Parts

[Bmichael]

This thread is for those parts of tales we’ve written –  inspired  beginnings (or middles and endings)  and flashes of brilliance that came out of nowhere – only to  mysteriously disappear as quickly as they came-  leaving us stranded at our keyboards.

Good writing, but orphaned without a “rest of the story”.

Check your files…show off some of that stuff. Who knows? Maybe now is the right time to complete it.

[Carol T]

Hah!  Nicely done, as usual.

[Bmichael]

Precious barely had time to escape the flood of beer as it sloshed over the top of the pitcher and across the table – a result of Darlene’s unsteady legs and slippery hands.

“Oops! Sorry, darlin’” she giggled.

Precious sighed. Her kid sister was well on her way to another beer soaked Friday night escapade and it was only 7:45.

Sitting down, she watched as Darlene attempted to half- heartedly clean up the mess with her arm and a single napkin, gave up, and stumbled to another table.

In the back of Hit The Door, Cortis was shooting pool with Rick and neither was playing very well. The two friends were spending more time arguing than playing, to the annoyance of the shooters waiting for next. She shook her head as Cortis bought another round of drafts for the onlookers to keep the peace.

“Hey Precious…how ya doin’?”

Looking up, she did not immediately recognize the large, well-built young man in uniform in front of her.

“Aw shoot, girl…don’t tell me you done forgot ‘bout me!” he smiled.

Precious broke into a little smile. “Joker? Joker Corwin? That you, Joker? Good lord , mister, but you’ve changed! Look at you, boy – hair cut, all big and filled out! Heard you joined up…when was that – four years ago? “

She and Joker dated in high school during most of their junior year. She was attracted to the tall underweight guitar player with shoulder length hair until that next summer vacation when Joker discovered that he liked men nearly as much as women, and Precious discovered the advantages of having an older boyfriend with a job and his own truck in her senior year.

“You been fightin’ Joker? Where at? What was it like? You kill anyone…?”

Joker laughed. “C’mon over here - I’ll buy you a drink and tell you all about it.”

“Can’t do that – I’m married now, Joker.”

“That right? Well, I’ll be damned. To who?”

“Cortis Blevins. You know him?”

“Can’t say. Where’s he from?

“His people are over to Mayfield. That’s him shootin’ pool – black cap.”

Joker turned just as Rick tapped Cortis’ shoulder and nodded towards him. Cortis raised up from his shot.

Joker gave a half wave in his direction and turned back. “Well, I reckon I’ll head back to the bar – nice seein’ ya again Precious. Take care.”

“Who was that?”

“Oh that? That was Joker…old friend from high school, Cort.”

“What’s he want? “

“Nothin’ honey…just an old friend sayin’ hi, that’s all. Nothin’ to it, baby.”

Cortis stared at Precious for a minute, took a quick glance back at the bar, and shrugged his shoulders.

“You got any cash?”

For the next hour Precious watched as WW and the Dixie Dirt Bags set up on the small stage in the corner.

Rolly Blevins, Cortis’ brother, had two things going for him. First, he was the bass player for The Dirt Bags, and second, his chiseled country star good looks under a Stetson fortunately overshadowed his complete lack of any perceptible musical talent and attracted droves of female spectators wherever they played – which of course, drew even larger crowds of flowery fragranced cowboy wannabes in blue ostrich boots.

When he wasn’t hauling and setting up equipment – which was never – Rolly spent most of his time effecting dynamic stage poses along with perfecting brooding, pained expressions with his guitar.

Midway through the second set, WW let loose with an extended version of “All My Rowdy Friends Are Coming over Tonight” while at the same time a fairly tipsy Joker Corwin and a totally hammered Cortis Blevins exited their bar stools, each in search of adventure.

The controlled chaos of the dance floor was suddenly thrown into disarray as people scattered to the edges, creating a large circle . Precious thought there might have been a couple dancing in the center encouraged by the crowd, until a man suddenly crashed through the crowd and hit the floor.

It was Cortis.

Following behind, Rick helped his friend up and was shoved aside for his efforts as Cortis staggered back onto the dance floor.

Precious climbed onto a chair against the wall and peered over the top of the crowd – watching as Cortis attacked Joker from behind. Easily breaking free, Joker spun around, grabbed Cortis by the front of the shirt and backhanded him several times to the delight of the crowd.

When Cortis tried one more weak attempt at retaliation, Joker feigned fear before dragging him over to a chair. There he sat down, pulled Cortis across his lap like a child, and in front of everyone, began to spank him.

Precious screamed.

The crowd roared

“DO YOU WANT TO DRIIIIIIINK, HEY DO YOU WANT TO PAAAARRTYYYY…”

Up on the stage, when Rolly saw what was happening to his brother, he launched. Grabbing a mic stand, he leapt from the stage and menacingly confronted Joker. The marine pushed Cortis off his lap, stood up, and promptly took it away from him, smiling.

Now seriously concerned about his immediate well-being, Rolly quickly abandoned the hero routine, and instead tended to his brother. With Rick’s help they picked up Cortis and walked him out the door.

Meanwhile, WW and the boys kept wailing away, as the dance floor began to fill again.

Joker, realizing he was too drunk to drive, decided to sit down at the bar and wait for the police, MPs, or whoever was sure to be coming. Amidst a number of back slaps and high fives, someone handed him a beer which he raised, saluted WW and the band and chugged, to the delight of the onlookers.

Outside in the parking lot, a tear-filled Cortis Blevins struggled to fill the chamber of the 12 gauge…

[Westerly_2]

In Recovery

 

            Their serious thing on their plate is their younger sister’s nose job they pried the money out of Granny for. It’s high drama back there. They’re texting the blow-by-blow: “We’re here in the waiting room.” Ooh, ooh. (This would be my husband’s sister’s girls – the youngest getting the work done, and the other holding her hand). Too little to do in a small town, I guess, but to whittle down a perfectly good nose.

 

Meantime, I’m dropping the ball on the texting: “She’s in recovery, but I haven’t talked to her doctor yet.”  Should I have said “K”? Today is court day for my brother’s boy, and he’s facing his third dui in 9 months, and no funds for the rehab option. So it looks like the lad – on the road to graduate college with honors until recently – will get some time to reflect in lockup with the other poor folk. his public defender is up to her eyeballs in cases. Can she pull off a miracle? I fear for Markham and his dimly-lighted future.

 

I don’t want to ask. I resist calling my brother, afraid of the answer. Instead, I read the tragic news that Sydni is vomiting into a bag on the ride home, with an ice pack on her reshaped nose.

 

            “All the suffering will be worth it in the end,” her sister assures me.

[Westerly_2]

Basement Boy

 

            “I fed your son,” Marie told her husband as he got home from work. She said it with half of her upper lip lifted in distain beneath the downy trace of a mustache at the base of her nostrils.

“Not the rib eye, I hope? You know that’s for us and the girls. The chuck’s good enough for Barry. Ungrateful so and so wouldn’t know quality if it bit him on the ass.” Milo set the 6-pack of imported bottles on the faux marble counter top.

“You cook up that rib eye tonight?”

“It’s all gone now, Milo. Donatella and Greta were extra hungry.” She lifted her chins and stuck them out, waiting for it.

“Damn!”

“You were late again, Milo. Be home before six or the kitchen is closed.”

Milo growled while rummaging through the refrigerator. “Hey, the cooked chuck steak is still in here, barely touched.”

“Yeah, he had the nerve to complain I overcooked it,” she said. “So I took it back.”

“Overcooked? It still feels soft to me.” He gnawed a bite out of the side. “Next time give it to him raw, he’s so fussy.

“In fact…,” Milo snatched another chuck steak out of the meat keeper…, “I’ll throw him one right now. What he’s got coming to him.”

And with that, Milo unlocked the basement door and flung the raw meat down the stairs. “Here’s for you, you animal,” he said.

“Hey!” the voice in the darkness called out. “You crazy?”   

Marie had her arms crossed over her massive breasts. “I don’t know why you don’t just give over custody to your ex-wife. Be a lot easier on us.”

Milo tapped his forehead. “Think, Marie. Eighty bucks a month child support. Eighty bucks.”

Marie waited, tapping her foot.

“Realize what eighty bucks can buy?”

“Twenty-six gallons of milk?”

“Better than that. New i-phones. Foster Grants. Gray Goose. Sparkly jewels from the shopping network….”

“I’m just afraid somebody will discover how he’s being kept.”

“No way. He’s got it good. Any 15-year old would feel lucky to have his own basement apartment. “

“Locked from above, Milo?” she asked, fretting her meaty brow into a row of wrinkles like those little cocktail sausages they wrapped with prosciutto for their New Years fling.

Behind the basement door, young Barry pounded and yelled. “I sent a kite upstairs, people. You’re on notice.”

 

 

 

 

[Bmichael]

Creepy,,,very creepy.

[Bmichael]

Carly died when she was thirty two – the victim of a drunk driver as she walked to her friend’s house – a few blocks away.

Nearby and heading in her direction, young Donna Miller, already an alcoholic at 19, was returning home from the convenience store with another box of white zinfandel when a squirrel suddenly darted on to the street causing Donna – an extreme animal lover – to swerve hard to the right, crushing the squirrel and jumping the curb onto to the sidewalk where she continued driving the red IROC-Z  at the posted speed limit of forty miles an hour.

Just ahead, in the middle of the block, Carly, laden with gifts and a just-baked chocolate cake for the shower at Maryann’s, stepped out from behind the tall hedgerow at the end of the alley directly into the Z’s path.

Radio blasting, and mouthing along with Billy Gibbons as he just got paid, Donna was only vaguely aware of the unusual thumping sound from the right front tire, though she became puzzled at the sudden appearance of a dark brown, sticky mass on the windshield – made worse by the wipers.

Her vision obstructed, she accelerated, careened back on to the street and crashed into the rear of a standing city bus, rupturing the alternative fuel tanks with such force that the ensuing explosion instantly incinerated everyone in the last three rows.

Two days later, Chisel Landstrom, distraught parent of one of the young bus victims, slipped past security at Donna’s arraignment hearing and detonated enough plastic explosives to kill himself and everyone in the court room except Donna, who miraculously received only minor injuries from flying body parts and was somehow able to make her way through the smoke filled carnage, and across the street to the Immediate Care Center where she was treated and released – and promptly disappeared.

[Westerly_2]

Chilling, B.

[Bmichael]

“How did Keel die?”

Colin took a drink from the beer, grimaced at the taste, and quickly set it down.

“The people next door raised dogs. Champion Dobermans. Biggest dogs I ever saw. They were real tall with big square heads, big ‘ol chests, and real scary. Never did like ‘em much and teased them by throwing rocks over the fence just to rile ‘em up when I thought I could get away with it. I liked to see that tall, wood fence shake and bow as they bounced off it, snarling and howling, chasing after me down the fence line.

One day the lady from next door came over and Momma called me down to the kitchen.

Miss Bonnie had always been friendly, especially since daddy died, but this time brought some stern warnings.

“I want to tell you about my dogs. They’re pure bred, top of the line champions – come all the way from Germany. I breed them and show them. Cause you’re neighbors, it’s important that you know a few things.  First, don’t ever come in my yard without me” she said. “They’ll get you – remember that. Second, if they ever get out, more ‘n likely, they’ll be OK and just check things out. They only protect their home and family. Third, if they do come at you, don’t run, hear? Pull your arms in close…bend your knees…and tuck your head into your chest. Don’t you let ‘em see your throat, Colin. And most of all, don’t move! No matter how long you have to stay like that… just don’t move. They won’t attack if you stay still.

 And by the way, boy… you best quit teasin’ ‘em, hear? They remember things.”

Momma shot a surprised and then angry look at me as she assured Miss Bonnie that whatever had happened would not be repeated.

Next year, I was bouncing a ball off the garage door one afternoon when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. Four of them big dogs had got out and they were runnin’ around our yard all silly ‘an stuff, having a good ‘ol time - sniffing at everything… and smilin’.

Ever notice that dogs can smile? Shoot, even them ugly old bulldogs with their scrunched up faces and drooly mouths, can smile. Well, so were these dogs, just like possums eatin’…well, never mind…

 They were mostly between me and the back door of the house, sniffin’ and peein’ on Mom’s flower bed and didn’t seem to be payin’ any attention so I decided to just keep throwin’ the ball like everything was OK and waited for my chance to run inside.

Over to the house I could see Momma lookin’ through the kitchen window and talkin’ real excited on the phone - pointin’ at the dogs.

When they got down wind, suddenly one of ‘em – a big brown one - stopped. Raising its head, it sniffed at the air and then looked in my direction...growlin’. I got scared and thought about runnin’ until I remembered what the neighbor lady said. I pulled the ball tight into my gut, bent over, and waited.

So there I was – all scooched down in the driveway surrounded by four Dobermans that were lookin’ and sniffin’ me up -  figurin’ for sure I was gonna die, when Momma came out on the back porch with a broom. I peeked back over my shoulder and the look on her face scared me near as much as them dogs.

 Her eyes were all squinty and her lips were gone – pulled inside her mouth.   About the same time our screen door slammed, I heard Miss Bonnie’s voice calling them dogs from over the fence.

Right away, three of ‘em  took off runnin’ back to their house, but the big brown one just sat down ‘bout six feet away and  stared at me,  growlin’ real low. Momma come flyin’ off the porch with her broom and hollerin’ at me not to move – then she started yellin’ crazy things like “Shoo – go home!” and wavin’ the broom at the dog like it was some kind of bug or somethin’.

 I started cryin’ when it pretty much ignored Momma and stood up - growlin’ even louder and bared its teeth at me.”

“Cicero!” Miss Bonnie’s voice screamed off to my left. “No!  Bad dog! Cicero…come!”

All this time, Cicero had been focused on me, but he broke off when Momma swung that broom. He saw it comin’, raised up and snapped  - tearin’ it from her hands.

“Cicero!” screamed Miss Bonnie.

I never saw Keel comin’ till he threw a tackle on that damned dog. The two of ‘em slid down the grass rollin’ over and over. Cicero finally broke free and turned to see what had hit him. Keel rolled off to the other side, jumped to his feet, his neck a bright crimson… and went after him.

Dear God, somehow I knew what was gonna happen next.

The dog sat down and waited. When Keel was almost on him, Cicero jumped straight up and clamped his jaws on Keel’s neck. My brother stiffened and came down on top of him, but it wouldn’t let go.

Keel went limp.

Momma screamed.

I grabbed the broom handle and went after Cicero. Hit him as hard as I could but he wouldn’t let go of Keel’s throat.

Miss Bonnie come up with some kind of stick and screamed “Cicero – no!” and whacked it. The dog jumped off Keel, and went runnin’ back to its yard.

Next thing, it got real quiet, save for some strange, suckin’ sounds comin’ from Keel.

Someone grabbed my shirt and jerked me backwards.

“Colin Edward, get in the house, now.” Momma said softly and pushed me towards the porch.

In the kitchen, I tripped in the doorway, knocked over a chair and broke the glass on the china cabinet. I tried to climb the stairs, way too fast and kept slippin’ on the hardwood. It was like one of those bad dreams – the one when you’re running as hard as you can, and gettin’ nowhere through a thick, heavy cloud while what’s chasing you is getting closer and closer ‘an all you can hear is your heart pounding and there’s a strange, almost tickly feeling down below, and you know it’s closin’ in and about to…

Only this wasn’t a dream – I didn’t wake up to where you find out that everything’s OK, and turn on the light just to make sure.

I ran into Keel’s room, jumped in the bed, pulled the pillows tight over my head and started prayin’ –  swearin’ to God that if only he’d let Keel be OK, I’d never bother those dogs again, work harder at school, quit smokin’ cigarettes, and made about a hundred other promises that we both knew were damn lies.

The sirens, they were getting’ closer and I was rockin’ back ‘n forth and kickin’ the bedpost, my head wrapped in Keel’s pillows. I could smell his hair tonic and kept tellin’ myself that everything was gonna be OK,  but deep down I didn’t believe a word of it. When the sirens suddenly cut off I crawled to the window and peeked over the sill. In the front yard Miss Bonnie was shoutin’ to the police and the ambulance  - pointin’ towards the backyard while folks from the other houses up and down the street were comin’ out and standin’ in their yards lookin’ in our direction.

A few minutes later, from out back, there was more shoutin’ and arguin’ followed by gunshots… and screams.

 I heard later, that the County Sheriff, Judd Burton himself, just happened to ride along on that call and when he saw what happened to Keel, he went straight crazy, tore loose a shotgun from a deputy - and killed every animal on Miss Bonnie’s truck farm – even the cats.”

“What happened next?”

“I fell asleep.

 It’s what I do when I get upset. I get sleepy…did it that day…and still do, today.

Later on, I was woke up by a familiar voice – it was Aunt Judy. She was callin’ for me as the lights came up the steps from downstairs.

I was wondering what she was doing here when I remembered what happened.

 “Aunt Judy…!” I screamed.

“Colin, c’mon down here now, boy. You know I can’t make it up them steps. Uncle Carl will be here in a minute… I need ya to come downstairs, now, son.”

Aunt Judy literally caught me at the bottom and pulled me hard into her bosom. I hugged her as tight as I could, prayin’ she had some good news. We stood there for a moment, just hangin’ on until she began shaking and trembling, and started strokin’ my hair.

“Keel’s with God, now“she whispered and drew me in closer.

[Bmichael]

"Who are you?" 

"Detective Young, and this is my partner, Detective Cowles." 

Detective Young, she thought, seemed to be in his fifties, thick, potbellied, balding, with a jowly, pleasant face. Though neatly dressed, he had a permanent look of dishevelment. 

Cowles, much younger, well built, and dressed, in a suit, a size or so too small, to accentuate his physique, in order to intimidate, she assumed, or attract, depending on the need. She chose the former for this situation. Cowles did not look up from the manila folder he was studying, while Detective Young introduced him. 

She thought about the 'good cop, bad cop' routine - do they still do that? Did they ever really do that, or was that just a Hollywood thing? 

The room was not a lockup. They sat at a small conference table, in the corner, in full view of everyone occupying about a dozen or so, short-walled cubicles. No one seemed to be paying any attention. 

"Why did you ask me to come down here? Is it about the other night with the mugger?" 

"Yes ma‘am, it is, and thank you so much for coming I thought they told you, and I apologize if they didn't. This is just a routine follow-up, Miss Waters. Normally, this wouldn't happen in a mugging...but the guy died, you know, so there are a few different protocols that we need to follow." 

"Am I in trouble? Do I need a lawyer?" 

"No ma‘am, absolutely not. The autopsy revealed that the creep died of natural causes. There is no crime, except for the attempted mugging, and that's a moot point, now." 

"Can I leave?" 

"If you want, yes...but I'd appreciate your help and just need a few minutes of your time, please, ma‘am." 

"What do you want to know?"

"Thanks, just one more time, please, if you would go over the events that happened that night". 

"Ok...I just had dinner at Chico's on Lennox . I was in hurry to get home and thought I might be able to save time to get to my car by cutting through the alley next to the restaurant. When I  realized it was a dead end,  I turned to go back, - that’s when I saw someone coming towards me from the street.  I got scared and saw a door near a dumpster and thought it belonged to the restaurant. It was locked.  When I turned around, there was a shadow blocking my way. 

"Money!" was all he said. I couldn't see him clearly because he was a shadow, backlit by a light behind him. I remember saying "ok...no problem...here's my purse...take it!" 

"He snatched it from my hand, and said 'stay here', turned and walked quickly down the alley , back towards Lennox. I waited a few moments and left, in the same direction." 

Young was listening carefully and making notes. Cowles, who had stopped reading the file, was staring at her, intently, stone faced. 

"Then what happened?", asked Detective Young. 

"I almost tripped over him, in the darkness. He was just laying there. I found my purse a few feet in front of him - must have flown out of his hand when he fell. I grabbed it and got out of there fast...that's when I called you guys." 

Young didn't say anything as he stared down at his notes. He looked uncomfortable, started to say something, hesitated, shook his head, and finally looked up. 

"This is really very puzzling, Miss Waters." 

"What is?" 

"Our mugger's name is Chuck Hammond - 24 years old. He was robber - known to us for incidents like this in the past. He was never violent , never hurt anybody - just took the money and ran. What's unusual is that this kid died of a massive heart attack, surprising, because the autopsy revealed that, overall, he was in excellent health." 

"The other thing is...there was a witness. An old lady was in the alley when all of this took place - further down, picking through some trash, when she saw you go behind the dumpster. She also noticed Hammond stalking you from behind and watched as he followed you into the shadow." 

"A moment later she heard screaming..." 

“What do you mean...screaming? I didn’t scream. This Hammond person - he didn’t scream either. The whole encounter couldn’t have lasted 10 seconds before he walked away.” 

“And that’s another thing,” Young said. “In the report, the witness states that Hammond ran out of the shadow, hysterically - trying to protect himself with his arms, begging someone to ‘stop’. It’s all in the report. Want to see it? 

“Detective, I really have no idea about any of this, and I’m beginning to wonder why you’re trying to feed me this crap derived from a rag-picking, old bag lady in a dimly lit alley.” 

“Miss Waters, I’m as baffled as you are, but I had to bring it up. Her statement, as ridiculous as it is, is part of the official investigation into Chuck Hammond’s death - which is now closed, thanks for your assistance. 

After she left, Young turned to Cowles. 

“What do you think, Lars?” 

“Calvin, my head says this case is closed, Hammond had a freak heart attack after he mugged someone - that’s it...done. Next case.” 

“But?” 

“I don’t know...something’s not right. The witness - Aunty Millie - I know her. She’s hardcore homeless. Won’t use the shelters, only the kitchens. According to the report, she didn’t come to us, we found her by accident. She told her story and left - didn’t even try to deal for anything. That’s what bothers me.”

 

“Ok, let’s bring her in.”

 

[Carol T]

Okay, it's official -- I never want to be alone with either one of you at night during a thunderstorm. :-D

[Westerly_2]

hmmm....

[Westerly_2]

I have another fright tale in the works. It's a satire. Have your tedddy bears and your flashlights ready.