Posts tagged ‘fiction’
PLUMBING PROBLEMS: PART VII
PLUMBING PROBLEMS: PART VII
As the weeks went by, my mind was occupied by the problems I was having with the plumbing. I drove down to the hardware store and bought every drain cleaner known to man, but nothing worked to clear the sinks. But then, they would clear spontaneously. I talked to Jack and some of the other locals about a recommendation for a plumber, someone reliable and not too expensive. They told me about a plumber everyone used that had just retired and the business had been taken over by his son, a young newlywed who was eager to build up his clientele and reputation, so I gave him a call. Two days later he drove up our driveway. DAVE’S PLUMBING was the sign displayed on the side of the panel truck. I opened the front door; we shook hands and he introduced himself.
“How’re you doing sir? I’m Dave Watson Jr. Now what exactly is the problem?”
I described the intermittent clogging of the drains, what I had tried and that nothing seems to work. Dave was a young man, in his mid-twenties, and eager to tackle the job. “I’ll check it out. Could be,” he said, “that you’re cleaning some of the build-up on the walls of the pipes and that’s causing the drain to appear cleared. But the cleared opening is so small the slightest material going down the drain will just clog it again. A snake should ream out the pipes and clear up your problem just fine.”
My wife was gone visiting her sister for a couple of days and Robin needed to be run around as usual, so I asked Dave if he would mind being left alone for a while. If he was done before I returned, he could lock the front door and mail me the bill.
“No problem,” came his reply, “you take care of your girl and I’ll see to the plumbing.”
With the owner and his child gone, Dave went out to his truck to gather what tools he needed. He first noticed the smell as he approached the master bathroom, a horrible odor that convinced Dave that things were backing up in there. He opened the door to an unspeakable sight, he turned to run but was grasped by the neck and pulled to the floor. The stinging pain was followed by paralysis as he helplessly viewed his attacker, then thought ceased.
PLUMBING PROBLEMS: PART VI
PLUMBING PROBLES: PART VI
Jack continued, “I had spread word around the community that people should stay away from the property; there is something wrong about that place. Whenever I saw a car drive up, which wasn’t often because the place was so remote, I warned, “This place is no good. It’s strange.”
I asked him, “How can you say that?” The house is a wonderful place to live.”
Jack replied, “I know it’s a great property, but there is something wrong. I pressed him to go on. “One day, while walking through the field you now own, I found something strange near the pond,” he stated. “The first thing I noticed was the smell, a God-awful smell that made me gag; then I saw it. It was lying on the ground, about eight feet long. Been dead for some time I would say. Had a head shaped like a pipe.”
I looked at him, unable to picture a head shaped like a pipe.
He continued, “Had fins too, so I think it was some kind of fish. Damndest thing I ever saw. The fins at the bottom of its body were huge. I thought – what the hell is that doing here and what the hell is it. I buried the damn thing to get rid of it and the stench. There was also one night I couldn’t sleep, decided to take me a walk. I was at the edge of my property and looked over at your pond and saw the damndest thing. There were things in the pond glowing and swimming around. I said to myself, “That’s it! This place is no good. Then when I heard the owner had gone missing, I just tried to keep people away. Did a good job too, until you came along. Be careful in that house, something just ain’t right.” With that he walked to his tractor and continued his work.
I thought about Jack’s description of the strange occurrences on my property. A head shaped like a pipe, that was the part that made me think that Jack had a libation or two before he made his discovery, or maybe forgot to take some medication.
PLUMBING PROBLEMS: PART V
PLUMBING PROBLEMS: PART V
The house had been on the market a long time, with the downturn of the economy not helping, but the realtor could not understand why there was so little interest in the property. So, when Laura and I came along, the family of Marcus Worthy was happy to sell, and I sometimes wonder if I could have gotten the price a little lower.
We sold our old house and the three of us moved into our new farmhouse along with our cat Molly. It wasn’t long before I discovered the first problem with our house, and it turned out to be the only real problem I could find. The sinks, especially the one in the master bedroom, would clog up periodically. It was weird though, because sometimes I didn’t treat the sink and it would unclog by itself. Other than the plumbing, the house was perfect.
Situated on the southeastern edge of the property, our back and western windows look out on our land. Not far from the eastern edge of our property stood a split rail fence and it is over this fence while out walking, that I met my neighbor Jack Small. Jack was in his late seventies and sat perched on an ancient tractor; he gave me a wave and shut her down, walked my way with hands in the pockets of his bib overalls, his work boots kicked at the newly turned earth.
“So, you’re my new neighbor,” he shouted as I noticed a hearing aide in each ear.
I introduced myself and told him about my family. He then told me about his. Jack was a widower and had grown children in New Jersey and Virginia. They visited and brought their children, but for the most part he was on his own.
“Sorry you moved in here,” he continued. This comment startled me. He saw my expression and hurriedly said, “Let me explain. I guess I didn’t hear you coming up the road when you came to look at the house.”
I focused on his hearing aids.
PLUMBING PROBLEMS: PART IV
PLUMBING PROBLEMS: PART IV
At closing, my wife and I learned a little more about the former owner from his sister Joan. “My brother,” she explained, “was Marcus Worthy, a scientist interested in both marine biology and genetics.” She went on to tell us that Marcus was part of a group involved in a start-up company, which discovered a breakthrough drug for the treatment of cancer. Joan said that her brother made a fortune with his investments in the company while working in their research department, but the company bureaucracy began to get in the way of his research methods, and he quit. He liked to dabble, do a few experiments that interested him and then move on to something new, answering his own questions and not the company’s.
Joan said, “His studies were in natural occurring substances existing in marine life. He studied the venom of mollusks and sea snakes, was intrigued by the fact sharks were immune to infection. His mind was full of questions he wanted to answer but the company had no interest in such work and so, in frustration, he resigned. Worthy found this house in rural Pennsylvania, sunk a great deal of money into renovations, and there he would study and live his life on his own terms. He never married and his only contact with the rest of the world was through me, his sister. By his own choice, he slipped away from society.”
Then Joan recalled, “One day I realized that I had not heard from my brother for an unusually long period of time. I tried calling for days but got no response, so I decided to pay him a visit. I had never visited before and had some difficulty locating the house. After parking on the circular drive, I went up the few steps to the screened porch and rang the doorbell. There was no answer. I tried the door and was surprised to find the door open. I entered the darkened house and proceeded to search every room but found no sign of my brother. I did find spoiled food in the refrigerator, moldy dishes in the sink and an ungodly mess in the bathroom, but no indication of what had happened to Marcus. It was as if my brother had just decided to leave one day, but then outside I found his car. I hadn’t a clue as to what happened to him. I thought that perhaps he took a walk and fell victim to an accident. I checked with the local police and hospitals, but they had no knowledge of his whereabouts. I filed a missing person’s report with the police, and in a confused state, left for home. No one ever saw my brother again.”
PLUMBING PROBLEMS: PART III
PLUMBING PROBLEMS: PART III
I’m Joe Crestman, a thirty-eight-year-old research scientist working in the pharmaceutical industry. I’ve always loved to tinker, and with a scientist friend in another company, came up with a new technology for isolating mitochondrial DNA. We managed to patent the idea and were soon selling the technology to other companies, which resulted in a nice side income. I also managed to talk my boss into letting me work out of my home two days a week, crunching data and preparing papers. With the increased income and time away from the office, Laura and I decided to buy a house in the country. On a beautiful spring afternoon, driving down a narrow two-lane road, we saw the For Sale sign long before we saw the house. Just the seclusion had me sold. When we finally did see the house, we were both impressed. A long circular gravel drive led to a red two-story farmhouse set amongst tall oak trees. The house sat on a twenty-acre parcel of land with a barn and pond behind the house. The pond was more like a lake with a boat dock and small beach. We drove up to the house, looked inside and around the property, and immediately knew it was a house we could not afford. “Sorry honey”, I told Laura, “I think this house is way out of our league.” Laura’s a part-time real estate agent and knew from experience that I was probably right.
“Probably costs a ton,” she answered, “but I’m going to check it out anyway.” She copied down the realtor’s number, and we set out looking for more For Sale signs.
I forgot about the house, or at least tried to, because it was exactly what I wanted in a house and land. We had the extra income coming in but not enough to afford that house. My wife, however, went ahead and called the realtor. What she discovered shocked us. The house cost much less than we had anticipated. In fact, the house had been on the market quite a while and the price had been reduced several times. The house was up for sale since the owner disappeared; that’s all the realtor, new in the office, could tell us. The owner’s family wanted to sell the property as soon as possible and get on with their lives. Laura and I had found our dream house.
PLUMBING PROBLEMS: PART II
PLUMBING PROBLEMS: PART II
My eight-year-old daughter Robin was crying uncontrollably; her cat Molly was missing. My wife Laura and I searched the entire house with no luck.
Trying to comfort Robin, I suggested, “She’ll turn up, she always has before,” but my efforts were useless. In frustration, Robin ran out of the house crying out for Molly while Laura and I continued to search. Later Robin returned covered in mud, dejected, and ran up to her room and slammed the door.
While Robin was crying in her room, I went upstairs to the master bathroom to clean up and could not believe the sight that awaited me. The place was a mess. There was a thick yellow slime all over the sink, flowing onto the floor, and the smell was horrible. Neither Laura nor Robin knew anything about the condition of the bathroom. Normally that would have set me off, but considering Robin’s current fragile condition, I thought it better to let the matter drop.
PLUMBING PROBLEMS: PART I
Published by Hadrosaur Press in Hadrosaur Tales Volume 21 in 2004. At one time Writers Digest considered Hadrosaur Press one of the 100 best websites for writers. I had a great deal of fun writing this story using my science background.
The story will appear in multiple posts. Hope you stick with it.
PLUMBING PROBLEMS: PART I
Marcus Worthy purchased the farmhouse and 20 acres of property in rural Pennsylvania two years ago. He immediately started the renovations required for the barn, and now the renovations for the house and barn were completed long ago. Marcus had a few decorating chores to complete, and his house would be to his liking. Grabbing two paintings, a hammer, and some picture hooks, he headed for the master bathroom. As he was hanging the pictures on the wall opposite the sink, he suddenly felt a constriction around his chest and a stinging sensation. He withered to the floor and lay motionless, paralyzed while he was slowly engulfed.
PLUMBING PROBLEMS: AN INTRODUCTION TO A SHORT STORY
Soon I will be beginning posting my short story, Plumbing Problems, published in 2004 by Hadrosaur Press. It is a rather ‘long short story and will appear in seventeen posts.
I hope you find this story entertaining. I’m a retired scientist and had fun thinking about the plot and discussing the science. There are both scientific facts and scientific fantasy in the story. I’ll let you figure out which is which.
Hope you stick with it.
THE DRIVING LESSON: A COMEDY
An unpublished story
THE DRIVING LESSON
Many years ago, while I was in high school, Sam Franks was my driving instructor. He was a good instructor, easy-going and fun. Then one day I had an instructor change: a change from hell.
I was a junior, and every Thursday, during, my study hall I was scheduled for a driving lesson. Mr. Franks taught me to drive a Honda, equipped for student drivers; I loved driving that little car.
The morning of my fourth lesson arrived and I went out to the parking lot to meet Mr. Franks, but he wasn’t there, and the Honda was nowhere in sight. I walked around the lot looking lost when I heard my name called out. I turned to see a man approaching, a stranger to me, and someone who seemed out of place in a high school parking lot. He appeared to be in his sixties, tall and thin. What really made him stand out were his clothes. He wore faded bib overalls, stained with oil and grease and a mixture of other things better left unknown. Under his overalls he wore a white sweatshirt, or at least a sweatshirt that was white at one time years ago. On his head he wore a faded green John Deere cap rimmed with sweat stains. Long white hair emerged from beneath the cap. Work boots completed the outfit. His heavily whiskered cheek bulged with what I thought was the largest piece of gum I had ever seen anyone chew.
As he approached he shouted, “Can I help you? Looking for a driving lesson?”
“Well, yes”, I replied,” I’m looking for Mr. Franks.”
“Well, you found him, “came his answer. Now my Mr. Franks was in his thirties, kind of preppy while this guy was old enough to be his – father. The fact that this man knew my name at first puzzled me, but I started putting two and two together – fast. “I guess you expected to see Sam Jr., well, he ain’t here, gone to Pittsburgh to interview for another job and I’m filling in.
“Are you a teacher?” I asked with an unsteady voice.
“Listen, I taught Sam Jr. how to drive a tractor. If I could teach that lunkhead son of mine to drive a tractor I sure as hell can teach you to drive a car. The principal of the school said I needed a teaching credential but I had a year to get it, so I figured what the hell, I’ll make some money for a year and then I’m out of here. Now let’s get your butt behind the wheel.”
That was the other problem I immediately identified, there was no car. I guess from the look on my face, Mr. Franks Sr. knew what I was thinking. “Sam Jr. loaned that little Honda to another teachee, so I had to bring my own vehicle.” With that, Mr. Franks pointed to a pickup truck older than me. Between the rust and the patching, I found it hard to determine the color, but I think it had once been blue. Now the Honda I loved had three peddles – a gas pedal and two brake pedals. The truck had three peddles also, but they were all on the driver’s side. This damn old piece of crap had a standard transmission.
“I can’t drive a standard transmission,” I said.
“Oh yes you can,” came Mr. Franks reply.
“What about the instructor’s brake?” was my next question?
“I got long legs,” he said, “and I figure after I squash your foot a couple of times you won’t make any more stupid damn mistakes.”
Did I want to go back into school or what – but the lessons were paid for and Mr. Franks did not look like the kind of man that would give refunds. When I entered the cab of the pickup I got a sickening feeling that it wasn’t gum that was bulging his cheek. There, attached to the dash, with a piece of coat hanger, was an old coffee can, which he wound up using often during the lesson. Reluctantly, I sat on the bench seat of the pickup, and with some difficulty, attached the lap belt. The next the thing I knew, Mr. Franks was shouting, “Damn it, what in the hell are you doing messing up the seat belts?”
“I’m using it,” I said firmly.
“I had them all laid out so nice and now you screwed them up,” he groaned, “don’t let it happen again.”
With the seat belt part of the lesson out of the way, I started the engine. We immediately lurched forward and the engine died. “What in the hell do you think the clutch is for, decoration?” he screamed. I thought maybe he could teach me the use of the clutch, but I kept that idea to myself. I felt a demonstration would be helpful and it was soon in coming. “Put your foot on the clutch,” he said, and I did. Before I knew it his size twelve work boot had smashed the clutch peddle, along with my foot, down to the floor. “You step on the clutch when you start the engine and when you change gears, you idiot.”
I will not describe the next fifteen or so minutes because it has taken me years trying to forget. I finally got the truck started and sort of found most of the gears. The fact that I didn’t have to wear a neck collar for months after the lesson was a miracle. By the time we made it out of the parking lot, my lesson was more than half over. “We’ll just do a little driving and then head back,” he said. After a little time on the road, I gained some confidence, although confidence might be too strong a word. We were driving along when I noticed that the light at the intersection about half a block away had turned yellow. I started to gently ease off on the gas when Mr. Franks’ size twelve mashed my foot and the gas pedal down to the floor. People dove for the sidewalk as we barreled through the red light. I sat waiting for the explanation for this maneuver and it was soon coming. “You heard about defensive driving?” he asked. I nodded yes. “Well remember this; the best defense is a good offense.” I rolled my eyes. Mr. Franks was into offensive driving, what a surprise.
The next thing I knew he grabbed the wheel and jerked it to the right. I felt a slight thump, thump as the wheels ran over something. “Stop the truck,” he yelled, “I think we nailed him.” I looked in the rearview mirror and could not believe my eyes. A squirrel lay dead in the street. Franks hopped out of the truck, retrieved a burlap bag from the truck bed, and bagged the poor critter. “Won’t have to go shopping on my way home now,” he said. “You know,” he went on, “all you need to do is skin ‘em and gut ‘em. The wheels act as kind of a natural tenderizer – breaks up the bones and the meat just melts in your mouth.”
I was going to be sick.
That was my first lesson with Sam Franks Sr., but not my last. I finished the course with him and went on to get my license, but I was never quite the same.
I’m married now and have a daughter who wants to learn to drive and wants me to teach her. She doesn’t think her dad has the patience. We’ve gone driving a few times now. Our seatbelts are always buckled, and when we approach a yellow light I make her stop even if she thinks she can make it. I’ve cleared most of Mr. Franks Sr.’s unique habits from my teaching techniques. But I still harbor the memory of that poor little squirrel.
Suddenly a squirrel darts out onto the road, I have a sudden urge, but I keep it under control.
THE END
INVASION: A SCIENCE FICTION SHORT STORY
This story has not been published. It was written in 2006. That was when NASA was launching probes to Mars. When to vehicle reached the planet balloon-like appendages were deployed, and upon reaching the surface, the vehicle would bounce until coming to rest.
INVASION
I am the protector of the ‘king and living god of Zyron’ and I have just witnessed the unspeakable.
We inhabitants of Zyron are a peaceful lot, enjoying our quiet lives in the planet’s interior. Fierce conditions make the surface uninhabitable for more than a short period of time. Violent storms engulf the planet, blowing clouds of red dust into the arid air, making a stroll on the surface most uncomfortable. We Zyrons enjoy the warm moist interior of the planet formed many millions of years ago when violent earthquakes opened the ocean floor draining the surface dry. Then, another few million years passed, and our surface atmosphere changed to what we have now, conditions that will not support life for an extended period of time.
On the neighboring planet, Gothor, life is less peaceful than ours. In our language, Gothor translates to blue sphere, a tranquil looking place but tranquil it is not. We have witnessed their many wars and constant conflicts. They foolishly broadcast their audio and video signals into the atmosphere giving information of their civilization to less friendly inhabitants of other planets. Gothorians know nothing of our civilization on their neighboring planet. The existence of the Zyonions is kept secret, our communications, shielded by the surface of our planet, cannot be intercepted by prying civilizations. A recent development on Gothor had given us even more information of the planet. They have developed a network that connects their computers, and with the increased knowledge we have gleaned for this network, we marvel at how much they achieve while so many of their number lack a sense of purpose, a need to contribute to their civilization.
Professions that do not, in some way, serve the good of society are shown little respect on Zyron. That is why the Zyronians find some of what they learn of the Gothians to be comical. So many of their society do nothing but serve themselves. They also require something they call self-help books to further their decline into shallowness.
When Zyronians greet one another we give our name and value to society. I would say, “I am Gorn, protector of the king. Others would give their name and say that they were the cleaners or the scientists or the meat keepers. When we Zyrons meet, we bow to one another, and the depth of the bow depends on the value one lends to society. If I were to say, “I am Gorn the poet,” the bow I would receive would be deep indeed. And if I were Gorn the teacher, the bow offered must be so deep that the small horns on our heads must touch the surface on which we stand.
We know a great deal about the lives of the Gothorians and some of the ways they spend their lives. If a Gothor revealed some of the professions that exist there to a Zyonian, the back of the Zyronian would remain ridged. If I were to introduce myself on Zyron as Gorn the telemarketer or Gorn the E Bay zapper, no bow would be given. Our cultures even have different perceptions of the same profession. On Zyron, if I am Gorn the athlete, I receive a customary bow, but the athletes from Gothor may merit a slight bend of the back, for on Gothor in many cases, the game is secondary to financial rewards.
We Zyronians know the inhabitants of Gothor are giant creatures and are yet dwarfed by less intelligent creatures that inhabit other worlds. Our king stands no more than six of Gothor inches, and his line is the tallest on Zyron. Our king and his subjects closely resemble animals known as lizards living on Gothor, but their lizards are dumb beings where we have the advanced intelligence responsible for the culture that thrives on Zyron. Unlike the lizards on Gothor, we on Zyron walk upright, and possess appendages referred to as hands, similar to those of the Gothorians.
We view the Gothorians as having a hostile purpose towards our planet. Many times they have sent missions to our planet, devices that orbit our planet seeking information. We had developed a ray that disabled many of their machines, but we could not doom them all. One day a machine landed on the surface of Zyron, bouncing uncontrollably until it came to a halt. The device opened, revealing another machine that set forth on the surface of our planet. This was a true invasion, our planet violated. We Zyrons observed the machine until we detected no further transmissions to Gothor, we then retrieved it for examination.
Since the first bouncing machine landed there have been other probes sent from Gothor to orbit our planet with instruments, taking photographs and other measurements of our surface, trying to detect our presence but the Gothorians will never discover us and will probably succumb to some other civilization of some planet waiting to use the vast resources contained on their blue sphere.
Then one day it was decided that we would attack Gothor, and I was a witness to the catastrophe that precipitated this decision.
Our beloved king, on occasion, would roam the surface of our planet and gaze at the stars and wonder of the world his ancestors inhabited so many million years ago. It was on one of the ventures to the surface that the most horrible fate beset our king.
I, along with two other guards, accompanied the king on his journey to Zyron’s surface. We walked a short distance when the king halted and gazed at the stars in the cold Zyronian night sky. We guards followed the king’s example when we all detected a strange movement in the blackness. A speeding light approached, it flamed, and then the flames extinguished but still the light approached. It grew in size until the realization of another invasion from Gothor became apparent. It was another bouncing machine. It landed a great distance away, then began its haphazard bouncing along our planet’s surface. The king and we guards ran, scattering. Once the device came to a halt we reformed but could not find the king. We separated, searching for our ruler. I will never forget the wail of the guard who discovered our poor monarch. The huge bouncing device from Gothor had squashed him. We carried his limp body, for most of his bones were broken, down to his kingdom and placed it on his throne.
His son, our beloved prince, was enraged with grief and full of hate for Gothor. “Enough of this invasion of Gothor,” he yelled. “I seek revenge.”
Zyron had developed a ray, a death ray. We kept the ray for use against attacking civilizations, and now the new king demanded, “Prepare the death ray; we must retaliate.” All Zyronians knew that any planet exposed to the ray would suffer grave consequences. The area of the sphere exposed to the ray would be destroyed.
There was a fringe of land from which the Gothorians launched their devices. This would be the target. The new beloved king waited for Gothor to revolve, exposing the target.
THE END
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