Tony felt the shots to his chest nearly hearing the thud as each shot hit his ribs. The overwhelming sense of gravity kicked in as he felt the hardwood crack under his skull as he dropped to the floor. The shade on the lamp next to him on the table rattled threatening to tip before settling on the base again. The shock to the back of his head signalled the ringing in his ears. The lights appeared to flick off and on as if in a muzzle flash. A form appeared above him muffled voice coming to him softly in his ringing ears.
"Have a nice flight!" The mocking tone he imagined in the voice brought up images of bad villain lines from past movies or even worse hero lines in final scenes where the bad guy dies. The points in his chest ached from the earlier strike, but did not feel like he had been shot anymore. He was distracted by the ringing and the weariness in his brain he attributed to the slow creepy decline into eternal slumber. In his waning thoughts, he began to assess his recent times and reveal who would sneak into his home and assassinate him in his sleep.
He worked in an office entering data from credit card applications received in the mail. He knew each of the ten others working around him, but no one else in the company except for the man who had hired him. In the past week, he had eaten with everyone he worked with at least once. Larry laughed at Tony's lame knock knock joke he had stolen from an episode of The Office the night before. Simi and Terri had bought him lunch when he left his wallet on his desk last Monday, but he had paid them back and they had seemed to have forgotten he owed them money. Tim, Janice, Fred, Joe and Margret took him out for drinks Friday night to celebrate a strong week of over 10,000 applications entered as a new record for the team. Timo and Angie could not make the happy hour, but they had pitched in for a round and taken off in their enamoured haze as newlyweds. His boss had given them all bonuses for work well done. His work place could not have been the source of the assault.
He had met no one knew in the past month. He had walked home quietly in solitude to his wife without so much as jaywalking to upset anyone. He had come home a bit too intoxicated for his wife's preference the night before when the happy hour ended. She had ordered take out like they do on Friday nights, but he was late and she ate alone. He had apologized several time for not calling, but she had never seemed to drop the grudge. It couldn't be his wife, could it? Could she have actually been so angry at his tardiness as to shoot him? It couldn't be, he thought. We don't even own a gun. We hate guns.
The initial shock was wearing off and he now realized he was actually getting warmer instead of colder on the floor. He reached down and felt his chest coming up empty for blood seeping out of open wounds. He was fine. There was no assassination. He had fallen from bed and now lay next to the space heater trying to recover his breath. Pressing his right hand firmly against the floor he got up to find his wife looking at him with a slight smile through drowsy eyes. The clock marked the time as 3:48am. He crawled slowly back to bed and curled on his side facing his wife as she closed her eyes and seemingly slipped back into her dream world.
After five minutes of closed eyes attempts at a return to sleep, the aching died in his chest and he began to doze off barely aware of the sound of shifting sheets as sparks jumped in front of his closed eyes. A sharp aching arose from his groin. He opened his eyes to look down and find his wife's knee solidly lodged between his thighs. The assault was on again. Tony slipped out of bed and walked towards the bedroom door to get some ice from the kitchen. From behind him, he heard a whisper chase him out. "Don't forget to call next time."
Saturday, March 28, 2009
In Case Of Monty...
Em G A
A man came to my door today
At first he didn't have much to say
Then with a wink and a smile he opened his case
And insurance forms were strewn all over the place
He handed me his card, his name was Monty
His hand shake was as steady as it was crushing
The first form showed me pictures of him
Ransacking my neighbors house and killing old Jim
F C G
He pointed at the price on page one
F C B
He showed before after pictures he'd done
He pushed me to my couch, he crushed my favorite chair
He began his pitch as I started to stare
And he said...
G A D
Mmmmm mmmmm mmmmmm Maybe I'll crush you
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm Oh what can you do
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm Maybe I'll kill you
Mmmm mmmm mmmmmm Oh what can you do
The words were confusing but the motions were clear
He emphasized each word while building up fear
He ripped off his bow tie and I saw with a jolt
On the left and the right protruded each bolt
Stuttering I begged him please to just leave
He took my muttering as mocking and started to seize
He tore down my TV, he ripped out the fan
Then he started to cry far too much for a man
He pointed again at the prices quoted
I began to question his violent motive...
G A D
Mmmmm mmmmm mmmmmm crush you
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm what can you do
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm kill you
Mmmm mmmm mmmmmm what can you do
He was green and frightening, he stood ten feet tall
His clothes were hand tailored, he could not shop at the mall
He terrorized people with his tremendous power
But at least he was nice enough to give that poor girl that flower
I settled him down and sat him on the ground
He started to breath heavy, what a frightening sound
His story was sad, his history was grim
He was made in a lab, his career options were slim
The doctor had never given him a name
From a fruit cup, up with a new name he came
His resume was weak, his experience was none
Telemarketing was out, he thought it no fun
I felt sorry for him and we worked out a plan
I bought a policy to protect me from a man
who knew no real father, he had no mother
His first word groaned, villagers he'd smother
When life gave him lemons, he crushed them
He now made his living. when the uninsured saw him
G A D
Mmmmm mmmmm mmmmmm crush you
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm what can you do
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm kill you
Mmmm mmmm mmmmmm what can you do
G A D
Mmmmm mmmmm mmmmmm crush you
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm what can you do
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm low deductible
Mmmm mmmm mmmmmm what can you do
A man came to my door today
At first he didn't have much to say
Then with a wink and a smile he opened his case
And insurance forms were strewn all over the place
He handed me his card, his name was Monty
His hand shake was as steady as it was crushing
The first form showed me pictures of him
Ransacking my neighbors house and killing old Jim
F C G
He pointed at the price on page one
F C B
He showed before after pictures he'd done
He pushed me to my couch, he crushed my favorite chair
He began his pitch as I started to stare
And he said...
G A D
Mmmmm mmmmm mmmmmm Maybe I'll crush you
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm Oh what can you do
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm Maybe I'll kill you
Mmmm mmmm mmmmmm Oh what can you do
The words were confusing but the motions were clear
He emphasized each word while building up fear
He ripped off his bow tie and I saw with a jolt
On the left and the right protruded each bolt
Stuttering I begged him please to just leave
He took my muttering as mocking and started to seize
He tore down my TV, he ripped out the fan
Then he started to cry far too much for a man
He pointed again at the prices quoted
I began to question his violent motive...
G A D
Mmmmm mmmmm mmmmmm crush you
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm what can you do
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm kill you
Mmmm mmmm mmmmmm what can you do
He was green and frightening, he stood ten feet tall
His clothes were hand tailored, he could not shop at the mall
He terrorized people with his tremendous power
But at least he was nice enough to give that poor girl that flower
I settled him down and sat him on the ground
He started to breath heavy, what a frightening sound
His story was sad, his history was grim
He was made in a lab, his career options were slim
The doctor had never given him a name
From a fruit cup, up with a new name he came
His resume was weak, his experience was none
Telemarketing was out, he thought it no fun
I felt sorry for him and we worked out a plan
I bought a policy to protect me from a man
who knew no real father, he had no mother
His first word groaned, villagers he'd smother
When life gave him lemons, he crushed them
He now made his living. when the uninsured saw him
G A D
Mmmmm mmmmm mmmmmm crush you
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm what can you do
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm kill you
Mmmm mmmm mmmmmm what can you do
G A D
Mmmmm mmmmm mmmmmm crush you
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm what can you do
mmmm mmmm mmmmmm low deductible
Mmmm mmmm mmmmmm what can you do
Grazed and Confused
Jeffrey stared out the grime stained windows of the bus at cow grazing off the side of the road. He daydreamed about what it would be like to not have a care in the world but to roam and eat grass. He would happily live in ignorance of the imminent danger he would always be in even as he was taken in on occasion to be milked. He would still roam carefree attributing the milking in his cow brain to that of necessary doctor visits or a car tune up. Yes, even as a cow, Jeffrey feels he would understand the internal combustion engine and the need for preventative maintenance. On the day he would be taken in for the slaughter, he would no doubt daydream about this patchy bearded man on a bus broken down on the side of the road and think how wonderful life must be not to be a cow.
"What the fook is taking so long!" Timothy paced the aisle impatiently waiting for the repair truck that was called an hour prior to arrive. Jeffrey had agreed to take the bus because Timothy was terrified of flying in a plane and thought a bus trip might do him good. Jeffrey figured they would both have time to figure out what to say when they saw her in Dallas. Jeffrey knew she was waiting for Timothy after running away to her parents' home outside of Dallas four months ago. She had told Timothy not to come down there, but after months of unreturned phone calls, she answered two days ago. Timothy begged her to let him explain what had happened, but she didn't want to hear it. He begged her to allow him to apologize in person at least. Jeffrey thought it odd that she had agreed, but he was anxious to see her again too. He had a confession of his own.
"Are they flying a special mechanic in from fookin' Germany?" Jeffrey could always tell when Timothy was frustrated because he always spoke in his modified swearing like a man with an accent he's worked years to lose, but always returns to in fits of anger. Timothy was born and raised in Iowa, but had grown up with his mother trying not swear in front of her child. The twisted vulgarity would stick with him through high school and get him mocked when he tried to go on a tirade against the running back of the football team for bumping him in the cafeteria.
"Watch where the fook you're going, cook stalker! I'd rip your brain out of your axe if I could find it, dip head." Brant Fising had stared at him unsure if he should be angry before patting Timothy on the shoulder and saying, "sorry about that, foreign dude" and walking away. Jeffrey had been friends with Timothy ever since that day.
"She'll be waiting for us at the bus station and my phone is dead thanks to the reception out the middle of fookin' nowhere Kansas!" Timothy pivoted like point guard to reverse his pacing and stopped to apologize to a woman and her 5 year old son for his vulgar tone. She told him it was fine. As he walked away, Jeffrey could hear the five year old call Timothy an asshole as he walked away. There wasn't much chance Timothy was going to affect the mannerisms of a young child who had probably spent more time in bus stations with odd ways about them than in this delayed trip south with Timothy.
"I could give her a call. I have reception and my phone is charged." Jeffrey reached into his pocket for the phone, but Timothy grew panicked and waved Jeffrey away from his pocket.
"Yeah. We'll call her on your phone and then she'll know I was too afraid to come see her alone. I'm sure that would begin our reconciliation just great." Timothy made another point guard pivot and began his pacing again. Jeffrey was going stir crazy in the back of the bus watching his friend nervously pace in the aisle.
"I'm going to hop out and see if I can figure anything out. My sister is a mechanic after all." Timothy stopped and gestured toward the back door like a man without much faith in his friend's ability, but wanted to humor him anyways. Jeffrey didn't care. He wasn't going out to look at the engine. He wanted to call Denise regardless of what Timothy wanted.
Jeffrey pressed his way through the rear doors of the bus and the driver came at him with both palms out waving frantically for Jeffrey not to leave the bus. Jeffrey pulled out his cell phone and shook it gently in the air. "I need to call and make sure the person I'm meeting knows we are going to be delayed and my friend will drive me insane if I call in there. I'll stay within 10 feet of the bus, alright?"
Begrudgingly, the driver dropped his hand and went back to staring at the steaming pile of engine in the rear panel of the bus. Jeffrey flipped open his phone and hit 7 on speed dial. He rarely met new people and had had no reason to reassign the speed dial since Denise had left. He listened to the static and ringing as the traded off at the speaker at his ear. After four rings and expecting to get an answering machine or voice mail, Denise picked up sounding like she had been sleeping.
"Uhh, good morning?" Jeffrey slapped his forehead forgetting that they had left on a 4am bus and had only been traveling for a couple of hours. It was still early morning on a Saturday. He listened to the rustling on the other end of the phone as Denise sounded as if she were turning on her pillow to see the clock. He heard her mumble something about six in the morning at a distance and he figured she was taking another look at caller ID.
"Jeffrey? What do you want? Is something wrong? Are you drunk? Still awake from last nights?" The concern in her voice for him was appreciated but unnecessary in his mind. If I get a 6am phone call from an old friend, I just assume they are drunk still, Jeffrey thought.
"Nothing is wrong. I just wanted to call and see what you are doing today? Any big plans for this, a random Saturday in September?" He had decided to play it vague in the hope that she wouldn't pick up that he was with Timothy on the trip to see her.
"Really? You decide to call me at 6am to chat about my day? What is wrong with you? Let me sleep, for the love of god. I'm on a trip to Phoenix for work and have to spend the weekend here. I was really hoping to sleep in before I have to get up and start working again, but I guess you've killed that. Thanks, friend." Jeffrey flipped his phone closed quickly like it mike explode if he didn't end the call. He had hoped she might slip back to sleep and forget he had called. Unfortunately, he would not be able to lose the fact that she was in Phoenix and would have had plenty of time to let Timothy know before the trip that she would not be in Dallas this weekend. Unless Timothy had another reason for bringing him down there. Jeffrey found he had now joined Timothy in nervous pacing as an over sized tow truck arrived on the scene.
"What the fook is taking so long!" Timothy paced the aisle impatiently waiting for the repair truck that was called an hour prior to arrive. Jeffrey had agreed to take the bus because Timothy was terrified of flying in a plane and thought a bus trip might do him good. Jeffrey figured they would both have time to figure out what to say when they saw her in Dallas. Jeffrey knew she was waiting for Timothy after running away to her parents' home outside of Dallas four months ago. She had told Timothy not to come down there, but after months of unreturned phone calls, she answered two days ago. Timothy begged her to let him explain what had happened, but she didn't want to hear it. He begged her to allow him to apologize in person at least. Jeffrey thought it odd that she had agreed, but he was anxious to see her again too. He had a confession of his own.
"Are they flying a special mechanic in from fookin' Germany?" Jeffrey could always tell when Timothy was frustrated because he always spoke in his modified swearing like a man with an accent he's worked years to lose, but always returns to in fits of anger. Timothy was born and raised in Iowa, but had grown up with his mother trying not swear in front of her child. The twisted vulgarity would stick with him through high school and get him mocked when he tried to go on a tirade against the running back of the football team for bumping him in the cafeteria.
"Watch where the fook you're going, cook stalker! I'd rip your brain out of your axe if I could find it, dip head." Brant Fising had stared at him unsure if he should be angry before patting Timothy on the shoulder and saying, "sorry about that, foreign dude" and walking away. Jeffrey had been friends with Timothy ever since that day.
"She'll be waiting for us at the bus station and my phone is dead thanks to the reception out the middle of fookin' nowhere Kansas!" Timothy pivoted like point guard to reverse his pacing and stopped to apologize to a woman and her 5 year old son for his vulgar tone. She told him it was fine. As he walked away, Jeffrey could hear the five year old call Timothy an asshole as he walked away. There wasn't much chance Timothy was going to affect the mannerisms of a young child who had probably spent more time in bus stations with odd ways about them than in this delayed trip south with Timothy.
"I could give her a call. I have reception and my phone is charged." Jeffrey reached into his pocket for the phone, but Timothy grew panicked and waved Jeffrey away from his pocket.
"Yeah. We'll call her on your phone and then she'll know I was too afraid to come see her alone. I'm sure that would begin our reconciliation just great." Timothy made another point guard pivot and began his pacing again. Jeffrey was going stir crazy in the back of the bus watching his friend nervously pace in the aisle.
"I'm going to hop out and see if I can figure anything out. My sister is a mechanic after all." Timothy stopped and gestured toward the back door like a man without much faith in his friend's ability, but wanted to humor him anyways. Jeffrey didn't care. He wasn't going out to look at the engine. He wanted to call Denise regardless of what Timothy wanted.
Jeffrey pressed his way through the rear doors of the bus and the driver came at him with both palms out waving frantically for Jeffrey not to leave the bus. Jeffrey pulled out his cell phone and shook it gently in the air. "I need to call and make sure the person I'm meeting knows we are going to be delayed and my friend will drive me insane if I call in there. I'll stay within 10 feet of the bus, alright?"
Begrudgingly, the driver dropped his hand and went back to staring at the steaming pile of engine in the rear panel of the bus. Jeffrey flipped open his phone and hit 7 on speed dial. He rarely met new people and had had no reason to reassign the speed dial since Denise had left. He listened to the static and ringing as the traded off at the speaker at his ear. After four rings and expecting to get an answering machine or voice mail, Denise picked up sounding like she had been sleeping.
"Uhh, good morning?" Jeffrey slapped his forehead forgetting that they had left on a 4am bus and had only been traveling for a couple of hours. It was still early morning on a Saturday. He listened to the rustling on the other end of the phone as Denise sounded as if she were turning on her pillow to see the clock. He heard her mumble something about six in the morning at a distance and he figured she was taking another look at caller ID.
"Jeffrey? What do you want? Is something wrong? Are you drunk? Still awake from last nights?" The concern in her voice for him was appreciated but unnecessary in his mind. If I get a 6am phone call from an old friend, I just assume they are drunk still, Jeffrey thought.
"Nothing is wrong. I just wanted to call and see what you are doing today? Any big plans for this, a random Saturday in September?" He had decided to play it vague in the hope that she wouldn't pick up that he was with Timothy on the trip to see her.
"Really? You decide to call me at 6am to chat about my day? What is wrong with you? Let me sleep, for the love of god. I'm on a trip to Phoenix for work and have to spend the weekend here. I was really hoping to sleep in before I have to get up and start working again, but I guess you've killed that. Thanks, friend." Jeffrey flipped his phone closed quickly like it mike explode if he didn't end the call. He had hoped she might slip back to sleep and forget he had called. Unfortunately, he would not be able to lose the fact that she was in Phoenix and would have had plenty of time to let Timothy know before the trip that she would not be in Dallas this weekend. Unless Timothy had another reason for bringing him down there. Jeffrey found he had now joined Timothy in nervous pacing as an over sized tow truck arrived on the scene.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Dorene
Dorene sat behind the battered brown steering wheel waiting for the stop light to blink out to green tapping her nails on the wheel to the song on the radio. The final guitar wail ended with a crash of drums and the next song began filtering in through her speakers. The drums rolled in slowly with a cymbal tapping for emphasis as a deep voice began to hum the melody. She could see the light for the cross road turning yellow as the voice began to sing.
Dorene, why you got to be so mean
Dorene, what's your problem with me
Dorene with the beater Ford escort
Dorene, why did you tear out my heart
Dorene stopped tapping and stared down at the radio. She glanced to the passenger dash staring at the Ford symbol emblazoned there. The honking of horns behind her reminded her that the light was turning green. She looked back to the street and stepped on the accelerator as the first verse started up.
Color of her hair don't mean a thing
Her black black heart didn't want the ring
She straddles some guy like a parking cone
She's done with me, her cheating is known
The honking was back again as Dorene looked in the rear view mirror and realized the cars parked on the street were no longer slipping past her. She had stopped her escort completely half a block from the next light. Noticing an open spot in front of a fire hydrant, Dorene jerked the wheel to the right and slammed on the pedal to move out of the flow of traffic as the singing continued.
Her eye a deep green, she was blind to me
A wandering gaze follows ever man she sees
Spiteful hand grabs a handful of denim
That should be me, but that is him
Dorene, why you got to be so mean
Dorene, what's your problem with me
Dorene with her wandering stare
Dorene, sees lovers everywhere
Dorene sat with her foot on the brake pedal trying to think through her past loves for anyone who would have been tied to the music industry in any way. Frank had been a bartender and knew bands, but they had never been anything serious but a few random nights on spring. She definitely had never cheated on him. Tom had been heart broken by her, but he was a computer programmer who didn't listen to much music. Darren had been hot headed which was part of what she had loved about him, but he had left her and he could not have known she cheated when she went away for a conference for work. A wave of male faces swirled in her vision. The sheer number was a bit unsettling. A voice cut into her head telling her that the song can't be her. It could be anyone, the voice said.
Dorene exhaled as she accepted it was just a coincidence. The bridge dashed those hopes quickly.
Her tattoo on her hips, she only let slip
For the men not me, that she slipped off to see
The ink covered birth mark, green as her eyes, black as her heart
A miller's daughter for me, a whore she turned out to be
Too much coincidence to ignore, Dorene knew the song was about her. She had a tattoo of a pot of gold with a green shamrock on her hip she had placed there to cover a scar from her birth. Even the last line was a reference to her. Her father was a marketing manager, but her last name is Miller. How many people she knew would recognize the song was about her? Would Ben know? She sucked in what air she could find in the suddenly confined interior of her car. No boyfriend had ever known about her indiscretions and she had never cared enough about a man to worry about being faithful until Ben.
Dorene, this song is for you
Dorene, you belong in a zoo
Dorene, you already work there now
Dorene, how do you like me now
Dorene stared in wide eyed terror at the specificity of the final chorus. Someone was going to suffer for this. She stared with tears in her eyes waiting for the song name and band, but it never came.
Dorene, why you got to be so mean
Dorene, what's your problem with me
Dorene with the beater Ford escort
Dorene, why did you tear out my heart
Dorene stopped tapping and stared down at the radio. She glanced to the passenger dash staring at the Ford symbol emblazoned there. The honking of horns behind her reminded her that the light was turning green. She looked back to the street and stepped on the accelerator as the first verse started up.
Color of her hair don't mean a thing
Her black black heart didn't want the ring
She straddles some guy like a parking cone
She's done with me, her cheating is known
The honking was back again as Dorene looked in the rear view mirror and realized the cars parked on the street were no longer slipping past her. She had stopped her escort completely half a block from the next light. Noticing an open spot in front of a fire hydrant, Dorene jerked the wheel to the right and slammed on the pedal to move out of the flow of traffic as the singing continued.
Her eye a deep green, she was blind to me
A wandering gaze follows ever man she sees
Spiteful hand grabs a handful of denim
That should be me, but that is him
Dorene, why you got to be so mean
Dorene, what's your problem with me
Dorene with her wandering stare
Dorene, sees lovers everywhere
Dorene sat with her foot on the brake pedal trying to think through her past loves for anyone who would have been tied to the music industry in any way. Frank had been a bartender and knew bands, but they had never been anything serious but a few random nights on spring. She definitely had never cheated on him. Tom had been heart broken by her, but he was a computer programmer who didn't listen to much music. Darren had been hot headed which was part of what she had loved about him, but he had left her and he could not have known she cheated when she went away for a conference for work. A wave of male faces swirled in her vision. The sheer number was a bit unsettling. A voice cut into her head telling her that the song can't be her. It could be anyone, the voice said.
Dorene exhaled as she accepted it was just a coincidence. The bridge dashed those hopes quickly.
Her tattoo on her hips, she only let slip
For the men not me, that she slipped off to see
The ink covered birth mark, green as her eyes, black as her heart
A miller's daughter for me, a whore she turned out to be
Too much coincidence to ignore, Dorene knew the song was about her. She had a tattoo of a pot of gold with a green shamrock on her hip she had placed there to cover a scar from her birth. Even the last line was a reference to her. Her father was a marketing manager, but her last name is Miller. How many people she knew would recognize the song was about her? Would Ben know? She sucked in what air she could find in the suddenly confined interior of her car. No boyfriend had ever known about her indiscretions and she had never cared enough about a man to worry about being faithful until Ben.
Dorene, this song is for you
Dorene, you belong in a zoo
Dorene, you already work there now
Dorene, how do you like me now
Dorene stared in wide eyed terror at the specificity of the final chorus. Someone was going to suffer for this. She stared with tears in her eyes waiting for the song name and band, but it never came.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Back to Pilot
Jerry opens his eyes to the bright flashes and covers his face to escape. He wonders why he is so sensitive to the light from the television set when something sharp cut through his powder blue golf shirt drawing blood. Lowered hands reveal the light flashes have faded and the light from the television has been replaced by to a lone streetlight surrounding him with light in the late night. His ears are ringing while he reaches for his injured arm. The blood droplets trickle through his fingers for a bit before the bleeding ceases. Whatever caught him was sharp enough not to snag any of the cotton threads on his shirt when it cut straight through to the flesh.
The first sound audible over the ringing in his ears is a woman's scream from somewhere behind him. He spins to find her and finds himself face to what can only be assumed is another face. The body layout is human in the two arms, two legs and one head sort of way, but the head is elongated with little asparagus shaped green mustache points hanging to the chin. The eyes are saucers and a deep black that shimmers in the streetlight. The shimmering pools found in these eyes should have been a line for a date, but these pools were actual liquid. These eyes saw only a fast meal.
As his eyes focused and adjusted to the low light of night, Jerry watched as a small town square came into focus around him. Over the creature's right shoulder was a sign over a door for Dunny's Dry Cleaning. Next to the Dry Cleaners, Jerry noticed the Tully's Town Tap sign hanging over the bar. The neon "OPEN" light seemed to flare on as he noticed it. He didn't even need to look behind him. He could have named the buildings and the specific shiop layout spanning the Cypress Square. He had spent so much time within this neighborhood without actually being in the neighborhood that he could have drawn it for someone else if he were blind.
The deep breathing followed by a low gurgle emitted from the thing across from him. It tilted it's head at Jerry curious why he wasn't running away. Jerry had been startled at first, so the creature knew he was not blind.
"Why do you not run, fleshpot?" The sound flowed from around the creature as the mouth did not move on the front of the head. Flatchels worked that way. The eyes were on both sides of the head and the asparagus tips he noticed before were feelers instead of a mustache. They were used for sensing motion behind the creature for its protection. Jerry was face to back of the head to a creature he had vaguely recalled from the past.
"Run? You aren't even facing me. What am I supposed to be afraid of?" Jerry felt the corner of his mouth turn up in a smirk. He was dreaming. He had obviously fallen asleep in front of the television during and early season episode and began dreaming himself into the show. The Flatchel was an early first season creature that only managed to scare people, but was never seen on screen to have killed anyone. The only action scene with the thing was when Mark and Katy had killed it at the end of the episode to save the town. There was never any real proof that the thing would hurt anyone and the ridiculous name was common in the first season before the more juvenile writers were sent packing and the Grogalon and Juggurarmy type of creatures came around.
A hiss came from the other side of the creature as it spun around to reveal two beady eyes at the top of the skull and the remaining skull was all teeth with an opening large enough to small a small animal whole. Jerry chuckled at his imagination. The effects department had been pretty weak in the early days of The Davis Files before it was renamed Creaturetown , USA. In the actual show, the Flatchel's mouth was a gummy looking prosthetic placed onto the back of some stunt actor's head. These teeth were real and filed to a point the way a child would suck on a candy cane until it became a small weapon. The seemed to vibrate with the thing's breathing and occasional saliva dripped from the points. Jerry was impressed with his imagination.
"What's so funny? Does death amuse you?" The four longest teeth clicked together as he spoke more emphaticlly. Jerry's demeanor seemed to be upsetting it, but was there really any truth to the death in a dream thing being applied to real life? He was not afraid. Besides, this was the point in the show where the thing gets chased off by the police car responding to the woman he heard scream earlier.
"I'm not going to die. You're a figment of my imagination anyways." Jerry reached out and tapped cautiously at the creature's chest and came back with a stream of green goo attached to his finger. "You'd think I would have at least put an evil outfit or soemthing on you. The teeth look pretty sweet, but I don't see why I had to go all out on the slime coating."
The mouth appeared to turn up its corners as if the creature was smiling. One of the arms raised in front of Jerry and the tentacle hand began to slide back as a three fingered claw with what looked like razor sharp claws came out and clamped open and close in front of Jerry's face. "A figment must be quite powerful to you. Is this some mind game to you? It seems more like a claw game to me. Let's see if you've got any stuffed animals in you for my sweety."
Jerry laughed along with the Flatchel. He appreciated good wit in a villain. He wondered why this creature hadn't lasted longer on the show. Jerry stared down at the claw as it moved towards his chest. Even in his dream, he would want this thing touching him, so he placed his hand inside of the claw and winked at the creature. "You don't have enough time to kill me. A police car is about to come around the corner and shine a light on you. Then you'll rush off to the sewer grate beneath the fountain in the town square. Maybe you could save us the trip down superfluous lane and just go now. The Davis kids are going to end up killing you in three nights anyways. You might want to think twice about going after a short blonde girl tomorrow night. She's not what she looks like, Pal."
The head of the creature turned towards the corner Jerry had indicated the car would be coming from before clamping down on his hand. Jerry screamed in pain as the claws were not razor sharp after all, but the pressure had crushed his pinky and rings fingers. He could feel his pulse pick up and the throbbing begin in his hand as the sound of the police siren finally came. Jerry watched the light strike the beady black eyes and the creature roared back at the noise. It turned back to Jerry cocking its head interestedly at the man who seemed to know the future before turning and dart across the square into the grate Jerry had pointed out earlier.
Jerry stood in shock as he felt the pain spark across his brain. How could he feel this kind of pain if he was dreaming? He tried his best to convince himself that he was impervious to pain, but the thought drifted in an out with his consciousness as he slipped to the ground and passed out to the flashing lights and the footsteps of the police officer.
The first sound audible over the ringing in his ears is a woman's scream from somewhere behind him. He spins to find her and finds himself face to what can only be assumed is another face. The body layout is human in the two arms, two legs and one head sort of way, but the head is elongated with little asparagus shaped green mustache points hanging to the chin. The eyes are saucers and a deep black that shimmers in the streetlight. The shimmering pools found in these eyes should have been a line for a date, but these pools were actual liquid. These eyes saw only a fast meal.
As his eyes focused and adjusted to the low light of night, Jerry watched as a small town square came into focus around him. Over the creature's right shoulder was a sign over a door for Dunny's Dry Cleaning. Next to the Dry Cleaners, Jerry noticed the Tully's Town Tap sign hanging over the bar. The neon "OPEN" light seemed to flare on as he noticed it. He didn't even need to look behind him. He could have named the buildings and the specific shiop layout spanning the Cypress Square. He had spent so much time within this neighborhood without actually being in the neighborhood that he could have drawn it for someone else if he were blind.
The deep breathing followed by a low gurgle emitted from the thing across from him. It tilted it's head at Jerry curious why he wasn't running away. Jerry had been startled at first, so the creature knew he was not blind.
"Why do you not run, fleshpot?" The sound flowed from around the creature as the mouth did not move on the front of the head. Flatchels worked that way. The eyes were on both sides of the head and the asparagus tips he noticed before were feelers instead of a mustache. They were used for sensing motion behind the creature for its protection. Jerry was face to back of the head to a creature he had vaguely recalled from the past.
"Run? You aren't even facing me. What am I supposed to be afraid of?" Jerry felt the corner of his mouth turn up in a smirk. He was dreaming. He had obviously fallen asleep in front of the television during and early season episode and began dreaming himself into the show. The Flatchel was an early first season creature that only managed to scare people, but was never seen on screen to have killed anyone. The only action scene with the thing was when Mark and Katy had killed it at the end of the episode to save the town. There was never any real proof that the thing would hurt anyone and the ridiculous name was common in the first season before the more juvenile writers were sent packing and the Grogalon and Juggurarmy type of creatures came around.
A hiss came from the other side of the creature as it spun around to reveal two beady eyes at the top of the skull and the remaining skull was all teeth with an opening large enough to small a small animal whole. Jerry chuckled at his imagination. The effects department had been pretty weak in the early days of The Davis Files before it was renamed Creaturetown , USA. In the actual show, the Flatchel's mouth was a gummy looking prosthetic placed onto the back of some stunt actor's head. These teeth were real and filed to a point the way a child would suck on a candy cane until it became a small weapon. The seemed to vibrate with the thing's breathing and occasional saliva dripped from the points. Jerry was impressed with his imagination.
"What's so funny? Does death amuse you?" The four longest teeth clicked together as he spoke more emphaticlly. Jerry's demeanor seemed to be upsetting it, but was there really any truth to the death in a dream thing being applied to real life? He was not afraid. Besides, this was the point in the show where the thing gets chased off by the police car responding to the woman he heard scream earlier.
"I'm not going to die. You're a figment of my imagination anyways." Jerry reached out and tapped cautiously at the creature's chest and came back with a stream of green goo attached to his finger. "You'd think I would have at least put an evil outfit or soemthing on you. The teeth look pretty sweet, but I don't see why I had to go all out on the slime coating."
The mouth appeared to turn up its corners as if the creature was smiling. One of the arms raised in front of Jerry and the tentacle hand began to slide back as a three fingered claw with what looked like razor sharp claws came out and clamped open and close in front of Jerry's face. "A figment must be quite powerful to you. Is this some mind game to you? It seems more like a claw game to me. Let's see if you've got any stuffed animals in you for my sweety."
Jerry laughed along with the Flatchel. He appreciated good wit in a villain. He wondered why this creature hadn't lasted longer on the show. Jerry stared down at the claw as it moved towards his chest. Even in his dream, he would want this thing touching him, so he placed his hand inside of the claw and winked at the creature. "You don't have enough time to kill me. A police car is about to come around the corner and shine a light on you. Then you'll rush off to the sewer grate beneath the fountain in the town square. Maybe you could save us the trip down superfluous lane and just go now. The Davis kids are going to end up killing you in three nights anyways. You might want to think twice about going after a short blonde girl tomorrow night. She's not what she looks like, Pal."
The head of the creature turned towards the corner Jerry had indicated the car would be coming from before clamping down on his hand. Jerry screamed in pain as the claws were not razor sharp after all, but the pressure had crushed his pinky and rings fingers. He could feel his pulse pick up and the throbbing begin in his hand as the sound of the police siren finally came. Jerry watched the light strike the beady black eyes and the creature roared back at the noise. It turned back to Jerry cocking its head interestedly at the man who seemed to know the future before turning and dart across the square into the grate Jerry had pointed out earlier.
Jerry stood in shock as he felt the pain spark across his brain. How could he feel this kind of pain if he was dreaming? He tried his best to convince himself that he was impervious to pain, but the thought drifted in an out with his consciousness as he slipped to the ground and passed out to the flashing lights and the footsteps of the police officer.
A Chance Meeting
Tom Upton had been working in construction for five years before the housing market caused most construction companies to begin to pull back on staffing. Even with five years in, Tom was the least senior builder and had been let go two months prior. Luckily for him, this spring in Chicago started to warm up quickly and he was contracted out on repair jobs to fill the paycheck gap. Today, Tom was fixing the loose steps on a building in the Lakeview neighborhood. He often wondered why the neighborhood was called Lakeview as most of the neighborhood was at least a mile from a even clear view of the lake.
He wondered this as he unloaded the tools and materials from his van and dropped them in bunches in the front yard of a small brick building with 3019 stamped next to the front door. Most of these buildings in the neighborhood have all concrete and brick front steps, but 3019 was an older conversion building. The condo association was being cheap at the last minute after the interior's renovations wrecked the association's initial budget. Tom was getting a lot of these calls and it was making his construction income loss a moot point at home. He had looked at his two year old son, Brett, and known he had no time to waste. His wife was working night shifts on the emergency room nursing staff and was fighting exhaustion to take care of their son while Tom worked days.
The previous night, Ellen had left him to put Brett to bed when he heard his son coughing. Knowing his wife, Tom brought Brett a glass of water to avoid double dosing him if Ellen had already given him something. Eight loud crying coughing fits throughout the night left Tom slightly ragged, but with a deadline on the new steps he did not have much choice on a sick day for himself.
Tom had been framing the new steps and front porch for a week and was finally ready to begin nail down the steps. He spent twenty minutes fighting with the air compressor before fighting with the nail gun for another ten. Once the compressor started whirring at a loud volume, Tom could barely hear as the nail gun fired each nail into the steps he had placed face down on the framing. After two steps, he set the gun down on the step and walked to grab the next set of boards. He turned around with a new step in each hand in time to see the man drop flat to the sidewalk and watch two more nails fire into the tree across the sidewalk.
Tom dove to the compressor and slapped the switch to the off position before his addled mind remembered that the switch only turned of the motor to continue compressing the air, but the air in the compressor tank was still flowing to the nail gun. Swearing ferociously, Tom ripped the air hose from the compressor cutting the air from the nail gun and sending the neighborhood eerily quiet. He lay flat on the ground for a moment before remembering why he had dove in the first place.
Tom stood and brushed the dirt from the front of his pants as he cautiously walked to the front gate. Two feet from the fence, Tom could see the man lying face down on the sidewalk. Tom could feel the blood drain from his head and fought the urge to faint. Crouching to the ground, Tom placed his head between his knees in time for thoughts of what would happen to his family if he had accidentally killed a man working a contract job on a house. He would never get hired again. His wife would have to work even more to pay the mortgage payments. He saw himself in front of a court of law with a jury shaking their heads disapprovingly at him having already convicted him.
His lawyer placing a hand on his shoulder tries to comfort him multiple times. Each comforting phrase ends with the dead man having a different family obligation and job to judge the affect it would have on him.
"I'm sorry, Tom. They couldn't bare to have an unmarried convenience store clerk die with no repercussions."
"I'm sorry, Tom. They couldn't bare to have a married police officer die with no repercussions."
"I'm sorry, Tom. They couldn't bare to have a married firefighter with kids die with no repercussions."
"I'm sorry, Tom. They couldn't bare to have a single father supporting three kids and five foster children while working three jobs to support them die with no repercussions. Maybe if you had tried to help him, they would have had mercy on you."
Tom's brain finally reconnected and he realized the man could still be alive. Running down the sidewalk between 3019 and 3017 to his truck parked behind the building, Tom hurried to get his cell phone and call 911. After a minute connecting, Tom babbled frightened to the operator that it was an accident. The nail gun was misfiring. The compressor was too loud. How could he have known it was firing with that noise?
The operator calmed him and asked Tom if the man was still breathing. Did he have a pulse? Where did the nail strike him? Tom did not know the answer to these questions. He hadn't even checked. Rushing back to the front sidewalk, Tom slid to a stop slamming his hip into the fence as he breathlessly tried to express his surprise to the operator. He swore the man had fallen and the nails had continued to fly afterwards. He had assumed the man was hit, but the only thing he could see from the property were the nails in the tree. There was no man on the sidewalk. Tom sighed deeply and apologized for frightening himself and wasting the operator's time. He hung the phone up and slid it into his tool belt, swapping the phone for his claw hammer.
Tom pushed the front gate open and crossed the sidewalk to the tree and began yanking nails from the oak tree. The first three nails came out easily, but the fourth and fifth nails were secure in the tree. On a vicious tug at the fifth one, the claw hammer came free and clanged to the sidewalk behind Tom. Shaking his head, Tom walked to the hammer and crouched to pick it up before seeing the spot next to the hammer. A small red pool of blood and a few fingers of a hand print was next it. A hand print in blood, Tom now realized the man was real, but who would walk away after that? Tom scratched his head furiously before deciding there was nothing he could do at this point and went back to working on the nail gun.
He wondered this as he unloaded the tools and materials from his van and dropped them in bunches in the front yard of a small brick building with 3019 stamped next to the front door. Most of these buildings in the neighborhood have all concrete and brick front steps, but 3019 was an older conversion building. The condo association was being cheap at the last minute after the interior's renovations wrecked the association's initial budget. Tom was getting a lot of these calls and it was making his construction income loss a moot point at home. He had looked at his two year old son, Brett, and known he had no time to waste. His wife was working night shifts on the emergency room nursing staff and was fighting exhaustion to take care of their son while Tom worked days.
The previous night, Ellen had left him to put Brett to bed when he heard his son coughing. Knowing his wife, Tom brought Brett a glass of water to avoid double dosing him if Ellen had already given him something. Eight loud crying coughing fits throughout the night left Tom slightly ragged, but with a deadline on the new steps he did not have much choice on a sick day for himself.
Tom had been framing the new steps and front porch for a week and was finally ready to begin nail down the steps. He spent twenty minutes fighting with the air compressor before fighting with the nail gun for another ten. Once the compressor started whirring at a loud volume, Tom could barely hear as the nail gun fired each nail into the steps he had placed face down on the framing. After two steps, he set the gun down on the step and walked to grab the next set of boards. He turned around with a new step in each hand in time to see the man drop flat to the sidewalk and watch two more nails fire into the tree across the sidewalk.
Tom dove to the compressor and slapped the switch to the off position before his addled mind remembered that the switch only turned of the motor to continue compressing the air, but the air in the compressor tank was still flowing to the nail gun. Swearing ferociously, Tom ripped the air hose from the compressor cutting the air from the nail gun and sending the neighborhood eerily quiet. He lay flat on the ground for a moment before remembering why he had dove in the first place.
Tom stood and brushed the dirt from the front of his pants as he cautiously walked to the front gate. Two feet from the fence, Tom could see the man lying face down on the sidewalk. Tom could feel the blood drain from his head and fought the urge to faint. Crouching to the ground, Tom placed his head between his knees in time for thoughts of what would happen to his family if he had accidentally killed a man working a contract job on a house. He would never get hired again. His wife would have to work even more to pay the mortgage payments. He saw himself in front of a court of law with a jury shaking their heads disapprovingly at him having already convicted him.
His lawyer placing a hand on his shoulder tries to comfort him multiple times. Each comforting phrase ends with the dead man having a different family obligation and job to judge the affect it would have on him.
"I'm sorry, Tom. They couldn't bare to have an unmarried convenience store clerk die with no repercussions."
"I'm sorry, Tom. They couldn't bare to have a married police officer die with no repercussions."
"I'm sorry, Tom. They couldn't bare to have a married firefighter with kids die with no repercussions."
"I'm sorry, Tom. They couldn't bare to have a single father supporting three kids and five foster children while working three jobs to support them die with no repercussions. Maybe if you had tried to help him, they would have had mercy on you."
Tom's brain finally reconnected and he realized the man could still be alive. Running down the sidewalk between 3019 and 3017 to his truck parked behind the building, Tom hurried to get his cell phone and call 911. After a minute connecting, Tom babbled frightened to the operator that it was an accident. The nail gun was misfiring. The compressor was too loud. How could he have known it was firing with that noise?
The operator calmed him and asked Tom if the man was still breathing. Did he have a pulse? Where did the nail strike him? Tom did not know the answer to these questions. He hadn't even checked. Rushing back to the front sidewalk, Tom slid to a stop slamming his hip into the fence as he breathlessly tried to express his surprise to the operator. He swore the man had fallen and the nails had continued to fly afterwards. He had assumed the man was hit, but the only thing he could see from the property were the nails in the tree. There was no man on the sidewalk. Tom sighed deeply and apologized for frightening himself and wasting the operator's time. He hung the phone up and slid it into his tool belt, swapping the phone for his claw hammer.
Tom pushed the front gate open and crossed the sidewalk to the tree and began yanking nails from the oak tree. The first three nails came out easily, but the fourth and fifth nails were secure in the tree. On a vicious tug at the fifth one, the claw hammer came free and clanged to the sidewalk behind Tom. Shaking his head, Tom walked to the hammer and crouched to pick it up before seeing the spot next to the hammer. A small red pool of blood and a few fingers of a hand print was next it. A hand print in blood, Tom now realized the man was real, but who would walk away after that? Tom scratched his head furiously before deciding there was nothing he could do at this point and went back to working on the nail gun.
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