short halloween tales of terror - part deux
***
IF YOU THOUGHT MY FIRST SHORT HALLOWEEN TALE WAS CREEPY ...
Come back a little later for my second story entitled "STACKS"! For now, here's a little piece I did this afternoon based on one of the main characters. I call it:
Redhead in a Lemon Malstrom
EDIT- Okay here it is:
STACKS
I just finished tidying up, swept up the broken glass from the beer bottle, mopped up the blood and bits of matted hair, even scraped the blood out of the cracks between the floor boards. I rented a sander to refinish the floor and a nice golden oak stain that I think will compliment my terra cotta walls quite nicely. That was a sweet and lovely story, wasn’t it? Funny how madness can creep up on you so quietly. Such a mess though. But all that can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, I have an interesting tale to tell. I’m not sure if it’s true, but I’m sure it’ll keep you entertained.
***
Jeff stared at the clock on the wall a full 60 seconds, satisfied the minute hand was indeed moving. The second hand was frozen halfway between the eight and nine, and had been ever since the library reopened after New Year 2000. It was apparently the only casualty of the Millennium, and was even featured on the local news on a very slow day. Of course, every day was a slow news day in Broke Shingle.
The screech of the front door announced Mike’s arrival. Jeff flipped aside his copy of Keller’s Krostics and chuckled at the sight of Mike holding the door open for a young redhead in a tan sweatshirt and brown cords. Oh, oh … she saw him checking her out. He raised one eyebrow, affected a bored expression, which wasn’t a stretch, fumbled for his magazine again and put his head down.
He counted to ten and the red and a gold bag from Taco-mite’s slid across the counter.
“Two cheese-and-beef burrito’s and two soft chicken tacos,” said Mike. He slapped a handful of coins on the counter. “Mind if I wash my hands before you clock out Jeffy boy?”
“Take your time.”
“You da man!
Jeff hated that.
The aroma of cumin and onions and beef filtered out of the bag making Jeff’s stomach growl. He slipped a hand inside and pulled out the burrito, carefully separating the paper wrapper from the melted cheese. The heft felt nice in his hands. Someone said “Ahem.”
He lay down the warm burrito and looked into the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. It was Miss tan and brown coed. Jeff’s eyes dropped, embarrassed at the connection, and fixed momentarily on the fine gold chain that hung from her neck.
“I’m sorry to bother you on your lunch break. Are you Mr. Barnes?”
“I’m not there yet,” said Jeff. “And please, you can just call me Jeff. How can I help you, Miss …?”
The girl nervously swiped at the wisps of red frizz that tickled her eyebrow and spun ninety degrees on her heels, then back again. “I’d better show you. Could you follow me into Fiction? Oh, it’s Beverly.”
“Okay, what’s the deal,” said Jeff, suspicion creeping across his brow. “Mike’ll be here any …”
“Oh, no, they told me to check with you,” she whispered. She knitted her brow. “Puleeze?”
Jeff tilted his head three-quarters of an inch and raised his right eyebrow half that.
“It’s kinda weird,” she whispered, even lower. “It’s a ... talking book!”
Silence fell on the slick marble floor like a blanket of wet cement.
Moments later, realizing he should know better, Jeff was walking down the aisle that separated Fiction from Biographies and heading behind Beverly down the aisle marked FAL - HOR.
“Been doing this all your life?” asked Beverly.
“Not yet,” said Jeff. “So where’s the book?”
Beverly stopped three quarters down the aisle and put her hand on a thick hardcover book with a tattered black cover held in place by strips of brittle yellowed plastic.
“You don’t like me very much, do you?” she said, turning toward him.
“Would you be disappointed if I said I don’t really think much about you at all,” he replied.
“They said you were a hard nut to …”
“Okay, who’s the they that’s been telling all these secrets about me?”
“Well …” She slipped the book back into its place. “You make experimental films, right?”
“Oh God, another actress! Look, I'll be honest with you. You’re not my type. I do real classy horror stuff, very Gothic, and to be totally honest, your voice grates on my nerves … no offense. Now I think I’m wasting your time.”
Jeff turned to go back when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked around and saw Beverly was standing so close to him he could count the freckles on her nose. She had the book in her hand again and had opened it halfway. In his head he suddenly heard the words, almost as if they were folded within a rush of wind, You’re gonna see me audition or else.
Beads of perspiration broke across his forehead and he turned and headed down the aisle again. Only this time, there was no corner to turn, only a dead-in wall with yellow and black ceramic tiles bordered by a broad horizontal mustard and brown stripe.
“What the…?” He turned around confused and disoriented. His head was dizzy. He looked past the girl in the middle of the aisle, tapping the thick book in her right hand against her hip, and saw that the opposite end of the aisle led to a dead end as well. He tilted his head, severely this time, and tried to say something, but only a hoarse squawk emerged from his throat.
“Now I tried to be nice,” the girl said with a tight smile. “I’d even have gone out with you. Woulda been good for your reputation.”
“Right! I’m old enough to be your … well, anyway, your older brother.”
He tried to avert his eyes from hers, then peered through the books on the shelf to see if he could see anyone. Then he began to yell.
“Heeeeyyyy! Mike! Anyone! Get me outta here!”
“Nobody’s gonna hear you,” said the girl, slipping her sweatshirt over her head.
“Oh my God! We’re not gonna … in the library?”
“Get real dude! Hell, it’s hot in here. I hate central heating. Now look, we’ve got a lot of stuff to go over, so you might as well get comfortable. Of course, you are kinda cute, in a geeky sort of way. We could go the easy route.”
"Oh my ever-lovin' God!"
***
Jeff looked up at the clock, then down at the open but still warm cheese and beef burrito. There was a good sized bite taken out of it. His brow furrowed, and he checked across his gums with his tongue, and then the door opened. A girl walked through, a redhead, with a tan sweatshirt wrapped around her hips. She didn’t look his way, just headed toward Fiction. The bathroom door swung open and Mike came through.
“Okay Jeffy boy,” said Mike. “You can go.”
Mike looked into his bag and frowned. “Hey, Jeff, throw me some of those napkins, would you?”
Jeff grabbed his lunch and headed past Mike toward the break-room. He tossed him a few napkins.
“Oh,” he said. “I forgot. A girl needed some help finding a book. Author’s name’s Falcon, I think. Fiction. I told her you’d be there in a minute. She’s pretty cute.”
“Whoa, cute huh? Time for the old Mikester to turn on the charm, Jeffy boy. Better take your break while your food’s still warm. Go boy!”
Mike pulled himself off the chair and stuffed his shirttail into his slacks, then headed for Fiction as Jeff went whistling merrily on to clock out. After punching his card, he walked through the lobby, heading for the fountain under the big elm tree in front of the library. Before he did, however, he stopped at Mike’s station and searched inside his bag. He opened the huge bundle of paper, bit into the monstrous ham and cheese sandwich inside, chuckled once, almost choking in the process, and then continued through the lobby. It was very good, and it was very very quiet.
:D
***
(Ooh man, dig that crazy chick.)
Who wears short shorts?
We wear short shorts
They're such short shorts
We like short shorts
Who wears short shorts?
We wear short shorts.
***LOL*** Anybody else wanna play?
IF YOU THOUGHT MY FIRST SHORT HALLOWEEN TALE WAS CREEPY ...
Come back a little later for my second story entitled "STACKS"! For now, here's a little piece I did this afternoon based on one of the main characters. I call it:
Redhead in a Lemon Malstrom
EDIT- Okay here it is:
STACKS
I just finished tidying up, swept up the broken glass from the beer bottle, mopped up the blood and bits of matted hair, even scraped the blood out of the cracks between the floor boards. I rented a sander to refinish the floor and a nice golden oak stain that I think will compliment my terra cotta walls quite nicely. That was a sweet and lovely story, wasn’t it? Funny how madness can creep up on you so quietly. Such a mess though. But all that can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, I have an interesting tale to tell. I’m not sure if it’s true, but I’m sure it’ll keep you entertained.
***
Jeff stared at the clock on the wall a full 60 seconds, satisfied the minute hand was indeed moving. The second hand was frozen halfway between the eight and nine, and had been ever since the library reopened after New Year 2000. It was apparently the only casualty of the Millennium, and was even featured on the local news on a very slow day. Of course, every day was a slow news day in Broke Shingle.
The screech of the front door announced Mike’s arrival. Jeff flipped aside his copy of Keller’s Krostics and chuckled at the sight of Mike holding the door open for a young redhead in a tan sweatshirt and brown cords. Oh, oh … she saw him checking her out. He raised one eyebrow, affected a bored expression, which wasn’t a stretch, fumbled for his magazine again and put his head down.
He counted to ten and the red and a gold bag from Taco-mite’s slid across the counter.
“Two cheese-and-beef burrito’s and two soft chicken tacos,” said Mike. He slapped a handful of coins on the counter. “Mind if I wash my hands before you clock out Jeffy boy?”
“Take your time.”
“You da man!
Jeff hated that.
The aroma of cumin and onions and beef filtered out of the bag making Jeff’s stomach growl. He slipped a hand inside and pulled out the burrito, carefully separating the paper wrapper from the melted cheese. The heft felt nice in his hands. Someone said “Ahem.”
He lay down the warm burrito and looked into the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. It was Miss tan and brown coed. Jeff’s eyes dropped, embarrassed at the connection, and fixed momentarily on the fine gold chain that hung from her neck.
“I’m sorry to bother you on your lunch break. Are you Mr. Barnes?”
“I’m not there yet,” said Jeff. “And please, you can just call me Jeff. How can I help you, Miss …?”
The girl nervously swiped at the wisps of red frizz that tickled her eyebrow and spun ninety degrees on her heels, then back again. “I’d better show you. Could you follow me into Fiction? Oh, it’s Beverly.”
“Okay, what’s the deal,” said Jeff, suspicion creeping across his brow. “Mike’ll be here any …”
“Oh, no, they told me to check with you,” she whispered. She knitted her brow. “Puleeze?”
Jeff tilted his head three-quarters of an inch and raised his right eyebrow half that.
“It’s kinda weird,” she whispered, even lower. “It’s a ... talking book!”
Silence fell on the slick marble floor like a blanket of wet cement.
Moments later, realizing he should know better, Jeff was walking down the aisle that separated Fiction from Biographies and heading behind Beverly down the aisle marked FAL - HOR.
“Been doing this all your life?” asked Beverly.
“Not yet,” said Jeff. “So where’s the book?”
Beverly stopped three quarters down the aisle and put her hand on a thick hardcover book with a tattered black cover held in place by strips of brittle yellowed plastic.
“You don’t like me very much, do you?” she said, turning toward him.
“Would you be disappointed if I said I don’t really think much about you at all,” he replied.
“They said you were a hard nut to …”
“Okay, who’s the they that’s been telling all these secrets about me?”
“Well …” She slipped the book back into its place. “You make experimental films, right?”
“Oh God, another actress! Look, I'll be honest with you. You’re not my type. I do real classy horror stuff, very Gothic, and to be totally honest, your voice grates on my nerves … no offense. Now I think I’m wasting your time.”
Jeff turned to go back when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked around and saw Beverly was standing so close to him he could count the freckles on her nose. She had the book in her hand again and had opened it halfway. In his head he suddenly heard the words, almost as if they were folded within a rush of wind, You’re gonna see me audition or else.
Beads of perspiration broke across his forehead and he turned and headed down the aisle again. Only this time, there was no corner to turn, only a dead-in wall with yellow and black ceramic tiles bordered by a broad horizontal mustard and brown stripe.
“What the…?” He turned around confused and disoriented. His head was dizzy. He looked past the girl in the middle of the aisle, tapping the thick book in her right hand against her hip, and saw that the opposite end of the aisle led to a dead end as well. He tilted his head, severely this time, and tried to say something, but only a hoarse squawk emerged from his throat.
“Now I tried to be nice,” the girl said with a tight smile. “I’d even have gone out with you. Woulda been good for your reputation.”
“Right! I’m old enough to be your … well, anyway, your older brother.”
He tried to avert his eyes from hers, then peered through the books on the shelf to see if he could see anyone. Then he began to yell.
“Heeeeyyyy! Mike! Anyone! Get me outta here!”
“Nobody’s gonna hear you,” said the girl, slipping her sweatshirt over her head.
“Oh my God! We’re not gonna … in the library?”
“Get real dude! Hell, it’s hot in here. I hate central heating. Now look, we’ve got a lot of stuff to go over, so you might as well get comfortable. Of course, you are kinda cute, in a geeky sort of way. We could go the easy route.”
"Oh my ever-lovin' God!"
***
Jeff looked up at the clock, then down at the open but still warm cheese and beef burrito. There was a good sized bite taken out of it. His brow furrowed, and he checked across his gums with his tongue, and then the door opened. A girl walked through, a redhead, with a tan sweatshirt wrapped around her hips. She didn’t look his way, just headed toward Fiction. The bathroom door swung open and Mike came through.
“Okay Jeffy boy,” said Mike. “You can go.”
Mike looked into his bag and frowned. “Hey, Jeff, throw me some of those napkins, would you?”
Jeff grabbed his lunch and headed past Mike toward the break-room. He tossed him a few napkins.
“Oh,” he said. “I forgot. A girl needed some help finding a book. Author’s name’s Falcon, I think. Fiction. I told her you’d be there in a minute. She’s pretty cute.”
“Whoa, cute huh? Time for the old Mikester to turn on the charm, Jeffy boy. Better take your break while your food’s still warm. Go boy!”
Mike pulled himself off the chair and stuffed his shirttail into his slacks, then headed for Fiction as Jeff went whistling merrily on to clock out. After punching his card, he walked through the lobby, heading for the fountain under the big elm tree in front of the library. Before he did, however, he stopped at Mike’s station and searched inside his bag. He opened the huge bundle of paper, bit into the monstrous ham and cheese sandwich inside, chuckled once, almost choking in the process, and then continued through the lobby. It was very good, and it was very very quiet.
:D
***
(Ooh man, dig that crazy chick.)
Who wears short shorts?
We wear short shorts
They're such short shorts
We like short shorts
Who wears short shorts?
We wear short shorts.
***LOL*** Anybody else wanna play?