Just a Little Note

It came to the apartment in an envelope.  The regular, white, business size envelopes that most mail comes in.  His name, John Jones, and address were on the front.
At first he thought it was junk mail.  The return address was just an address with no name or heading to clue him in as to the sender.
He was going to throw it away unopened… but stopped himself at the last minute and tossed it on his desk.  He would get to it later.  His friends were coming over any minute now to watch the game.

He found it again days later as he straightened his desk.  He thought about throwing it away again.   But he was now a bit curious.
It might be an ad for something he did want to buy but at a discount.  Or it might be a coupon that could save him some money so he could use the savings towards a night out with his friends.  It had been a while.  The new job wasn’t paying as well as he had hoped for just yet.  And it was also cutting into time with his friends.
John looked closer at the envelope.  It was addressed in blue ink.  Hand written, not that printed stuff made to look like a personal letter.
He thought about putting the return address into a Google search on his computer and seeing what was there…  but the phone rang and he was, for the moment, distracted.

It was now the weekend again.  His friends were over to watch the game and hang out.  Tom grabbed the envelope to use as a coaster under his beer.  Tom was always doing things like that.  They all blamed Tom’s mother for his oddly tidy behavior.  She was a neat freak.

After his friends left John thought about the good time they had just had together.  It wasn’t a big memory but a good one.  The kind you want to look back on when you are old.  Comfort, fun and friends together.

Days later, when he couldn’t stand the smell of old stale beer and dried up pizza boxes any longer John decided to clean the place up.  He found the envelope again by accident.  It had fallen to the floor and had stuck to the bottom of his shoe while he was cleaning.  As he peeling it off his sneaker it tore open and the papers inside tumbled out.
The first was just a sheet of white typing paper.  Nothing at all on it.  It was wrapped around a small card probably to keep others from reading the card through the envelope itself.

He picked up the business sized card and turned it over to read it.

‘Prepare for a visit from Death’ it read in large letters across the top.
‘If you are reading this card you will died quite soon.’  printed medium block letters said.
In smaller print below that was ’This is not a hoax but a curse.  Sorry for any inconvenience.’
Smaller still in the bottom corner was printed.  ‘Once you have read the words inscribed hereon, nothing can change the outcome.’
John tossed it all out with the rest of the trash and dumped some stale beer on top of it for good measure.  Whoever sent it was a jerk.

“John, John, John.”  said a voice in a tisk-tisk tone,  “What happen to you here?  Did you turn on the gas?  Or did someone else?  Murder or suicide?”
Someone was talking to him.  John tried to wake up and answer, but he was still too heavy from sleep.  He just lay there not moving, just listening and waiting for either waking or sleep to take over once again, he didn’t care which.

“I’ve seen enough.  Cover him back over and take him to the coroner for tests.  Sergeant, have you found anything that might tell us what went on here?”
From the next room another voice said,  “Lieutenant, I found one of those business sized cards in the trash.  Beer soaked from the look of it and the ink was all running.  Hard to make out all the words.  But it was a definite threat.  I bagged it with the envelope and put it in the evidence box.  Interesting thing thou…  The return address is for the city morgue.”  The Sergeant’s voice finished as he entered the bed room where the lieutenant stood over the body on the floor, waiting.
The Lieutenant looked up and said,  “Are you okay there Sergeant?  You don’t look too good!”  Louder he called out,  “Get those Ambulance people back in here!  I think he’s having a heart attack!” as the Sergeant crumpled to the floor clutching his chest.


John woke up again to a new voice.
“John you disappointed me.  I thought you’d pull the card out and pass it around to all of your friends.  Have a laugh together before I came to collect all of you.  But you didn’t respect the card or the name on it.”  
The man wearing a black suit turned around and looked John in the eye.  “And you ruined the card so the Sergeant survived his heart attack.  The spell wasn’t strong enough to kill after you spilled the beer on it in the trash.  You cheated me of more bodies to play with.”
The man reached down towards John and was straightening John’s clothing.
“But, business is business and I do have you here in my parlor now.”
The man stepped back to admire his work.
“As your undertaker I have to say, you make a lovely corpus, but the young usually do.”
He reached up and over to John’s head.  “I‘ll just close your eyes now.  We don’t want to frighten your guests tomorrow.  Funerals are such fun.  Well, fun for me anyway.  You’re a bit stiff.”  And he laughed at his own joke.  
“I’ll have to send your friends a little note some other time.  There was a multi car wreck with fatalities this afternoon, so I’m a bit busy now.  Nightie night.”
And the man closed the casket lid leaving John to ponder his fate alone in the dark.

Florist Shop Raven

Raven had been around the florist shop for longer than she could remember.  It was Gran and Pops shop then.  Her parents took it over when Raven was in second grade after grandpa died and grandma wasn‘t doing as well in the shop by herself.
Every day after school, Raven did her homework in the back room while Grandma talked to herself and made up the orders.  Mama was at the front counter working with the customers.  Dad was at his self named ‘real job’ at the office.  He also called himself a silent partner of the florist shop but he was not so silent every Saturday when he did the bookkeeping there.

Just to set the record straight, Raven wasn’t the name given to her by her parents, but a chosen name that seemed to fit her well when looking at her long black hair.  So Raven was what everyone called her even her parents and teachers.
Raven was also a perky Goth.  Happy enough to be accepted by the community at large, but still a mystery to them in her black clothing, pale face and black painted lips and nails who spent her down time visiting the cemetery.  So when she started to work at the florist shop after school and weekends, after her mother grew ill, a few regular customers took their business to the other shop in town.

But Raven had the knack for ordering just the right amount of the right kinds of flowers just like her grandparents did, especially for unforeseen funerals.  So the business was doing well despite a Goth behind the counter.  The shop was becoming well known for having just what you needed when the time came to order an unexpected flower arrangement.  So when her mother was doing better enough to come back to work after her operation she kept Raven on as a part time employee.

Grandma didn’t need to work at all after that and she would only show up at the shop when they were busy with a large number of orders.  Whether by the grapevine or some unknown force Raven’s mother never did admit to knowing how, because Gran wasn’t called in, she’d just arrive in time to help.
On rare occasions Gran would say something about grandpa telling her about a death, but Mama put it down to old age and Gran’s missing Pops.

Raven and Gran’s favorite arrangements were the funeral orders.  They both liked the calla lilies best.  And people didn’t use them much for anything but funerals these days.
The trend in town was that funeral sprays had mostly white flowers.  Sometimes a favorite color would dominate.  But they didn’t vary much.  Casket spreads, sprays in paperboard vases, and those dreaded house plants to show the family left behind that life did go on, or that the giver didn’t want the dying cut flowers reminding them of the death itself, as if a houseplant made all the difference.  And the few penny pinchers who didn’t want to see their money die in the vase.

Gran would just shake her head and Raven would smile back at her.  They didn’t need words between them most of the time.

One day Raven heard Pops voice loud and clear telling her to change the standard weekly order before the invoice when out.  Five times as many flowers as usual.  She looked around but the bell hadn’t rung and no one had come into the shop.  Her mother was still out buying more of a special ribbon for a wedding order to replace a spool that gotten wet.
Raven ordered the flowers anyway sealing the envelop and placing it with the rest of the out going mail.  She felt sure it was the right thing to do even if it sounded so strange to be taking orders from the dead...  And for mostly her school colors too?  Next week was Halloween that usually meant more autumn colors.  Maybe there was a school function coming up that needed them and she had just forgot about it.
The letter carrier came in without a word and took the out going mail leaving the incoming bills on the counter for her mother to go through when she got back.  Raven finished her homework before the next customer came in and interrupted her again.  The rest of the day was spent filling the wedding order and calling the person hired for the day to deliver them to the church, reception hall, and house.

The next week was a busy one for everyone at the florist shop.  Raven had no school and that helped too.  She wouldn’t be missing class to work on the gross amount of flowers going out of the shop.  The football teams bus had been in a accident and two players killed, five went to the hospital, one critical.  Flowers were coming and going as fast as their hands could make up the orders.  Gran and Raven stayed late into the night to get the arrangements ready for delivery the next day.
“He told you about the flowers, didn’t he?”  Gran asked.
“Pops?  Yes, he did.”  Was Raven’s reply, thou she couldn’t look at her grandma when she said it.
“I told him not to catch you unawares.  He didn’t want to wait until I could tell you myself.  You know, that Pops and I always could talk with the dead, and to each other now of course.”  Gran got back to work as she talked.  “Your mother never did understand about it.  Thought we were a bit nutty in the head.  She didn‘t want to hear it.  Closed her mind to the possibilities.  But you…”
“I thought I was hearing things from my imagination.  Stories to fill the lonely hours of waiting until you and Mama were done working.”
“No my girl.  Just the dead making sure that the next to arrive goes out in proper style.  If you keep on listening, you‘ll have a right good little business here for yourself someday.  Pops won’t ever steer you wrong.”

Later the next day Raven heard Pops say, “Calla Lilies.  Lots of extra calla lilies.  Gran’s coming to stay with me tonight.”
Raven called in the order.   She stopped by Gran’s house on the way home to tell her how much Raven loved her and to hug her one last time.
“Have a good time at your Halloween party tonight.“  Was Gran’s parting words to Raven in this life.

This taking orders from the dead was going to take some getting use to.   But Gran and Pops would be around in spirit to help her out.

For a Contest

As requested by Gothic Gardener I have written a story for her contest about a shovel.  I hope you like it.

The Shovel - Part 1

The shovel stood in the corner of a small room.  It was not a new tool.  In fact it was quite old and warn.  But it was still quite strong and serviceable.  A well kept working shovel.  Oiled regularly to keep rust at bay.  Kept indoors so neither harm or thievery should come its way.
It stood waiting for work again.  Many tools stood idle in the little village these days as fever swept through cottage after cottage.
The shovel had been left there when the man it belonged to fell ill.  And as with most good tools, work would come again.  Slowly at first but soon back to strength.

Days later, the man sat bent over the table eating his evening meal.  The man was, thou not young, still quite strong.  As with most folks he suffered little from the illness now that it was past.  The lone candle on the table flickered for a moment and the fire in the fireplace breathed.
“Must be windy out tonight.” the man mumbled to the seemingly empty room.  He resumed eating his meal and thinking of the next days work ahead.  “That patch by the elm tree in the side yard needs digging for a special planting.  I found a lovely sweet rose bush in the woods I‘ll be moving it tomorrow.”

An old tired cat uncurled from her place on the hearth rug.  She looked at the man so obviously disturbed from her sleep that the man laughed.
“Old Thing,”  For the cat never did have a proper name.  “You are the only thing left in the world that brings me joy these days, but I’m not going out of my way for you tonight.  My muscles are sore now from those idle days in bed.”
He got up from the table and said to the cat, “Here, have the rest of my stew.  I’ve a lot of work waiting me in the morning.”
The cat slowly worked her way to the table top and ate what was left to her as the man made ready for his well earned rest.


The man, a day worker who was well known to be very good with plants and his tenderness to the village’s children, worked the tough old patch of ground.  He broke up the clumps of sod and weeds with his pick ax and went about prying out the larger stones with his pry bar.  He placed the stones on the barrow to later add them to the back stone wall surrounding the chapel grounds on the other side of the lane from where his cottage stood.  He looked up for a moment and saw Joseph Winston coming toward him at a goodly pace.
“Not good ground for planting much, Jake.”  Said Mr. Winston as he approached.
Jake didn‘t look up from his work.  “Still, it suits the propose.” was Jacob Mathers reply.
“Lily or Rose?” Mr. Winston barked rather than asked with little interest.
“Rose.”
“Well, see that its finished right quick and with little fuss.  There is another patch needs tending over by the chapel door.  And be sure to give that one your best attentions.    And mind you do not bruise the lily bulbs there.  Parson Rankin will show you the spot.”
Jake nodded and continued to pry open a hole in the ground.
“Well, see that you are smart about it.” was Mr. Winston’s parting remark.

Old Thing came out of the dappled shade of the trees behind the cottage, shuffling through the autumn leaves collecting on the ground to sit by and watch Jake work.
“You don’t like that man much either, do you?”  Jake asked the cat.  “Treats most folks like his most unworthy servant.”
The cat made a face, yawned, and resumed watching.
“This patch will get every bit of attention that I give the chapel patch if I have anything to do with it, even if it is smaller and less significant to the likes of him.”  And Jake bent his back into his work as he shoveled out the earth to make room for the towns sweetest little flower.

With his barrow full of stones Jake moved to place them on the wall and then he rolled his barrow and tools round and up to the chapel garden patch.  There were no children playing about at the moment to give a small ride to on his barrow.  The children were still sick he supposed.  He sighed and looked for the parson so he could get on with his work.  Jake would finish the patch on the far side of the wall later, once the day cooled again.

Parson Alan Rankin was a dull and pompous old fool of a man.  But with him came prestige and money so he was welcomed into the town and treated as a long standing member.  Parson Rankin was overseeing Jake’s work by the chapel door path at the moment.  Something he had never done before.
“Could you make the line on the right a little straighter.  The bishop is coming to the memorial.” The parson squeaked like a rusty hinge.  No one slept through one of Rankin’s sermons.  His voice kept all but the deafest parishioners awake.  And the hearing kept the deaf awake to suffer along.
The parson continued, “His Eminence is a relative of the deceased.  Distant I believe, but still a relative.  I must look up the family connections before he arrives.  Don’t want to irritate a good man of such importance as the bishop by not knowing the facts.”  He turned to go, but then turned back adding.  “Nice straight lines.” again for a fourth time since he arrived.
Jake was glad to see the parson’s back retreat into the chapel moments later.

The Shovel - Part 2

The soil here in the chapel grounds was well worked and soft in comparison with the patch by his little wooded cottage.  Once he was through the sod his shovel did all the work.  He moved the precious lily bulbs to the side to be restored to their places at a later time.  It was harder work the deeper he dug, but not enough to need his other tools.  Jake made quick work of it and moved back to the shade of the elm to finish his task there.
The shovel stayed on the soil in the barrow until he needed the space for more stones.  Jake carefully moved some of the good soil from the chapel grave site too the smaller hole and how dumped it to the side of the hole for use later.  Roses need good soil and these roses were going to get it.


Jake woke with a start.  Old Thing was on his bed and nipping at his nose.  “Hungry?”  Jack said as he got up.  “Today you will have to get your own meals.  I’m busy and I have no time to cook.  Even I will be having cold cheese and bread today.  Out you go and catch some field mice.”  He closed the door after the cat scampered outside.
Dressing in his best suit of clothes Jake made his way to work.  Normally he dressed in work clothes to fill the hole after the casket was placed in the grave.  But today was a special day.  He hurried on his way.

Only one woman was at the graveside that morning.  The body of a small child was wrapped in her best coverlet and shawl.  Jake lay her carefully into the grave.  The woman wept bitterly at the side of her only child’s final resting place.
“Miss Lily, our Rose was the most beautiful child this town has ever seen.  And so full of sunshine and goodness too.  Everyone knew she wasn’t meant for a world as mean and mercenary as this one.  The angels will take right good care of her now.  Rose was special and belongs with them again.”  Jake tried to sooth the woman with the only words he could think of.
Lily spoke through her tears.  “But she was nothing more than a harlot’s daughter.  Not worth enough to be buried in the chapel yard.”  Lily’s tears choked her voice away again.
Jake patted Lily‘s arm, “I have a lovely pink rose bush to plant over her later on today.  The petals are so light as to be almost white.  But the fragrance is so pure and sweet.  So like our little Rose here.  You‘ll see when you come to visit her.  Much better than an old cold stone marker.”
“My little Rose would like that.  She loved the pale flowers best.  I don’t know why you care so?  She wasn‘t your daughter.  Lord only knows who‘s but not your‘s.”  Lilly shook her head to clear her thoughts and continued on.  “Still, I thank you mightily for your part here.”  She sat on the ground near by to wait as Jake finished dressing the little grave.  She was still weak from being so deathly ill in the past week herself.


“Where is the man?”  Parson Rankin asked the undertaker, Joseph Winston, under his breath.  “The Bishop is waiting for a shovel of earth to be brought to him so he can toss it into the grave’  This thing must be done right and proper.”
Mr. Winston bumped arms with the parson to get his attention, “I see him coming round the chapel wall now.
“Get him to his place!”  Parson Rankin squeaked at Mr. Winston.


Later that day Mr. Winston’s voice broke the quiet of the woods.  The cat hissed and walked away disappearing in the autumn leaves.  “I’ve been looking for you all over town, Jake.  You where late to the graveside this morning.  Your wages will be docked for this month.”
Jake ignored the reprimand and said, “I was in the wood collecting something precious I found there.  A white rose for an innocent soul.  Then I’ve been planting that rose bush over your daughter’s grave.  Everyone in town knew it was you who‘d fathered her.  You and Lily were the only ones not to admit it, but you were seen making your nightly visits…  I see I‘ve angered you.  It was not my place…  I‘ll just finish watering the bush and I‘ll leave you to your grieving.  If you have the heart for it.”
Jake bent over the sweet light pink rose bush to water it well as the shovel came down on the back of his neck.  His blood flowed onto the child’s grave as Jake’s heart bumped its last.


Lily would often come to visit the little rose bush on the small outcast grave with the old cat.  It has the most striking sweet roses for its blooms.  Light pink, almost white and streaked with red like blood.  Each beautiful petal shaped like the curved blade of Jake’s shovel.

Trouble Stew - Part 1

Jessica was working in her sparkling clean kitchen.  A kitchen that was equipped like a lab in it’s efficiency.  She was watching the canner out of the corner of her eye while she was cutting up the fresh meat her husband had managed to hunt down on his weekend hunting trip.  Food was getting harder and harder to acquire in these hard economic times.  And what there was of it in the stores was being priced out of their income range.  Jessica believed that the over chemicalized sinthameat wasn’t good enough for her children anyway.
Aaron and Jessica weren’t going to just let their children starve.  So Jessica had put in a vegetable garden in the back yard and Aaron went on weekend hunting and fishing trips to augment their money situation.  The garden wasn’t just for food for the family it also attracted smaller animals that they trapped and used as bait.

The kids were in one of the bedrooms playing while Jessica cut the meat off the bones.  This would be many pints of stew before she was done with it.  They would be put away for leaner times when the hunting wasn’t as good.  The radio was keeping her company.
Aaron came into the kitchen and kissed her on the cheek.  His beard tickled her a little on the neck and she laughed.  “Good to hear you laugh, Love.” he said to her.
“It’s good to feel like laughing again.  And having food on the shelves helps a whole lot in that direction.”
He raised the lid on the stew pot and asked, “This for tonight?”
“No, supper is in the oven.  That is ‘Trouble Stew’ for times when food is harder to get.”
“Worried, Love?”
“No, just practical.  The stew has everything in it already.”
He laughed and she threw a dish cloth at him.  He ducked and came at her grabbing her around the waist and kissing her full on the lips.
After a moment she pushed him away saying, “I have work to do and you won’t get supper if I don’t finish it first.”
He grabbed his jacket and paper and headed for the door.  “I’ll be a little late from work tonight.  I have to catch the later bus.  Tony needs a hand with some project he’s working on, wants me to help him weld something.  He can weld better then me but he doesn’t have any confidence in himself.  These two part time jobs are killing me but I have to take what I can get.”
“I’m just happy that the college has enough students this year to hire you for maintenance at all.”  she said as she turned down the oven.
“Yah, well I gotta’ go or I’ll miss my bus.  I’ll have those bowls I made and fired yesterday so the kids won’t have to share anymore.  Love Ya.”
“Great.  Love ya back.”

After Aaron left for the rest of the day Jessica took the hot jars of stew out of the canner and ladled the next batch into jars and lidding them placed them into the large canning pot.  After the canner lid was locked on tight she waited for it to come to a boil before she set the timer.

On her way back down the stairs from collecting laundry from the bathroom hamper she heard a news story about two missing 14 year old children and she stopped and shivered on the steps.  Jessica listened to her younger children giggle over a game they were playing and sighed.  She tossed the laundry down to the bottom of the steps and went back upstairs to see her babies.  There were winners and losers, strong and weak, and Jessica was going to have strong winners for children if she could do anything about it.
Jessica approached the opened door and before going in listened for a few more minutes.  She knew once they saw her she would have to play with them for at least a half an hour.  Andy was teaching Cheyenne how to pretend to be a better dog.  Jessica stepped back and went back down stairs to check on the canner.  In ten minutes it would be done.  She grabbed the laundry and put a load into the washer.  The timer bell rang as she was closing the lid of the washer.  Good timing.  She shut off the canner and left it to cool.
Back upstairs she colored with the children for almost an hour telling them tales about children becoming strong leaders when they grew up before she left them to play without her again.  More stew needed to be canned.  The older two came in the door after school and dropped their books on the kitchen chairs.
“Put those in the living room and wash your hands before your snack.  Daddy will be a little late tonight so I want you to start your homework at four and I’ll help you with the rest after supper.  Here have an apple and some peanut butter and get out of here because I have to get this last batch of stew done.”
Dallas took his books into the living room and turned on the TV.  Crystal got the jar of peanut butter out of the refrigerator, a knife and spoon, and three of the apples out the fruit bowl and followed him.  The little ones were scrambling down the steps to get their snack too.  At the coffee table Dallas cut the apples and Crystal added the peanut butter to the snacks.  Jessica brought in some paper towel squares and handed one to each of them and went back to stirring the stew pot as the gravy thickened.

Trouble Stew - Part 2

When Aaron came home from work the table had been cleaned off and then set for supper.  The casserole smelled delicious but he didn’t head to the sink to wash his hands like he usually did.  That was the signal for the kids to come to the table.  In fact he had his hands behind him and stood in the living room doorway.  The kids jumped up and swarmed around him all talking at once and wanting to know what it was he had behind his back.  It was sugar.  A five pound bag of sugar!  Something the kids hadn’t had any of for weeks.
“Now Momma will have to use this to make other things than just you little sugar monsters pouring it on your food, but I think you can have a spoonful in your milk tonight for dessert.”
The children cheered and rushed for their places at the table.  The casserole was eaten in record time and the sweetened milk disappeared to the last drop.
        Aaron bathed the little ones while Jessica helped the older ones with the rest of their homework as she did the dishes.  The older ones took their bathes and it was Aaron’s turn to read to them before bed.  Jessica finished labeling the last batch of stew that she had made that afternoon.
When Aaron came down to see how long it would be before she was done she handed him a news paper wrapped package and said to him, “I had them in the broiler pan while I baked the casserole.  I broke up the larger bones with a hammer and you can dump them when you go fishing.  I have buried all I can in the garden and I don‘t want the neighborhood dogs pulling apart the garbage.”  He nodded his head, took the package and put it with his fishing gear in the basement.  When he came back up she added, “I’ll be done cleaning up in a minute if you want to watch some TV together.”
He smiled and she heard the TV go on.  It was one of those reality shows.  When she came to sit down on the couch with him he asked, “How many quarts?”
“Well I canned it in pints and quarts this time around.  It took me three days of chopping vegetables and butchering the meat, but all together I got just over 60 quarts of stew plus the meat in the casseroles and the meatloaf we all have been eating for your lunches and suppers since you came home from hunting on Sunday night.  One of your better kills my love.  It‘s back to beans and fresh vegetables for a while but it was a nice change of pace.”
“Tony gave me the sugar for helping him.  I don’t know where he got a hold of five pounds but I wasn’t about to ask.  It just might have been part of his horded share of the truck heist we heard about last month.  He wasn’t at work when it happened.  I had to take a hammer to it to break it back into a pourable sugar again.”
“Thank you, Baby.
“My pleasure.  You want to try for another baby?  We have plenty of stored food in the basement larder now.  And I know that you have been wanting another one.  Next year Andy will be going to school.  And I wouldn‘t mind having some fun the old fashioned way again.”
Jessica smiled and pushed Aaron back onto his side of the couch.  “Let me think about it while we watch TV.”  They watched other people make fools of themselves trying to win some money just to get by for a while.

Up in the bedroom Aaron was lighting candles and Jessica was freshening up in the bathroom.  She sprayed a light sprits of perfume on the pillows and got out the box of adult toys from under the bed while Aaron had his turn in the bath.  Jessica had just moved the radio into the bedroom when Aaron came in with his hair still dripping.  He hugged her from behind as she found a station with some soothing music.  She turned around in his arms and they made their way to the bed.

A year later Jessica was walking with the baby Roxanne and tot Sheyenne going to the school to collect her older children along with a few of the other parents.  Mrs. Anderson was asking for recipes for some of the vegetables in her garden and wondering how Jessica’s children seemed in much better health them the rest.  Jessica told them that now that they had their own kitchen gardens they needed to feed the soil compost and about poor soil verses rich.  She also told them about how she feeds her garden with everything that she can including dead vermin and road kill that she bakes first to kill the germs.  That explained the bad odors that sometimes came from Jessica’s house.  And how nothing went to waste in her kitchen.  She also told them she was available to help out in teaching them how to use a canner or food dryer so they could have good home grown food for later use.
Aaron was working harder then ever.  There was now a tax on children and he had five to keep in clothing and shoes.  Thank the heavens above that they were health.  When the health worker came around to check on all the neighborhood children six months ago they had a lot of questions and if it were not for the large garden thriving out back behind the high fence and his stories about hunting and fishing, he was afraid that the authorities would find out about Tony’s sugar and flour stash and that they would have cut Aaron off from the extra food.  No one but he and Jessica knew about the storage bunker he had built under the house to hide their extra food in.  And time marched on.

Dallas was graduating from high school as valedictorian of the class.  He was the strongest and brightest child in his class.  Jessica was sure he would go far and she was just bursting with pride.  The authorities wanted to take him and do genetic testing on him looking for breakthroughs in health science but Aaron and Jessica were against it.  They kept their children close and wanted Dallas to start working on his further education in his career as a lawyer.  They got him a job in a working law office.  They didn’t want anything to derail their plans even for a short time.

When Dallas wanted to move out of the house Jessica was in tears.  “How can I keep you healthy if you are out on your own.” she sobbed.  But he didn’t listen and moved in with a few of his friends.  His health was not doing well at all a year later when he had to drop some classes do to illness.  Jessica and Aaron finally convinced him to return home and he thrived once again despite the fact that Aaron was having a harder time of getting meat in the house and fishing was banned because of pollutants a few years ago.  The meat to vegetable ratio was getting thinner.  Jessica was even thinning out the older richer stew before serving it.  And with Dallas planning to move back out again as soon as he was doing better again, Jessica was beside herself.

But Jessica’s children were almost all grown and soon they would have to be informed as to what exactly she and Aaron had been doing to keep their children healthy all these years.  How Aaron would hunt the healthiest children at the schools he was working for, luring them away from the others and killing them for the food that Jessica prepared for her children.  Aaron would then fire the larger bones in a kiln at the college to be able to crush them and bury them under bushes and in the landscaping at the schools.
It had worked all these years but to keep their children healthy when they left to live on their own they would have to be told what they needed to do for themselves.  It was time to tell them how to butcher, and what was in the Trouble Stew.

Kent's Computer Troubles

Kent was at the computer typing up a proposal for work.  He’d done it countless times before.  He was almost done when his computer speakers started to hiss with static.  It startled him and before anything happened to the proposal itself Kent saved and backed it up just in case.  When it happened again he put in a call to Tech Services.

With work done for the day Kent headed for home.  It was his turn to drive the car pool and after he dropped off Marcus and Ray the only one left was Jeanette.  She always started to play with the radio once the others were gone and couldn’t complain about her choices.  Kent left the radio tuned to the station she had stopped on after she got out.  Some old rock tune was on that he remembered his parents listening to when he was a kid.  Before it was over static cut off the end of the song and it left him feeling a little undone.  He turned the radio off.


At home he changed for his town sponsored basketball league practice and walked to the b-ball court just down the street.  Gene and Dante were there all ready and they started to pass the ball around warming up before the others got there.  When they did the group put in a full practice before breaking up.  Dante wanted Kent to hear the latest musical group he had down loaded on his MP3 player before he left the court.  But only a few seconds into the music someone was loudly whispering Kent’s name making it hard to hear the song.

“Yah, I liked it I guess, but you didn’t make it easy to hear calling my name every few seconds.”

“What are you talking about?  I didn’t say a thing.  I thought you were fooling around.”

“No.  It wasn’t me.  But you heard it too?  Weird!”

“Ya, weird.”  Dante replied.  But Kent was sure Dante didn’t believe him.

“Well, see you next practice.” and Kent left for the pizza place to pick up his regular weekly standing order of pepperoni and peppers with anchovies on the side.  He added the mustard to them at home.

For the next few days the sound of static came out of Kent’s electrical appliances.  He missed the game he wanted to see over the weekend because of snow on the screen and static over the announcers voices.  After that they would turn themselves on when he came into a room.  He was beginning to think he had somehow become electrically charged until there was another turn of events.  They started whispering his name and talking to him.

This was not just hearing the name Kent in the static.  Anyone could make static sound like that.  This was his full name.  Kent Joseph Nickerson came clearly spoken from the speakers along with odd words or statements.  ‘Kitty’ was one of them but he didn’t have a cat.  ‘Watch’ was another but he didn’t wear a watch, they bothered his wrist.

Was he supposed to watch someone’s cat?  He didn’t even like cats and if he did have a pet it would have been a dog.  How was this message getting through to him?  Who could be tapping into his electronics and making them talk to him in this way.  It never did it when anyone else could hear it, only when he was alone.  Was someone watching his every move too?  He collected everything with an electrical cord except his computer and moved them all into storage.  He got himself a wind up alarm clock and pulled out his old acoustic guitar for entertainment.  He also started watching the games at the local sports bar.


Kent started to get paranoid and was wearing ear plugs just to get some sleep at night so he couldn‘t hear the occasional static or voices.  His boss had warned him about his lack of progress at work and no one believed his computer was talking to him.  He’d seen them making faces and hand motions in the air meaning that he was nuts.  They didn’t even try to hide it.  In fact he had found a package of nuts on his desk after the first day he confided his troubles to his friend Jared in accounting.


He took a leave of absence from work.  He wasn’t getting much done any longer and thought he needed the pay check he didn’t want to loose his job altogether.  Kent was seeing a therapist about the voice.  And when he told Mr. Hilliard toward the end of the session that he didn’t want to be around electronics ever again the computer on the therapist’s desk sprung to life and started cursing at them.  Finally someone else was hearing the voice.  Mr. Hilliard wasn’t convinced that what they heard wasn’t a fluke or a prank but had to admit that the computer was turned off when they started to talk.


Now Kent was ready to face the voice from his computer.  When he got home he turned it on and started to talk to it.  Asking it all sorts of questions from his keyboard.  When that was taking too long he went out and got a microphone so he could talk to it directly.

At first the voice was hedgy and wouldn’t answer him but was playing a game of hints.  But after a while the voice started to explain about a crush it had on him.  Something it hadn’t followed up on but hoped that Kent would someday notice.  When this voice left the office for good one day long ago it had waited for Kent to come looking for it.  But Kent never came so the voice was now following him.

When he had to hinted that he didn’t know who it was that had wanted him enough to follow him and was bugging his apartment and office at work, the voice was furious and the lights blinked off and on and sparks came from the electrical outlets in the walls.

Kent made excuses about how thick headed he had always been about romance and the voice seemed to calm somewhat.

Finally he asked outright.  “Who are you?”

“Kitty, Kitty Franco. I have been watching you.”

“Oh, Miss Franco from the file room.  I didn’t know.  I really didn’t I’m sorry to say.  You were helpful I remember now.  We had that little running joke about getting married so the others didn‘t think we were meeting for more than work.”

“You didn’t come.”

“How could I find you after you left?  I don’t have access to personal files.  Once you left some other helpful person was there with the files when I asked for them.”

“You didn’t even come to the funeral.”

Funeral?  “What funeral?”

“My funeral!”  More sparks.  “After I got hit by that car out in front of the building!  You put money into the collection for flowers but never got around to signing the card with the others.  I thought, I hoped, that you were going to come and bring your own flowers and card, but you didn’t.”  The computer was quiet for a while waiting for a reply but Kent was still stuck on the fact that he was talking to a ghost. That no one had bugged his place or was playing tricks on him.  But she had died years ago.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t know that you would see I wasn’t there.  I was sorry, but I don’t go to funerals.  I never have.  It’s a thing with me.”

“Even with people who love you?”

“Yes, I didn’t go to my mothers funeral.”

“That’s right, she told me when I met her here.  I just forgot.  I‘ll forgive you if you tell me you love me again.”

“I don’t remember ever telling you that a first time?”

“Yes, when I brought you the Stockton file.  You said, ‘Miss Franco I love you.  We’ll have to get married so we can stop meeting like this.’  It was the first time we started to play the game so the others wouldn‘t know we loved each other.  There was a strict non dating policy at work, but we were getting around that with our little game.”


Now Kent understood.  She really did think he loved her and not that he was just joking with another employee.  The no dating policy let him feel safe in teasing and playing games with the women at the office.  He never crossed the line of harassment.  The others surely knew he was just having a bit of fun.  And now he had a new problem.  How could he get rid of a ghost that was in love with him?  He thought hard.

“Aren’t you supposed to go into a light or something?” he asked hopefully.

“I did.  That is why it took so long to come back and let you know I wouldn’t leave you again.  That is where I met your mother.  She wishes you would take better care of yourself by the way.”

“Don’t you want to go back there?  Isn’t it nicer than here?”

“It was nice but I wanted to be with you.  You were the only one to tell me you loved me.  And since we never got to be married in the flesh I decided to stay with you until you can come to me.”


Kent told the boss he found out he was allergic to plastic and was taking allergy medication.  But when she wouldn’t leave him alone by deleting files every time a female employee came into the room he told the boss he needed to leave the corporation.  He took a severance package and he sold everything he owned.  He got a piece of land in the back of beyond and had the radio taken out of the car before he drove out there.  He left the car a days hike out from where he made his cabin and he’s learned to live off the land.  Kent doesn’t have one electrical device.


Kent never wanted to hear Kitty’s voice again because she had ruined his life.  She wouldn’t believe he didn’t love her and wouldn’t leave him alone.  He had even tried to have an exorcism, but since he didn’t believe in a God and Kitty being an insane spirit, it hadn’t worked.

In the end he was forced to leave his life to get away from her and he lives in the back of beyond to this day as far as I know.  Kent knows Kitty is still there but he doesn’t have to listen to her anymore.  He only hopes that she will have given up by the time he dies.

Where do spirits go to get away from each other?

Ugly

It was messy and dirty and broken. ‘Ugly’ was the word she would use and she did often. There was no reason to let it stay the way it was. None at all that she could see. But the house on the corner of Main Street stood its ground slumping over a bit in a dangerous dilapidated way. This was suburbia. In a fairly nice older neighborhood. There was talk that the little house had once had a famous person living there. But no one she knew could tell her who that person could have been. No one in town even claimed ownership. It stayed because people here didn’t like change. They didn’t take action. It was someone else’s problem. But to her the ugly house shouldn’t be here anymore.

And now it was burning. Flames licked at its buckling sides. The porch roof collapsed first and sparks flew up in the air, allowing the fire to consume the rest of it more rapidly.

She has seen it from the start. The cigarette lay glowing on the ground in the darkening of the evening. First the leaves, then the dry grasses, to the bush. The old shingles of the porch came next. It only took moments. And she didn’t stop it. She could have in the beginning but she didn’t. Why should she? The ugly house on the corner would be gone if she kept quiet. No one lived there any longer. It wouldn’t be there to offend her any longer if she let it burn, so she did.

Her hand was clutched around her cell phone in her pocket as she watched the fire grow into an uncontrollable inferno. Yet she hadn’t moved an inch. In fact she didn’t move until the searing heat pushed her back. First into the street, and then to the other side of it. She was pushed into the gathering crowd of people watching and waiting for the volunteer firefighters to come and put it out.

A police officer came and made everyone move farther down the street. “It was not safe! The firefighters need room to work! Did anyone see someone running away before it started? Go to the police car down the block the give the officer there your statement if you did.” He barked into the crowd. No one moved from their new vantage point.

She let go of the things in her pocket that she had been unconsciously clutching on to and slowly moved to the back of the crowd.

It was over for her when the fire trucks arrived. They would put out the fire and stop it from taking all the ugliness away. She wanted nothing more than to go home. To her safe and lovely home with its pretty little weedless patch of flower garden in front and its smoke detectors in every room. But she didn’t want to be the first one to leave. She didn’t want her neighbors to know that she didn’t want the fire stopped before it did its job completely. She wanted all the ugliness burned away from her.

She acted like she had gotten a shock from her cell phone going off in her pocket and plunged her hand into her pocket again. If the people near her thought she had a phone call she might be able to move away from the crowd until she could leave without notice. Pulling out her phone she pretended to hit a button and placed it to her ear, saying, “Hello! I can’t hear you just now! I’m at the fire on Main Street! I’ll have to call you back!” She pushed a button again replacing the phone in her pocket. No one noticed her on the phone. She continued to watch with the others as the firefighters hooked up the hoses and moved in to squelch the fire before it was done doing its job.

Steam was added to the smoke making it harder to see from where she now stood. Red lights flashed confusing her eyes to what was happening as the smoke billowed from the ‘ugly’ spot. Another officer was making some men and boys come down from a tree that they had climbed to get a better view. As the crowd jockeyed for position again she moved farther back. She looked down the street toward her home. She couldn’t see it from here. It was not on Main Street. She liked a quieter safer street. But she also liked being able to walk to the center of town from her own porch. She had been walking back from the library when the glow of the cigarette caught her eye. A man had been standing smoking a cigarette out in front of the little ugly house. She had thought about crossing the street to pass them but she wanted to get home fast and not miss a minute of her TV show.


She looked over the shoulder of the man in front of her. Wasn’t it over yet? Didn’t anyone need to check on children or a pot on the stove? Didn’t anyone have to go to the bathroom? She wanted to go home and see her evening shows on TV. And it was getting cooler as night crept over them and the fire lost its warmth as it died. But the people standing here just rubbed their folded arms held tight to their bodies and watched on. They talked of other fires in the past, near misses to tragedy and things they were going to change when they got home. But no one moved to go. Time seemed to stand still.

The man next to her lit a cigarette and the flame lit his face. It was the same man she had seen before the fire started. It was his cigarette, she was sure of it! She was going to tell the officer at the police car about him when some shouting started by the firefighters at the ugly house and the cigarette man pulled back and walked between the houses and was swallowed by the dark. And the darkness was trying to swallow her up as well.


It was all over town by the next morning. It seemed everyone was talking about it. “There was a body found at the fire and it was little old Miss Jenkins found dead on the ground in front of the house, her hand still clutching her cell phone in her pocket like she had been trying to dial 911. She had been raped and killed between the hedge and the house, and the fire was set to try to cover it up.” They said. “She had always hated that little old house and the way it was left to decay. She wouldn’t even walk on the same side of the street as it.” The neighbors all agreed on that. “They had seen her every week coming home from the library to her house a few blocks away. Her house was kept in beautiful condition and her small front garden never had a weed. Such a shame, and a loss to the town now that she was gone.”


They didn’t know that she was still there. She was looking for the man with the cigarette. Because the police needed to know that he didn’t mean to set the fire. She had knocked the cigarette out of his hand when he grabbed her… and tried to burn her with it… She let it burn in the leaves… It was all she could think about… Watching the flames crawl up toward the house… It was too hard to watch the rape and beating… So she watched the fire smolder and catch the bushes and move to the house… She couldn’t look at herself being abused, beaten and killed… She didn’t want to even know it in her memory. But it was too late the memory had returned.


He’d come back to look at the scared earth left from the fire. The scene of the crime. And she’d watch him on other days and she would try to call the police on her cell phone every time. But it would just start to ring, but then it would stop and disconnect. The call wouldn’t go through. And he would move off down the street.

But this time, now that her memory of what had happened back, he stayed.

The man couldn’t get over how a small patch of flowers grew there where she had died almost over night, and not one weed would move in to take over the ugly burned lot again. It had been a house from hell for him. His father had beaten and abused him there until the day he ran away. Many years had gone by, his father was dead a long time now. He came back to town to have the house torn down and to sell the lot for the back taxes. He had been trying to do the right thing, laying the past to rest. He hadn’t planned on raping and killing the woman who looked at him and the house with such disgust. The old memories just came flooding back of his father raping him as a boy and he lashed out in pain and anger. He did the same thing to someone else that had been done to him…

And now the house was gone. Burned to the ground. And he had become what his father once was to him. A monster! And monsters needed to be killed. So this last time he came to look at the lot, he took out a gun and shot himself in the head.

He fell down and was found dead, with his arms around the flowers with a note in his hand saying, “I am ugly. And ugly shouldn‘t be here anymore.”

Ghost of a Dream

I woke up the other night with a ghost in my bedroom. At least that is what it felt like when it was happening. I knew that I was still dreaming because I had been trying to wake myself up in my dream and there are no such things as ghosts, right? So if I wasn’t going to wake up I decided I was going to go with the dream just to see where it went.


This ghost in my room was named Henry, and he was looking for a person that used to live here in my place. A woman named Deidra.

I couldn’t help him much, but I tried. It was the middle of the night, and nothing was open in town after two in the morning.

In this dream of mine I went to the library and looked up the old records for him. The library doors just unlocked and opened up, you know how dreams can be. I told Henry what I found in the records there, that this Deidra had gotten married after he had died. She had three children and was buried in the church cemetery some fifty years after that. And that her death was a good fifty years after the marriage.


What you need to know about me is I’m not the helpful type. I don’t open doors for people, or pick things up that others have dropped, or give to the poor. So I’m feeling quite silly in the library of all places looking up information for a ghost in the dead of night. I hadn’t once stepped into a library since my school years.


Henry had never learned to read and he asked me to read him her headstone, so we walked over to church yard cemetery. And this was where the dream started to get creepy. We were standing, or I should say I was standing with my small pocket flashlight and he was floating in the middle of the cemetery, we were reading headstones, and some of the other occupants came up out of their graves and they came over to see what we are doing.


As dreams often are surreal it didn’t bother me in the least that I was now surrounded by ghosts and they were all chatting and catching up on history while I was reading headstones out loud for this Henry.

I won’t pretend that I wasn’t surprised when some of the specters rose soon after I read their names. If I was standing too close they would go right through me with a cold shivery feeling. Apparently saying their name out loud over their resting place causes them to rise. If only I had know that before I read the stones out loud to Henry I wouldn‘t have done it.


I was ready to give up when I finally spotted her grave. I mean how many Deidra’s do you know? I read it out to him and he sighed waiting for her to rise. We waited for her to come to him and when she didn’t he started to weep, so I called to her on his behalf.

After a while I said to him, “Maybe she isn’t buried here. It doesn’t say how she died.”

The others insisted, “No, she’s there!”

Deidra finally rose up after the whole group started in calling her name.

She admonished all of us for disturbing her, and with the fun over the other ghosts headed for their own graves.

Deidra said to Henry, “I never have been in love with you. You just have to move on, and Please! stop coming to my grave each year on your death day night trying to talk to me. I am not going to talk to you ever again. So Henry, stop bothering the living and the dead with all this hubbub."

As she sank back into the earth Henry tried to pull her back up to be with him. I told him, “Now cut that out, or I will make it my mission to haunt you when I die if you don’t leave her be!”


This Henry ghost was now so distraught I would have worried about him killing himself if he was alive. So I walked him back to his own grave in the public cemetery a few blocks away. I wanted to make sure he was down under the earth again and not about to follow me around. But I didn’t tell him that.


The next day was Saturday and I was at my local coffee place reading my emails when the police came up to me and asked me to come to the police station with them.

They had an odd tale to tell me. It was about me walking around town in my pajamas with a ghost and my breaking into the library, then going into the church yards in the middle of the night. They had me on various cameras around town with a non descript glowy thing floating along side of me, and it appeared that I was talking to it.

Since I didn’t harm or take anything, the caretakers of these places weren’t going to press charges, this police interview was just a warning.

If they hadn’t shown me the tapes I wouldn’t have believed it myself.


I move right out of that old place. Didn’t stay there another night in fact. I moved to the other side of town into a new apartment building. But to this day I am helpful and whistle past the graveyard. I even give to the poor. I’m not taking any chances ever again of bumping into a ghost in the night.

Edit for typo on 11-14-11

The Redneck's Car

Butch was working on his car again. He was always working on that car. It was the same car he had been working on since he was in high school and now his kids were there. It was his pride and joy up on cinder blocks and rusted jacks in the side yard of the house. This was Butch’s 1957 blue and white Ford Fairland convertible.

It looked like rain so he was under the car to do some work on the frame. With only his lower half sticking out of the side of the car his feet could almost touch the neighbors fence as he was working today. It made for a lot of wiggling to get under there so he didn’t want to have to stop what he was doing if it only started to drizzle.

Butch had been out there for a long time without interruptions this Saturday. The kids were elsewhere at their friend’s houses and his wife was busy shopping for the weekly groceries with a friend of hers. The ball game was on the radio and a cold beer was within reach. This was the male equivalent to the bliss of shopping his wife talked about.

He finally found the wrench he had been feeling around for and started on the rusted nut he had coated with lubricant earlier in the day. He has gone to work on the other nuts and bolts while it soaked in and he was back to give it another try. This one particular nut was the rustiest of all of them so far and the wrench kept on coming off as the rusty coating flaked away. Butch’s knuckle was bleeding and it dripped into his eye. After cursing and sucking on his rusty dirty finger he got back to working on that nut. This time the wrench stripped it completely and he had gotten his finger pinched hard in the bargain. Since no one was around to hear him curse he threw the offending wrench full force as he cursed loudly to make himself feel better.

The wrench hit the cinder block so hard there was a spark and he sighed with relief because Butch had taken out the gas tank for more room under the car for him to work in. He was shifting his weight so he could wriggle out and get another beer while retrieving the wrench when he heard the cinder block crack and the car came down on top of him.

When he came to, he found that the car had knocked the wind out of his lungs and it felt like he had broken a few ribs, but he was alive. Butch was pinned so that he couldn’t move and he couldn‘t even reach anything to bang on the car to attract attention from the neighbor‘s. Now all he was able to do was wait for the family to come home and call for help. He tried not to panic.


Butch thought about a lot of things while he waited. Like how his cigarettes were now crushed in his T-shirt pocket and he couldn’t even have a last smoke before he got to the hospital and had to give them up until they let him out again. He thought about how he had to pee from the two beers he had before he crawled under here. He thought about how he was going to miss the card game with the boys tonight and miss out on making a few bucks for beer from the new guy, Len’s cousin, who hadn’t perfected his poker face yet. He thought about how he was going to have to buy a new radio because the one he had been listening to was now smashed to smithereens and he was missing the end of the game. He thought about his car and wondered if they would damage it any when they lifted it off of him.


After what felt like hours, but was really only about thirty minutes, he felt a tickle in his throat and knew a cough was on the way. He tried everything he could think of to distract himself from the feeling, but the more he tried the worse it got. It started small, but once it got started it wouldn’t let go. He coughed until he lost consciousness again.


Butch woke up hearing his wife talking to her friend about him as she brought in the groceries. “He’s probably over Ralph’s by now.” She said. “If he was here that radio of his would be on.” She couldn’t hear him try to call out to her with what little air he could get into his lungs. She just went into the house with the last bag and started putting the food away and then started to make supper. Junior came racing in on his bike and bumped into the other side of the car using it as a stop, and the car came down a little more. Junior then high tailed it into the house saying, “What’s for supper?“ And he didn’t come back out to put his bike away in the garage like he was supposed to.


Now Butch knew it was getting serious. His breathing was taking most of his concentration. He stopped thinking about the blond down the street that likes to sit on her front steps in a thin night gown to drink her morning coffee and he started to tell God he wouldn’t look at her anymore on his way to work. Butch would even take a different street to avoid the temptation, if the good Lord would only send someone to come and get him out from under his car. He even threw in a plea for forgiveness for watching that porn film at the bachelor party a couple of years ago.

His daughter came home from her girlfriends house and Butch hoped that this meant he was saved. The girl’s father dropped Sissy off, but Carl didn’t stop to see what Butch was up to. He probably thought Butch was at Ralph’s house too since the hood wasn‘t up on the car today. Sissy went into the house by the front way. It was raining a little now and she didn’t like to get her hair wet. Hopefully someone would come out to get him for supper when his wife called Ralph and found out he wasn’t there and then they would find him. There was no note telling them he was gone and he hadn’t forgotten to do that since he was missing with his hunting buddies when Sissy was born. But when the door opened his wife just called his name and went back inside because it had started raining a little harder. Why wasn’t Junior coming out to put his bike away?


The rain cooled off the day and made him a little chilly along with wet from the waist down. He peed himself because now that he was getting all wet he couldn’t hold it in any longer. It started to pour buckets and he figured no one would know with all the rain washing over him anyway. And once he let it go he could breath a bit easier. That more than anything was a relief as the moment.

Butch hadn’t put the tarp back onto the car and since he had taken the top down the interior was getting wet. Butch was glad he had taken out the seats and put them in the garage. After a while drips started to trickle through the frame and onto him making him wetter still. The weight of the water added to the car itself and it sunk a little further onto Butch as the cinder block crumbled further.

His breaths came in gasps. Butch thought about all the times his wife wanted him to go to church with the family. He told God he would go every Sunday from now on instead of working on the car. He told God he would stop cursing in front of the kids. He’d even give up the hunting trips that were really only drinking weekends with the boys. He told God he would get rid of this darn old car like his wife had wanted him to for so long.

Butch’s head was pounding and felt like it was going to burst from the need for oxygen. He felt like he was drowning and was seeing stars and his brain was screaming for help as he lost consciousness for the last time still begging God for help.


The funeral was a nice affair and Butch’s wife sold the car to the junk yard the day after he was put in the ground. But she still hears Butch tinkering and cursing out there every time she sticks her head out of the back door and cans of cold beer can be found out by where the car used to be in all sort of weather, but especially when it rains.

The Castle Tour Guide

The old castle hallway was cool and dank, such a difference from the heat of the day outside. Ruth Bradford was enjoying the coolness. It swept up the long skirts of her embroidered tunic covered garb as she walked, cooling her after talking in the sun at the castle entrance a few moments earlier. This little tingle of a chill was refreshing at the moment. Of course in a few short months it would be the cold she would be shying from, but that didn’t stop her from enjoying it now.

How many times Ruth had walked down these halls, stepped into these rooms, and still a shiver went up her spine that had nothing to do with the cool in the hallway. It happened every time without fail, no matter the warmth. Would today be the day she would see the ghosts again?

Ruth would tell the tour, “I’m told I look an awful lot like one of the Grand Dames that used to rule here.” as she showed the tour goers the painting. They always agreed.

That was why she had gotten the job. She didn’t have any experience in conducting historical tours then. But for the last five years she had been studying and perfecting her adaptation and taking over the main tours of the castle as the Lady herself.

That was also when the hauntings started in earnest. Grand Balls in the great hall with the music filling that wing of the building. Everything would disappear once anyone came through the doorway. But you could stand in the hallway and watch the festivities for almost a half an hour if you liked. Once the tour had seen the Lord of the castle himself, sitting on the dais holding court. He had been sentencing someone they couldn’t see to beheading at dawn, who it was they never found out, but then the ghost seemed to notice Ruth standing there and everything just disappeared.


There were also cold spots in the rooms on the days when the fires were merrily heating the rest of the space and oddest of all, was the locking and unlocking of the doors, along with items being moved from room to room of seemingly their own accord. But as nothing bad had ever happened, all the tour guides just made the best of it.


In those first days Ruth was often left feeling ill after one of those strange occurrences. She’d have headaches and couldn’t remember things well. She would find herself on the tour talking about things she had no knowledge of and saying it with an air of one that had been there herself.

The people on the tours liked it, but Ruth knew that she was supposed to stick to the facts that they could verify from the historical records, letters and papers in the archives. That had been a while ago, now she just kept the tour going as if nothing unusual was going on.

Ruth didn’t like the strange things going on. But jobs were not easy to come by in their rural community around the castle. It was down to being a tour guide or a maid in one of the Bed and Breakfasts in town. She liked being a tour guide better and the money was steady. Because Ruth did the tour every day whether the groups she guided were large or small. Maids were laid off in the slow season.


The letter Ruth had been waiting for came in the morning mail:

Dear Miss Bradford,

We at the Historical Tour Guide Association would like to congratulate you on winning this year’s scholarship for a year’s tuition to the college or university of your choice as a freshman history major. Etc.


Ruth had been saving her earnings for all these years so she could afford to go away to University and now to have the first year fully paid for was like a dream come true. She could start this very next semester now. A whole year earlier than she ever thought she would be able to. She couldn’t wait to tell everyone at work and thank Mr. Donewell for the recommendation. She also couldn’t wait to spread her wings.


After Ruth left for school Cathleen took over in the ‘Lady of the Castle’ tours and the spooks grew quieter once again. Cathleen did an excellent job, but it just wasn’t the same. Cathy was a perky blond and Ruth was a brooding brunet with more dignity in her walk then Cathy’s bouncy gate.


Ruth worked day and night to finish school in three years instead of four. The whole town was so proud of her that there was a party planned for her arrival home. It was in the grand hall of castle itself.

Everyone was in costume of the middle ages. The feast on the banquette table made it almost groan from the weight of it. It looked like they all had gone back in time together. And it just so happened to be on the eve of the day that the lady that Ruth looked like had died.

The local coral group sang madrigals and a jester roamed the hall making silly faces at people and telling jokes until they laughed. Mr. Wilson played on his mandolin in turns with the singers so everyone had a chance to eat. And the food was eaten with the hands, with ale and wine in tankards and goblets. It was high fun.

Dancing started after the feast. A band of players was hired for the night and they kept up the lively music of the times. The pipers and drummers helped the people attending out of their seats and onto the dance floor. At one point a jig contest was started to the delight of the crowd. The town’s folk started talking in ‘Olde English’ making it feel all the more real.

Ruth was crowned as ‘Lady of the Manor’ and carried on the shoulders of a few of the young men in the room. Everyone cheered. The fun was still going on until way past midnight. Some people walked their weary body’s home, but most stayed on.

As the party was wearing itself down a man dressed like the grand Lord of the Manor jumped up and accused Ruth of being unfaithful with one of the young men at the party. Others join in thinking it was more of the fun in the night and that they could be part of the game.

They took off Ruth’s crown, garland, and party robes, tied her hands behind her and stood her before the Lord of the castle. He pronounced sentence of “…death in the tower at dawn.” They marched Ruth off to the tower room singing and cheering finding themselves in the play. After they threw her into the empty room and shut the door they laughed and jeered through the door for a few minutes. Then with the fun at an end they tried to open the door to let her out.

The group thought that Ruth was now playing a game on them and had locked it from inside, but she called from the other side, “My hands are still tied and there is no lock on my side of the cell door.”

“Wait while we call a locksmith.” Someone said as another was already on his cell phone.

Some of the people stayed to talk with her through the door as they waited for the situation to be resolved. The rest went down the stairs to make room for the locksmith to work when he arrived.


False dawn was lighting the road as the locksmith drove to the castle. He collected his tools and climbed the many stairs to the top of the tower. Huffing and puffing he sat on his tool box until he had caught his breath. “These old locks can be tricky sometimes.” He said. He tinkered about and oiled the hinges. He picked away at the lock for a few more minutes before saying, “I have to get a few more tools for this job. I don’t want to break anything old here.”

Ruth had been quiet on her side of the door while the man worked. But all of a sudden they all heard her scream. She didn’t answer them any longer when they called out to her and the crowed grew nervous. They egged on the locksmith to no avail. Soon he left to get the other tools from his shop, but before he got back the door flew open on its own.


The scene they saw was a gruesome one. Ruth body lay hands still tied behind her in the middle of the floor. But her head was not with it. That was across the room under the small window staring up at them with a look of horror.

The man in the Lords clothing was never found. But everyone there that night thought they knew who he was. It was the Lord of the castle seeking revenge once again from the Lady who looked so much like Ruth Bradford.

Halloween Pizza

I had been a young guy delivering pizza’s for Papa Vince after class for almost two years. The job was hard and people occasionally stiffed me, leaving me to pay their bill. But for the most part it was interesting enough for a college student to paid the bills that were more then my student loans covered.

My car took a beating I had to get it fixed more then I would have, but all in all I was happy with the situation. Tips were real good around the holidays and that made up for the rest.

I had my favorite customers, regulars that got a pie or two every week end or the Tuesday night meetings of the local sport enthusiast club in the church basement. They collectively tipped with the extra from the food fund each week after the pizza was paid for. Those guys always asked me when I was gonna’ join and I’d always cross my eyes and say, “Do you really want me shooting around you guys?” And they’d laugh.

I didn’t want to deliver pizza’s for the rest of my life, but until I finished college and went onto my doctorate this was the best gig I could find.


Halloween was always fun because we got to wear costumes on the job and got lots of candy along with a tip. Juvenile I know, but what did you expect from a college kid? We had a good group at the pizza place and we all tried hard to out do the others in the costume department.

Despite the fact that the boss, Vince, didn’t want me to wear it on deliveries I got the biggest tips the year I wore my costume of ‘The Fly.’ You know the old movie about the scientist that was caught with a fly in the booth for an experiment and he and the fly got their heads switched. I wore a research coat and made a giant fly, with a dolls head on it for its head, that I attached to the shoulder of the coat, and I had a full head mask of a fly on my head. I added a little squeaky voice saying, “Help me, help me!” sounding like it was coming from the doll head. It got a lot of laughs even from the people that didn’t know the movie.


But the worst Halloween was the one where I had to deliver to the cemetery.


The mayor was having a famous local dead people party there. For some reason the caterer didn’t have enough food for everyone that showed up so I was sent back and fourth with pizza’s as fast as Vince could make the extra ones.

I had Zombies and Ghosts, Witches all over me trying to be the first to get at the last order of pies. They had backed me up to a knee high headstone by the time they grabbed the last pie and didn’t see me trip backwards over the stone.

On the other side was an open grave roped off so no one got hurt, but I fell into it from the top, over the headstone of it‘s head to head neighbor. Right away I knew my arm was broken and I yelled and called for help, but the music was much too loud. No one heard me and if they did they must have thought it was sound effects for the party.

So there I was stuck in a hole, six feet down, with a broken arm, and there were people in every direction. Not one of them coming to help me. I managed to get myself into a sitting position in one of the corners and after waiting for the pain to subside I opened my eyes to see a small boy in the hole with me.

“You afraid?” he asked me.

“No, just hurt.” I told him. “Wait a minute. How did you get down here too? Did you get hurt when you fell in?”

“No. Just found myself down in a hole looking at you.”

I asked him what his name was and he told me Jimmy. I asked his age and he said, “Six.”

“Well your parents should be looking for you soon I guess, and they will find us and get us out.”


The party music played on and no one came looking for the boy. I tried to get up and help him to the top so he could get help, but I just couldn’t do it. My ankle was hurting too much and I couldn’t let go of my arm with my other hand. So I sat in the hole with this kid getting tired and wanting his mama for the rest of Halloween night.

The bandages from my undead costume were thinner then I thought and I was getting cold. Jimmy crawled up to my good side, he sang little rhyming songs to me and his toy dog that was the way we helped keep each other stay warm while we waited. There was nothing else we could do.


We woke to find it morning and we could hear the workers sent to clean up after the party. They were milling about waiting for the truck with the dumpster. I called and after some startled noises from the group I explained where we were and that we needed help getting out.

They gathered around the edge and looked down at me kind of funny, but I thought it was my costume. When I was done looking up and talking with my rescuers I looked back in the hole for Jimmy so they could get him out first while we waited for the rescue truck to come and haul me up in a basket, but he was gone.

I thought to myself, ‘Maybe I just dreamt about the kid?’ But when the nurse came in with my clothing so I could go home she gave me the little toy dog that she said was in my shirt pocket when I got there.

Jimmy was the name on the headstone I had tripped over that night. I stopped by the cemetery on the way home. I left his toy dog at the base of his headstone and thanked him for keeping me company that night. And his name appeared on my cast in a childish scrawl.

Autumn Afternoon, Part 1

My name is Alice Ridges. Alice isn’t a popular name any longer, but the book ‘Alice in Wonderland’ had been one of my mother’s favorite stories when she was a child, so I was named Alice. But I don’t want to tell you about that story. The story I wanted to tell you about happened in the Autumn you see. And every time I smell the aroma of the leaves turning color, like they are right now, I think about what happened then, like it was happening all over again.

I had a job transfer from where I had been living since college, to the town my mother had grown up in. I had often visited my grandparents there as I grew up. A nice town with tree lined streets and children on most every block. The children were a little harder to come by when I was a kid. That generational skip as the kids moved away and the grandkids came back to stay and raise their children. In a word ‘suburbia.’

My grandmother taught me how to knit on the front porch there, while my granddad tossed a ball around with my brother Theo in the front yard. Grandma taught my mom how to knit there too, as my uncle played ball with granddad when they were young. History repeating itself in a way.

Well anyway, my grandparents had died about six years before I moved here. My parents still owned the house and they had a neighbor looking after it. This arrangement was supposed to be a temporary situation, just like when they bought the vacation house in Florida when my brother and I were both in college. But, as you can guess, after that they only came back up north for weddings and funerals.

When I called and told my mother about the job transfer she wrote to the neighbor and sent me the key along with the deed papers saying that I was now the new and sole owner of my grandparents estate. What this really meant that I was given the job of cleaning out and keeping up the old place. Mom wasn’t coming back to do it and didn’t care to. Some memories she didn‘t want to relive I guess. They had given Theo our childhood home when he got married.

I kept the neighbor, an old man named Mr. Wickens, on as a sort of gardener. The boy across the street mowed the lawn, but Mr. Wickens took care of the bushes and flowers. He liked doing it and didn’t have a yard of his own now that he lived in an apartment down the street. I didn’t know a thing about plants and I was busy with the house itself.

I was all moved in by the end of July and spent August working as the new manager of the department store from Friday to Tuesday each week. My weekends consisted of Wednesdays and Thursdays, but I didn’t mind that at all. I worked at cleaning out and repairing the house on the inside as the house painters made repairs and painted the outside. I wasn’t doing too many upgrades yet. I just had the wires and plumbing checked and they were sound. Plenty comfortable for just one person. And I was enjoying a period of reliving my childhood. I made it look as close to how my grandparents had it when I was a kid and just basked in the love and comfort I felt there.

Once September came around I was settled in on the first floor and the one bedroom I had been using upstairs. I was taking a much needed break from working on the house itself. The weather was still warm, but you could feel the difference in the air. There was a coolness to it in the evenings and the smell of the leaves getting ready to change colors.

On this first Wednesday weekend of September I had worked hard cleaning out the last of the old stuff in a closet in the front bedroom all morning and I was knitting in the afternoon shade on the front porch with a pot of tea on the table beside me. I daydreamed of the past as the purple sweater I was knitting grew in my hands.

I don’t know why I looked up… but I think it was the quiet. The kids were now in school and the afternoons to this point had been kid noisy. Jump rope chants, roller skates and bicycles, stick ball games on the corner, squeals from the swimming pools in the back yards.

I looked up to find a small boy at the head of my front walk way to the house. He was just looking at the house in a lonely sort of way as he held onto a teddy bear. I said hello, but he didn’t move or answer at first. This gave me time to look at him. He was about four I guessed. Not old enough to be in school but old enough to walk to a friends house down the block by himself.

He was dressed in shorts and a sweater. The sweater looked hand made, probably from a grandmother or aunt, the pattern was an older style. But he also had on knee socks and brown leather shoes, with a white button down shirt under the sweater like a kid in a story book from the nineteen thirty’s through fifty’s. His teddy bear was old and threadbare, but loved, because it was patched in places.

“Is there children here?” He asked in a small, but not weak voice.

“No. No children, only me.” I answered and then added, “But you can sit here and keep me company until the children get out of school if you like. It won’t take as long to wait that way. Or do you have to ask your mommy first?”

“Mommy has a headache and told me to go out to play, but Sissy is in school and I don’t have anyone to play with until she comes home.”

“Well you can sit here and we can wait for Sissy together. Want a drink of juice?”

“No, I’m not to have food from others. Allergies.” He said with a sorrowful shake of his head.

“My name is Miss Alice Ridges, and you are?”

“I can’t say. But this is Teddy… Teddy Heenmee.” He showed me his bear.

“Glad to meet you Mr. Heenmee Bear.” I said, and the boy laughed as he climbed onto the porch swing.

As I knitted we talked about what school was like for his sister and knitting sweaters and days off from work and headaches and bears until the children came down the sidewalk in groups from school. I poured another cup of tea and when I looked up again he was gone. His sister must have been in the last group of kids, their backs disappearing behind the front hedges of the next door neighbors property.

I went into the house to start dinner feeling that I had at least made one friend since I had moved to town. Not that the neighbors weren’t friendly. I was just too busy up to this point to get to know them for more then a wave across the lawn. I ask Mr. Wickens who the boy was the next time I saw him, but he didn‘t know any of the children by name.


The weather was so beautiful that I repeated the afternoon porch knitting and tea on Thursday and the little boy with the teddy bear showed up once more.

This time he was wearing jeans with the legs rolled up to fit him and a pull over sweater. The bear was still in tow, but his tongue was coming loose… The bear not the boy. I stitched it back in place for him and replaced the one worn eye with an extra purple button from the ones I had bought for the sweater I was knitting, and he thanked me.

I moved to the porch swing to see when the children were coming from the school and he was using my wicker chair with the pillow seat. He had the seat up like it was a car hood and he was pretending to be fixing my car for me while he taught the bear the different car parts that his daddy had showed him.

When I asked him if Mr. Teddy Heenmee Bear like to fix cars too, he looked at me funny and laughed. Then he asked me, “Why do you call my bear Mr. Heenmee?

“Because that is what you told me his name was yesterday. Teddy Heenmee.”

He giggled and rolled on my freshly painted porch floor. “Not Teddy Heenmee. Teddy. He is Teddy and me is Teddy.” He gave the bear a hug and then scrambled up onto the chair and started to give the newly fixed motor a test drive, saying between motor noises, “My mommy said I was okay here, because she knows who you are.”

The phone rang and I went in to answer it, we didn‘t have cell pones back then. By the time I was done talking to my brother about his twins graduating to middle school by the end of this school year, teddy and Teddy were gone.