The Letter

She'd handwritten the whole thing just because it felt wrong not to.  It ended up being a lot shorter than she'd thought or wanted.  Apparently polishing off an entire bottle of wine by herself wasn't the best way to finally get over the hump and finish the damned thing.  Though she had finished it, and in the end she consoled herself that was enough.

She walked to the post office, grasping it in her hand, feeling her feet hitting the pavement and her heart beating out of her chest.  She could have just driven there- it would have taken her a third of the time.  But for the same reasons she couldn't type the letter she couldn't drive to the post office. This was a declaration, a decision, a powerful, important moment.  This meant something.

She held the folded paper and ink and stamped envelope up to the slot and paused.  For a second, the fear returned.  Words like "wrong" and feelings like fer and pain jumped to the surface.  Another one of those moments in an endless seas of moments lately that felt unreal.  Life didn't work like that- like this.

But she took a breath, pushed her feet into the ground beneath her and shoved her hand forward.  The letter slid into the slot and stuck, the tilt too great for it to topple over into the bin.  She pushed her fingers, hugging the lip with her pads.  The letter slid forward and down.  And it was done.

She breathed out, swaying slightly on her ever-so-firm feet.  It was a moment, no denying it.  It was a benchmark that would stand out in her story.  It was a letter.  And it was mailed.

The Witches' Hut

There was no hut, really.  Maybe there used to be, or maybe it was just a story- the local folklore built it up over the years.  Something like that.  Whatever it may have or may have not been in the past doesn't really matter to the story- but suffice it to say it was place people hung out at.  The first time I went there there was nothing but the outline of a house marked by a few stones dug into the ground with some logs they'd dragged into arranged in a loose semi-circle around the bonfire.  That's what people do when there's nothing else to do: they make bonfires and hang out in the woods.

Doesn't mean it wasn't a thing, though.  Hanging out at the witches' hut, meeting up at the witches' hut, party on Friday at the witches' hut- these were a part of life.  And there was something to that, I realize.  Being the kids who hung out at the witches' hut,  Part of our identity in some way.  Certainly nothing I though about or recognized at the time, but there was something to that.

There were some great stories, too.  The time Eddie got so shit-faced he tried to make out with the birch tree.  The epic showdown between Ben and the log that scratched him which he proceeded to hack to pieces with his hatchet until it caught in the wood and he started cursing a blue streak at the new injury.  But my favorite by far was the monster.

Of course I don't believe in monsters anymore than I believe in witches.  I like horror movies and I can't get enough of demonic enemies but when it comes to real life that stuff ends when you leave the movie theater.  Or so I thought, until that night.

I was walking to the witches' hut, of course.  It was particularly dark- dark moon or new moon or something like that.  Not a light in the sky, just my cell phone.  It wasn't scary, though- I could walk there with my eyes closed and not miss  step.  But I heard something behind me.

Thinking it was Eddie or Ben or maybe Sarah I turned around, but nothing.  I waited for a sec, just to see.  Nobody came.  So I kept walking.

Then the breathing- like somebody barely able to breath through really stuffed up nostrils, like when you got a really bad cold and it takes effort just to inhale.  And something else, too.  A kind-of guttural 'uh' sound.  Nothing too overt, just there, just behind me.

Now I knew that somebody was messing with me.  Eddie and I were going to a midnight showing later and he must've been practicing.  I knew what to do- I hopped off the trail to the left to go around the back, past the main clearing and in through the overgrown passage.  It was my fail safe if somebody was was following that shouldn't have been following- be a druggie looking to rob me or just some asshole looking to sneak up.  I even started laughing thinking about the sound Eddie would make when he took a gut full of brick.

I rounded the large tree, pulled the rope I'd set up there and let the brick fly.  I heard it release and then I heard the sound I'd been looking for- direct hit, no doubt about it.  I turned around ready to laugh my ass off and stopped dead- nothing.  No one there, no collapsed form on the ground, no Eddie holding his gut and cursing- nothing.

I wasn't freaked out.  I wasn't.  You'd think I woulda been but I wasn't- just figured it was me making shit up in my own head or something.  Like real life was too boring without playing a trick on myself.  I couldn't organize it- where that sound had come from and why I was so sure I'd heard the brick hit.  But whatever- the mind plays tricks on you, that's what they say.

And I could already seen the blaze from the bonfire so I kept going, no worse for wear, just kinda puzzled, really.  Until Eddie teared into the clearing a couple of minutes later.

Now Eddie doesn't believe in anything- anything.  And he is NOT the kind of guy that gets spooked.  That's why he sometimes goes overboard on the practical jokes- he legit doesn't get why it might be too far.  But when he came running full tilt into that clearing looking like he'd seen a ghost I was worried.  And when he described hearing that same sound- like somebody breathing who couldn't really breath- I damned near shit myself.

Now, he claims that it tried to grab him- that he felt claws or something.  I think he might've just said that last part because Sarah was already all over him, saying she was scarred and so worried for him.  I kept waiting to see a knowing grin or something- some indication that he was doing it to get laid.  But he never let up- just spent the whole damned night staring into the fire looking somebody sucked the color out of his body.  He didn't even want any beer- Eddie always wants beer.  He wants beer when he'd in the middle of drinking it.  But he just sat there with the bottle in hand, staring into the fire like his life depended on it.

We didn't leave till the sun came up, and honestly I was ok with that.  If Eddie was spooked, I was spooked.  No arguing with that.  And when they cut down all those tress and started doing construction on another housing development I don't even think he was all that disappointed- he never felt like hanging out there anymore, anyway.  He said it was because it was lame and we were stupid for doing the same damned thing every Friday night.  But I knew, even though he'd swear on his mother it wasn't.  I knew it was because of the monster.

The Bali Clap

It's one of those stories that becomes a legend.  The details may get foggy and the events exaggerated through repetition even while the involved parties are still alive.  It's a phenomenon I've seen before, but I must admit it's sort-of surreal when it's your legend.

For me the location was everything- I never dreamed of being able to travel to Bali, especially not with my sons in tow and no fuckwit husband to slow me down.  It was a dream, completely incomprehensible.  At least once a minute I had to close my eyes and take a breath just to make sure that when I opened them again it would still be real.

That cove was particularly idyllic and very much the stuff of legends.  It wasn't just the view- though I've never seen anything quite as beautiful and doubt very much that I will ever again- it was everything.  The wind was clear and smooth on the surface of my skin and it carried on it the faint scent of oleander.  That mixed with the dense scent of the coastal water made the air itself intoxicating.

The water was impossibly blue- darker in some spots, like the cove we were in where the water deepened due to the high cliffs.  But mostly it was crystalline and perfect.  And it felt like silk as I swam through it.

There was a rock in the middle of the cove- a high jetty of stone sticking up from the water.  At the top was an edge that hung out over the surface of the ocean and the more daring swimmers would leap from it into the deep pool below.  The old me would have thought it unsafe and strictly forbade such foolishness.  But this was the new me- wild, free from the confines of a miserable marriage, eager to fully taste from the fruit of life.  So I climbed up.

Andrew was yelling for me to come down- only 17 at the time he still feared this new version of me and half expected me to get into something too deep.  But Bran was cheering me on, chanting for me to "Do it!  Do it!  Do it!"

I peered once at the flat surface below with it's impossibly blue surface and cool, clear waters.  And then, without hesitation, I jumped.

For a moment- a time too impossibly short to determine- I was free.  Flying through the air as if my body were designed for the action.  Smooth lines and perfectly contoured arcs as I assumed my best diving position.  I had been a high diver in college and it had been an obsession at the time.

But a marketing career and marriage and two children and the endless tasks and chores of everyday life had taken that away from me- until that moment.  As I slid through the air like a knife I was freer than I'd been in years.  I was perfect.

Until I sneezed.  That damned oleander.  How in that exact second with wind whipping past me something so irritating could have lodged itself in my nostril so exactly as to wrack my body with  a compulsive bend I will never understand.  But bend I did- right in half. 

And before I could realize what had happened, before I noticed the surface of the water breaking around my panicked form- I hit.  My knees recoiling presented my belly as an almost perfectly flat surface to break against the liquid wall and I ended up doing the worst belly flop of my life.

To hear Andrew tell the story, the clap was so loud he actually went deaf for a few seconds afterward.  To observe Bran's tale it made the ears ring.  For me, I heard nothing.  Saw nothing.  Felt nothing.  It was just water and then- blackness.

When I came to Bran had me up on the ledge and was blowing hard into my mouth.  I must have gone into shock or something because I have no recollection of the time that had lapsed.  I should have been scarred but all I could think of was how proud I was of him.  My eyes stared out at him barring down on my chest and I thought that if this was the last thing I ever saw it wouldn't be the worst.  His firm jaw clenched in concentration, his hair dangling over his high brow- his eyes focused like lasers.  He was a vision of strength- an Adonis.  And I had brought him into the world.    Strange thoughts from a near-drowning.

But then my body responded to the thrusts and pain took over.  It was pure, reflexive convulsions for some time before I had any choice in movement.  And the string that settled in afterwards felt like dying.  Andrew swears it was nothing short of a miracle that I survived.  Bran can never tell the story without laughing.  It's a defense, I think.

Either way, it became a defining point for all of us.  A reminder of how quickly things can change, how untenable life can be, how tossed about me all are sometimes.  At first it was a story, as most legends are.  "Did mom tell you what happened when we were in Bali?"  There'd be excited glances, and eager ears.  Shocked expressions and finally, the relived laughter.

But over time it changed.  The exaggeration, the dramatic pauses, the added details that hadn't been there before (like a suspicious dorsal fin nearby) making the tension even higher for the listener.  It became something more than just a memory- it became the Bali Clap.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

It's here!  My favorite holiday- a time for treats, scares and awesomeness.  I've got a lot planned for today to make it as great as it can be (and I will tell you all about it tomorrow) but for now I've got a treat for you all: I've resurrected an old story that involves some of our favorite Halloween characters.  Should be good for a chuckle!  Enjoy!

Poker Face

Frank Jr. shuffled the cards.  His monstrous hands made easy work of the task so no one ever argued.  Who got to cut the deck, on the other hand, was another issue.

“Cut” he said, slamming the cards down in front of Drac who reached his spindly long fingers out to pick up the stack when a furry, clawed hand reached out and clamped down on the cards.

“No way, it’s my turn to cut,” Bob said, pulling the stack over to himself.

“Uh, excuse me- if it’s anyone’s turn it’s definitely mine,” Jack intervened, his long bony fingers reaching out towards the deck.

“Alright, that’s how you want to play it- no one cuts,” Frank said, slamming his giant green hands down on the table and pulling the deck back to himself.  Everyone pulled back, less because Frank’s word was so definitive and more because when he got mad there tended to be a lot of property damage.  This was their sixth poker table this month.

Frank flung out the cards like a well oiled machine, the small lacquered papers flying around the table and landing perfectly in front of each of the player.  The overhead light swung slightly with the force of the air shifting.

“So, how go things over in whats-the-town?” Bob said, arraigning his cards ever-so carefully.

“Halloweentown,” Jack said, unable to keep voice from sounding irked.

“Yeah, there,” Bob said.

“Quite well.  We’re going green, it’s really economical,” he said, smiling smugly.

“Green?” Drac asked, rolling his R the way only he could.

“Yeah- the green slime from the marsh?  It glows so we don’t need the gas lamps anymore.”

“Hee, hee- green,” Frank said, lifting his hand to the group.

“Indeed,” Bob said, rolling his eyes which were barely visible underneath all the fur.

“Alright, here we go- 2 card stud, ante starts at ten,” Frank said, tossing a chip into the center of the table.

“You guys are in for trouble,” Drac said, tossing in his chip.

“Yeah, right,” Bob said, flipping his chip in so it spun briefly in the air before landing on the others with a clink.

“What?” Drac asked, sounding insulted.

“What do you mean ‘what’?  You have the worst poker face,” Bob countered.

“I do not!” Drac argued, pulling his shoulders back to show the full force of his stoic disposition.

“Yeah, you do,” Bob said, gesturing to his right ear with a wave of his claw.  “As soon as you even think about bluffing that ear of yours twitches.

“Excuse me, I am the undead master of darkness, thank you very much.  My ears don’t twitch,” Drac said, chin up high.

“Uh, no offense, but you Dracula, lord of whatever, have twitchy ears,” Bob said.   “Besides, everyone knows I have the best poker face.”

“Of course,” Drac countered, raising a brow as he organized his cards.

“Look, I’m the wolfman, dude.  I don’t do nervous,” Bob said gruffly.

“You face may be covered in fur but your throat isn’t” Frank observed.

“What do you mean?” Bob asked.

“I meant you growl when you’re bluffing,” Frank said.

“I do not!” Bob argued, his claws digging into the table.

“Yes, you do,” Frank said, matter of fact-ly.

Bob hoisted his cards up in front of his face angrily.  A low growl was audible under his breath.

“And I have the best poker face,” Frank added.  “This is dead tissue, it doesn’t smirk,” he said, pointing a large, green finger at his face.

“Ok, Mr. Monster- that face may not smirk but those little electrode thingies on your neck move when you get excited,” Jack said with a grin.

“I’m going by Frank Jr, now,” Frank said without looking up from his cards. 

“Really?  Even after the whole ‘my dad tried to kill me’ thing?” Bob asked, looking over to his monstrous friend.

“Every family’s got issues,” Frank said, eyes focused on his cards which had been reordered several times over.  “And my neck doesn’t move, nor does anything on it.”

“Uh-huh,” Jack said, smiling as he watched the small, round electrodes vibrate.  “As amusing as all of this has been I think it’s time we give up the ghost.  I am obviously the best poker player here.”

“You?” Drac said, spinning his head around to give Jack the best confused expression he could muster.

“Uh, hello- skull face?  There’s nothing to move,” Jack said, referencing his face with his long, bony fingers.

“Look, Mr. Pumpkin king- that face of yours may be a skull, but it’s amazingly expressive,” Bob said, smiling a wide, toothy grin at him.

“Yeah, you light up like a Christmas tree when you get a good hand,” Frank agreed.

“I love Christmas,” Jack said wistfully.

A loud, crisp knock at the door interrupted the conversation and everyone looked to the sound.  The door opened as if by itself and pair of sunglasses floated into the room. 

“I was told you guys got a poker game going on.  May I join you?” said a deep, raspy voice as the sunglasses were removed and came floating down.

“Hell yeah!” Frank Jr said, without looking to see if his companions agreed.

A low growling sound was heard coming from Bob’s direction.

“Stop your grumbling, we lost.” Drac said with a sigh.

Happy Halloween, everybody!  If you're trick-or-treating with your little ones be safe and best wishes on an absolutely awesome haul!  And if you're celebrating with horror movies or a party I hope you get some good scares.  However you chose to celebrate, LIVE IT UP!

Write... Edit ... Publish for October: Haunting

It's time for another edition of Write... Edit... Publish hosted by the wonderful Denise Covey.  This month's theme is appropriate to my favorite holiday- HAUNTING.

I originally wrote this piece around Halloween-time a couple of years ago and I decided to use it for this because A) It's sort-of about a ghost and B) I just really liked it and would love for it to get a few more reads.  It's a dialogue-only piece which is semi-rare for me but I don't think that distracts from it at all.  It's also humorous rather than frightening but I figure you readers could use a break from all the spine-tingling stories you're reading today!  Clocking in at 469 words I present to you:

Highway 174

“His headlights cut through the fog like… like daggers cutting through… something.”

“What are you doing?”

“Shh! I’m narrating.”

“Uh… why?”

“Because it’s not scary if we’re just sitting here listening to Queen, we need a creepy voiceover.”

“And why is it supposed to be creepy? I thought we were just going to a Halloween party.”

“We are, but we’re on highway 174.”

“It looks like a country road.”

“It is- but it’s old highway 174. You know, like ye old highway 174. Like the place where that guy died on all Hallows eve- that highway 174!”

“I thought you said that was out at the edge of the county?”

“I did? No- I don’t- I don’t think we’re that far out. We’re just a little off the beaten path.”

“So… we’re lost.”

“We’re not lost, we’re just taking a slightly different route at the off chance that we happen to see him- his misty figure floating along the side of the road, ghostly thumb out in the hopes that someone will pick him up and finally put an end to his eternal wandering. Ooo- that’s good.”

“So we’re lost and you’re going to narrate it.”

“We are not lost we’re- ooo! What’s that?”

“What?”

“That shadowy figure over there- could that be…?”

“I think it’s a bush. Wait for it- yep, it’s a bush.”

{grumbling}

“But it was a very dark and shadowy bush, so I can see where you’d be confused.”

“Whatever, Scully!”

“Well, since we’re calling names- Mulder- might I point out that when we did do research we never found any news stories about a hit and run out here and that your urban legend of the ghostly hitchhiker was- you know- disproved.”

“Ok, first of all, it’s not an urban legend if it’s true and secondly the internet wasn’t around back in the 70’s when this guy got hit. Ghosts don’t need the validation of the internet in order to exist.”

“Sigh.”

“Hey, do you want to see this guy or not? Cause I will turn this car right around, young lady!”

“I don’t want to do anything other than to go to the party which is where you claimed we were going before you got lost and tried to cover it up by pretending that you meant to drive us out to the middle of nowhere so we could spend all night doing 25 on backwoods roads looking for ghosts.”

“You’re just no fun at all, are you?”

“I just want to go to the party- it’s getting late and we’re gonna miss the costume contest and-“

“Fine, fine, we’ll go to the party. Jeeze.”

“Thank you! That’s all I ask.”

“We just need to get back onto 202…”

“I’ll look at my phone.”

“We’re not lost!”

“Uh huh, I believe you.”

“Grrr…”

And now, hop along and enjoy all the other awesome entries!  Happy Halloween!

Spooktoberfest!

Hosted by Dani at Entertaining Interests and Jax at Bouquet of Books!  Click either link to sign up, see the rules, and post your spooky story!

For my story, I picked the super spooky lonely road photo prompt:

Source

And here's the story I came up with to go along with it: clocking it at 495 words, I call it:

10:27pm

It was taking too long- she’d never make it.  The elaborate sequin and lace mask on the passenger’s seat next to her seemed to mock her efforts as she pushed down on the gas pedal.  She cursed the accident she’d passed and all the wretched traffic it had caused, then looked on at the empty road in front of her in confusion- where had everyone gone?

A glance in the rearview mirror did nothing to allay her fears as only darkness was reflected.  It seemed like the whole world had vanished since she’d passed the twisted metal and flashing red and blue lights.

“It’s just a spooky road, Jess- get a hold of yourself!” she chastised her reflection.

Drew had always made fun of her for letting her imagination get the better of her on the last day of October.  He’d teased her for having the same fear reaction as a five year old out for their first night of trick-or-treating.  She’d always pouted at him and pointed out that lots of people believed in supernatural events and the like.  Plus what fun was the holiday without some fear?

Now he was gone, just another skeleton in her closet full of ex-boyfriends and emotional baggage.   

"Good Riddance," she said to the empty air.   

She smoothed the front of her dress and let her mind drift to thoughts of sangria cocktails and handsome faces partially obscured by masks.  She’d spent a fortune on the costume and she was planning on making it worth every single penny.  She would flirt and laugh with the abandon that one can only feel from a secret identity- the mask was her ticket to a night away from herself.  But only if she could get to the damned place.

A glance at the clock in her dashboard made her breath catch in her throat- 10:27pm?  It couldn’t be.  It had said that the last time she’d glanced at it- before she’d passed by the wreck- and she’d been driving for at least… well how long had it been?

She fumbled in her bag for her cell phone hoping to flash the true time.  She couldn’t miss this party- not after so much preparation.  She looked over to try to get a view of the messy interior and then screamed as a set of headlights appeared in front of her.  They had come without warning, blinding her and blocking out the night.  Reflexively she jerked the wheel and the car jolted to the right. There was a flash of light as the head lights filled her sight and the deafening sound of metal scraping as the cars collided.  And then… nothing.

The dark road stretched out in front of her.  The clock shone the time of her death, forever etched in the stone of time.  10:27pm.    

But she didn't know why her clock was stuck on that image, and she didn't have time to wonder.

She had a party to get to.

And now, hop along to read all the other spooky stories!

---

1. Entertaining Interests	2. Bouquet of Books
3. My Baffling Brain	4. Jennifer Joyce Writes
5. GirlZombieAuthors	6. Another Clean Slate
7. melanie schulz	8. Author Sue Dents ISBN-less Publishing Blog
9. Writing Off the Edge	10. Pagan Culture - Magaly Guerrero
11. A. J. Locke	12. Tiffany Behind Closed Doors
13. Some Dark Romantic	14. LILICASPLACE
15. Carrie-Anne's Magick Theatre	16. Defending The Pen
17. OnBecomingAWriter	18. The Beveled Edge

First Ride

“I don’t want to go,” he said.  He folded his arms over his chest in the most defiant manner he could muster and pouted at her.

“Ok, you don’t have to,” she smiled at him. The light in her eyes made the smile spread across her face.

“I’m going!” he said, stomping his foot and turning forward.  He stood there perfectly still for a moment and watched the tall girl in front of him play with her ponytail.

The sun beat down on them as they waited and the smell of cotton candy and fried food made his thoughts wander. She had packed them healthy turkey sandwiches and carrot sticks for lunch and he hated her for being so organized. If she had just forgotten the cooler bag along with her sunglasses he could be eating french fries and pizza by now.

The screams of people plummeting several stories startled him and his eyes shot towards the chaos. His breath caught in his throat as he watched the coaster dive down the track and then shoot back up into the sky towards an impossibly large loop.

“Mom!” He turned to face her again and arched his eyebrows at her.

“Sweetie, we really don’t have to go if you don’t want to.  We can just ride the carousel or go play in the fountain.”

“The carousel is for babies! Besides, I’m too tall for it!”

“Oh, Jacob- you’re never too tall for the carousel! You know that's me and your dad’s favorite ride.”

“You guys are old,” he laughed.

“Thanks, Bud.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Listen, just because you’re tall enough to ride doesn’t mean you have to.   It’s not going anywhere- we can go walk around the park and come back later if you want,”she said, giving his shoulders a squeeze. 

“No, we have to go now!” he pulled himself out of her grasp and nearly collided with the girl in front of him. He caught himself on one foot then threw his weight back and landed against her belly.

She steadied him with a firm grasp and kept her hands on his shoulders until he started squirming.  As the line moved forward the railing separating the flat yard from the ramp approached them.

“We better make a final decision here…”

“We’re going!” His voice broke through the chatter around them and a few heads turned to look at the source of the ruckus.

As they approached the platform he reacted like someone had turned him on turbo; hoping up onto the railing and climbing across, jumping down and hoping onto the next, looking and listening and straining like a racehorse in the pen. She couldn’t help but grin as she watched him.

Finally, they were standing on the platform waiting for their car to arrive.  She leaned over him and whispered “You ready?”

He nodded, breathless and wide-eyed, and stepped forward as the seats opened in front of them.

The Thief

Quick Note:  This was the one that didn't make it into Write Club, retooled and fleshed-out with some new details.  Would love any and all constructive criticism since I'm trying to learn everything I can from this failed venture.  Thanks!

~

The road was frozen solid and each step echoed through his legs as he ran.  Night’s darkness cloaked him save for a sliver of moonlight reflected across the barren fields beside him.  The harsh, hot summer had laid waste to their normally fruitful crops and the vacant land seemed to mimic the emptiness in his stomach which jostled uncomfortably with each impact of his feet on the hard ground.

He understood his brother’s anger- the Lord’s tax had taken the best of the meager harvest and the remainder was barely enough to keep them alive through the long, unforgiving winter.  But Will was too young to understand the fealty owed and his foolishness would get him beheaded.  He second guessed his decision to follow his brother to the lord’s manor for the seventh time since he began the journey and for a second even considered the prospect of Will’s beheading as a just sentence.  But the thought of his mother’s face drove him on.

He slowed his pace as he approached the stables and made his way around the back to the servant’s quarters.  He crept down, staying below the light cast by the torches and found his way to a darkened window.  Despite the cold it was left slightly ajar and he knew he was following in his brother's path, though the opening was less than his considerably taller frame would easily allow.

He held his breath as he gave one final shove and slipped his thin body through the gap.  He landed with a thud on the cold, stone floor and bit his tongue to silence the yelp.  He scanned the dark interior for movement and waited.  There were shapes and shadows, all alien and threatening, and he lay there frozen lest he be caught before he’d even begun.

He could hear the crackle of wood burning in another room and smell smoke.  But the space he lay in was quiet and still.  He took a breath, and forced his feet forward.  A faint light from another room spilled into the hallway and lit his path down the corridor.  He found the source of the light in a large fireplace, the warm blaze inviting and comforting him... until he saw what lay in front of it. 

The dark fur moved gently up and down with the slumbering breath of the beast.  The orange glow of the fire danced over the features of the massive dog, illuminating the monstrous jowl and sharp ears.  Then his eyes landed on the bone under its enormous paw and the rest of the world faded away.

He’d seen bones like that before in the cemetery and knew it could only come from a human.  The realization of which human hit him like a bucket dropped from the mow.  He was too late.

His mind spun with a blur of memories that had not yet taken place.  His mother’s tear-streaked face.  His father’s hardened scowl.  His brother’s empty chair at the table and a long, hard winter shrouded by grief.  He stood there frozen and breathless and waited for the dog to awake and finish the meal.

“Jeb!” the harsh whisper hit him and he jerked his head to its source.

The sight of his brother kneeling in the opposite doorway flooded him with the breath of relief and the dried eel he saw sticking out from his satchel grabbed his stomach with a ferocious grip.  Without thinking he ran to him, already imagining the taste of the vital food. 

Confusion overcame him as his foot caught on the woven rug and he fell, face first, to the ground.  A cacophony of sounds filled his ears as a table toppled, swept over by the rug, and spilled its contents to the floor.  When the deluge of noise ended a single, heart-stopping sound filled his ears and he looked up into the growling face of the dog, now towering above him as it stood with hackles high and massive teeth gleaming in the firelight.

He heard Will’s voice scream “Run!” and the world became an abyss of chaos.

First Friday

“Where are you?” he asked as he weaved through the crowd.

“Near the statue of Gansha,” she said, tiptoed and trying to see his tall frame over the heads of the tourists and connoisseurs.

“What statue of Ganesha?” he asked, immediately aggravated with his inability to spot the tell-tale deity.

“Over by the um… what’s-we-call-it?” she hesitated, not knowing how to describe the large mixed media object in the window.

“Never mind,” he said, spotting her.  “I see you.”

She waved to him as he made his way over and they both smiled.  Her genuinely, him sarcastically.

“Ok, first off- that is not a Ganesha,” he said, pointing at the elephant head made of recycled plastic bottles and aluminum cans.

“It isn’t?” She looked up at it.  “Well, one of the Hindu deities, anyway.”

“No, that is another man’s garbage that some oversensitive schmuck mashed into a random collection of shapes that bears very little resemblance to Ganehsa,” he explained, then laughed at his own insult.

She simply rolled her eyes at him and started walking.  Sensing her coolness he fell into step beside her but immediately launched another attack on her funnybone by picking up a large glass tube filled with what looked like ashes and a piece of a burnt map which he held up to his lips and wiggled, doing his best Groucho Marx eye brows.  She looked at him and laughed weakly, then walked on.

He placed the object carefully down on the table lest the vender try to charge him for breaking it and ran to catch up with her.  “What’s with you tonight?”

“Nothing,” she snapped.

He twitched at her but stayed quiet, knowing he had injured her and wondering how that was possible given the two minutes they’d been together.  She looked over at him, than shrank in on herself.

“It’s just," she began, fragile and soft, “don’t you ever get tired of it?”

“Of what?” he asked.  He was bent over nearly double with his neck craned at an unnatural angle to hear.

“It’s just, I mean- these are people’s creations.”

“Yeah!” he laughed.  It was a loud, harsh sound.  “Crazy people’s creations.  Hey, I made a ‘creation’ before I came here- think I could sell that too?”  

“No- really.  They pour their hearts into them!  And we come here like the hecklers from the Muppets to make fun of them…”  She had a distant look in her eyes, which would have served as a warning if he’d noticed it.

He grabbed her arm, stopping her, and turned her to face him.  “Seriously, what is up with you?  I’m five minutes late and it’s like you’ve turned into the philosophy student on the real world all of a sudden.”  

“I’m fine, I’m just…”  She looked up at his face and that same, stupid quizzical expression she’d seen a thousand times before.  

They stood there for a moment, considering each other.  The air between them was thick with the music from a nearby guitar quartet, the scent of wine and artisan crackers, and heavy emotions.  It was one of those instances where you realize that the person you’ve known for years is about as familiar to you as the crowd swelling around you.  And then she blinked.

“I just think I’m outgrowing this,” she said, and her shoulders sagged as she started walking again.

He followed her, afraid to speak, and fiddled with his phone in his pocket.  The shadow of the bridge fell over them as they walked and the air grew a little colder.