. It made a small slurping sound and there was loud pop – like a muted M-80 going off – that startled everyone back.
“Goddamit!” shouted Officer Bentley. “Why’d you do that!?”
Tommy shrugged. “It was my sister’s phone … and she’s pissing me off.”
“Sheesh,” Officer Bentley said and shook his head.
A second later, Tommy’s phone rang. He looked at it curiously. “It’s from my sister” he said holding the phone up.
Officer Bentley stood back and started to take the phone.
“I guess I should answer it,” Tommy said.
There was a collective shout of protest but it was too late. Tommy pushed answer and held the phone to his ear.
The crowd was silent with anticipation.
Tommy listened carefully, nodded, and handed the phone to Ms. Sanchez. “It’s for you.”
Universe of the Ghost Romantic
“I don’t know,” Laura said. The tone of her voice was soft and way it trailed off to a hush, it spoke of her confusion. She looked up from fiddling with her drink.
Her eyebrows jumped up as if to highlight the frustration even more.
I nodded and looked out the window past her. A Hispanic lady was shouting at her son, throttling his arm like a limp fish in her meaty paw. Bystanders weaved past without so much as a glance. I thought she could just slit the boy’s throat right there and no one would give a shit.
“What do you think?” Laura asked, emphasizing the urgency by putting her hand on mine. It took me by surprise. I stumbled for something wise to say but the only thing that blurted out was the last thing I wanted to say.
“I can’t believe you slept with Jason.” And there it was. An inmate of my subconscious prison that slipped past the guard, no doubt conspired with another to distract me while it escaped. And now it was flying away into the cosmos, deep into the universe of ghost romantic.
Laura’s eyes cringed with hurt. “I can’t believe you would say that!” She shoved her chair back. “I’m … I’m pouring my heart out and this is the shit you say to me?”
“Laura,…. I’m sorry.” I stammered again. “I don’t know.” I looked down. “It’s just that I can’t remember the last time you touched me with any tenderness.”
Laura stood and glared. “What the …?” She gave a heavy gasp of exasperation. Others stopped and noticed. She leaned closer, hands firmly on the table. “Are you mental?” She stood back and folded her arms. “I can’t believe the shit you say to me sometimes.” She leaned in again. “Maybe that’s why I slept with him.” She shook her head. “He would never ask me that!” She walked off in a huff.
“Laura,” I said but it sounded more like a whine. I sat back down, trying to shake off the stares from around.
A few moments later, the waitress came over. Her fun demeanor was gone. I had clearly offended the entire gender in whatever I said to the one.
I saw Laura enter the street. The Hispanic woman was still shaking her child, who was now reduced to tears. I watched Laura as she lit a cigarette and paused to watch the drama. She shot a harsh glance through the window and walked off scene.
There a quiet moment as I contemplated the infinite depths of my stupidity in my second drink. When I looked up, there was a flurry of activity on the street: people running helter skelter. The Hispanic lady stopped shaking her child and reacted with horror to something off scene. I couldn’t tell what it was but I knew it was in the same direction that Laura just headed. I bolted from the table. I heard the chair fall over but I was almost out the door when the waitress yelled; I didn’t care. I had to see what was going on and if Laura was OK.
It was hard to make my way up the sidewalk as there were so many people running towards me. I kept looking for Laura but didn’t see her.
And then I saw it. And then I didn’t. It was such a blur. A black shadow that seemed to swirl, push, and pull but without form. The air seemed normal but there was the sense of someone standing next to you. And when I turned to look, there was no one there.
I turned and saw Laura trapped in a doorway, covering her eyes against a black smoke and dust swirling about. She screamed in pain.
I ran to her but somewhere along the way, it felt as if something grabbed my legs and pulled me. She looked up and yelled, “Mac!”
“Laura!” I yelled back. She turned her head away to protect her eyes from the stinging dust. “Laura, I know what you need to do!”
“What?” She turned and tried to look through the dust.
“Jason!” I shouted. The wind grew louder and I wasn’t sure she could hear me. “I know what you need to do about Jason!”
“What the fuck?!” She shouted. I could see a grin from a distance. “Are you mental?”
“He’s just like me!” I shouted. “He wants to say everything but doesn’t know how!”
“What?”
I yelled back, “Is that what, as in you didn’t hear me or like you need clarification?” I heard her laugh … for the last time.
I felt something strong push me to the ground and there was a deep burning in my legs as if they were being roasted over a spit. My mind lept to if I would ever have BBQ again.
She shouted back, “I meant as in more clarification!”
I yelled back. “Auuughh!. I’m kinda busy ... but he needs the opposite of what you think he needs!”
"I love you!" she said.
"I love you less!" I shouted back.
Honestly, It Followed Me Home
As I walked across the field to the old barn, the sun dipped below the horizon and left a crimson wash over the long brushed clouds. The last remnants of twilight guided me to the crooked side door and bid me farewell into the darkness. The flashlight was only a weak amber spit of light that fell a few feet in front of me. When I lifted it up, it was quickly consumed by the pitch. The smell of the old barn grew stronger, a stale mustiness of hay long soured, a dankness of wood soaked from a century of rain.
I followed the narrow steps down to the milking floor. The stairs were steep and warped. I stepped close to the riser as not to tempt the rot of the wood with my weight. Plumes of old dust rose into the light with each creaking descent. The place was old but full of voices. I heard the wind rise and fall through the upper eaves. A loose board rapped softly in the dark distance.
I felt a coldness pass over my neck and brush past my face. It wasn’t the kind of cold from the wind. No, it was a brush of something dead and old that was coming past and I was no more important to avoid than the rotting step I stood on. I hurried down the steps and quickly turned, flashing the tepid light all around. I knew it was futile but I couldn't help it, just a chance to see it, to bear witness to what Suzie talked about in hushed whispers around the campfire when the kids were gone to bed. Old Man Frazier. His spirit and his haunt of this place. What it meant to him and the people who died here trying to stop his descent into madness.
Suzie leaned closer to the campfire to speak of the tale. Her dark brown eyes were wide, alert. The light danced and flickered, framing her face with such urgency and unspoken danger. It made the hairs on the back of my neck shiver. I felt the flesh on my arms crawl as if freezing even though I was closest to the fire.
“It was the night Ole Man Frazier went crazy.” She spoke with a hushed voice trying to set the tone of the tale. “He had already finished dressing the hog and was settin’ about fixin’ the salt back and bacon.” She turned her head side to side to see if anyone was listening beyond us. When she was satisfied we were alone, she spoke again. “He was out in the barn when he heard a rustllin’ outside. Afore he went crazy he said it was a wolf but not any regular wolf. This one was on two legs and had human hands. It was gray 'cept for a white patch up the middle. He said it stood on both hind legs as close to him as that tree over there." Suzie pointed to one not 10 feet away. Buck gave a gasp. She looked at him and continued.
“He said it spoke. Ole Man Frazier ran into the barn to get his shotgun but when he came back out, it was gone. He ran up to the house to warn his family. They all came running down to the barn with shotguns, pistols, and axes, and Emmy even had a rolling pin. When they came into the barn, Ole Man Frazier saw the whole hog was gone. It wasn’t dragged away. No, that thing of the devil lifted a 300 lb sow clean off the hook and ran into the darkness with it on its back.”
I felt the shiver run down my spine.
"They followed the trail of blood for a while but when they got to the creek, they lost the trail. When they came back to the barn, they all closed it up tight with the mule and two hogs left. Ole Man Frazier said he would take the first watch in case that thing came back. It was in the night that they heard him scream. It was a blood curdling howl that brought them all running to the barn. They could hear the howling inside and a great thrashing. Finally, they got in but it was too late. Ole Man Frazier was gone ... or at least what they recognized of him. There was a creature and when it stepped out of the shadows, they saw his face but he was something else. Billy, the only one who survived said it was a great wolf but he was only 7 or so."
Suzie paused for effect. "The townfolk who found Billly bloodied and near dead in a heap of hay came to see what happened but it was too late. And they say on that night the spirit of the wolf comes alive to claim another. But if you make a bargain with it, it'll let ya live."
I didn’t believe it but had to check it out.
When I walked through the back door of the house, the family was just sitting down to dinner. My mom’s reaction of horror was the first I saw. Then my dad and my brother.
"Honestly Mom, it followed me home."
Hootnoggers
“Ever seen a hootnogger?” Elroy asked and he kneeled over the bloody chicken neck and surveyed the storm of feathers in the tall grass. He ran his finger through the congealed blood and sniffed it.
“Hootnogger?” said Shiloh and shook his head. “What’s a hootlogger? He kicked a rock as mean as he could, as if he thought Elroy was showin' him stupid and sprung it on him.
Elroy stood up and looked around. “You never hear of a hootnogger?”
“No!” Shiloh’s reply was hot and angry. He had a short temper and didn’t like to be teased. At least that’s what Jo’boy found out one morning.
“My daddy tole me about 'em when I was about yur age.” Elroy started to walk along a slight path in the grass as light as if a snake had slithered through and shook its tail to hide its tracks. Elroy leaned down again. He stood up and looked Shiloh in the eye. “They kill ya if you give ‘em half a chance."
Shiloh’s eye widened. “True?”
“True,” Elroy said and crossed his chest. “That’s what my Daddy said.” Elroy looked around again. “Said he caught one sneaking up on him once.” Shiloh’s eyes widened more. Elroy whispered with hushed alarm. “With a dagger in his hand.”
“Shucks! What did he do? Shoot ‘em”
Elroy shook his head, “Ah, hell no. Can’t shoot ‘em. Too damn small.”
Shiloh looked confused. “Small? Smaller 'an me?”
Elroy shook his head, “Oh hell yeah, small enough to fit in your hand.”
Shiloh shook his head in disbelief and turned angry. “You havin’ me? Cuz an if you are, I’m gonna womp all over you, ya hear?”
Elroy threw his head back and laughed loud and hearty. “Aw, I ain’t havin’ you! I had the same look when my Daddy tole me.”
They walked a while longer without talking but Shiloh was bursting with questions. When he couldn’t wait any longer, he said, “Well where'd they come from?"
Elroy stopped suddenly and put his hand out for Shiloh to hush. He froze with fear, looking first at Elroy and then ahead, tryin’ to fix on what he was seein’. Elroy crouched down and Shiloh did the same without a word.
The cold crept up Shiloh’s back like death was a spider crawling up his neck. His fleshed tugged in fits and he felt his eyes water up with fright but he dared not show any fear in front of Elroy, lest he not bring him out again.
Elroy got down on his knees and crouched low in the high grass, movin’ slow like a big cat edgin closer to a kill. Shiloh stayed right behind, movin in the same slow motion.
Elroy leaned down lower and reached for something in the tall grass ahead. He pulled his hand back as slow. He looked down and studied it in detail.
Shiloh edged closer and whispered in a mix of fright and suspense. “What is it?”
Elroy held out his hand and showed him. It was a small knife, as tiny as a wood shaving but it had intricate carving on the handle. Elroy whispered real soft. “They’re close.”
Shiloh nodded.
Elroy moved even slower forward and then veered around a small patch of open grass. He pointed down. Shiloh looked but at first he didn’t know what it was. When he leaned in closer, he saw it was a small campfire, no bigger than the palm of his hand. And there was a leg bone nearby. He picked it up and studied it.. It was gnawed clean down to the marrow, full of teeth marks.
The cold crept up past his ears and wrapped itself around his face, like death was a holdin’ him in its hands, studyin' his face. He turned to see where Elroy was. He was about two strides away now. Shiloh panicked. He didn’t like being around here and not seein’ anyone didn’t give him much comfort. He felt like eyes was on him. He hurried to Elroy, who motioned for him to be still. Shiloh crept as fast as he could, lookin’ behind most the time now.
Elroy pointed to a flurry of feathers and blood in the grass nearby, the bird’s carcass bloated up now. Shiloh wondered if they liked the meat with stink on it like gators or somethin’. He wanted to ask but Elroy was fixed on somethin’ ahead.
Shiloh tried to make it out. It looked some bushes movin’ in the wind but he couldn’t be sure.
Elroy moved closer … movin real still like. Shiloh could barely see him move now, he was so quiet.
And then somethin’ dropped from the tree above, plopped right on his back. Shiloh reckoned it was a hornet’s nest the way they buzzed out and starting flying all around his face.
“Augh!” Elroy screamed and stood up, swattin’ wildly at the hornets.
Shiloh stood up in horror. “Shit!” But then Shiloh say they weren’t hornets; they was like little men, like little toy solders in the store but they was movin’ with such a frenzy, flyin’ around his face, cuttin’ at him with tiny sticks and knives. The swarm reached a pitch to the point he couldn’t see Elroy’s face anymore. But he heard his scream like he’d never heard before. It was a terrifying yelp and then he started coughing. Shiloh saw blood come up. He backed up in horror. Shiloh saw the swarm hover and move towards him.
Shiloh turned and run as fast as he could. He could hear the swarm a buzzin’ right on his tail but he didn’t slow down or turn to look. He run as fast as he could. He jumped as far into the brook as he could and lunged headlong through the icy water to the shore. He raced behind some big ole laurels and turned to look. He couldn’t see anything. He could hear Elroy screamin’ in the distance and thought he saw him stagger across the field. “Run Elroy, run!” Shiloh shouted but stayed behind the laurel cover.
As Elroy staggered half-dead to the brook’s edge, Shiloh shouted again. “Elroy, c'mon!”
Elroy staggered the water’s edge and fell in face down but picked himself up. He started across the brook and was about halfway there when Shiloh started to see his face kind of quiver like a cat shaking off the cold dew in the morning. But Elroy’s face got more twisted up and then it didn’t seem like a face anymore, just a bunch of picture puzzle pieces comin’ apart. In a burst of flame and smoke, Elroy disappeared into a thousand little pieces that seemed to float up and then back in the direction of the hootnogger’s camp. The clothes fell into a wet heap in the brook and slowly broke away, floatin’ downsteam.
"Elroy!" Shiloh yelled. He yelled once more and then hightailed it home. In the distance, he heard a high buzz and whoops of celebration. He never run so fast in his life and yet, that buzz was right behind him all the way home until he hit the back porch and the screen door slammed.
Shiloh panted and yelled. “Ma! Hootnoggers got Elroy!” She didn't look up from a pan of fried chicken, just shook her head. "That’s a damn shame. I always liked that boy. Wash your hands, it’s almost time for supper.”
Shiloh shook the water off his hands but when he turned, there was Elroy at the back door ... covered in hootnoggers.
Voices
The woman standing next to me on the subway looked at me with a hint of pique. “What did you say?” She cocked her head slightly, a familiar sign of bafflement.
I was taken by surprise. The voices hadn't spoken to someone for months. It was a relief but it still left me anxious at when it might end. And then it was over. “Excuse me?” I said, removing my headphones.
She glared at me. “I don’t appreciate your tone,” she snapped. Her lips pursed thin and tight, the color blanched to light pink. “Perve,” she hissed and forged through the crowded car.
I watched her go. I wanted to ask what they said but I thought best to leave it. By the look of her reaction, it wasn’t good. She looked like she was looking for a Metro cop. I was in a hurry and the last thing I wanted was another interview. I stumbled into the flow of the next stop, exiting the car in short rapid steps to keep up with the pack until a space opened up and I could fast tack it out of there. A few moments later on the street, I breathed a sigh. It was a crisp December evening and the holiday lights were festive. I kept moving quickly. I knew the voice couldn’t keep up with my stride. It wanted to be conversational; I wanted to take a vow of silence.
I had to stop at the crosswalk waiting for the signal to turn. An older man with a cane turned to me and spoke, “It’s up about three blocks then turn right” He smiled .
“Excuse me?” I grew weary of the familiar refrain.
"The temple.” He repeated. “It’s up three blocks and a right on Avenue M.” This time he didn’t smile. He looked at me as if I were slow.
The temple I thought. What in the world? I didn’t have to meet Ann for another hour so I had time.
I walked up one side of Avenue M and down another but couldn’t find any temple, let alone any kind of place of worship. I stopped a couple walking by and shouted out, “Hey …” but they kept walking fast. I figured it was a joke the voices were playing on me, dicking with me one more time. I glanced at my phone. I only had 10 minutes to get over to Dickens Place and meet Annie. I turned to look and saw a small wood sign pointing to a walk down apartment, Temple. I stopped and walked downstairs. The light was on. A young man sat at a table reading. Behind him were bookcases filled high.
When I knocked, he opened the door without hesitation. Not a native New Yorker obviously. He cocked his head slightly and nodded yes, then motioned to step inside. I did.
I looked around. The floors were stacked high with books and yellowed magazines and newspapers, some looked like they were from before World War I.
He motioned me to take a seat. “Yes, I can help.” He said. I asked, pointing to my head, “You hear them?” He nodded. “What did they say?”
“Well, from what I can gather, he says he has been trying to get through to you but you keep blocking him.”
“Blocking him?” I shook my head. “I don’t understand” I pointed. “This guy has been telling people that I want to …. “ I stopped. I couldn’t even repeat them outloud. “How the hell have I been blocking anything?”
I grabbed him by both arms in a bolt of desperation and he jumped with startle. I saw the New Yorker then. “You can talk to him? Tell him to the get the fuck away from me!”
The young man nodded. “I don’t have to tell him. You just did.” He guided me to a chair and sat me down. “Thing is, he is you. You are him. There is no getting rid of yourself any more than ditching your personality.”
I sat in stunned silence. “Why can’t I hear it? What does it want?" I stood up in alarm. He motioned me to calm down.
"I have something." He came back a moment later with a small box, heavily inlayed with gold and silver. It looked old, very old. He opened it and pulled out a small black object and put it in my hand. I held it closer in the dim light. It looked like an insect pupa. “What the hell is this?”
He shrugged, “A translator … of sorts” He motioned for me to eat it.
"You're kidding me?"
"No, it is the thing you have both been searching for."
I hesitated and gulped it down but its burnt bitter aftertaste lingered. I started to gag and cough. The young man handed me a glass of soda.
I felt sick. “Here,” he motioned. “You should lay down for a minute”
I felt the tug of gravity and sloth come over me. The last thing I remembered was that Annie was going to be pissed at me being late again but I could explain it.
When I woke up, I was in the woods. I heard someone speak. “Get up, get up now.” I saw a gun laying nearby. The voice said, “Pick it up.”
I muttered out loud. “I don’t understand. Where am I?”
The voice replied, “Where you should've been all along.”
I staggered to my feet and saw a body lying nearby at the edge of the brush.
“What the hell have you done!?" I screamed.
“Me?” the voice replied. “I kept begging you to stop.”
I walked over to the body. When I recognized who it was, I realized the voice’s identity.
A Collector of Odd and Unusual Things
I am a collector of odd and unusual things, dare I say exotic and now, maybe even cursed. At least, that is what the man sold me this said ... this hunk of molten poured glass the size of a small pumpkin and inside it an oddly shaped golden piece of metal covered with deep engravings of a language I had never seen before. The man spoke of alchemy and that it was the Devil’s handwriting – known only to him. And above all, he said never ever allow the glass to break or the metal to see the elements of man. The prospects would be grave.
I nodded solemnly but inside I was smirking at the balderdash he heaped on this piece to gin up its price. His sincerity was beyond doubt but as I have found, most fools are earnest to a fault. I accommodated his stern warning only because I had never seen such a piece. Dare I say, it intrigued me.
But I was not worried until I took it to Sir Frederick for his esteemed examination. I knew the man would have some semblance of its linguistic branch on the tree of language and if luck fell in my favor, maybe even could decipher its mysteries. But I was getting ahead of myself. I watched him place it under a strong light and bring about a magnifying glass, its handle an elaborate carved ivory. He made only soft murmurings as he turned it and examined it with great focus.
At long last, he stood upright and looked at me. I couldn’t be certain but I sensed a trace of strong rebuke on his face as if he were irritated at my request. “It’s an oddity,” he said with a cool indifferent tone, “But it’s not of any true value.” He paused and stepped away from the desk. “I dare say it’s a cheap trope, maybe even a theater prop. But I cannot discern any features that would place it above the worth of a brelly from Longford’s.”
I was taken aback. “Your saying it’s a fake?”
He nodded. “Sorry old boy.” He took a sip of sherry. “I trust you didn’t spend much on it.”
I nodded no. To say outloud that I spent 48 pounds for it would have cemented his surmise of my foolishness.
“The man told me never to break the glass. That the metal must never touch this realm.”
Sir Frederick chuckled. “I dare say, maybe you should break the glass and sell the shards to recoup your costs. The metal too.”
I was stunned and heartbroken but I hoped my face did not reflect the disappointment in my spirit.
The next day I took it back to the shop to inquire about its provenance. The shop was closed but I saw shadows of movement when I appeared at the door. I banged incessantly until he threw back the shopkeeper’s linen and stormed to the front. The anger on his face was met with mine.
“What!” he shouted with great impatience.
“This …. Thing!” I stormed in past him. “I want to know more about it!” I placed it with a heavy thud on a wooden chest.
I saw a flash of fright on his face. “Careful you fool!”
“What is this? Where did you get it?” I poked my walking stick in his direction, demanding answers and punctuating the air with its imperative. He hesitated. “I said where?!” My voice thundered much louder than expected.
He stepped back. “I dare not say!” He threw up his hands and started to walk towards the back. “The last person who owned it barely survived to get it in that state you have. You best take care and take heed! Good day!” He disappeared behind the linen but I followed him. “Get out!” he shouted. “I will call the authorities!”
“Do so indeed for I should be happy to join them in their inquiry about this artifact … as in if it was stolen goods!”
He looked shocked with offense. “It most certainly is not!” He rubbed his sweaty palm over his hair, placing the large flock of errant hair back in place. He went to a cabinet and took out a bottle of spirits, poured a large glass and heaved it back without so much a flicker of hesitation. “I will tell you but it is not a story for the light of heart.”
I grabbed the bottle before he poured another. “Tell me. And I shall bring you some of the finest port in this city.” His eyes glanced about as if some invisible witness would chide him for doing so. He took a seat.
"There was a young man who collected as you. And little did he know that when he brought this piece back to the house, his parents were horrified. They had spent a lifetime securing the whole collection. They knew of its powers. But they also knew that if it were minus the last piece, it could not manifest itself. Indeed, they shared with him what he had brought back. A tool of the underworld. And its completion brought them great peril. They instructed him to remove it from the house – carefully – and to take it far away. Dispose of it in a most discreet manner and do not tell a soul. And on the way out of the house, he dropped the glass feature, breaking it open. His mother fainted away in a dead heap. His father – horrified – ran to the barn and chased out the horse and cow before setting it ablaze. He ran feverishly about it as it fell to ashes, watching carefully to see if anything escaped. He carried a loaded pistol with him but saw nothing until the highest embers were a few feet above his head and the barn, a smolder. His son was aghast with horror and shock. His mother dead, his father crazed. The neighbors took him away in a frightful state, screaming to his son to follow his instructions. The son, exhausted, went inside and fell into a deep sleep."
The shopkeeper took another long drink and continued. "He saw souls being taken to a place and disassembled, the parts being placed back into other souls who then took over the body. They absorbed the emotion and memories of the original soul but there was something fundamentally different. These were the souls that went back into people who had near-death experiences. He saw a toddler rise from it casket, ask for a glass of water from its horrified parents, drink, and then laid back down and died. It was an attempt by an old soul to return to a fresh body but something stopped it. Something yanked it back."
"He imagined himself standing in Victoria’s Station, watching mutely as thousands of people moved across, streams of traffic with sharp errant shards flying off and back into the flow and pulse of humanity. The faces, the looks upon their faces and the willful determination mixed among those who appear dazed and confused. There are some that carry large bags in tow, their wheels shimmying as they pull them quickly behind them. Others walk rapidly with determination and focus. They know exactly where they are going. Some stop to get their bearings, trying to interrupt the flow of a single person to answer their bewilderment but the others don’t stop. Now imagine you are the only one alive in the station and the pulse of humanity you see all around is not visible to others. You are standing alone in the station but you know you are far from alone. Energy and forms pass through you as simply as you pass through air and light. And yet, you are connected to it."
"Now imagine running into an old friend. He or she is hurrying to catch a train or bus or plane; it does not matter other than the intensity of their purpose but they pause to stop and smile and say hello. Perhaps a peck on the cheek or a quick hug, that delicate balance of delight and surprise with purpose and destiny to meet their schedule. You are both happy to run into each other but it’s evident they can’t stay long, they just don’t want to be rude. She leans in and whispers, 'Beware the watchmen,' and smiles curiously as she leans out, cocking her head ever so slightly. She leaves you with that perplexed smile as you watch her walk into the mass and disappear from sight. Beware the watchmen? What on earth did she mean by that?"
"Now imagine where are all these people going? What could they possibly be stressed about if they are already dead? I mean, isn’t heaven some endless nirvana that essentially negates all the harried crap they left behind when they were alive? Well, here is the secret. There is no heaven. They are all hurrying to catch the next ride back into the living realm. That’s right, they are catching a ride back into a body."
"Judeo-Christian orthodoxy says one soul-one body but that’s not how it really works. A newborn baby isn’t a vessel for a single soul but more like millions upon millions. Think of it more like a Greyhound bus with a couple of billion passengers. Oh sure, there is typically one person driving the bus – you – but if you listen closely at the quiet times, you’ll hear them. Do you really think our humanity is owed to some pixie dust sprinkled on you when you were conceived and that accounts for magical connection to the rest of the world? Instead, I would offer up this alternative explanation: you are comprised of billions of souls – from the Higgs-Boson particle up. You are a string of human experience woven into particles and molecules, proteins, peptides, tissues, and organs. Ever wonder why your brain has thousands of thoughts per second? It’s all those folks in coach clamoring for more."
"Imagine what happens to all those souls when they climb aboard a plane that don’t fly or a bus that sits in the terminal, a corpse, so to speak. They shuttle them into other flights. Same kind of overbooking you’re use to but with different consequences. See, since the original driver is gone, it becomes kind of a lottery but even lotteries of this sort have rules. When your time is up, you have to come in or relinquish control of the body to the next person who won the lottery. On the surface you wouldn’t know any different but it does kind of account for why some pick up certain fetishes out of nowhere or start acting a little odd. Some are not so quiet to leave, so you have your tussles over the wheel, so to speak. You know, the guy who comes into the mental ward and speaks Russian out of the blue or starts to talk to a stranger with such details that only his childhood friend knew about? It makes for a colorful transition sometimes. But there are the ones who fight tenaciously, clinging to the wheel, threatening to end it for everyone if they don’t calm down and back off. And there are others who just like the idea of pissing it up for everyone else. You know, the guy who drives the holiday bus off the bridge because he delights in knowing how many Christmas holidays are ruined because of him. Well, that would be a cream puff to the guy I’m about to tell you about."
"And before you jump to the conclusion that it’s “The Beast” or “Lucifer” or some other cockamamie name for the boogie man, it’s not. It’s much, much worse. In fact, I don’t even think you can imagine but with the story I'm about to tell you, you might have a clue."
I sat and poured a tall glass of sherry.
The Bullet Split Bone
I went to a seminar on living in the now but the motivational speaker pissed me off so I punched him in the mouth. I don’t think he appreciated the ‘nowness’ of my fist. In fact, he looked quite shocked and then pissed, justifiably so. I took the microphone away and turned to the audience as he started a long string of cursing from the floor.
“Looks like someone’s living in the past,” I said to the crowd and smiled. There was a small rumble of laughter. I heard him cursing and then the fat fuck tried to stand up.
I shoved him back down and stood over him.
“Do you see what the problem is?” I said with the same professorial tone that dripped from his lips only a moment before.
He lay stunned, not sure whether he should try to stand or not. I saw the security guards moving quickly up the aisles to the stage.
I turned back. “No you don’t do you?” I quipped to the crowd in a hushed tone, “I think the smarts get in the way of common sense, don’t you?” They laughed at my inclusion of them in the joke. A moment later, two guards were at the front of the stage.
I kept my cool. I turned back to Dr. Peeper. “Since I only have a moment left to enlighten you, let me begin with the fact that I have let go of the past. Let go of the fact that you weaseled your way into our lives and counseled my wife such that she could not live. Could not live with the way you fucked over our family, could not live with the shame, could not live with the unforgivable betrayal of all things kind and decent.”
The guards were a few feet away, standing between me and him.
I turned and walked closer to the crowd. “No, the good doctor here cockled his way into our family with all the tenderness of a gar penetrated into its host.” I looked back as they helped him to his feet.
“Liar!” he shouted and lunged forward. The guards were confused and shuffled between us.
“Really? So I’m lying about all those calls and texts?” I stepped towards him and he stepped back. “I’m lying about last Wednesday when she said she had to stop by the office but met you at some clandestine hotel room?” I stepped closer. “When she came home, I asked what was going on?” I stepped closer. “And she told me everything. I held the microphone close for effect and the word reverberated through the auditorium. “Everything,” I repeated.
“You preach about living in the now but all you did was use her past as a cudgel between her sense of decency and a twisted rationale of acting out your perversions.” I walked towards him and he almost stumbled backwards. “That’s right, she told me everything.” The word boomed through the auditorium.
I turned to the audience. “I say, let’s live in the now, shall we? Let’s hear what the good doctor did.”
He stepped forward and pleaded in hushed urgency, “Stop. Don’t do this.” A pause later, “Please.”
I chortled. “Please?” I turned to the audience. “Please?” The audience murmered no. “Should I please not say what the man who destroyed my family, my life, did with such callous disregard?” The audience murmered louder. “Should the now, the present be whisked away on the whispers of a please?” The audience said it plainly now. I turned back to Peeper. “Should I start with the toes or the dog?”
His face crumpled into a shrivel of despair. He turned to leave the stage, fumbling with the microphone.
“Oohh,” I mocked and smiled to the audience. “Seems wike da now is too harsh for the good doctor.” They laughed at my Elmer Fudd impression.
I walked towards him. The guards bristled with alarm but then looked at Peeper with confused disgust and disappointment.
“Maybe I should tell you about how she died?” The audience gasped. I turned to them and back to him. “Would that make the now feel better?” I pulled a note out of my pocket. “How about I read you what she wrote?”
I looked to the audience and saw a wave of phone cameras pointed at us. “Yes, how about I read you what she wrote to me, to the world. The last words I will ever have from her, imbued with the color of shame and disgust from a dalliance with you and your perverse distortion.” I leaned into the microphone. "May this now be with you forever."
The Pharmacy
Jerry finally told me where to find the pharmacy. “C’mon man, I am not fucking around!”
I grabbed his jacket and pushed him hard against the wall. It knocked the wind out of him; his breath passed over me, acrid and sour, like the smell of old stale beer mixed with vomit. I winced and turned my face into the cold to clear my senses. I could still feel a trace of his stench lingering in my nostrils, toying with me. When I turned back, his eyes were wide with an excited fear and anticipation of holding something secret and valuable as if there were something he could extract from me in return.
He held up his hands in surrender. “OK, OK, man.” He coughed in my face. I felt the spittle land across my face. I recoiled.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” I wiped my face hard.
He bent over and coughed deep and phlegmatic, long and hard, as if chunks of lung were standing in line to exit with each heave of his wracked frame. I backed away. A long moment later, he stood up, somewhat composed. He held his hands up again. “OK, OK, man.”
I lunged closer and it spooked him. “Where?” I growled.
I followed his instructions and walked through Belfry’s Bar into the alley, took a few steps to the right and looked for a door. “I don’t see any fucking door!” I hissed under my breath. I figured Jerry was doing his drunken asshole thing again. I was not in the mood. He said it would be easy to miss. I nodded several times when he told me there wouldn’t be anything marked. The only clue was the door. I walked back and forth the length of the alley several times, searching both sides but there was no door. “Fuck it.” I wondered how to best kick his ass when I saw him again.
I started towards the bar door of Belfrey’s and caught a glimpse of a pallet leaning up against the wall. I yanked it hard but there was only a small hinged wooden cover, no larger than an air return. I almost walked away but I stooped to look closer. It had a knob on it. I pulled on it hard to open it up but had to shove the dumpster aside to get the thing fully open. I could feel the filth of the dumpster crawl across my hands.
The space was dark but I could see that it was much deeper than the building wall it sat in. The flashlight from my phone showed a shaft about 15 feet before it turned. It was barely big enough for a person but I had to give it a shot. I couldn’t live with this thing inside me anymore. I could feel my heartbeat bounding inside my chest. My stomach was tight as if I had just wretched.
I took a breath and crawled in. It was too small to make on all fours so I crawled along on elbows and tiptoe. I shined a light down the turn. It went for at least another 20 or 30 feet before the light disappeared into the black. The cramps in my thighs crept up to my gut and I felt sick. I pushed on. A few minutes later, the tunnel turned again and I could see about 40 feet down the way. And then the light flickered. I paused and turned it off to save battery juice. I crawled forward in the pitch black. It was hot.
I felt something brush across my neck. “Auughhh!” My hand jerked and the phone flew into the black. “Shit, shit, shit.” I panted. “No, no, no” I shuffled forward and felt its familiar shape. “Oh fuck, oh fuck.” I closed my eyes to catch my breath. When I opened them again, I could see a faint glow in the distance. I moved quickly towards it. I was starting to feel claustrophobic, like the tunnel would swallow me up. A minute later, I emerged.
The space was an open meadow with a soft golden glow from a distant sunset but the sun did not look familiar; it was much bigger and had a pale lavender tint underneath a butterscotch glimmer. The grass was green but with a vibrancy I hadn't seen before, a pop of uber green that only existed in the soft billowy memories of summer as a child walking barefoot through velvet dewy blades of coolness spread between my toes. I knelt down to feel it and it was soft and wet. I almost took my shoes off.
I stepped out into the space and looked back. The only sign of the passage was a small hole in the ground beside a towering oak tree. I walked down a grassy path towards a spring in the distance. I paused at a muddy patch and noted an odd shaped track with a deep impression. It had a basic human footprint, albeit small and with a large claw indentation along the heel.
Jerry told me this was a pharmacy but not your typical drug store. This was a place, not a shop. It was where you came to pick something up but he warned, “You have to leave something behind too. It’s not free.” He leaned in for emphasis and the smell of his sour beer breath crawled up my nose to wither. “You have to choose carefully.”
I nodded half-heartedly. That was Jerry ... the Jerry that wrapped one arm around you while swigging from a bag with the other and told you wild stories that – on their face – seemed like a chimera of fantasy with a dash of his heroism. But when I told Jerry ‘my problem’ his eyes were serious and alert, his tone somber and dare I say, sympathetic.
“That’s a bitch,” he said when he heard my tale of woe. “That is a real fucking bitch, man.”
He took another hard swig from the mystery bottle in the bag and offered me some. Normally, I would have passed but there was such a look of connection in his eyes, the only thing he could offer other than words was the drink in his hand. His offering of something precious and important: seemed like an insult to refuse. I didn’t even think of the filth as I put my lips to it. I just sucked hard and long at whatever was waiting for me inside. It was sour and left a hot burning glow as it slid down my throat. Jerry made a motion for me to take another and I did. I felt a slight flush of its touch almost immediately. I could see why it made Jerry a slave to its desire.
I got to the pond, an oblong emerald body of water that was bookended by a clutch of old trees on both ends, their gnarly boughs swung low and seemed to cross over each other until the mass of them looked like one organism. It reminded me of when a cell divides and the telomeres stretch across the spanse until only a hair of open space exists between them.
And then I saw it. A flash of fright swept over me. My skin twitched as if ice water grazed it. The hairs on my neck tingled with excitement and trepidation. It was on the other side of the pond and it started walking towards me. And then I watched it walk across the water as if it were as solid as the ground I stood upon. I didn’t know if I should run. My legs couldn’t move. I wanted to scream but my lungs were too weak to move; I could barely breathe.
In an instant, it was a few feet from me. The figure was tall, almost gangly with a long narrow head that rose well above me. But its legs were spindly and supported by tiny feet, almost prehensile with a pair of long curved claws sprouting from the back, just above the heel. Its skin was gray, almost translucent with a hint of definition of muscle and veins beneath. It extended a hand, long spindly fingers that extended to touch my torso. I stepped back.
The creature stepped back as well, not expecting alarm from me.
A moment later, a strong sense of comfort came into my head. Although I could not hear any voice, I sensed a message that it meant no harm. And then it seemed to be asking why I was here.
I turned and walked a few paces away as I tried to process my thoughts. “Christ” I thought to myself. “All these years of thinking about this moment and you stumble to say it.” I thought to myself. And then there was a moment of clarity. I turned to the creature and said out loud, “I want it out!” I pulled up my shirt and showed a small golden object embedded in my skin, the size of a stone-washed pebble and covered with strange writing. It haunted me.
It nodded knowingly. It stepped closer. I could sense it was asking what I brought in exchange. I stepped forward and pulled out a jade stone with deep gold engraving. “This is my soul from that moment of regret.” I placed it in its hand. “I want to be done with it. With all of it.” The creature nodded knowingly. It turned away for a moment.
A second later, there was a small glowing light on the ground. It pointed to the light. I understood that I was to go into the path. I knelt down to feel the ground and although there was an appearance of solid beneath me, it was empty space. I looked up and the creature pointed again to follow the light.
I started to crawl in. “Oh my God!” I started to panic and tried to pull out but felt no give. I felt myself falling into open space. And when I awoke, I looked down into a pond. In my reflection was the creature I had just seen.