Posts tagged ‘short story’
ELMO’S INVENTION, CHAPTER 11
ELMO’S INVENTION
CHAPTER 11
ELMO’S TIME MACHINE
One day after work Elmo stopped, once again, at Brooker’s farm for fertilized eggs.
“How you doing, Elmo?” he shouted seeing Elmo as Brooker one of his coops.
“Not bad,” Elmo responded. “Not bad.”
Brooker said, “I guess you come for more eggs. Got to tell you, son, this deal is saving me money on feed and such. Hope we can keep it going for a long time.”
Elmo thought about all the effort he put into constructing his machine, and all the grief he endured trying to explore some purpose for it. And it all came down to raising chickens. He tried to mask his feelings and said, “We’ve got a pretty good deal going, Brooker. A pretty good deal.”
Elmo accepted six fertilized eggs and made his way home, his heart full of failure wondering what went wrong. He arrived home, still in a funk, and Mildred met him at the door. She was all smiles. “Elmo, it looks like we’ll be getting another free chicken soon.”
Elmo gave his wife a wistful smile and went downstairs to his cellar lab. He loaded the eggs into his machine, set the length of time of aging to one year and the duration for one minute, and then pushed the button that would start the process. He stepped back, expecting the chamber to fill with mist and eventually see mature chickens, but nothing happened.
“Now what?” Elmo shouted in disbelief.
Not only had his time machine been reduced to raising chickens, now it wouldn’t work at all. Must be a disconnected wire, he thought. He removed the eggs and went to get his wiring diagrams. Unscrewing a steel plate to gain access to the workings of the machine, he carefully began to probe searching for a fault.
After a short period of time he muttered, “Aha.” He had found a disconnected wire and immediately knew that must be the problem.
Elmo referred to his wiring diagram, and then back to the wire. He saw where the connection should be made, but to his surprise, that connection had never been completed. The wire had been soldered to a place it should not have been. He also found some burned-out resistors. That was why the device failed to operate. His mind raced. Could this be why the invention did not fulfill its purpose? Elmo made the repair, reattached the panel and retrieved the eggs.
Elmo’s thoughts went wild as he placed the eggs in the chamber, resetting the length of time to one year and the duration to one minute.
He pushed the start button.
The chamber filled with mist, and then quickly dissipated. The eggs were gone. A short time later they reappeared with no apparent change in age. Elmo reasoned, “The eggs must have traveled into the future and didn’t age.
Elmo jumped for joy, shouting, “It works! It works!”
He next shouted, “Mildred, come quick!”
Mildred heard his initial exclamation. After Elmo beckoned her, she started for the cellar with great apprehension. Sometimes things went terribly wrong down there. She flashed back to her mother’s teacup, wondering where it was now and even if it still existed. She never knew what to expect at all when she was summoned down to Elmo’s lab. But she loved Elmo and wanted to give him all the support she could – within reason.
Upon entering the cellar, Mildred found Elmo peering into his iron lung device. He turned and said to her, “Mil, it works, I think. It finally, really works.”
It was the ‘I think’ that bothered Mildred.
“Watch”, he said to Mildred and repeated the experiment. Once again the eggs disappeared in a cloud and then reappeared in another white haze.
Milder muttered, “At least the eggs returned, unlike my teacup.”
Elmo then related to his wife about the loose wire, his reference to the wiring diagram and his mistake in constructing his machine.
Mildred asked, “Is that the end of our free chickens?” She had her priorities.
The question caused Elmo to chuckle realizing his wife’s priorities were so much different from his own.
“I’m afraid so, my dear. But this is more important than chickens.
“Your teacup was part of a different experiment. The reason I called you down is to see that my invention really worked, to see that the eggs actually traveled in time. Now I must run the ultimate test to see if it worked.”
“Well, Elmo, how are you going to do that?”
After removing the eggs from the chamber, Elmo pushed a small stepstool in front of the iron lung.
Mildred said, “You’re not going to do what I think you’re going to do.”
“There is only one way, Mil, that I can think of to know if it really works. A person must be transported into the future and return and report on the experience.
“I need your help. All the parameters are set. All you need to do is push this button to initiate the process.”
Mildred knew there would be no living with Elmo if she didn’t help, and if she didn’t help, he would just get someone else. She mumbled, “All right, Elmo, but it’s the return part I’m worried about.” She added, “Remember the teacup. What happens if you don’t come back?”
Elmo disregarded that possibility.
Before he closed the lid to the chamber, Elmo said, “That was a totally different type of experiment. But remember that every experiment has an element of uncertainty. That’s why they are called experiments.
“I have to know if my machine works, and I’m almost positive that it does. I need to do this experiment to confirm that it does.”
With that Elmo closed the lid and indicated to Mildred to push the button. The chamber filled with a heavy white mist, and when it cleared Elmo was gone. After five minutes it once again filled with the blanketing mist. Once the chambered cleared, and much to Mildred’s delight, there lay Elmo with a huge grin on his face. He pushed open the lid and shouted, “It works! It works!” After all the hard work, disappointment and failure, his time machine finally worked.
“Mildred, I was talking to you fifteen minutes into the future down here in the cellar.”
“How can you know it was in the future, Elmo?”
“Well, for one thing, you don’t remember me talking to you since I entered the chamber.”
“You’re talking to me now, Elmo.”
“Well yes, but something happened while we were talking that will confirm my knowledge of the future.” Elmo waited another few moments and said, “Your roast is going to burn.”
Minutes later the first odors of burning roast filtered down to the cellar.
“Elmo, why didn’t you tell me earlier? I could have saved the roast.”
“And I would have changed the future.”
Mildred hurried upstairs in a huff. Seconds later there came a crash from the kitchen.
He said quietly, “And you’re going to burn your fingers and drop the roast. I forgot to mention that part.”
Elmo was anxious to share the fact that his time machine finally worked with someone in the scientific community. He immediately thought of notifying the Tinkerer’s Club, but that idea did not last long. The last time he consulted the club it ended in a disaster when someone leaked the events of the meeting. The only Tinkerer he trusted was Kingsley Dasher, and that’s whom he would contact.
ELMO’S INVENTION, CHAPTER 10
ELMO’S INVENTION
CHAPTER 10
ELMO FINDS A USE FOR HIS MACHINE
The day after Kingsley’s visit Mildred called. Elmo answered the phone expecting more trouble, “Hello.”
“Hello. It’s me. I miss you so much, but I just couldn’t take the conflict and uproar. I’m coming home. I hope all the protests are over.”
“It’s all over, Mil. My invention is history. I’m not even going to patent it, it’s done.”
Mildred could hear the disappointment, the depression in his voice. She loved him so much and wanted to comfort him in his loss. She said, “Elmo, I’ll be home as soon as I can. I love you.”
He responded, “I love you too, Mil. And I realize more than ever how much I need you. Hurry home.”
After hanging up the phone, Elmo immediately felt better, but at the same time, he felt disappointed that his efforts had resulted in a failed device, and when an unintended use was identified, an angry mob descended on Los Alamos. Would the folks of Los Alamos ever forgive him for causing so much disruption in their community? Would society ever understand that he thought his machine might help and not harm? How long would it take for his life to return to normal? All these thoughts were on his mind as he waited for his love to come home.
Mildred arrived the next day to the open arms of her husband.
The city cleared most of the trash, but there was no way that things would be back to normal for a long time. Mounds of debris still littered the front yard and the curb. Neighbors passed by and shook their heads. Cars passed by and slowed down to take in the site of the event that marred their community.
Mildred said, “I can’t wait until all this disruption is over and our life returns to what it once was.”
Elmo loved Mildred so much, yet at the same time, he wanted the efforts he put into his invention to have some purpose. But he also realized that to pursue that purpose would mean more misery for him and his wife. Society just wasn’t ready for the radical change his invention would provide. Elmo now knew that changes that affected people’s paychecks were difficult for society to swallow. Money was more important than progress.
* * *
Elmo’s machine still worked fine, although not as he had intended. And for that matter, he did not understand why it worked the way it did. And with this unsolved mystery he wanted to continue to use it in some capacity.
One day he said to Mildred, “Maybe I’ll contact Nate Brooker. I matured eggs into chickens in the past; maybe I can do that and gain something in return.”
The next day Elmo drove out to Brooker’s Farm. Nate was repairing some fencing, saw Elmo, and waved a gloved hand. The two men walked to meet.
Elmo said, “Nate, could I set up a deal with you to mature some of your eggs in my invention? Five for one. I mature five eggs, and you give me one chicken, cleaned and ready to cook.”
Nate said, “I know all about the protests out at your place. You sure did stir up a hornet’s nest. You’re a good man, Elmo, and this sounds like a deal that could help us both. I’d be glad to give you a chicken for fertilized eggs you turn into chickens, but how will I know the chickens will be normal?”
Elmo scratched his head, and then said, “Do you have to submit chickens for inspection?”
Nate responded, “Why yes I do, on occasion.”
“Then submit one of the chickens I age and see what the results are. I can almost guarantee you that there will be no problems.”
“Well, I trust you, Elmo. And what could go wrong? You’re just aging the damn eggs into chickens. Just speeding up the natural process.”
Nate’s expression suddenly became pensive, and then he asked Elmo, “I’ve just been thinking about aging. Have you thought about what else you could age, say cheese or wine? Another idea, I don’t know the size of your machine. Could you age cows? I sure would be willing to buy calves and, in a matter of minutes, have full-grown cows. The environment guys would love it. No more methane-producing cow farts. I, of course, would share the profits with you. Maybe help you make more machines.
Elmo responded, “These are great ideas.”
Elmo’s eyes brightened as he considered the prospect of finally having additional purposes for his invention. But then he thought some more, and the happiness was replaced by dread, how much conflict would occur when he got involved in the cheese and wine industries? Before his mind’s eye were protests from those livelihoods depending on raising cattle, aging cheese and wine. There would be picket lines set up by those involve in any industry involving the aging process. And didn’t cowboys carry guns? Elmo realized that, with the exception of his chicken farmer friend, he could not think of a way to use his machine that would not endanger someone else’s livelihood. He had yet to consider the anger of other chicken farmers. And if they found out what he was doing for Nate, would they demand the same service? That would set chicken farm managers and coop builders after him. Anyway, he wanted to build a time machine, not an aging process. He mused to himself and smiled, at least I’ll be able to provide the occasional chicken for the dinner table, but he wished for so much more for his efforts.
ELMO’S INVENTION, CHAPTER 9
ELMO’S INVENTION
CHAPTER 9
ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE
It was the morning of the sixth day after The New York Times people left town. The article about Elmo and his invention was published in The Los Alamos Herald and was the impetus for the visit from the Times. Much to Mildred’s joy and astonishment there were no immediate repercussions from the article in The New York Times. The residents of Los Alamos had already had their feathers ruffled by the topic and there were no further reactions. Elmo and Mildred began to relax, confident that all the problems involved with the invention were behind them. That morning Mildred asked Elmo, “Could you run out and get the paper? I’ll make you a nice breakfast before you go to work.” Mildred had mellowed and Elmo’s life was back to normal, but that was about to change in seconds.
Elmo opened the front door, took a few steps and then slowly backed up and closed the door. Their usually quiet street was overflowing with cars, buses and a great mass of people milling around appearing to anticipate something. Elmo had no idea what was going on but had a very bad feeling. Mildred was not going to like this. He peered through the window, and it was then he caught sight of a placard where his name appeared being carried towards his house.
Elmo had little choice. He had to let Mildred know that something was going on. If he didn’t, it would be like trying to hide a herd of elephants taking up residence on their front yard. He gently called, “Oh Mil, there’s something I think you should see. I’m sure it won’t amount to much.”
She entered the front room and asked, “What won’t amount to much?”
As she approached the front window Elmo pushed back the curtains. Mildred stood as if paralyzed, and then shouted, “I knew it! I told you talking to The Times was a big mistake. But no, you were going to save the world.” She stormed out of the room leaving Elmo alone with his thoughts of how this would all work out.
Soon more placards appeared identifying the various organizations present. There was The Friends and Relatives of Prisoners. They were joined by The Society of Prison Guards and another group representing ex-cons. A large group of construction workers were present, their group wearing hard hats, were involved in the building of prisons. Along with their signs, they paraded with a scarecrow suspended from a pole with of picture of Elmo’s face attached to the head.
Keeping to themselves, Elmo spied another small group which stood out like a sore thumb. Outfitted in expensive suits and equally expensive shoes, they held professionally manufactured signs proclaiming them as The Society of Defense Lawyers. Their main beef was the possible elimination of endless appeals which kept them supplied with their expensive attire.
Elmo found it strange, but not disappointing, that this great milling crowd of protesters was not protesting. He also noticed that a buffer zone was carefully observed between the house and the crowd. The answer to his observation of inactivity soon became clear when the news trucks began to arrive. What was the purpose of a protest if there was no one there to record it? Elmo thought it was something like that tree falling in the forest and no one heard it. He noticed something else most disturbing. There was a secondary crowd forming in the distance away from the main body of protesters. He could not recognize individual faces, but he knew who they were. They were the residents of Los Alamos coming to witness the spectacle. This would anger Mildred even more.
Once the cameras were in place and the reporters had their makeup on and were holding microphones, the crowd began to come alive holding up signs and voicing their respective opinions.
But all was not quite finished. The icing on the protest cake was the arrival, with as many lights flashing as possible and sirens wailing, of the Los Alamos police. Four police cars came to a skidding halt on Elmo’s front yard creating deep tire tracks. The chief of the Los Alamos police, John McFurdy first went over to the press and diligently spelled his name for them. Then he went to Elmo’s front door and knocked. Elmo asked the chief in and offered him a cup of coffee. Sitting at the kitchen table, McFurdy said, “All the groups out there obtained permits to protest. There is nothing we can do but ensure that no damage happens to your property.”
Elmo recalled the deep groves he had observed in his front yard.
Chief McFurdy continued, “State police have formed a perimeter around you house to ensure that no one without a permit enters the protest zone.”
Elmo knew that the perimeter was not that great. His neighbors had already broken it. The term ‘protest zone’ made the hairs on the back of Elmo’s neck stand on end.
After McFurdy left, Elmo noticed that six officers had stationed themselves between Elmo’s house and the press. There was a hushed silence. The first camera lights came on and it was as if someone threw a switch: All hell broke loose.
The once silent crowd instantly created a roar. Each group shouted their rehearsed chants. Soon after the beginning of the protest, Elmo’s effigy burst into flames. The various groups began to hurl eggs and tomatoes at Elmo’s house and the police. The lawyer’s contingent hurled non-libelous insults and carefully recorded what they said. A few rocks were thrown, later determined to come from the area populated by the ex-cons, but no real damage was done to the house or bystanders including the police.
The protest went on for two days while the press conducted interviews. One woman came forward and held up a copy of The New York Times pointing to the before and after pictures of Elmo’s demonstration shouting, “My son is in prison. I don’t want him turned to ash.” Behind her stood a grizzled ex-con, his shaved head glistening in the sun. “Nobody is putting me in no fucking death chamber,” indicating his life of crime was not yet over.
After the media had their film and interviews they began to pack up and leave. With the media gone the protesters lost their enthusiasm and quietly slipped away leaving a mess of litter and protest signs. There were some portable toilets available, but not nearly enough to handle the large crowd, so the area around Elmo’s home was not only a mess but also a health hazard.
* * *
Once the protesters had left, Kingsley Dasher slowly made his way to Elmo’s residence not knowing what he would find. He climbed the front steps and knocked on the door. The Elmo that greeted him was one he didn’t know. The man appeared beaten, the image of a lost soul. Before he could stop himself, Kingsley asked, “How are you doing, Elmo?”
Elmo stood with slumped shoulders, and dark-rimmed eyes answered with a raspy voice, “I’ve been better.”
“May I come in?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t mind a little company right now.” Elmo led his friend into the living room and offered him a seat.
Kingsley said, “You had to endure quite a ruckus, Elmo. I feel guilty that I was the one who pointed out the obvious use of your invention. I suspected something might happen once the existence of your invention was made known, but I never imagined the level of hostility. The reality is our society is a fickle society. It professes one set of values, but it is mere lip service. The values that are actually in practice are completely different from those voiced.
“Money is the value our society holds dearest.
“Your invention would have saved millions of dollars, perhaps billions in doing away with the prison system and at the same time providing swift justice for the guilty. But at the same time, it would have deprived hundreds maybe thousands of people of their livelihood. Construction workers and prison guards would suffer and let us not forget the lawyers with their endless appeals. Society has problems with such sudden changes no matter how beneficial they are.”
Kingsley then took a moment to look around and wondered where Mildred was. “How is Mildred handling all this?”
“Not very well. The day the protests began she left for her sister’s home in Santa Fe. I call but she refuses to talk to me.”
“I’m sure she’ll come around once all this is over. It will just take some time. This whole experience was quite a blow for both of you. To say it was a life-disrupting event would be putting it mildly.”
The two men sat in silence for a while and then the phone rang. Elmo jumped up hoping it was Mildred, but he was to be extremely disappointed and further upset.
“Hello,” he said.
Kingsley watched Elmo’s face and immediately knew the news was not good. Elmo had little to say during the short call. After hanging up, he told Kingsley, “That was a representative of the American Civil Liberties Union calling to notify me that they are issuing a class-action lawsuit on behalf of prisoners, families of prisoners and ex-convicts. Apparently there are organizations of defense lawyers also preparing lawsuits. This whole thing is just getting worse and worse.
I was hoping to patent the device and make some money. Now it appears it may cost me everything I have. This is definitely not going to bring Mildred home.”
Kingsley knew that Elmo needed to be alone. He rose and said, “I would suggest you issue a statement saying that upon further consideration, you’ve decided to discontinue any further attempts in patenting or selling your machine.
“Your science was sound, Elmo. Society just wasn’t prepared for such a sudden advance.”
Kingsley left Elmo sitting on the couch, a man in love with science and defied by society.
ELMO’S INVENTION, CHAPTER 6
ELMO’S INVENTION
CHAPTER 6
ELMO’S PRISON
When Kingsley rose, everyone looked in his direction. It was not unprecedented that he would speak at a meeting, but it was a rare occurrence. What Kingsley said to the group would usually solve the problem at hand. Elmo prepared to hear great things from Kingsley and gain insight on how to fix his machine.
After once again clearing his throat, whether to gain everyone’s attention or because he found talking to be an effort, no one was sure, he began to speak. “Elmo, you must be rewarded for your effort. Although you have not accomplished what you set out to accomplish, and perhaps never will, your invention could possibly change the course of society. I have no doubt that mankind will greatly benefit from your invention, if they choose to embrace its benefits is a different matter. Only time will tell.”
Elmo, along with the rest of the group, was both puzzled and full of anticipation.
Kingsley continued, “However, I am a mathematician and not an ethicist and cannot predict the consequences of your discovery.”
Elmo said, “I am totally lost. You say I have made a great discovery, yet at the same time say that its use will produce ethical problems.”
“That’s correct, Elmo. Your invention, in my mind, would be the perfect prison.”
Elmo, along with William and James, stared at Kingsley in total disbelief, and then slowly began to understand what he was saying.
After a few moments of deep thought, Harold Kinter voiced his thoughts to the gathering, “Of course, I can see it now. Elmo, your invention, though unintended, could do away with prisons as we know them. Year-long sentences could be served in a matter of minutes. It would save society millions of dollars and save prisoners from the dangers inherent in incarceration.
“Think of it! No matter what the length of a prisoner’s sentence, the punishment could be delivered in a matter of minutes. Your invention could funnel money into projects that benefit society and save prisoners from harm.”
They all looked at Elmo. His visage was one of disappointment and disbelief. “I meant my invention to be a time machine; instead, you say I invented the perfect prison. I failed.”
Kingsley stepped totally out of character and attempted to comfort his colleague. “Elmo, some of the greatest discoveries in the world were made by accident. Look at all the lives that were saved by the discovery of penicillin. If Fleming had not noticed that petri dish with mold and dying bacteria, who knows how long it would have taken for someone else to discover that life-saving antibiotic.
“Think of the value of your discovery, and someday I am sure that you will determine the principle behind the device. With your invention, no matter the length of a prisoner’s sentence it could be served in minutes with virtually no expense to society. And when it comes to a death sentence, your machine can accomplish that too, but a death sentence is a death sentence no matter how it is accomplished.
Then James Forsyth began to speak, “I can think of another question which requires an answer. After a prisoner serves his term in your machine, what is his mental state? Is his mind the same as it was before the prison term? Or does his mind age along with his body? Although I cannot imagine how the mind ages with the lack of experience.”
Elmo said, “I can think of no answer to the question of mind aging. I feel this can only be determined with the test of a human subject. But I must add I owe a great deal of gratitude for introducing important questions I had not considered.”
“Your device could save society millions, perhaps billions of dollars and funnel the revenue into efforts that would better society. Education, medical research, providing for the elderly and that is only the tip of the iceberg of what could be affected by this machine. But I fear there will be obstacles to this scenario which I cannot anticipate.
“You see, our society is inconsistent. It professes one set of values yet lives by another. We say how important education is, but we do not support it the way we should, not to mention that the key to education is parental input. We pay lip service to medical advancement, but do not fund the conjecture that could become reality. And when a discovery is made, many times it is beyond the reach of those who would benefit. We say we value the elderly yet turn away when we could make their final years more comfortable.
“I fear there will be great objection to your discovery but cannot anticipate the form it will take. Good luck, Elmo. You have a difficult path ahead of you.”
THE GHOST OF E. A. POE
THE GHOST OF E. A. POE
My latest published short story, The Price of Success, was published this month by Yellow Mama. Accompanying the story was a drawing by April Lafleur which capture the essence of the story.
The Price of Success reveals the unexpected results a writer of horror has when collaborating with the ghost of Edgar Allan Poe. Accepting help from the ghost the struggling writer realizes, only too late, the consequences of his decision.
The primary location of this story is Baldwin’s Book Barn one of my favorite bookstores located in West Chester, PA. Home of one of the finest used bookstores in the country.
THE HORROR AT LAKE HARMONY: HORROR SHORT STORY, PART II
This story was published by Necrology Shorts in January 2010.
THE HORROR AT LAKE HARMONY
It began with an innocent trip to Baldwin’s Book Barn, a store which sold old and rare books. Baldwin’s was located in a rambling five-story barn. Set in the bucolic Pennsylvania countryside, it was my favorite haunt. I was in love with books, the older the better. I enjoyed breathing in the smell of old print and paper and wondered at the people who once owned these old tomes. My favorite time to visit was on a spring night when the customers were few. The store manager opened the barn doors to the surrounding fields, creating a natural setting for the store’s many books stacked in old orange crates. One pleasant spring night I parked in the gravel parking lot. I made my way up the rickety stairs, being sure to bend low so I wouldn’t tear my scalp on the low doorframes.
On the second floor, I walked past a door that was always locked, the door to the rare book room. A faint glow emanating from beneath the door had caught my attention, and then it was gone. My eyes traveled to the edge of the door. It was slightly ajar, a fact that had escaped my attention until that glow caught my eye. I entered and found beautiful leather bound volumes with gold leaf. I wandered among the shelves in the room filled with books I could never afford.
Off in a corner I noticed a slim volume on a table. The cover was leather with black letters; ‘Folklore of Pennsylvania and the Surrounding Area’. I knew some of the local myths, stories that made the tabloids or the local news when they had space to fill, such as the Jersey Devil rumored to inhabit the Pine Barrens of Southern New Jersey. But this book appeared to be a serious and ancient text. With mounting curiosity I confronted the volume. A ribbon, marking a site of interest, peeked from the bottom of the book and upon being opened, the book yielded naturally to theses pages. With a mixture of awe and curiosity, I inspected the story of the Legend of the Ancients. I sat in a round-backed chair, and with curiosity, soon became lost in the book.
SCHUYLKILL HAVEN: A HORROR SHORT STORY PART I
I’ll be posting short stories for a while again. The story I’m posting next has not been published. It will appear in seven parts.
WARNING
This story contains an ‘F Bomb’ which, in today’s publications, is not a rare occurrence. If you read The New Yorker, among other publications, you are aware of this. Also, sensitive people may find the theme of this story disturbing.
HAVEN OF HORROR
Jeff and Karen were recently married. Not much later Jeff accepted a better job than he had with more pay. They needed to move. With great anticipation they now were on a road trip to explore the area which would be their new home. Jeff loved wandering down roads he had never traveled, and for him this trip was a treat. A new area to be visited ripe for exploration.
As they drove along, not really sure where they were, Karen said, “I’m tired and hungry. Let’s stop at the next town for some rest and food.” They had been on the road for several days driving from California to Pennsylvania. Today, they had been driving for ten hours and they both needed rest and food.
Jeff spied what looked like a seldom used road, “Let’s go down that road. It must lead to somewhere.”
Karen looked at him as if to say, ‘Give me a break’ for it looked like it would lead to nowhere. The newness of marriage had not yet dissolved, but it was getting there.
Karen glanced at the maps they had brought along, “Jeff, this road is not on the map!”
Jeff’s response was, “Great.” Karen just shook her head. And off they went down an unmapped road hoping to find food and perhaps lodging for the night as the sky was steadily darkening the landscape. He looked at Karen and wondered if the stop would lead to ‘cuddling’ – and perhaps more. He wondered how long those episodes would last. He had heard stories.
With Karen constantly complaining about how tired and hungry she was, they approached a small town. Jeff was hungry too, and ready for some nighttime activity. As they entered the town it was as if they were visiting a page out of history. There was not a modern structure. It was like something of a lot for filming an old movie. There was a gas station with only one pump. An old guy in a chair was leaning against the building.
The old man waved and said, “Hi. Don’t see many strangers here.”
The town was Schuylkill Haven.
PLUMBING PROBLEMS: PART XVI
PLUMBING PROBLEMS: PART XVI
I ran to the master bath and saw a sight that defied description. There was Jack, wrapped in a huge set of tentacles. On the floor lay an animal with a body almost four feet across. The body was shaped like a star and from beneath the star, in its center, issued some sort of organ. Suddenly, what little I knew of marine biology came back to me. The way starfish digest their food flashed into my mind. They express their stomach from within their body, capture their prey and bring the digested meal back inside. On my bathroom floor was one of Worthy’s experiments – in the excited state.
I ran back to the kitchen to grab the meat cleaver, at the same time yelling to Laura, “Get Robin and both of you get out of the house!”
“What’s going on upstairs, and what was that scream?” she asked.
“Do what I say, damn it, there’s no time to explain,” I shouted. Laura fled the kitchen in search of Robin. I ran back to the master bath and started hacking at the tentacles. The star-jellyfish pulled its stomach back in and the tentacles slowly released Jack. He had passed out, probably from the combination of being constricted and the hundreds of stings he had endured. I pulled him out of the bathroom and while doing so witnessed an amazing spectacle. With its remaining tentacles, the creature pulled itself back up into the sink. Then, it went from the starfish state to a sink full of foul-smelling jellyfish ooze, and in a few minutes silently slid back down the drain.
DO YOU HEAR WHAT I HEAR? A CHRISTMAS HORROR STORY
A writer’s group I once belonged to would celebrate Christmas at an Italian restaurant. The place had a unique room called the Pope’s room. It was a large circular room with a domed ceiling and had a large circular table and the walls were covered with pictures of past popes. In the center of the table was a bust of Pope John II. We needed a large room for there were often ten or more of us in attendance. The domed ceiling made for a unique feature. What was said on one side of the room, in a soft voice, could easily be heard on the opposite side. That phenomena gave birth to this story.
DO YOU HEAR WHAT I HEAR? was accepted for publication by Bewildering Stories in October 2007.
DO YOU HEAR WHAT I HEAR?
W___ was known for his stories of murder and mayhem. Tales of ghosts and monsters were his claim to meager fame. As member of a writers’ group, he enjoyed sharing his twisted stories with the group and the support they provided. But how could they know, imagine, that the stories, born in his twisted mind, would someday become reality. W___ would carry demons within his mind. Even his wife did not know the visions, the “truths” that journeyed through his muddled brain.
It was during November’s writers’ meeting that the group leader, S___, announced, “In place of our December meeting, I suggest we meet for a holiday dinner. It will be a chance to relax and prepare for the year’s writing ahead.” The approval of the group was unanimous.
Reservations were made and the day of the dinner arrived. It was a rainy evening whenW___ set out for the restaurant, the back-and-forth motion of the windshield wipers gave him a slight headache. He was one of the last to arrive, greeting his fellow writers; he took his seat next to S___. The room was a large room with a single circular table at its center. A curious aspect was the room’s ceiling. It was domed with a most unsettling feature. From one side of the room conversations, even in the softest whisper, were conveyed to the opposite side of this domed affair.
As the meal was served, W___ looked across the table to C___ and G___, deep in conversation discussing light matters. Suddenly, the conversation changed. To his disbelief, W___ heard them plotting his murder. A conversation manufactured in his brain. He clearly heard their voices discussing every detail. W___ sat in disbelief while those about him laughed and shared stories. His friends asked if there was anything wrong, for he was visibly shaken. “I’m fine,” he replied and left the restaurant to make plans of his own.
January arrived and it was time for another meeting. S___ was the last to arrive. “I have terrible news. C___ and G___ have met with horrible accidents. They are both dead.”
The group sat there in shock. Disbelief was soon followed by sounds of sorrow and grief.
The year swiftly went by. It was a good year with many of the members being published. Once again, at the November meeting, S___ announced the plans for a Christmas dinner. The site would be the same as last year.
W___ once again made his way to the restaurant, this time during a light and peaceful snow. He greeted his friends and took his place. Once again, he could hear the whispered conversations from across the room. And once again he heard his murder being plotted, this time it was T___ and B___ who made the fiendish plot. Once again two members of the group were visited with horrible and fatal accidents.
January found the group deep in sorrow once more. That was five years ago. And for each of those years, a Christmas dinner was held and shortly after, two more members met their demise.
Christmas neared once again, but there would be no Christmas dinner, for the only members remaining were W___ and S___. A creature of tradition, W___ reserved the domed room for his private dinner. There he sat, alone with no whispering conversations to fill his head. He gazed around at the empty seats when his ears perked. There were voices plotting his murder. Looking out at the overflowing restaurant, he saw a young family that he was sure was plotting his end. A fiendish smile crossed his lips. His work was not yet done.
THE END
A NEW PUBLICATION
HE FLEW AWAY, A NEW PUBLICATION
I mentioned this in a past entry that I had my story, He Flew Away, accepted by Cemetery Moon.
It has now been published and I am providing a link if you should like to make a purchase. It’s been a long time since my last publication and my hope is this is only the beginning.
Check out the Cemetery Moon website, and if you are interested by a copy which includes my story.
Whatever you do, support writers. They are a voice during conflict as we are now suffering and a way to, however brief, enter the world of the mind.
http://www.fortresspublishinginc.com/index_files/cm.html
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